At the docks, there was a considerable shock at the arrival of a foreign dignitary who was unannounced, and surrounded by so great a guard. Word made its way back to the palace, and soon enough, a small cadre of 5 stood before the entourage, swords unsheathed. They were of the Queen's Company, a fervent and fiercely loyal squadron of 500 women whose only loyalty was to the High Queen. One of them, handing her spear to a compatriot, gave a bow, acknowledging the Empress. "Hail, Empress Ishwari of Engawa. The High Queen sends her greetings and compliments, hoping that all is well, but, by your presence, acknowledges that those--I beg excuse for her language but she insisted on exact repetition--"damned rebels" have forced you to our shores. We five are to take you to the throne room, and your entourage may accompany you, Empress."
Dawn; 1747th Y.T.R.
Æsir; Engalia, Britannia; Londinium
High Queen Irithren Terembor
The sun hung high in the sky behind the the Engalian army that numbered in the thousands. They were to approach and defend the Town of Falonde before it fell to the Dwarven Confederation, who had declared war by their actions. War has to be had now, and while she had learned full well now that war was no glorious thing, she could not help a swell of pride at the sight of them. The flag of Engalia waved high, and lower, were the flags of houses and lords and ladies, who had heard the summons and bid haste to Londinium. This was not the full might of the island nation, but it would do for now. They faced an old threat renewed, but this royal throne of queens, as a famuous poet had called it was Engalia, Protector of the North, Holder of Haldria's Wall and center of the world. And the High Queen recalled that poem to mind as she looked down at the men and women that she was about to send into the face and maw of death.
This royal throne of queens, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Aesir,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against ice and the hand of war,
This happy breed of elves, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Engalia.
This earth of majesty, this seat of Aesir,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against ice and the hand of war,
This happy breed of elves, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Engalia.
Irithren raised an armored fist, the clamor on the streets and within the soldiers ceasing. "Engalians! Whether you be elf or man, male or female, young or veteran, I count you all as citizens, lovers of this beautiful home of ours, worthy of honor. The Confederation marches on our shores today, and I do not know whether you shall return with your swords or upon a stretcher. Such is war. But what I do know, is that I see an army of a proud nation whose might has not dwindled with the passing of time, a nation I am proud to be among. Today, we fight the armies at our shores, and bring the fight to them! Today, we cancel their reconquest. So take courage, soldiers. Whet your sword's blade and look to your sides. Today, they are your brother and sister. Not in blood, but in resolve, in might, in determination. To war we go."
And there was a loud shout at her words, the pennants waving ever higher, and if possible, ever brighter.
---
Noon, a few days later; 1747th Y.T.R.
Æsir; Engalia, Britannia; Northwest of the Town of Falonde
[u]High Queen Irithren Terembor[/u]
Falonde had not fallen to the Confederation, and that was a glad sight for Irithren, who was able to survey the land with a telescope. It was uniquely situated to be a good piece of land to defend, and for Engalia's famed archers, the rolling hills to the south and north of the city that characterized much of Engalia provided them with the high ground to rain hell down upon their enemies. The army had crossed a river, perhaps 5 miles back from the city, which could prove either a help or a hindrance if the battle of Falonde went poorly. The Confederation had not surrounded the city yet, either not being able to make their way around or still working on fortifications, and so, they were able to funnel into the town, archers clambering up on the walls with swordsmen accompanying them, the spearmen surrounding the main gate, joined by the Queen's Company, armed and ready, while the Light Cavalry and the few Mounted Knights of the Realm stationed themselves at the east and west gates, ready to sally forth.
"Lord Xaven," said Irithren in greeting, smiling at the kindly, old elf-lord that she had always liked.
"It is a relief to see you, my lady-queen. Without you, we would've been overrun soon despite the walls. With your forces..."
"We stand a chance, but it is by no means certain victory. Then let us hope that Lady Fate is with us today. The Lord Marshall," Irithren explained, "is with us."
"Then with all due respect, my dear, did you need to come? The Lord Marshall is a fine warrior and tactician, and he has the loyalty of the land. When your personal banner is raised, the dwarves will know, and they will be angry."
"They have not forgotten what my father did, then. But angry dwarves make mistakes, my dear Xaven. And here they come..." she said, looking out towards the field.
"Archers! Ready your marks, shields, stand to!" shouted the Marshall. And so they held their cocked arrows for what seemed like ages, while the rugged elf glared at the dwarves, watching as they came close and closer, until he deemed the time was right. "Fire!"
And then there was the beautiful, deadly, hissing of thousands of Engalian arrows whistling through the air. The battle for Falonde had begun.
