Metagore, The Battle For

Reads: 48274  | Likes: 8  | Shelves: 62  | Comments: 234

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: House of Ghosts

The Alberians attack BrightHelm again.

Chapter 38 (v.2) - Cutting The Head Off The Ram

Submitted: August 30, 2016

Reads: 169

Comments: 2

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 30, 2016



In the afternoon of the sixtieth day of his reign as lord, Cornelius resided in his cabinet with his marquess, Tylon. The young lord stood next to the window and stared out at the crumbled wall. His mind---just as broken as the kingdom's borders---ached in sadness and disappointment.

"How are your men holding up?" Cornelius asked brokenly as he turned towards his marquess, who was slouched in his chair.

"A few less than yesterday, but their spirits are holding firm."

"Do you think they will be able to protect us?"

"I do," Tylon responded. "Even after yesterday, we still have double the men; which are all far better suited and equipped than the Alberians."

While the two elves continued to speak, their duchess walked into the room. "My Lord, your letter has returned back from Ringwood," Zorie stated as she handed the tattered scroll over to Cornelius.

Cornelius unrolled the crinkly piece of parchment. His eyes filled horror as his skin became paler than his usual shade of white. His icy blue eyes looked up from the letter and over towards the red eyes of Tylon. In deep, slow breaths he stated, "The Learish are coming...Take part of your men and defend the wall to Nuwulf."

"As you wish, my Lord," Tylon stated as he stood up from his seat and left the room.

Cornelius crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it into the flames of the hearth. He turned his fearful eyes toward Zorie. "Go, find a safe place to hide. War is coming and with it death."

Zorie just nodded in agreeance and left the room, while her lord stood in front of the flames, staring at the burning warning that their enemies had taken Ringwood. All hope of Galach surviving the attack was gone.


Outside of the western wall, Tylon met up with his knights. Knowing that the Learish were more barbaric and a larger threat than the Alberians, he ordered four thousand of his men to patrol the south-eastern wall of the kingdom---leaving just over thirty-eight hundred to fight off the Alberians.

Up Mount Harod, Tylon could see the nearly six thousand Alberians marching back down the same snowy path as the day before. Their strix banners waved in the steady, crisp air.

"Alright men," Tylon spoke while pacing behind the rows of knights. "Beyond the clouds, we shine, and beyond these walls, they fall!"

A loud grunt emerged from the knights as they readied themselves in formation. They stood in four long rows. The first two of knights who held shields and polearms; the back two of archers and bannermen.

As the Alberians advanced closer to the base of the mountain, Tylon led his men towards them; all four rows marching in complete unison. The armies drew near to each other, and the knights raised their shields and bows. The Alberians charged at the Helanian knights, yelling and crying out in their native tongue.

When the Alberians were just a few short meters away, Tylon gave his men the order to fire. As he had commanded, the first two rows of knights knelt down---covering themselves and their comrades with their shields---while the archers in the back fired their arrows.

The two forces collided---harsh clashes of sound from metal and wood echoed through the mountainside. Swords and axes swung through the crowd, denting helmets and dismembering warriors and knights alike.

A few of the warriors were able to knock the shields out of the Helanians' grasps. The Alberians, in turn, picked up the protection for themselves and used them as weapons---bunting them up against their enemies and stabbing the edge of the shield into the open visors of the knights.

The death count began to rise, and the corpses piled up, causing some of the men to trip over the carcasses---unable to get back to their feet, they were trampled to death.

Tylon---in the middle of the raging battle---held his glaive in his hands, parrying and slicing any Alberian that came close enough to him. All around him were knights reaching over the heads of other knights just to stab an Alberian with their sword.

As the battle continued, one of the Alberians swung his ax at Tylon, who quickly raised his shield to deflect the blow. Tylon quickly pierced his pole-arm into the lightly armored elf, then removed it in one swift motion, already in the process of finding his next target.

His red eyes quickly glanced around the battle in front of him, when an agonizing pain spread quickly from the back of his neck, down his spine, and around towards his face. He turned to see a blue djinn in a golden, metal armor with rubies embedded into the chest plate. The djinn held a falchion sword in each of his hands. Unable to see the grayish colored hair under his helmet, Tylon was still able to recognize him as Lord Azreal of Talean.

Tylon tried to step towards Azreal but just fell to the hard ground. He laid there wincing in pain as his skin turned even darker than normal and began to blister up. His red eyes faded as he took his last breath.

Azreal made his way through the cluster of warriors and knights, slicing the Helanians with his swords coated with poisonous death worm venom.


Duchess Zorie stood in her chamber and stared out of the window. Her green eyes witnessed the carnage of the battle drawing closer to the castle's courtyards as her face grew worried in the night time hours. Amongst the crowd of soldiers, more and more Helanians fell to the two invading armies, until there were none left.

A group of Alberians and Taleanics made their way towards the castle. Zorie grew anxious and scared for her life. As she looked upon the soldiers nearing the entrance of the castle, one of them looked up towards her, pointed, and notified the others as if he could see her staring out the window five stories up.

The warriors and knights began to rush into the castle as Zorie fled her room. Terror filled her mind as she ran down the passageway towards Cornelius' cabinet. Once she reached the room, she noticed that it was vacant, along with the flames that had occupied the fireplace had been smothered out. From down the corridor, the sound of the soldiers stampeding towards the room rumbled through the castle. She quickly hid underneath the desk, staying as quiet as her thumping heart and shaking body would allow her to be. She listened carefully to the men's footsteps as they passed the room without even stopping to look into any of the chambers. With the sound of the men fading off in the distance, Zorie crawled out from under the desk and escaped the castle without being seen.


Up on the roof of the castle, the group of soldiers approached a young elven figure---who was standing on the edge of the parapet---with his blond hair and tunic blowing in the wind as snow danced through the air.

"Cornelius!" one of the Taleanic knights shouted at the elf. "We have came, and we have conquered!"

Cornelius stood on the edge with his head hung low. His body shook from the weeping and from the disappointment that he felt as he had failed his kingdom as lord.

The knight continued to speak loudly as he approached the elf, "If you bend the knee to Lord Moll'ar, your life and your men will be spared!"

Cornelius slowly turned his head towards the men---his hair blowing fiercely across his soaked face. He took a deep breath---still shaking from the whimpering and the cold---then looked up at the two forces. "The kingdom is Moll'ar's."

Cornelius lowered his head, then turned back around. He took another deep breath, then with just one step, he fell over the parapet. His young body tumbled through the dark sky, as it approached the unforgiving ground.

© Copyright 2018 D. L. Stewart. All rights reserved.


Add Your Comments: