Besides, Finuvir with his reaver bow had never been bested before in battle and he didn't expect to be now. The Wood Elves had thrown everything they had at him in his last two battles and still, when the day was done, he had flown into the sunset on Gwindar his mighty war eagle. If his kin-cousins could not defeat him he was certain that no short, fat, ugly, dwarf would.
With a tap of Finuvar's heel Gwindar banked left and swooped down, past galloping Dragon Princes, onto the battlefield. Their quarry was the enemy organ gun - a mass of steel death waiting to fire misery into the Elven ranks.
Finuvar was still some distance from the gun when an unexpected bolt pierced the air beneath his mount and all but obliterated the unit of Dragon Princes behind him. Only a single stunned Dragon Prince remained alive, amid the mass of splintered shields, shattered armour, blood and guts.
Finuvar traced the source of the bolt as cheers went up amongst the Dwarven throngs. His eyes ended on a rune emblazoned hideously Dwarfish contraption near the center of the enemy's battle line.
Finuvar would take care to avoid the enemy bolts by using his foe's own units as a shield. Once the organ gun was removed he vowed to take a bloody revenge on the bolt thrower crew.
to be continued...
