[hider=The Fall of Vaiam]

[h3]The Fall of Vaiam[/h3]
[hr]

Neldor Valur, High General of the Imperium, had fought over a thousand battles and laid siege to a hundred cities, but never in his life had he seen carnage like this. Corpses, elf and human alike, lay so thick that only by levitating could he avoid stepping in the gore; so many flies crawled across contorted features that it looked as if the dead were still slowly moving. Only Grand Master Kelvor joined him, likewise floating above the field of dead.

The dead spread out like a giant fan from the mighty breach blasted in the outer walls of Kalasin, capital of Vaiam. Burned siege towers, shattered ladders, and the horrible stink of burnt flesh told of the first failed elven attempts to capture the city walls. Only when the walls had been breached had elven troops stormed into the gap to be met with withering crossbow fire and fanatic resistance. The Vaiam had given ground only when they had no more men to send against their enemy. Thousands had died for a piece of ground no larger than the gardens of his estate back home.

"I have never seen this likeness before..." Kelvors voice was muffled by the scarf he wore across his face to lessen the stench and to keep the flies from his mouth. An enchanted wind blew, meant to push the flies away and keep the smell down, but it was not enough. There were simply to many.

"Nor have I." Valur replied honestly. He saw a flicker of respect in the mages face and ignored it. This carnage was of his own making. He had ordered the attack and the ten thousand dead it had cost him would not care if he was honest. The dead cared nothing for the honesty of the living.

The two elves floated through the first breach and into the second rings of defences. A deep ditch had been dug here, filled with stakes, and flooded by the river that coursed through the city. That river was now choked with the dead, its brown waters turned an almost turbid black by blood and ash from the burning city. The elves had succeeded in filling the moat here which only led to flooding throughout the rest of the area. In the end that had been what undermined the second gatehouse and it had collapsed into the moat, opening a path into the inner city. 

More elves and men had died here, an orgy of death and killing as the armies of the Imperium poured through the breaches and into the city. The Vaiam had not gone quietly into the night. They fought for every inch of ground, even the women and children, an expression of violence that the High General had not expected. A child might not kill as well as an adult but a wound was a wound and thousands more would die from their injuries before the day was out.

Here at least were living elves. Exhausted, bloodied, but victorious, they had set about looting the city. Parts of it still burned, but much of it had been thoroughly sacked. Prisoners, they were surprisingly few, were being herded toward gates that had been captured intact, ropes about their necks and shock on their faces. The High General could hardly blame them. The defences of the city were immense and only with the help of the river and several traitors at other gates, had the elves been able to gain access to the city.

"What a beast..." He found himself staring down at a massive creature, its flanks covered in blood, nearly a hundred dead elves around it. It bore a pair of massive horns on its head and from the hundreds of white marks that marred it grey skin, it was almost impervious to the elvish weapons that had hacked desperately at it. "How many more of them are there?"

The two elves floated around a corner and into the cities main square to be greeted by a sight that took his breath away. Nearly twenty of the huge creatures lay scattered about, their massive bulk impossible to miss. What brought a curse from his lips was the number of elven cavalry that had died trying to bring the creatures down. Arrows would not penetrate the hides and in the end it had taken mages and suicidal bravery by the cavalry to bring them down. There was even a giant among the dead, its stomach ripped open by one of the monsters, the huge intestines spilled across the bloodstained mosaic tiles. 

"I see now why you have never accepted congratulations on a siege." Kelvor spoke, his eyes taking in the vast destruction all around. At the far end of the square, its gates hanging open and piled high with the dead, the Royal Palace. "There is nothing noble about what happened here."

"No." A short reply that conveyed much. Valur sometimes felt that his superiors, and the nobles of the Imperium, had no real idea of what happened in war. He had no doubt there would be parades back home and songs would be song of this battle for a thousand years, but that was small comfort to the families of the dead and even less to the elves who would be forever broken by their experience here. 

"General!" A mage was floating toward them, his face grave. None of the animation and excitement that had been so apparent the day before when the city was finally secured. "News from the south!"

The High General took the proffered letters, there were two, from the mage and cracked the first. It was from General Revalor Elian, the commander whose task it was to conquer Draivim and Keraam. The third General, Hycis, had been sent to work his way east with their new Iban allies. His orders had been to study this ally of connivence and identify any weaknesses that could be used them when the Imperium eventually turned on the Iba.

"General Elian reports that complete subjugation of Draivim. Excellent." Valur felt a small smile in spite of himself. The campaign had got off to a rough start in Beival with an army corps destroyed in the mountains but then again, landing almost a million soldiers was no small feat. The second note was made from excellent rice paper and neatly folded, tied with a red ribbon. There was nothing on it save for his name. A small lump indicated that something was sealed inside. He looked up at the mage. "Who sent this?"

"It came from Keraam by carrier pigeon. I saw your name and did not think to send a reply without your order." The mage look worried for a moment, then relaxed as the High General waved him away irritably. 

Valur turned the letter over in his hands. The paper was clearly from Iba, the elves had nothing of the sort in their own stock. He felt the item within and thought he could feel a ring. A ring, why would Hycis send him a ring? He had hardly completed the thought when a horrible premonition swept through him and he tore the letter open, dumping the object into his hand.

It was the ring of an Imperial General. The same one he had personally given to Hycis when his friend was given his first command almost forty years ago. 

A fist of cold fury clutched his gut as he read the words, written in a neat looping hand, that crossed the page in red. He had expected many things from the south but nothing like this. It was a poem and the few words, written so beautifully, carried with them a sobering message. He read it out loud.

[center][i]Had I not known
that I was dead
already
I would have mourned
my loss of life.[/i][/center]

"So Hycis is dead." The Grand Master stated bluntly. 

"Yes. And if he is dead, so is his army." Valur could feel a thrill of horror sweeping through him. His losses here had been severe, but it Hycis was dead and his army destroyed. "By the gods... He led nearly eighty thousand... Eight army corps. Destroyed." He felt as though he were suddenly adrift in a sea of sea of uncertainty. 

"Surely they can't have been utterly destroyed!" The Grand Master cried out, surprising even himself. 

"They must be, and the fleet that carried them as well." It was impossible to think that the Iba would have not struck at once with everything they had. Valur cursed his arrogance. His belief that the Shogun would allow himself to be tricked so easily. That arrogance had cost the Imperium dearly. 

"We must react. Leave what soldiers we must for garrisons and begin marching south at once. We will strike at the Iba next. It was foolish of me to leave them for last." Valur spoke decisively. He had not earned his reputation by sitting around resting on his laurels. With the dead and wounded, not to mention the garrisons he would have to leave behind, he was likely to march on Iba with perhaps 400,000 soldiers. It would be enough. It had to be.  

The Imperium had been betrayed and he would march for vengeance.[/hider]