Righteous Rage

After the murder of his parents and sister, Sir Aaron charges into the enemy lines in an attempt to strike down Earl Redburr.

57.

Righteous Rage

 

 

It had been the Orc poison Zandagnir, or ‘Elf Bane’.    One drop of it was fatal to an Elf and often to half-Elves such as Aeric and Alis.   But the cloth had been dowsed in the poison.   

The handler of the cloth had been slightly sickened by the poison, as it was only deadly to those of Elven blood.   To all others it was only a mild poison.

Redburr had been told by spies that the friends and family of the Duke and Duchess all wore magic rings that automatically activated upon serious injury.  So he had given the very last of the ‘Talismans of Torrin’ that had not began to lose their power, to each of the three men he had selected for the mission.

Their proximity to the two Half-Elves had neutralized their Autocaster rings and enabled the powerful poison to kill them.

 

But his evil claimed another victim that night.   Chaos had erupted in the camp when news of the attack had spread.    Abigae had run to them and swooped up her mother’s hand in hysteria, not hearing or heeding the warning of the guards.    Moments later, the poison still on her mother’s hand took the girl’s life.  

 

Aaron had just returned from a scouting mission, monitoring the west side of the river to make certain none of Redburr’s forces attacked them at night.   Guards had run to him, pulling him to the scene of the murder of his parents and sister.

 

Aaron had stood there, still clad in his plate armor, like a volcano about to erupt, as the Clerics and healers desperately tried to restore life to his parents and sister.

But their heroic attempts failed.  

When Aaron turned to glance at Redburr’s three assassins, everyone around him shrank away in fear of the rage in his eyes.  

Without a word being spoken, the Westmark guards pushed the three men down at the feet of the enraged Paladin and backed away.

 

With a howl of fury he forgot his holy vows and struck savagely.    Two of the men died before they could even cry out, and the third only managed a pitiful peep before the Half-Elf’s sword cut him from belly to neck.    The man’s blood squirted into Aaron’s face and in his insanity he did not wipe it away.    His eyes bulged like a gargoyle as he turned and ran toward the corral to fetch his horse.

“Aaron!”   Many cried out in desperation as he passed, but none dared stand in his way or impede his progress.

 

Griz had not yet been groomed after returning from the patrol.   The groomsmen fled from Aaron as he quickly mounted his warhorse, and as they ran from him they called out for someone to stop him.   For it was obvious to all what the young man planned to do.

Across the bridge, the enemy camp had quickly formed into a battle line in the early dimness of dawn.    Behind them, in the distance, could be seen a massive force marching at double step to join them.   

In the Westmark camp, guards were now rushing toward the corral to try to stop Aaron in his madness.  

Yet not everyone tried to stop him.    As Aaron’s horse bolted forward, the guards leapt out of the way, for fear of being trampled by the trained warhorse.   At the same time, a handful of others mounted their own horses and charged after him.

 

With his sword in hand, Aaron went across the Fallow River bridge galloping toward the enemy line.    Torchlight from the hilltop beyond the enemy camp revealed the arrival of the rest of Earl Redburr’s forces.    A sixth sense was upon the furious young knight, giving him certain knowledge of the location of his intended foe.   

 

“REDBURRRRRR!” He howled like a wolf, “I AM COMING FOR YOU!   DEATH IS COMING TO YOU!   DOOM!   DOOM!”

Tilting his head back, Aaron gave a fae laugh that chilled all who heard it.

From somewhere on the hilltop behind the enemy camp, a deep male voice responded to his call in the pre-dawn light, “COME FORTH, HALF-BREED!   JOIN YOUR FAMILY IN DEATH!”

Onward Aaron went, pulling a horseman’s mace from a saddle strap and relying on his dexterity and horsemanship to keep him mounted.    A weapon in each hand, forward he thundered, and the Westmark pickets leapt out of his way as he flew past them and crossed the bridge.

With a roar, the young knight slammed into the enemy line, his warhorse, Griz, knocking down the terrified infantrymen as he had been trained to do.

Aaron had no thought of the soldiers, for he rushed toward the voice of the one who had killed his entire family in one night.   He sought the one who had killed Queen Eioldth, Thorm, Aranthi and Sirya, as well as hundreds or maybe thousands of soldiers and innocent people.    Now, Yesh have mercy, his entire family was added to that number!

It was his sole purpose to exterminate Earl Redburr, and he would gladly die to achieve this task.

He did not hear the gallop of others behind him, but onward they rode at full speed, their own weapons drawn.    In the Westmark Camp, a deep, eerie horn sounded, vibrating the very air of the dawn.   It was the Dwarven war horn, the legendary ‘Call of Doom’, sounded only in the direst of situations that called the Dwarven host to the greatest of valor.

King Kylheilm had only sounded the horn once before - three hundred years ago, when a Great Dragon threatened Forgestone.  But this morning the King blew the Call of Doom so lustfully that the veins in his forehead seemed to be ready to burst.   Throughout the camp of the Dwarves, a roar went up from the men, answering the call of their King.    Within a few minutes they had assembled and met him on the bridge, fire burning in their eyes.   

He gave not a passionate speech but pointed toward the figure of Aaron and a handful of other cavaliers, battling their way into a massing throng of enemy soldiers.

“HE SHALL NOT FALL!”   Kylheilm yelled to his men, his axe waving over his head.

“HE SHALL NOT FALL!   BY OUR AXES, WE SWEAR!” Answered the Dwarven host with a sound that echoed off the hills.

“DWARVEN HOST!   TO BATTLE!”  Kylheilm roared, and turning, he ran with surprising speed, across the bridge, at the head of his men.

A second roar filled the air, followed by the booming of 8,000 mail clad Dwarves charging forward to fulfill their vow.

The Dwarf King’s passion inspired more than just his kin, for with amazing speed; the forces of Westmark assembled and followed en masse, but were passed on the bridge by the Orcs of the Queen’s Guard, who were noticeably riding forward without their Captain or Lieutenant.

Upon the hillside, the dread over the number of Redburr’s forces was upon Aaron.    As far as he dared look they came, all armed as soldiers of the Southern Empire.   Or perhaps they were - it made no difference to him.     Aaron cried out to Yesh as he sent Griz into a sea of spears and shields.

“Yesh the Merciful!”  He yelled as he swung his sword and mace indiscriminately at the foes that swarmed around him, stabbing and poking, “I have sinned against my vows by taking the lives of those who killed my parents and my sister!    I deserve death for killing those who could not defend themselves!”   

“I ask that my death come in this battle, that the power and glory of you, Lord, will be revealed to these that have rejected the true God!   May I take the life of the one who has brought this grief upon Northmarch before I succumb to my wounds, Lord!    I give my life up to sanctify this nation.”

As if defying his prayer, a pick axe jammed into a gap between his breastplate and hip guard, ripping a deep gash, before sliding off and stabbing Griz.   The horse whinnied in pain, but did not hesitate to push forward.    Like his master, he was covered with numerous wounds, and Aaron grieved for his loyal steed.   

He swung his mace at the helm of a soldier beneath him, knocking him to the ground as four more moved in to take the fallen man’s place.   But Aaron paused for a moment, allowing their swords and spears to bite him as he gently touched Griz’s flank with the side of the hand that held the mace.

“By Yesh, be healed!”   He said, and he felt energy flow into his horse.   A slight smile crossed the young Half-Elf’s face.   But then he saw it.  

Ahead was a box formation of elite mounted soldiers, surrounding a red-haired man that Aaron knew instinctively to be Earl Redburr.   Around him in the middle of the square stood three younger men, two of which were redheads as well and were obviously his surviving sons. 

But though he was less than forty feet away from his goal, it was what stood in front of them that filled him with apprehension.

 

He stood nine feet tall, covered from head to foot in whip marks and bruises that revealed an extended period of time as the subject of sadistic torture by the hands of Clerics of Torrin.    His dull eyes had madness in them that proved that his simple mind had failed during his imprisonment.    Six men on each side held thick chains bound to each of the brute’s wrists and he strained at the chains, growling like a wild animal as Aaron approached through the mass of soldiers.  

It was a crazed Ogre - kept for Redburr’s amusement or as a reminder of the original muster of the Earl’s forces, before he had submitted to Torrin’s anti-magic, pro-human dogma.

Redburr’s men seemed to know what their Earl intended, for though they could have probably pulled Aaron from his horse, instead, the enemy soldiers suddenly parted at the sound of a loud whistle.  

They scattered in a wide circle, leaving clear ground between Aaron and the Ogre standing in front of the elite horsemen protecting their Earl and his sons.

“RELEASE HIM, THEN!”   Aaron mocked, as he bore down on the monster.   As he saw the Ogre’s chain handlers release the chains and then run for safety, he found himself actually feeling pity for the tortured creature.    They were a cruel, ruthless race, but he had known several that had been civilized and had been shown patience and compassion.   They had successfully adapted to the human world.

But not this one.

He had to kill the Ogre before he could ever get to Redburr.   A strange sense of impending doom came quickly over him, which brought with it an odd calmness.   He had hoped to have a long, happy life in a Kingdom ruled by Duke and Duchess Dullerm and administered by his parents.

But they were no doubt in Flux now, and he soon would be joining them.    At least he had to try to fulfill his vow.  

“Yah!”   He spurred Griz forward, into the path of the Ogre

Reviews

[Elina]

"Across the Fallow River Bridge Aaron went, sword in hand as his steed galloped toward the enemy line." This may need a little reworking. ?

[Eddie Davis]

Thank you so much, Elina.