by RG Long
In her place stood this warrior. A young woman who had seen countless battles and defended her father fervently. Ealrin had watched her fight in the charge of River Head. She was skilled, ruthless, and relentless. Her two swords had flashed before her in a blur as she took to the battlefield on foot rather than on horseback. She was brave beyond comparison. And her soldiers followed her faithfully.
What could have driven a princess to fight instead of keeping court?
These questions and several more tugged at Ealrin's mind as the army marched. Curiosity for how Teresa came to be a member of the swords could not overtake his concern for King Thoran. Where had the other goblin ships sailed? What would the army find in the south?
"Where has your mind traveled off to?" Asked Holve as he butted Ealrin with the blunt end of his spear.
Though Holve had expressed some of the same concerns as Ealrin, his priority at the time was to continue marching the army south. Ealrin could tell that his companion and general were drained by being surrounded with so many people. He spoke in shorter phrases than normal and only dealt with people if it was necessary. He always had time for Ealrin, however, and he was glad for it. Even if it meant getting hit in the back with the shaft of the spear.
"Currently I'm plotting how to break your weapon in half," Ealrin replied as he rubbed the spot Holve had hit.
"And," he ventured, "I am concerned about the king. Suppose there is something going on that he missed or overlooked?"
"Then I suppose this scout will tell us what it is," replied Holve as he looked ahead of him, squinting into the morning sun.
Ealrin looked in the same direction Holve was, and indeed there rode a man on horseback with the unmistakable colors of Thoran on his chest.
From this distance, Ealrin could see him waving his arm madly and driving his horse ever faster down the hill he rode on. Holve spurred his own horse ahead to meet him. Ealrin followed him and soon found Teresa at his side as well.
"General Holve! General Holve! Raiders! Not two hours behind me!" The young scout was shouting with all his might as he came within earshot of the trio riding toward him.
“Calm down, Cedric. Calm down.” Holve was telling the man. “Catch your breath.”
Ealrin noticed a twinkle of concern in Holve's eyes. Were the Raiders really that close?
“Sir.” Cedric said as he regained his breath and could speak without gasping for air. “The Raiders are two hours behind me. The other scouts...” He shook his head and looked down.
“They enabled me to escape. We must make ready. They’ll be upon us soon.”
Holve took a deep breath and looked to Teresa.
“Any word or sight of the king?” she asked Cedric.
“None Milady,” he said, knowing that it meant ill. “But, it did not seem that the Raiders had recently seen battle. It may be that the armies did not meet.”
“I don’t see how that could be possible Cedric,” Holve said. “There’s only one road down to the south and we’re on it.” He looked back to Cedric and away from Teresa. How the king’s army had faired would be something to be discovered later. This threat was now what needed to be dealt with.
Ealrin interjected to break the moment’s silence.
“How many Mercs approach?”
“Thousands,” Cedric answered. “Seven or eight thousand it seemed.”
“Not enough to break the army of the king,” Holve said, seemingly to relieve Teresa. Ealrin could see that her normal hard face was softening for her father. How terrible it must be not to know.
He had some knowledge of what that was like.
“Hurry,” Holve said to them. “We have preparations to make. We’ll see to the king after we’ve death with this army.”
“We’re outnumbered, Holve,” Ealrin said plainly. “Two to one.”
Holve looked Ealrin in the eye.
He had that same grin that he had greeted Ealrin with when he awoke from his injuries in Good Harbor, lying on a bed. It was genuine. It was also comforting to Ealrin, who was beginning to feel his hand tremble. He had fought in small skirmishes. The goblins at River Head were insignificant compared to what approached.
“I told you. Strategy.”
With that, Holve rode his horse back to the main army, with Teresa, Cedric, and Ealrin following behind.
Ealrin prayed that strategy would work as well this time as it had in the past.
***
CEDRIC’S ESTIMATE OF the Merc’s timing and army had been accurate.
From Ealrin’s viewpoint on the eastern cliff, he and a thousand other men, could see the approaching army. It was twice as large as the force they came to meet. The banners that they flew were not those of the Mercs that Ealrin had seen before in Breyland. Instead, these banners were gray with a white circle emblazoned on it. Inside the circle was a griffin with its wings and talons out, ready to strike.
“Androlion’s own banner. That man has some nerve,” said Tory, who stood beside Ealrin. “Does he really think he’ll be a ruler of men?”
Tory spat on the ground.
“I’ve lost one too many to that fiend,” he said through gritted teeth. “This army of his will pay for his crimes!”
Ealrin knew that Tory was still hurt from losing Gray. He could hear the sadness turned to anger. He prayed that Tory’s passion would guide them well as they attempted to defend the mountain pass.
Again the forces were split in order to make the best use of the abilities of the races. The elves were camped on the western cliff of the mountains, opposite Ealrin and the men. They were to rain arrows down upon the raiders.
The dwarves were positioned down in the pass. They were preparing to take the full brunt of the initial charge. Just like dwarves liked to battle: charging in swinging their maces and hammers high.
Holve was betting that the Mercs wouldn’t risk climbing the cliffs to face the two forces above them. And so they would be peppered with arrows until they met the dwarves. Then both elves and men would charge down the mountainside to attack either flank. The cliffs were steep enough to prevent the Mercs from climbing up to meet them, but not so much as to prevent the army of Thoran from effectively racing down them.
Ealrin hoped the strategy would work.
As he watched, the army bearing gray standards approached. Unlike every Army Ealrin had marched with; this one showed no sign of any race other than man. No graceful elves marched with their bows hanging at their sides. No strong dwarves marched at the front of the army, hungry for the first charge of the battle. This was an army of men.
Each man was decorated in the gray and white of Androlion. A griffin was painted on every shield and some men had them emblazoned on their chests. This army was different than the one that was camped outside of Breyland. They were more organized and better armed.
There was something about it that unsettled Ealrin. It wasn't that their numbers were greater than their own. Ealrin had seen how strategy could overcome numbers alone. It was the large number who walked in the middle of the army wearing red hoods and cloaks that covered their armor. From here, Ealrin could see that some of these carried swords or daggers, but all of them had a staff that was affixed with a red stone at the top of it.
"I've never seen that many speakers before," Tory said to Ealrin. "There aren't that many in the entire school of magic at Thoran, and that's including the young ones. Where did they acquire so much Rimstone?"
There was no time to discuss the matter as the army came into the range of Elvin arrows it began to surge forward. A battle cry rose from the opposite cliff and arrows began to rain down upon the army. Gray shields were hoisted up to deflect the missiles that came raining down.
As the foot soldiers in the army advanced the red robed speakers stood firm. As one their staffs began to glow bright red, and stole the light of the twin suns around them. Just as the first soldiers were about to crash into the dwarves below and Tory was shouting to the soldiers to charge, flames erupte
d from the group of speakers and shot to both sides of the mountain pass, covering them in fire.
***
EALRIN COULD BARELY breathe for all the smoke and flame that surrounded him.
His world had become a swirling mass of black smoke, red flame, and the screams of men on fire. He could barely make out the sound of Tory's voice urging them on higher up the mountain and North, away from the flames of the speakers. Though he was trying to obey the orders, Ealrin could no longer tell which way was which as he struggled to see the suns in the black smoke.
Holve could not have foreseen this. As he struggled to breathe and escape the blinding fire and smoke, Ealrin feared for the fate of his friend. Holve had insisted on joining the dwarves in receiving the initial charge.
"I don't lead from the sides my friend. I set the example," Holve had told him as the rest of the army split east and west leaving the dwarves to their task. Ealrin had asked to stay and fight beside Holve, but was instructed otherwise.
"I need you up there with Tory," Holve had told him. "Learn from him, he directs his men well."
Ealrin could indeed still hear Tory over the shouts around him and the battled many, directing men to escape the smoke and flame so as to aid the dwarves below. Ealrin hoped that there were still dwarves to help.
***
ONCE HE WAS FINALLY free from the smoke, Ealrin could see that the dwarves were struggling but still fought. Of the thousand men who would climb the mountain with him, Ealrin could only count three or 400 left standing with him. Many had met their hand in the flames of the speakers and others had suffocated in the thick smoke. When he looked across the pass to the other cliffs where the elves had gathered, Ealrin could tell that they had fared little better. Perhaps a few more had survived on the opposite side, but they were at half of their previous strength.
Though we have a strategy, Ealrin thought, what we need now are numbers.
Tory ran up beside him and looked to the remaining men.
"Men! Men of Thoran! We face an army that invades our proud nation for reasons we don't yet know! Yet I know this: We will not yield! We will not let this army march unhindered! We will stand! We will fight! For Thoran!"
"For Thoran!" came the reply from the men left standing on the hill.
Ealrin took in the absurdity of it all.
King Thoran had said that he kept his army small. These men were not warriors like Tory. They were bakers, craftsmen, traders, potters, fishers, and cloth makers. And yet here they were, prepared to die for the country they loved because it was threatened by outside invaders.
Ealrin rose up his cry with the others.
"For Thoran!"
As their small band raced down the mountain to aid the few dwarf warriors left, Ealrin could come up with one coherent thought as they jumped over rocks and prepared themselves to smash into a wall of shields and raised spear points.
This could have been my home.
33: Surrender and Betrayal
Ealrin fought with all his might.
Of those that charged down the mountain, not fifty remained. He could just make out Teresa in the circle that they had formed in order to protect their backs. To his left was Tory, fighting and willing the men around him to not give in, yelling words of encouragement to them. To his right was a dwarf of the Swords. The charge had not gotten the men to the position of the dwarves, but some of the short warriors had fought their way through. They now fought among them.
Bodies lay all around: both those of Thoran and of the Mercs with the gray and white griffin. Ealrin hacked and swung and parried until his arms ached and his shoulders burned. He knew that to lay down his weapon would spell certain death. Yet, as he fought he saw countless Mercs just watching the battle, ready to take one of their comrades' place should he fall to the army of Thoran.
They were defeated.
A man Ealrin recognized rode up on horseback and held up his hand.
Mercs no longer came to replace their fallen brothers. They simply stood with shields raised and spears pointed, creating a great circle around those who fought under the maroon banner.
Finally, the last Merc who had come out to fight fell at the hands of Teresa. Her double blades had relieved him of his head. She now stood panting and looking around at her comrades and her enemies. For a moment her eyes met Ealrin's.
"I'm sorry we could not get to your father," Ealrin wished to say. He too had desperately wished to return to the king.
It would not be so.
"Warriors of Thoran. You have fought bravely," said General Xaxes. Ealrin recognized him from the inn in Breyland. Though he rode up from behind, Ealrin could see the blood and scars of fresh battle on him.
At least he doesn't lead from behind, thought Ealrin.
"Lay down your arms. Surrender your weapons, and your lives will be spared."
Tory laughed out loud.
"You wish us to believe that you'll spare us? You've invaded our lands, killed our people, and now you are offering mercy? I doubt you'll be true to your word."
A smile crossed Xaxes face.
"Perhaps then you'll agree to different terms?" He gestured to his side and two men came up carrying a third between them.
"Holve," Ealrin breathed.
He was bloody from a wound to his head. His armor was dented and his eyes had rolled to the back of his head. He was completely being supported by the two men. He was unconscious at best.
Xaxes drew his blade and reached it down to Holve's throat. He rested it gently under his chin, bringing Holve's face up to be seen by all around them.
"Lay down your weapons and your commander will live. Lay them down now and I'll spare you the screams of the king's daughter I see fighting among you."
He stared hard at those who stood below him. Ealrin knew that to hope for his life was beyond sanity. They would not truly be spared. Their end would only be delayed. Yet still, to see Holve be finished off because of their defiance was a terrible thought.
In disgust and with a look of pure loathing upon his face, Tory threw down his sword.
Those around him followed suit. The last to lay down their arms was Teresa. Ealrin could tell by the look on her face that she wanted to run headlong into six thousand Mercs and take them all on herself. After a moment, she dropped her swords. Ealrin heard a grunt as her blades plunged downward, ending the life of a Merc who had not yet gone on. Ealrin laid down his own blade, the one Roland had given him and had served him so well, upon the body of a Merc warrior.
Fitting, he thought.
Though next to the Merc he saw the face of a Sword: Brute. Strong, bearlike, and still looking dangerous, even with a spear in his chest.
"Too many have died today," he said out loud as he looked up at Xaxes removing his blade from Holve's throat and signaling the men to take him away.
The Merc army enclosed around them.
They were sat bound hand and foot in rows. The army of Thoran that had marched from River Head, led by the King’s Swords was four thousand strong. Now they numbered no more than a hundred.
Ealrin was bound and positioned next to Teresa. She sat steel faced next to him. He was doing his best to read her thoughts. What might she wondering? How the king faired? Surely her thoughts would be with her father. Had he successfully marched to Loran as they had intended? The city was no more than two days from their current position. And if he had been there, how had these Mercs gotten past the king’s army, so much larger than this force that had been defeated. Had the two been able to combine forces, surely this Merc threat would have been defeated.
But then, would the Mercs march north if they felt their rear was vulnerable to attack? Ealrin’s head began to ache. He decided that strategy was not his forte. He would leave that to Holve.
Holve.
He sat unconscious across from Ealrin, perhaps less than two steps away. His cut had stopped bleeding. Thankfully the Mercs had tied some sort of cloth around his head to staunch the bleeding. Hi
s head drooped down in front of him. Were it not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Ealrin would fear that he couldn’t breathe. For now, though, he was all right.
The dwarves Frerin and Narvi sat on either side of him. Holve had stayed with the dwarves and fought beside them. There were hardly any left. Ealrin couldn’t see Khali, the other dwarven King’s Sword, anywhere. Perhaps the Mercs had been especially ruthless to the other races. Not one elf was to be seen among those left. Lote. Enlon. Minare. Elel.
Had they been cut down in the fighting? Charged like the men had and now lay slain somewhere along the mountain?
Ealrin banished the picture forming in his head of the faces he had known lying slain with glossy eyes unseeing. What was to be his fate, as well as the fate of the others who sat bound around him? They had been promised life, but for how long?
The Mercs around them gathered around campfires and drank. The suns were beginning to disappear behind the mountains, giving the valley an early night sky. Summer was coming, but there was no warmth in Ealrin’s bones.
Only a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.
***
NIGHT HAD FALLEN OVER the valley and the drinking and revelry of the Mercs had only increased as the suns set. Most gave little or no regard to the prisoners of war who were aching from being bound for such a long period and starving for food that wouldn't come to them.
Some gloated and held rations just outside of their bite. Others simply kicked them and called them names not worth repeating when one was sober.
Ealrin was concentrating heavily on Holve. He had yet to come out of his sleep or coma or whatever kept his head sunk over his chest. The only relief Ealrin had was the steady up and down movements of Holve's chest, letting him know his friend was alive.
Then a larger group of Mercs sauntered over to them and Ealrin took his eyes off of Holve. Androlion himself came walking up to the prisoners flanked by his generals carrying torches and swords.