Chapter 16: Assault At Ravenhold

The burning of the vessels on the river proved fruitless and unnecessary. For when the Skraeg advanced, those atop the wall could see they brought with them ladders already built and capable of reaching the battlements. They seemed an endless mass of hulking grey skinned beasts. There were no siege towers, but the number of skraeg and their tall ladders was dismaying and terrifying. With them as well, were a number of rams, hewn from the trunks of great trees, on wheeled platforms designed to rush and then hammer into the gate. Commander Fain stood atop the wall waiting for the advancing army to draw ever nearer, as all those with him stood ready to hold the eastern wall as long as possible. Fear was evident in the eyes of many, and although many wanted to flee, not one broke rank.

Marek's hands were shaking as he stood next to Jarren, gripping his sword with white knuckles.

"Breathe deep and slow, Marek," Jarren said. "Remember your training."

"This is so much different, Jarren." His voice trembled.

"Yes. But you must not let your fear control you. Now listen. The Skraeg are very powerful. Avoid the parry if you can and instead of joining steel with them, move aside and attempt to hamstring them. Disable them, make them fall, and then go for the killing blow. Do not attempt to take one head on unless you have no choice. Where they use brute strength, use your speed and agility to your advantage." Jarren then quickly moved to the commander, conversed for a moment and then repeated what he had told Marek, but louder so that all could hear. "Remember!" he shouted. "They're big and they are very strong! Make that a hindrance to them rather than an advantage!" He returned to Marek and continued, "Be ready."

There was no forewarning before the attack, they simply rushed suddenly at the wall, those with ladders at the front, and thousands following behind. Fain gave the archers the order to shoot and arrows rained down on the skraeg, but it did little to slow the ladders and soon they were swarming up to the battlements. The soldiers would heave the ladders back using long poles causing them to fall backward, the climbing attackers to fall to their deaths just as more ladders were raised. It was not long before, with sheer power and overwhelming numbers, skraeg were gaining the battlements and soldiers were forced into close combat.

Below, a ram steadily made it's way to the gate, six skraeg to either side pushing it along, and archers were ordered to stop its advance as down below soldiers braced the gate from the inside. Great wooden beams were thrust against the gate and into the snow covered earth by squads of men. But as one or more of the attackers was felled by arrows, more would take their place and the battering ram continued onward.

The enemy swarmed up the ladders and onto the wall like massive grey skinned ants, and the archers were soon forced to abandon their bows for swords or spears. Soon after, a great booming thud could be heard as the skraeg struck the gate for the first time. Pulling the ram back, they then slammed it forward into the gate again. Atop the wall, the defenders were quickly becoming outnumbered. The enemy were brutal in their attack. With massive axes they would fell two, sometimes three soldiers with one blow. Some soldiers were simply grabbed and flung off the wall to their deaths.

Jarren was inwardly cursing himself for a fool as he avoided a skraeg's axe and sliced open the back of its thigh. He should have fled before the battle, knowing he carried the Sword of Jandrous. It was exactly the situation King Erehk was trying to prevent when he entrusted the sword to him. He should not of been there, but knew he could not leave when others were fighting for their lives. And this battle was rapidly falling in favor of the Skraeg. They were quickly being overrun and had to get off this wall. Horns were blowing and orders to fall back were being shouted. There was another loud thud as a ram crashed into the gate again. Marek was nearby driving his sword into the heart of a skraeg that had fallen when Runner ripped into its hamstring with powerful jaws. Broan and his men were knocking over more ladders and fighting the enemy atop the wall. He had no idea where Tia or Arden were among the chaos. He shouted at Marek to stay close as he began to make his way to a stairway leading down from the battlements, and together they descended where soldiers were running to and from and back up and down again. Some were carrying away the wounded or the dead. He saw Drogan, already there with Faldrek and a company of men helping to brace the gate as the ram hammered at it repeatedly.

"Hold that beam!" Drogan was shouting, as the force caused the men on one beam to lose their hold and drop the beam entirely. "Brace it against the gate now!" He rushed to their side helping them lift it back into place.

"Drogan!" Jarren shouted when he saw him. "Be ready to get these men to the center gate! We'll not be holding the Skraeg here much longer!"

Drogan nodded in answer as he and the men with him braced for another blow. Captains were heard shouting orders to hold the enemy. Commander Fain had ordered the evacuation of all in Ravenhold shortly after the horns were sounded. They had to hold this position long enough for those behind the center wall to get out through the eastern wall. Jarren feared there wasn't enough time to get everyone out on time. There were simply too many people and they had very little warning. Once this position fell they would have to hold the enemy as long as they could at the center gate.

"Marek," he pulled the priest close and took the wrapped sword from off his back, handing it to him. "Take this and get through the center gate now!"

"What?" Marek shook his head. "I can't leave while you and everyone else is fighting for your lives!"

"Do not argue, Marek. This cannot fall into enemy hands. Now go!" He gave him a shove to drive home his point. "Runner, protect Marek."

Marek wanted to stay and help, but nodded his assent and rushed off with the wolf alongside. Jarren turned his attention to the gate. The ram on the opposite side pounded it again and he heard a crack and a groan as wood splintered and hinges began to give way. The battlements above were now swarming with both men and skraeg. Commander Fain was coming down the steps to the yard, and realizing the danger shouted at one of his captains.

"Get more men to this gate! We're in danger of a breach!" he shouted. Moments later more soldiers arrived helping to brace against the ram on the opposite side. But it would only be a matter of time before the thick wood splintered or the hinges gave way. Jarren stood at the forefront of them all, sword at the ready, with Commander Fain now beside him, and waited for the inevitable.

Marek ran down a street with merchant's and butcher's shops, inns and taverns, and other buildings and places of business a blur as he passed. Although troubled by the thought of leaving his friends behind and in danger, he was relieved he was given the opportunity to flee the terrible battle. Yet even leaving, the fear did not subside and he was afraid his heart would burst through his chest. He knew that at any moment the skraeg would pour over the wall like a wave, or the gate would slam open and they would pour through the opening and quickly overrun the defenders. The sounds of the battle behind drove him on and in his mind he could not escape soon enough. The fear was overwhelming, and he felt like a coward, though he knew in his heart he would have stayed had not Jarren given him the wrapped object and ordered him to leave. He let his frightened imagination get the best of him, and afraid he may have been followed and a dozen skraeg warriors were on his heels, he couldn't help but cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Running as fast as he could, and not watching where he going, he lost his footing. He fell hard to the ground, losing his grip of the object entrusted to him which flew from his grasp and tumbled ahead of him, the wrappings coming loose and exposing a sword. He raised his head from the snow and looked at the beautiful weapon, the dragon head crossguard, and the lion head shaped pommel— the roses and vines entwining the crossguard. The whole of it gleamed like the finest of silver, with the exception of the blade. A layer of fresh blood appeared to cover it as though the sword had recently dealt death. "Impossible—" Marek thought as he slowly stood. "It hasn't even been used." Runner sniffed at the weapon. The priest in his haste had forgotten the great Forever Lands wolf was even with him. He lifted the sword in one hand, marveling at the blood, wondering how it had gotten there. He shrugged his shoulders, and wiped the blade clean on one sleeve, bent down to pick up the cloth to re-wrap it, and his jaw dropped. The blade was red again and his sleeve was clean. His knowledge of The Teachings came back to him. "It can't be— It cannot be!" But he knew exactly what it was. The lions head, the two dragons, the vines and roses— and the blood. The weapon was just as described in the sacred book. He held in his hands the very sword that slew Jandrous. Looking around to be sure nobody witnessed the unwrapped blade, he quickly covered it again.

"Come Runner." He looked at the wolf. "Let's get this thing out of here like Jarren asked." He set off at a run again, but more carefully, with Runner close beside him. His fear was gone, replaced with a determination to be sure that the weapon remained hidden. He felt less guilty about leaving the battle; what he carried was an object of extreme importance.

Atop the wall, Tia and Arden were among a group of outnumbered soldiers slowly being forced back by skraeg that were scaling the ladders in swarms. They labored intensely against the onslaught as they slowly crept backward. The roar of battle was deafening; the sound of steel on steel, the battle cries of the Skraeg, the shouting and screaming of Ravenhold's defenders, the pounding of a ram outside the gates like a giant's heartbeat— the cries of the wounded and dying. The two e'eld moved in and out of the attackers, swords spinning and striking, Tia taking out an enemies legs and Arden delivering the killing blow, and sometimes Arden splitting a hamstring while Tia finished the enemy. All the while they were forced back ever further, and when being forced down the stairs off the wall, the ram hit the gate once more and there was a loud Crack!

A roar of triumph came from the enemy as the gate splintered in twain and they began to force their way into the city stronghold. Jarren was the first to face off with the skraeg coming through the breach, with Drogan and Fain beside him. Soldiers with spears tried to keep the intruders at bay but their efforts were futile. Ravenhold's commander called for retreat, and everyone, attackers and defenders alike, made a mad dash for the center wall. They would try and filter through the gate there, while attempting to hold off the Skraeg, and then hold that wall, the last defense against the inner city to allow the people within to escape through the western gate.

On the western side, the pass was like a narrow canyon with straight vertical walls with one more defense. At the top, on either side, great boulders could be dropped down to effectively block an enemy's progress, and at all times there were men there ready to follow such an order at the sound of a special signal from a horn. One large stone heaved aside would bring a devastating avalanche, and it would take any pursuers days to circle around into the Griffinwood and continue their chase.

The running battle to the center wall was terrible, but the defenders made it through although many lost their lives. With great effort they were able to force the gate closed and man the battlements anew. There was a lull in the fighting while the enemy waited for siege ladders and rams once more. Within, Drogan and Jarren, Tia and Arden, Broan and Durinald and a few of the big river merchant's men were all able to find each other again. When Tia wondered about Marek, Jarren informed her he sent him away with Runner.

Soldiers that were able to continue fighting cared for their wounds as best they could in the short time they had. Everything they had just been through, they were about to repeat. Exhausted and bloody and dirty, they waited.

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Kendrick and the others were making their way through the west gate into the pass beyond, crammed tight within a seething mass of frightened humanity and livestock, when the young priest spotted Marek behind them. Runner was trotting alongside and the priest turned warrior carried the long wrapped bundle Jarren had been so secretive about. As men and women with children filed past, with the few items they had time to gather, he called to Marek and waved him over.

"You're not fighting," Kendrick stated when Marek, with clothing torn here and there and spattered with blood, caught up with them. "Are you hurt?"

"No, brother Kendrick," he replied. "Jarren sent me away."

"What news have you?" Kieran asked with a voice that trembled as she worried not only for her own safety, but for Broan and Durinald and their men. She worried as well for the lives of the crowds around her.

"It's not good. There are too many of them. They keep coming and coming in waves— we can't hold them for long." Marek looked back the way he had come shaking his head.

"What of Drogan?" Annyaa asked quietly, almost inaudibly. But Marek heard her, and looked down at her, seeing the worry etched on her face. He decided he would not tell her he was with a group of soldiers attempting to fend off a battering ram at the gate.

"He was fine when last I saw him," he said and smiled reassuringly, hoping to ease her anxieties.

"Has anyone seen High Priest Greandor?" Donnagan asked. The old high priest from Danir stood on his toes trying to see over the heads of the crowds.

"He was likely spirited out the city by his guard before the attack began," Marek said, shaking his head. "I'm certain he's further ahead with the first people that got out."

"I hope that's the case," the older priest said. "Come, we should get moving." Everyone nodded their agreement, and they slowly continued on, the cold wind howling through the narrow pass and whipping at their hair and clothing.

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Knowing livestock was likely being herded through the western gate, Jarren also knew Tia's roa'an would let no other than its chosen handle him. When asked, Tia explained that Silverprince was moving on his own through the gate and awaiting her there.

"He wants to come to me," she said. "But I've forbidden it. It's the nature of a roa'an to want to protect it's chosen." She changed the subject to the battle at hand. "This city is fallen. Soon the Skraeg will swarm over this wall and through this gate just as they did the last, and Ravenhold will be overrun and we'll be running through the western wall on the heels of the people trying to escape. What then?" She shook her head partly in disgust that they could not hold the enemy and partly in sorrow that so many more would soon die.

"We'll hold them at that gate for as long as we can, and then retreat." Jarren answered. "We'll have to hold the skraeg in the pass at a certain point and soldiers above will bring down the stones, blocking them from any pursuit. If we can do that, we save the lives of many. If we fail—" he let the statement hang in the air.

"Then we have no choice but to be successful," Drogan said as he stood nearby.

"And successful we shall be," Faldrek added. "The One God willing."

"The One God willing," Prince Arden echoed.

Tia nodded in agreement. "The One God willing," she said just as the enemy attacked again.

They came at the wall with even more intensity than before, and the defenders were hard pressed while shoving aside ladders and raining arrows down on the enemy below. Again and again skraeg would reach the battlements and the soldiers were forced into close combat. Again and again the attackers would fall to their deaths. Again and again some of them would reach the top and again and again skraeg and human soldier alike would fight and die. Commander Fain moved among the fighters, shouting orders to his captains, who in turn shouted commands to their lieutenants, and they in turn to their sergeants and down the line. The Skraeg would roar their battle cries, and the soldiers would roar in turn. The sounds of steel clanging and raking against steel was mingled with the sounds of men screaming in pain and agony, and skraeg screaming in triumph. Again came the sounds of a ram beating against a gate and the yells of the men trying to brace it. Grunts and groans and screams and roars, shouts of alarm and fear and death and pain— all the sounds together creating a deafening and frightful din and clamor. But the sounds were not near as frightful as the sight itself. A scene of flashing metal and wrestling opposing forces, of blood stained and trampled snow, of man and beast shaking in their death throws when felled by an enemies blow, it was a scene worse than nightmares. For the soldiers of Ravenhold, as they died, their number grew smaller and inevitably smaller, but for the Skraeg it seemed the more that died, the more that took their place.

Drogan marveled at their ferocity. Although a veteran soldier of Grey Home, he had never encountered skraeg and had mainly only fought against Haira'hem raiders. The strength the creatures possessed was incredible and each time they hammered the ram against the gate, Drogan and the others bracing against it gritted their teeth and grunted as they tried to absorb a blow that drove them backward again and again. He was long since exhausted and it was sheer force of will that kept him going. Another blow struck the gate and it splintered. A huge hole opened up and the Skraeg again began pouring through. He barely had time to let go of a the wooden beam and grab his sword before one was before him. The beast swung a mighty axe, the blade as wide as Drogan's body, and the warrior barely brought up his sword in time to parry the attack. Drogan was forced back by the power of it and again barely warded off another blow as he stumbled backward. "Keep your feet!" his training and experience shouted at him. But his balance was gone, and when he fended off another strike by the monstrous creature before him, he was knocked off his feet and landed hard on his back. The air rushed out of him, and he struggled to breathe and move. "Move." He could only look up at the skraeg standing above him, raising the axe high above its head in both powerful hands— "Move Drogan." The beast roared in triumph and brought the axe down for the killing strike. "Move you stubborn fool!" He thought of Annyaa and her beautiful green eyes— and with a gasp for air he rolled to the side just as the axe would have cleaved him asunder. The beast screamed in rage at having missed its opportunity as Drogan unsteadily regained his footing. "Took you long enough!" his mind screamed at him. The beast swung the massive weapon again, but Drogan moved aside and the axehead missed wide, leaving the left side of its torso vulnerable. That was all Drogan needed to drive his sword between the skraeg's ribs and to its heart. His enemy fell dead.

He looked around, seeing the carnage and chaos of the battle. He noticed at one point, Jarren, Tia and the elven prince Arden fighting a ways off to his right. He saw the big bearded merchant Broan, hard to miss in his long red coat, effectively holding off skraeg with his staff. The blond, Durinald, ever at his side. He heard the call to retreat once more. The men he was fighting with were still struggling at the beached gate as the enemy poured through.

"Men of the gate!" He called. "To me! Form tight and fall back!" Slowly they withdrew and they began their desperate fighting retreat toward the western wall; Faldrek supporting a man with a wound to his leg who could not walk on his own and occasionally having to let go of the man to fend off an attacker. Drogan hoped upon hope the people of Ravenhold were outside the gate by now. And through the streets and between the building of the stronghold city, soldiers fought against the Skraeg as they slowly retreated, laboring to give the inhabitants all the time they needed to escape.

Reaching the western wall seemed to take an eternity, and when it came into Drogan's view, Commander Fain was there with a group of soldiers hustling the last remnants of the inhabitants out.

"Hurry now!" The commander blew out his mustaches as he shouted. "Make haste people. Time is running out! Come now, get a move on!" And then when they were through, "To the western wall soldiers of Ravenhold! Make haste to the Gate!" as a trumpeter nearby blew his horn. "Regroup and defend at the Gate!" Slowly the soldiers began massing there, forming a human shield, and in small groups, the soldiers began filing through the gate until at last they were all on the other side. The gate could not be braced from the outside, so they simply amassed before it. Holding the wall here would not be as difficult. The Skraeg could climb the battlements above, but there was no way down. Occasionally they would try to lower ladders from above, but they were quickly pulled away by the soldiers on the ground. The powerful grey beasts had no choice but to try and force their way through the gate, and in doing so were cut down one by one. In time however, Drogan knew, sheer force of numbers would see the Skraeg through.

Commander Fain moved to the rear of the battle to converse with one of his captains. He knew they would be in a running battle soon and would have to withdraw to a location where the pass narrowed considerably to hold the enemy at bay. The Skraeg were not content with taking the city, they sought slaughter, and being commander and mayor of Ravenhold he knew he must protect the people at all costs. He intended to do just that. A small force of volunteers would hold the pass while the people and the majority of the defenders escaped. He touched a horn that now hung upon his neck. The trumpeter that held this before had fallen, slain by a skraeg spear, and the commander was the only other man, other than the soldiers above the pass, who knew the secret call that would bring down the man made avalanche that would block the enemy's pursuit.

"How many men do you deem we'll need to hold the pass, Commander?" The captain was visibly shaken by Fain's plan of action, but was determined to follow his command.

"It's narrow enough there, that only four horses abreast can pass through," Fain said. "At least fifty men to hold the pass as long as we can so everyone else can be safely through, armed with spears and swords, and heavy shields. They must know the danger they face and accept it."

"Understood, Commander," the captain replied and hurried away. Fain looked toward the soldiers struggling at the gate while slowly stroking his mustache. He looked down at his shaking hand and made a fist of it. Taking a long deep breath, he let it out slowly and said a silent prayer to the One God. He felt a bit calmer, but the shaking remained. "Let's see what those beasts think of this." he said to himself.

After some time, not fifty, but sixty men stood beside him and awaited his order to move to the front of the battle at the gate. Fear mixed with determination, and a sense of duty shone upon their faces, as they checked their armor and weapons. They spoke encouraging words to one another, preparing each other for what lay ahead of them. This would be the hardest battle of their lives, they all knew. But they were soldiers of Ravenhold and their valor was legendary throughout all the lands. And if they were to die, they would meet the One God in the heavens. Once their foe began forcing their way through the gate in too great a number to contain, Fain gave the order to retreat further down the pass and a running battle began that would soon bring them on the heels of the populace escaping ahead of them.

Reaching the narrow section of the pass, they could see the inhabitants of Ravenhold, no more than a hundred yards or so away and the defenders braced themselves against the attackers again. Fain gave the order to move to the front, and as one, he and his sixty men moved forward, parting the soldiers before them until they had taken over against the skraeg trying to get through the narrow way. He sounded the horn and yelled for a full retreat, and as the main force moved away, he and his men stood their ground. Some hesitated when noticing Fain and the others were staying behind, and he sounded the call for retreat again. Confused, but following orders, they did as was commanded.

Drogan, Faldrek, and Jarren met up somehow in the chaos of the retreating crowd, and Drogan stopped short just as the pass widened.

"What are they doing?" the younger warrior asked.

"It seems too many skraeg are hindering their chance to get away," Faldrek thought aloud. "If they run now they'll be cut down from behind."

"We have to help them!" Drogan caught the surcoat of a captain as he jogged past, but Jarren cut Drogan short.

"Wait!" Jarren exclaimed. "Look!" As Drogan and Faldrek watched alongside The Hunter, the Skraeg overpowered Commander Fain and those with him, and they were quickly surrounded. As the first of the skraeg through the pass encircled the sixty men, the rest began surging past and heading toward the retreating soldiers and people of Ravenhold. Jarren's eyes found Fain in the midst of the chaotic battle, and the leader of the stronghold city raised a horn to his lips and gave a loud call— a series of short notes followed by one long. "Oh no—" Jarren shook his head. The call was answered high above on both sides of the pass and Fain repeated the call once more. Massive stones began to fall from above to the ground below, right at the narrowest part of the pass where Fain and his men now struggled. First it was only a few large stones, but they were soon followed by countless more. The earth trembled as two great avalanches flew down the sides and into the narrow way below, throwing up dust and snow and debris. A deafening rumble blocked out the sounds of fighting. They watched in horror as the dust cleared, and where once Fain and those with him fought against the Skraeg, there was nothing but massive boulders and stone reaching as high as were Ravenhold's walls. The pass was effectively blocked, and all the skraeg in the narrow section, along with Fain and sixty brave soldiers, were buried.

There was a deafening silence. Faldrek dropped to his knees in the snow and bowed his head in prayer. Drogan stood staring in shock, and Jarren raised his eyes to the sky above him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come, and finally he just bowed his head. Soldiers and citizens alike began crowding about the three, just coming to the realization of what had just occurred. Many wept openly or stared in disbelief back the way they had come at the mounds and mounds of massive rock. Ravenhold was fallen, perhaps quicker than Eagle's Crest had fallen. But Fain and sixty men with him held the Skraeg and sacrificed their lives to protect the others. Faldrek stood and wiped tears from his eyes.

"In all my years," he said quietly. "I have never seen such an act of self sacrifice. To lay down their lives, as they just have, so that we may yet live— what greater love for fellow man could there be?"

"One God," Jarren thought. "I want to believe somehow some good will come of this. I desperately want to believe that! But so far all I've seen is death and destruction and despair. And this Long Winter is only just beginning? How many more are going to lose their homes, their freedoms, their lives before this is all over? What of this army coming from the east? The Skraeg alone have already taken two cities— both in less than a night! I have never in my life seen so many skraeg joined together. How can we defend against this other threat, if the Skraeg themselves can defeat an entire city so quickly? Behind me are countless men, women and children, and soldiers who may die of wounds, and others who may die from the elements if another storm strikes before we can get them to safety. It wouldn't even take a storm, if we cannot find warmth and shelter." He shook his head in frustration. "I have the Sword of Jandrous— but where is Jandrous? How do I give him the sword with no knowledge of where he might be? This Long Winter has just begun— how many of us will be left when it is over?"

"I never imagined I would ever witness or take part in anything as terrible as today," a voice quietly spoke behind him. Jarren turned, and there stood Marek, the priest who would be a warrior. His hair was messed and his clothing was soiled with dirt and blood, as was his fatigued face with streaks where tears had recently fallen. In one limp hand he barely grasped his sword. In the other he cradled the wrapped Sword of Jandrous.

"War is nothing but terrible, Marek." Jarren placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly. There was a melancholy tone to his voice Marek had never heard from The Hunter. "Men tell tales, and children play at soldier, and stories abound of the glory and honor of legendary heroes of valor— but more often than not, they leave out the truth of it. It is horror, and death, sadness, and misery. I hate war with as much passion as a man can have in his heart."

"Then why do men fight, Jarren?" Marek asked. "Why have you fought so many times?"

"Many men have their own reasons. Some fight for the non existent glory, some for power. Most I believe, at least in the united kingdoms, including the elves and dwarves, fight for freedom, or because it is a necessary part of life sometimes."

"But why do you fight, Jarren?" Marek asked again. Jarren was quiet a moment and looked back at the piles of stone that had buried Commander Fain and his volunteers.

"I fight because I want to help," he finally answered. "Because I want to believe good can overcome evil." He thought a moment more, and placed his hand on Marek's shoulder once more while taking the wrapped sword from the priest's hand. "I fight for peace, Marek. I fight for peace." He began to walk away, but was brought up short by one more question.

"Have you ever had peace, Jarren?"

"No— no I have not." he said quietly and walked away. Marek watched him go, carrying the Sword of Jandrous with him, wondering anew about the man and the weapon. Both were legends.

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Drogan stumbled through the crowds, exhausted from the fighting, and searched every fear and grief stricken face he passed. His tired body begged him to rest, to just lay down and sleep, but his heart kept him moving through the countless refugees of Ravenhold. Finally his legs gave out and he fell. He forced his aching body to rise, but could only rise to his knees, one hand thrust into the snow churned and trampled by so many feet to hold himself up.

"Annyaa." he said, barely audible even to his own ears. He wanted to sleep, to rest, to let exhaustion take him away from the nightmare he had just witnessed. "Annyaa." He forced himself to speak louder. She was the only person he wished to see— the only person he was desperate to see. "Annyaa!" he cried out as loud as he could, before his arm could no longer hold his body and he rolled over onto his back. Above him the sky was dark and grey with clouds that seemed to mirror the mood of the people below them— sad, angry, afraid. He tried to rise once more but his body protested and refused to exert the energy required and all he could do was lay upon the cold ground.

Annyaa heard Drogan's call and her heart seemed to momentarily stop. She stood amongst the crowds of people anxiously searching for friends and loved ones, and waiting for someone to take command and lead them— somewhere, and her named was carried through the bitter winds by a hoarse voice that held a desperation and longing. Kendrick, Donnagan, and Kieran were with her, all contemplating what was to come next— where would they go? Probably to Rosenguarde. How would the journey fair? Probably with much hardship, traveling with little food, most people not having the clothing required for the weather— the One God forbid they might find themselves caught in a blizzard while traveling the pass. Even if the weather was free of more storm or snow, the frigid temperatures meant frostbite, and even death were not only possible, but likely for many. When the voice reached Annyaa's ears she put a trembling hand to her lips and then ran, searching, with Kendrick and Kieran close behind and calling out to her while wondering what was wrong. Donnagan followed at his own pace, not able to keep up with the spryness of youth, but was quick enough to keep the others in sight.

When she spotted Drogan at last, laying on his back and unable to rise, the young woman from Misting Hill sprinted to him despite the pains in her bruised ribs with every running step, and fell to her knees. She slowly removed his helm to cradle his head in her lap. Seeing his armor, clothing and face spotted with dried blood, she worried he was badly wounded. But when she searched his body, she could find no visible, free flowing wounds. Drogan raised his eyes to hers and slowly raised a hand to touch her hand. He didn't see the worry in her face, or the tangled hair blown in to a mess by they winds, or the tears in her eyes. All he saw was beauty, and he placed a reassuring smile upon his lips before letting exhaustion close his eyes.

When his eyes finally opened again, Drogan was laying upon a litter made of tree branches and covered in a warm blanket. He was carried behind a horse being led amongst the long line of people leaving their homes behind and traveling west toward Rosenguarde. Annyaa walked beside him on his right side, joined by Faldrek and Arden, and those they had met since arriving in the stronghold city. He reached out and touched her hand and she squeezed his. She seemed to sense that he was too fatigued to speak and simply smiled down at him. He let his eyes fall upon Faldrek who dutifully and out of habit immediately informed him of events up to the moment.

His old friend told him that High Priest Greandor with Ravenhold's High Priest Callum, a man of later middle years, had apparently taken charge of events and ordered that litters be quickly made to carry the wounded or others that couldn't walk. And after a brief rest, he continued the march through the pass toward Rosenguarde. Riders had been sent ahead to the capital city of Erinor, to seek whatever help King Erehk could send them to aid in their trek. Others had been sent high atop the pass and the surrounding areas to scout for possible threats. They would return every hour and be continuously replaced by others. Some wagons had made it out of the city laden with food or clothing and other supplies that would be rationed out at need, while scouts and hunters would also search for whatever game they could find— they had a lot of mouths to feed.

"How are you feeling?" Faldrek finished.

"I'm afraid if I were to move, all my arms and legs would fall off." Drogan answered hoarsely. Faldrek, despite the circumstances, couldn't help but chuckle.

"You fought hard today, Drogan. I don't believe I've ever seen you so exhausted. I admit you had me worried. We tried to rouse you, but you'd have none of it." When Drogan tried to rise, Faldrek stopped him short. "May as well rest while you can. You certainly earned it, and I've a feeling we're all going to need it soon enough." Drogan nodded in agreement and closed his eyes. Immediately, he was sleeping again.

And so the people of Ravenhold moved westward with the biting wind in their faces, and hoped and prayed they would reach Rosenguarde safely. They had no knowledge that the capital city was currently under siege by another army of Skraeg even larger than the one they faced. They knew not what the next days would bring, how they would eat and survive, or how many might die from their wounds or the weather before reaching their intended destination. They simply placed one foot in front of the other on the snow covered ground, shivering from both cold and fear, and with grim determination trudged onward.

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"Help me find warm clothing and food, Father." The man prayed as he shivered. He had taken shelter in a deep cave apparently used by travelers from time to time as a place of shelter during long journeys, and was pleased to find dry wood, flint, and tinder to make a fire. A blizzard tore through the area, and if he had not stumbled upon the cave, he surely would have perished. He had stayed and rested even after the storm had passed, and pondered his own identity. He was unsuccessful in solving the puzzle of himself. While sitting before a low fire, he heard what sounded like a faint horn cry and felt a deep rumbling in the earth. He rose and walked to the mouth of the cave trying to guess the direction of the source and surmised it came from somewhere north of his location. After extinguishing the fire he set out to find what he hoped were people who could help him.

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The E'eldradin Border Guard made quick in and out strikes on the flanks of the taurians, silently riding out of the trees like ghosts and disappearing again while slowly retreating northward. Lian'asuran's strategy was to try and keep the armies flanks confused and the whole of them to be a bit unsure in their advance. The elite elven soldiers had to slow them down, keep them from reaching any villages until a strong opposition could be assembled to drive the taurians back. So far they had been mildly successful. Although the enemy yet moved forward, it was at a crawl as they found themselves vulnerable to the persistent and deadly sneak attacks of the elves. The aggressors were in the e'eldradin homeland, and the e'eld defended it well. Further north, soldiers of the border guard were readying hidden pits the enemy could fall through to be slain by sharpened branches stuck into the dirt. They also readied traps in which a tripped line would trigger a number of deadly surprises on an enemy. There were great logs that would roll down a hill, some with spikes or sharp blades affixed all around, designed to crush and rip apart all within its path. There were traps that would spring sharpened stakes into attackers. These would terribly wound or kill a small number of taurians at a time.

Lian'asuran led another mounted attack against the enemy, suddenly bursting out of the trees and shooting arrows as they passed along their left flank. Just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared again, with the sounds of angry and nervous taurians fading behind them. Lian knew who the invaders were, knew their strengths and weaknesses in battle, and used every bit of knowledge he possessed to his advantage. What he did not know was that another large force of taurians at that very moment were making landfall after having sailed on the heels of those he now fought.

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Andorin smiled despite the pain in his shoulder. The wound had been cleaned and bandaged quite well, and he sat at a small fire along with the skraeg that had cared for him, eating a recently roasted deer. He spoke the name Belkarus, just before he lost consciousness, and it seemed that was all they needed to hear to know he was friend and not foe. Perhaps speaking that name led them to believe he was a soldier in Belkarus' army. He could use that to his advantage he mused— make them believe he was a commander of sorts, persuade them to escort him to Belkarus' location.

"Where is Belkarus?" He wondered aloud.

"Why not know?" A nearby skraeg looked suspiciously at him. "Why not you know where?"

"Ah," Andorin said. "One of you speaks my tongue! Not well, but it will suffice. I have been gone from The Shadow Lands for quite some time, my men and I were separated while scouting the Griffinwood when we were discovered by elves." He lied. "I know not if he has begun his march or not. If so, I need someone to escort me to him.

"You are leader in army?" The skraeg asked.

"Yes," he lied again.

"How know we to be truth?"

"Would I have been stupid enough to walk right into a skraeg encampment if I were an enemy?" he sneered. The skraeg thought a moment and then pointed to himself and some of those with him.

"We take you. We follow you command."

"Excellent!" Andorin exclaimed. His luck seemed to be changing for the better already, he thought. He had found himself a new company to command, and they would take him to whom he hoped would grant him a command of even more soldiers. He was not sure how, but somehow he would convince Belkarus that he could be a valuable asset to his army. "Some of you have just returned from fighting I understand, so today we will all rest. Tomorrow we will head out."

The skraeg that spoke nodded its head, but pointed a big grey finger at Andorin and fixed him with a scrutinizing glare. He rested a broad headed axe across his lap and ran a whetstone along the edge sharpening the blade for added emphasis of his next words.

"If find you lie—" the beast said. "I take your head for belt." Andorin looked down at the skraeg's waistline where a wide leather belt was affixed with half a dozen bleached and polished human skulls, each hanging upon a thick steal chain.

"And when we reach our destination," Andorin countered with a grim smile. "Perhaps I'll take yours as a trophy instead." At this the skraeg laughed, joined in by the others around him.

©Anthony David Rosenthal/To The Valley Of Dragons 2010