by R. G. Long
“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 erupted 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 ag
ree 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. His 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.
Androlion still looked as clean and sharp as he did that night Ealrin first saw him in Breyland. The only exception was that now he wore a breastplate with the white griffin on it and a gray cloak to match it. A sword dangled from the scabbard at his side. Androlion had not joined the fight against this army from River Head. His boots were too pristine. Perhaps he had only just gotten off his horse.
A smug look was on his face. He surveyed the prisoners of war with grim satisfaction. The group marched up to Ealrin and stopped. The leader of the Merc army surveyed the fighters bound and arranged in rows.
"Is this the army that King Thoran was to bring to the south? I would have expected better of him. Not here to lead his own troops. A coward."
What? Ealrin thought. Does Androlion not yet know about the army that marched from Thoran?
The thought was exhilarating. Perhaps the king had been delayed for some reason. Something may have happened to the eastern pass. It could be possible that still ten thousand marched south to face the threat of the Mercs.
That hope gave him a rush, for a moment. Ealrin realized that even if the king's army was intact, it did nothing for his current state of affairs.
"Ah, but here is Holve Bravestead. The general without a home." Androlion bent down to see Holve's face. He took one hand and tried to bring it up to see his eyes. Ealrin could see that Holve was still mostly unconscious. His eyes still lolled and didn't focus on Androlion, though his face was directed straight at the Merc leader.
"Sad," he said. "Couldn't take the fight without fainting." He let go of Holve who crashed back to the ground in a more awkward position than before. Then Ealrin noticed something. For a split second, Holve's eyes regained their focus, searched around for something, and then shut again.
Was he coming to?
This went outside of the notice of Androlion, who stood straight up and looked around at the others, speaking in a mocking tone.
"I suppose there is another of the King's Swords who can speak for what's left of his army?"
Ealrin held his breath. Did Androlion know about Teresa? Surely the daughter of the king would be the one he would seek? Would he torture her for information? Kill her on the spot. He risked a quick glance at her, hoping not to betray that she was anyone other than a typical soldier. Her brow was furrowed and a single tear ran down her face.
She knew what her position would mean for her if she were discovered or betrayed.
No one spoke.
To Ealrin's horror, Xaxes came forward.
"Perhaps you'll be pleased with this one, my lord," he said as the tip of his sword found Teresa's neck. There was a rustle amongst the troops in bondage.
Androlion looked over to his commander and at the daughter of King Thoran.
"Ah. What do we have here?" he said as he bent down level with her. "Teresa, is it? Princess Teresa? You're not dressed like any princess I'd ever seen sitting on a throne."
He stood and delivered a kick into Teresa's side. Ealrin heard her grunt against the blow. Mercs laughed at her pain as she fell to her side.
"After I'd heard so much about you, wild daughter of the king, I would have thought there
'd be more fight in you."
Ealrin could see in Teresa's eyes, both pain and intense soul searing hatred. Her tears mingled with the mud.
Turning to address the rest of the prisoners, Androlion called out with contempt in his voice.
“And do none of you rise to defend your king's own?”
Again, no one spoke.
"Cowards."
“We are no cowards Androlion Fellgate!”
With that Androlion drew his sword and pointed it directly at Tory, who sat bound a few feet from Holve. Tory looked up at Androlion with a sneer.
“Get that thing out of my face,” he said, his voice dripping with revulsion. “I remember you, Androlion. You’re a rejected elder of the south. All you’ve ever done is try to convince men that the other races are lower than us. We don’t believe your bile. You won’t find anyone sympathetic to your views here.”
Ealrin was sure that at any moment Androlion was going to plunge his sword into Tory and end his speech, but he didn’t. Instead, he just glared down at him. From his viewpoint, Androlion's face was hidden from Ealrin, and he could only guess what the leader must be thinking.
He turned around and addressed the prisoners as a group.
“You wear the markings of one of King Thoran’s Swords. I ask this of you. Have you ever witnessed the greed of the dwarves? Or the arrogance of the elves?” He then spoke louder so that all those who sat bound could hear him.
“How many of you have seen the viciousness of the goblins or other monstrosities who roam this land?”
“And we have seen those same evils in man. One especially,” remarked Tory, who spoke as if he didn't care that a sword’s edge was at his neck.
“Yes,” spoke Androlion. “Yes, it would be easy to see what I have done thus far as the acts of a madman bent on killing. What you do not understand is what I have seen. I have seen the future. A new age is coming. And that age is either a hell on earth with none but monsters and demons to roam the lands or one with the human race living at peace, without the other races. And I will gladly sacrifice others in order to save this entire land from flames, and preserve the race of man.”