Drizaghar traveled with the bodyguard Shin’dril had sent as a messenger. When the pair reached Elmirah’s camp, the dark elf necromancer took the lead and approached the lieutenant boldly. “Ready your Deathcasters,” he told her in a commanding tone. The woman’s eyebrow arched in amusement, but she kept her cool in responding.

“And why would I want to do that?” she quipped as Drizaghar came to a halt before her. Passing a small ledger to a guard to her left, the human folded her arms and stared intently at the drow.

“Lieutenant Shin’dril asks that you create a thick fog along the south wall,” he answered without pause. The bodyguard who had accompanied him stood behind him, arms folded as he ensured his master’s wishes were carried out. “Immediately,” the brute nodded and loped back to Shin’dril’s camp, leaving Drizaghar alone in Elmirah’s headquarters.

Turning away and sauntering over to a small desk, the necromancer traced a finger across several ornaments on its surface before speaking again. “Again, why would I want to do that? You seem to be heavy on the orders and light on the reasons, drow.” Shooting him a tempting sneer she motioned for a messenger. “Nevertheless, I am intrigued.” Then to the messenger she commanded, “Bring me Master Caruda.”

Sending the rest of her entourage out of the command tent, Elmirah stalked closer to the dark elf and began pacing circles around him. One lone finger snaked across his chin, coming to rest on his lips as she leaned beside him. With her lips mere inches from his ear, she whispered, “What’s your plan?”

~~

Remar Banniarnith paced along the top of the southern wall, his pike held tightly in his white-knuckled grip. While his compatriots battled untold hordes of undead on the eastern wall, Remar waited for word of an attack on his station. However, all through the early hours of the battle, he and his fellow guardsmen heard nothing. Scouts came every half an hour or so, reporting news from the city and from the other walls. But none ever carried orders for the station to mobilize. And so Remar Banniarnith paced the top of the southern wall and waited for his moment of glory.

“Son,” an older guard called to him. “Would you quit that? You’re driving me mad.” Motioning for Remar to stop pacing anxiously, the guard mumbled to himself, “It’s bad enough without your nervous energy.”

“Sor-sorry,” the elven guardsman stuttered. Readjusting his helmet as he stood between two crenellations, Remar turned his thoughts to the grounds below. What was happening down there, he wondered.

After a few minutes, Banniarnith realized that he could no longer see the ground. A dense fog had settled in next to the wall, obscuring vision from the top. “Uh…” he glanced around anxiously, looking for a commander to tell about the recent change. Even the slightest detail like this could prove huge in repelling the invading hordes.

Just then, a trumpet call startled Remar and he whirled about to see who was coming. Instants later, a harried scout ran up the stairs and nearly collapsed amongst the guards. “Orders,” he gasped and the elven men focused their attention. Finally they had orders!

“You are all to leave your position here and assist in the defense of the eastern wall,” the man said when he had enough breath. “Immediately.” Grumbling about the relocation, but pleased to finally see some action, the guardsmen rounded up their supplies and made their way down the stairs.

“But who will guard the southern wall?” Remar asked as he passed the scout.

With a look of trepidation clouding his eyes, the man replied, “These men will take over.” Gesturing to a line of elves carrying large sacks and shields, the scout mumbled, “May the Thaynes forgive us.” And before Remar could ask more, the man slipped down past the guards already on the stairs.

“Strange,” Remar muttered to himself, but he nodded to the replacement guards and followed his kinsmen obediently.

When the last of the defenders had passed, the lead replacement dropped his sack and turned to his fellows, “We have exactly five minutes before the commanders realized that we’ve moved their troops from this wall. The explosion must go off before then or the plan fails. May the Thaynes watch over you.” And tossing his sack against the base of the southern wall, he drew his flint.

“May the Thaynes watch over us all,” he whispered.

~~

“General Saba!” Finwë Telperiën called into the command tent where the temporary leader of the dark army resided. “We have a plan!” He strode confidently up to the headquarters and pushed the flap aside, peering into the darkness inside. “General Saba?”

His eyes adjusted to the low light quickly and he saw the form of the General sitting in his large command chair. “Ah, General… a word?” He let himself in the tent, allowing the flap to fall behind him. After one step into the tent, he saw a second form just behind the first. A Bladesinger.

With blackened sword held to Dhenu Saba’s throat, the elven assassin waited until the realization struck the dark elf’s face. “No!” he called out, but in vain. With a quick slash, the ninja’s sword carved a crimson trail across the neck of the dark army’s leader. The poisonous snake rattling its tail at Eluriand had just lost its head.

Finwë lunged for the chair, trying to catch the elf in his grasp to unleash a spell, but the assassin slipped away into the darkness. Cursing the miserable Raiaerans, the drow necromancer fumbled his way out of the tent and toward the spot where his fellow lieutenant waited.

“He agreed?” Alassë Sîrfalas asked.

“He was killed,” her dark elf companion responded. “Alert the Dark Lord and send for Haraldur. He assumes command. In the meantime, we begin our plan. The charges will be set in a matter of minutes; we have little time.” Grimacing at the news, Alassë nodded and set off to find a messenger. Reeling from their loss, Finwë clenched his jaw and stared defiantly at the elven bastion before him. “You will fall regardless,” he whispered. “Saba’s death can’t stop that…”