Survivors of the Battle of Kenniford swore that as bad as this battle had been, the dreadful defense of the town of Ruromel had been worse, but Rowan was not at all sure. Only the deadly accurate missile fire of the goblin slingers had kept the sides of the battle-line clear enough to allow the flanking cavalry archers the freedom to sweep the opposing Eorfleode ranks with bow fire deadly enough to keep their center line from being massively overwhelmed, right from the very start of the battle. Their companions fell like autumn leaves in the battle-line to be replaced by the next rank, and then the next, until at last the wounded members of the reserve came forward to desperately hold the line, but still the
Eorfleode
horde seemed inexhaustible.
Right from the very start, Rowan placed himself into the center of the battle-line and his sword blazed with daemonic fury as the brave lad sought to carve down entire ranks of the enemy entirely on this own. No Eorfleode spear or sword could get close enough to touch him, but the field of battle was just too great for his prowess or skill with his infernal blade to have any meaningful effort on the final battle.
Gwenda, once again right at his side, with dual weapons in hand and disdaining the use of a heavy shield, sought to keep his rear flank once again guarded, but he was on more than once occasion nearly overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers. She looked to the city gates and knew that their relief force had been spotted, and that the main assaulting force had been diverted from their gates, but yet she could see no trace of any friendly sally from the gates, to fall upon the unprotected rear of the enemy that could deliver the fatal blows to their remaining forces. Surely the army of Boar-Men was now much decreased, but so too was their regiment! Soon their wounded would exceed their effective numbers of soldiers, and the battle-line must break and they would all fall!
Rowan knew this as well, and even in his fury he could not slay the Boar-Men with his sheets of infernal flame fast enough. Even with the flames of his sword reaching out over a dozen feet in all directions, he could not seem to bear his implacable will upon the entire army all at once! He feared that if he surrendered himself to his growing rage that his own companions might be felled as well. But in growing frustration, as he watched his regiment falter and even take a few steps backwards under the irresistible press of bodies that faced them and bore down upon them, Rowan knew that he had to now do something, or else they would all be overrun.
Bidding his regiment to retreat back yet further to a safer range, he at last unleashed his full inner rage and frustration upon his foe, releasing nearly the full infernal fury of the sword, causing a great blast of flame, like the rays of the early morning sun itself, upon the great host of his enemy, burning alive hundreds or perhaps even thousands wherever the point of his sword indicated.
The entire battlefield became a flaming pit, not unlike the depictions of hell itself, as the hordes of enemy were felled in its place and devoured utterly by flame. In a matter of moments the Eorfleode no longer possessed an army, but a ravaged force of creatures that had seen and endured a horror beyond comprehension. Faced with certain death, the Boar-Men paused their final and certain to be decisive assault upon the arms-men of the battle-line, and paused in terror and wonder at the unearthly carnage that they had just beheld.
For the first time in record history, an Eorfleode army had paused, stopped dead by fear and uncertainty in their very tracks by a nameless dread, the panic of facing certain and utter destruction in which they could gain no personal honor... only flaming death. A defeat that promised no sort of glory for their tribes whatsoever and a certain destruction that promised even the bravest warrior only a nameless grave, and with utter and complete certainty. Now, perhaps for the first time in their lives or their ancestral memory, the Boar-Men felt fear, and it bit at their heels like vipers. They turned and fled from this terror that they could not remotely begin to understand, even throwing their arms to the ground to speed their flight.
For Rowan in his fury, this was still not enough, and he now called out for the remnants of his warriors to charge forwards and onward, over the bodies of their comrades, and over the heaping mounds of the seemingly endless Boar-Men dead, and into this fresh burning hell. Somehow his soldiers found the voice to cheer their champion Hero, and even more remarkably they found they had the will and the strength to run after their retreating foes. Being fleeter afoot, and with the help of Boyle's cavalry, the rout was made nearly complete.
Even with the cavalry chasing after the fleeing Eorfleode, not quite all of them could be cornered or slain. Some few would yet remain to tell the woeful tale of their defeat to their companions, that proud men had withstood their greatest might and had indeed held unto the very last. In the end, it had been the Eorfleode who had fled in terror. They had tasted the dregs of bitter defeat, and perhaps now they knew the true meaning of fear.
Even while they hunted down the fleeing Boar-Men, Gwenda could see the tears in Rowan's eyes as he saw for the first time what this seemingly glorious victory had cost his soldiers, in hundreds of lives and even more near-mortal wounds the survivors would bear until the every end of their days.
***********
Even at the very last moments of the battle, the gates of the city remained closed. No avenging sally had ever emerged and the defenders of the city had seemed content to watch their relieving force nearly utterly perish upon their behalf. Even now, they appeared to have little if any interest in their rescuers outside of the walls and the city gates remained closed to them. Such dishonor was not at all to be borne!
"Open the gates to the city!" Rowan cried out, as he rode up to the front of the ranks angrily waving his flaming sword before the startled guardsmen of the city gate tower. The soldiers were more than willing to do so, but the captain of the gate bellowed out loud orders for his men to hold firm and keep the gates closed. A younger nobleman at his side even had the temerity to fire a crossbow at Rowan, and with a fair bit of accuracy, but with a casual flick of his sword the bolt was knocked harmlessly away in a cloud of flames.
"Go away!" The captain called out to the battered remains of the regiment assembled below. "For the gates shall not open to the ragamuffin likes of you! Soldiers in rags and bearing the banner of no particular Lord or Duke, not that we recognize or acknowledge any overlords over us any further. Be gone from our gates peasants, lest we let our arrows fly to sting you along your path!"
Rowan could hardly believe his ears. He bore the authority of two Dukes and had rescued one of their greatest and most valuable cities from siege and sack, and the bloody foolish local barons were taking this moment to fully seize their independence. The lad knew he had little time to waste in parley with these ungrateful pismires, as he had a great many wounded that desperately needed urgent care if even half of the wounded were to be saved.
To his surprise, the Lady Ayleth rode up to join Rowan, astonished that the gates of her own city were barred to her. Upon a brief explanation of the situation, the Lady went into a fury, and it was more than justifiable for once, and Rowan let the ducal daughter give the rebellious barons a good bit of her tongue.
"Open the gates!" She cried out. "In the name of the Duke of Tellismere, for I am his daughter Ayleth, supreme commander of this regiment, fighting in the name of the Duke. It is to me that you owe your allegiance! I command you to open these gates at once!"
The gate Captain laughed and the young nobleman by his side ordered a flight of arrows to launched from the walls. While quite a few bowmen balked at obeying this order to fire upon the Lady and her soldiers, some did commit this treason, and several dozen arrows now flew towards Rowan and Lady Ayleth. To her credit, she didn't flinch in the slightest as Rowan's sword burst forth a great swath of flame that devoured the arrows even before they reached half the distance to them.
Commanding the regiment forward, the Lady Ayleth herself sounded the call to attack, and with a few carefully and artistically placed bursts of infernal flame, Rowan's sword blasted open the steel reinforced gates of the city. The survivors of the regiment, along with the goblins and camp followers, charged forth in conquest and triumph into the city, to a very mixed reception. The common people cheered them and even threw flowers in their path, and offered the weary and wounded soldiers food and drink. The upper classes were much less delighted, and soon were making hasty plans for defense against this quite unexpected upstart.
**********
To the credit of the city, the vast overwhelming majority of the city guardsmen, after a single glance at Rowan's flaming infernal sword decided at once that they were quite unwilling to face a Duke's wrath, or a hero with a flaming sword that had nearly singlehandedly slain an entire Boar-Man army. They sided at once with the regiment and quickly swore oaths of obedience to the Lady Ayleth, and to the two Duchies, and were extremely prompt and helpful at pointing out officers and sergeants who had publically sided with the rebellious barons. There was a little bit of unsanctioned revenge as old scores were quickly and often publically settled, usually quite fatally, but the outer parts of the city were quiet and secure, leaving only the remaining rebels inside the city's inner keep.
Once the wounded had been quartered and every medicus and wise-woman available had been summoned to their care, Rowan tried to will himself to relax but his anger at these rebellious barons and noblemen, who had now locked themselves in terror behind the stout walls of the city's inner keep, along with their personal men-at-arms, if anything only increased. Worse, the delay in receiving immediate treatment had been deadly to some of the more mortally wounded.