A Daemon-Horn Blade

The sight of the destruction of Elmcrygh brought great misery and many tears to the poor survivors of Silana, who had hoped to find shelter and perhaps a new home behind the walls of the great walled town. In size, the now burning ruins were once nearly large enough to be considered a city, and it formerly sheltering tens of thousands of people and was the major hub of trade for nearly a hundred leagues around.

Even at the height of their collective despair, Rowan refused to believe that the entire population of the large town had been slaughtered to the very last person. With Gwenda and his few personal guards in tow, he left The Lady Ellyn, impotent and now trapped perhaps forever at the lonely abandoned stone docks of the town, so that they might search the ruins for some few of the pitiful survivors.

With her own hopes for shelter behind these formerly protective walls of the town now dashed, the Lady Ayleth found herself no longer able to cope with all of the pent-up rage and impotent frustration that she had been keeping bottling up inside for so long. Already in tears she turned to run, to escape back to the comforting shelter of her small cabin. Before she had taken more than a step towards the deck ladder going downwards, Gwenda's strong arm reached out to grab her by her dress and she was roughly yanked back toward the tall red-haired girl, who had no difficulty holding her now in place. Ayleth cried out in tearful protest, but Gwenda shook her firmly and slapped the hysterical lady's face. Hard, in fact quite nearly with Gwenda's full strength behind the blow.

"Snap out of it! I know that you're a poor excuse for a member of the nobility and that you don't really give the slightest shit about any of your subjects, but some of us here do... and like it or not, you are going to need to put on your big girl panties and at least

pretend

to be somewhat in charge of things here. You're a Duke's daughter, and his heir! Start acting like one! If you can't think of anything important or relevant to give orders about, just ask me or the Foole, or even ask the big stable boy, who has more sense in his big cheerful head than you do in your entire body. Dry your eyes, stand tall and straight, eyes clear and forward and your tits out, and get this motley crew and our mounts and supplies off of this boat before some lucky

Eorfleode

straggler with access to a catapult drops a big large fucking rock on top of our fucking heads!"

The Lady got her eyes into focus and her tears more or less dry and stepped forward to start giving the necessary orders. She of course, couldn't ever forgive the physical assault to her dignity, but the idea of suddenly going down with the boat, or watching it go up into sudden flames, like the town before her, spurred her into some action. There were indeed things that needed doing and she did have quite a lot of very frightened subjects to calm and press into action. Within an hour, the ship had been emptied of anything that was remotely useful, all piled haphazardly upon the stone dock, which seemed to be the least likely place that could burn up into flames. Most of the horses had been kept below deck for several weeks now, and were not in particularly good humor. Boyle, who would have preferred to join Rowan's search for survivors, instead found that he was most desperately needed getting the horses tied down to some of the metal hitching posts along the piers, and then getting them gradually soothed down and fed. They didn't like the flames of the town any better than the humans did.

She then set the ship's captain and the crew to work, sorting out the supplies, to separate the food and the weapons, to make things as ready as possible, in case a sudden flight from any lingering

Eorfleode

was necessary. From a quick look at things, the sack of the city was completed sometime during the previous day, and now the fires were finally beginning to burn out. Even a brief evaluation of the damage, here in the darkness of the night, suggested that not much in the way of the town's provisions would survive the fire, and that heaps of charred wood and collapsed stone would cover most of the basements and storage cellars where supplies, and hiding refugees, might well be still hidden. They might get lucky and find a few useful things in the debris tomorrow, but probably only if their luck suddenly changed for the better. For the moment, their luck looked to be consistently pretty bad.

*********

Hours later, when they had discovered all that they could for now in the darkness, Rowan and his men returned to report that they had indeed found a few survivors on the edges of the burning ruins, and they had reports that some groups of other escaping townsfolk had fled before the attack on the town to some thick woods for shelter, about an hours walk to the south. Most of the survivors agreed that the vast host of Boar-Men, that apparently had numbered in the well into the thousands, had breeched the town gates and a few walls of the city yesterday with considerable swiftness and ease. The sack of the town had been accomplished in a matter of hours, rather than days or weeks, as would have been expected for a normal siege.

Two survivors reported that a magic-wielding boarman, riding an enormous and monstrous creature, had burst down the town gates with but a wave of his burning hand, and the horde quickly put much of the townsfolk to either the sword, the flames or a cooking spit. The Foole at once discounted that report to panic and hysteria.

"Impossible!" He stated categorically. "There has never been a boarman born who could even sense magic, let alone use it to even light a small cookfire... and certain not with the power to blast down gates and stone walls, like one of the great seven wizards of old! The Goddess

Aðbaernesa

forbade that, forever, when she renounced them!"

Rowan wasn't quite so sure. Even the Lore-Master agreed that the

Eorfleode

had never organized themselves into huge armies since the days of the Dragon War either. The size of this horde had been estimated to be in the tens of thousands -- an insanely improbably number, but nevertheless it appeared to be true. The ruins of the gatehouse showed that some terrible violence had indeed occurred there.

After a great celebratory feast last night, the Boar-Men had all marched off at dawn this morning, after dividing themselves into at least two separate armies that left separately to harry the lands to the east and to the south. The Juniper Mountains had no path suitable for an army that lead to the west, so the southern horde would need to travel for at least a week to get to the great Hythe River, to be able to circle around to the west and then to the north, to the long coastal road that eventually led back to the city of Tellismere. .

The Hythe, which like the Emerald River, also ran from east to west and was nearly as long, was also the well and long established border between Tellismere and Broadmore. Like any good and obvious fence, the deep and wide river made for relatively good relations between the two Duchies and made accidental border incursions by overly zealous young army officers virtually impossible. The vast central area, east of the Elm River, and the mighty Emerald and Hythe rivers to the north and south, formed the great agricultural region called the Lloan Valley. The soil was considered so fertile that if you put a dried twig into the ground, it was rumored to be able to sprout leaves once again. The farmers of this valley easily fed three entire Duchies, and further exports of grain, flax and wool brought in more than enough coin to make the Barons and large-holders of this reason quite wealthy, and nominally independent enough to avoid most of the taxation efforts of the Tellismere and Dukes throughout nearly all of recorded history. The Dukes of Broadmore had the identical problem as well with their own barons in the southern part of the valley.

An eastern striking army of Boar-Men, combined with additional and probably substantial forces crossing the Emerald to the north, could easily overwhelm any of the small towns and villages in the region. In fact, there was only one fortified walled town in the entire Lloan Valley, Kenniford, located at the last possible ford crossing of the Hythe River. The other small towns in the region, including the critical ferry crossing at the small town of Ruromel for the main stone road that ran southeast from Elmcrygh into Broadmore, were all without walls and virtually defenseless.

There were a few reports of sightings of some night-goers that had either joined with the Boar-Men in the sack of the town, or else had come down from the nearby Juniper Mountains independently, hoping to pick over the ruins for some easy loot. For now they were keeping their distance, and that suited everyone just fine. No one was in the mood for another pitched battle, especially in the burning chaos.

**********

About midnight, it began to rain, which helped to start putting out the still smoldering fires of the city, and by morning the dark heavy clouds had dumped down enough hard rain to extinguish the last of the remaining blazes. With the ruins now thick with hot steam, Rowan gathered up every available hand that he could muster to begin searching the ruins of the town for survivors trapped in basements and cellars, and to scrounge for anything salvageable that would be useful. To everyone's surprise, a good many folks had indeed taken shelter underneath the city, mostly in an old but extensive underground sewage system that snaked like a labyrinth under most of the city. As the last fires burned out or were extinguished by the rain, the survivors that had hidden below began to emerge. First individually, then in small groups and finally, as the word spread below that the sack of the city was over, the rest of the refugees climbed up to safety in a long ragged line.

Dirty, tired, hungry and frightened, the several hundred survivors looked at once to the Lady Ayleth for comfort and guidance, but the overwhelmed Duke's daughter had little of either to offer. Increasingly, they instead began to look to her Champion Rowan for direction and leadership, as he and Boyle appeared to be the only ones that seemed to know exactly what needed to be

now

, and then next. With Gwenda and the Foole right by her side whispering suggestions and instructions, the Lady tried to command her ever-growing collection of refugees, but it was clear that she was severely lacking in confidence. Eventually for expediency, she mostly just gave up and issued the orders to Rowan and Boyle, so that they could then do what was necessary... for the most part, this was what they were already doing without her added input.

**********

Now that they had nearly four hundred mouths to feed and protect, the supplies that had been brought on board The Lady Ellyn, which would have been more than sufficient for the travelers and the refugees from Silana as well, was now grossly insufficient for these new larger groups of survivors. In fact the numbers of refugees began to swell all day long as additional frightened townsmen and women emerged from other hidden shelters in the bowels of the town. Further adding to the vast throng were the ones who had escaped just before the siege and had fled to the nearby hills and woods. These refugees combined to add several hundred more angry and frightened mouths that needed to be fed and their anxious nerves tolerably soothed.

It took a lot of ordering, shouting, coaxing pleading and even threats by the lads and the Lady, to get a few organized search and recover teams sent off into the ruins to find some desperately needed supplies, but most of the listless and scared survivors were just too shocked or sunk into depression to be of much usefulness. The Silana refugees, who had much better morale and a near supreme confidence in the ability of Rowan, Boyle and Gwenda to accomplish miracles, tried to beat a few heads or shame their lackluster new associates into action, but even they couldn't force the unwilling into doing anything remotely useful.

Cooking the evening meal that night took an alarming amount of their saved provisions, and the concerned Captain Coryn warned them that evening that even with reduced rations and only two meals a day, their stores could not hope to last more than a few days. They needed to find grain and produce stored in underground cellars, and a great deal of it, if they even hoped to get the survivors to another town or city where they could be safe. In addition, they would need carts and wagons to transport this food, not to mention the sick, injured or aged that could not walk.

Most importantly, the survivors needed to be made to realize that the time for mourning was now over; too many things now desperately needed to be done and virtually every hand would be needed to make it all happen. It was time, the Foole announced to his companions, to make them either 'fish or cut bait'. If the townsmen could be prevailed upon to actively participate in their own rescue, it would be all for the best, but if they declined to work and just kept their hands out for alms and food, then they must be left to their own devices. The willing could not be made to suffer because of the acts, or inaction, of the indolent and lazy.

There was one additional problem that no one had yet considered. Namely what would the Captain and remaining three crewmen do now? Elmcrygh was a burned out ruin and without guards or any means of defense, and the ship and crew could not linger here near the river's end. They could sail no further south, but yet returning north was clearly hazardous. Even if they could reach Silana once again, the choices of either continuing east or returning west back to the hopeful safety of Swanford were both suicidal ones, especially with only three crewmen left to handle the boat. As the counsel meeting broke up, with little resolved, Captain Coryn gathered his few remaining crewmen and they wandered down the dock to their ship to further debate their limited options and decide upon their fate.

Her ever present anger just barely contained, Lady Ayleth arose and marched down to the main camp area where the majority of the refugees were settled, and she began a lengthy and rather rambling tirade at the lethargic survivors. She commanded, she begged, she pleaded, and she threatened... early and often, but to largely no result.

"Where are the Duke's armies?" The survivors cried out her in their hundreds of voices, equally angry but still apathetic. "Where are his soldiers, the extra guardsmen that he ordered away from our defense? Where then now are his quartermasters, with wagons loaded with bread? Who is going to come and rescue and protect us... a skinny ill-tempered girl, a couple of beardless young lads and a Foole? Are we to be made to laugh and suffer entertainment while our loved ones lie in the burned rubble and we are starved? We do not heed your words girl, for they are shrill like an ill-wind and bear no meaning or comfort to us! Nor do we claim or accept your father, the Duke, any further as our rightful lord, for his promises are hollow and his hand does not reach to us in either duty or respect. We abjure you both!"

As Ayleth started to hysterically flee away from her ungrateful subjects, Rowan appeared next to her and grabbed her shoulder hard to hold her firmly in place. The Foole, along with Boyle and Gwenda joined her as well, offering their support to her to steady her frail nerves as Rowan stomped right into the very middle of the angry refugees, his face dark with wrath.

Rowan, furious nearly beyond words, drew out his sword and held it up high. Nearly at once it burst into bright orange flames, and its light filled not only the camping area, but also much of the ruins of the town. The sky even glowed with a bright red-orange, the color undulating and pulsing with the beating of Rowan's heartbeat. Even the most hapless and apathetic of the townsmen was startled by this seemingly divine apparition, and they were agog with wonder and terrible fear.

"Townsmen of Elmcrygh, mark and heed carefully my words! You have suffered great misfortunes indeed, but by The Seven you are all alive! You have lost your homes, family members, friends and your material goods, yes... but you still take breath and your hearts still beat. You now show anger and demand a great many things from your Lord, the Duke, who is yet a great distance away and is unlikely as of yet to have heard of your misfortune. Fear not, the Duchy shall act! Men, brave and bold, shall take up arms to defend those cities, towns and villages that have not yet met the peril of the

Eorfleode

, the Boar-Men... or to avenge those that have already fallen! But the Duke is but one man, and his daughter here but only one woman. Neither can act completely alone. Here and now, I, Rowan, Champion of the Lady Ayleth, speak for her... and I speak for the Duchy which I am oath-sworn to defend and protect. I have fought for it, and shall continue to do so again until the very light and soul of this divine sword is forever extinguished, but I cannot fight alone. I must have your help and assistance!"

Nearly at once, the crowd stood up on their feet, animated... eager even, to hear what the lad would say or do next. Oddtus and Boyle smiled and gently nodded their heads, and Gwenda took Rowan's left hand in hers and gave it a hard but comforting squeeze. Even the Lady Ayleth was astonished, and held close to her mind to every word her protector said.

"Townsmen!" Rowan shouted, his sword blazing even brighter, if possible. "Mark me well, for tomorrow began a new day in this Duchy and you will either be standing by our side, working with the sweat of your brow and perhaps even shedding the life's-blood of your body, or else you will be left here to fend on your own. There is no more time for tears or regret. We do not have the time for accusation or blame, or indifference, there is too much now that must be done if we are all to live. The Duchy is now at war! A war with the Boar-Men that we must not ever lose! The hearty and hale must gather arms, and swiftly learn their use. The women, elderly and the young must all gather food and supplies, and in great abundance.

All

must do their part now... those that cannot or will not must be left behind. Our hearts and minds must become one now, alone in our thoughts for survival and vengeance. There can be no thought now for the insipid and lazy that have not the will to stand to their own feet and fight for what was theirs, and what might yet be theirs again someday. In the morning, a meal shall be provided for every man, woman and child who is willing to work, to fight and to perhaps die so that others may perhaps live. For the rest, the others that will not raise their hands with ours, we shall instead raise our hands against them... to drive them away from our midst to be shunned, unworthy of the noble and valiant men and women that remain. Steel your hearts with determination, and gird your loins with hope, and such armor and weapons as can be found! Let us gather grain and bake bread together and share our implacable will, for the Duchy has arisen against the Boar-Men, that their kind shall nevermore trouble these good lands of men!"

The cheering for Rowan lasted a very long time, and even some loud cries of loyalty were now heard for the Lady Ayleth, for which she was abjectly grateful. In but a few minutes, disaster had been turned to a near total victory, and now she not only had the loyalty and obedience of her subjects, but she had watched an army be born right under her very eyes. The men of the town, nearly every one, were standing and shouting, waving their arms in fervor and excitement. To defend their remaining loved ones, or to avenge family that had fallen, they would indeed now take arms for her and fight... and with a will to win!