Birthright: Chapter Seven

[ewancummins]

THE SKIRMISHERS


Cormac creeps forward, getting closer to the camp while remaining concealed by rocks, tree stumps, anything he can find to hide himself.

Once in position, his back to the others, he hunches over, as if doing something under his cloak. Renn and the others can't make it out...
. A ghostly wolf-shape leaps from the folds of Cormac's cloak and stalks down the wooded slope, into the camp. Cormac remains in place, hidden.


Down among the horses, the wolf apparition soon makes a stir; the horses stamp, snort, neigh, and knock down sections of the fence. But they do not stampede. It's hard to say what exactly is going on, but the flying dirt, chaotic clatter of hoofbeats, and loud whinnies might indicate that some of the horses are actually trying to fight the intruder!

Nine grooms rush up to the side of the corral to check on the horses. Two enter, dodging and hanging back to avoid being struck or bitten by the angry horses. Watchers on the slope or in the tree line may see a gray, filmy thing leap up to tear at the throat of one of the grooms, who falls among the horses and is presently dragged out by his companion. All the grooms rush into the Mannish quarter of the camp, save two who set to work in and near the corral, evidently trying to separate the horses from the wolf. Those two give up after a few tries, and run to join the other Men. Even at a distance, the Tuor scouts hear shouting;‘’wolf!’’ and ‘’damned goblins!”

[ewancummins]

RIVERSIDE, HAES, THE AUCTION

The poorer folk among the crowd have fallen back to watch the riverfront traders, joined by nobles' or merchants' factors from the city and several curious lords and ladies, bid on the contents of the pleasure barge.

Atli nudges Roald, whispering,
''Maybe you should say something to get them into the spirit-- the spirit of paying us in hard coin.''

[Varrus the Ethical]

The Auction.

Atli nudges Roald, whispering,
''Maybe you should say something to get them into the spirit-- the spirit of paying us in hard coin.''

Roald chuckles and smile. "You certainly know how to keep a man focused." He steps forward to address the assembled auction participants.

He makes a shallow bow and says, "Noble Lords and Ladies, honorable members of Haes' busness community, welcome. " He takes in a breath. "In the dark early days of this terrible war, when the vulgar armies of Alamie surrounded this city and attempted to strangle its brave people into submission, it was from this vessel that Duke Carlion Alamie sat and watched."

Roald stamps a foot on the deck. "Here, Carlion ate sweetmeat and drank fine wine while threatening to starve Haes' children. It was here that he slept on soft silks while the city's defenders were lucky if they had a ditch to rest in. It was here that he sat, taunting Young Duke Devlin by ordering that innocent Tournen be hanged in sight of the walls."

Roald spreads his arms wide. "Now I offer you a chance at revenge, a chance to say, 'I'm on your boat, Carlion Alamie, take a look at me!'"

[Adam]

THE BATTLE

Cormac closes his eyes, feeling his pulse quicken as he calls out to the energies of the wild. His eyes open, and he lets out a wolf howl, calling forth his pack mate in the midst of the horses.

When it is done, he opens his eyes and enjoys the chaos that his summoned minion is bringing forth, reaching for his bow to join in the arrow fire.

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

Renn flashes a savage grin when the chaos breaks out in the camp. Not quite the stampede he'd wanted, but hopefully enough to catch them off guard. He turns to his sergeants and gives the signal to begin loosing arrows. Once the command spreads, he nocks his arrow and moves into position, targeting the wargs with his first barrage.

[VAN]

LORD FILBERT:

The younger-looking of the two bodyguards replies-

''These roads are supposed to be safe, but it's best to keep an eye out, just in case.''

Idele tells Filbert,
''We had a larger party, but my maid-servant fell ill and so we had to leave her at the last inn. Henryk's 'prentice boy stayed with her.''

Henryk grunts something like 'good lad', 'or maybe that was 'good load.'

"Indeed is always better have someone tend those that are ill."

Always curious and loving the good stories, Filbert asks:

"And how do you Idele and Mr Henryk met? Because you seem to know each other well."

[JMaytr]

Devlin gives his orders-

"Send scouts and skirmishers along with our spell weilding allies, in first and locate the enemy force. Sow confusion/chaos. Once that is done, Sir Robin, lead the charge into the camp, moving downhill if possible. Attack once the enemy is distracted by the skirmishers and facing the wrong way. Don’t delay for long, lest goblin archers set up a firing line."

Devlin moves to Count Robin's side and watches his plan unfold.

He is pleased when he sees Captain Ghonallison and the Rjurik man begin the chaos.

"Hold...we wait till the enemy has its back to us and Captain Rennault gives the signal."

[ewancummins]

THE BATTLE OF THE LONG VALE


Renn's men move down the tree line to fire at some wargs. The wolves, lacking armor or cover, run deeper into the camp to escape the arrow fire.


The Alamiens manage to get most of their horses out of the corral. Cormac’s conjured wolf-ghost harasses the riders, making it difficult for them to form a proper battle line. Safana conjures a rolling sphere of flame and sends it rolling down the hill into the camp, straight into the mass of confused men and agitated horses. The result is bloody, smoking chaos! Somehow, though, the Black Tower riders manage to form a ragged sort of order and advance, half mounted and half on foot, towards the source of the fiery sphere—the tree line.

The Tuor men with bows now turn and fire ragged volleys as fast as they may, hoping to at least slow the rush before the enemy soldiers can get in among the trees and use their great advantage in numbers and weight of armor to push out the small, lightly armed band of Tuors.
Safana motions to bring the sphere back uphill, calling it through the oncoming foe. Horses shriek as the burning orb rolls under their bellies or across their legs. She brings the tarry, blazing mass closer still, sending it tumbling along the grass just yards from the tree line, causing the front rank of Alamien horses to pull away, snorting in fear.

Gunnar shoots through the rising veil of grass-smoke, pinning one of the lead riders to his saddle. The pinned man spurs his horse and it leaps through the smoke, crashing among the trees. One of the Tuor hunters thrusts a boar spear into the injured rider’s face. Another Tuor swings a wood axe into the shrieking horse’s neck. The dying animal’s hot blood sprays on Renn, who stands nearby directing the fight and shooting arrows.

Over all the screams, curses, neighs, hoof beats, crackling flames, and loud thuds, rises the eerie wail of the phantom wolf. The Tuors in the woods gets glimpses of the gray, smoky lupine form leaping through the enemy ranks, tearing at man and horse alike, but never seeming to be hurt itself despite all the blades, fire, and flailing hooves about it.

A band of goblins comes out of the woods near the skirmish line and moves towards the right flank of the embattled Alamien company, crying out something about “the plan”! The goblins seem to be moving to attack the Alamiens. The enemy riders, seeing this new threat, break and flee, amid cries of “treacherous goblins!” and “fall back, fall back!”

...


As the Black Tower men retreat in disarray, Devlin arrives at the southern end of the vale with Count Robin, sweeping aside the Alamien pickets. Hearing the signal horns blowing and seeing the Black Tower banners taken in a rout and noting the great confusion among the goblins, the Duke orders the charge. Count Robin leads the right, Devlin the center, and Hotspur charges down the left flank. Tuor riders crash into the camp, screaming in fury.

The goblins and wargs fight back with great savagery, felling several horses and men, but the weight of the Tuor heavy cavalry’s onset punches deep into the camp, impaling goblins and wolves on lance points or trampling them beneath iron-shod hooves.

Devlin’s horse falls under him, ripped apart by wargs, but he lands on his feet and fights with sword and dagger, dodging and stabbing as he wheels over fallen tents, hops onto a handcart to avoid a goblin spear, and shouts to encourage the other Tuors.

Hotspur rides straight into the half-formed ranks of some goblin infantry, swinging his burning sword in great fiery arcs. Cleaving and searing flesh all at once. The smaller, weaker, poorly armed goblins panic, break, run deeper into camp.

Even as Tuor victory seems to be in sight, hundreds more goblins, many big ones on foot and more small ones mounted on huge wolves, arrive to surround Devlin and his men on three sides!


The goblins and their demon-wolf allies rush in for the kill, trying to swamp the men with sheer numbers. Devlin is struck several times, but shrugs off the wounds as if this were only a tavern brawl and not a deadly fray. Men fall about him.

Count Robin, a sword in one hand and a hatchet in the other, fights on foot, his horse sprawled dead at his feet. Ghonallison men mounted or afoot cluster thick round their Count, striking with mace and broadsword to drive back the dozens and dozens of goblins swarming everywhere like angry bees.

The Tuors find themselves hard-pressed, forced back from the camp, but then the disorganized goblin counterattack begins to fall apart almost as quickly as it began. A few goblins run away, a warg bolts; in another minute of fighting hundreds of goblins fall back. The Tuors, although they remain badly outnumbered, waste no time in following with firebrand and sword and long, bitter lance, striking down as many of the retreating enemy as possible.

...

Seeing an opportunity, Captain Renn leads his scouts and skirmishers against the enemy baggage train, easily driving away the small number of men and goblins there and seizing a sizeable store of loot in the process.

...

The strong east winds fan the flames of smoldering grass and burning canvas.

Many goblins escape through the smoke and chaos of the destroyed camp, fleeing north in ragged little clumps.

The Black Tower Riders try to get away as well, but Devlin’s men catch them and cut them to pieces in a short, brutal fight. Some Alamiens surrender, but many are killed outright before they even get a chance to cast down their arms, slain by vengeful men of Ghonallison.

The fight ends, but the dying does not. Tuor and Alamien, goblin, horse, and great wolf, suffer and bleed on the churned, blackened earth. Wound-binders set to work, as do throat cutters with misericords.



END OF CHAPTER SEVEN




postscript-

VIEW CONTENT:

After the battle, some of the few dozen enemy who live to surrender report a choking, poisonous mist that rolled through the farther portions of the camp at the height of the clash, killing many goblins.

One gravely injured man claims to have seen a beautiful young woman with pale skin and dark hair, dressed in ragged widow’s weeds, walking barefoot among the dead and dying.

No one finds the woman, but a Tuor man-at-arms does discover a single crimson lily placed atop a heap of the slain goblins…