Chapter Forty-four
The Valkor reached the gates in minutes, flanked by five grotesque and gigantic creatures, each swinging his own club in a wild and barbaric manner. Leading each of the three fire-breathing animals was a red robed sorcerer. The beasts were muzzled, preventing them from releasing their deadly fire unnecessarily or too soon, and attached to the end of each restraint was a woven silver leash, appearing almost to be too delicate to constrain the massive brutes. They followed their leaders nonetheless, and they hung their huge heads almost on the ground as they stepped methodically forward. Each Giant’s footstep shook the very earth itself, and rattled the stones and jiggled the weapons atop the walls of the city.
Colton withdrew to the back of his lines, and he could be seen clearly now orchestrating the movements of troops and weaponry from there, having no reason to be too close to the front. His stellar vision would allow him to witness and absorb all that took place before him, regardless of his vantage point.
Grogan noted with relief that the Dark Lord responded as they had hoped, and he was encouraged thereby despite the advance of the forbidding foe. At least, he reasoned, if what Robyn was attempting succeeded, then they would not have to deal with Colton during this round of the battle. He was unclear regarding exactly what to expect from the council, what shape or form their efforts would take, and he organized his men as if they were the only line of defense for the city.
A shrill horn blew and minutes later thousands of Trolls emerged from the front lines, running in their own awkward way, an ululating shriek rising within their ranks. They moved faster than would be expected from observing their disproportionate bodies, and they held their clubs and axes high above themselves as they advanced. Once before the walls, they set about their tasks methodically and determinedly. The stones began to fall upon them from the battlements, heaved over in great numbers by the steadfast defenders, and the first wave of marauders was quickly beaten to the ground.
By that time the Valkor had reached the gates, the red robed robbers had already removed their muzzles. Each beast raised his ugly head to the sky and roared, belching fire at least twenty feet into the air as he did so. The Giants pulled from off of their backs enormous, concave, platter-like shields and held them over the Valkor, obviously designed to catch whatever might be heaved onto them from above.
Grogan motioned to the soldiers surrounding the cauldrons of hot oil, and three pins were pulled from each of the mechanisms, spilling the boiling liquid down and over the walls onto the giants below. The hot oil splattered and sizzled as it dripped onto the giant’s tough skin. They were forced to quickly reposition the shields in order to catch the steaming fluid. These huge monsters were surprisingly agile, despite their bulk, and the five behemoths deftly maneuvered the large bucklers so that they could intercept the dangerous liquid and then harmlessly dispose of it by dipping the shields sideways and letting it drip onto the nearby ground. They moved from side to side, catching everything that rained down upon them and the Valkor, while the lizard-like beasts began to focus their own fire on the hard wood of the Noban gates.
Grogan gestured to the archers, and they quickly stepped in front of the cauldrons as they were being refilled with oil. He dropped his arm and they loosed their steel tipped arrows at the giants and the Valkor below. The red robed magicians stepped back from the walls, lined up side by side, and sent bursts of yellow fire at the shafts as they fell, burning them to cinders before they even had a chance to reach their targets.
Grogan signaled to his men to persist despite the frustration of their efforts, hoping to at least catch one of the many beasts off guard and thus damage it significantly. He called for wave after wave of careening stones, followed by boiling oil and succeeded by hundreds of arrows. But the tough skin of the Valkor deflected any of the missiles that penetrated the giant’s shields, and the Dark Lord’s sorcerers continued unhampered at the job of annihilating the barbs even before they reached any target, let alone fell to the ground.
Meanwhile, the intense heat generated by the fires erupting from the bellies of the beasts were scarring the gates. The incredibly hard wood resisted the onslaught with a wondrous resiliency, but the extreme temperatures borne of the digested coal were clearly having an impact upon them. Every so often, each Valkor sat back upon its ponderous haunches, bent its long snout forward and then spewed sizzling steam from the air hole behind its head.
Grogan knew that for that one brief instant the beasts were vulnerable, and he tried time after time to attack precisely at the correct moment, hoping to drop a heavy stone or a gallon of boiling oil onto them when it could do the most harm. The Giants were positioned well, and the Master at Arms soon recognized the futility of his men’s efforts. If he was to have any success in halting the attack of the Valkor, he would need to distract or disable the giants first, and that he and his soldiers were hard pressed to do. They persisted nonetheless in their labors, unwilling to allow the invaders to rest from their defensive efforts, but the Valkor stood before the gates blasting away with their fire, resting when they chose and turning the burnished brown of the carved Noban Gates into a singed and dreary grey.
Grogan was so absorbed in his attempt to find a means of disabling the fire breathing monsters, the most serious threat to the city, that he barely noticed the lines of Trolls advancing against the walls. He was distracted from his deliberations by the heavy beating of the drums indicating their imminent approach, and he rushed to motion the other archers lining the walls to prepare for the attack. They waited for his signal, and as the Troll army rushed headlong into the walls of the citadel, they let loose their first volley.
The initial line of Trolls collapsed, taken down by the Pardathan volley, but before the bowmen could set their arrows to loose a second wave, they were suddenly blinded by a burst of reflected sunlight bouncing off of the burnished copper of the mutants’ shields lining the edge of the battlefield. Grogan covered his eyes, shielding them from the intensity of the illumination while attempting to focus on the surging enemy ranks, but he was unable to see anything through the glare. His men removed their pointed shafts from the taught strings and aimed their bows downward, dazed by the intense brightness, while the enemy plunged forward.
The heavily armored Trolls were upon the walls before anyone could recover from their sudden blindness, hacking and chiseling at the stone. The enemy archers safely concealed behind the bearers of the copper shields, shot their arrows high and fast, taking down many of Grogan’s soldiers before they could even recover from the confusion caused by the dazzling light. The Master at Arms saw his companion next to him fall from a black shaft that was now imbedded deep in his left eye, and he shouted to his men to drop behind the protection of the escarpment, realizing all too quickly the consequences of being exposed. They obeyed without hesitation, falling to the stone floor, creeping as close to the wall as possible and seeking shelter behind the heavy stone.
Another wave of arrows flew over the wall, searching out anyone who remained standing and causing serious harm to whomever still lay exposed. Meanwhile, the Giants realized the opportunity they were granted and they began to pound upon the gates with their tree-like clubs. The fire from the Valkor’s mouths increased in intensity and Grogan feared that the gates would soon give way if he did not do something to prevent this onslaught. The Trolls were throwing ladders against the walls, seeking to scale them while the guards above were incapacitated. They moved with an uncanny speed, up the thick rungs, dragging their heavy bodies closer and closer to the top.
By this time, many of the men had regained their focus and they had crawled cautiously to the bubbling cauldrons of boiling oil and to the wheelbarrows filled with stones. As quickly as they could, they released the pins and sent the hot oil cascading over the sides once again, scorching the attackers and toppling them to the ground. With eyes shielded, they used forked paddles to force the ladders backward and away from the walls, causing the Trolls that had not fallen from the burning liquid to careen to their deaths on the hard surface below. Boulders were heaved over the edge, taking down many a Troll both on the ladders and upon the ground. But the mass of attackers kept coming by the thousands, throwing up more ladders than the soldiers could possibly disperse.
The pounding upon the gates was thunderous, and the men in the courtyard were pressing hewn tree trunks hard against the inside of the opening, trying desperately to resist the bulging force. They could feel the excruciating heat, even through the thick, hard Noban, and they feared that the gates themselves would soon burst into flame if they did not give way to the Giant’s relentless thrusts first. Grogan, high up on the battlements above, rallied the men up and down the walls, and they rose to his call, fighting as best as they could against the enemy without.
Chapter Forty-five
Filaree stood and beckoned to Elion to follow her. She had ascertained that Robyn would be alright with time and rest, and she was anxious to get to the walls herself. Together she and the young Elfin Prince left the council on the mount and headed for the front lines. Cameron joined her as soon as she emerged from the oval of stones, holding Nico’s reins in one hand and Trojan’s in the other.
Elion whistled for Jorda who waited patiently nearby. The three friends mounted quickly and took off for the entry without waiting for any of the others. They sped down the hill and through the city, and they were all three shocked at the chaos that they encountered as they neared the Noban gates. All around they saw the dead and the wounded, while the living were in a near state of panic, trying to prevent the gates from caving in upon them. The temperature of the air was so high that their skin burned as they drew closer, and the deafening noise of the relentless pounding was almost unbearable.
“Follow me!” Filaree said, as she jumped from Nico’s back and headed for the catwalk that she knew would take them to the place where Grogan would most likely be by now.
Elion and Cameron rushed to keep up with her, bounding up two and three steps at a time. When they emerged from the stairway, they were appalled by what they saw unfolding before their eyes. The defense was not chaotic here as it was below, but the battlefield was swarming with enemy forces, and it was immediately clear to them all that Grogan and his men were not winning the fight. Broken bodies and dying warriors were lying all around them, with no one available or able to aid them at this time. Arrows were raining down upon them all, and they could barely see out over the stone shelter of the walls due to the painful streaks of light that forced them to keep their eyes virtually shut.
Cameron spotted the Master at Arms atop the Ghost tower first, and he beckoned to Filaree and Elion to ascend the narrow steps behind him. Grogan stood beside one of the wounded he had carried up to the top, away from the immediate threat of the beasts below, and he was pulling gently at an arrow that protruded from his arm, soothing him with calm words of encouragement. His armor was singed and dirty, the result no doubt of getting too close to the flames that reached up and over the walls at times. He had a deep cut across his cheek, probably from an arrow that missed its mark, and blood trickled down his chin. As he comforted his soldier, he barked orders to the others on the battlements below in a confident and orderly fashion.
“Master Grogan?” Cameron addressed him first as he emerged from the stone catwalk onto the tower floor. “What can we do here to help?” he shouted above the din.
Filaree and Elion joined him immediately and they too waited anxiously for his answer.
“As you can see, we have our hands full. I fear that I require more than two humans and an Elfling right now,” he said, downcast.
“That may be true, Lord Grogan, but three fresh bodies are better than none, and soon, we hope that the council’s work will start paying off and you will have some much earned relief,” Filaree remarked.
“We must hold them off just a little longer,” Elion said. “Look, master Grogan!” he said to him as he pointed to the city streets. “Can you not see the ripple of power?” he asked the tired leader.
Grogan wiped his brow with his sleeve and gazed quizzically in the direction that the Elf pointed. He tilted his head in confusion, sensing more than seeing what he was talking about, and then he returned his scrutiny to the battlefield.
“Whatever you have been working on and anticipating, it had better happen fast. I fear we are losing the battle and there is little that I can do to prevent it now,” he answered while staring at the carnage all around him and at the endless stream of Trolls marching to Pardatha.
“Grogan? How can we stop the Valkor? We must halt their progress for as long as we can. The gates must hold!” Filaree exclaimed.
“They are vulnerable in only one spot. The air holes behind their heads are like a soft belly on a lizard. Plunge a sword into it and you reach its small brain easily. It will die quickly,” he answered.
“How can we do that?” Elion asked, not expecting an answer.
“We must jump down upon their backs when they stop to rest. There is no other way!” Filaree said, as if they all should have come to the same conclusion.
“That would mean certain death to you all!” Grogan said. “How do you propose to return to the city, even assuming you can perform such a task? That would be suicide, my Lady!” Grogan exclaimed.
“What choice have we, Master Grogan? We will all die soon enough if the gates are breached!” she answered truthfully.
“You cannot do it, my Lady. Grogan is right. It would be impossible to survive!” Cameron said to her, concern mounting in his voice.
“The Lady is correct, Cameron. We can try. If we fail, we have lost nothing, and if we succeed, we may just buy the city the time it needs for Robyn’s magic to take hold,” Elion said.
“Is it agreed then? What other choice do we have?” Filaree asked, clearly certain herself of the course of action she needed to take.
Elion nodded his head and looked at Cameron. He stared at Filaree and bowed his head too, indicating his concurrence.
“Let us prepare ourselves. We have little time,” she answered, relieved that she did not have to sever this threesome now. “Master Grogan, we will each require a long, sharp sword,” she beckoned to the warrior. “One that will withstand the impact.”
“I will get you what you need,” he said grimly, and he immediately sent an aide down to fetch the appropriate equipment.
“There are three Valkor and three of us. I will ask Grogan to mount an attack on the giants guarding them, and he must also keep those damned sorcerers busy while we drop onto the beasts’ backs. Our timing must be perfect,” she said, looking out carefully over the wall. “They seem to take their rest simultaneously. And that works to our benefit. We can all jump at the same time,” she said, as if she were contemplating a plunge into a swimming hole. “We must land carefully. It is a long way down, gentlemen!” she admonished them.
“My Lady?” Cameron asked. “What plan do we follow after we kill the Valkor?” he beseeched her.
“We pray, dear Cameron. We simply pray,” she said as Grogan returned with the equipment.
After they completed their preparations and instructed Grogan regarding what they needed of him and his men, the three valiant fighters walked to the rampart overlooking the great Noban gate. Grogan assembled the strongest of the soldiers and archers that remained nearby, and he placed a fighter next to each cauldron of oil and each barrel of stone, instructing them to await his orders. He told them of the plan, and they looked upon the three warriors with an overpowering sense of respect, though you could see the great sadness in their eyes.
Grogan walked up to Filaree and bowed deeply.
“My Lady, may the First guide you and keep you.” He turned to Elion and clasped his small hand hard between his own two and spoke solemnly. “You do your race proud, my boy!” Finally, he looked at Cameron and spoke to him quietly. “The greatest gift you could give to the one you love is your life, young man,” he said knowingly.
Cameron gazed at him, surprised by his depth of understanding, having thought that he had always concealed his feelings better than that, and then he smiled a conspiratorial smile before he walked to Filaree’s side.
All the players were in their places when Filaree signaled to Cameron and Elion to join her on the wall. They climbed carefully up on the stones and drew their weapons.
“Follow my lead. Cameron! You take the one on the left. Elion, you the right, and I will take the middle one. We must jump just as they drop their heads. The big one in the middle seems to lead the others. Watch him closely, both of you. I will jump just a second before you two do,” she said.
They all buckled their swords in place carefully, checked their belts for the knives and other weapons they required and prepared to jump.
“Are you ready?” Filaree asked.
“Yes!” they both replied in unison.
The largest of the Valkor backed away from the wall, preparing to take his rest. Filaree raised her sword and yelled, “For Avalain!” as she jumped over the tower wall. The other two followed immediately, Elion shouting “Seramour!” as he dropped to the beast’s back, and Cameron simply mouthing Filaree’s name as he too fell upon the spine of the creature.
Exactly at the same moment, Grogan unleashed his weapons, drawing the attention of the giants away from the resting Valkor. The arrows flew in great numbers distracting the Mages, and the plummeting stones kept the frenzied Trolls at bay. Filaree hit the back of the animal hard and she was stunned by the impact for just a second. The beast barely noticed her as it spewed its steam skyward. With the soft flap open to allow the air to escape, she drove the shaft of the sword deep into the back of the animal’s head, angling it to reach the soft brain. The Valkor reared up in pain, trying to figure out what was on its back causing it so much agony, but it was too late. The sword thrust home and the beast collapsed more suddenly than even Filaree anticipated, pinning her partially beneath its huge bulk as it fell.
Elion too, was immediately successful in his first attempt. The Valkor crumpled to the ground, its front legs giving way first, tumbling Elion over its spiked head and onto the earth directly before the gates.
Cameron though, landed badly. The animal he was attacking hesitated slightly before it dropped its head, and he alighted too far back to assault it as quickly as he needed to. The Valkor noticed his presence and flicked its spiked tail, catching Cameron on his sword arm. The blade slid from his now broken arm and came to rest between the shoulder and neck of the creature. With his left arm, he reached forward, stretching painfully. Suddenly, sizzling hot steam exploded out of the air hole, searing his face and the left side of his body. He reached with his weakened fingers and clasped the sword swiftly. Using his injured body for leverage, he rose up and pressed the hilt of the blade to his chest, centering the point above the exposed opening. With what strength he had left, he pressed the full weight of his torso against the sword, sending it deep into the body of the beast and striking home.
The great Valkor rose on its hind legs, now in its death throes, and Cameron, weakened from his injuries, slid to the ground. The animal struck him frontally with the rapier like talons of its front leg as it fell for the final time.
With Elion’s help, Filaree had managed to squirm out from underneath the dead creature she had landed upon only moments ago, and they both ran to Cameron. Filaree clasped his hand in her own and bent to comfort him. His chest was torn open by the Valkor’s claw and he was bleeding profusely from many places. Filaree frantically tried to stem the flow of his life blood by pressing upon his wounds with her tunic, all the while whispering words of comfort to him. Elion grabbed Cameron’s sword which lay nearby, dripping with the greenish gore of the Valkor, and he stood guard over Filaree as she administered to Cameron.
“You will not forget me, my Lady, will you?” he asked with an uneven breath, struggling to form the syllables.
“Do not speak such words, Cameron. I will help you back to the wall. You will be alright,” she said quietly, her face drenched with tears and lying close to his cheek.
“I am dying, Filaree, I can feel it,” his voice weak.
“Don’t be silly, you will be fine. Look, the bleeding is slowing,” she responded, pointing to his chest and smiling through her tears, attempting to keep him from giving up.
Some slender roots and vines, like to those that had so violently and mercilessly attacked the invaders, were breaking the surface of the soil all around him, rising to caress Cameron’s cheeks and gently pressing against his pallid skin. He was not an enemy to them but a trusted friend, and their soft and tender movements belied their affection for him. He barely noticed them as he spoke to Filaree.
“Master Grogan said it, my Lady—” Cameron gasped, his wounds making speech difficult. “Before we jumped, he said that I loved you. He knew it. It is true. I love you.” His eyes were bright and wide.
“Hush, dearest, hush. You are speaking foolish words. Later, you will regret them,” she said, brushing away the tears.
“No, I want to say them. I have loved you for years. I will never regret it. I will love you always,” he said, choking now slightly as he forced the words out.
“Don’t talk anymore, Cameron. You are too weak, you must conserve your strength,” she pleaded, laying her head softly upon his shoulder.
“Tell me you feel something for me too. Tell me you care for me?” he mumbled with his eyes half closed, as a slim and delicate stem lightly brushed a tear from his cheek.
“I do, Cameron, my love. I do love you too!” Filaree whispered, sobbing and clenching his hand.
Her cheek lay against his own now and she felt a smile break across his pained lips, just before his hand went limp. The end of the stem which now lay upon his mouth immediately burst into bloom, its small, budded end opening into a tiny yellow flower, magnificent to behold.
“Come, Lady Filaree. It is too late for him. We must now defend ourselves,” Elion said, tapping her on the shoulder and trying to pry her away from the body of her dead beloved, as the enemy nearby gathered its wits about it once more.
“But I cannot leave him here to die, Elion. You must help me!” she beseeched him, unaware of or unwilling to recognize the truth.
“He is already dead, Filaree,” he said to her softly but honestly, though sadness was consuming him. “Come, you cannot help him now,” he continued in a soothing voice while he gently pulled her apart from Cameron and handed her back her sword which he had retrieved from nearby.
She resisted for a brief moment, unable to take her eyes off of Cameron’s still smiling face, seeing for the first time the beautiful blossom that caressed his mouth and watching as other soft tendrils moved to protectively cover him. She smiled sweetly through her flood of tears, and then she gave in to Elion’s entreaty. Filaree took a deep breath and slowly released her beloved’s hand, laying it softly upon his ruined chest. She gently kissed him on his lips, frozen now for eternity with his final smile upon them. She wiped her swollen eyes and composed herself. The warrior in her took control once more, and she leaned only for a brief moment upon Elion before righting herself and striking a more defensive pose.