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Date Posted: 16:37:04 03/27/03 Thu
Author: The Challerain Defense
Subject: The defeat at Challerain
In reply to: No post. 's message, "War of the Everdark" on 12:38:20 03/27/03 Thu

December 26

Leila strode wearily into her room that night, shedding her clothing and armor. A glance at the mirror and she sighed. War was definitely not suiting her, aesthetically speaking. She took up a wet rag once more and scrubbed her face to rid it of dirt. The rest of her body was given a similar treatment before a dull dressing gown was pulled over her head and she crawled into the bed. Her mind swarmed with the images of the day though could not long occupy her, for her eyelids drooped closed and sleep took her. Awake. Why was she awake? Look out! Ducking behind a pile of rubble she hid from the Ghul that stalked along. Run now! And she did, faster than she had ever before. Her feet pounding upon the ground. She could feel the dips and rises in the soil, the rocks below her boots but paid them no heed, only ran faster until she reached a tomb, gasping. Stones around it had collapsed, forming a circle along the outer rims. This would be a safe haven for now. It appeared to have been looted already. Underground she went into the darkness, but still here she could see in the strange indigo hue that she had been seeing in the darkness. The tomb within was busted, rocks crumbling. Defiant horde. Nothing was sacred, but there...inside the tomb! The cover had been pulled away, parts of the skeleton of some great warrior crushed to dust, but at his side lay two queer objects. A blade, almost a short sword in length for her. Why had they not taken it? No matter. She blessed the warrior then with soft words and took the blade, sheathing it at her hip where her sword should have been. And yet... there was a pull. Something else to be found. Where was it? Keep looking...There. Wedged under the blanched spine in a scuffle to gather the other treasures, an arrow remained. Carefully did she pick it up as not to disturb the bones. There was writing, but it was of an ancient language that she knew not. The arrow was tucked away so as not to be lost or broken. Listen! There was a sound from above. Her head snapped up towards the entrance and a shadow there...man sized, and beside him a mount...the shape too vague to tell... Something startled her awake then. Leila stirred, unsettled by the dream. There were footsteps upon the polished stone outside, and voices. She rolled onto her side and propped herself up to listen to what was being said.

Indeed there came the sharp ring of swift steps upon the stone. King Aurion already seemed to be awake when the voice came. "Sire," the warrior held a lantern and his voice was grim, "they stir as if to attack!" Aurion stood, sweeping up his scarlet cloak to throw it about his shoulders, clasping it as he called through the door to Leila's room. "Come, Lady Leila!"

A soft oath was given before the blankets were thrown away from her form and she was out of bed. "I am coming my King," she said as she rushed to get herself dressed. Socks, pants, boots. Shirt, tunic, chain mail. Eiderdown, cloak, and weapons. It took less than two minutes but felt like a lifetime. The door to her chambers burst open. She found Aurion waiting for her. Leila pushed a strand of hair from her face where it had fallen from the braid. Her eyes surprisingly alert to have just woken from sleep. She knew this was it.

After a nod was given to the woman, Aurion turned to follow the warrior with the lantern. Quickly they arrived at the stables to find their steeds were already saddled. Amazingly enough Vidron and Adaron were there as well, yet there was not time to say anything other than, "Good fortune!" before the King had mounted up and hurriedly clattered out and across the courtyard.

Green-gold eyes watched Adaron for only a moment before she swung herself up upon her mare and gave a soft kick to her flanks that sent the mare jolting forward as she pursued the king's stallion.

Down through the charred ruins they rode. To the north gate of the first wall the King and Woman came, riding amid soldiery running toward the bulwark. Where these warriors came from, where quartered, most didn't know, for many of the buildings had burned. Yet here they were, streaming to the defense of the first wall, as Captains among them cried out orders. Yet above the shouts sounded the blare of Rucken horn and the beat of enemy drum: Doom! Doom! The advance had begun. Mounting up to the battlement, the King looked grimly out upon the swarming Horde. Slowly they came, a black tide surging through the pallid Shadowlight and over the land. In the fore the great Troll-drawn siege tower trundled toward the wall, the giant wheels creaking, the Ogrus beneath an ironclad fire shield. To the rear came the Ghuls, riding to and fro behind the files of the swarm. In boiling ranks came the Rucks and Holks, and to an unpracticed eye they looked to be without number, stretching beyond view in a great arc that encircled the entire mount. Yet the King's gaze was drawn directly ahead, where aimed square at the north gate came the clenched iron fist of the great ram, Whelm.

Once Duila stopped to flank the King's stallion, she dismounted and rushed to take her position in between two merlons. Leila drew her bow and an arrow as well, preparing for the horde to burst through the gate. Already the bow touched string and the arrow aimed. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear the blood rushing in her head, but fear was crushed by adrenaline. The gypsy was prepared.

Upon the eastern wall Talar held his bow at the ready, sighting down the length of the arrow. Dark brows were furrowed as he waited to give the command to his now grown squad. No elves were positioned upon the southern wall, for the spawn did not make to attack there as there were not enough siege weapons. They simply guarded escape. Occasionally, lone arrows were loosed from the wall, not by the Elves, gauging the Horde's range. Still he stood, watching the coming swarm.

The Emissary from Eldamar had command of the west wall. Often he would call out a command in Elvish and the common tongue of Pellar, steadying the warriors over the pounding of the Ruchen drum. "Tulunka!" His voice would call out. "Steady!" Bows were drawn taut, gazes intense upon those that drew near.

Vidron strode up along the battlement behind the warriors to the east as well as the Elves, though he did not command that race. The High King also paced up and down the ramparts, saying words of encouragement to the defenders. Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! Now the Horde was too close to the wall for the King's catapults to strike at them. Like maggots, the Swarm seethed and boiled onward, and scaling ladders were borne among them. Forward trunlded the mighty ram, forward craked the great towers. Now the massive Ogrus could be seen in all their awesome power.

All at one in the same time signals were given. "Fire!" Bellowed Vidron.

"Naur!" Called Talarin, Steel-Ring.

"Naur!" too, commanded Adaron.

Aurion had lifted his hand, throwing it forward to point at the Spawn below. And the hissing of arrows were loosed, streaking down upon the enemy.

The arrow was released from Leila's bow, striking into the throat of one of the Rucks. Another arrow drawn, nocked, and fired, this time aiming to pierce the armor of a Ghul and drive the wooden shaft through his heart. The assault continued, arrow after arrow from men and elf alike and as many of the horde that fell, twice as many seemed to swarm forth to take their places.

Rucks threw up shields to ward against deadly shafts. Yet many found their marks, and Rucks fell screaming. But the arrows pierced not the stone hides of the might Ogrus, and the tower and ram came on. Now Rucken horns bleated, and the Horde cried out with an endless wordless yell. They broke for the wall, and their own black-shafted arrows hissed among the defenders: Men and Elves fell, pierced through. At last the howling running Swarm reached the first wall. Scaling ladders were flung up and mounted, while rope-bearing grapples clanked upon the crenels and Rucks swarmed up. Shouting Men and Elves sprang forward to dislodge the ladders and hooks, braving arrows to cast them down.

In the rapid fire of arrows her motions became systematic. Aim and fire. Aim and fire. But her mind was drifting elsewhere. Leila was very disturbed at the loss of life. Watching the men and elves fall from the wall as their armor was pierced by those wicked enemy arrows. Some of the men were barely old enough to fight, and yet they were here, dying. Some of them seemed far too old and yet they had also remained, but more than anything it was the dying elves that pierced her heart so painfully. Some of them in their first thousand years of life, some well over that, and yet it seemed as though their lives were always just beginning only to be cut down by the enemy arrow that pierced their breast. In her mind she saw Talar or Adaron so brave and noble, being felled by the onslaught of arrows. The sting of tears threatened and she shoved the thoughts from her head. Leila could not afford to get emotional now, it could very well be deadly in these circumstances, and yet she longed to look back to find them, or just to hear them, anything to know they were safe.

The great tower still came forward, now almost to the wall, and the ram came to the north gate. Boom! Boom! The iron fist was driven upon the portal, and the iron gates shuddered under its mighty blows. Burning oil was loosed through the machicolations above to splash down upon the Ogrus, but the fire shield fended the flaming liquid, splashing it aside. Calthrops, too, rained through the slots yet Rucks swept the dire spikes aside and Trolls stepped not upon them. Finally the great tower came to the wall, and a ramp thudded down upon the merlons. With hoarse shouts and grating snarls, swart Rucks and Holks rushed upon it toward the battlements, swinging cudgels and scimitars, War-hammers and curved sickles. They were met by shouting Men with long pikes and gleaming swords, pole axes and brutal maces. Elves were there as well, with their curved flashing blades. Some with two. Battle cries and oaths and death screams rent the air. Rucks were slain and Holks, and Kingsmen and Elves, too, hurtling from the ramp and falling down the face of the bulwark. Aurion Redeye had drawn sword, battling, blade wreaking havoc among the enemy, raging fiercely, and no enemy had as yet set foot upon the stone of the wall. Boom! Boom! Whelm rammed upon gate. Yet suddenly, only to the sharpest eye, a flicker of movement could be seen in the Everdark. It was a force of horsemen, twenty strong, riding at a full gallop toward the wall. Hey they had gotten this close without being seen before was not known. Yet here they were and here they charged, and the horses were swift. Those in front raced after one upon a jet-black steed, and they bore clay pots tied with ropes, while in the rear sped others, carrying flaming torches. Toward the tower they streaked, and the Enemy knew not they came until they thundered passed, whirling the vessels overhead. To the tower they clove, and the pots were while in the rear sped others, carrying flaming torches. Toward the tower they streaked, and the Enemy knew not they came until they thundered passed, whirling the vessels overhead. To the tower they clove, and the pots were hurled through the open to smash within the siege frame, and clinging dark liquid splashed upon the timbers and ran down the wooden walls. The riders that raced behind flung their burning brands after, and a great blaze whooshed up within the tower. Wildfire flared. Rucks and Holks screamed in the agony of a fiery death, and some leapt forth flaming and ran amok like living burning shrieking torches.

She paused in her fire to try to examine the riders that had come and delved into the horde. At that moment a arrow hissed by her head, narrowing missing her. She gasped and stepped behind the merlon to let out a deep breath. That was close, however there was no respite, a ladder clapped against the wall right beside her, one of the Ruken horde topping it. Leila shrieked, drawing her sword and running the little demon through before she withdrew her now bloody sword and kicked the ladder back down, sending four more Rucks to their death as they crashed down upon another small swarm trying to erect their own ladder.

The Men on horses wheeled back through the ranks of the enemy, but many fell to the black-shafted Ruck barbs. Yet ten or so broke free and raced toward the darkness, pursued by Ghuls on Helsteeds. More scaling ladders thudded up against the wall. Enemy arches slew Men, and the great ram whelmed: Boom! Boom. The numbers of the Horde were many while those of the defenders were few, and here and there pockets of Rucks and Holks overtopped the wall and fierce battles raged. And driven by mighty Trolls, the great ram battered the gate. Boom! Boom! First one hinge shattered, and then another gave way under the juddering iron fist of Whelm. The outer gates began to buckle and sag and word came to the King from elsewhere that the foe was pouring over the rampart. "Withdraw!" commanded the High King, and the order echoed up and down the line. As Aurion withdrew he caught Leila by the arm just as another arrow hissed overhead, drawing her to him. Down the ramp he led her, where they mounted and rode among the defenders streaming back to the second wall. And the battle plan of Challerain Keep moved toward the next stage. As they went, many looked back to see jeering Rucks and Holks clamber upon the stone bulwark, and the gates at last shattered under the mighty impact of Whelm. And pallid Ghuls upon Helsteeds rode through before the dark tide of the Horde to claim this first battle. And the Sun-Death standard of Drego was raised upon the wall above the sundered north gate.

Standing to look at her reflection, Leila was a little bruised, more than a little dirty, and felt defeated, at least in a sense. The Horde had taken the first wall and although the defensive had slain so many of the swarm's forces, for all the deaths of the defending forces they were still out numbered by so many that it seemed hopeless. But all hope was not lost. She stepped from her chamber where she had dressed down to only her pants and shirt, the tunic still layered over it. Black hair had been unbraided and then rebraided already and her face scrubbed. The bruises on her arms were covered, as on the rest of her body, but there was a gash upon her cheek that did not seem too deep but had bled profusely. "My King..." she said when she saw him walking towards the chambers. "I saw, during the battle, a rider upon a black steed that led an attack against the horde. Perhaps a host of twenty, but only ten escaped if that."

Aurion had just came from the wall. He was on his way to his chambers to perhaps get a bit of sleep before the attack was to come to the second wall. Steel grey eyes regarded the Lady. "A man upon a black steed you say?" A fierce grin upon his face.

"Aye, your Highness. 'Twas a horse darker than the inky night. The color of a silken raven's wing. 'Twas blacker than my own hair!" she said with a soft chuckle.

"Hai! You have named it well, for Jet it was: no horse is blacker." Aurion smoke fist into palm. "Ah me, would that I had seen it myself. It would have done my heart good to have witnessed such the brave dash. But I was at swords, hewing foes upon the tower's ramp. 'Tis Gelan who rides Jet." Pride washed over the Knig features. "Hardly is there a warrior who can fight better." Of course how a father would speak of his son.

She just grinned at the proud father. "Excepting of course yourself, my king, for who else could have taught him?" She glanced down the dark corridor. "Have all else retired, or do they still march upon the ramparts?" she asked curiously, speaking of the other captains. This was the third or fourth day since she had seen Talar, and she worried for her dearest friend. "How many did we lose today, m'lord?"

"Many a good warrior, my Lady." He rested a hand upon her shoulder, and that was all he would tell her. "Even now the Horde lifts Whelm over the first wall for the huge maul is too long to bring it through the twisting passageway of the north gate. As for the towers, they are too massive, even for the Troll Folk. And too, word has come that but one tower remains; all others are in flames as that one that we saw was. They were set upon at one and the same time by Gelan's band; my son divided his horse so." Aurions face turned grave. "They paid a high price to put them to the torch, and even then they were pursued by Ghola. As to their fate, none here knows. Yet Gelan is wily and will best them yet." The High Kings hand gently tightened its grip on her shoulder, reassuringly. "You should rest now, Lady Warrior, for soon they will have Whelm reassembled and the battle for the second wall will commence."

"I cannot sleep yet my lord. My very nerves pop like wildfire along my skin. I wish to go to the second wall and wait for the battle. I do not want to be muddled from un-needed sleep. But I pray you tell me, Lord Adaron, is he...?" she could not bring herself to ask if he were dead. She had only known she had seen many of the Fair Folk fall that day and had felt a loss from each of them, but none so great as if she lost Adaron or Talar. "And Lord Talarin?" Questions, questions.

"Of Lord Talarin I do not know. Yet Lord Adaron did not mention to me any loss of his Captains. As for Lord Adaron, he is well." Replied the King with a small smile, knowing well that the Lady feared greatly for her dear friends.

She let out a rush of air from her lungs and gave a relieved smile. "It gives me great comfort to hear that, my King. I must don my armor once more before I go to the second wall. The time grows short." And with that she turned and entered her room once more, pulling on the corselet over her head. Then once more with the eiderdown, cloak, bow and quiver, sword and daggers. Exiting the room once more. "You should rest my King." A small smile. "If something is amiss, then I will send a messenger if you wish to sleep."

With a shake of his head the King declined. "I shall accompany you, for my nerves are as your own, and sleep would be far from coming." He turned then, with her and walked with her through the corridors to the stables where they saddled up their mounts and rode to the second wall. Upon arriving there was the sound of a distant thwack! of the enemies trebuchet. Twice more it sounded. Aurion dismounted grey Wildwind.

Adaron was there, at the northern wall, striding down the ramp as he heard the sound of the flinging catapult. His gaze shot upward just in time for his arms to lift to cover his head as objects rained down upon them.

She too dismounted from her chestnut mare and then climbed upon the ramparts of the second wall to watch what would come below. The enemies' fires burned in amber sectors, eyes turned up then seeing the incoming shrapnel, her hands moving to cover her head with a soft cry.

Aurion too cover his head in defense as up swept the anguished cries of Men about him. He mentally noted the fair haired Emissary, too, covering his head as he jogged to the King. About the ground around them, upon the ramparts and some below, they could see what it was that had been shot at them; and it was a grisly sight. The Rucken Horde had decapitated the slain bodies of the fallen Men and Elves and dismembered them, and now the catapult flung the mutilated remains to rain down upon the defenders. Thwack! Thwack! Again and again the throwing arm of the great trebuchet swept upward, and weeping warriors stumbled through the char and ash of the burned city to gather up all that was left of their slain comrades, horribly disfigured, lidless eyes staring, lipless mouths grinning in the rictus of death.

Adaron arrived at the two, his arms coming down to rest limply at his sides. His ocean blue gaze swept about over the contorted body parts, his attention lingering up Leila, knowing that the King could hanlde this. He was not sure of her.

Leila just stared in horror at the mangled parts that fell around them. At her feet had rolled a head, the lifeless eyes staring up at her. It was the head of an elf, and while she had not known him it just did not seem...right. It wasn't right, and she was paralyzed. Nothing could have prepared her for this. A hand reached out, trying to grab for the wall to steady herself but only landed upon the bloody stump of an arm that had gotten hung upon the crenel whence it was launched. Panic swept through her as she yanked her hand away, seeing it covered in a comrade's blood. At first she looked as though she might faint, but then from her throat welled a horrifying scream, choked by an onslaught of sobs. She just held her hand away from her, the other coming to cover her face as she sunk to the ground, crouching there, hiding her eyes from what lay 'round her.

Adaron, without a second thought rushed to her side as she crumpled to the ground. His arms swept about her as he held her to him, one hand fixed gently to the back of her head. The side of his fair cheek rested against silk ebon strands at the top of her head. There he knelt with her on one knee. He blinked slowly, blue orbs lifting to rest upon the High King, not in blame, not in askance, just watching.

The High King had grown pale upon seeing the faces of men he knew about him. His eyes closed, his chin dipping. Then slowly the opened once more, and with a grim look of determination, he strode down the rampart and away from the two.

The nearly-hysterical gypsy clung to Adaron, sobbing so violently that she could barely breathe. This was not how things were supposed to be. Nothing she had ever known could be so cruel as this war was already and this only the beginning. But as always, she found safety in his arms and by degrees she calmed, although the crying had not ceased, and she had certainly not relinquished her grip just yet.

Still Adaron held her, letting her cry and cling to him as she wished. He was still, his arm yet wrapped about her back, one hand to the back of her head. About them Men and Elves stalked, weeping, picking up the pieces. All were tormented and grief stricken: the Spawn was doing well to break their spirits.

~*~


"Stand steady; they come." Aurion's voice was grim as the Horde swept through the burned ruins of the lower city and toward the second rampart. And the howl of Ghuls sounded, and then the wordless shout of Rucks and Holks. Again Whelm creaked toward the gate--the north portal of the second wall--and again teh King stood where the ram came, on that wall. Once more the swarm drew within range of arrow, but the defenders withheld their shafts, for they knew that every shot had to count. Slowly the iron ring of encircling foe squeezed shut, and finally the Rucken forces charged, ululating cries bursting forth. From the crenellations arrows were loosed at last, and the black shafts of Rucks answered. Scaling ladders slapped up against the wall, and grapnels bit the stone, and foe mounted up. Men shoved with poles and chopped with axes to send the scalers down, and Rucks fell screaming to the ground.

Leila had since recovered from earlier and was once more upon the walls letting arrows rain down upon the enemy in lightning death, never missing her mark. Most were struck through the neck, or the eye, anything to puncture the most vulnerable tissues. One of the grapnels that landed in the wall caught hold of her billowing cloak, pinning her to the wall. A sword was drawn and while she tried to rip her cloak free one of the Rucken horde mounted the wall only to be cut down, quite literally as her blade severed the head. The grapnel was then yanked from its hold on the stone and she yanked back, loosing any that tried to climb up it. She had won the grapple! To the edge she went then, ducking arrow fire as the hook was swung back and forth until she cast it to the side, hooking it into another ladder and yanking, collapsing it and all the Rucks that it held.

Boom! Boom! Mighty Whelm rammed upon the portal. A whoosh of burning oil gushed out under the gate, but the flaming liquid was shunted aside by a barrier of iron plates set in mud spead by Rucks upon the cobbles before the ram for just this purpose. And the Ogrus drove the great iron fist again and again into the portal. Here and there atop the wall Rucks and Holks swarmed, and sword met scimitar, pike drove past spear, hammers and axes clashed, and the clangor of steel striking steel sounded among War-cries and oaths and grunts and gasps of fierce battle. The sound of Death scraemed forth. Soon the dark Rucken tide swept over this rampart, too, and through the shattered gate, and the defenders withdrew unto the third bulwark.

December 27

Exhausted, many warriors were slumped against the castle wall; weary beyond measure, for none had slept in over a pan of two 'Darkdays. Four times the defenders had battled the Horde, and each time the Enemy had won, for their numbers were too many and the Kingsforce too few. Four gates lay shattered behind them now, four walls had been overtopped. Thousands of Rucks had fallen, yet tens of thousands remained. Each battle had been fierce, the fighting more intense upon succeeding walls, for General Gann's strategy was correct: the higher up the mount they had come, the less perimeter there was to defend, and the more concentrated became the King's forces. Yet whether they could hold out, they knew not, for the Kingsmen now numbered less then three thousand, and they faced a Horde ten times their strength. And now that Swarm stood before the last wall, Whelm's iron first aimed at the west gate, and the defenders inside readied for a final assault.

She stood upon the fifth rampart now. A place that had felt more safe than anywhere else in the last days, but now was just as dangerous as the first rampart that had days ago fallen. An arrow nocked upon her bow and aiming down at the swarm, her hands trembling as she held the bow. Lack of sleep, lack of food, and lack of warmth had taken their toll on all, including the young gypsy warrior.

Again came the blat of horns, and once more the Doom! of drum; now the dark Horde strode forward: the fifth assault began. The wheels of Whelm rumbled on the cobbles as mighty Trolls pressed forth this bane. As before the tactics of the Horde did not vary: slowly they advanced until they came into arrow range, then the Ghuls voiced howling cries, and shouting Rucks and Holks, bearing ladders and grapnels, charged through a hail of arrows, and the ram bore upon the gate.

Her arrow missed its mark, and fortunately for her the Ruck she was exchanging fire with missed his as well, though narrowly, though it grazed the side of her neck, sending a sharp pain straight to her head as blood welled up from the wound that was just deep enough to cause blood and pain, but shallow enough to be ignored, much as the wound on her cheek, though that had been much less painful as it had not been inflicted by a weapon.

Again ladders thudded against stone, and the hooks pit upon merlons and crenels. The air was filled with hissing death as arrow after arrow thocked! into flesh, and Ruck and Man fell dead or sounded. Boom! Boom! Whelm smashed against the west gate, iron fist pounding for entry upon the great iron door. But this time the Men had set an Ogru trap: the cobbles before the gate had been soaked with oil, and it was now set ablaze. Whoosh! Fire erupted upward and black smoke billowed as flames raged up under the fire shield canopy. The Trolls ran forth in roaring pain, slapping at the fire clinging to their scales, Whelm forgotten. And many stepped upon the calthrop spikes and howled in great agony and could but barely limp thereafter. Great boulders were flung down from the gate towers and fell upon the Ogrus, slaying three of the twelve-foot-high monsters and breaking the bones of two others. In fury, the Ghuls rode forth upon their Helsteeds and lashed at the Ogrus, and they drove the creatures back to haul Whelm from the blade. But the fire upon the ram was too fierce, burned with raging flames, and the Trolls could not come near. The ram was abandoned; no more would Whelm's iron fist knock for entry in this strife.

She was growing weaker, even now as she plunged a short dagger into the face of an oncoming Ruck before she pushed him back over the wall. All ached, but they had won the battering ram, but they would never win the keep. For a moment green-gold eyes scanned the horizon, looking for any sign of hope, or help, but there was neither. The ladder kicked free from the wall to send more Rucken horde falling back down to earth.

Atop the walls desperate battled raged. Man, Holk, Ruck, Elf, and Woman: all strove weapon to weapon and hand to hand, fighting to the death, slashing, kicking, stabbing, gouging, hacking, smashing, biting, piercing, hurling one another from battlements. War-cries and screams alike rent the air , as well as unheeded shouts of warning. There, too, was the skirl of steel upon steel, and the crunch of sundered bone, and the chang of iron striking stone, and the chop of blade into meat. Young Brill raged past, swinging side his great sword, cleaning a mighty swath, slaying Rucks by the score, the battle madness upon him. And at last the Horde was hurled back! For the first time their swarming failed to take the walls! With harsh bleats of Rucken horns, the swarm withdrew down and away from the fifth bulwark. And the defenders slumped down upon the castle battlements, exhausted beyond telling with this 'victory.' King Aurion called for a tally, and it showed that few than a thousand Men survived and only twenty Elves, and many of each were wounded.

The petite gypsy was battle weary and sunk to the ground where she had stood. Her knees were pulled up and her arms were wrapped around them. Her hood pulled over her head and the cloak tightly around her. Her forehead rested upon her knees and perhaps she could get just a few moments of sleep. She feared that Talarin was dead when she heard the numbers. They had come with over a hundred in their host, and so few remained. Leila was heartbroken, and as the war pressed on she tried to offer encouragement to those around her, tried so hard to be the hero, the light that they needed. And in her mind she had failed them.

~*~


To the west battlement the War-Council was summoned. And among the Council, too, few survivors remained: Vidron, his left hand injured, Young Brill, nearly untouched in his madness, and Adaron, blood streaked down his right cheek, a small gash above his right brow; Gann, Medwyn, Hagan, and Overn had all fallen. Also, there was a new face at the Council, Talarin was there, the only Captain that Adaron had selected who yet lived. He appeared well enough though the leather armor upon his shoulder held a deep gash, and what wound might be underneath it, was unseen.

Leila too had made her way to the council's meeting. She was a pitiful sight indeed to look upon. Blood stained most of her clothing be it hers, from one of the Rucken horde, or from a comrade near that had splashed blood upon her when they had been struck. There was dirt upon her features in smudges. Upon her left cheek the dark scab of an older wound and upon the right side of her neck, quite visibly blood still oozed at parts, soaking into her shirt. Yet somehow she managed to look as determined as ever as she stood before the men. A soul-deep relief rushing over her when she saw Talarin once more. Injured or not, at least he was alive. And Adaron as well. Heck, she was even glad to see Vidron!

"We cannot withstand the next assault," said Aurion. "They are too many and we too few. I ask for guidance, though our hope is scant."

Vidron spoke what was in his heart: "Sire, we cannot let you fall. Yet I deem there is but one course to prevent such an end: we must burst through Drego's ring of iron and leave the keep behind. Aye, we had hoped to hold this fortress and pin the Horde here until the Host arrives, yet that hope has gone aglimmering, swallowed by the darkness. But though that plan has failed, there is yet a way to slow the enemies march south: we need but adopt the tactics of Prince Gelan: strike hard into a weakness and melt away into shadow ere the enemy can strike back. But first we must break free of this trap ere we can bait the enemy." Vidron fell silent and Aurion looked to his advisors. Adaron and Talarin both nodded their agreement as did Young Brill. He then looked to Leila.

Leila too nodded her agreement, almost wishing she had another plan to offer, but there was nothing.

The King turned back to his General. "Say on, Fieldmarshal." And Vidron started again. "This is what I think we must do: when next the Horde begins to scale the walls, we must burst forth from the west gate, cleaving through their ranks, and hie down the mountain and out into the distant shadow upon the far plains." Vidron looked into each of their faces. "And this shall be the way of it: there are enough horses within these walls to mount the force needed for all of us to win through to the west stables, where the Men on foot can secure steeds of their own. Then with horses for all we will fly into the enemy's own darkness."

"General Vidron," she began. "What of the horses slain in malice?" she asked. Leila's rested her shoulder against the wall, wincing as she did so but not moving once she no longer had to support all of her own weight. Gold-green eyes in their odd shimmer watched each of the men intently.

Brill nodded his agreement with Leila's question. "Nay, Leila," answered Vidron, "the Rutcha will not kill them in malice. 0Zyle pozhirately koneny! They are vile eaters of horseflesh! and would save the steeds for that evil glut." Vidron's eyes flashed in anger, for there is a special bond between the Men of Valon and their steeds, and the thought of Rutcha rending horses brought rage into Vidron's heart.

Adaron spoke: "Whether or no the steeds live or are slain, there is little to choose from in this matter. Either we defend these walls or breath through the ring of Rupt. If the horses at the west stable survive and we reach them, then some of us will live on to fight again. If the steeds are slain or if we do not reach them, then again we will die fighting, but many of the Spaunen will fall, too." Adaron fell silent, his blue eyes turning to the King.

Aurion Redeye searched the features of each one there. "These then are the fates before us: to die upon the walls, to die at empty stables, or to win free upon horses. Of these three, only one lets us continue against Drego, and that is the fate we will seek. Maeg Adoni laenan strengthu to ure earms!" (May Adon lend strength to our arms!) "Vidron, we will try your desperate plan."

"Aye, it's a desperate plan, I know," answered Vidron, "but I see no other way to succeed. Upon the steeds stabled within these walls, those of us mounted must battle to hold back the Foul Folk, the Wrg, until all our comrades are horsed. Then we must fly, down the north slope through the sundered gates and away."

Adaron, having fallen silent, seemed visibly troubled now, his eyes distant as he stared at the stone below him.

Vidron continued. "We choose the north slope because only the broken gates are certain to be open. The others may be closed or guarded. Yet, we must choose a rendezvous. First it will be south to the Battle Downs and then Stonehill, for it in that direction we must bear to gather allies."

King Aurion stroked his chin. "When we break out, it will be the Elves, though few of you there are, who race ahead and secure the stables while we stay the foe long enough for Men on food to come to you." At Adaron’s distant nod, he spoke on. "Lord Adaron, you have spoken sagely but now seem troubled."

"Yes, King Aurion, indeed I am troubled, but for nothing I can see, only for that which I feel." Once again Elf's features were void of expression. To his side, Talarin nodded his agreement, for he too felt strange. Had the other Elves been present, all would have nodded as well. Adaron gazed at each in turn before continuing, his eyes once more set upon the High King. "A dark foreboding casts a deep pall upon my spirit, yet I cannot say what this feeling augers. Only this: Beware, Aurion King, for past yon gate I sense a great Evil lurks, an Evil beyond the Horde at out door, and I deem it bodes ill for you."

"So be it," said Aurion. "Fortune now chooses our fate."

Those far-seeing eyes closed then and a sigh left her lips. She pushed herself from the wall, small hands going to rest upon the well rounded top of her hips. "Fortune or no, we shall not dally any longer and wait for fate to deal its hand. We should move swiftly now to herald to all of our plans and make preparations, for the next attack will not be long in coming." A spark had returned to her that had seemed lost, it was almost a comfort to hear such determination from the war-beaten woman.

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