by R J Hanson
Sir Brutis, Lady Angelese, the other knights and paladins, and their squires moved off in a quick trot to either side of the canyon’s gently sloping entrance. They encountered Daeriv’s armies of ogres and men on both sides of the canyon less than one hundred yards past the mouth. The knights lowered their lances and began their charge.
Hooves pounded the fresh snow and large clods of ground were kicked up by horses. Hearts pounded as well. Sweat from the palms of many was soaked into leather gloves and gauntlets. Fingers tightened on weapons and shields and those that were mounted dropped their reins to their saddles. The well-trained war horses knew their business and would not need guidance from their riders. Men, women, and creatures felt the tingle of the clash to come. Some rejoiced in those moments before combat while others stoically accepted the smell and feel of death in the air.
On Roland’s signal the four men in the canyon kicked their horses into a full gallop. Roland drew Swift Blood from its scabbard. Eldryn took his bow from his back and readied an arrow. Tindrakin held his polearm forward like a lance. Sir Fynyll hoisted his shield and drew his broad sword from his side.
“Archers just ahead,” Sir Fynyll said. “Tylroc has seen them.”
As predicted by Sir Fynyll, three archers appeared on the ledge of the canyon on their left and two more emerged from the snow-covered underbrush on their right. The four riders distanced themselves from one another in their pace to avoid giving the archers a large clump of targets at which to loose. Arrows began to rip through the air all around the four riders. Eldryn wrapped his reins around his saddle horn and drew back the string on his bow. He released the arrow and one of the archers fell from the cliff on their left.
One of the archers on the cliff spotted the hawk circling above the riders in the sky. He released his arrow and its barbed tip pierced the hawk in flight. Tylroc folded a wing and then dropped from the sky. Sir Fynyll jerked hard on his reins, pulling his horse to a violent halt.
“What are you doing?” Roland yelled.
“My hawk is wounded!” Sir Fynyll shouted.
“We have a battle to fight!” Roland yelled.
Sir Fynyll no longer heard Roland’s words. He dismounted and took the hawk into his arms and attempted to bandage the mortally wounded bird.
Roland, Eldryn and Tindrakin pressed on. Arrows continued to fall among them but were turned away by armor or shield. They pushed their horses on as their mounts opened up their stride covering the remaining distance in a rush of flowing muscle and steel. Eldryn, guiding his horse with his knees, continued to loose arrows into the thickening crowds of enemy soldiers they raced past.
The remaining three finally reached Prince Ralston. They noticed that as they approached the Prince, the arrows stopped. Roland reasoned that Daeriv didn’t want a stray arrow or bolt to strike his prize. They all saw that the Prince was unconscious, but breathing.
Roland and Tindrakin leapt from their horses and ran to the table. Eldryn circled them releasing arrows at the men that began to repel down the cliff. Roland saw that Prince Ralston was chained to the table with manacles of lexxmar laced forged steel. He had assumed lexxmar must be involved because of the failed attempts to transport or communicate with the Prince by magical means.
Roland scabbarded Swift Blood and drew one of his newly acquired axes. He struck the lexxmar chain but only chipped the blade of his axe. Then Roland saw something encouraging.
Eldryn looked around them. More men were coming down the cliff face. Eldryn had taken four men and one ogre already, but that would mean no more than a bucket of water to the sea. He could see some of their forces distracted from the ledge turning to face some threat behind them. He had hoped Sir Brutis and his men would have been able to make it that far, but believed Daeriv’s forces would be too thick for that.
He released two more arrows and then the first enemies reached the ground. Eldryn slung his bow and pulled his lance from his saddle.
“Tin,” Roland yelled, “these chains are high steel and lexxmar, but they are bolted to the stone with iron bolts. Use your pole arm and pry the bolts!”
Roland jumped up to the stone table’s surface and straddled the first bolt that was securing Prince Ralston’s left leg. He wrapped the chain around his forearm and pulled as he pried at the bolt with his axe blade. Roland groaned and pulled with his powerful legs and arm. The bolt snapped free and Roland staggered back. He quickly moved to the second bolt that secured the Prince’s left arm. Tindrakin was working feverishly on the bolt at Prince Ralston’s right leg with his polearm, an improvised lever.
“Roland,” Eldryn shouted. “They will be on us soon!”
The second bolt sheared off at the stone’s surface under the strain of Roland’s pull. Tindrakin finally worked his bolt free of the table.
“Mages!” Eldryn yelled.
Roland looked up in time to see a familiar sight and hear a word that caused him dread, dactlartha. A ball of swirling green and black fire rocketed toward him. He had time enough to realize how much it was probably going to hurt before the magical attack struck his right shoulder. Fire singed his beard and burned the collar of his shirt beneath his armor. Frost pierced the muscles in his shoulder and arm both numbing, and stiffening them. His axe was knocked from his hand.
Tindrakin turned to look at up the cliff in time to receive the full force of the second wizard's attack. The red and purple magical bolt slammed into Tindrakin’s chest. Tindrakin was knocked to the ground and remained there, unmoving. His iron armor had partially melted and partially frozen to the point of cracking.
Roland looked back toward the mouth of the canyon to see that Sir Brutis, Lady Angelese, and the other knights were afoot now and being hard pressed to hold the path clear. They had lost a lot of ground in a very short time.
“El, you have to get Tin out of here! Charge the entrance and make a hole for me! I’ll be right behind you!”
Eldryn wasted no time questioning Roland. He wheeled Lance Chaser and galloped to Tindrakin’s side, stabbing his lance into the ground. He dismounted and threw Tindrakin over Lance Chaser’s neck. Eldryn mounted behind him and pulled his lance free from the ground.
Eldryn then turned and drew his shrou-sheld from its sheath with his left hand dropping his reins to Lance Chaser’s neck. He loosed a lightning bolt from his magical blade. The bone jarring crack of lightning drew the attention of all nearby. It ripped across the air and struck one of the mages on the cliff. The mage, who had already begun another spell, was blown far back and out of sight.
Eldryn didn’t wait to see the effects of his attack. He spurred Lance Chaser and charged, full tilt, for the mouth of the box canyon. He saw Sir Fynyll still kneeling on the ground next to the fallen bird. Eldryn was tempted to ride right over him on his way out.
Sir Fynyll heard the heavy sound of Lance Chaser’s hooves and looked up to see Eldryn riding toward him. That brought him back to himself. He looked around and caught up his horse. He was just reaching the saddle as Eldryn rode past him. Sir Fynyll turned his mount and fled for the mouth of the canyon.
Roland had one more bolt to go. He wrapped the chain around his left arm and began to pull. He flexed his legs, his back, and his arm. His muscles corded like steel cables beneath his skin. Roland felt the blood forcing the veins in his neck and forehead to pulse. He heard the rush of a thousand waterfalls in his head. The bolt snapped suddenly which sent Roland staggering to the edge of the table. In the distance he heard that horrible word again, dactlartha. A gust of wind or some other force brushed him and he fell from the table top. The sudden fall probably saved his life.
Eldryn saw an ogre, one of the largest ogres he had ever seen or even heard of, step into the small path that Sir Brutis was attempting to maintain. This ogre was the head of a new force attempting to plug the gap and push the knights into the canyon. Eldryn lowered his lance and spurred Lance Chaser on. The ogre saw Eldryn coming and issued a grunt of a challenge. The large beast heaved his mig
hty club, which was the size of a tree, high into the air.
Sir Fynyll reached the canyon mouth and sought out Sir Brutis. He found him steeped in combat. Sir Fynyll raced to his side, perhaps as much for protection as to help, with his weapons at the ready. He engaged the next evil man that approached.
As Roland fell from the table, pain fired through his right shoulder again as another of the cold-fire bolts struck him. Roland hit the ground with a thump and he felt the air forced from his lungs. He was really beginning to hate that particular spell.
He got to his feet as quickly as he could manage. Three men had reached him. Roland pulled a dagger from the brace of ten that he wore. He hurled it from his hip, a trick that Ashcliff had shown him, with deadly accuracy for he had spent a lot of time practicing with his left hand. The first soldier fell dead with the dagger buried to its hilt in his right eye. Now Roland drew out Swift Blood and wielded it in his left hand while his right arm hung useless at his side. Roland held the point of the Shrou-Hayn low as the remaining two foes approached him.
Lance Chaser neared the large ogre and then he burst ahead with magical power. The dwarven crafted horseshoes glowed a bright blue as Eldryn charged the ogre. The huge monster had not anticipated such an increase in speed. He had timed the swing of his club but had begun that swing far too slowly. Far too late. Eldryn’s lance stabbed into the large ogre’s pelvis. The big beast roared as both Eldryn’s lance and the creature’s hip snapped. Blood began to course from the ogre’s side in tidal proportions. Eldryn continued past the dying monster. Eldryn tossed his shrou-sheld from his left to his right, took up his reins, and turned Lance Chaser on a sharp arc.
Sir Brutis, Lady Angelese and the other knights and paladins began to see their folly. They could out match most of Daeriv’s forces in single combat but they were being over-run in waves of suicidal attackers. Despite gouts of flame provided by the wizard Isaak, they were grossly outnumbered and being pushed back rapidly. Each knight that killed an enemy found that his foe was replaced by three more. This army of Daeriv’s was not his usual collection of scum and common creatures either. This army was organized and disciplined, more disciplined and coordinated that any Sir Brutis had ever seen. This army was pushing them back with an oncoming wall of blood.
Roland watched the two men approach. He held Swift Blood’s point low. As the first man attempted an overhead chop, Roland called upon the speed of his sword. He turned his arm to point his elbow up so that he would be pulling the sword up instead of pushing it. Swift Blood sliced up between the soldier’s legs. The edge of his blade sheered through armor, muscle, and bone. Roland continued the swing which brought his blade up and across to block the side cut of the second soldier.
Eldryn charged into Daeriv’s army again. He cut down two more foes on his second pass through the gap maintained by the knights and their squires. Eldryn came out the other side of the gap and whirled Lance Chaser again. The gap was now no more than five feet wide, and narrowing with each wave of enemy troops. They were not going to win. They were not even going to be able to escape. This would be it. The battle that Eldryn had wondered about since he received the news of his father’s fall in combat. As a young child he had thought his father was too strong and too tough to ever die. Now he knew that all men die, no matter how tough, no matter how smart, no matter how just. All men die.
Roland’s edge slid along the second soldier’s blade as they crossed in the dangerous air between them. Roland stopped the sword in its sideward arc and forced Swift Blood’s point toward the soldier’s chest. Roland shoved with all of his strength and thrust the Great sword through the enemy soldier’s breastplate and deep into his chest. Roland saw another magical attack out of the corner of his eye and quick-stepped to the side. The bolt of dark cold-fire slammed into Roland’s lower leg and dissipated against the enchanted leather of his boots.
Eldryn charged through the gap again, this time killing three enemies that were attempting back attacks on the hard-pressed knights. When Eldryn reached the outer side of the gap he reined Lance Chaser on an even sharper turn that plowed the ground around them. When he was around to face the gap again, he found that the gap had vanished. Eldryn set himself and focused his mind. He dismounted and pulled his shield from the saddle. Eldryn could see the streams of flame that continued from the young mage’s hands and marked that as a goal.
“Good luck, friends,” Eldryn said as he slapped Lance Chaser on the rear.
The horse bolted off in the direction of Skult burdened with Tindrakin’s unconscious body. Eldryn march with determined steps toward the pressing enemy. Then he saw something that made his heart fall to the depths beneath all hells. He watched as an iron spear was thrust between combatants and pierced the side of Lady Angelese. He hoisted his shrou-sheld and attempted to loose a bolt of lightning from it toward the enemy soldier attacking Lady Angelese. Nothing happened. The weapon would take time to recharge before it could perform that act again. The spear’s tip found its way under her arm and above her breastplate. The spear sank nearly a full foot into her side.
Roland re-sheathed Swift Blood. He had only a few moments before more enemy soldiers would be on him. Roland caught up Road Pounder and led him to the table. With his left arm he pulled Prince Ralston over his shoulder and managed to get him over Road Pounder’s neck. Roland stepped into the saddle behind the Prince and spurred his horse for the mouth of the canyon.
Two hundred yards from the stone table, half way between the table and the battle at the mouth of the canyon, Roland saw his first Shrou Demon.
The creature rose from a magic portal that opened on the ground and stood tall enough to look Roland in the eye. The demon hefted its black shrou-sheld and set itself to cut at the horse. Its tightly bound muscles tensed. Roland saw only one way out for the Prince.
Eldryn thrust and cut his way to Lady Angelese. Rage, a rage like none Eldryn had ever known, burned in him and fueled his blade. This battle was too close for proper swordsmanship. This was hack and slash. Eldryn made it to her side only to discover, to his absolute amazement, that she did not appear hurt. She had removed the spear and was rising when he reached her. More than that, she was defending the novice wizard!
With no notice a large ball of green and blue flame burst among the enemy soldiers on the north side of the pass. Eldryn guessed that perhaps twenty foes had been killed in that blast, perhaps even more. Without hesitation another blast, this time of black frost, struck the enemy lines to the north at their rear. Another twenty to thirty enemy soldiers were destroyed. The gap was suddenly there again. Could there be hope? Eldryn thought.
Roland reined Road Pounder to an abrupt halt. He dismounted and took a long strip of leather from his saddle bags. Then he walked to stand between his horse and the Shrou Demon.
“You will both die,” the dark red demon said in a dry voice.
“It won’t be easy,” Roland said.
“Yes. Yes it will. I will cripple you quickly. I will dispatch your precious prince, and then I will finish you.”
“You will not engage Prince Ralston at all,” Roland said. “I challenge you to single combat! The only rule is that neither of us leave until the other is dead!”
A deep light glowed in the demon’s pupil-less eyes.
“You would challenge me? You challenge the Great Errochytt? It has been centuries since anyone has been so foolish! I have slain four priests, twelve paladins, forty-eight knights, fifty-three sorcerers, and legions of soldiers! You are a fool! Why should I even bother with the likes of you?”
“You see this sword?” Roland asked, gesturing to Swift Blood strapped across his back.
“Of course.”
“Do you know it?”
The creature could easily see the magnificent hilt of the weapon and could smell the magic upon it.
“It is a fine blade, but I know it not.”
“How can one such as you claim to know anything of sword play and not recognize the famed w
eapon of Lord Ivant?” Roland scolded.
Hate began in the fallen champion’s eyes and visibly burned throughout his skin just under the surface. He seemed to glow with rage.
“You lie!”
Roland tied the wide stripe of leather into a loop and slung his numb and useless right arm to his neck. He certainly didn’t need his unresponsive arm flagging about while he moved. He then drew out Swift Blood. Roland stepped behind Road Pounder and hoisted his blade.
“Go quickly old friend,” Roland said.
He slapped Road Pounder with the flat of his blade across the rear. Road Pounder lurched forward and galloped toward the newly forming gap. He then turned back to the enraged demon.
“I am Roland, son of Lord Velryk, descendant of Lord Ivant!” Roland proclaimed. He had no idea if the demon would know the lie for what it was, but he hoped not. “This is the mighty blade of legend. Add it to your boasts, if you dare.”
“I accept your challenge!” the demon spat through teeth foaming for blood. The calm superiority that the Shrou Demon began with was gone, replaced wholly by maddening, murderous rage.
Eldryn had made his way to the inside of the canyon, fighting to keep the gap open. He took a quick look over his shoulder to see Road Pounder heading for them bearing only Prince Ralston. He looked farther and saw Roland squaring off with the Shrou Demon. Shrou Demon!
“Sir Brutis!” Eldryn yelled. “We must help Roland! He faces the Shrou Demon alone!”
“It will be all that we can do to hold this gap. We must wait for the Prince to be clear of the canyon!”
At the sound of the words ‘Shrou Demon,’ several of the knights took quick looks into the canyon to see Roland standing before the demon with his right arm in a sling and his Shrou-Hayn held low in his left hand. Each man whispered a quick prayer for the man they all knew would soon be dead.
