Stormrider

Chapter 8: The Battle at Nevrast

THE BATTLE AT NEVRAST

On the next morn the day of battle dawned and Eomund rode forth with a host of men who had rallied to his cause. Warriors with bright helms and gleaming spears; any lord might be proud of that assembly of thanes. All told some twenty and eight rode with Eomund that day. Besides these, the strength of the king of Bregolad was held in reserve to be released upon a signal from Eomund; the winding of a note from his horn. Thus it was that the heart of Eomund was lifted up in courage, resolute in victory over the day.

The riders had reached Nevrast ere the break of day while a misty dew lingered still upon the turf. To the north lay the hills of Nevrast where the orc horde had huddled together amid the caves numerous and tangled. Many an orc stood without, unawares of the doom that soon would befall them. Emerging from the forest of Brethel the host of riders assailed the orc guard there and slew many at the mouth of the caves. Eomund and his thanes saw success in that hour, until the orcs were redoubled in number and massing in force pushed back the advance of Eomund's cavalry.

At this, Eomund's cavalry redoubled in turn and assembling in the southern edge of the field formed a rank of horsemen twelve wide and two deep. Charging they rushed upon the orcs with renewed vigor. The sound of hooves was as thunder, their spears and bright helms as lightning; they were as the oncoming storm that draws across the plane. In that moment, Eomund recalled the Stormriders and their majesty in battle. He smiled at the thought and let sound a mirthful laugh.

Then the orcs were slain in numbers greater than before. Their bodies were heaped one upon the other until the turf was hidden from sight and the horses became mired in the dead. For this reason the strength of the cavalry was soon diminished.

But Eomund was not yet undone and he hew at the orcs' heads as the reaper in the field. Yet the numbers of the slain orcs were restored and doubled until the field was a sea of ghoulish faces of grim intent. The orcs thronged in so great a press that the remaining line of the cavalry faltered and was broken. Many a man was unhorsed or otherwise slain as the orcs brought forth long-handled warhammers of iron and whips of barbed cord.

The battle now turned to the orcs, for the advance of their numbers was too great a tide for the host of Eomund. In that hour Eomund lifted up his gilded horn and winded a long deep note that resounded among the surrounding hills. For a moment the orcs quailed and faltered, for the sound of it was like that of Jurgon, the Lord of the Sea. But Eomund's call was not heeded by the king's men, and none came to aid at Eomund's behest. Then he despaired for a moment and fear gripped his heart like an icy vice.

In that moment fate and fear conspired against him, for a band of orcs thronged about and snared Lithos' legs with a cord and they mercilessly hew at his hooves until he fell. He was cut out from under Eomund and both fell to the earth like a stone. Eomund was thrown from atop his steed and Lithos lay upon the ground, wounded beyond healing, but yet alive and in grim anguish. No choice was left to Eomund but to slay his dear friend in mercy rather than allow him to suffer.

So Eomund took up his sword and spoke, "Dear friend, thou I have known from a foal and close as a brother hast thou been unto me. Ever have you been at my side and I am anguished now to be parted with you when it could have been averted. Know then that you shall be avenged two fold; for the orcs who struck thee with iron, and upon the king of Bregolad whose cowardice and betrayal hath slain thee as surely as the sword. Go now, and be at peace. Run in the everlasting fields of Hollath with thy mighty ancestors and be not ashamed in their presence."

With those words he plunged his sword into Lithos' heart, and Eomund was grieved as one who loses a dear and beloved friend. So it was that Eomund turned back to the battle; grief and wrath both flowed from him intermingled like two springs who issuing apart join together and form a river. They both gave fury to his limbs and none could face his perilous wrath in that hour. His torment he spent upon the orcs, dealing deadly strokes to all. In his eyes a fire blazed as tears like a stream ran down his fair cheeks. And the orcs comprehended not the anguish that was upon him and knew not what to reckon of him, save that he was perilous in his rage and all that stood before him were slain.

But he was not inexhaustible, and as the battle warred on Eomund began to weary; and being with few companions he stepped ever closer to peril-though he cared little. For he was now become fey and began to laugh in madness without reason. Soon he grew too weary to fight with skill and became reckless. And with ebbing strength he fell upon his knees swinging at any who ventured nigh him. His shield was soon cloven and splintered and he swung the sword with both hands until they clung to the hilts and he could not release them.

There Eomund, would surely have perished and passed from the world, had the Children of Forn not come to his aid. For suddenly, from the midst of the woods to the north about the hill, a cry went up. It was neither the screeching clamor of orcs nor the futile wailing of men; it was a single voice, ancient like the hills but with the promise of youth borne by spring. "The Green-elves have come forth to battle against the evil-ones!" And a multitude of clear voices arose in answer, "We come in the name of Ithel!"

Out of the woods from about either side of the hill, a marvelous cavalry emerged like two great arms reaching to clasp. Like a maelstrom of hooves and arrows, it swirled around the orc host-a torrent of ancient vengeance.

And Eomund saw the one whose voice had issued the cavalry's onslaught. Surely this was their captain. Stern was his face, set like a flint. Evenso he was fair to look upon and his hair was as a high flame seen from afar off. He rode tall and proud, and as he stretched his bow to loose an arrow he looked as the hawk descending upon its prey. Both horse and rider moved as one being in unity of purpose, and Eomund was in awe for the sight of the ancient majesty of that immortal people.

Then, in the midst of the reek of battle, Eomund caught a pleasant scent like of spring flowers born upon a strange wind. Immediately a vision arose in his mind of long rolling hills under soft skies and of dewy grass under dark and venerable trees. The vision consumed Eomund until his head reeled and he swooned and knew no more of the battle.