Blade of Erogrund

Chapter 42- Dragon's Counsel

What remained of the battle passed in a blur of pain, blood, and vengeance all of which flowed furiously from Godric. 

Erogrund fell sharper with every blow but each step brought a stiffer foe than the one before. Draeknol consisted of a single looming cave, the jagged ceiling towering two-hundred feet above. Shadows swathed the ominous walls of the cave like curtains, broken only by the four or so gaping entrances that spat dull grey light from the world outside into the depths of the dark. 

Bones littered the rocky, uneven ground and with them the gold and tarnished silver of a hundred cities. Gold that had been their pride in days past and their fall in the Days of the Dragons. Amid the treasure and bone, serpents roared at the sight of the marching army. 

The glistening of dragonfire and daylight against thousands of spearheads and swords left them gleaming like so many candles. One by one the serpents fell to the swords of Men and, particularly, Erogrund. Godric tasted the blood of seven Dragons on that field but no amount of silver gore could satiate his hunger for victory. Every time his arm swung in a deathblow his eyes would fill with visions of Ennor's fallen body and the blade bit deeper than any Dragon's teeth. 

Yet the strength of Men was only so great. Even the Dwarves began to tire as the sun bowed its head beneath the jagged peaks. Bodies of soldiers, knights, horses, and Dwarves thickly matted the ground in a gruesome carpet that grabbed at their feet and slowed their march. Almost as thick was the nauseating odor of scorched flesh, heated metal, and, above all, blood, that curled in a sickening clouds from the corpses left on the ground as the battle progressed.  

At times it felt as though the Men of Niron were arranged only for slaughter. When fire and smoke filled their lungs and the only break in the dark was the shining of the serpents' claws Godric quietly reserved that they had indeed finally faced defeat. But each time the Dragon at their forefront would be slain by his sword or another's and the Blue Army would again sally over its carcass.

For many hours the battle endured. With each charge more Men fell until their corpses covered the ground inside the cave as thickly as they did outside, if not more so. Godric grew sick with the sight of blood and disgusted at the flash of fire. Every flicker repulsed him such that his sword would always find the Dragon's tongue and still the flames that came from it. 

Wounds covered him from head to toe despite his fragmented armor. Three times he drew a shield from the ground to replace his own and three times it shattered upon the might of the Dragons. His bracers fell away and his grieves were discarded after they hung in crinkled remains from his legs. Only his breastplate remained despite being dented and blackened with fire. 

It was in this way that the Army of Niron made battle against the Dragons of Draeknol and the North. Even as the sun submitted to the horizon victory eluded them. 

A single Dragon remained. In the depths of Draeknol Godric could not see its size but every limb stood thicker than the eldest tree he had ever spied. Its massive sides heaved with ancient golden scales and its crown of horns was twisted in a more regal configuration than any of its kin. Its eyes shone as gold as its plate wherever light played across its skin but most of its serpentine body lie smothered in curtains of shadow. 

Godric's eyes darted through the dark to spy where he might pierce it, yet it always eluded him. Even after eleven Dragon corpses lay like mountains on the rocky floor of the cavern it twisted among them. 

Soldiers picked through the bodies warily, their eyes flashing just as Godric's for the least sign of the Dragon. The rustling of its scale upon stone slithered from everywhere as the sound echoed through the immense cavern.