General Darkath looked down upon the men standing at the bottom of the snow covered depression. He then looked across at the black robed men surrounded by the foul Grim Wolves. He could feel the evil in the air and the malignant presence of these men. The General had been fighting the minions of the Black Magic for over a thousand turns. In all that time never did he encounter such a malevolent force as this. His stomach turned at the sight of them. It was only by the strength of the White Magic within did he keep from turning his horse at that moment.

He was proud of his Elves as he looked down the lines on each side of him. Some made gasping noises, some even threw up their morning meal, but none turned away. All sat their horses in grim-faced determination staring down at the evil before them. The High Mage and the two Battle Mages looked upon the blackness before them with faces set in anger. They, out of all upon the plain, could feel the Black Magic within these men the most, except for maybe the Tundra Wolves.

To the credit of the pack leaders Howler and Savagemane not one of their wolves broke ranks and charged down the slope at the men below. Nor did any of the pack run to attack the black wolves, their mortal enemies, on the other side of the bowl. The Saddlebacks held their ground along the rim of the depression, crouched and baring long white fangs in anger. Hot steam shot out from their noses and mouths as they emitted low continuous growls. The fur stood tall along their spines as they awaited the signal to the charge.

The General looked one more time at his soldiers around him making sure all were in place. Two lines of fifty Elves sat at the ready on well trained horses to his left, one line behind the other. It was the same to his right with the Valen Guard making up the front line. His four guards and the three Mages flanked him in the middle. In front of the Elves stood the Tundras, forty-eight wolves ready to attack at a hairs notice. All awaited his command to advance on the evil before them.

Doubt clouded his mind for just a moment as he recalled the urgent warnings of the Battle Mage Glynfiel and the Tundra Wolves to return for more soldiers. The evil before him was almost overwhelming in its intensity and he feared for the Elves and the Tundras at his side, but as he thought on it he knew it was far too late to turn back. There could be only battle this day. With every fiber of his being he knew he must destroy these men who were so thoroughly drenched in the vile Black Magic. Reason took over as he looked upon his numbers and thought of the quality of his soldiers. He unsheathed his sword and raised it above his head. All eyes were on him waiting for the sword to drop giving the order to charge.

It was an order he did not have to give. Down below the fifty barbarians surrounding the men in black raised crossbows and launched a deadly volley of bolts. The sound of the flying darts could be heard as they clattered off shields, thudded into armor and flesh and made whisper noises as they pierced the snow around them. Elves went down, falling into the soft snow and horses reared on hind legs with black bolts protruding from them. Disruption happened in several places along the Elven line. The big golden stallion the Battle Mage Glynfiel was upon screamed in pain beside the General and rose up with a black quarrel in its throat. The horse went down and landed hard on top of the small Mage. The General looked but could see no sign of her as the horse died on the snow. There was no time to check to see if she lived, they had to attack the barbarians below before they could reload.

The Tundras roared like lions and flew down the slope barely sinking into the snow as they ran. The Elves formed up and charged after the wolves sending clouds of snow into the air as they stormed down the hill. The General led with his shield on one arm and his sword raised high in the other. He watched as the wolves reached the trampled snow at the bottom of the depression and tore into the circle of barbarians. Their fangs gleamed white in the gloom of the day as they jumped with maws wide open. They ripped out throats and tore off arms as they rushed through the barbarians like a scythe through wheat. The enemy warriors did not stand a chance as the big wolves attacked.

The General was mystified as he brought his sword down on the head of a barbarian still standing. These warriors were doing nothing to defend themselves as they were attacked. They moved slowly and only seemed focused on placing their feet in the stirrup of their crossbows and pulling back on the strings. There had been plenty of time for them to get another shot off at the wolves and Elves charging them. But not a one had even placed a dart in the groove before they were attacked.

As the General turned his mount on the battlefield he noticed the movements of the twenty men in black to be a different story. They had formed up into four groups of five with each standing as if on the point of a star. An almost black translucent smoke covered each group of men like a bubble. The General took a hard look at the men within the little domes. They had thrown back their hoods to reveal what monsters they were under the black tattered robes. Their hairless gray skin glistened wetly over ropey veins throughout their heads and faces. They had heavy brows that extended over eyes burning with a sickly green fire. Their noses were flat and black and their thick lips were the color of worms. As the General rode by he looked into the ghastly eyes of one of the things that used to be a man. He shuddered in the realization that those he looked upon were so thoroughly drenched in the evil of the Black Magic they were wielding the power of Black Sorcerers.

Wolves and Elves charged at the domes trying to tear down the monsters within, but to no avail. The smokey film was a barrier protecting them like a shield. Within each dome the Black Sorcerers chanted and raised their staffs as one. At the end of their chant they brought down their staffs and sent out a stream of deadly black fire killing the attacking wolves and Elves. The stream only lasted seconds, but in those seconds the short burst was devastating. Once the beam of fire was spent the black sorcerers began their chant all over again, slowly raising their staffs for another blast. The General rode to find the two Mages upon the battlefield.

"You must do something to combat this evil!" he yelled at the High Mage.

The High Mage raised a hand at the General, palm out, calling for silence. He was next to the Battle Mage and both were sitting still upon their horses with eyes closed and staffs raised. The General watched as misty wisps of the White Magic rushed to attach itself to the crystals on the ends of their raised staffs. Balls of white light, almost too bright to look upon, began to grow on the ends of their poles. Once enough of the magic was gathered the Mages pointed their staffs at the evil domes sending a bolt of sizzling white light into them. When the light hit the black bubble burst scattering the sorcerers within upon the snow. In seconds furious wolves pounced on the unprotected sorcerers tearing them limb from limb. The Mages then went back to collecting more of the White Magic from the air around them.

Two of the black domes were destroyed and two were left. The Elves and Tundras upon the field could see the remaining black sorcerers turn their staffs in the direction of the Elven Mages. With no thought of their own safety they raced to attack the domes and come between the two forces in order to protect the Mages. As the General joined in on the attack he could not have been more proud of those he rode with. When the beams of black fire were let loose from the domes many Elves and wolves were killed. Their sacrifice gave the Mages the time they needed to do their job.

With the force at the bottom of the bowl destroyed the General and his Captains formed up the soldiers for a charge up the far slope. The Tundras were already arrayed in a line at the base of the slope, their maws were open wide revealing bloody fangs as they gave fierce guttural growls. As the Elves moved into position the General took a look at the top edge of the bowl and was dismayed by what he saw. All around the edge of the depression barbarian warriors were digging themselves up from out of the snow. They must have been buried so deep the Tundras were not able to detect their scent. Some wore armor, some were in furs and some were bare skinned as they came up out of the snow. All carried a weapon of some sort. He even noticed women and children armed with farm tools rising up along with the warriors. Quietly, with barely a sound, well over a thousand barbarians dug themselves free to stand along the edge. They sparkled from a powdered white coating of freezing frost covering their bodies. The men, women and children did not seem to notice as their vacant eyes looked down into the bowl.

On the western edge of the depression five sorcerers with dozens of Grim Wolves around them walked up to the edge and looked down. More barbarian warriors were behind them but the General could not make out their numbers. The Tundra Wolves moved to line up opposite the black wolves above. The General and his soldiers watched as a the tallest of the sorcerers in the middle of the five raised his crooked staff high in the air. When he brought it down the edge collapsed all around the bowl as barbarians in an eerie, soundless rush descended on the Elves below with weapons raised. The only noise of their charge came from the growls and barks of the black wolves as they joined in. The Elves and Tundras grimly formed up ranks and awaited the onslaught rushing towards them.

With Shadowback at his side Katyr looked to the north and saw the clash of the darkness and his brethren. They were close enough that Halamar and Orist with the few of Shadowback's pack could also see the deadly battle taking place on the northern plain. Any who had the White Magic within could see it was not going well for the Elves and the Tundras far away.

Katyr could see the Wild Wolf Magic of the fifty Tundras ahead of them racing for the north in an effort to aid of the embattled Elves and wolves. With ever more unease and ever more sorrow he could see they would not be in time as golden light after golden light lost its beautiful glow out upon the plain. There were no words that the young Elves could say as they slowly continued forward on tired horses with the four wolves doggedly following their trail.

All could see the White Magic burning stronger in Katyr and Shadowback than it ever had before. Wisps of it rushed into the two filling them both with a burning resolve. Neither the young Elf nor the wolf knew how to use the magic that was building inside them. But the two were determined to figure it out. They just needed to catch up to the evil Black Magic on the plain so they could unleash the deadly power of the White upon it.

General Darkath was one of the last to sit his horse along with the High Mage as wave after wave of the ghost warriors attacked them. He had never fought anything like these men before. They moved with an uneasy grace and charged at them with vacant eyes hazed over with a white film. He watched as the bewitched warriors, women and children continued to attack even with hands and arms chopped off. It did not take long for the Elves and Tundras to realize the only way to stop them was by removing or crushing their heads, or dismembering them completely. It was the most grisly battle the General had ever been involved in. The snow at the bottom of the bowl became soaked in a lake of blood.

The Valen Guard fought with a skill and precision they had garnered from thousands of turns of training and battle. The heavily armored Elves moved throughout the field lashing out death with quick flicks of their swords, splashing blood and removing heads with every strike. The Boulder Edge soldiers accounted well for themselves also, staying in small groups and striking down all that came near them. But slowly the force grew smaller and smaller as the Guard and soldiers alike were each surrounded. They succumbed to the seemingly endless number of enemy warriors coming down the slopes at them.

The Tundras made a charge up the far slope of the bowl to meet the advance of the Grim Wolves as they came running down from the edge. Halfway up the two enemies clashed and grappled together to come rolling back down the slope like furry snowballs. Amid furious growls and screams echoing throughout the depression and clouds of snow flying in the air the wolves fought in pairs with each trying to rip the throat out of the other. With their fangs covered in the black blood of the Grim Wolves the Tundras proved to be the victors after just a few brief minutes of intense fighting. Only a handful of the black wolves were left alive to run back up the hill with their tails between their legs. The Tundras, many of them sorely wounded, turned to fight with the beleaguered Elves who had become surrounded by the barbarian warriors.

"Belador, take down that evil bastard at the top!" the General shouted. It was a thought that had come to him as he realized someone had to be controlling these warriors. A tall Black Sorcerer stood alone on the edge of the depression looked to be in charge as he watched the battle below.

"I will try, Darkath," the mage said as he looked up. "Please, watch my back!" The High Mage was weary to his bones from drawing in the White Magic. He and the Battle Mage had been sending constant streams of sizzling white light into the attacking barbarians. The Battle Mage had finally burnt himself out of the ability to collect the White. He now stood with a handful of the Boulder Edge soldiers swinging a sword from a fallen warrior.

The High Mage stopped his horse and sat still in the saddle with his staff raised high. He closed his eyes and began to softly chant words in ancient Elven. Thick wisps of the White Magic came rushing to the end of his staff building the largest ball of white light yet. The black sorcerer at the top seemed to be leaning forward as if trying to see what the Elven Mage was conjuring. He held his bent staff in front of him and directed it towards the Elf below.

The General looked once more at the tall Black Sorcerer above. He thought he had seen the worst of evil monsters walking as men here on the bottom of the bowl, but now he knew he was wrong. This sorcerer was totally consumed by the Black Magic. It surrounded him like an aura of boiling darkness. The thing who used to be a man looked down on them with blazing green eyes strong in the witch fire. The General finally felt fear in his heart as he fought on. He hoped and prayed the High Mage could burn this thing out of existence.

The High Mage Belador let loose his blazing ball of White Magic in the strongest sizzling stream of white light yet. He slumped from his horse once the magic was spent and landed on the bloody snow below. The white beam of light crackled and hummed as it made its way up the slope quicker than an arrow shot. It burned through dozens of barbarian warriors striking them dead in seconds. The Black Sorcerer raised a crooked black staff in front of him and held it towards the beam. The white light struck him square on only to be deflected by an invisible bubble of magic and dissipate into crackling curls of smoke and ash all around him. The Black Sorcerer seemed to be laughing as he held his fist high in the air. He then brought up his staff once more and drove it into the snow he stood upon. All around the sides of the bowl the enemy warriors gained a renewed frenzy and moved on the Elves and wolves that were left at the bottom.

The General slashed at hands and arms holding weapons all around him. A huge barbarian rose up with a great-sword and knocked the legs out from under his valiant steed spilling the General on the ground. He got up and continued fighting with his Elves as these mindless warriors moved in and surrounded them one by one. Soon the General was standing by himself fighting barbarians all around him. He made a mighty stand bringing down many until he received a mind numbing blow to the back of his helm. Before he fell he gave one last thought of sorrow for the Elves and Tundras who died here today and how he failed them, and then his world went dark.

The Dark Lord stood along the edge looking at the last remnants of the fighting below. He had lost many slaves this day against a force so small, so strong in the Good Magick. These Elven warriors were skilled and strong fighters and he was lucky there had not been more of them.

The large wolves also fought with an intensity he admired. It angered him that he could not bring them under his control. They were every bit as deadly as a Dread Cat and much braver than the black wolves he could compel. He looked out on the plain at the large pack of wolves heading their way. It would be time to leave soon, he did not think the enslaved warriors he had left could withstand another fight against so many.

He looked about the bowl and searched with his mind for his remaining forces. His four Dread Lords stood stone still around the edge, weakened from the effort of controlling so many barbarians in such an intense battle. Four of of his Dark Stars had fallen when the Elven Wizards brought down their Black Magick shields with their powerful white fire. His remaining sorcerers around the edge and throughout the bowl were also very weak as they compelled the slaves in the fight. The power of the Good Magick in the Wizards and the strength it gave the Elven soldiers was a terrible thing to behold. Never had he and his acolytes been so tested in any fight in the barbarian lands.

A handful of the Elves survived the fight and the Dark Lord commanded they be bound and brought to the sleighs. He hungered for the life force within them. The altar table was set up at the entrance to the lands of the Fell Ice with a handful of slaves and black wolves protecting it. He and his Dread Lords were most eager to get one of these Elves on their table.

Quickly they loaded up their sleighs and recalled the slaves who still stood in one piece. The others with lost limbs and horrific wounds were sent to confront the large pack of wolves running towards them on the plain. The slaves still living when they met the pack, and that would not be many the Dark Lord thought, would slow down the charge at least for a few moments.