Casius was at a loss for words. So many had died needlessly. Though they were the enemy he could not but help but feel a pang of sadness looking down at their faces, frozen in grimaces of fear and pain.
The army gained the Keep without incidence. The Morne rear guard had retreated to the tunnel at the sight of the approaching warriors. From within the darkness could be heard the sounds of the Morne preparing for an attack.
“We must press through and run down any who escape.” Burcott ordered. “We cannot allow word of our coming to reach Sur’kar’s ears.”
The Ahmed drew their swords and formed tight ranks. The men in front bearing shields while those behind carried spears. At a command from the Sahri the Ahmed surged forward into the dark their shields filling with the shafts from Morne bows.
The Battle was short lived; the Morne stood no chance against the Ahmed. The nomads rushed out of the tunnel and parted allowing the mounted Taur Di passage. Once through the great stags fanned out and rode down out of the hills searching for stragglers.
The riders bearing south came upon two Morne fleeing the tunnel. Within moments any chance of word reaching Sur’kar’s ears died upon the forest warriors spears.
Once free of the tunnel Burcott looked down upon the fire-scarred earth. “How does one kill a demon?” He asked Casius, fearing that Sur’kar may send the brute their way.
“Aethir may be the only way.” Casius guessed. “But I would not wish to relive the experience.” He said touching his scarred face. “I do not know if I could survive another such encounter.”
Burcott chewed his lip in thought. “Fair enough, should one come upon us we will retreat.”
“Even Marcos feared the beast.” Casius added.
“As would anyone of sound mind.” Burcott sighed. “What I would give for a tankard of ale right now.”
Casius laughed, “A keg is more to my liking.”
“Ha!” Burcott exclaimed slapping his thigh in mirth. “Should we survive this day I will buy the first!”
The trail before them was easy to follow. The light snow upon the ground was trampled by thousands of feet and left a broad swath down out of the foothills and onto the plain.
“Look!” Burcott shouted pointing to the east.
Casius looked and could see where a large force had moved down the low hill. “Did the Morne split their forces?” He wondered aloud.
“The spoor leads towards us,” Burcott answered. “A large force joined Gaelan’s men and journeyed to the south.”
“Where do they go?” Casius asked not knowing the land through which they traveled very well.
“Delin’ tor.” Burcott answered. “The only defensible ground within a hundred miles of here.”
“How far?” Jehnom asked.
“Twenty miles,” Burcott replied. “Perhaps a shade more.”
“A long way to go with an army at your back.” Jehnom added.
“Aye,” Burcott agreed. “It is a desperate measure.”
“A last stand?” Casius asked.
“If you fail with your sword it will be.” Burcott said voicing Casius’s fears. “For good or ill it will all rest upon you.”
Casius gripped Aethir’s pommel until his knuckles turned white. He knew if he failed then Gaelan and his men would be but the first to die. “All I have to do face is and immortal God.” Casius muttered.
“Tis no God we face Casius.” Burcott said angrily. “It’s a black hearted Devil.”
“You speak more truly than you will ever know.” Casius responded remembering the horrid trek through Tarok nor.
Burcott looked to the sky noting the position of the sun. “If we push hard it will be well after nightfall before we reach Delin’ tor.”
After a mile they came upon the first signs of combat. Morne and Keshian warriors laying about a field of churned up earth.
Burcott shook his head. “They are throwing their lives away to buy Gaelan time.”
They passed through the bodies and after another mile came upon the site of a second battle. And after that they found a third, fourth, and fifth field littered with fallen Keshian warriors and Morne corpses.
After several hours they began to come upon bodies of men who had died on the retreat. Wounded and exhausted they had pressed themselves beyond what their bodies could take. At first it was one or two every couple of miles, then it quickly became six or seven for every mile.
The men rode in silence, anger grew upon their faces and fire burned in their veins. They would avenge these fallen heroes, and the Morne would soon learn the true meaning of fear.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mile after torturous mile the men pressed on. Their pace was grueling and their steps faltering with weariness. Gaelan was now afoot leading his horse, upon its back sat two warriors whom had nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Their respite would be brief, for there were many men in need of rest.
Gaelan’s heart was troubled deeply; he had watched men drop dead too many times in the past few hours. But he knew if they were to stop Sur’kar’s forces would slay them all. It was better to keep moving and lose a few than to slow their pace and lose all. Even though he knew this was the best choice given their options it did little to ease the grief he felt as he passed the fallen warriors.
The sun was now directly overhead and its cheery light offering little warmth. The plain stretched for miles ahead of them. The land gently rising and falling in snow dusted slopes of brown grass. On their right rose the rugged foothills of the mountains, Gaelan had considered moving his forces up into those rock strewn slopes but he knew any stand there would be swiftly overrun by the sheer numbers of Morne. Their best chance of lasting even a day lay in Delin’ Tor.
Gaelan looked over his shoulder. On the distant horizon he could make out the dark smudge of Sur’kar’s forces giving pursuit. He knew before that horde raced Connell he only prayed that the brave Keshian warriors would not have died in vain. Even with the horse lords engaging them the Morne were slowly gaining ground.
A row of tree crowned hills appeared on the horizon before them. Gaelan ordered a short rest and water was passed around. They had traveled nearly twenty miles and their destination lay only a few miles before them. The men could see the Morne clearly now, Sur’kar’s army was less than six miles behind and closing fast.
After only a few minutes Gaelan got his forces moving again. They pressed hard and the weary men redoubled their efforts.
The gentle rise of the land grew steeper, slowing their advance. They passed from the open plain into a more rugged terrain dotted with small groves of leafless oak and birch trees.
More men fell during the final leg of their flight. Their hearts bursting from exertion, they simply fell forward onto the frigid ground and lay still.
At last Delin’ Tor came into view, like the prow of a giant ship the low plateau emerged from the foot of a tall mountain. Known as Graymane, the weathered peak rose high above its neighbors. Crowned in a mantle of snow and ice the peak shone as a beacon in the daylight.
The sides of the plateau rose sheer, thirty feet at it’s lowest, stretching for a mile it formed a broad wedge upon which grew a thick forest of hoary old oaks who jealously held onto the thin soil with thick gnarled roots.
A thin crack marred the northern rock face, within the fault a steep stair had been carved long ago by a forgotten tribe of men. The steps were badly eroded and crumbling, in many places ice still clung to the fractured rock. Making the stair a dangerous place for the unwary to tread.
The men filed up two at a time, it took an hour to get the marchers onto the plateau. But the horses could not be forced to attempt the stair. The animals went wild with fear if they were brought close to the rock face, bucking and biting as if they had suddenly gone mad. Even the best-trained mounts turned savage when brought forward.
The remaining Keshian warriors rode up the hillside. Their numbers greatly depleted. Out of six thousand fewer than two survived to reach
the plateau. Even their mounts went wild until they were led away.
“What has gotten into them?” D’Yana asked nearly unseated by her horse’s sudden bout of madness.
“Tis the curse of Delin’ Tor.” Gaelan answered relieved to see his two friends yet among the living. “It is said that no animal can ever set foot upon the plateau. I had hoped this to be only a rumor but it is true I fear.”
“Release the horses.” Connell shouted above the din of neighing mounts. “The Morne are nearly upon us!”
The men cut lose the saddles and the horses fled the hills in a panicked rush.
The remaining men rushed up the stair as a deep drum began to toll from the lower slopes.
They formed a ragged line along the plateaus rim and watched as the Morne emerged from the trees and darkened the hillside.
As the sun sank in the west Graymane’s long shadow fell over them. Many of the men looked up, taking what they believed to be their last look upon the sun. For each man feared they would not last out the night against such odds.
The hoary old trees grew a short distance back from the precipice, twenty some odd feet of open ground littered with broken boulders and thick brush formed the rampart upon which they stood.
D’Yana had moved to within a few feet of the wood. She stood staring into its darkening depths. The sense of being watched sending goose bumps along her arms.
“Reminds me of the Nallen forest in Lakarra.” Connell said causing her to jump slightly.
“Yes it does,” She answered. “Only here the oppression feels heavier, as if we are not welcomed.”
Connell stepped forward and rested his hand upon the rough bark of the nearest tree. “These trees are old.” He said. “Look about and you will see no new growth, not even brambles grow beneath these boughs. This forest accepts nothing new into it.” Connell paused, lost in his own thoughts for a moment. “Marcos would know more.”
“It is hard to believe that so many of our friends are dead.” D’Yana said missing her companions greatly.
Connell stepped back from the wood and embraced her lightly, sharing her grief.
D’Yana looked over his shoulder and along the line of weary men manning the precipice. “They died fighting for what they loved.” She said breaking the embrace. “Now it is our turn.” She loosened her twin swords in their sheaths, her eyes growing cold with repressed fury.
Connell held her gaze for a long moment; he wanted to lie, to tell her that all would be well. But he knew that would only be a false hope and D’Yana was far too intelligent to see it as anything else.
D’Yana met his troubled gaze and smiled, a soft sad smile that failed to reach her eyes. “Perhaps there is hope yet?” She said. “After all you did slay the Balhain.”
“I am but one sword among thousands D’Yana.” Connell replied. “A Balhain is not Sur’kar, or his fiendish Ma’ul.”
On the hillside below the plateaus edge horns blew and the persistent drumming grew louder.
“It is time,” D’Yana said drawing her swords and taking her place among the men with Connell at her side.
Above them the sky grew black in a fiery display of red and orange. The first stars began to shine and the night grew colder as a breeze wafted down from the snow-clad sides of the mountain.
Gaelan walked among the men with King Pelatus at his side. He could see the defeat in their eyes, the smell of fear becoming almost palatable.
He moved along offering words of encouragement until he came to a large boulder, a flat-topped stone standing tall above all the others. He climbed atop the rock, nimbly scaling the stone as if all his weariness had vanished.
“Here me!” He shouted above the din the enemy was making in their final approach. “Long ago, the people of this land fought the Morne.
“They too were outnumbered and the great keep of Timosh was yet to be raised. King Kalland retreated with the remains of his army to this very spot. His men were weary and filled with despair but they held. Facing twice their number they fought for days, decimating the Morne.
“And when all seemed lost they rallied and charged down the rock face and whelmed their foe. In the battle the Morne’s false prophet was cast down by Kalland and the enemy fled.” Gaelan paused looking into his men’s eyes, searching for the spark of defiance. “We are yet free,” He said. “Our blades are sharp and our courage is whole. Let them come and taste eastern steel.” He lifted his sword high and jumped down from his perch.
The men roared in approval striking their blades against shields, raising such a clamor that the Morne’s approach stalled for a moment.
Arrayed across the hillside stood the host of Tarok-nor. A dark shadow that writhed as the Morne marched forward. Behind them came the Ma’ul, its great back wreathed with living fire. It towered over the Morne setting trees ablaze with its passage. The first hint of its fear casting began to darken the defenders hearts. The men braced themselves knowing it would only grow as the demon drew nearer.
In the clear ground before the Ma’ul stood Sur’kar, unconcerned that the abomination towered over him. The intense heat of the beast touched him not. So sure was he of his power he smiled at the foolish men upon the plateau’s edge.
Connell tightened the grip upon his father’s sword. Gone now was the golden radiance that slew the Balhain, the steel yet shone but it lay quiescent in his palm.
Dawn Singer the Balhain had named the blade in his fear. How he wished it were Aethir instead, The blade that would end Sur’kar’s quest for domination and avenge all the fallen men who strove against this evil, but that hope had died in V’rag. Lost when Casius fell before the Ma’ul, buried within the burning rubble of Sur’kar’s tower.
The drums continued to beat and the Morne joined in striking their swords against bucklers of iron.
The Soldiers of Ao’dan joined in striking their swords against shields. Not to be outdone the Knights of Ril’Gambor slapped the sides of their axes with gauntleted hands.
Three horns sounded from below and the Morne charged forward with a blood-curdling cry. Up the shallow slope they raced coming to the escarpment. They began to scramble up the cliff face as rocks by the hundreds rained down upon them.
Bones were shattered and skulls crushed beneath the onslaught and yet they persevered. The men above began levering larger boulders over the edge seeking to drive the enraged Morne back.
The Morne countered and arrows struck the men above. Bodies began to fall amid the stones, black shafts protruding from their armor.
The ground shook as boulders struck, the front ranks collapsed and Morne died by the thousands, their bodies crushed.
And still they came, trampling the dead underfoot. Those who did reach the escarpments edge found Axes and Swords awaiting them.
The defenders fought valiantly, hacking away at their foe while arrows whizzed past them. The heavily armored Knights held the stair. Forming a wall of gleaming steel they cut any down who were foolish enough to rush upward.
Connell and D’Yana fought side by side, their blades darkened by the blood of many slain enemies.
Gaelan was everywhere, he rushed about the line offering encouragement and his sword where needed.
Minutes stretched into an hour and yet the Morne persisted. Exhaustion took its toll and men fell, too weak to lift their blades in their own defense.
Throughout the attack Sur’kar smiled. He cared nothing for the thousands of fallen Morne. They were merely tools, fodder for his designs.
“Why does he wait?” D’Yana wondered. “He could slay us easily with his power. Why not simply do so and be done with this slaughter?”
“He cares nothing for the Morne,” Connell answered wiping blood from his forehead. “We fight because it amuses him.”
“Like a cat toying with a field mouse.” D’Yana said.
“Aye.” Connell grunted pushing a large stone over the edge. “This is a mere taste of the evil he would bring upon the world.”
&n
bsp; From the north east a distant rumble filled the air. A thunderous peal that continued to grow in power. The Morne attack stalled as the Morne turned to see from whence the sound came.
“What is it?” D’Yana asked.
“Drums,” Connell answered. “Thousands of them.”
“But whose?” Yoladt asked. “They are unlike any the Morne carry.”
Connell glanced downward and could see that Sur’kar himself had turned. The Ma’ul stood glaring off into the darkness waiting for what ever approached.
Hundreds of Morne rushed northwards, disappearing into the night.
Sur’kar himself is uncertain.” Connell announced. “He sends scouts out to investigate.”
Horns blew and the Morne once more rushed forward. The defenders still held the high ground but a full third of their number were dead. And the Morne ranks had hardly thinned even though two had died for every man lost.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Casius rode between Burcott and Jehnom, the graceful strides of the stag made his horse seem clumsy in comparison. He had heard only a few tales about the men of the forest. But never in his strangest dreams would he have thought to be riding to war with them or the Ahmed for that matter. Casius smiled at the thought, he had seen much in the last few years, things he believed to be nothing more than legends.
Cresting another low rise Burcott suddenly ordered the men to come to a halt. The harshness of his command snapped Casius out of his reverie.
“What is amiss?” He asked pulling sharply at his reins.
Burcott pointed to the next rise several miles in the distance. “There is a darkness upon that crest.” He said. Turning in his saddle he motioned for the warriors to retreat a short way down the slope. “It is the rear guard of the horde.”
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