A Daemon-Horn Blade Ch. 17

With these fresh reports from the town's defenders, Rowan wrote a message to be smuggled back into the town that his brigade was nearby and that the town must hold for just one more day, until his stragglers could be collected and his weary troops rested just a bit before battle. Yet to be decided was whether his brigade could or should be smuggled inside the town via the hidden tunnels, or if they would wait for the arrival of the Duke of Everdun to make a concerted attack upon the horde.

This now was probably the single biggest decision that Rowan had ever faced, and he was quite now at a loss about what to do.

****************

The Eorfleode army had not been at all understated. It was every bit as large as the reports had indicated. Between twenty to twenty-five thousand strong at present, with several more thousand now lying dead on the hillside or in the surrounding valley. Their attacks were becoming increasing desperate, but still badly coordinated. Perhaps their supply rations were running low. Boar-Men never did understand or study logistics and a large carnivorous army needs a lot of provisioning, even if they cheerfully cooked and ate their own dead. Any overwhelming assault could have taken the town weeks ago, but as always the various war-band leaders never wished to share the glory of a victory, and attacks had been piece-meal, albeit frequent both night and day.

Rowan was glad that the overall horde-leader, the alleged boarman wizard and his colossal beast, was elsewhere. Apparently, only their fear of him was enough to make the various tribes cooperate together, keeping them focused and the various tribes working together in unison. Fortunately, he remained with his western horde, and the tribes here in the east, although nearly as massive of an army, were squabbling and not even remotely cooperating together.

Gwenda was not quite so certain that the town could in fact hold out another full day, let alone three. Already the women, elderly and the severely wounded were guarding the walls day and night against the constant attacks, tossing rocks down upon the scaling ladders and bringing sheaves of arrows to the mostly unskilled bowmen. Even without a single coordinated overwhelming assault, these constant piecemeal skirmishes were grinding the few trained guardsmen down. The miners and townsmen were quite doing their best, but she feared that it was not going to be enough.

When Gwenda received a messenger late that afternoon reporting that an especially determined assault had nearly overwhelmed and swept over the western wall of the town, she knew that she needed to bring the brigade into action the next morning. All day long the weary final stragglers of the brigade had been making their way into camp, and that the refugees and the rearmost camp followers were now starting to arrive as well. Summoning Harald and Guilliam for an immediate Counsel meeting, she set forth her request that the brigade assemble for battle in the morning, but she received little support. Even in her enthusiasm, she had to admit that most of the reasons against her plans for an immediate all out attack were good ones.

For starters, attacking eastward in the morning, their soldiers would have the sun in their eyes behind their enemies, never a good tactical position to be in. Secondly, four thousand tired and footsore soldiers fighting possibly twenty-five thousand Boar-Men at once was also a rather poor strategic situation. That smacked too much of desperation, and it was certain to make the common soldier quite unhappy with the odds, and the dim-witted commanders who placed them into certain doom.

It was much safer and wiser, Rowan thought, to bring the brigade into the tunnels into the town that night and allow them to take over the defense of the walls, until the Duke's army arrived in a few days. This plan also had the different problem, the Foole noted, of placing both the soldiers of Tellismere and Broadmore in a passive role, perhaps for the duration of the siege. It would then be the Duke of Everdun who could quite rightly gain the credit for the relief of the town, thus placing Rowan into the possible situation of being unable to fulfill his oath to the Duke of Broadmore. As he might not be in the position to defeat the Boar-Men army himself, the Duke in turn could disregard his promise to send his own army north. To defend his honor and his oath, Rowan and his army needed to be once again at the sharp point of any battle, but if the town fell while he passively waited for reinforcements, then his hope for relief for his homeland was lost as well.

For a moment, it appeared that Rowan and Gwenda might actually argue and exchange heated words, but it was the goblin shaman Jim'ose who saved the lovers from nearly certain harsh words that neither of them actually meant nor felt in the anger and frustration of the moment.

"Young fools, you've been around the Cisalo for much too long, and his love of both overly rash boldness and transparent attempts at audacious cleverness has infected you. It is reckless to think of engaging into mortal combat with ones most hated enemy when one does not possess the correct information of their disposition and intentions, and of what additional allies might be found with a more careful examination of the facts, of which you now possess but few. In audacity, you wish to strike, and while this courage is admirable, it is yet quite unnecessary. Let me correct your aim, so that when your blow strikes but a little later, it shall fall harder and more truly."

"What information do we not yet have?" Gwenda sharply enquired. "We know more or less where the Duke of Everdun's forces are, yet some days away, and our scouts have marked where most of the great war-bands are assembled in the valley and we know that they little scout the areas behind their camps, so they are unlikely to detect our own forces. So what critical observations have we missed?"

"Of consequence? Little, but yet much! Since my tribe has entered into these valleys we have noted well certain signs as well upon this and other hills in the area, we know that numerous other tribes of the People of the Púcel are nearby, undoubtedly serving their masters the Boar-Men in such menial matters as our often enslaved race is suited for. Being a weak people, without the protection of our God, who has rejected us, and our betrayal by the Fex'oegh, and the other oath-breakers who rejected us, such servitude has been often our lot, but is not surrendered willingly. Should they remember the signs of the prophecy, and heed my call to join us, many could or would, if they were able, escape from their bonds and join with us to again become a free race of people, living once more with honor."

"How many of your people are there down there, serving the Eorfleode? And will they heed your call and rebel? Will they fight for their freedom?" Rowan exclaimed excitedly, for even the hope of a few more bow or spearmen could well mean the difference between success and victory.

"I am as of yet unsure, but I must go down to my people and find out the answers to these questions, and I must make haste! Noble Rowan, it is near certain that I might need your services before this long dangerous night is over, for my people are a clever but suspicious folk, and extraordinary claims often require extraordinary proofs. Do you see that tall tree to which I now point, two hills away, overlooking the valley where my people and the Boar-Men camp? If it can be made secretly safe and secure, go at once and await my return to there, before the first light of dawn, for it is written in the holy script that the honor-bringer's sword shall again shine its light over the entire valley of the Eorfleode, and solely by its light shall victory be won, for the sun shall not rise upon them that day. Tomorrow morning, they shall learn true fear as they are burned away from the weaving of this age, and they shall break and fall before the shields of men like water poured across a hard stone. By the blood and peace that his sacrifice shall bring, will the homeless be honored and the ancient oaths reforged."

"Holy Shit... we're fucked." Boyle muttered. Oddtus, his face clouded by a combination of fear and wonder, just nodded his head as well. Gwenda's anger abated, and with tears in her eyes she met the sad gaze of the man she so dearly loved and placed her soft hands into his. As they held each other, she collapsed crying into his arms and defied him to ever release her from his comforting grasp. Sadly, they could not embrace for long, as Rowan grimly took Gwenda's hand and together they followed the shaman and his small troop of attendants towards the selected hill with its large and massive tree, perhaps one of the very tallest trees that either of the couple had ever seen. This portended something significant; they were both sure, but the future showed only darkness for them both.

They found no boarmen guards or defenders upon the hill, Rowan and Gwenda quietly waited under that massive tree for much of that long night for the return of the shaman, with swords sheathed but at their readiness, eager for the news of the tidings that he would bear.

***************

Alone now, once again for the first time in about a week, Gwenda spent the long hours talking quietly, and holding each other, eventually settling down at the base of the tree at the top of the hill to kiss and embrace each other both more passionately and more franticly. Full of needs that could no longer be restrained or denied any further, the couple found themselves naked, or quite nearly so, and surrendering her hopes and prayers for the future, she accepted her most fervent desire of the moment, to feel Rowan's penis enter into her, to feel it fill her womb with his precious seed, to lie together as true lovers at least just this once, as his geféra, his wife in all but formal oath.

She was not a virgin, but she nevertheless she cried out soft tears of joy as she lowered her hips over his, as he laid on his back on the cool autumn night grass, as she slowly eased him inside of her cunt. He was snug, and his cockshaft filled her ever deeper until her pubic mound pressed full against his and she thought that she could feel the tip of his cock press firmly against the entrance to her womb. She did not think that the moon-flow was quite right for his seed to grow within her, but she prayed for this miracle nevertheless as she worked her cunt increasingly harder and faster upon his rampant member, determined that she should feel his true love flow inside of her at the very earliest possible moment.

With their first true fuck together, Rowen could not help but sadly remember the events of that last fateful past summer night with Cedany along the dark warm grass beside Lily Lake. He had fully taken her love then as well, declaring and marking her to become his... forever. A handful of hours later and she had been taken from him. Was Gwenda now to suffer this same dreadful fate? Or, as the goblin prophecy had hinted, that it was his blood that would be shed so that the others might live. He thought that he could accept this harsh fate, but he knew such a doom would darken Gwenda's heart forever, for even as his cock pulsated and erupted inside of his beloved, filling her womb canal with his seed, he knew that it was indeed Gwenda, and never Cedany, that his soul had been truly bound to. Should either of them perish, never again would the other find or accept any other love in substitution.

*************

Together, crying in love and in fear for their future, the lovers held each other for several more long hours, until about an hour before dawn a loud clearing of the throat and the sound of soft footfalls reminded the lovers that they were quite unprepared to receive company. They were still finishing getting redressed as the shaman and his men, along with a full dozen new goblins, apparently all leaders from the various enslaved tribes, joined the couple under the tree. Rowan started to apologize for any perceived disrespect, but Jim'ose laughed his efforts silent.

"Never regret any moment in the embrace of true love!" The goblin shaman wisely suggested. "The mark of the Weaver's is plain upon you, and your threads are bonded that none might separate them. It is good and right that you have acknowledged this and surrendered yourselves to their weaving, for by such will you find your fullest measure of happiness and delight. Never let another steal that special divine joy from you!" The shaman then muttered a prayer of his own in his own tongue, and together Rowan and Gwenda bowed their heads. While the words were quite strange and unfamiliar, each knew that already their unspoken troth-oaths from their hearts had been accepted, and from this very moment on they considered themselves to be forever marked as husband and wife. A more elaborate and formal ritual would still have to wait until later.

For several long minutes, the shaman explained to Rowan what indeed needed to be done next. The lad wasn't at all confident that he could do it, that he could once again fill the skies with orange flame, with great burning clouds of his implacable wrath, but he bowed his head and promised, as always, that he would do his best. Then, with Gwenda close behind him following his every step, he began to climb as rapidly as he dared up that great tall tree, up to near its very top, so that he might best see the Eorfleode army, and mark it for flaming destruction, or so he hoped.

**************

Once at the top, as the slowly brightening sky hinted of the sunrise shortly to come, Rowan had climbed as high as he dared and he could now easily see most of the valley, and its encamped horde of warriors in the dim pre-dawn glow of light. With Gwenda nearly by his side, just below him in the tree, he drew his infernal sword and it burst into flames, but try as he might it would not explode forth again into the sky, filling it with his wrath. Indeed, for now he realized that his heart was not at all filled with anger towards his enemy, but instead it was still radiant with his overflowing love for Gwenda. That he realized at once was the key, to transform this unending reservoir of love into a furnace of rage, that this army of foul malevolent creatures could somehow yet separate them forever, with one of them apparently fated to fall under their might, and their cruel desire to destroy all that was decent in this world.

Fueled now by this growing ire, the sword burned ever brighter and just before the first tip of the sun appeared over the eastern mountains, the skies grew bright with the sword's infernal light, and not the pleasant rays of the mid-autumn sun. As the flame clouds grew above the valley, with the walled town in the center of it, a bright terrible ring of conflagration began to fill the sky, and the first blots of fire, much like enormous drops of rain, began to fall unto the frightened hordes in the valley, burning and devouring them with infernal and implacable flame.

Now facing the burning sky, as promised by prophecy, indeed every single goblin tribe present at once cast off their virtual shackles of slavery and lifted a stolen weapon in quick murderous revenge before slinking off into the shadows into the hills, to freedom. While nearly two thousand Eorfleode suddenly fell to surprise treacherous strikes from behind at the hands of their former slaves, or had their still sleeping throats swiftly cut, it was the growing hailstorm of flaming rain that devoured the very heart out of the Boar-Men army, as over ten thousand of the evil creatures were struck by falling balls of flame from the ring of angry fire that filled the sky, consuming them and all that the flame touched. Making their escape quickly, the flames bypassed the fleeing goblins, who soon lined the nearby hills loudly cheering at the demise of their hated former captors, for many of these tribes had been in subjugation for many generations.

The sounds of their anger further fueled Rowan's burning rage, as Gwenda whispered comfort into his ears.

"Burn them all! Kill them with your fire, all that you can, and cleanse the world of their foul race! May their funeral pyres burn long, in memory of my father and my beloved brother, might their spirits watch their flames burn from the darkness of the Shadowlands, and may their burning warm the cold from their dead spirits! Burn them all my love, fill them with the heat of our anger and vengeance, that might they never forget this day and the disaster that befell them deep inside the lands of men, that they might never again enter our lands!"

Burn them he did, and for longer than he thought was possible, until ten thousand, or about half of the mighty horde had been scourged from the earth by his infernal flame. Only then did his resolve finally weaken and the flames burned out of the sword for now, but still the sky was burnt orange with smoke and clouds so thick that the sun could not be seen at all. Truly, as the prophecy had foretold, the sun would not rise for the Eorfleode army today!

The tree that they had climbed was also in flames, but they didn't burn or even seem to actually consume the tree in any way. Brightly burning, the tall tree was now shrouded in perpetual ghostly orange flame, and would remain so for a very long time to come. Many long generations later the tree still emitted a permanent magical orange glow. The púcel tribes thereafter that accepted the forgiveness of the Fex'oegh oath-breakers and swore peace with human's, used the symbol of the orange burning tree thereafter, for their flag markers outside of their settlements and treated the tree as their most holy and sacred site. Most of the púca also tended to wear a braided orange cloth or a orange glass bead or stone bracelet around one of their wrists, in memory of the long ages that they were slaves and how their freedom had been won.

"Come down my young couple!" Rowan heard the gléaman shout, down from the bottom of the burning tree. "For the brigade is aligned for battle and ready to march down into the valley to complete their ruin! For today shall the will of man and púcel alike be impressed upon the Boar-Men forever, and none that have wrought ruin upon these lands shall ever know the comfort of peace again!"

Hastening down the now orange tree, the weary couple joined the Histrio, and the ever growing host of púcel, tribal leaders and common goblins alike, that wanted to first see, then praise, then even briefly touch the hands of their liberators, and marvel at the tree that burned, but was not consumed. While small and relatively poorly armed, the goblins had found their soul once again and were as eager as Gwenda for the final accounting with their hated enemy to take place.

Rowan had little time to mutter in wonder, for his place was at the head of his two marching battalions, and if his messengers could get the plan of battle spread out to everyone in time, he had a certain adjustment to the line of battle that he wished to make. Nothing, not even his death, was going to prevent this utterly devastating victory he had envisioned, and he wanted for as few survivors as possible to escape from their lines, to return to their far remote primitive mountain villages, to weep, if they were capable of it, for the virtual destruction of their tribesmen.

************

With his sword again unsheathed, and once more burning brightly, Rowan was the perfect and irresistible bait to entice the entire remaining ten thousand Boar-Men into battle, and much like the bloody siege assault upon Ruromel, the entire horde was already starting to come like an enormous steel wedge directly pointed at him, at the very center of his lines. Should he live, or not, and if the battle-line remained ready to move as he directed, at least this one gigantic horde of Eorfleode was not going to live to see the sunset of this auspicious day. Regardless of the outcome of the slaughter that was certain to ensue, by the end of this very day his oath to Duke Kelvin U'Roth, the young leader of Broadmore would be fulfilled, and hope would come for the remnants of his own Duchy, as at least two human armies would now be free to confront the one vast remaining horde, now far to the west.