The Last Elf of Lanis (33 page)

“I meant to ask,” Arnwylf excitedly asked as they mounted their horses, “what is that large word you have written on the flag?”

“Justice,” Ronenth said, with fire in his dark eyes.

Chapter Twenty

The Eastern Meadowland

Snow began to softly fall in the faint glow just before dawn. Human soldiers huddled against the blinding fog of the cold morning. The first garond soldiers slowly lumbered towards them through the light snow like pitch black monsters set against a rising field of white.

Kellabald had not slept that night, and sprang to his feet with the clanging of hammers on metal pots, the alarm system he had set up for the whole army. All around him, soldiers were in frantic motion.

“Wait, wait!” Kellabald bellowed to his troops. “Wait for the horse garonds!” Kellabald grabbed a captain. “The first garonds are only to test our defenses,” Kellabald said to the captain. “Do not let our all our soldiers rush to the front lines.”

The Archer rushed to Kellabald. “The bowmen of Kipleth are assembling,” the Archer yelled, “we only need a few more moments!”

“Tell them to wait for the sound of the screaming!” Kellabald ordered. He then ran to the front lines to fight and direct his forces.

Near the middle of the Eastern Meadowland, humans and garonds were engaged in individual skirmishes. The garonds were holding back their main force, when the armored formations would surge forward.

“Tell them to fall back!” Kellabald shouted.

“Fall back! Fall back!” The cry went up. The human troops fell back, the preliminary garond soldiers did not press their advantage. They waited for the sound of thunder.

And the thunder came. Hundreds upon hundreds of horse garonds surged forward. The growing sound was terrifying, and the garonds cried their awful war cries as they hammered towards the human army.

Then, the horses began to scream. Large wooden spikes were hidden among the tall grasses of the meadowland, and the riders ran their mounts at them at full gallop. The horses were cruelly impaled again and again. The spikes were set in unordered groups, so there was no riding around them. The human soldiers fell back and let the horse garonds destroy their own ranks.

The garond foot soldiers were momentarily confused, but the main mass of the garond army came up behind them.

“Now!” The Archer commanded his men. “Fire and never stop!” The archers of Kipleth tilted their bows at an angle towards the field, and cascading ranks of arrows began to fall on the garond army from directly overhead.

Hundreds of garond foot soldiers went down under the torrent of arrows, and the horse garonds, completely without armor were helplessly slaughtered. Nearly two thirds of the horse garonds were gone in the opening movements of the war.

The Archer walked among his men of Kipleth adjusting their angles of fire as he keenly surveyed the battlefield with his sharp eyes. He could see the looks of lethal satisfaction on the faces of his archers as they let fly deadly arrows again and again.

Out on the field of death, garond soldiers pushed
through
and engaged the human army. Kellabald was at the front with his soldiers, fighting face to face with the vicious invading warriors. Kellabald could also tell that Ravensdred was keeping back a portion of his army for the attack he expected on his rear flank from the Weald. His ruse with Hermergh had worked.

Kellabald could see towering wooden structures being moved forward, from behind the enemy lines. These were the machines he had heard about. Now we will see their intent, Kellabald thought, as he thrust his sword through a garond soldier.

“Stay spread out!” Kellabald cried to his troops. He saw the closest, wooden structure shudder and a massive stone came flying from it. It sailed high over the soldiers and into the ranks of the archers. Then the other towers began to fling huge stones as well. The heavy stones came in at an angle skipping across the meadow killing five or six archers as it landed.

Kellabald fought his way back to the Archer. “There is no way to defend your archers from those things!” He cried. “Take them far around the south of the battle and begin again on their left flank.”

“The towers may not be able to reposition quickly,” the Archer said in understanding. The Archer called several of his captains to himself as the colossal stones continued to take a toll on the men of Kipleth. “At a run,” he cried, “as fast as you can, take your men out and around the enemies left flank!”

The captains understood and obeyed. The archers and their arrow stewards sprinted away and to the south.

As the Archer watched his men move out, a growing fury and desire for revenge against the tower slings grew in his heart. His mind raced. How can I get close enough to destroy them and take them out of the battle, he wondered.

Kellabald could see beyond the front line of fighting, the garond formations coming. “To me! To me!” He cried to his army. “The garond animals are near!” He cried to the men. “I have no battle cry to give you, but that of the names for
which
you fight! Fight! Give your lives for those you most wish to save! Arnwylf! Wynnfrith!” And Kellabald ran forward with every soldier crying the name of a loved one with righteous fury. “For Arnwylf! For Wynnfriiiiith!” Kellabald screamed as he charged the garond formations.

The wrath of the human attack momentarily stopped the garond’s forward momentum. But, fighting as one, the animal formations used by the most skilled of the garonds pushed through the line.

The morning sun rose a dark red on the blood soaked Eastern Meadowland.

As he bravely faced the more skilled and dangerous garonds, the Mattear Gram began to speak to Kellabald. “Here, strike here,” it said in a voice only he could hear. A strange calmness came over Kellabald as the Mattear Gram guided his hand. Every lethal, garond animal formation fell behind him. The garonds seeing Kellabald with the sun sword began to focus their numbers on him.

But Kellabald was untouchable. With his trousers soaked with garond blood, standing over garond corpses piled three deep, he moved like an angel of death.

Kellabald could see Caerlund leading his men nearby, looking at him with an awed sideways glance. Kellabald thought, this must be how the Archer said he felt at the battle of the Madrun Hills. He saw every enemy before they moved towards him. He saw their planned attacks and defenses. As if he had been slipped out of time, Kellabald cut with an eerie precision, killing garond after garond without effort.

“Pace yourself,” the Mattear Gram said to Kellabald in a voice that sounded just like the voice of the Mage. “We will be here all day.” And then Kellabald understood what happened to the Mage when the Mattear Gram cut him, and he had no wound or scar. His essence had flowed into the sword. The sun sword was a whirlpool of magical energy, drawing the power into itself. This is why Deifol Hroth must never touch the sword, Kellabald thought as he fought on.

The Archer had an idea and he caught an arrow steward before he moved with the rest of the men of Kipleth. “It may mean our certain deaths,” the Archer said to the steward after he had explained his idea.

“Let them try to take my body,” the steward said, “They have already taken my heart.”

Then, the Archer knew he had chosen the right man for the job. As they readied the Archer’s plan, the Archer saw the elf run past him. “Elf!” He cried, because she had not yet told him her name.

“Come!” The Archer cried to his arrow steward, and they ran after the elf to the front lines of the battle.

The elf threw herself at the front line of garonds with a heart broken rage. Her moon sword whirled back and forth cutting down garonds over and over.

A swarm of garonds came at the Archer and he couldn’t reach the elf, as she pushed into the garond ranks, alone. She’s going to kill herself, the Archer thought, and began to release a deadly flock of arrows to get near to her. “Elf!” He cried. “Elf, wait!”

He could tell by a momentary turn of her head that her sensitive ears had heard him, but she fought forward pretending to not hear the Archer’s plea. The elf hacked at the attacking garonds with abandon. Her moon sword was a blur of razor death. But, there were simply too many garonds to move forward safely, and the sheer numbers began to close around her.

“Wait!” The Archer screamed as he and his arrow steward fought to reach her.

“We can get to her, sir,” the arrow steward said courageously hacking his way towards the elf.

“I need you!” The Archer shouted at the elf. “Don’t throw your life away.” The Archer shot again and again in hopes of moving closer to her. He didn’t know what else to say to bring her back. “Please,” he said with all his heart.

The elf stopped in the middle of the battlefield and turned to look at the Archer. The garonds saw she had dropped her guard and rushed her.

“No!” The Archer cried and ran to her, with his steward by his side. “For Lanis!” He cried. “Fight for Lanis!”

The elf seemed to awaken from a nightmare just as a gang of garonds muscled to her, swords and clubs ready to strike. The elf pivoted, and with an underhanded swing, cut five garonds in half.

“I need you to help me destroy those towers,” the Archer said, reaching the elf. “If you want to squander your life, at least do it attempting something noble.”

The Archer’s words seemed to land with some weight on the elf. “Follow me,” she said and turned to cut a swath through the garonds to the closet tower.

The elf, the Archer, and his arrow steward were enclosed on all sides by the garonds as they fought towards the wooden mechanism.

“We’re close enough!” The Archer shouted.

“Give me just two moments!” The arrow steward cried.

“You can have one!” The Archer grimly said.

After quick preparations, the arrow steward swiftly handed the Archer a flaming arrow. In the blink of an eye, the Archer sheathed his sword, took the arrow, and fired. The flaming arrow landed just in the middle of the great sling, high enough to be out of reach of panicking garonds, who futilely clawed at the spreading fire.

At the front lines Caerlund saw one of the wooden catapults going up in flames, and spotted the Archer and his companions in the thick of the garond army. They wouldn’t last long enough to get to a second one. “After them!” Caerlund bellowed, and his men pushed the line towards the Archer and the elf.

Kellabald stepped back from the front line of the war to survey the struggle. As he did, a volley of arrows rained down from the garonds left flank. Kellabald smiled to himself. But not for long, because he could see the troops held back for a rear flanking maneuver coming forward to the front.

Kellabald turned to a captain. “Now is our chance,” he said. “Take a good third of the army and run around on their right flank. They will be pulling troops to their left. We may be able to encircle them.”

“They still
outnumber
us at least three to one,” the captain said.

“Did you think we’d last this long?” Kellabald sternly said to his captain, who humbly shook his head.

“Be ready to try to move the garond troops to the south on my command,” Kellabald said to the captain, who hurried away to obey his orders.

On the field, the wooden slings proved easy to turn, much to the dismay of the Kipleth archers, now far on the garond army’s left.

However, Caerlund and a group of thirty soldiers had fought their way to the Archer and the elf. “Time to burn another one!” Caerlund shouted with glee. It turned out to be harder than they expected, as the garonds knew what they were doing, and furiously fought to protect their giant slings.

“The only reason we’re alive is because of her,” Caerlund said to the Archer, indicating the elf, who was unstoppable.

“You’re right,” he yelled back, and then the Archer fought his way to the elf’s side.

“Guide us to the tower,” the Archer shouted to the elf. The elf nodded her head without turning to look at the Archer.

“Follow the elf,” The Archer cried to the rapidly dwindling group of men. They then positioned themselves in a wedge formation, allowing the elf to push forward to the next tower. In moments, another wooden catapult was in flames.

A cheer went up from the human army.

Kellabald saw the Archer and his group in the very midst of the garond army, and the Mattear Gram spoke to him. “The sun sword fights the strongest next to the moon sword,” it said in a voice only he could hear.

“Follow me!” Kellabald bellowed to his men, and fought his way towards the elf.

A great roar went up and all eyes turned to see the garonds now fighting the flanking army on their right, as arrows continued to fall on their left flank.

“Can we encircle them?” Kellabald cried to a captain.

“We’ve stretched our army as far as it will go!” He answered. “They still
outnumber
us, and if they break through at any point, it will be a disaster.”

Kellabald fought his way towards the elf, Caerlund, and the Archer as the last of their men fell. And true to its word, the Matter Gram, the sun sword, was magnificent side by side with the moon sword of Berand Torler. It seemed as if the swords themselves began to dance in rhythm with no garond soldier able to withstand the onslaught.

“Now!” Kellabald cried. “Now!” Fully half the human army was dead. But, with more than two thirds of their soldiers killed, and nearly all the horse garonds slaughtered, the garond numbers were still far superior. The human warriors tried their best to get the garond soldiers moving from north to south in a circular pattern. But, the garonds held firm.