Calarion ran.
He was long past the point of exhaustion, past the point of pain. His legs
and feet, which before - he could not recall when - had made him wish to
fall over and die in peace, now seemed just as painful, but as if it was
some other person's pain, with whom Calarion could sympathize with but not
truly understand the agony of.
They still throbbed somewhat, though.
Again Calarion felt the futility of his run. He'd been going for an hour,
maybe more. Granted, his new armor was not the slightest part encumbering,
but after the nearly-fatal battle with Mortharor, it was not his action of
choice.
He turned his head. Behind him, he could hear the reason he was running.
See it too, occasionally. Flashes of purple and black, sounds of boots
crunching ice and of vague chatter. A dark elven patrol. Tired as he was,
flight was the only option. If he had to fight them, he doubted he could
even raise his sword to prevent them slaughtering him.
He ran on. Feet moved steadily, not at the pace they had been going half an
hour ago, but still moving. The sounds of the patrol drew closer. No
warhounds or cavalry that he could hear. Good. Had they any faster-moving
troops, then he would be doomed.
As it was..
He drove the thought from his mind. Best not to dwell on the fact that he
was, short of a miracle, dead.
But it was stubborn. The thought did not leave. It remained, niggling,
taunting. Unnerving him. Thoughts came to it of failure. His father had
failed, had died for it. He'd failed, and would die for it. Ulthuan would
fall. It was over for the High Elves.
In a rational moment, Calarion would have rejected the idea as fatalistic,
but he was too tired. They took root and grew into despair.
Something caught at his leg. A branch. Thinking his black thoughts, he had
paid no attention to the ground before him. He staggered, tried to keep his
balance. Failed. With a sharp cry, Calarion fell, striking the ground hard.
Snow sprayed, and his face stung from the shock of the fall. Clumsily he
rolled over, and tried to stand. Failed. Too cold, too tired, Calarion
could only lie where he'd fallen. An inglorious end.
The raiders were upon him. Swords flashed as they approached the fallen
Prince, and their intent was clear.
The assault came at midday. Hosts of dark elven warriors, frothing in rage and in anticipation of the final revenge upon their kindred elves, hurled themselves upon the west wall of Lothern. The ground was churned into mud as they pounded towards the graceful marble walls, screaming. Siege ladders were set up, and the wall was scaled. On the top stood seven thousand members of the Lothern Sea Guard, the navy of Ulthuan. Their bowfire ripped into the assaulting druchii, sending many to their deaths and maiming many more. High elven warriors hurled alchemical fire down upon the scalers, killing few but setting many alight, and burning the ladders. Flaming warriors fled hysterically, causing chaos in the dark elven ranks. Still they came on. A mage appeared in the dark elven ranks, and gestured. A section of the wall began to melt, to the distress of those on top it. Some scrambled off the collapsing wall. More fell off, either to land stunned in Lothern's street, or to be hacked to death on the grassy field. A rumble, and the wall collapsed. Dark elven assault forces, wielding both sword and axe with murderous glee, poured into the breach. They were met by a tight wedge of sea guard. Many of the dark elves ran onto spear points, and more were forced on to them by the press from the massed ranks behind them. The sea guard abandoned their spears and drew keen elven blades. The melee was quick and furious, and blood soaked the ground from the dead and wounded. But when it was over the dark elves fell back from the thinned high elven ranks. Dark elves moved aside as a huge form came through their ranks. Forced onward by beastmasters, huge scaled monstrosities undulated across the field, each weaving its multiple heads. Arrows flew at them and impacted off their thick hide. A bolt thrower mounted on the wall joined in, blasting one of the things. Four thick bolts tore through the lead hydra's scales, leaving the maimed beast to thrash in agony until it finally died. But there were still three more of the sea-spawn, and a rider on the rearmost. The two riderless hydras struck the sea guard defenders, tearing and crushing them. A lucky spear blow drove through an eye, and then that hydra had but two heads left with which to kill the attacker. The sea guardsman, spear torn from his hand by the head's death-throws, was seized by the heads at once. He screamed as he was lifted into the air, but the sound soon ceased as the incensed beast tore his body in twain. The last hydra slowed, and the rider rose up. Sounds of fear could be heard on both sides of the battle, for here was Malekith, Witch King to the high elves, the Dreaded One to his own druchii, fell master of Naggaroth. With a gesture he sent lightning thundering into the battle again and again. After the fourth bolt, both hydras were dead, as were all the fifty-odd elves fighting them. The dark elves howled as they poured into the city. The fighting inside the city was deadly. In one street, the impassioned defenders flung back the assault completely. In another, the dark elves slaughtered their foes and began dousing buildings with flames. Fortunate it was indeed for the defenders that Malekith chose not to join in the assault further, and that he had killed the hydras for them. Fighting raged for an hour, and several blocks of buildings were destroyed, but finally the dark elven assault had been driven back. But the news was not all good, as mages brought reports that now fleets of dark elven ships had reached the great gates of Lothern. The great lighthouse had been destroyed, and the Emerald Gate also. Should the Sapphire Gate or the Ruby Gate be breached, then Lothern would indeed fall, for the defenders could not fight an enemy that entered into the large lagoon that was the heart of the city. More of the sea guard fought valiantly there, and the gates held - for now. But the outlook for Lothern was not rosy, especially as scouts reported the approach of another dark elven army from the east. It would reach them on the morrow. And the Witch-King smiled.
There was a sound. Calarion didn't really care. He was, after all, going to be dead in a few seconds. The sound was that of hooves. A force of ten riders burst down upon the dark elven band. Lowered lances punched through dark elven skin. The downed Calarion watched in shock as the dark elves were quickly defeated by the riders. None of the riders fell. Then they turned and came to him. His mind finally cleared somewhat. Now he could focus, he recognized the horsemen. They were, of course, his bodyguard. Tarran Angedhel, and another elven knight he did not recall the name of, helped Calarion to his feet. "How did you know to rescue me?" Tarran said, "Lean on me," and the two hobbled over to the horses. As they went, the elf explained. "The rest of your army caught up to us, Arhaindir Moonhand and the rest. They had one of the Loremasters with them, Herulach. Calarion nodded. He knew the Loremaster Tarran spoke of. "He told us that we'd find you here, and told us of the danger you were in. we came with all haste." "Good timing," Calarion said weakly. They mounted, Calarion doubling on the horse of one of the knights, who kept him upright as they trotted along. Calarion told them of the grueling time: how he had learnt of Tarthalion's foul end, retrieved the armor, and fought with Mortharor. "Our spies tell us that Mortharor's left the palace. He and his dark elves have gone to attack Lothern." "Then our course is clear. We ride for Lothern as soon as the troops are assembled."
The assault came at midday. Hosts of dark elven warriors, frothing in rage and in anticipation of the final revenge upon their kindred elves, hurled themselves upon the west wall of Lothern. The ground was churned into mud as they pounded towards the graceful marble walls, screaming. Siege ladders were set up, and the wall was scaled. On the top stood seven thousand members of the Lothern Sea Guard, the navy of Ulthuan. Their bowfire ripped into the assaulting druchii, sending many to their deaths and maiming many more. High elven warriors hurled alchemical fire down upon the scalers, killing few but setting many alight, and burning the ladders. Flaming warriors fled hysterically, causing chaos in the dark elven ranks. Still they came on. A mage appeared in the dark elven ranks, and gestured. A section of the wall began to melt, to the distress of those on top it. Some scrambled off the collapsing wall. More fell off, either to land stunned in Lothern's street, or to be hacked to death on the grassy field. A rumble, and the wall collapsed. Dark elven assault forces, wielding both sword and axe with murderous glee, poured into the breach. They were met by a tight wedge of sea guard. Many of the dark elves ran onto spear points, and more were forced on to them by the press from the massed ranks behind them. The sea guard abandoned their spears and drew keen elven blades. The melee was quick and furious, and blood soaked the ground from the dead and wounded. But when it was over the dark elves fell back from the thinned high elven ranks. Dark elves moved aside as a huge form came through their ranks. Forced onward by beastmasters, huge scaled monstrosities undulated across the field, each weaving its multiple heads. Arrows flew at them and impacted off their thick hide. A bolt thrower mounted on the wall joined in, blasting one of the things. Four thick bolts tore through the lead hydra's scales, leaving the maimed beast to thrash in agony until it finally died. But there were still three more of the sea-spawn, and a rider on the rearmost. The two riderless hydras struck the sea guard defenders, tearing and crushing them. A lucky spear blow drove through an eye, and then that hydra had but two heads left with which to kill the attacker. The sea guardsman, spear torn from his hand by the head's death-throws, was seized by the heads at once. He screamed as he was lifted into the air, but the sound soon ceased as the incensed beast tore his body in twain. The last hydra slowed, and the rider rose up. Sounds of fear could be heard on both sides of the battle, for here was Malekith, Witch King to the high elves, the Dreaded One to his own druchii, fell master of Naggaroth. With a gesture he sent lightning thundering into the battle again and again. After the fourth bolt, both hydras were dead, as were all the fifty-odd elves fighting them. The dark elves howled as they poured into the city. The fighting inside the city was deadly. In one street, the impassioned defenders flung back the assault completely. In another, the dark elves slaughtered their foes and began dousing buildings with flames. Fortunate it was indeed for the defenders that Malekith chose not to join in the assault further, and that he had killed the hydras for them. Fighting raged for an hour, and several blocks of buildings were destroyed, but finally the dark elven assault had been driven back. But the news was not all good, as mages brought reports that now fleets of dark elven ships had reached the great gates of Lothern. The great lighthouse had been destroyed, and the Emerald Gate also. Should the Sapphire Gate or the Ruby Gate be breached, then Lothern would indeed fall, for the defenders could not fight an enemy that entered into the large lagoon that was the heart of the city. More of the sea guard fought valiantly there, and the gates held - for now. But the outlook for Lothern was not rosy, especially as scouts reported the approach of another dark elven army from the east. It would reach them on the morrow. And the Witch-King smiled.
There was a sound. Calarion didn't really care. He was, after all, going to be dead in a few seconds. The sound was that of hooves. A force of ten riders burst down upon the dark elven band. Lowered lances punched through dark elven skin. The downed Calarion watched in shock as the dark elves were quickly defeated by the riders. None of the riders fell. Then they turned and came to him. His mind finally cleared somewhat. Now he could focus, he recognized the horsemen. They were, of course, his bodyguard. Tarran Angedhel, and another elven knight he did not recall the name of, helped Calarion to his feet. "How did you know to rescue me?" Tarran said, "Lean on me," and the two hobbled over to the horses. As they went, the elf explained. "The rest of your army caught up to us, Arhaindir Moonhand and the rest. They had one of the Loremasters with them, Herulach. Calarion nodded. He knew the Loremaster Tarran spoke of. "He told us that we'd find you here, and told us of the danger you were in. we came with all haste." "Good timing," Calarion said weakly. They mounted, Calarion doubling on the horse of one of the knights, who kept him upright as they trotted along. Calarion told them of the grueling time: how he had learnt of Tarthalion's foul end, retrieved the armor, and fought with Mortharor. "Our spies tell us that Mortharor's left the palace. He and his dark elves have gone to attack Lothern." "Then our course is clear. We ride for Lothern as soon as the troops are assembled."