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Date Posted: 16:38:57 03/27/03 Thu
Author: The Challerain Defense
Subject: The defense tries to break free of the horde and fallen castle
In reply to: The Challerain Defense 's message, "The defeat at Challerain" on 16:37:04 03/27/03 Thu

December 28

And so it was decided: Vidron's plan would be tired, for to do otherwise led only to death. The word was sent forth, and all the surviving defenders prepared for the escape, quietly withdrawing into the courtyard of the west gate. And as the forces of the King gathered, orders were passed among the ranks as the last-minute planning went on. Word was spread to "'Were the calthrops," and "Watch out for poisoned blades," as was other such advice while they girded for the desperate chance. All the horses in the castles stables had been bridled and saddled--perhaps a hundred steeds, no more, not counting those of the Elves-and warriors stood at their sides, Men of Valon for the most part, said to be the best riders in all the Realms. Other Men were afoot, filling the courtyard, holding their weapons ready for the bold charge. Among them came the Elves, only nineteen strong instead of twenty, one having died from a grievous wound. There were ponies that were stabled, and they would run with the rest, adding to the enemy's confusion. Outside the gate, Whelm still blazed. Downslope the vast Horde ringed the castle. Thus all stood for what seemed like an eternity--the grim faced warriors of the King within, the foul Rucken Horde of Drego without.

Leila sat atop her chestnut mare. Her sword was drawn and lay across her lap awaiting the charge. Chills ran up and down her spine at the near electric feeling in the air. The men had hope of escape. She however knew her fate was not going to be to win freedom in this charge, for she had seen it. Leila was with the elves in their company to lead the charge. Her mare stood beside Atarod. Green-gold eyes glanced to Talarin, offering a slight smile of reassurance, masking her fear and dread, for she had seen shadows in her dream and could only assume that it was a Ghul that would trap her in the tomb.

The white steed did not stand still below his Elven companion. His leg lifted high to paw at the cobbles beneath him, head tossing left and right, eager to be on the way for he had been stabled for far to long in his opinion. Talar returned her smile with a fierce one of his own, that masked nothing.

At last the raucous blare of horns could be heard, as well as the Doom! of drum, and Men upon the battlements signaled that the enemy advance had begun. Warriors manned the west gate, ready to throw wide the portal. Men mounted up into saddles, and spears were couched in stirrup cups, a thicket of lances stirring to and fro. Now the horse colum stood ready with King Aruion and Hrosmarshal Vidron at the point, and Adaron, with red Bale ablaze, just behind, Young Brill at his side. Some might be dismayed to find out at this time, that Adaron was not to lead the Elven charge, but Talarin in his stead. Men upon foot fingered swords and pikes, though a few here and there bore axes and fewer yet held longbows. And all could hear the knell of the great drum as the Horde came forth. Doom! Doom! Doom!

Leila took a deep breath and as the King gave the command the wide gates were thrown open and the charge began. The gypsy was jolted as her horse bolted into a canter once the captains had given command for them to swarm the horde. A soft prayer mumbled to herself as the attack began.

Indeed, the sign had been given as the first swart fingers of the Spawn grasped over the lip of the battlement and iron helmed heads followed. With fierce cries the warriors swept forward, horses charging, spears lowered, ponies dashing after, Men sprinting and yelling, free ponies running madly in the confusion. And as Talar burst through the gate and past flaming Whelm, he looked to see startled Rucken faces snarling, and then he was beyond them, riding side by side with Leila, steeds running full tilt downslope towards the distant stables. The column divided behind them, horses wheeling left and right, Adaron among them, curling back towards the flanks of the Men on foot. Talar charged straight ahead, galloping downhill, for it was their mission to secure the stables until those on foot arrived. Above the pounding sound of running horses, Talarin could hear the cries of the mounted Ghuls, but then his steed came again to a road, and he plunged along it and down the face of a craggy bluff, and all noise was drowned out but for the ring and clatter of hooves upon cobbles.

Once the columns split, Leila and another small group galloped towards some horses in some open pens. She dismounted from Duila and rushed into the stables. She would have to find any horses in the stalls and secure them if they were there. First stall opened, there was nothing, second, nothing. Glancing into the third there was no horse there either.

Loric, having grown to know the Gypsy well in their traveling ran along with her, the young Elf frantic to finds horses that yet remained alive. The five or so out in the paddocks were simply not enough. An arrow was set to string as he crept forward with the elendil. Silence. Blackness. Slowly still he crept down the isle. Blam! Blam! Two thunderous sounds shocked forth from the left. Loric dropped to a knee, his bow drawn to the full, arrow aimed into the darkness where surged a frightened horse. In its fear it had lashed at the wall; now it backed into a corner and stood trembling. The steed's eyes rolled white in terror, and it heaved and snorted as if to blow its nostrils free of a dread odor. Slowly Loric relaxed his aim and wondered at the creatures fear. Then he turned and motioned to Leila, "Hst!" And he whispered, "There," and pointed into another stall. The sight was grisly--mangled remains of horse, scattered in sodden blood-soaked straw, with haunches rent from the carcass and gaping holes torn in the flesh, as if fangs and claws had ripped it asunder.

Leila, for the first time gagged, though nothing came of it. She moved forward then, speaking softly to the horse trying to calm him. Her head was lowered in a posture to show she meant no harm. A hand lifted and grabbed the halter, pulling the horses head down to stop any attempts at rearing. She turned then to Loric. "What am I going to do with him? And what of the others we find here? Do we just drive them towards the stables in the outer walls?" she asked, a hand resting upon the horse's neck as she already began to lead him from the stables away from the grisly sight.

"Let us finish searching the rest of the stable." he offered

She hurried the horse out and locked him into the pen with the other horses there and then jogged back inside. Her eyes adjusting to the darkness in that odd indigo-hue. In one of the stalls she peered into her heart was utterly broken. "Loric..." she called to him. When he approached the motioned into the stall. There was a colt perhaps a couple of months, born at the start of the winter months. Its mother was dead, entrails strewn around the stall.

Loric had just opened his mouth to speak the fate of the foal when there came a harsh laugh and the low sound of grating words from a few stalls down: "Guk klur gog bleagh," came the gutteral voice, speaking in the Sluk tongue, a foul speech common among the maggot-folk. "Yar. Let them stupid grunts crack the High Kings crib whilst we enjoys a bloody meal," came another voice, this one using a distorted form of the Common Tongue that was barely recognizable. Then there was the rendering and smacking of lips. And Loric slid forward to see two Holks hunkered down at the side of a slain horse, great gobbets of torn flesh clutched in their grasping hands, their blood-slathered faces buried in the dangling meat as they bit and chewed and gulped the raw flesh down their gullets, pausing only long enough to lap at the blood dripping from their fingers and running down their arms. Loric took aim, and nodded to Leila. They would dispatch both of them at the same time.

Leila almost gagged again at the sight but kept her composure long enough to aim an arrow at the head of one of the holks. At his sigh their arrows were loosed, sinking with a wet sucking sound into the flesh of the Holks. Leila had never been privy to hearing arrow pierce flesh at such close range in such quiet settings. That did it, she gagged again, but there was nothing to come up. "Let us hurry, Loric..."

As Loric stepped into the dark to make certain that the two were slain, a third Holk leapt from behind a hay bin, where he had been squatting unseen. With a harsh cry he brought an iron cudgel smashing down upon Loric's helm and the young Elf fell.

She was in a state of shock for bare seconds before another arrow was nocked and released, going straight through the throat of the Holk, pinning him to the wooden wall of the stable and then she ran to Loric, kneeling down beside him, rolling him over to face her. "Loric!"

She would turn the crumpled form of the Elf over to find his eyes open, lifeless and staring. The life that was always just beginning had ended. Loric has been slain, killed by Holk cudgel, his skull under the helm crushed. Yet Leila would now be able to hear the steps of running Men enter the stables and the shout of their voices.

She pushed the elf out of her lap bitterly, tears stinging her eyes. When she stood her sword was drawn and she beheaded the holk she'd pinned to the wall just for good measure. Out of the stables she went, but not before she retrieved the colt from his stall, hurrying the spirited animal out towards the rest of the small herd. "This one is too small to ride, but I will not leave him," she informed one of the men that gave her a questioning look. She helped the men finish saddling the horses in the corral before she mounted up again and they moved toward the stables in the outer walls, the young dapple-gray colt keeping close to Duila as the horses raced onward.

"The King is hard-pressed!" A voice cried as the soldier looked to the cobbled road along the face of the bluff. Halfway down, a fierce battle raged between the mounted Kingsmen and Ghuls upon Helsteeds. As eyes sought out for the King, more Ghuls came to the top of the cliff and rode to the fray, while above on the lip, dark Rucken forces hurled rocks down upon the Men, and black-shafted arrows rained downward. Slowly the horsemen backed down, fighting for every inch yielded, and the King upon Wildwind was the last to come. And the melee was furious, for they fought to the death;.

Upon seeing this her mare was turned off from the heard and kicked to race toward those which fought. As she rode, the reins were released to fall upon the horse's neck. They were short enough that she did not fear getting them back. Arrow after arrow was drawn and fired as she rode toward the crowd, clinging to the saddle with her thighs. As her arrows were loosed, the archers that rained down arrows upon the troupe began to fall from the cliffs, some of them falling upon the Ghuls to dismount them from their demon mounts.

She would soon be surrounded by thundering horses and yelling Men as those from the stables at last charged into battle, and horns sounded their presence. Now the Kingsmen upon the narrow cobbled road turned their steeds and sped down towards the oncoming Leila, for all the Men, the five hundred or so that yet survived, now were mounted, and the dash down the mount through the sundered gates could begin. Now the Elves were but twelve strong, and they turned and sped their horses north and down, down through a gauntlet of Rucken archers: and four more of the Fair Folk were felled. Talar was found to be riding alongside Leila once more. And behind came the Men on horses, and in the back of them thundered Ghuls on Helsteeds, overhauling the riders from behind and felling them with spears and tulwards as Men turned to make a stand.

Leila’s horse had been turned once she saw them running towards her. Once more riding beside Talar. She took up the reigns once more as they ran. Beside her once more appeared that dappled colt keeping up with a surprising speed, outrunning horses years older than he. They were almost there, if they could just win free of the last gate...

Veering down through the black spars of the burned ruin they dashed, through the third gate and the second, and ash flew up from the pounding hooves. Now they ran for the first gate, the last before they would be free upon teh foothills and the plains beyond. And then the north gate of the first wall hove into view and men gasped in dismay and hauled their horses short; for there, massed upon Helsteeds, stood row upon row of leering Ghuls. Now the King rode up and checked Wildwind's gallop, bringing the courser to a standstill. Then came Adaron and Vidron, and Young Brill, and three hundred more, all clattered to a stop, the steeds blowing plumes of white breath into the cold air. And behind them the pursuing Ghuls harshly reined up and jeered in victory--for the Men and Elves were trapped.

Her mare too was reigned in, pawing anxiously at the ground. She looked then to the King for direction. No! They were not to be trapped. They had come too far for that.

At the gate, among the stark Ghuls, sat the vacant-eyed emmisary upon a Helsteed. Now he was led forth by a pallid Ghul to face the High King. Once agani the messenger's face writhed, and then Evil stared out upon the assembly.

Suddenly the jeers stopped, and then Adaron gasped. The Elf spurred the grey stud to the fore, and then he raised Bale on high. Ruby fire blasted forth upon the blade, and the Ghuls quailed back from its light. Yet the emissary of Drego snarled a harsh command: "Slath!" and now the lines held firm.

Then the ghastly pit-adder voice hissed forth and carried over the ruins: "You were given a choice, Aurion Redeye, yet you burned my mercy. You have sought to stand against me and wni, but the prize you have earned is death!"

She then commanded Duila closer to the front, her horse flanking Vidron's now. It seemed as though everyone held their breath in anticipation of what would happen. Or perhaps it was just the choking stench of the Helsteeds that did it. Green-gold eyes watched Adaron for a moment before her head turned to look at Vidron, exchanging a silent look.

Young Brill began to shake, and spittle foamed upon his mouth, and his eyes rolled white, then wide, as the battle madness seized him; and with an inarticulate cry of rage he spurred his horse forward, springing down the slope toward Drego’s emissary.

"Gluktu!" cried the ghastly voice, and the Ghul at the messenger's side drove his Helsteed up, and Ghul and Man raced at one another, and the sound of horse hoof and cloven hoof rang out upon the cobble. And Young Brill lashed his great sword out and down with unmatched fury. Sparks flew as blade met helm, and he clove the Ghul from crown to crotch; yet the Ghul had struck, too, and his tulwar chopped through Young Brill’s neck; and they both fell dead to the ground. It was as if a dam had burst, for Men and Ghuls alike vented cries of rage and spurred forward at one another to come together in a might clash of arms.

Being near the front now, Duila reared and charged as Leila chopped at the Ghuls with her sword. Chopping through limbs and extremities, though it seemed as though nothing wounded the Ghuls, so whenever she had the chance she plunged her blade to the hilt into the Helsteeds they were mounted upon. She almost had as much fight in her as young Brill…but without the foaming.

There was a cry and an arrow hissed through the air to strike the messenger of Drego full in the forehead, crashing into the Man's brain and hurling him backward over the saddle and onto the frozen ground. Talarin was the one who had fired that arrow. Ghuls barred the way and fought with the King's forces. Tulwars and sabers skirled upon one another, and meaty chops sounded as blade met flesh. Only Adaron's sword, Bale, seemed to have effect, for wherever it slashed Ghuls fell, spewing black blood. But the swords of Men hacked into the pallid flesh, and great gashes opening; yet they bled not, and the Ghuls fought on unaffected, felling Men.

It was not long until Leila was out of arrows and her sword got lodged in a Ghul that had rode away with it. She tried to break by the grouping, but her way was blocked and he was trapped, weaponless in the melee.

Still the Ghulen force barred the way to the gate...yet wait! It was turning, as if to meet a new foe. It was a new threat! For bursting through the ranks warding the north gate and scattering them asunder came a force of men, thirty strong, shouting and casting oil and torches upon the enemy. Flames sprang up and Ghuls howled, Helsteeds bolted, afire. And leading the Men was a gray-clad warrior upon a jet-black steed: Lord Gelan! "Now!" he cried. "The way is open!" and wheels the black to meet Ghul tulwar with steel sword.

And the horse charged forward out of the gates, the dappled colt close at her mare's side. Leila ducked down, riding low to her horse to avoid any swinging tulwars as she won through the gate. Finally safe...well, safer. She urged her horse onward then to make a break for the foothills among many others. It was complete commotion and she knew not if Talar or Adaron had made it out.

Others behind her poured through the gate and she could only run for a short distance before battle again caught up to her and swirled about her. From soldiers cries of "My King! My King!" could be heard Aurion was besieged on all sides by Ghuls and Helsteeds. Wildwind reared and lashed out, belling challenges. Adaron could be seen calling the grey steed he rode toward the fray, Red Bale felling foe before him as he went. Even if she had tried to ride to Aurion, he was swept away by the combat and she had no weapons. And cursing Men and howling Ghuls drove aside her and her mare to the edge of a ravine. And before she was able to spur away, one of the foul, white, corpse-people slashed at her, missing the lady but copping into Duila's, her mares, neck.

The horse's eyes rolled back as she reared and then fell, sending her rider into the ravine with a shrill shriek. The gypsy struck the bottom of the ravine and all went black, consciousness lost to the young warrior who would be forgotten in the swarm trying to save the king.

Talarin had broken free of the swarm with Vidron. As the steeds raced past the ravine, Atarod's fine white coat smeared red and black with blood from Men and Spawn alike, frantically did his eyes search the ground for his fallen friend. Yet all he saw was the slain chestnut mare, her life-blood oozing from her neck. And then the Ghuls howled and were after them, and he had no time left to him now to mourn his friend, for the ruthless brunt of battle leaves no time to mourn the dead.

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