VII - Salvatore's Song
A cloud of dust drifted out behind the riders as they drove their steeds to greater exertion. The heavily built warhorses thundered across the sun-baked meadowland, stones and clods of earth showering up from the destriers' iron shod hooves. The men astride the sweat-streaked mounts had no eyes for the beauty of this perfect early summer's day; the flowers a profusion of colour; the many species of insect on the wing in the warm air; the small herd of dear startled off to the left in bounding flight, legs kicking and rumps flashing white. By the reckless speed exhibited, the casual onlooker at a distance would not have guessed the mounted figures to be Knights. Indeed, it could almost be construed that they rode as if in a panic, attempting to out distance some pursuer. The trailing rider, whose name was Lanzo Prezzi, attempted a half glance backwards towards the fast receding tree line of the wood, perhaps now a quarter of a mile behind them. Even though there was no evidence they were being chased, he did not slow down but dug his heels into the flanks of his exhausted horse asking the animal to find reserves of energy it no longer had. White foam spattered across the steed's neck, its eyes rolling with the strain. It was all too much. Legs buckled and the horse slew to one side throwing the Knight to the ground in a clamour of crashing plate armour. Prezzi lay stunned for a moment but then began franticly struggling in an attempt to rise to his feet. The plate armour seemed to weigh twice its normal weight. He rolled onto his side groaning as a knife-like pain shot through his shoulder. Then he saw it was too late.
Their speed was astonishing. He had looked moments before and seen no one; now they were almost upon him, grey cloaks billowing across the backs of their mounts and spears levelled. But more frightening than this was the sight of the figure who now emerged from between two of the fleet footed horses, who, even though on foot, moved with such graceful speed that he began to pull ahead of the riders. Lanzo Prezzi whimpered as the dread form came towards him, finally easing to a halt to stand over the fallen Knight.
"I beg of you, please don't kill me, Forest Lord," Lanzo pleaded, daring for the fist time to look up into the face of his capturer. He wished he hadn't. Although smeared with the grime and gore of battle, the skin of the face regarding him had a pale green hue; his countenance was as hard and unmoving as granite; the eyes like two bright diamonds which bore into Prezzi's own making him feel as though he were the most insignificant thing in the universe. Upon the Wood Elf Noble's head a finely tooled helm sat, the antlers of some mighty stag attached to each side and dripping with blood as though many enemies had been gouged to death upon their sharp tips. His mail shirt was silvery green and made from many overlapping scales the shape of small leaves and now, for the first time, Prezzi noticed the huge great weapon slung across the Elf's back, that, even now as he watched, the Alter Noble reached back to free.
The Glade Riders had formed a circle around both capturer and captive, their spears still lowered. As they watched and waited for their leader, one of them spoke. "You know it would serve no purpose now, to take this humans' life, Findrith."
"I know," Findrith Thornbranch replied quietly.
Suddenly his arm moved in one easy movement, the mighty sword whistling in an arc through the air. It had been so quick; Lanzo Prezzi had not even seen the end of his life coming towards him, just a flash of light and then blackness. Findrith Thornbranch regarded the slumped body of the Knight for a moment before turning on his heels to walk back towards the distant trees. The Glade Riders watched the retreating back of the Alter Noble for a moment before gently nudging their mounts to turn and follow.
"The whole force?" exploded the Grand Wizard of Catrazza in rage and disbelief, "All of them?"
"And my Birdmen?" enquired Daddallo, leader of the renowned airborne regiment from the same Tilean city.
"They are all…dead, Sir. The only survivors are the Arch Lector of Myrmidia, Giancarlo Salvatore, the Captain of your Knights, Amoux de L'angley and four of his men. They rode into Nuln this morning having taken the best part of three days to reach us and it is from Salvatore's own mouth that I have compiled this report." The officer of the city guard handed the Grand Wizard the rolled up parchment he referred to.
"But they were meant to be on a training exercise," the Grand Wizard continued incredulously. "I gave orders to Salvatore to remain behind at the camp whilst I conducted my business here, using the opportunity to drill the men and undertake some battle practice. Not to get involved in a actual engagement with hostiles!"
He turned to the parchment grasped in his hand, broke the red wax seal and began to read the account of the whole sorry affair.
I regret to inform my Lord, the Grand Wizard, that three days ago the contingent left to guard my Lord's base camp for this expedition met with catastrophe at the hands of a Wood Elf war party. Unlikely as this may seem, Amoux de L'angley, being born in the land of Bretonnia, confirms that our assailants bore remarkable similarities to the inhabitants of Athel Loren which of course lies to the East of his home country.
I had issued orders to spend the morning practising the army's battle deployment and had satisfactorily affected this according to some ideas I have been wishing to try. The brave and steadfast Knights of Catrazza occupied the centre of the field. To the right I placed the cannon behind the shelter of a small copse together with the Great Swords, a unit of Handgunners, the Pistoliers and the Birdmen of Catrazza. To my left, Swordsmen with their detachments then lines of massed firepower in the form of Handgunners and Crossbowmen. I then ordered the men to go through their paces; Handgunners, Crossbowmen and cannon to fire a few volleys of covering fire into the trees whilst the infantry and knights practiced their manoeuvres.
I am unclear as to what happened next, for through the clearing gun smoke which now drifted across the field, figures suddenly darted in all directions; hooded archers were immediately opposite; strange creatures who one minute were beautiful girls, the next stick-like and thorny hags came down each flank; riders cantered towards us on swift horses; crazed naked men, their bodies covered in swirling tattoos leaped and somersaulted out of the woods and, most disconcerting of all, a huge shambling tree-like creature which at first we thought a mighty oak, bellowed in rage and made straight at our lines.
I immediately ordered the Handgunners and Crossbowmen to fire at the archers, who I have heard are deadly accurate even at long range and was encouraged to see a few of their number fall. The Birdmen of Catrazza I sent winging across the field to attempt to bring down what I now understand are Dryad Forest Spirits. They swooped low, releasing a volley from their light crossbows, but I failed to see any casualties caused from their bolts. As they began to gain height again, the Wood Elf fast cavalry suddenly appeared bearing down on the birdmen. My condolences to Daddallo, for not one of his men escaped the deadly arrow fire.
The Pistoliers cantered up the right flank to harry the advancing Dryads and Fast Cavalry. As they immerged from the cover of a small deserted village there, they galloped straight into a withering hail of arrows from the Wood Elf Riders, losing half their number. The Pistoliers, I believe, also did not realise how close in proximity the lumbering tree-like man-monster had become. It seems this creature is able to attack with it's roots and strangle his victims to death which is what happened to the remaining Pistoliers, just one escaping. I watched as this solitary rider made a break to rejoin our lines only to be attacked by the mightiest Eagle I have ever seen. The poor man did not last long to the sharp beak and talons of this great bird.
By now the Great Sword regiment had marched into the midst of the fray on the right flank. Upon seeing the demise of the Pistoliers, I believe they became so incensed that they actually charged the Treeman, swinging their great weapons with tremendous fury. My Lord, they were truly an awesome sight, inflicting such damage upon the wooden behemoth that it began to back away and then, cease to move as the Great Swords continued to hack away at the creature. Unfortunately, their battle rage had made them oblivious to the fact that, by now, the Wood Elf forces had completely encircled them. My Lord, I have witnessed many battles but that day I had to turn my gaze as the brave Great Swords were literally shredded by the Dryad Spirits, sliced to pieces by the naked elves who almost conducted their combat as though it were a dance of death or skewered upon the spear points of the fast cavalry. Not one lived when I brought myself to look again.
At this point I wondered why our gunfire had become less frequent. The volleys that had thundered from the Handgunners and cannon were beginning to lessen and so I turned to look towards their positions. I was just in time to see the cannon fire off a shot towards a group of Dryads, to one side of which I could now see one of the Elf commanders. The cannon ball arced across the field and I began to think the gunner's skill had improved with the training of the previous few days, for the ball hurtled in a straight line towards the Wood Elf leader. He just stood watching the incoming missile, almost disdainfully and at the last second the cannon ball dropped from the sky to land a yard short. As I looked back at the cannon, I now saw the gun's crew in a brutal struggle with the Great Eagle, the same bird I presume who had slain the lone Pistolier. The cannon crew did not fare any better, my Lord.
Turning my gaze toward the ranks of Handgunners, I now saw they were in deadly peril of a massed assault from the Forest Spirits. I also realised that Ezra Endrizzi, one of the novice wizard brothers assigned to our force was in the midst of the Handgunner lines. As I watched, the Dryads hit our ranks at full speed and against an assault such as that, they stood no chance. I saw Endrizzi frantically trying to cast spells at the Spirits but he was soon overwhelmed and I did not see him again.
You may be wondering, my Lord, why I was able to observe all this about me and, why it is, I have made no mention of any engagements with the enemy involving the Knights of Catrazza. Although your Knights cantered about the field endeavouring to ride down the Elves, we found that the enemy were too swift and agile for us to catch them. At last we drew alongside a unit of Swordsmen hoping to lend support to each other in the face of an enemy charge. The Wood Elves, my Lord, just ignored my knights, next moment hailing the Swordsmen with arrow fire prior to launching a devastating attack to the sides where my Knights could not easily reach quickly. By the time we were ready for a counter attack, the Wood Elves, lead by the same commander I had witnessed eschew the cannon ball, had slaughtered every last man. I regret to inform my Lord that it was then I noticed Emilio, Ezra's brother, amongst the bodies.
At that moment, deadly arrow fire hit the Knights of Catrazza with aiming so accurate that despite our full plate armour, the Elves slew their targets by shooting through their visor slits. At least half of my men fell from their mounts and I sensed that the enemies' attention was suddenly focused up us. A quick glance about me confirmed the reason to be that we were the only men left alive on the field. So, my Lord, I ordered the retreat back to Nuln, harassed for part of the way by the Elf riders and their leader until there were just six of us left to relate these unfortunate happenings to you.
Your servant, Arch Lector of Myrmidia, Giancarlo Salvatore.
The Grand Wizard of Catrazza hurled the parchment onto the desk before him.
"Captain," he said, looking at the man from Nuln, "I think I will be hiring men, now, instead of purchasing cannons. Would you be interested in commanding my army?"
VIII
The view from the mountaintop was breathtaking. All around, peaks rose reaching for the pale blue sky of a perfect autumn morning. The higher ones had caps of snow, the rising sun making it hard for the eyes of the watcher to settle on them for long without being dazzled by the glare. Celdris Shadowleaf turned his gaze downwards following the pathway he had taken to the summit; over boulders; along the side of a rushing stream, the water wild and white; through woods of silver birch, pine and rowan. He had sought solitude, a place to be alone with his thoughts and pain. This mountainside mirrored not only the loneliness in his soul but also the untamed wildness waiting to surge to the surface of his outwardly calm demeanour. As he scanned the tree line out of habit, always seeking the approach of danger, he suddenly noticed a shimmering quality similar to a heat haze approaching the place he stood and, even as he watched, this became a swirling vaporous mist through which stepped the Lost Kindred's Spellsinger, Cerys Sunhair.
"I thought you would be here," she said, magical residue still glittering on her pale skin like small blue lightening forks.
Celdris turned his head towards the distant mountain peaks in a bid to hide the tears of grief as they began to form in his eyes making his vision blurred.
"I still can't believe my brother is dead, Cerys; that I shall never see him again."
The Spellsinger took a step nearer, "I tried everything to save Eldor; every glamour and charm; every plant and herb and I couldn't. All my knowledge was as nothing. I failed, Celdris, I failed and because of my failings, Eldor Shadowleaf is dead."
"It was not your doing, Cerys," Celdris turned to look at the Spellsinger. She looked small and suddenly vulnerable, her head cast downwards, her lithe frame shuddering as she began to cry. He crossed to her and gently held her in his arms. "Come, where is the strong willed Cerys Sunhair we all love and rely on? You have great skill, Cerys, but even you cannot cheat death when the time finally comes. Eldor had inhaled too much of the Skaven's poisonous vapours. His time had come, even though I cannot believe it, and there was nothing you could have done to save him.
"But ..."
"Nothing, Cerys, nothing."
"But ...... I loved him and never told him so," and she held onto the Alter Noble with all her might fearing the rising flood of sadness and longing would sweep her away.
The two Wood Elves remained on the mountainside long into the morning, talking of their memories of Eldor Shadowleaf. Sometimes they would laugh and sometimes the tears would well up again but, by talking of the fallen Alter Noble, they kept his memory alive and slowly began to acknowledge their grief.
A shadow, moving with great speed, suddenly moved across them and, looking upwards, they saw Quair-eriel the Great Eagle riding the wind above them. His huge wings hardly moved as he circled the mountaintop. Cerys Sunhair closed her eyes and, reaching out with her mind, conversed with the mighty bird. Moments later the Eagle turned towards the valley below and was soon no more than a black dot in the distance.
"Come, Celdris. The Kindred are concerned that we have been gone for so long."
Celdris gently took the Spellsinger by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Do not doubt your skills again, Cerys. It is only by your knowledge that we have saved Lord Barku following the strange attack of the Empire men. Only you knew how to follow the lines of Earth Energy to find the Lake of Life where, even now, The Venerable One drinks of the rejuvenating water. I thank Isha the last of his strength was enough to enable him to make the arduous journey up into the mountains."
She smiled weakly back at him. "Thank you for your faith in me, Celdris. Although, I sense that soon my magic will be of no use to the Kindred and you shall have to overcome a great struggle without my aid."
"It's all written down; every last wrong that was done. I won't forget and I won't let it rest!" Brunmir Grunnson-Grunnson roared the last few words at the top of his drunken voice banging down his tankard on the rock next to him which acted as a table.
"No, Brunmir," agreed Kraggi Sigmarrson, Runesmith and drinking partner to the Thane. "Although, having been on this expedition for so many months I've lost count, I'm beginning to think the devious rogue who besmirched Grimgal Grunnson has perhaps given us the slip."
"Nonsense!" Brunmir disagreed, aiming a half-hearted blow with his ham-sized right fist at the side of Kraggi's head. "We've only just got going and I have a gut feeling we're now on the right track."
"Well, the warriors are starting to grumble, as well. They're saying they won't stay out past the first winter snow on what they think is a wild goose chase."
"Warriors always grumble about something. That's why they're warriors." Brunmir took another swig from his tankard, the tawny liquid dribbling in tiny rivulets down his long red beard. "Perhaps I should talk to them in the morning, eh? But a grudge is a grudge, they understand that; they're Dwarfs!"
As the sun rose, Brunmir Grunnson-Grunnson stood upon a huge stone, the massed ranks of his Dwarf army before him. Before he could utter a word, there suddenly came a distant shout from further along the valley. All heads turned in the direction of the voice.
"A scout," confirmed Kraggi Sigmarrson, "Obviously with important news by the way he's running!"
The Dwarfs waited for the approaching figure. Brunmir looked at Kraggi. "He's moving as fast as he can. He'll be here in five minutes or so."
"My Lord! Elves! Elves!" the scout shouted again, a little nearer this time so that the words made sense.
The Lost Kindred had been concerned to find the valley path they took converged upon a single pass between two mighty mountains. Glade Riders reported that half way along the valley, a company of Dwarfs had made camp and seemed to show no intention of proceeding any further in the imminent future, having watched them now for four days.
"The way is too far to go back now," said Celdris Shadowleaf. "If we did that, we would never make it out of the mountains before the onset of winter. It would be the death of us."
"Then we must parley with the Dwarf leader and hope he will move his army aside allowing us passage through the pass," reasoned Cerys Sunhair.
"Or just destroy them," growled Findrith Thornbranch.
"Findrith," Cerys turned on the Alter Noble, her green eyes flashing with a sudden anger. "Let us attempt to leave these mountains without a trail of dead behind us. Now, go with Celdris and a bodyguard of Glade Riders and speak to them."
"How long are we going to have to wait?" Findrith was growing impatient. The Dwarf scout has been gone over an hour.
Just then, a Glade Rider appeared over a rise of ground a little way off and in a few moments came to a stop before the Nobles and their company.
"The Dwarfs are waiting a little way along the valley floor. Their leader says that a Dwarf does not come to any Elf. We have to go to him."
"Come, then. Let's get this resolved now." Exasperation showed in Celdris' voice as he led the Grey Elves off in the direction the Glade Rider had arrived from. As they crested the rise of ground, they now saw the massed ranks of Dwarfs spread across the valley floor. Two Dwarfs stood upon a rock fifty yards away, apparently waiting and towards these two figures, Celdris and Findrith now cautiously approached to within comfortable earshot.
"Wood Elves!" snorted Brunmir Grunnson-Grunnson. "I didn't believe my scout, saying that Wood Elves are normally too scared to venture from the safety of their beloved trees. But indeed, it's true."
"Greetings, Master Dwarf," said Celdris ignoring the jibe. "We are known as the Grey Elves and although related by blood to those who reside within the confines of Athel Loren, it has been many generations since we ourselves called that forest our Home."
"Is that so, Elf? And what is it, then, that brings you so near the Dwarf strongholds? Just out for a stroll, I suppose!" Brunmir had heard how crafty the race of Elves could be and wasn't going to be caught out by their tricks. A thought suddenly struck him and turning to Kraggi Sigmarrson said, "What if it was an Elf! The physicians diagnosed a human or halfling but what if they were wrong?"
"Brunmir, you're still hung over. Talk sense," replied Kraggi slightly bemused at the Thane's reasoning. But Brunmir ignored him.
"Elf! I am after a truth and will not rest until I get it. I will ask this only once; are you or any of your company, how shall I put it, familiar with a certain female Dwarf by the name of Grimgal Grunnson? You understand my meaning, eh?"
"Master Dwarf", Findrith Thornbranch, his voice edged with menace, addressed the Thane. "I have no idea of what you talk, although I clearly see you are very drunk. We wish passage through the pass and your army will stand aside."
"Stand aside?" roared Brunmir in outrage. "Stand aside? A Dwarf does not stand aside, Elf, and you have not answered my question. I refer to the unnatural union between the Dwarf lass I mention and a person .......... unknown."
"He's mad!" exclaimed Thornbranch, his patience at an end. "What are you insinuating, Dwarf?"
"Did one of you take advantage of the Dwarf maid?" Brunmir pointed a stubby finger at the Wood Elves.
"The thought is repulsive, offensive and an affront upon Elf kind. Now stop your ranting and move aside," demanded Thornbranch.
"Elf, it is you who cause offence! No Pointy Ear calls a Dwarf maid repulsive and gets away with it." Brunmir Grunnson-Grunnson was now red with rage.
Seeing a diplomatic resolution slipping away, Celdris quickly tried to console the Dwarf Thane. "Master Dwarf, I believe you misconstrue what Findrith meant. I would ask you to allow our kindred free passage through the pass. Will you move aside?"
Brunmir regarded Celdrith for a moment and then turned his gimlet stare upon Thornbranch.
"No, I ... will ... not!" rumbled Brunmir Grunnson-Grunnson in a voice like thunder over mountaintops.
"This is madness," Cerys Sunhair said in disbelief. "The Dwarfs will not let us pass?"
"So it would seem." Thornbranch sat upon the trunk of a fallen tree regarding the company with a brooding gaze.
"I do not think you helped matters, Findrith." Celdris turned to look at the Alter Noble who just shrugged his shoulders.
"There is nothing for it but to try and break through their lines," Findrith's tone was cold, "and I for one am not unduly worried how many Dwarfs get in our way!"
No one spoke as they watched Thornbranch rise to his feet. "I suggest we ready the Kindred," he said picking up the huge great weapon propped against the trunk next to him.
"They're just waiting," observed Celdris Shadowleaf. "We must take the initiative, sweep past them as fast as we can."
"Let us wait no longer, then." Findrith Thornbranch signalled the Glade Riders assembled on the Wood Elves' right flank to advance.
In the centre of their lines, the massed ranks of Glade Guard archers let lose a huge volley of arrows. Being at the extremity of their longbows' range, the display was more for show, hoping to intimidate the Dwarfs into withdrawing. On the left of the field, Dryads moved with speed through a copse, their shapes shifting from the forms of beautiful maidens to those of thorny, stick-like hags.
The Dwarf Thunderers and Quarrellers now opened fire seeing the Lost Kindred approaching fast, a few Glade Riders and Glade Guard taking injuries.
Suddenly, an Organ Gun appeared out of the air, apparently having been concealed by one of the Dwarf Runes. The Lost Kindred were now in imminent danger from the war machine. With a cry as wild as the mountains, Quair-eriel the mighty Great Eagle swooped out of the sky and attacked. The first of the Dwarf crew saw nothing, so fast was the assault, the Eagles talons raking the Dwarf across the back of the head. The other crewmembers turned to fight back but the bird was upon another before they had any chance to react. The remaining Dwarf seeing the demise of his comrades turned and began to run. Quair-eriel regarded the fleeing Dwarf with grim amusement, spread his enormous wings and launched himself after the panting figure who stood no chance of escape.
The Glade Guard had advanced further into the middle of the field and sent another rain of Wood Elf arrows at the Thunderers. The reduced distance made their shooting far more accurate this time and a number of the Dwarfs fell. Celdris Shadowleaf immerged from the light woodland he, Findrith Thornbranch and Lord Barku had used to cloak their approach. Before him, he now saw a long line of Quarrellers. Celdris drew from the quiver slung across his back, an arrow with shimmering green fletching. Cerys Sunhair had spell-sung a secret charm upon this shaft warning him the arrow could only be employed once. As he drew back the bowstring to touch his cheek, he uttered a simple prayer, Isha guide me. The arrow flew from the bowstring and at once he knew he could not miss. A trail of green phosphorescent light streamed from it's strange flight feathers and, as he watched the arrow reach the zenith of it's trajectory, it burst into a ball of incandescent white light from which flew not one but many arrows. The eyes of the Quarrellers widened as they now saw a veritable shower of shafts flying directly towards them, next moment hitting their line with deadly accuracy. A single Quarreller stood amongst the carnage, resolve carved upon his stone like face that he would take as many Elves with him as possible.
The Dwarf cannon crews, seeing the attacks upon the Organ Gun and Quarrellers, combined with the fact that the Glade Riders were fast closing upon their position, now swung their iron war machines around to target their left flank. The first dwarf gunner ignited the weapons fuse, which began to burn. He stuck his fingers in his ears but as he watched, the red glow of the fuse dulled and, to his alarm, went out. The second cannon now opened fire, the ball arcing in the direction of the wood where Celdris was crouched. He heard a low-pitched thrumming sound and at the last second, seeing the cannon ball heading directly for him, desperately dived to his right, the missile clipping his left arm. The agony was intense; his arm hanging uselessly at his side and streaming with blood.
In the centre of the field the shooting was becoming fiercer as the Thunderers fired another volley into the Glade Guard. At this range, it was hard to miss and many Elves slumped to the earth. The Wood Elves returned fire with a withering steel tipped rain of death, the Dwarfs finally having enough and fleeing the field.
The remaining Quarreller suddenly found himself surrounded; Glade Riders cantered around him letting off arrows, scouts appeared out of the woodland and fired a volley at him. His grim resolve was not enough to save him.
The thunderous boom of cannon fire resounded across the battlefield again. The first cannon ball arced out of the sky into a company of Glade Riders who immediately turned their mounts and sped away from the danger. The second cannon, upon seeing the Wood Elf Alter Nobles approaching their position with speed, loaded their war machine with grape shot. The tiny pieces of shrapnel splayed out in a deadly fan of death but the agility of the Alters saved them as they threw themselves to the ground, the grape shot flying harmlessly over their heads.
"Now we take the cannons," growled Findrith Thornbranch. He sprinted, his unnatural Alter speed taking him into combat with the cannon crew before another round of shot could be loaded. Celdris, even with his injury, followed close behind as at the same moment, Quair-eriel swooped upon the luckless crew as well. The dwarfs were overwhelmed. Celdris glanced across at the other cannon fearing it may open fire any second but saw it too had been attacked and silenced by a retinue of Lord Barku's Dryad Handmaidens.
Giving up to overwhelming odds was not in Brunmir Grunnson-Grunnson's nature. He climbed upon a rock so that he could better swing his axe, his regiment of Longbeards about him. He waited for the Glade Riders fast approaching the front of the regiment to charge in with their spears. Then these Elves would see what a good Dwarf axe could do! At the last moment, however, the riders split, one company peeling off towards the right flank, the other, to the left. As they rode past, they let lose a shower of arrows at the Longbeards.
"You'll have to do better than that," jeered Brunmir as the missiles bounced harmlessly of the Dwarf armour. He then turned, his eyes widening in alarm to see Lord Barku, the Treeman Ancient almost upon them.
"Oh, we will!" Findrith Thornbranch, growled as he regarded the Thane. He stood upon the rise of ground behind Brunmir's Longbeards, the dead cannon crew at his feet, Celdris at his side. They waited one moment longer as, with a bellow of rage, the Venerable One crashed into the flank of the Longbeards. The two Alter Nobles charged down the slope, their great weapons whirling around their heads, as they too hit the Longbeards in the rear. At the same moment, Quair-eriel swooped in to lend his vicious talons to the fray. The Longbeards buckled under the assault and the Dwarf casualties piled up. Suddenly, Brunmir found himself the only Dwarf standing and facing the fury of Thornbranch. The speed of the Elf was almost unnatural, the huge sword seemingly as light as air. The first pass of the blade caught Brunmir across the middle before he could react. Thornbranch reversed the swing and the great weapon whistled back, the flat of the blade hitting the side of the Thanes head with such force that he toppled from his position upon the rock to lie unmoving amongst the dead Longbeards.
At that moment, Cerys Sunhair cantered up upon her Elven steed. "Come quickly!" she shouted urgently to the Nobles. "The way is clear but a force of Dwarfs are approaching the field. We must leave without delay. Gather the Kindred with all haste." She turned her mount heading toward the distant pass entrance, gathering the Grey Elves as she went. Findrith glanced down at the Dwarf Thane. Brunmir groaned.
"The Dwarf will have the worst head ache he has ever had when he wakes up!" observed Thornbranch. "Come, Celdris." And so saying, Findrith Thornbranch turned to follow the Spellsinger.
King Barundin Stoneheart stared down at the prostrate form of his cousin, Brunmir Grunnson-Grunnson. A bodyguard of Hammerers stood around the Dwarf Lord surveying the pitiful scene of the decimated Dwarf army. He had marched from Zhufbar in search of Brunmir as no report regarding the apprehension of Grimgal Grunson's despoiler had been received from his cousin for quite some time.
"This might take a wee bit longer than I thought," he observed to himself.