BlackThorn's Doom Page 0,76

moment.

Arrayed across the hillside stood the host of Tarok-nor. A dark shadow that writhed as the Morne marched forward. Behind them came the Ma’ul, its great back wreathed with living fire. It towered over the Morne setting trees ablaze with its passage. The first hint of its fear casting began to darken the defenders hearts. The men braced themselves knowing it would only grow as the demon drew nearer.

In the clear ground before the Ma’ul stood Sur’kar, unconcerned that the abomination towered over him. The intense heat of the beast touched him not. So sure was he of his power he smiled at the foolish men upon the plateau’s edge.

Connell tightened the grip upon his father’s sword. Gone now was the golden radiance that slew the Balhain, the steel yet shone but it lay quiescent in his palm.

Dawn Singer the Balhain had named the blade in his fear. How he wished it were Aethir instead, The blade that would end Sur’kar’s quest for domination and avenge all the fallen men who strove against this evil, but that hope had died in V’rag. Lost when Casius fell before the Ma’ul, buried within the burning rubble of Sur’kar’s tower.

The drums continued to beat and the Morne joined in striking their swords against bucklers of iron.

The Soldiers of Ao’dan joined in striking their swords against shields. Not to be outdone the Knights of Ril’Gambor slapped the sides of their axes with gauntleted hands.

Three horns sounded from below and the Morne charged forward with a blood-curdling cry. Up the shallow slope they raced coming to the escarpment. They began to scramble up the cliff face as rocks by the hundreds rained down upon them.

Bones were shattered and skulls crushed beneath the onslaught and yet they persevered. The men above began levering larger boulders over the edge seeking to drive the enraged Morne back.

The Morne countered and arrows struck the men above. Bodies began to fall amid the stones, black shafts protruding from their armor.

The ground shook as boulders struck, the front ranks collapsed and Morne died by the thousands, their bodies crushed.

And still they came, trampling the dead underfoot. Those who did reach the escarpments edge found Axes and Swords awaiting them.

The defenders fought valiantly, hacking away at their foe while arrows whizzed past them. The heavily armored Knights held the stair. Forming a wall of gleaming steel they cut any down who were foolish enough to rush upward.

Connell and D’Yana fought side by side, their blades darkened by the blood of many slain enemies.

Gaelan was everywhere, he rushed about the line offering encouragement and his sword where needed.

Minutes stretched into an hour and yet the Morne persisted. Exhaustion took its toll and men fell, too weak to lift their blades in their own defense.

Throughout the attack Sur’kar smiled. He cared nothing for the thousands of fallen Morne. They were merely tools, fodder for his designs.

“Why does he wait?” D’Yana wondered. “He could slay us easily with his power. Why not simply do so and be done with this slaughter?”

“He cares nothing for the Morne,” Connell answered wiping blood from his forehead. “We fight because it amuses him.”

“Like a cat toying with a field mouse.” D’Yana said.

“Aye.” Connell grunted pushing a large stone over the edge. “This is a mere taste of the evil he would bring upon the world.”

From the north east a distant rumble filled the air. A thunderous peal that continued to grow in power. The Morne attack stalled as the Morne turned to see from whence the sound came.

“What is it?” D’Yana asked.

“Drums,” Connell answered. “Thousands of them.”

“But whose?” Yoladt asked. “They are unlike any the Morne carry.”

Connell glanced downward and could see that Sur’kar himself had turned. The Ma’ul stood glaring off into the darkness waiting for what ever approached.

Hundreds of Morne rushed northwards, disappearing into the night.

Sur’kar himself is uncertain.” Connell announced. “He sends scouts out to investigate.”

Horns blew and the Morne once more rushed forward. The defenders still held the high ground but a full third of their number were dead. And the Morne ranks had hardly thinned even though two had died for every man lost.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Casius rode between Burcott and Jehnom, the graceful strides of the stag made his horse seem clumsy in comparison. He had heard only a few tales about the men of the forest. But never in his strangest dreams would he have thought to be riding to war with them or the Ahmed for that matter. Casius smiled at the thought,