A/N Hello! I'm back from France and I'll leave for Barcelona tomorrow. So here's an extra long chapter for you! No really, it's like twice as much as usual... I was kind of bored in the car ride. And i have a 20 hour bus ride ahead of me! Great!

Namvd: Yes, yes they did. And I loved writing it!

Something like me: I took everything they know about rangers from the book... And Halt and Gilan going after Will and May will be the next chapter. My vacation was good. AND I LOVE MERLIN! I'm currently at season 3. But the castle is near Paris. I was near Rochefort, which is far more to the southeast. I was an hour away from the Mediterranean.

ScbeStv: Yup, she broke Erak. That was the best part of the chapter! Thank you for pointing it out. I still have trouble with stuff like that. It's just one stupid letter. Thank you!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own RA.

Chapter 14.

Gilan.

The past hours have gone by in a blur. I'm still trying to figure out how to deal with May's capture. I already feel bad about me getting Will captured, but May's my apprentice, and more. I just left them behind. I just left, and didn't look back. I should've stayed with them. I have to get them back. I don't know how, but I just have to. I'm pacing near the centry post when a hand stops me. I look up and see it's Halt.

"Gilan?" He asks.
"I want to go after them. Go across the fissure and find them." I tell Halt. He shakes his head.
"No, you're needed here. We're to lead a force through the Thorntree to cut off Horth's men. Go to Crowley's tent and get hold of the charts showing the secret ways for this part of the country." He says.

"But Halt..."
"Gilan, do you think for one moment that I don't want to tear that plateau apart stone by stone until I find Will? But you and I took an oath when they gave us these silver oak leaves, and now we have to live up to it." Halt interrupts me.
"Yes, but still. I shouldn't have left them. May and Will got captured because of me." I try to talk my way out of it, but I know it's no use.
"Gil, as soon as we can we'll go look for them." Halt assures me. I let my shoulders hang as I give in. I still think I should've stayed with them, no matter what everyone else says. I eventually nod.
"Fine then." I say in a broken voice.
"Get the charts." Halt says when he turns away. I nod and go to Crowley's tent to get them.

Eventually cutting off Horth's men was easy. We caught them by surprize and they gave up pretty quick after. Halt and I came up with a plan to make it seem as if the skandian support for Morgarath still stands. Right now they're chasing me in thorntree forest. I'm riding onto the plains, and search for the Royal flag. I find it and lead blaze to it.

"Sir." I say once I get there. "Halt says you can..." Four voices interrupt me. Baron Fergus' the loudest.
"Wait Halt's alive?" He asks.
"Oh he's alive and kicking." I tell them with a grin.
"But the Skandians …?" King Duncan begins, indicating the lines of men on the far ridge.
"Beaten, sir. We caught them totally by surprise and cut them to pieces. Those men there are our archers, wearing helmets and shields taken from the enemy. It was Halt's idea …" Again I'm interrupted.
"To what purpose?" Arald asks crisply and I turn to face him.
"To deceive Morgarath, my lord," I reply. "He's expecting to see Skandians attack you from the rear, and now he will. That's why they even made a pretence of trying to stop me just now. Our own cavalry is just beyond the brow of the ridge. Halt proposes that he should advance with the archers, forcing you to turn and face the rear. Then, with any luck, as Morgarath attacks with his Wargals, both the archers and your main army should open a path through the centre, allowing the hidden cavalry to come through and hit Morgarath when he's in the open."

"By god, it's a great idea!" Duncan says enthusiastically. "Odds are that we'll stir up so much dust and confusion that he won't see Halt's cavalry until it's right on top of him."
"Then, my lord, we can deploy the heavy cavalry from either wing to hit the Wargals in the flanks." The new speaker is Sir David. He had arrived unnoticed as I was explaining Halt's plan. King Duncan hesitates for a second or two, tugging at his short beard. Then he nods decisively.
"We'll do it! Gentlemen, you'd better get to your commands straight away. Fergus, Arald, take a section of the heavy cavalry each to the left and right wings, and stand ready. Tyler, command the infantry in the centre. Make sure they know this is a fake attack. And order them to shout and beat their swords on their shields as the 'Skandians' approach. We'll make it sound like a battle as well as look like one. Have them ready to split to the sides at three horn blasts."

"Three horn blasts. Aye, my lord," says Tyler. He digs his spurs into his battlehorse's side and galloped away to take command of the infantry. Duncan looks to his remaining commanders.
"Get to it, my lords. We don't have much time." From behind, one of his aides calls out.
"Sir! The Skandians are moving downhill!" A second or so later, another man echoes the cry:
"And the Wargals are beginning to move forward!" Duncan smiles grimly at his commanders.

"I think it's time we gave Morgarath a little surprise," he says. Soon after Morgarath found out the skandians weren't skandians he raised a flag of truce. Morgarath and his remaining soldiers are in a defensive formation at the base of the cliffs. The soft ground holds the cavalry back and there is no option but to take the infantry forward and finish the job in bloody hand-to-hand fighting.

Any normal enemy commander would have seen the inevitable result by now and surrendered to spare the lives of his remaining troops. But this is Morgarath and they know there would be no negotiating. They ready themselves for the ugly task ahead of them. It will be a bloody and senseless fight, but there is no alternative. Once and for all, Morgarath's power must be broken.
"Nevertheless, we'll give him the chance to surrender." king Duncan says.

"Sir! They have a flag of truce!" I point out. The Kingdom's leaders look in surprise as the white flag is unfurled, carried by a Wargal foot soldier. He steps forward into the clear ground. From deep within the Wargal ranks comes a horn signal, five ascending notes – the universal signal that requested a parley. King Duncan makes a small gesture of surprise, hesitates, then signalles to his own trumpeter.

"I suppose we'd better hear what he has to say," he says. "Give the reply." The trumpeter blows the acceptance in reply – the same notes in reverse order.
"It will be some kind of trick," Halt says grimly. He joined us a few minutes ago. "Morgarath will send a herald to talk while he's making his escape. He'll …"

His voice trailes off as the Wargal ranks part once more and a figure rode forward. Immensely tall and thin, clad in black armour and a beaked black helmet, it is, unmistakably, Morgarath himself. Halt's right hand goes instinctively to the quiver slung at his back and, within a second, a heavy, armour-piercing arrow is laid on his bowstring. King Duncan saw the movement.
"Halt," he says sharply, "I've agreed to a truce. You'll not cause me to break my word, even to Morgarath."

The trumpet signal is a pledge of safety and Halt reluctantly returnes the arrow to his quiver. Duncan makes quick eye contact with Baron Arald, signalling him to keep a close eye on the Ranger. Halt shrugs. If he chooses to put an arrow into Morgarath's heart, neither Baron Arald nor anyone else would be quick enough to stop him.

Slowly, the vulturine figure on the white horse paces forward, his Wargal standard bearer before him. A low murmur rises among the Kingdom's army as men see the man who for the past fifteen years had been a constant threat to their lives and wellbeing. Morgarath stops a mere thirty metres from their front rank. He could see the royal party where they had moved forward to meet him. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Halt.

"Duncan!" he calls. "I claim my rights!"
"You have no rights, Morgarath," the King replies. "You're a rebel and a traitor and a murderer. Surrender now and your men will be spared. That's the only right I will grant you."
"I claim the right of trial by single combat!" Morgarath shouts back, ignoring the King's words. "Or are you too cowardly to accept a challenge, Duncan? Will you let thousands more of your men die while you hide behind them? Or will you let fate decide the issue here?" Arald moves his horse alongside the King's and says angrily:
"He has no claim to a knight's privileges. He deserves hanging. Nothing more." Some of the others mutter agreement.

"And yet …" Halt says quietly, and they all turn to look at him. "This could solve the problem facing us. The Wargals are mind-bound to Morgarath's will. Now that we can't use cavalry, they'll continue to fight as long as he wills them to. And they'll kill thousands of our men in the process. But, if Morgarath were killed in single combat –" Tyler interrupts, finishing the thought:
"The Wargals would be without direction. Chances are they would simply stop fighting." Duncan frowns uncertainly. "We don't know that …" he begins. Sir David interrupts. There's a lot of interruptment here.
"Surely, sir, it's worth a try. Morgarath has outsmarted himself here, I think. He knows we can't resist the chance to end this on a single combat. He's thrown the dice today and lost. But he obviously plans to challenge you – to kill you as a final act of revenge."

"What's your point?" Duncan asks.
"As Royal Battlemaster, I can respond to any challenge made to you, my lord." There is a brief murmur at this. Morgarath might be a dangerous opponent, but Sir David is the foremost tournament knight of the Kingdom. Like me, he had trained with the fabled swordmaster MacNeil, and his skill in single combat is legendary. He continues eagerly.

"Morgarath is using the rules of knighthood to gain a chance to kill you, sir. Obviously, he's overlooked the fact that, as King, you can be represented by a champion. Give him the right to challenge. And then let me accept." Duncan consideres the idea. He looks to his advisers and sees grudging agreement.
"All right," he finally says. "I'll accept his right to challenge. But nobody, nobody, says anything in acceptance. Only me. Is that clear?" His council nods agreement. Once acceptance was made, it is binding. Duncan stands in his stirrups and calls to the ominous black figure.

"Morgarath," Duncan calls, "although we believe you have forfeited any rights you may have had as a knight, go ahead and make your challenge. As you say, let fate decide the issue." Morgarath smirks at this.
"Then, as is my right before God," he carefully says, making sure he uses the exact, ancient words of challenge, "and before all here present, I do so make my challenge to prove my cause right and just to …" He hesitates for a moment "Halt the Ranger." There's a stunned silence. Then, as Halt urges Abelard forward to respond, Duncan's penetrating cry of 'No!' stops him.

"I'll take my chance, my lord," he grimly says. But Duncan throws out an arm to stop him moving forward.
"Halt is not a knight. You cannot challenge him," he calls urgently. Morgarath shrugs.
"Actually, Duncan, I can challenge anyone. And anyone can challenge me. As a knight, I don't have to accept any challenge, unless it is issued by another knight. But I can choose to do so. And I can choose whom I challenge."
"Halt is forbidden to accept!" Duncan says angrily. Morgarath laughed thinly.

"Still slinking and hiding then, Halt?" he sneers. "Like all Rangers. Did I mention that we have two of your Ranger brats as a prisoner? One so small we nearly threw him back. But I've decided to keep him for torture instead. That will make one less sneaking, hiding spy in the future. And the other one… Well I know how to make good use of a fine looking girl like her. Fierce too. She called me an old fool." He's got May, that bastard's got May. I take a step forward.

"Keep your hands off of May!" I shout.
"You've got Will?" I hear Halt ask besides me.
"Yes, Will is with us," Morgarath replies. "But not for long, of course. As for May, as you call her. I don't know. I do not always completely control my wargals..."

I feel a red surge of rage and hatred for the vulture-like figure before me. I am about to run over there and kill the man myself when I'm stopped by two hands who grab my reigns. I look to my left and see my father shaking his head to me. 'not now' He signals.

"Then, Morgarath, yes, I …"
"Halt! I command you to stop!" Duncan screams.
"Morgarath!"a familiar voice yells. "I challenge you to single combat!" Horace stormed out of the second rank of the army. He's calmly waiting for a response from Morgarath.
"I… Accept." The dark lord eventually says.

"No! I forbid it." Is king Duncans reply. "For pity's sake, Morgarath, he's only a boy, as you can see. An apprentice. You can't accept his challenge!"
"On the contrary," Morgarath curtly replies, "as I've just pointed out, I have that right. And, as you know, once a challenge is given and accepted, there can be no withdrawal." He is right, of course. The strict rules of chivalry and knighthood, by which they had all sworn solemn oaths to be bound, does decree just that.

I keep my eyes on the lord of rain and night. I don't really notice anything else around me. If he kills Horace, I'll make sure an unkown arrow will penetrate that skull of his. I narrow my eyes. And if something has happened to May, I'll bring him back from the dead to kill him again. In a swift movement Morgarath unsheathes his sword and storms towards Horace.

"Horace look out!" I screech just in time for him to move away. Morgarath's blade swinging mere centimeters above Horace's head.
"Let's get to it then." Morgarath laughs before he rides back.

No one's POV

Morgarath is wheeling his horse in a wide circle to gain room. Horace knows that he'll swing round soon and charge down on him, using the momentum of his charge as much as the force of his sword to try to strike him from the saddle.

Guiding his horse with his knees, he swings away in the opposite direction, shrugging his buckler round from where it hangs on his back and slipping his left arm through the straps. He glances over his shoulder and sees Morgarath, eighty metres away, spurring his horse forward in a charge. Horace clappes his heels into his own horse's ribs and swings him back to face the black-clad figure.

The two sets of hoofbeats overlap, merge, then overlap once more as the riders thunder towards each other. Knowing his opponent had the advantage of reach, Horace determines to let him strike the first blow, then attempt a counterstrike as they pass. They're nearly on each other now and Morgarath suddenly rises in his stirrups and, from his full height, he swings an overhand blow at the boy. Horace, expecting the move, throws up his shield.

The power behind Morgarath's blow is devastating. The sword has Morgarath's immense height, the strength of his arm and the momentum of his galloping horse behind it. Timing it to perfection, he channelles all those separate forces and focuses them into his sword as it cleaves down. Horace had never in his life felt such destructive force. Those who are watching wince at the ringing crash of sword on shield and they see Horace sway under the mighty stroke, almost knocked clean from his saddle on the first pass.

All thought of a counterstrike is gone now. Horace's doing all he could do to regain his balance as his horse skittered away, his shield arm is rendered completely numb by the terrible force of the blow. He shrugs it repeatedly as he rides away, moving the arm in small circles to try to regain some feeling. Finally, he feels a dull ache there that seems to stretch the entire length of the limb. Now he knows real fear. He knows no way to counter the crushing force of Morgarath's sword strokes. He realises that all his training, all his practice, was nothing compared to Morgarath's years and years of experience.

He wheels to face Morgarath and rides in again. On the first pass, they had met shield to shield. This time, he sees his opponent is angling to pass on his right side – his sword arm side – and he realises that the next shattering blow will not land on his shield. He'll have to parry with his own sword. His mouth's dry as he gallops forward, trying desperately to remember what Gilan had taught him.

But Gilan had never prepared him to face such overpowering strength. He knows he couldn't take the risk of gripping his sword lightly and tightening at the moment of impact. His knuckles whiten on the hilt of his sword and, suddenly, Morgarath is upon him and the massive broadsword swings in a glittering arc at his head. Horace throws up his own sword to parry, just in time.

The mighty crash and slithering scream of steel on steel set the watchers' nerves jangling. Again, Horace reels in the saddle from the force of the blow. His right arm is numb from fingertips to elbow. He knows that he'll have to break out of this cycle of battering blows. But he doesn't know how.

He hears hoofbeats close behind and realises that this time, Morgarath hadn't gone on to gain ground for another charge. Instead, he had wheeled his horse almost immediately, sacrificing the extra force gained in the charge for the sake of a fast follow-up attack. The broadsword swings back again.

Horace rears his horse onto its hind legs, spinning it in place, and taking Morgarath's sword on his shield once more. This time, the force behind it is a little less devastating, but not by much. Horace cuts twice at the black lord, forehand and backhand. His smaller, lighter sword is faster to wield than the mighty broadsword, but his right arm is still numb from the parry and his strokes have little power behind them. Morgarath deflect them easily, almost contemptuously, with his shield then cuts again at Horace, overhand this time, standing in his stirrups for extra purchase.

Once again, Horace's shield takes the force of the sword stroke. The circular piece of steel is bent almost double by the two massive strokes it takes. Much more of this and it will be virtually useless to him. He spurres his horse away from Morgarath, scrambling to remain mounted.

His breath's coming in rapid gasps and sweat covers his face. It's as much the sweat of fear as of exertion. He shakes his head desperately to clear his vision. Morgarath is riding in again. Horace changes his direction at the last moment, dragging his horse's head to the left, taking him across the path of Morgarath's charging horse as he tries to evade that huge sword. Morgarath sees it coming and changes to a backhand stroke, crashing it onto the rim of Horace's shield.

The broadsword bites deep into the steel of the shield, then caught there. Seizing the moment, Horace stands in his stirrups and cuts overhand at Morgarath. The black shield comes up just a fraction too late and Horace's blow glances off the black, beaked helmet. He feels the shock of it up his arm but this time, the jarring feels good. He cut again as Morgarath wrenches and heaves to remove his sword.

This time, Morgarath catches the blow on his shield. But for the first time, Horace manages to put some authority behind the stroke and the Lord of Rain and Night grunts as he rocks in his saddle. His shield drops fractionally.

Now Horace uses the shorter blade of his sword to lunge at the gap that opens between shield and body and drives the point at Morgarath's ribs. For a moment, those watching feel a brief flare of hope. But the black armour holds against the thrust, which is delivered from a cramped position and has little force behind it. Nonetheless, it hurts Morgarath, cracking a rib behind the mail armour, he curses in pain and jerks at his caught sword once more. Then, disaster!

Weakened by the crushing blows Morgarath had struck at it earlier, Horace's shield simply gives way. The huge sword tears free at last, and as it goes, it rips loose the leather straps that held the shield on Horace's arm. The battered, misshapen shield comes free and spins away into the air. Horace reels in the saddle again, desperately trying to retain his balance. Too close to use the full length of his blade, Morgarath slams the double-handed hilt of the sword into the side of the boy's helmet. The onlookers groan in dismay as Horace fell from his saddle.

His foot catches in the stirrup and he's dragged for twenty metres or so behind his terrified, galloping horse. Oddly enough, that fact probably saved his life, as he's carried clear out of the murderous reach of the broadsword. Finally managing to kick himself free, he rolls in the dust, his sword still grasped in his right hand.

Staggering, he regains his feet, his eyes full of sweat and dust. Dimly, he sees Morgarath bearing down on him again. Gripping his sword with both hands, he blocks the downward cut of the huge sword, but is beaten to his knees by the force of it. A flailing rear hoof takes him in the ribs and he goes down into the dust again as Morgarath gallops clear.

A hush falls over the watchers. The Wargals are unmoved by the spectacle, but the Kingdom's army watches the one-sided contest in silent horror. The end is inevitable, they all know.

Slowly, painfully, Horace climbs to his feet once more. Morgarath wheels his horse and sets himself for another charge. Horace watches him coming, knowing that this contest could have only one possible result. A desperate idea is forming in his mind as the dead-white battlehorse thunders towards him, heading to his right, leaving Morgarath room to strike down with his sword. Horace has no idea whether or not his armour will protect him from what he has in mind. He could be killed. Then, dully, he laughs at himself. He was most likely going to be killed anyway.

He tenses himself ready. The horse is almost upon him now, swerving away to his right to leave Morgarath striking room. In the last few metres, Horace hurls himself to the right after it, deliberately throwing himself under the horse's front hooves.

A great, wordless cry goes up from the onlookers as, for a moment, the scene was obscured by a cloud of roiling dust. Horace feels a hoof strike him in the back, between the shoulder blades, then sees a brief red flash as another slams into his helmet, breaking the strap and knocking it from his head. Then he's hit more times than he could count and the world is a blur of pain and dust and, most of all, noise.

Unprepared for his suicidal action, the horse tries desperately to avoid him. Its forelegs cross and it stumbles, then somersaults in a tangle of legs and body into the dust. Morgarath, managing to kick clear of the stirrups just in time, is hurled over the horse's neck and crashes to the ground. The broadsword falls from his grasp.

Screaming in rage and fear, the white horse struggles to its feet again. It kicks one more time at the prone figure that had brought it down, then trotts away. Horace grunts with pain and tries to stand. He gets to his knees and, vaguely, hears the swelling cheers of the watching army.

Then the cheers gradually die away as the still, black-clad figure a few metres away also begins to move.

Morgarath is winded, nothing more. He drags in a vast lungful of air and stands. He looks around, sees the broadsword lying half buried in the dust and moves to retrieve it. Horace's heart sinks as the tall figure, outlined now against the low afternoon sun, begins to advance on him, one long stride at a time. Desperately, Horace retrieves his own sword and scrambles to his feet. Morgarath had discarded his triangular black shield. Holding the sword in a two-handed grip, he advances. Horace, pain racking every inch of his body, stands firm to meet him.

Again comes that nerve-jangling, screeching clash of steel. Morgarath rains blow after blow down on Horace's sword. Desperately, the apprentice warrior parries and blocks. But with each massive blow, his arms are losing their strength. He begins to back away, yet still Morgarath came on, beating down Horace's defence with blow after shattering blow.

And then, as Horace allows the point of his sword to drop, unable to find the strength to keep it up anymore, Morgarath's huge broadsword whistles down one more time, smashing onto the smaller sword and snapping the blade into two pieces.

He steps back, a cruel smile on his face, as Horace stares dumbly at the shorn-off blade in his right hand.

"I think we're nearly finished now," Morgarath says in that soft, toneless voice. Horace still looks at the useless sword. Almost unconsciously, his left hand reaches for his dagger and slides it from its sheath. Morgarath sees the movement and laughs.
"I don't think that will do you much good," he sneers. Then, deliberately, he takes the great broadsword up and back for a final, mighty overhand blow that would cleave Horace to the waist.

It's Gilan who realised what was going to happen, a second before it did.
"Oh my God, he's going to …" he slowly says and feels a ridiculous surge of hope.

The broadsword begin its downward arc, splitting the air. And now Horace, throwing everything into one final effort, steps forward, crossing the two blades he holds, the dagger supporting the shortened sword.

The locked blades take the impact of Morgarath's mighty strike. But Horace had stepped close to the taller man, and so reduced the leverage of the long blade and the force of the blow. Morgarath's sword clang into the X formed by the two blades.

Horace's knees buckle then holds and, for a moment, Morgarath and he stand locked, chest to chest. Horace can see the puzzled fury on the madman's face as he wonders how this situation has come about. Then the fury turns to surprise as Morgarath feels a deep, burning agony pour through his body when Horace slips the dagger free and, with every ounce of his strength behind it, drives it through Morgarath's chain mail and up into his heart. Slowly, the Lord of Rain and Night sags and crumple to the ground.

The lord of rain and night, is dead.

A/N FINALLY MORGARATH'S DEAD! Now Cahir... hehehe, yes he's still there. But anyway. I found this chapter extremely difficult to write! Tell me what you think. I need you critisism... I'll die without it... Yes I'm a bit overdramatic. Anyway, I'll be back on Friday, but then I'll be tired as hell so I probably won't update... Maybe Sunday. Oh wait I probably have to work then... You'll see an update in a week. I think.

Please review!