The leaves rustled as dozens of dark elves stealthily positioned themselves just behind the tree line. All of them carried bows and full quivers. Their black hair blended into the dimness, but their eyes glowed faintly with golden rings. Finlor looked around, inspecting that everyone was in position, before glancing up at me for the signal.
Up on the branch of an oak tree, I turned my gaze again to our unwitting targets.
We had reached our destination. Maelor had neither lied nor exaggerated. There was indeed a fine spot by the main river in the southern part of the forest—a vast, flat ground where green grass spread all the way to the water's edge, and where trees stood sparsely across the landscape.
Emerald waters shimmered past the plains, wide and deep enough for large boats. Further east, this wasn't exactly a bustling trade route, but there were still traders and travelers who used the waterway—those heading to and from the ports of the easternmost kingdoms: the dwarves of the Dead Ridge, the woodland elves of Atherdaine, and a scattering of petty human chiefdoms.
Building a port city here would surely attract a significant amount of business. But perhaps the dark elves were too preoccupied with the serpents to consider such a thing. And even if they did, the land was not exactly unclaimed.
A large group of beast-men had already settled there. The goat-headed humanoids were much like orcs—massive, aggressive, and not intelligent enough to read or write, though capable of communicating through a crude spoken tongue. They also shared the orcs' fearsome reputation in combat.
However, beast-men were superior to orcs in one regard: they could build more than mud huts. They understood the concept of stonework, albeit at a primitive level. At the center of their small town stood a simple stone fort—walls of piled, rough-hewn rock that nonetheless served its purpose.
Still, fortifications were never the main problem. Taking the town meant fighting a hundred beast-men, and the dark elves had never been united enough to face such numbers decisively.
I returned my eyes to Finlor. He had only two dozen with him—outnumbered nearly five to one. Yet he volunteered for the task, perhaps to impress me. Maelor had done well to convince him not only to turn with his kin, but also to earn my trust.
I didn't mind. I was about to be entertained.
Attacking with only two dozen dark elves would be suicide under normal circumstances. But with two dozen dark elven vampires, there was no way to lose—though much could still go wrong. Finlor had promised me not just victory, but a clean one.
I nodded.
At once, he stood up.
"Ready!" he shouted, his deep baritone echoing like a war horn. In unison, the rest of the dark elves rose and drew arrows from their quivers.
"Nock!" Finlor ordered. The dark elves nocked their arrows and aimed.
The beast-men, dull of sense though they were, heard the shout. Some turned toward the forest, confused and unaware of what was coming.
"Loose!"
The dark elves released. Their arrows whistled through the air, rising high before arcing down toward the village. Only then did the beast-men realize what was happening, scrambling for cover too late.
Several were hit, though only one was killed outright. Arrows alone would not win the fight.
"Attack!"
Finlor and his warriors charged from the treeline, blades drawn. They were so fast their dark hair streamed behind them like banners.
Now I understood why Finlor had fired first. The volley had stunned the enemy long enough to deny any organized response. His company crossed the open ground unopposed and breached the village without resistance.
They were all skilled, but none more striking than their chief. Finlor punctuated his dash with a leap—so high he could have cleared the eight-foot beast-man if he wished. Instead, he landed squarely on its shoulder and drove his blade through its skull.
He abandoned the collapsing body and vaulted onto a nearby roof. Drawing his bow, he fired two quick shots—the first pierced clean through a beast-man's head, the second struck another's arm. Blinded by pain, the creature never saw Finlor descend with an overhead strike. One scream later, the beast-man's hand was gone, and a heartbeat after that, his throat was opened.
Within moments, the northern quarter of the town was silent. Finlor and his elves disappeared deeper within, the slaughter glimpsed only through fleeting gaps between the huts. The sound alone painted a vivid picture.
Moments later, I saw him again—scaling the stone fort with a few of his kin. Even without vampiric strength, the jagged rocks offered ample holds.
Beast-men defenders hurled stones and spears, but the elves moved like shadows, darting from one foothold to another until they reached the top. The struggle above was short. The beast-men's wild swings were no match for elven precision. A few grunts and heavy thuds later, silence reclaimed the fort.
Then Finlor appeared again, standing at the rampart and staring at me across the distance. He raised one arm, holding the severed head of a beast-man—likely their chieftain.
"High Prince, victory is yours!" he shouted. "We have triumphed!"
I descended from the oak and landed beside him. Finlor dropped to one knee, offering the head with both hands.
Below the rampart, the fort's courtyard was strewn with corpses. The largest hut at its center—likely the chieftain's home—stood dark and empty. Around it, dead beast-men lay sprawled, and dark elves knelt in reverence.
Outside the fort, the same scene unfolded: dusty streets littered with bodies, rooftops lined with kneeling elves.
It was a small victory, but as Frans looked upon the sight—slaughtered foes and kneeling subjects—he had never felt so alive.
I summoned a solar blade and tapped it lightly on Finlor's shoulder.
If his intent was to impress, he had succeeded. Frans had commanded greater underlings before, but none as disciplined. Finlor could have relied on brute vampiric power alone and still won, but he hadn't. He had chosen strategy—and precision. And that had made all the difference.
"Your brother spoke the truth," I said. "You will be of great use to me, Finlor. You have done well this day. Henceforth, I name you commander of my army."