Jehnom looked to the sky. “We have an hour to sunset.” He said. “Once darkness falls upon the land the Morne will attack.”
The sun crept lower in the sky until it disappeared behind the mountains. As the last of its golden rays faded the faint echoes of drums and horns sounded in the south.
Burcott called the captains together and with his dagger he drew a crude sketch of the plateau in the snow. “Gaelan will ward this point the heaviest. It is the only easy way to gain the upper reaches, a crude stair carved many centuries ago.” He drew a small line intersecting the plateau rim. “The sides are climbable but with defenders above a foes losses would be dire.”
“What of the south?” The Sahri asked. “Could Sur’kar not simply split his forces and come at them from behind?”
“The walls are much more sheer.” Burcott answered. “Besides a dense forest wards the approach. A foul wood of old trees that hampers any attempt at entry.”
Jehnom arched an eyebrow at Burcott’s last statement. “There is such a place in my homeland, dark and foreboding, even the Taur Di dare not venture too far into it.”
“Wood King.” Casius stated. “I encountered one in the Nallen Wood.”
“You have beheld a forest lord?” Jehnom asked shocked by Casius’s casual attitude for such an event.
Casius nodded. “It fought the Ma’ul that attacked us.”
“There are those among my kind who have kept the old ways, only a rare few have ever laid eye’s upon the Forest Lords.” Jehnom said in awe. “For an outsider you have been blessed.”
“If there is a Wood King in that forest, and he is awakened.” Casius said pointing to the map. “You can rest easy, for no servant of Sur’kar could safely pass through it and live.”
“What of our own men?” Burcott asked.
Casius shrugged. “That I do not know.”
Jehnom shook his head. “ I would not tempt fate,” He advised. “The Forest Lords serve their own purposes. We could receive the same welcome as would the Morne should we try.”
In the distance the drums changed tempo and the cry of thousands of Morne could be heard in the night.
The Sahri frowned, his hand upon the pommel of his long knife. “It would appear that combat has begun.”
“Then we must act quickly with little time for planning.” Burcott grumbled looking to his crudely drawn map.
“No amount of planning will grant us victory Lord Fullvie.” The Desert King said with a sad smile. “We have not the strength to do so. There is but one chance, a slim one at that. Casius must slay Sur’kar, once that happens then the Morne will crumble. It is his will alone that holds the tribes together.” The Sahri leaned back. “Besides who can stand and fight after witnessing their Gods demise?”
“There is the Ma’ul to consider.” Jehnom reminded them.
“We need only distract him long enough for me to reach Sur’kar. Once he is slain any hold he had on the creature will be broken.” Casius answered.
“And once that link is severed?” Jehnom continued. “Will the beast go mad and destroy us all?”
Casius rolled the band of braided gold upon his finger. It had served him once of its own violation, he prayed it would do so again. “That is a risk we face.”
“This is all risky business.” Burcott grumbled. “We’ll be lucky if any of us gets out of this alive.”
Jehnom nodded in agreement.
“All men die.” The Sahri, said quietly. “It is a fortunate man indeed who is afforded the choice of how.”
Burcott smiled, it heartened him to see such bravery in one so young. “Then here is what I propose.” He spoke quickly outlining a plan that was rife with risks.
It did not take long for the men to get into formation. Word of the plan had spread and the option to leave was afforded each man. To everyone’s amazement not one warrior chose to leave.
The Ahmed marched directly towards the enemy’s rear, each warrior bearing a small skin drum. They formed a long line several ranks deep. The front row bearing swords while the men behind armed themselves with javelins.
The Mounted warriors rode out to the east and concealed their passage by riding behind a series of low hills. They came to a stop less than a mile from the Morne; hidden behind a low ridge they awaited the signal of the Ahmed.
Casius sat upon his horse to the west of the Morne. He had rode through the rugged foothills with fifty of Burcott’s men. They would serve as his guard once the attack started.
He watched the burning beacon of the Ma’ul in the distance. He knew that somewhere in that darkness stood Sur’kar, and yet he felt no fear. A strange sense of calm had fallen over him, he knew his trial was coming to an end.
He shrugged off his cloak allowing it to fall to the ground. The men at his side grew nervous for a strange fire burned in his eyes. As if glowing coals had replaced his orbs. He slowly slid Aethir from its sheath. The blade all but invisible in the darkness, only the soft glow along its edge shone. The blade felt as if it were made for his hand, the steel was lighter and it pulsed with power.
The Ahmed waited and after an hour had passed they struck their drums. A rolling peal akin to thunder sounded above the noise of combat, a deep rumble that faded not.
Sur’kar’s rear guard shifted and the battle for Delin’ tor paused. Hundreds of Morne broke ranks and cautiously advanced towards the noise.
Burcott took one last look at his men and the warriors of the Taur Di, with a nod of reassurance he donned his great helm. The broad sweep of the raven wings making him appear to be more than human in the gloom. Many a foe had died gazing upon those ebon quills.
Raising his sword he led the mounted warriors forth. They moved as shadows the sound of their charge hidden by the enthusiastic drumming of the Ahmed.
First at a walk and then a trot they closed the distance slowly. The riders’ faces were dour, their eyes burning with vengeance.
When less than half a mile separated them from their foe, they charged. Heavy lances and spears were lowered and the thunder of their passage grew loud and dreadful.
Casius remained in position he could see the Morne rushing the Ahmed and even from where he sat he could hear the first hints of Burcott’s charge.
Then the Morne scouts became aware of their peril. Horns blatted in the dark and they turned retreating towards their host. But it was too late; all the enemy could do was brace for the impact.
The Mounted men crashed into the retreating Morne and through their ragged line. Lances shattered and spears pinned their enemy to the frozen earth. The Morne scouts were trampled underfoot as the Horses and Stags drove over them.
The Ahmed dropped their drums and charged, racing behind the wheeling column of Burcott. They drove into Sur’kar’s rear guard without mercy.
Javelins filled the air dropping Morne by the hundreds. Screams filled the night as the combatants met.
The great Stags of the Taur Di were fearsome in battle. Tossing their heads from side to side, Mauling the enemy with razor sharp antlers.
Swords flashed and arcs of blood rode high into the air. The surprise was gone and the Morne began to rally. Men died, by the hundreds they fell beneath the sword.
Casius waited until confusion reigned. With a nod to his guardians he charged into the fray. The Morne ranks along the west had thinned as they raced to aid their brethren, but a few yet remained.
Casius swung the great sword, its ensorcelled blade cutting through armor and bone as if it were paper. He put aside the screams of the wounded and dying; with every swing another Morne fell. At his side his companions fought bravely and they pushed deeper into the enemy.
A Fell hound appeared out of nowhere and leapt upward, its feral gaze locked upon Casius’s throat. The stallion reared and lashed out with its forelegs. The iron shod hooves smashing the brute’s skull and killing it instantly, dark blood spraying out from its muzzle.
Casius was nearly unseated by the horses maneuver; he gripped
the reins tightly with his left hand while parrying a Morne’s desperate attack with his sword.
Through the chaotic melee Casius charged, until he was suddenly beyond the Morne and in the clearing at the heart of Sur’kar’s forces. At his side only three of his guardians remained the others lay dead among the thousands who had perished.
A blast of fear and heat struck him, his horse screamed and reared so violently that he was thrown to the ground. He landed hard and his vision blurred for a brief moment.
Lying next to him was the body of one of his guards. The mans face was blistered and his eyes were gone, burst from their sockets by the heat that even now set his clothing afire.
Standing over him loomed the Ma’ul, in its grasp hung the flaming body of Casius’s mount. The horse kicked and screamed but died within moments, the smell of burnt flesh heavy upon the air.
The foul creature roared with pleasure, the fires of its mane flaring brightly in the dark. The Ma’ul tossed the lifeless horse aside and looked down at Casius in surprise.
Casius could feel the heat but it did not burn him, his clothing remained intact as well. Upon his finger the ring of Marcos glowed brightly, the argent light forming a shield against the Ma’ul’s power.
Casius slowly stood, the smell of burnt flesh nearly gagging him. Behind him lay Aethir, its tip embedded in the earth. He pulled it free and spun about in time to see the Maul charging him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Morne had gained the stair; by the sheer weight of their numbers alone they were forcing the Knights of Ril’Gambor back.
King Pelatus saw what was happening and rallying his men he rushed to the aid of Prince Jerudan. Their large shields were badly battered but each yet bore a single foot long spike at its center. The purpose of this ornamentation eventually became clear to the Morne, but too late to save them.
The warriors charged their shoulders braced against the shields. They met the enemy with a shuddering crash, the spikes impaling their foe. Wrenching them free they men of Ao’dan set to work, with both shield and sword. They worked as one, a tight unit of interlocking shields that would momentarily open enough to allow their swords through. Slowly the wall advanced forcing the Morne backwards. They pressed on until the last Morne was forced over the precipice.
At their side the Knights advanced their axes severing arms and heads from the enemy with merciless abandon. It was a grisly spectacle to behold, the gleaming plate darkening as they became covered with their enemies’ blood.
Caught before the two groups the remaining Morne atop the plateau were slaughtered. The smell of blood and excrement defiling the cold air until there was no place to escape the stench of death.
The men atop the wall cheered as a mounted force of men numbering in the thousands charged in from the west. The Morne reeled under the force of the attack. Then from the south men in sand colored robes emerged from the darkness, hurling javelins with deadly accuracy.
But the attack faltered, for they were too few to stand overly long against such odds. The Morne rallied and began to drive the warriors back.
The mounted men broke through and swept up along the escarpments base driving back the Morne attackers.
The footmen broke free of the combat and raced southeastward. Black arrows cut many of them down, by the hundreds they fell, the survivors disappeared into the darkness and the Morne cheered loudly at the rout.
A thin ribbon of emerald light raced outward from the heart of the enemy army. Any Morne who stood in its path exploded into a bloody spray of shredded flesh and shattered bone. The Beam flowed relentlessly forward striking the escarpments base.
The ground heaved violently, tossing men from their feet. The whole face of the escarpment collapsed in a thousand pieces, the massive slide burying many of the mounted men below.
Into the cloud of dust and broken stone many of the defenders fell. The precipice continued to collapse until it came to the very edge of the forest. The trees groaned, their roots snapping under the strain. Those along the outer edge fell slowly over the rim.
The death toll among the combatants was staggering, thousands of men and Morne lay buried beneath tons of rock.
Connell rose slowly coughing to clear the dust from his lungs. He had slid down amid the debris as the ground beneath his feet gave way. D’Yana was at his side; she had lost one of her swords in the fall and received a nasty gash to her forehead. Blood flowed freely from the wound mixing with the dust giving her face a nightmarish appearance.
There was no time to talk. Through the thinning haze the Morne were charging their swords held high, eager to bathe in the blood of their enemy.
Through the mounting sounds of combat a single horn blew, two short notes followed by one long. It was the Keshian call for assembly. The scattered men began to rally around the trumpeter forming defensive ranks.
Connell, D’Yana and a score of men were cut off from the gathering host. The Morne were upon them. Connell’s sword was a blazing flash of silver; he fought valiantly cutting through the Morne seeking to join his countrymen.
He led his small force higher into the rubble, the footing was treacherous here but the Morne could not bring their greater numbers to bear.
Foot by bloody foot they fought drawing closer to the embattled knot of men, the last remnants of Timosh’s defenders.
Step by step they advanced, D’Yana was a whirling tempest of steel her sword and dagger dripping with Morne blood.
From the corner of his eye Connell could see King Pelatus standing alone; he was surrounded by several Morne and the bodies of his fallen guard. He fought savagely, his sword and shield keeping the enemy at bay.
Connell was impressed with the older man’s skill but he knew the King had only a few minutes left to live.
Connell altered his course slightly and plowed on ahead with renewed vigor. His arm burned with exertion and he was beginning to breathe heavily. He knew he could not sustain the fight much longer.
His small group broke free of their engagement and cut down the Morne assaulting King Pelatus.
The King smiled and raised his sword in salute. After a few moments respite the two kings led the weary men back down the slope towards the besieged defenders. It sickened Connell to see how few remained, less than three thousand altogether.
From the east came a new sound, the drums had returned. Out of the darkness rushed the men in sand colored robes. A few thousand in number they pushed back the Morne lines and after several minutes of fierce fighting they managed to nearly reach the other group of men.
A battle-hardened knot of Morne stood between the two groups at their heart towered two Trolls, their cudgels keeping all but the bravest men at bay.
Gaelan saw the approaching men and ordered his men to shift and they slowly moved towards the Ahmed. They hewed a path forward and the Trolls fell upon them. Men died by the hundreds but the lumbering beasts were pulled to the ground and slain. The men of Trondhiem resorting to sheer brute force, so many men gave their lives grappling with the Trolls, buying the remaining Knights ample time to hack through the thick hide with their axes.
The Sahri fought bravely, he watched in sadness as his men fell to the blade one by one. He saw a brief flash of silver and felt the burning bite of steel as a dagger slid along his ribs.
He removed the Morne’s arm with a single swing of his sword. Before the Morne was aware of the injury his second swing had opened the creatures belly, spilling his guts upon the ground. The wound burned as if a hot iron was pressed against his side. He bled freely but he knew it was only a shallow cut, not a deep stab that would have killed him. He did his best to ignore the pain and fought on, his face a mask of rage and agony.
On the hill the Ma’ul suddenly burst into action. With a chilling roar the beast charged, not towards the combat but down the slope away from it.
The Sahri could spare only a glimpse in the Ma’ul’s direction. A large figure suddenly appeared before him. For the b
riefest moment he believed he faced a giant of a Morne when he realized it was a dust covered Lord Burcott.
The old warrior tossed aside an attacking Morne and joined the Ahmed King. “Well we’re in a fine mess now.” He said noting the Sahri’s injury.
The Ahmed surged forward their numbers swelling as more survivors from the escarpments collapse joined them. After a hard fought advance they joined with Gaelan’s men.
Burcott could see his King, and he was relieved to find him yet alive. Moving slowly they gave ground retreating up the slope of scree until the newly formed wall of the escarpment was at their backs.
The Morne attack slowed, the footing was loose and the men yet held the high ground. As they advanced rocks would pelt them and the shields of Ao’dan would bar their way. Although the men were weary and battered they fought as if possessed by demons.
Connell Managed to get his small group of men to Gaelan’s side. “We must retreat!” He shouted.
“To Where?” Gaelan responded his eyes burning with fury. “This war is lost! All we can do now is make these bastards pay for our lives.”
The Sahri drew near the men with Burcott at his side. “Do not die foolishly,” He said. “There is hope yet.”
“Our quest failed!” Connell raged in hopelessness. “We cannot face Sur’kar without the sword of Thoron’Gil.”
“Would that be a black blade born by Casius?” Burcott asked with a grin. “For if it is, then the lad stands a chance.”
Connell was dumbfounded. “Casius is alive?”
“Aye,” Burcott answered. “He was a short while ago anyways.”
As those words left the old warriors mouth the entire hilltop upon which Sur’kar stood exploded in a great ball of flame. Fire rushed down the slope, dying out well within the Morne ranks.
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