and received a nasty gash to her forehead. Blood flowed freely from the wound mixing with the dust giving her face a nightmarish appearance.
There was no time to talk. Through the thinning haze the Morne were charging their swords held high, eager to bathe in the blood of their enemy.
Through the mounting sounds of combat a single horn blew, two short notes followed by one long. It was the Keshian call for assembly. The scattered men began to rally around the trumpeter forming defensive ranks.
Connell, D’Yana and a score of men were cut off from the gathering host. The Morne were upon them. Connell’s sword was a blazing flash of silver; he fought valiantly cutting through the Morne seeking to join his countrymen.
He led his small force higher into the rubble, the footing was treacherous here but the Morne could not bring their greater numbers to bear.
Foot by bloody foot they fought drawing closer to the embattled knot of men, the last remnants of Timosh’s defenders.
Step by step they advanced, D’Yana was a whirling tempest of steel her sword and dagger dripping with Morne blood.
From the corner of his eye Connell could see King Pelatus standing alone; he was surrounded by several Morne and the bodies of his fallen guard. He fought savagely, his sword and shield keeping the enemy at bay.
Connell was impressed with the older man’s skill but he knew the King had only a few minutes left to live.
Connell altered his course slightly and plowed on ahead with renewed vigor. His arm burned with exertion and he was beginning to breathe heavily. He knew he could not sustain the fight much longer.
His small group broke free of their engagement and cut down the Morne assaulting King Pelatus.
The King smiled and raised his sword in salute. After a few moments respite the two kings led the weary men back down the slope towards the besieged defenders. It sickened Connell to see how few remained, less than three thousand altogether.
From the east came a new sound, the drums had returned. Out of the darkness rushed the men in sand colored robes. A few thousand in number they pushed back the Morne lines and after several minutes of fierce fighting they managed to nearly reach the other group of men.
A battle-hardened knot of Morne stood between the two groups at their heart towered two Trolls, their cudgels keeping all but the bravest men at bay.
Gaelan saw the approaching men and ordered his men to shift and they slowly moved towards the Ahmed. They hewed a path forward and the Trolls fell upon them. Men died by the hundreds but the lumbering beasts were pulled to the ground and slain. The men of Trondhiem resorting to sheer brute force, so many men gave their lives grappling with the Trolls, buying the remaining Knights ample time to hack through the thick hide with their axes.
The Sahri fought bravely, he watched in sadness as his men fell to the blade one by one. He saw a brief flash of silver and felt the burning bite of steel as a dagger slid along his ribs.
He removed the Morne’s arm with a single swing of his sword. Before the Morne was aware of the injury his second swing had opened the creatures belly, spilling his guts upon the ground. The wound burned as if a hot iron was pressed against his side. He bled freely but he knew it was only a shallow cut, not a deep stab that would have killed him. He did his best to ignore the pain and fought on, his face a mask of rage and agony.
On the hill the Ma’ul suddenly burst into action. With a chilling roar the beast charged, not towards the combat but down the slope away from it.
The Sahri could spare only a glimpse in the Ma’ul’s direction. A large figure suddenly appeared before him. For the briefest moment he believed he faced a giant of a Morne when he realized it was a dust covered Lord Burcott.
The old warrior tossed aside an attacking Morne and joined the Ahmed King. “Well we’re in a fine mess now.” He said noting the Sahri’s injury.
The Ahmed surged forward their numbers swelling as more survivors from the escarpments collapse joined them. After a hard fought advance they joined with Gaelan’s men.
Burcott could see his King, and he was relieved to find him yet alive. Moving slowly they gave ground retreating up the slope of scree until the newly