BlackThorn's Doom (26 page)

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 briefest 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.”

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.

The men below the escarpment were spared the brunt of the blast but an intense wall of heat slammed into them.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Ma’ul charged Casius, its hooves tearing deep holes in the earth, each impact shaking the hillside. A searing wave of heat flowed out from it, accompanied by a sense of irrational fear.