BlackThorn's Doom Page 0,25

rang loudly as Gaelan’s men slammed into the Morne. The Morne advance faltered and they were forced back. Men attacked them from both sides now hacking at them mercilessly. Men and Morne alike screamed in anger and pain. The flagstones of the battlement grew slick with their blood.

Gaelan’s sword flashed in the gloom its blade dripping blood. The Morne fell back, their blades useless against his prowess. Although he was far less skilled than Connell he had profited much from King Wolhan’s lessons and was regarded as one of the greatest swordsmen alive.

He was enraged and fought as a man possessed. He offered no quarter and slew any Morne who was foolish enough to come before him. His vision was sharp and the strength of his arm fortified by the righteous anger he felt towards these inhuman beasts that would slaughter his people.

His arm burned with exertion but his anger drove him beyond his limits. Sustained by his furry his sword shattered blades and sliced through armor and bone alike. Blood covered him from head to toe making his visage a terrible thing to behold.

Dispatching the warrior before him he found himself surrounded by his own men. The wall had been cleared of the enemy. Battered and bloody the men raised their swords and yelled his name.

Gaelan shook the gore from his blade and kicked one of the fallen Morne. “Toss this rubbish from the wall.” He ordered the warriors. “The smell of their dead offends me.”

The entire keep shook as a thunderous boom sounded in the comb. All along the wall men had fallen to their knees. It was a miracle that none had fallen from the battlement. Gaelan gripped the merlon for balance and looked on as the Trolls swung the ram forward once more.

The Iron head flashed brightly as the horns slammed into the stone once more. The entire mountain shook with the power it unleashed. Dust and small stones rained down from rock above.

Glancing upward Gaelan prayed that it would not bring the mountain down upon their heads. “Archers!” He shouted pointing down to the Trolls.

Bows thrummed and arrows bristled from the brutes’ shoulders but the Trolls swung the ram forward once more. The stones heaved under the defenders feet and the stone of the tower groaned beneath the onslaught.

Blow after blow the Trolls delivered shaking the very foundations of the comb. The gate had fallen aside revealing the stone barricade. The hard rock face had been deeply scored by the ensorcelled horns of the ram.

Another powerful blow and the entire outer face of the tower slowly sagged downward as the rock gave way. Massive stones tumbled down into the comb. The heavy blocks crushing the Trolls beneath their weight, the ram vanished in a cloud of dust.

Gaelan watched in horror as the outer facade of the tower fell. Men upon the battlement went to their deaths falling with the massive blocks of stone.

The men of Trondhiem had built the fortress well. The tower yet stood only the outer layer of stone had collapsed and part of the upper most level lay in ruin. The keep was sound and the Morne scrambling up the rubble found only tightly fitted stone before them.

Men rose from within the debris, only a pitiful few had survived the collapse and many of them bore wounds. With knives, swords and bits of debris they fell upon the climbing Morne. From within the rock emerged King Wolhan he stood upon a large section of stone and called the survivors to him.

Gaelan leaned against the merlon; he looked to Wolhan and their eyes met. Wolhan nodded once in understanding and shrugged off his heavy cloak. His chain hauberk glittered brightly in the gloom, reflecting the light of a hundred torches.

“We have to save him!” D’Yana pleaded. Rushing to Gaelan’s side she pulled him around to face her.

Her face was ruddy with anger and smeared with blood and soot. She had fought hard and had slain many Morne today. “You can’t just let him die!”

“There is no way.” Gaelan snapped in desperation. “The gate is buried and he would be killed by archers should we try and haul him up with ropes.” Gaelan watched as the survivors prepared for a last stand. “He knows he is lost D’Yana.” Gaelan turned to face his men. “Those with arrows yet in their quivers,” He pointed to the doomed men. “Give them what cover you can.”

“Then I shall go to him.” She said hotly looking about for