That night fell was about the only thing that happened according to design.
We waited all through the deepest part of midnight, as clouds flew past the moon, and cleared once more. It was roughly three hours before dawn when there was finally movement, in the field at the edge of Glen. A rider burst from the forest, dressed all in black, mounted upon a black horse, and looking nothing so much as a shadow with will of its own. A large bundle was hurled from the back of the horse to the ground at the edge of the village, and with a cry of "Waela Ogglin," the rider bolted back into the forest.
"Waela Ogglin" is a phrase known to me, for many of the People study the language of our enemy, the drow, that we might better battle them. The words shouted were of the drowish language, and roughly translated to "foolish enemies." Apparently I was not the only one who understood the words, for a signal was given, and several people crept out, towards the bundle, ever wary for a trap. A moment later they yelled back.
"'Tis Gwenect!" A second signal was given, and Ilyriian gestured for our group to ride forward, and join them.
We arrived at the same time that the Banshee did. The woman vaulted off her horse, and knelt at the side of Gwenect, whom, as I recall, was supposed to be a spy among the drow. I dismounted as well, to get a closer look, and was not overly surprised to see that Gwenect was a dark elf. Who else would they have for a spy? But that she'd not betrayed the forces here in twenty years did come as somewhat of a shock to me.
"What happened?" the Banshee asked, trying to help Gwenect into a sitting position. Even in the dim light of the night sky, I could see that the drow had been tortured. Her face was more red than black, covered with old blood, as well as new. She grimaced when she was helped to sit, and I could hear the grinding of bone on bone, and saw that both her legs were bent at terrible angles.
"Sorry, Rain," she muttered. "They suspected a traitor…gave false information to those suspected. I was followed. They tortured me…but they didn't ask anything…only if it was me who'd betrayed them."
"It's all right Gwen," Rain stated. She was trying to sound comforting, but I could the anger in her tone.
"No," Gwenect gasped. "I failed you…and worse…there is still an attack…tonight…but not here. They attack…"
"The Keep," Rain finished, grimly. Gwenect nodded, before falling unconscious.
The Banshee rose to her feet. Giving quick commands, she had one of the clerics attend to the fallen dark elf. She then turned to the rest of us, the assembled forces that had gathered at Glen for the attack were silent as we listened.
"We all expected that a time would come that Gwen would get found out. The dark elves are no fools. And the people we left back at the Keep and the towers are able. They'll hold for as long as they can. But if we're to reach them in time, we have to ride as though the hounds of Cyric were at our heels. Don't think about what might happen…think only on the battle, and what will happen if we should fail…let that guide your weapons and stop the dark elves before they cause more harm than they already have. Now, ride!" she shouted, swinging back up into her horse's saddle.
We moved out. There was no talk, only the sound of hooves beating the ground and the wind whipping past us. My fury was building apace with my fear. I had come here because I wanted to fight; had let Zelairwyn convince me that he'd be safe, yet now it would be he, and the other children and the few soldiers who'd been left behind, that must defend against an enemy they could not be ready for. I prayed to Corellon, and Tempus both, prayed that we would be in time. If Zelairwyn died, it meant that I had failed the Queen, and broken my vows…to the Queen, to Liralyn, and even to Zelairwyn. I could not let that happen. I thanked the gods that Rain had insisted on leaving some troops behind…perhaps, just perhaps, they might be enough to hold the keep in time for arrival. But our arrival would not be for hours, no matter how fast we rode. So I gave Lashrael 2 his head and let him race…for him, the run was a game, a victory in our battle of wills, for me it was a mad dash to save my charge from death.
The sun dawned and with it came the hope that the dark elves would retreat from the sun…but the Banshee was quick to inform us that these drow would not retreat…that time had allowed many of the Vhaeraunian drow to adapt to the light. And though our horses, built for battle and not distances, had begun to falter, we rode harder still, knowing that at this point, time was against us.
We heard explosions even before we caught sight of the keep. We slowed our approach, as the stone fortress came into view, trying to see what the situation was. The main gate was up, with no apparent way into the keep, whose walls were steep, and surrounded by a deep moat. The sounds of battle rang from within the keep, and a moment later, a catapult on the walls, which had been aimed inward, flung its load towards the enter of the keep and there was a flash of fire, and a second thunderous explosion.
" Pray that it is Jeblek on the walls," Ilyriian muttered.
"Hmph," the dwarf, Kedra countered. "Pray it is the dark elves, for they'll cause less damage than that blasted gnome."
"The gates are up," Rain noted, though it was clear for all to see. "They must've come over the walls, or in through the tunnels, somehow."
"And so must we," captain Takklin stated. "The sally port?" He asked. Rain shook her head.
"They'll see it we move that many past the keep…the same if we ride for Steelguard tower. Our best hope is Kelerandri tower, or the Bee caves…providing Kelerandri tower's stairs haven't been collapsed."
"We split our forces, then," Ilyriian said.
"You and twenty men go for the tower," Rain agreed. "Guar, Kedra, Captain Takklin, Daz and I are for the caves. It's the faster entrance."
"If you don't mind dodging giant bees," Dazelin muttered. Rain pretended not to hear him.
"Everyone else stay here, in position. When the gate comes down, you ride and take out every enemy in sight. Captain Ilyriian, you and yours try to make certain the tunnels are cleared. I'll make certain the gate comes down."
"I'm coming with you," I told her. She shook her head.
"You're going with Captain Ilyriian."
"No. Your way in is faster, and my charge is in that keep, where you assured me he'd be safe. I go with you, or I follow you in, your choice," I crossed my arms.
"Fine, but you fall and I'll leave your stubborn elven ass behind, got it?" she stated. I nodded curtly.
"Let's go, and may Tymora's luck be with all of you."
We broke ranks, Captain Ilyriian and his men backtracking for the elven tower, while I followed Rain and her friends south, past the keep. We were quick and quiet as we moved through the village, coming to a pocket of trees. We slipped into the foliage, and Rain lead us to a natural chimney of rock, with a hole nearly six feet wide went down. Rain pulled out a slender rode, and snapped it in half. Plumes of smoke came from it, as she tossed it down the hole. Less than 30 seconds later, she gestured for everyone to enter.
"You'll have to jump…it's a twenty foot fall," she stated. No one hesitated as they jumped…except for the dark elf, Dazelin, who paused long enough to cast a flight spell. I'd not prepared one for the day. I jumped, falling through utter darkness, forcing my self not to cough in the thick smoke. I landed hard on a surface that was not entirely hard…more sponge like…and sticky.
A low buzzing filled the air down here, but it sounded sluggish. Rain's voice lead us through the cavern and the smoke and darkness. Once, I nearly bumped into a giant bumblebee, that was lazily hovering, dazed by the smoke. I brushed my hand against a wall, only to feel the same stickiness on my glove, as was on my boots. Unthinking, I tasted a bit of it from my fingers: raw honey. The smoke started to clear, and I looked about to realize that we were in a beehive…a giant beehive, complete with bees that had stingers the size of a longsword.
Before I had a chance to marvel on that realization, there was the sound of stone grating on stone, and a large section of the wall of the hive opened outward, into a tunnel. So this was what I'd heard when Ilyriian lead us through the tunnels earlier.
We moved forward slowly, listening for any sound out of place. We went through another doorway, and up a few stairs, past a pool of steaming water, and up to yet another doorway. At this one, the Banshee paused, pressing her ear up against the wood. She looked back, and gestured for us to make ready our weapons. I took a deep breath, and focused on the coming fight.
The door opened silently, on well-oiled hinges. Beyond was a storage cavern, filled with barrels of foodstuffs, casks of wine and ale, and other necessities in a keep this large. A set of stairs led up, with a spill of light illuminating them. And a dozen dark elves were down in the room having come, apparently, from another tunnel off to the right. They were conversing in their cursed language…plotting.
Our attack was swift, but not quite as quiet as it should have been, for they turned and were at the ready by the time we reached them. I held my rage in check for the moment, knowing that down here I would need my wits about me a while longer. Though they had the advantage of numbers, we cut through them quickly. I used the Fury of Battle for the first time, in a true battle, and was momentarily startled to see a gout of flame erupt along its length, as I swung it towards my enemy.
He cut me once with his dark long sword, and I could feel the burn of some potion on it…poison, no doubt. I willed myself not to be affected by it, even as the edge of rage was creeping up on me against my bidding. It was as though the Fury of Battle was urging me on, trying to make me abandon my calm. I held out against it though, knowing that it was not yet time to rage, but allowing just enough to seep through that I could ignore the poison.
I swung my sword, even as the dark elf threw his two blades up to block the attack. I felt a surge of energy in my muscles, and the force of my attack cut not only the drow but his two weapons as well, in half. Out of my periphery, I saw the skill of those I battled alongside. Kedra hurled her massive hammer with deadly accuracy connecting with first one, then a second, and a third dark elf, smashing through their slight forms like a battering ram. Now activated, I could feel the tingle of magic radiating out from the dwarf and her hammer, without even having to lay hands upon it.
A flare of magic, and another dark elf went down, felled by one of his own kind…Dazelin, grinning maniacally all the while as he prepared another spell. Captain Takklin hammered away at another, while the half-orc, Guar, swung a huge, heavy mace in an arc, smashing in the heads of two more.
But it was the Banshee whose swordplay dazzled. Like her namesake, she let out a piercing wail that had the dark elves gripping their ears in pain, my own ringing loudly, but with the rage almost on me, I hardly felt any pain. Her cutlass echoed the scream as it cut through the air. She brought up a long sword, gleaming with magical fire, and the cutlass, moving the weapons almost too fast to see. She spun once, a blur of motion, and when the spin ended, her blades dripped blood on the ground, and her four opponents toppled like grass to the scythe, killed with precise wounds to vitals areas.
All twelve were downed in mere seconds, and with our presence most probably revealed, we charged up the stairs, to continue the fight.
The courtyard of Banshee keep was a disaster. Craters and scorch marks pitted the stones and buildings. One of the gatehouses was on fire, and the doors to the barracks were ajar. More than two score drow still stood, with another score dead about the courtyard. Elven and human soldiers lay dead amongst the intruders. A quick count revealed that most of the forces that had been left behind at the keep and Kelerandri tower were now among the deceased. But the battle was still being fought, had not yet been lost.
At the great hall stood a final line of defenders. To the front were four soldiers and the night captain of the dwarves…all looking very worse for the wear. A few villagers had also taken up weapons and fought alongside the soldiers, but could hardly hold their own for long. From the windows of the great hall more villagers and servants of the keep hurled weapons, and shot crossbows at the dark elves…a particularly fat woman hurling pots and pans with deadly accuracy was cursing at the invaders, "Get out of my home!"
On the walls, the small form of a gnome was preparing another catapult to be fired, while the old human, Gull, fended off two drow who seemed intent on stopping the gnome.
Near Rain's tower, the giant Mr.Chitters battled a trio of dark elves and though bleeding freely, still fought fiercely. Not far from the weasel was another group of defenders. This one caught my attention and held it. The farmer–priest was there, and out of all of them, he was the oldest. He swung his mace, blocking more attacks than he connected with flesh. He was wounded, his brown robes red at one side, and his free hand glowed with divine power, even as his lips moved in time with a prayer.
At his side was the youth, Gully, fought with a longsword. Another half-elf man struck out at his attackers with a pitchfork…a stable hand, judging by the straw on his clothes. A girl, who also bore the stamp of the farmer-priest on her face was also casting, and at the spell's conclusion, vines sprouted from the ground, entangling the legs and feet of the drow attackers…good enough to slow, not stop.
And at the back, fighting one on one with a drow with only a dagger for his defense was Zelairwyn. My charge was bleeding from a head wound, and looking tipsy, but held his own…for the moment. But they were outnumbered. It was time to begin.
With a roar to my gods for favor, I gave into the Fury of Battle's insistence, and unleashed my battle-rage.
It was unlike any previous rage I'd ever experienced. I felt even stronger than usual, my every sense heightened to perfect clarity. Though the red haze filled my thoughts, I found I still focused, could still direct my actions. The fire of the Fury of Battle pulsed red, and I charged forward to attack.
The air was thick was sounds and screams but though I heard them all I paid them no heed. The drow cut me, shot their little bolts at me, tipped with venom, but I felt nothing...nothing but elation and the slight resistance of their flesh and bone as I cut them down. Zelairwyn's attacker went first and I pushed the boy behind me, with a growl of warning. A flash of red in the courtyard caught my attention and I saw the Banshee dashing through battle, laughing and screaming, as she sliced her enemies, moving steadily for the gate.
Another explosion rocked the courtyard as dirt, debris, and drow corpses flew through the air but I paid them no mind as I continued on. They fell to my sword one after the other. All too soon the area around the farmer-priest and the children was cleared of foes yet my blade still thirsted for more. The closet choice was the three…make that two drow left attack the weasel. A breath and I was there…I exhaled and they were dead, the weasel's dagger-like teeth coated with blood as he released the last of the three.
To the gate of the hall with a roar, I went, slipping on the blood that pooled on the stones of the yard. I slipped to one knee, vaguely felt a dark elf short sword penetrate my upper back, saw the tip come out, and through the right side of my tunic. There was a jerk, and the blade was ripped out once more…I felt nothing. A second attack never came, as I turned fractionally to see a massive hammer blast my attackers head into jelly. I rose and cut the corpse in half for good measure and turned back to my original target.
At the gatehouse, the number of attackers had gone down by more than half, with our group cleaving through them...but the defenders had suffered, for the last of the front line was down, and a with a spell, a dark elf wizard blasted the gates open.
I rose my arm once, and an enemy fell, but before I could move again, there came a rising sound to my ears, the roar of men and the clatter of hooves. The cavalry had arrived. I moved out of the way just in time to avoid the charge, as the rest of the border forces speared headed their charge into the center of the drow attackers. The horses pulled to abrupt stop, some of them actually ending up in the hall before their could do so. The few dark elves that stood after the charge fell in an instant to the overwhelming odds.
The last dark elf breathed his last, and a cheer went up, shaking the very stones of the walls. I willed my self to drop the rage…it should have stopped, with no more enemies to attack…but it didn't. The power still coursed through me, the anger, my breath coming hard to me. I looked about, looking for another fight, a way to end what had come on me. I knew that it was the Fury of Battle that was causing this. In the flames limning the blade, there no hint of orange left, no blue, or yellow…the fire was as blood.
I found my fight…the riders. They had taken my quarry from me. They had dared interfere. They were humans. In that moment, under the blade's influence, they became my enemies. So I attacked.
The nearest rider to me leapt off his horse, holding the reins. I doubt he saw it coming. I ran him through, lifted him off the ground, and flung the body off my sword, that I might continue the killing. Within myself, I tried to stop what was happened, but couldn't.
The second rider managed to fling a weapon up to block me, but I cut the weapon in half, and drew back to do the same to him. I heard shouting, as the cheers died.
"Stop him! Get that sword away from him!" the Banshee's voice rose above the rest. It caught my attention…a true challenge. I turned to spot her, finding the red hair near the now-open main gates. Finishing the swing, almost negligently, I swept aside the man I'd meant to kill, knocking him hard against a wall…but not killing him.
A path cleared before me, as the riders moved desperately to get out of my way. I heard another voice from my side, this one older, wheezing slightly.
"Artifact…poses…sion," the half-orc, Guar, gasped out.
A flicker out of the edge of my vision, and I saw a hammer flying towards me. I swung up the Fury to deflect it, and the two weapons struck with an ear-splitting clatter of force that nearly shook the Fury out of my hands. Determinedly, I held on, though I'd almost felt pain at the last. An attacker! was my only coherent thought as I moved on the dwarf, as the hammer flew wobbly back to her gauntleted hands.
"Hold yer ground, elf!" she called at me. I ignored her, stalking closer. She moved to strike again, holding my full attention as she reared back to throw. The tingle of magic hit me, but I shrugged off the effect. A blur of red from my right, and my left, and suddenly my arms were forced apart, held. The Fury fell from my grasp with a clatter as my fingers were pried from the hilt. Even with it gone, the rage was still in me, still demanding that I fight on even though the only ones left to fight were my own allies.
Another wisp of a moment passed and finally, it was gone, the energy falling away from me even as the pain hit me with the force of giant-thrown boulder.
I did not scream though I wanted to. A hiss of air through gritted teeth was all that escaped my lips as I sagged against those who held me.
"Andar!" the Banshee screamed. I tasted blood…a lot of blood. It was in my eyes, slick as oil on my hands…the sounds of the world dimmed and I could only hear blood…my own pulse ebbing and pulsing loud as a dragon's heartbeat inside my head. I guess maybe the dark elf's sword had done more damage than I'd felt.
It was not the farmer-priest, but the half orc who first began chanting. I could see his mouth moving, but the blood kept me from hearing. He looked red, but then, so did the whole world. Who would've thought that there had been such a power in that sword? But then, it is an artifact…and perhaps, before using it, I might have done a bit of research into its nature.
The pain of the wound healing so suddenly was almost worse that the wound itself. Muscle and sinew repaired itself with such unnatural speed and intensity it was as though I could feel each rip in my skin, throughout my body, stitching itself back to how it was meant to be. An eternity passed. The farmer-priest was there, adding his voice. More pain…more healing. The world, which had tilted askew for a moment came back to normal, and my breath came easier, no longer fluid with my blood from my lungs. I lifted my free hand, the Banshee still holding to the other as though I might still attack, and wiped the blood from my eyes. The world gained hues beyond red again, although with the amount of blood that had been spilt and with the night so fully on us, it did not seem like there were many colors beyond red and black left.
My muscles relaxed as the worst of the pain faded. As I was no longer in danger of imminent death, Andar rushed off to tend to others. I surveyed the courtyard as I regained my bearings. The place looked as though a disaster had struck. Small craters pitted the stone, and bodies were strewn everywhere. There was not drow left standing, and of the defenders who'd been outside of the great hall, only a handful yet remained. My thought then turned towards my charge, and with so few standing, even though the people in the hall were beginning to pour out, I found him quickly enough. He still stood, not far from where I'd found him, staring with a look of horror on his young face. I doubted that he'd ever truly seen death before and certainly not on so large a scale. Such a sight is not something he will soon forget, as I have never forgotten the faces of those killed at the first village I raided on.
A voice beside me drew my attention back to my immediate surrounds.
"It was artifact possession," Guar said, repeating his earlier shout. I knew the term. Oft times when an item of true power is created it can overwhelm the will of the mortal who uses it. Some artifacts are so powerful that they can fully control the actions of their wielder, while others can drive one mad...or worse. The Fury of Battle lay on the ground but a few feet from me, dormant once more, and harmless looking…that is if any weapon could ever be harmless. Yet I wanted to pick up again, quickly before anyone else could think to. After all was it not mine, forged of my own blood? My mind knew that this was the blade's was of claiming me for its wielder, wishing to return to my hand, but it did not change the compulsion in my heart.
"I know," I replied after a long moment had passed. Rising to my knees, I reached for the sword. It felt no different than it usually did, nothing had changed on it. But I remember the power I'd felt in it.
"That sword is truly the work of Tempus," Guar said. "But if you would use it, you must learnt to control it, lest it control you."
"Control it," I repeated, dully, still staring at the Fury.
" Aye, as you had to learn to control your rage when first it came upon you." I remembered that training well. The training that warriors on Ruathym are given when it becomes clear they are berserkers. Forcing your will to be able to recognize friend from foe even in the deepest throes of a berserk. It had not been easy. It had required a great deal of discipline, and it usually required one to force the rage to an end before one attacked an ally. The problem with the Fury of Battle was that I do not think the sword will allow me to stop raging at will. That is a problem, but I realized that it was also a challenge. And after the time and effort I had put into remaking the blade, I had no intention of merely giving up. One way or the other, I decided, I would learn to bend the sword to my will.
"I will learn to control it," I stated quietly, as I snapped the sword back into its storage place in my glove. I looked over at the Banshee. She seemed a bit wary, but not afraid. That was an amazement. A glance at Guar, and then Kedra revealed the same: no fear. Imagine that. They were not afraid of me, even despite what I'd done. And even more, there was a degree of respect in those gazes. I wondered at that moment, how things might have turned out if my own party had not feared me…had respected my skills, rather than being disgusted by my actions. What things might we have accomplished then? That these people worked together so easily and efficiently, and comfortably was enviable. For a moment I imagined that I might someday find the same friendship, but quickly squelched the thought before it could grow further. I have precious few friends, to be certain, of them I can hardly think of any besides Lita, and perhaps Lord Craulnober who have no fear of me. And those two cases, well, neither are the sort to adventure any longer.
No, I am quite alone, which is at is should be for now. I have too much to worry about anyhow, without the bother of friends.
I rose to my feet.
"I am sorry for the death of the rider," I stated to the Banshee. She nodded. Whether my apology meant anything or not, I did not know.
"I must find out how things have fared in the other towers," Rain stated, and with a nod to me, she stalked off.
"See to your squire," Guar added, as he followed. I glanced over my shoulder, to see that Zelairwyn was on his knees, vomiting. It was a common enough reaction to have after such a fight…one that I had experienced myself. I walked over to where he was, ignoring the stares I felt on me. I waited until Zelairwyn was done, and handed him a flask of water.
"All the blood," he whispered, gagging a bit, as he tried not to look down.
"If it is adventure you wish, blood is something you'd best accustom yourself to," I advised him.
"You killed so many…you cut them like they were firewood," he said.
"They were attacking. They were evil. They died for those choices."
"But they were still people."
"They were drow. If their plan had gone as intended, you'd be dead, along with everyone here. Do not feel sorry for them," I told him.
"I thought…I thought adventuring was discovering treasures and fighting evil monsters…this is slaughter," Zelairwyn said.
"Sometimes adventuring is both. Most of all, it is protecting those who cannot protect themselves from a foe would harm them. Sometimes the foe is a monster with a face that might seem fair," I explained. Whether he understood or not, I didn't know. Hells, sometimes even I don't understand things like this…but I do know that it is the way of life.
The rest of the night was spent securing the fortress, and the towers. Apparently, the dark elves had gotten in through Steelguard tower, and used the tunnels to invade. A good many dwarves there had died holding the upper floors, protecting the children there. But they'd been unable to keep the dark elves from the tunnels.
Thanks in part to the ghostly elf, Lyklor, and the elves left in Kelerandri tower, the dark elves had never made it out of the basement there. Once Captain Ilyriian had joined the fray, the battle died swiftly. As far as is known, not a single dark elf escaped from either of the three battlefields. Their dead numbered nearly one hundred…no small number for the settlements of Cormanthor. As for casualties on the side of the defenders, most of the guards left behind were badly wounded, or dead, but few of those who'd arrived late had died.
Once the fortress was secure, the task of cleaning up began. Bodies were removed, priests went about healing, blood was mopped up and washed away. The explosions from above had been caused by the fort's resident gnomish Gondsman, follower of the god of inventions. The damage from his catapults was minor, and repairs were begun shortly after noon the next day.
Zelairwyn and I departed the following morning. I was anxious to get him back to Everall, where'd he'd be out of harm's way once more. Before I left, I was given an amulet to wear, by the Banshee. I was told that should another attack come, and if I wished to aid once more, I need only wear the amulet, and I would be teleported back here if I was needed. I put it on as soon as it was given. After all, it had been the queen's command that I help as best I could against the dark elves. And I had no intentions of defying her…at least not in this.