Light of Elliana: Book One—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Forty-One: Homeward Bound

Ever since the ambush at the Gurgin Bridge, the princess knew they had been struggling merely to keep their footing. Eleven days of searching for Donovan had turned up nothing. Emec had traveled the entire first day and night to spread the word and brought back reinforcements. Slowly, the search progressed.

Their next setback had been the fall of Maska yesterday. Red hot steel had been required to cauterize his wound to stop the bleeding. In the Centaur Chieftain’s current state, it was vital to send him away to rest and recover. Morgan watched as Changa made a poultice dressing and tied it in place over the wound. “It was fortunate we found a patch of Soldier’s Blessing growing nearby. There, father, I have done all I can. What you need is plenty of rest, far away from here.”

“My son, I will be fine. What is needed is to find Donovan, it’s what is most important. Help me up.” Maska attempted to rise.

Morgan gently but firmly forced Maska to lay back down on the drag, while shaking her head in disapproval. “What you need is to let us take care of you. We will continue searching for Donovan until we find him. You’re going back home to rest and heal,” Morgan firmly stated while staring into his eyes.

Maska scowled while looking up at her and finally nodded. With a smile, he beckoned Changa closer. “If the alliance had an army of fighters such as her, our enemies’ would have no choice but to turn and flee!” Maska chuckled.

Changa turned to Morgan while grinning and winked.

Seven Centaur warriors stood waiting alongside a mounted soldier. The man had suffered a broken arm due to a blow from a war hammer. For a few minutes, two of the Centaur’s spoke with Changa, discussing something. The conversation ended with the Wind-walker nodding his head and walking over to stand beside his father once more.

“You will travel on the high path; it’s the safest route out of here. Sato and Flain have returned from there and found no sign of the enemy. Father do not worry; we will find Donovan,” Changa told Maska confidently.

Changa walked beside Maska lying on the drag, as his father and the guards started their journey back to Kandalare. He was listening to something his father was saying. Maska waved and smiled at her. The Centaur Chieftain lay his head upon a folded blanket on the drag, while the Wind-walker returned to stand beside the marks-woman. Morgan waved back, smiling. Somehow, she knew he would be alright. He would be waiting for them to return. Now, all they had to do was find Donovan.

“Father says we must quickly find Donovan. It’s not good for both of you to be apart from this long. You two are good for each other!” Changa glanced at her with a broad grin and winked.

Morgan felt her face grow warm, and suddenly she felt the need to make sure her horse was ready for the ride ahead. The princess carefully inspected her gear, even though she had completed the same task a short while ago. “Great Lady, protect me. Both of us are friends. I worry about him; Etmindor and the alliance need him.”

Changa stood beside her, grinning. Her attempt to deny his father’s statement hadn’t swayed him at all. “Deny it all you want, Morgan. You two are like the flowers and the bees; apart you manage to live but not well. Together, both of you are much better. Say what you will, but this is a good thing!”

The Wind-Walker strode away with a smile and left Morgan to her thoughts. It was not an easy thing to admit she needed someone else. She had learned to be an independent individual. The princess mounted her horse and prepared to resume the search for Donovan. He was her friend. Other than Girard, Donovan was perhaps her only friend. She admitted to herself she felt livelier when he was around. With a snort of disgust at her actions, Morgan followed Changa into the forest.

Shortly afterward, Morgan joined the front of their advancing force as it advanced through the swirling mist. In the fog, there were far too many shadows around them. Their advance slowed when they started to ascend a wooded slope. The princess brought her horse to a halt, searching the wispy shadows. For some unknown reason, she dared not advance any further. The marks-woman sensed they were no longer alone.

With her hand, Morgan motioned for everyone to stop. It was too quiet. The only sounds the marks-woman heard were the ones they made themselves. She smoothly drew her swords, while the rest of the men also prepared for battle. A shadow abruptly detached itself from behind a large tree ahead. Brandishing what appeared to be a hand ax, it charged with a loud bellow. Morgan deflected the blow. She used her attacker’s momentum, and her blade cut deeply along his neck, dispatching him.

There was no time to consider her next move, as many shadowed forms were now charging down the hill at them. The forest around the princess erupted with savage screams of anger. A Kang attempted to pull her from her horse. The beast succumbed to a throwing ax that embedded itself in its back.

Morgan had no time to thank her unknown benefactor, as she was now fighting a Nyen clad in full leather armor. The mark-woman deflected her opponent’s sword blow and responded with a s***h to its tattooed throat. Crimson blood sprayed into the air, adding more color to the already bright red and blue tattoo on her enemy’s face and throat. The savage collapsed with its snow-white hair streaming behind it.

The confusion of the fog-shrouded battle created a bewildering scene around Morgan. She charged in to help where she could. Unknown amongst the enemy, one hundred knights of the Dawnbreaker Mounted Brigade armed with battle-axes and shields had arrived. They were heavily armored in plate and chain mail and would assist in the search for Donovan. They had joined them before Maska left for home.

As one, the mounted professionals advanced. One Kang attempted to close with Morgan. He swiftly lost an arm; moments later, he lost his head as well. The fog continued to thin until it was no longer a hindrance. This time, it appeared the battle was entirely one-sided. The dead and dying enemy lay everywhere the marks-woman looked. The enemy wounded were stabbed in the heart by those soldiers following. One last gurgling scream sounded, and as one, they moved forward.

“Morgan, kinda ease-up and let the men in plate and chain handle it for a bit. No sense in anyone losing their life to an enemy archer.” Sir Alfred said in a lowered voice, as he rode up beside her with a heavy hand-ax in hand.

Morgan swallowed, upon fully realizing the wisdom of Sir Alfred’s words. Quietly, she fell back behind the heavily armored line where there were knights, men-at-arms, and ax-men, who were three-deep. Onward they advanced, resolute to the task at hand.

“Men—mend the line. Straighten it up.” The shouted order rang out in front of Morgan. Some men were advancing too quickly and were in danger of becoming isolated from the main force. The professionals corrected themselves, presenting a straight front, while mounted crossbowmen and archers, supported them from behind.

Their force crested a ridge and descended the other side. Soft-rain resumed, adding to everyone’s misery. It was when they almost reached the bottom of the valley when the enemy struck. From the rain-soaked trees on the opposite side of the ravine, many enemy riders charged them. Their foes were wielding wicked-looking hand-axes. With a berserker mentality, they slammed into the front-line, while others on foot closed in.

The front-line disintegrated into numerous pitched battles between mounted armored men and enemy’ riders. Morgan noted enemy riders were leaping on the armored front-line, from their horses. Many attackers were met by razor-sharp steel, which cut-off limbs, heads, and ruined flesh. But, other enemy soldiers were arriving to take their place. The enemies’ attack was creating mounting casualties. At close range, the deadly hand-axes were buckling armor and rending it as well. With a surge, the reserve men-at-arms and militia closed in to aid the beleaguered men.

Morgan ended a Nyen’s threat, by thrusting her gleaming blade beneath its arm-pit, into its chest. In shock, the savage turned towards her. With a sharp-exhale, the creature blew b****y froth onto her face and collapsed to the ground.

Through the air, ripped a bellowed order. “Fire!” A barrage of arrow shafts and crossbow bolts hissed through the air. Morgan finished wiping the b****y mess off her face and turned to find out what was happening. Someone was directing the archers and crossbowmen’s fire into the trees on the other side of the narrow valley. The light rain at such a close range had little effect on the bowmen’s accuracy, which was decimating the enemies’ support.

Morgan sheathed her swords, deciding she would be of greater use using her bow. She glanced at the front-line and saw the soldiers with the assistance of reinforcements, were beginning to recover. The enemy attack would only last if they could keep sending in reinforcements. The marks-woman drew an arrow and, after placed it on her bowstring, pulled it back. Moments later, a screaming Kang wielding a hand-ax, sprouted feathers from its chest. Immediately, she picked out a Nyen charging downhill to join the fray. The savage rolled down the hill into a tree, with her arrow in its throat.

Changa appeared beside her. “How is everything going over here?”

“At first, I thought the men would route. But, the bowmen are making the enemy pay dearly. If we can maintain the ranged barrage, it will give us time for our front line to recover,” Morgan replied. She wiped her face again, for it still felt sticky.

“We have lost some good men here, perhaps forty or more. The enemy is using their horses for momentum; it’s a tactic we’ve never encountered before. Luckily, we happened to have enough archers and crossbowmen,” Changa commented.

The Centaur drew his bow back and let fly at another galloping horseman. His bowshot took the Nyen in the chest. With a loud cry, his target plunged off his horse and slammed into the ground. The survivors of the attack formed the front-line once more. The reserve force replaced more than a few. The important thing was, they had not lost heart. They were ready to fight.

Twenty minutes later, a withering onslaught of arrows and crossbow bolts decimated the final wave of the enemy who swept down the hill towards them. The few who survived the hail of death, met their end on the keen edge of sharpened steel, wielded by the front line.

Suddenly, the battle was over. The last of the attackers disappeared back into the forest. Morgan slowly surveyed the scene around them. Sadly, they had lost forty-seven soldiers. Considering how many of the enemies they had killed, this was a small price indeed. For the first time in a while, the marks-woman started smiling.