wound, turning to dark ice as it spattered the stone.
The two men did not relent. They followed the creature,
continuing to push the spear
upward by clambering atop the merlons.
With another great heave the coil lifted high above them.
The spear was taken beyond their reach, and they tumbled from the merlons back onto the rampart. The coil rose higher, the spear
sticking from it, and then with a twist and thrash the loop of the serpent’s
body dropped once more.
More merlons burst. Men were crushed. The two Durlin
scrabbled away from the rubble, and the serpent shuddered, raising up the coil
with a jerk more sudden than the first , for its efforts had only driven the spear deep; t he
full six foot length of it now pierced
the creature.
It thrashed.
Coils rose and fell all along the Cardurleth. For a moment it hung there,
roiling in pain, but then the extremity of its anguish drove it to twist too
far. With a final undulation of its whole body , it lost
its grip on the battlement and fell.
Down the massive creature plummeted. It thrashed as it went,
and when it landed it sent a tremor through the earth and the battlement shook. There in the dust it writhed. A long time it
would take to die, but Gilhain had no doubt that it would. Somehow, Cardoroth
was saved.
On unsteady legs the king walked over and looked down. The
creature churned violently in its death pangs. Blood streamed from its wound. He looked along
the battlement. The men were in shock, but quickly they began to clean the
rampart of bodies and broken stone. The lòhrens all along the Cardurleth leaned on their staffs .
He turned
toward Aranloth, but did not see him at first. Then,
some way from the broken edge
of the rampart, he spotted him, collapsed to the ground.
He raced over. From afar he heard the groaning of the enemy horde, and also the pain-filled screech of elùgroths. When he came to Aranloth
the old man’s eyes flickered open , and the lòhren spoke, his voice soft but grim.
“Thus do they pay for their sorcery,” he said. “They linked
themselves to the serpent to bring it here and keep it in this world. And as it
dies, so too do the weakest among them.”
Aranloth spoke no more. His eyes blinked strangely, and then
closed. Gilhain looked at him, dread creeping though his veins even though he
had thought that after the serpent nothing could scare him again. But dread was
worse than fear – dread spoke of human tragedy and loss that was
irrevocable, but yet to come.
The king bent down and felt for a pulse. He could not find
one, but he had little skill with such matters. The Durlin had more.
He looked up to call one over, but Taingern was already
striding toward him . The Durlin kneeled. With deft
movements he felt at Aranloth’s wrist
and neck.
Gilhain knew that he should have seen this coming. The lòhrens had no prop as did
the elùgroths. For them, there was no artifact such as Shurilgar’s staff. What
they did, they did by the power that was in them, and by the strength of their
will and the courage of their hearts. And Aranloth, oldest and greatest among
them, he who had given most for the longest, had perhaps finally given too
much.
Gilhain felt suddenly cold.
“Well?” he asked.
Taingern did not look at him, did not remove his intent gaze
from the lòhren.
“I don’t know. I thought I felt a pulse, but then it was
gone. Sometimes, it’s hard to find.”
Gilhain did not quite believe that. The Durlin had some
skill in healing. It was necessary, for they might have to help someone before
a proper healer could arrive.
There were times when battlefield medicine, the treatments given to a wounded
man while the blood spurted from him, later made the difference between life and death. At other times , if not done correctly, the
man was dead before help arrived at all.
Gilhain bit his lip. Yet, he saw that Taingern had not
stopped feeling for a pulse, and that surely must be a good thing.
The king remained where he
The two men did not relent. They followed the creature,
continuing to push the spear
upward by clambering atop the merlons.
With another great heave the coil lifted high above them.
The spear was taken beyond their reach, and they tumbled from the merlons back onto the rampart. The coil rose higher, the spear
sticking from it, and then with a twist and thrash the loop of the serpent’s
body dropped once more.
More merlons burst. Men were crushed. The two Durlin
scrabbled away from the rubble, and the serpent shuddered, raising up the coil
with a jerk more sudden than the first , for its efforts had only driven the spear deep; t he
full six foot length of it now pierced
the creature.
It thrashed.
Coils rose and fell all along the Cardurleth. For a moment it hung there,
roiling in pain, but then the extremity of its anguish drove it to twist too
far. With a final undulation of its whole body , it lost
its grip on the battlement and fell.
Down the massive creature plummeted. It thrashed as it went,
and when it landed it sent a tremor through the earth and the battlement shook. There in the dust it writhed. A long time it
would take to die, but Gilhain had no doubt that it would. Somehow, Cardoroth
was saved.
On unsteady legs the king walked over and looked down. The
creature churned violently in its death pangs. Blood streamed from its wound. He looked along
the battlement. The men were in shock, but quickly they began to clean the
rampart of bodies and broken stone. The lòhrens all along the Cardurleth leaned on their staffs .
He turned
toward Aranloth, but did not see him at first. Then,
some way from the broken edge
of the rampart, he spotted him, collapsed to the ground.
He raced over. From afar he heard the groaning of the enemy horde, and also the pain-filled screech of elùgroths. When he came to Aranloth
the old man’s eyes flickered open , and the lòhren spoke, his voice soft but grim.
“Thus do they pay for their sorcery,” he said. “They linked
themselves to the serpent to bring it here and keep it in this world. And as it
dies, so too do the weakest among them.”
Aranloth spoke no more. His eyes blinked strangely, and then
closed. Gilhain looked at him, dread creeping though his veins even though he
had thought that after the serpent nothing could scare him again. But dread was
worse than fear – dread spoke of human tragedy and loss that was
irrevocable, but yet to come.
The king bent down and felt for a pulse. He could not find
one, but he had little skill with such matters. The Durlin had more.
He looked up to call one over, but Taingern was already
striding toward him . The Durlin kneeled. With deft
movements he felt at Aranloth’s wrist
and neck.
Gilhain knew that he should have seen this coming. The lòhrens had no prop as did
the elùgroths. For them, there was no artifact such as Shurilgar’s staff. What
they did, they did by the power that was in them, and by the strength of their
will and the courage of their hearts. And Aranloth, oldest and greatest among
them, he who had given most for the longest, had perhaps finally given too
much.
Gilhain felt suddenly cold.
“Well?” he asked.
Taingern did not look at him, did not remove his intent gaze
from the lòhren.
“I don’t know. I thought I felt a pulse, but then it was
gone. Sometimes, it’s hard to find.”
Gilhain did not quite believe that. The Durlin had some
skill in healing. It was necessary, for they might have to help someone before
a proper healer could arrive.
There were times when battlefield medicine, the treatments given to a wounded
man while the blood spurted from him, later made the difference between life and death. At other times , if not done correctly, the
man was dead before help arrived at all.
Gilhain bit his lip. Yet, he saw that Taingern had not
stopped feeling for a pulse, and that surely must be a good thing.
The king remained where he
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