Chapter IX: Albion falls
The men had camped within the outer walls of Bowerstone. Although they would need rest no one slept for fear of a midnight attack. The defenses stayed on the wall, fearing a likewise invasion of the city. The wall was lit by torches that glared menacingly in the night. Their flickering flames revealed exhausted Bowerstone archers, who fought sleep as if it were a greater enemy than the barbarians below them. The world was silent, but within the confines of every man's mind were the roar of battle. The thoughts of war were not bloodthirsty and horrific, but were near those of peace and serenity. Most of the men wanted to rest, most wanted to go back to their homes, their families. One thought was on both sides' mind, would the reinforcements come? If they came to late Bowerstone would already be destroyed, but if they came soon, Tarus would have a harder time demolishing the city. The tides of this war depended on a dozen or so ships. Only time would tell which direction those tides would turn.
The men sat gloomily at the loss of the bandit king. Even though they had seen a lifetime of death, this was a severe blow. They wondered why their leader stepped out into the glare of death. Had he been driven mad by the thirst of battle? The captain was the only one who knew that Tarus was to blame. He found his anger was steadily rising every second as he looked at Tarus. He forced himself to look away, in order to resist tearing off the scoundrel's head. He sighed. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe it wasn't Tarus' fault. Maybe.
Tarus stood watch. He waited for either Bowerstone reinforcement ships, or daybreak, either event would restart the attack. Tarus felt the adrenaline in his veins. Finally Albion would be his. It had been a dream at first; merely a thought. but then he was introduced to power. Power made his conquest possible. No one cared for this escapade as Tarus did. His whole life Tarus had dreamt of power, of victory, yet his whole life was a dismal example of poverty and worthlessness. But now, now his dreams had come true. Now he was standing amidst an army that listened to his every command. Now he was king. He needed only to give the command and his men would charge to the wall, freeing Albion of all Tarus' opposition. The end could be so close, but Tarus waited. His mind went over the endless strategies that lay in his mind. He was waiting for the opportune time to take his kingdom. He wanted ever so longingly to charge into the gates and slaughter every being that had life, but no. He would wait, although he and everyone else were itching to end this battle.
The men became more and more restless. Sleep was now out of the question. The Captain put aside his views on Tarus aside, and approached him, "M'lord the men 'l burst if they don't get to fight soon. Why are we wait'n anyway?" Tarus sighed, " Captain the defenses of Bowerstone are quite the opposite. They grow more weary as we grow more strong." The captain looked confused. "Timing captain…timing."
The minutes grew longer and longer. The silence was almost maddening. The low growls of fire came from the torches, but aside from that small noise, the camp was dead silence. Tarus was preparing to launch an attack until finally a cry came from the wall. "THE SHIPS ARE HERE!" Tarus lept up with a glare in his eye. All of his men jumped and yearned to see the attackers. The long expected reinforcements were creeping up the river. Tarus wasted no time, "Captain. The time has come." A bloodthirsty cry arose from the makeshift camp. Tarus had little time to issue orders, "Archers!" The arrows began, once again to fill the air. The defenses remembered their situation and began another onslaught onto their attackers. Tarus' men peered out from windows and remnants of buildings, as they cautiously fired precise shots at the wall. The defensive side was at a disadvantage. Tarus' men were hidden, while the men of Bowerstone acted as targets. They looked around fearfully as one after another would fall the long fall to the ground, and arrow jutting out of their flesh. Tarus would not allow the battle to continue so slowly, for the ships were coming down the river at a steady pace. Dark silhouettes could be seen against the night sky by the archers, but Tarus and his men, their vision blocked by the outer wall, only imagined the wind-propelled death. Action had to be taken or Tarus would be surrounded. The order was made to bring out the battering ram.
A heavy rumble of wheels, and machinery made the men turn around. Down the path came the ram. Although it was simply a carefully assembled piece of wood, it looked as evil as its makers. Four men ran fiercely alongside the ram pushing with their anger- fed might. As the ram approached the inclined path that led to the inner gate, Tarus and his men charged ahead shooting throwing, and all the while shouting things at the men upon the wall. Tarus was wielding a bow, with which he brought quick ends to several men's lives. He targeted guard chieftains, the more skilled warriors. Without them the defense would be much weaker, allowing the ships took long enough.
It was only moments until the ram reached the gate. Its roof-like structure was an obstacle to all arrows, and the solid oak battering shaft, was as Skorm's fist itself. The war dimmed down as the horrific beat upon the gate continued, its song serenading the fierce battle. Tarus couldn't help but smile. Even the captain was enjoying the conquest. Tarus fired yet another arrow, but halted before another was drawn. The defending archers began to make their way off the wall and into the inner city. All looked puzzled. Thunder, who stood alongside his men, was the last to step off the wall, his last glance: a furious glare at Tarus.
Tarus thought a moment as he attempted to perceive his opponent's plan. Surely Thunder won't surrender, he thought, and they aren't awaiting the reinforcements because our ram will be through in seconds. He thought as he watched the gate slowly splinter in two. The ram then broke a small chunk of the gate off, allowing Tarus to see into the inner city. There was Thunder, along with the entire Bowerstone army. Hate was in their eyes, fear was gone. This was their last stand, and they had nothing to lose. Tarus took a deep breath, before uttering the last commands of the battle, "FORM RANKS! NO RETREATING!" The beautiful ring of swords accompanied the beat of the ram. As he drew his scimitar, the captain nodded to Tarus. Tarus yelled over the deafening roar that began to crack the air in two, "You and the men pillage the town. I will work out the… political issues with the governess." Tarus threw down his bow and drew the Sword of Aeons. Its rage built quickly just in time to fight the last battle.
With enemies on both sides the men, Tarus' army stood at the remains of the gates, waiting for the splintered remnants to crumble at the might of their ram. After only a few more bashes to the gate, the lock finally shattered. Tarus' forces were through.
Instantly the defenses rushed towards their attackers in a final attempt to save their city, their family, and in a way, Albion. Tarus was ready for the final onslaught. He brandished his sword and swung it in wide arches, striking three or four men at a time. They fell like rain. Their blood was strewn about the earth. Tarus was like a god. His fury guided his blade through droves of men. Many were cleaved into. It was a massacre, yet not efficient enough for Tarus. He quickly put his thoughts into the back of his mind, looking for that mysterious power.
Tarus let out a cry as he arm began to quake. A roar filled the air as lightning burst from Tarus. The rate of deaths became even greater. Tarus wielded magic as well as his sword, to slaughter the remnants of Bowerstone. Every kill increased his rage. Every fallen foe contorted his mind further. For a moment Tarus seemed invincible, yet there was one man who challenged his power.
Through the dust and haze of the merciless battle, Tarus saw a massive figure arise from the dust. Only a silhouette in the fray, the figure walked towards Tarus. The sword that the figure carried dripped blood, and the stance that it carried was that of an attacker. Thunder's sword came down like a thunderbolt. Tarus barely had time to stop the massive blade when another attack flew from the side. Despite the huge weight of his sword, the blows came rapidly. Every time Thunder struck his sword would make a deep whooshing sound, and every time it hit Tarus felt as if his arm would shatter. The two battled fiercely. Both combatants were elite in their training and skill. Their furious onslaught on one another stirred up a torrent of dust. The other men slowed their fight to see the great clash between their leaders. Eventually all fighting stopped as both sides witnessed this tremendous battle. Neither man had the upper hand. They both fought with equally brutal force. The men could see the sweat pour out of the leaders. Both saw the weariness on their faces, yet they persisted. Eventually Tarus and Thunder found themselves in a stalemate. Their blades were interlocked. They both pushed with all their might, but nothing happened. Their faces were a mere foot apart. Both men stared at each other with rage. "Why did you do it farm boy?" Tarus was insulted by the name that Thunder had always mocked him by. Tarus said nothing; only he looked at Thunder with the glare that he had so perfected. Thunder stared back. They merely stood and put all their force into their blades, until finally the two swords slipped, and the battle had restarted. Tarus tired of this. He ran at Thunder striking a barrage of quick blows. Each blow hit Thunders sword harder than the last. Eventually Thunders sword was launched from his hand. Thunder breathed deeply and stared at Tarus. Tarus had disarmed Thunder, but the giant of a man would still be difficult to kill. Thunder roared in a primal rage as he threw himself at Tarus. Time slowed as Thunder flew through the air. Tarus saw Thunders face coming towards him. Thunders face showed not anger but sadness and regret. Tarus almost felt pity for his attacker, but only for a moment. In midair Thunder reached to his side and drew a knife, the final weapon he had to save Albion. Tarus reared back ready to strike a final blow. Thunder did the same. The men watching stood silent awaiting the world's fate. The final blow was struck. Tarus' face was bloody. A large gash ran down his face. He stood up, with glory, and honor. Despite his reasons, the fight was fair. He had been victorious. Thunders body lay on the ground, the knife still clutched in his hand. The severed head of Thunder lay several feet away. The final strike had been fatal.
The few remaining Bowerstone guards put up their hands in surrender as the rest of Tarus' men surrounded them menacingly. It was over. Bowerstone, and Albion had fallen to a new king, Lord Tarus. The final tasks had to be done however. The captain limped forth towards Tarus. "Captain I need you to defend the wall and lock the gates." The captain nodded to Tarus' command, "After they witness our conquest their reinforcements will retreat my lord I assure you." Tarus nodded with approval as he walked down the empty street of Bowerstone. He headed towards Lady Grey's manor, practically the capital of Albion, there Tarus would meet the…previous owner of Albion. He walked up the steps to the front door, and continued inside. He had trouble believing that he had just conquered Albion. It was his for the taking. Everything seemed distant. Everything around him seemed… odd, different. The roar of battle gone, the world was a different place. This effect added to the mysterious walls of Lady Grey's manor made for a perplexing journey through the twisting staircases and halls of the building. Tarus did not know what to expect when he found Lady Grey, but he was sure to find out. He was at the entrance to her lounge, where Lady Grey gave her commands and ruled her land. There was a large window that acted as an entire wall of the room. It looked out across the once beautiful Greatwood forest. Now there was only fire smoke, and ashes. Tarus walked up to the window through which he could see the retreating ships sail down the river. Before he got to it a sight on the floor shocked him. There lay Lady Grey, as elegant as ever. One would think she was merely sleeping. A knife's hilt jutted out of her chest. Tarus drew the knife out of her. He looked at its beauty, its craftsmanship. The knife was made purely of glass that reflected the flames of Greatwood. "It is over then." He said to himself.
Tarus turned to the window. He stared out into the burning forest, and beyond. He looked at his entire kingdom. The eastern cliffs, the western seas, and the endless forests and plains, all belonging to him. It was his, all his. He let a small laugh as he held out his hands as if to embrace his new kingdom. His journey was over, as was the rule of Lady Grey. Lord Tarus was now governor of Albion, and all would willingly bow to his power.
Albion had fallen.