The finale to Elflord.
Finale
Reappearance
They left for Qualsenti the next morning, riding through the forest at a fast trot. Tathalin looked back and saw with pride that the column of his men stretched many paces back. The elves rode four abreast, yet still they were more than a dozen horses deep. The wood elves carried stout yew longbows and quivers of thin black arrows, while his own men-at-arms had swords and shields. The banners of Wyrmdrake fluttered proudly in the wind.
As they neared the border of Qualsenti, they rode in the shadows, distancing themselves from the paved roads. Once inside the Realm of the High-Elves, these roads would be well-used by regiments of border guards as well as merchants, travellers, and messengers.
They crossed into Qualsenti secretly, hidden by the thick foliage of the surrounding bushes and trees. Now they turned to the wood elves, who were experts at travelling unnoticed. They bound the hooves of their horses with bundles of grass and cloth, and covered themselves and their mounts with dark green cloaks that seemed to melt into the shadows.
For three days they travelled thus, avoiding all contact and riding by night. Finally, in the late evening of the fourth day, Tathalin saw the proud pinnacles of Wyrmdrake Keep silhouetted against the setting sun.
The Keep was cubical in structure, with an outer pentagonal wall encircling it. Built against the inside of the wall were stables, barracks, and a Great Hall for feasts and festivities. The Great Hall was a magnificent building, constructed of finely carved wooden beams and polished stone slabs. It was a hundred paces wide, and twice as long, and inside stood a great table that could seat scores of people.
The kitchens stood next to the Hall for efficient serving, and they were made of stone as a precaution against fire. By the barracks, propped against this larger structure, was the forge, with its long, soot-black, stone chimney rising nearly to the wall tops.
The Keep itself had five main floors and a cellar. The cellar held wine, housed the vaults for treasure, and contained several small dungeons. The first floor was devoted entirely to quarters for the guards who were stationed inside the Keep. The second story housed the servants, while the third had guest quarters and administrative rooms. The fourth held the luxurious quarters of the royal family, and the highest floor was purely defensive, with elaborate crenelations, towers, and even a small catapult. An armory was made on this floor as well, holding arrows, armor, and weapons.
Tathalin stared at his castle, memories flooding through his head. The banner of the Highblood lords fluttered from the high flagpole on the very top of the Keep. His blood boiled, and his features darkened into an angry scowl.
I will retake this Keep, no matter the cost!
Ambush
The night was dark and silent; no insects chirped so late in the year. Summer had ended, and fall was gripping the land with its slippery fingers, which would soon turn into the icy claws of winter.
Delanthus Highblood walked slowly up the long, winding staircase to his rooms. Guards passed him as the changing of the watches occurred. It was late, and Highblood had been dealing with some petty matters from the village. It concerned a thief who claimed innocence, and there was only one man who had witnessed the robbery. In the end, Highblood had decided that the thief be put to death for his crime, which satiated his accuser, a relatively powerful villager.
The elflord shook his head, his fine white hair swishing around him, and cleared such unimportant thoughts from his head. The matter was dealt with, and his work for the day was completed; so he could finally rest and sleep in the company of his wife and son.
The guards at the door stood to attention as he approached, and he nodded at them curtly. They were elite fighters, with finely woven uniforms and shining steel armor. Each had a perfect blade strapped to his side, gleaming in the torch light.
One of the guards stepped forward with a bow and opened the finely carved door to his private rooms. Delanthus stepped in and closed the door behind him.
He smiled at his beautiful wife and son. Yawning, Highblood sat down for a game of chess with his child, while his wife sat next to him and held his hand gently.
Suddenly they heard a sound that resembled air rushing out of the great bellows down in the forge. The sound intensified, and through the open window Highblood saw a pinprick of firelight growing larger and larger. As it shot through the window and into the fine bed that he and his wife shared, the elflord realized that it was a burning arrow.
Immediately he dove under the table, grabbing his wife and child and keeping their heads down. A dozen more arrows streaked in through the window, and suddenly the room was ablaze. Thick black smoke billowed through the window, making it impossible to approach; seeing this, Highblood gave up the idea of crawling over to close the heavy ironbound shutters.
Instead, he half ran, half crawled for the entrance, his family close behind him. He opened the door and tumbled out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him as his wife and child followed.
Then he noticed that both guards were dead, their throats slit. He quickly drew his dagger motioned for his family to start down the long stairway. Looking quickly behind him, he followed.
A shadow detached itself from the wall, moving furtively over the stones and gliding down behind the elflord. He sensed its approach, whirled, and saw a dark-cloaked man with a ridiculously curled mustache and a goatee lunging at him.
As Tonnulf Mortimello plunged a dagger into the elflords heart, Delanthus Highblood let out a last terrified shriek.
Attack
Tathalin looked up from the dark woods where he had been directing the wood elf archers. A muffled scream pierced the night air. He smiled grimly. Tonnulf had volunteered to infiltrate the Keep and assassinate his enemy, but until now Tathalin had doubted that he would succeed.
A scout, one of the elflords men-at-arms, arrived before him, panting and exhausted. Milord, a company of guards has left the Keep and is marching towards out position!
How many are there?
About threescore, milord.
Tathalin nodded, and Barinmar readied his weapons at his side. A short order caused the wood elves to cease their hail of burning arrows and gather around the elflord.
Now the time for battle has come. Threescore guards are coming towards us. You archers will form a crescent, and my men-at-arms will be in the center. As the enemy advances, let fly with your arrows. Let no one escape. I will lead my guards and charge them as they near. May Luck be with us all.
The wood elves murmured assent, and deployed in a wide crescent, while Tathalins former guards grouped into a box-like regiment. They drew their swords and readied their circular shields. The elflord stood at their head, Barinmar crouching in a fighting stance at his right. The air was tense and silent.
Suddenly they heard booted feet tramping through the grass in perfect unison. At this , their hearts sank, for the sound seemed to multiply the amount of enemies approaching. Yet no one fled.
Then they came into view, a company of elven spearmen. The sharp steel points of their weapons reflected the soft moonlight in harsh tones, their ordered ranks marched forward without wavering.
The first volley of arrows sang through the air, striking deep into their ranks and felling a half-dozen elves. Their march quickened, and the spears lowered.
The wood-elves were firing at a frenzied pace, and by the time the enemy was thirty paces away more than a score lay dead. Then Tathalin Starborn raised his sword into the air and cried out in a clear voice, Charge!
They ran like mad wolves, their swords waving wildly ahead of them, all caution forgotten. Like a wall they smashed into the first line of the guards, and fierce melee combat ensued. Many of the spear men dropped their spears and drew broadswords as Tathalin and his men engaged.
Barinmar was like a bear, his bastard sword swinging left and right madly. After several long, frenzied moments of combat, the two battle-lines separated, leaving the dead and wounded on the grass, convulsing in grotesque contortments of pain.
At this, the wood elves fired again, and now the arrows found their marks well, since the guards were caught off guard by the renewed missile attacks. Now there were only a half-dozen of their number left, and these finally began to run as Tathalin and his men charged again.
As the last elf guard was cut down by an arrow, Tathalins men stood panting, weary from the short minutes of combat. Only four men-at-arms loyal to the elflord were among the dead. Tathalin whipped blood and sweat from his brow and surveyed the scene with a strange and frightening satisfaction.
Escape
Tonnulf sheathed his dagger and scurried into the safety of the shadows again, listening for any sound from below. The dead body of his target lay in the stairway, but the rogue dared not move it for fear of detection.
A group of elven guards rushed down from the fifth floor, carrying several of their number who had been wounded by arrows. As they saw their lord, they stood stunned for a few moments, and then suddenly one of them began shouting in a hoarse bellow entirely unnatural for an elf:
The Lord is dead!
Immediately, at least a score of swordsmen rushed up from the lower stories and began searching the shadows around the lords quarters, illuminated from within as fire raged behind the heavy door.
Tonnulf crept towards the stairs, taking care that the freshly taken gold in his pocket did not jingle. As he was about to sneak down the spiral staircase, another tramping sound signalled the arrival of more guards. Tonnulf dove into the shadows, narrowly avoiding their booted feet and searching eyes.
They kept coming and coming, They were gathering in the stairwell, and Tonnulf realized that they were quite intent on finding their lords killer.
He rushed toward the only other exit: the stairs that led up.
As he dashed up the stairs, he seriously considered if the wealth he had gained from the dead elflord was worth this trouble. He was hard-put avoiding guards and soldiers on the crowded wall tops, and he was forced to slow to a snails pace, dashing from shadow to shadow with long interludes of hiding.
Arrows were whizzing everywhere, fired by the wood elves hiding in the woods below. The elves on the wall tops were randomly loosing their own arrows, hoping to strike an unlucky attacker.
Tonnulf crept slowly along the wall tops, taking advantage of the dark shadows that the crenelations threw. Suddenly, a particularly bright torch caught his eye. Glancing over to the center of the Keep, he saw a raised stone platform, with a steel and wood contraption resting on top of it. Bustling around it were several elven guards, and a large burning bundle of rock and oiled cloth rested in a bowl-like holder at the end of the contraption.
With a start, the rogue realized that he was staring at the Keeps catapult. He saw that it was being readied to fire into the woods. A slow smile crept across his thin face.
The first guard toppled with a groan, a short throwing knife protruding from his neck. Another suddenly gasped for breath and then fell dead as a sword point pierced his back.
As the other three guards working on the catapult whirled to face their attacker, they saw only the dead bodies of their comrades. Tonnulf had melted back into the shadows as fast as he had appeared. They drew their swords and edged towards one of the main staircases running down to the wall top level.
One of them called down, Attacker on the catapult platform! A half-dozen elven soldiers began marching up the stairs, weapons at the ready.
Tonnulf moved quickly, striking the guard who had called with a solid fist directly in the nose. The blow sent him flying of the staircase and into the guards that were climbing it. He whirled, and suddenly a short sword was in his hand. Ducking lithely away from the blows of the other guards, he stabbed one in the abdomen and caught the other with a kick to the leg that sent him sprawling.
The rogue grabbed a torch from its holder and threw it into the mass of ropes and chains of the catapult. He slashed at the bowl that held the projectiles, shattering it and leaping aside as the burning rocks rolled slowly forward, gaining momentum and clattering down the stairway towards the advancing guards.
Then he leaped into the shadows again and climbed quickly over a crenelation as the catapult burst into flame behind him. Total chaos engulfed the soldiers on the top level as the bright flames licked up higher and higher into the sky. Meanwhile the barrage of arrows form below did not let up, and wounded and dead littered the wall tops.
Tonnulf leaped towards the wall top, fastened a strange-looking grappling device to a crenelation, and swiftly tied the attached rope around his waist. Without a sound or a moment of hesitation, he plunged over and into the darkness.
He fell, grasping the rope with gloved hands to slow his fall. Finally he jerked violently to a stop about ten feet above the ground. Peering into the darkness, he saw guards, servants, and officers milling around in confusion as arrows began falling in the courtyard as well.
With a sigh, he cut the rope and bent his knees, landing neatly without a sound in the shadow of the Keep. Blending expertly into the mass of people, he made his way forward towards the outer wall.
The guards on the wall had all their attention focused outwards, so it took little effort to stab one in the back and vault over the wall top. As he hit the grass, Tonnulf let a crooked grin cross his face.
He scurried off towards the safety of the forest, chuckling to himself.
Return
As the night wore on, Tathalin saw that fewer and fewer guards stuck their heads over the wall tops or fired arrows down at the attackers. Indeed, the wood elves had done their work well, for only two of their number had been hit by arrows from the beleaguered defenders.
No elves followed the first guard company, either, for none had returned and only the screams of the dying had told of their fate. The guards in the castle thought that they were being attacked by a large army numbering in the hundreds, so they fortified themselves in the Keep and prayed that the days losses would not be as disastrous as the nights.
Over two hundred guards all in all were dead or missing from the Keep. The mysterious attackers never stopped their hail of arrows, and soon the guards on the top floor had to retreat into the corner towers for protections. The soldiers on the outer walls, too, huddled in their towers and gatehouses instead of meeting certain death on the wall tops.
And so, when dawn finally came, Tathalin was not surprised to see the white pennant flying from the flagpole. Wyrmdrake Keep had surrendered.
He marched in with his threescore men, and the guards of the Keep, who were all arrayed in the courtyard, their weapons stacked to their side, stared in terror, anger, dismay, and astonishment. This was no vast besieging army. These were not the endless ranks of elite mercenaries that would mark the start of an invasion that would shake the entire world. No, their attackers had been Tathalin Starborn and threescore elves.
Many of the servants rejoiced when they saw their old master returning, for their loyalty had remained with him.
Lady Highblood and her son, pale and distraught from a sleepless night of mourning over her lord, stared ahead dazedly into the morning fog, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.
Tathalin strode proudly into the courtyard, his eight surviving men-at-arms marching behind him in ranks of two. Barinmar marched along at his right and Tonnulf padded at his left.
The elflord walked to the assembled guards and servants and said in a loud, clear voice filled with authority, I am Lord Tathalin Starborn, rightful owner of this Keep. Wyrmdrake Keep is now my property, and all followers of Delanthus Highblood are my prisoners.
The dungeons were full that day.
Dark Tidings
Messengers came from all corners of the land, some offering alliances and congratulations from friendly lords, and others bringing threats and denunciations from the wealthy barons allied with the royalty. The next few days were a bustle of activity as Tathalin paraded through the village, recruiting guards and receiving gifts. The Keep was being repaired with money from the extensive Starborn family treasury, and a new catapult was being constructed. The Lady Highblood and her son were held as honored hostages in a section of the royal quarters. Guards were being trained, mercenaries hired, and horses bought. Wyrmdrake Keep was preparing for war.
But the elflord had more pressing matters to attend to, for the nobility throughout Qualsenti was in outcry. He had alliances to forge and enemies to pacify. But even if every Baron in the land began to favor him, he knew that he could never rid himself of one enemy; for the Highblood family was very large, and several powerful lords were also of this name. They vowed revenge and word came that they were assembling an army to raze his Keep and kill him.
Three weeks after the recapture of Wyrmdrake Keep, a messenger came in on a worn and exhausted horse. His cloak, proudly displaying the royal Qualsenti coat of arms, was tattered and stained with sweat and blood. A long-shafted arrow was lodged in his side.
He was scarcely alive, but the news he brought was terrible. As his horse reared and fell from exhaustion in the courtyard, he tumbled into the mud, but crawled towards the surprised guards, begging for audience with the Keeps lord.
They carried him up then, and laid him on a satin-covered bench in front of Tathalin Starborn.
The Coratians are invading, he spluttered, blood trickling from the side of his mouth and over his dirt-streaked face. They have overrun the eastern border already. Thousands of mercenaries are with them... Here he broke into a coughing fit. At last he continued feverishly. I rode as hard as I could...yours is the first Keep I came to. No one else from the border legions survives. The King must be informed!
Tathalin stared ahead, his gaze empty. Coratia? Why would the men of that realm invade Qualsenti? he murmured to himself.
He did not notice that the messenger was dead.
Summon my closest advisers! he cried, and a servant rushed to do his bidding.
Two soldiers came in and respectfully carried out the messenger's body.
Coratia... the elflord mused.
Moments later, the door burst open, and Ethezar Firstblade rushed in, followed by Barinmar and Tonnulf. What is amiss, milord? cried Barinmar.
The humans of Coratia have launched an invasion of Qualsenti. News of this must be brought to the King!
But, milord, the King does not recognize your right to rule! He supports the Highblood family! Ethezar cried.
Tathalin nodded slowly, and then his face became a set mask of stone.
I will ride to the capital nevertheless.
No, milord, you cannot! For the roads are treacherous, and the king is ruthless. Please, let me travel in your stead! said Barinmar .
Tonnulf stepped forward. I believe it would fall more under my field of expertise, he said with a mirthless grin. I will ride to the capital, avoiding all danger and forcing this elf-king to recognize your right to rule. Tonnulf inclined his head. Although I expect to be well paid.
Ethezar Firstblade lowered himself to one knee and held his sword in front of him. My forefathers have served your family for generations, milord. Allow me to present myself to the elven court; they will be forced to deal with a royal ambassador.
The elflord smiled, and it was a warm smile offering thanks and perhaps friendship. He looked slowly at each of their faces in turn, one glowing with strength, one with mystery, and one with loyalty.
"On the morrow, come to my chambers," Tathalin said softly. "Bring what you need for a journey, and I will choose my messenger then."
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 04-24-2002).)
(This message has been edited by llegolas (edited 04-26-2002).)
But seriously, what was the 'bug' that prevents you from developing this into a game? Surely it can be done, I mean, it can't be that difficult to resolve!
