Daramlhoardd’s War

Alldelham shouted, “Back, back, away from the river.”
Alldelham mounted his horse, Missmon and staying in the vanguard of his army rode back towards the knoll near the city. He joined his wife, daughter and nephew on the top of the small hill. His knights, his archer, his elves at arms arrayed themselves in a great square. Spears as thick as pin feathers on a chicken pointed outwards. The men behind the spear wall held up great shields above their heads. In the center, near the hill, the archers stood with arrows at the ready.
Barge after barge after barge, loaded down with armed elves, loaded down with machines of war were rowed across the Drimwold Deep. By two in the afternoon Daramlhoardd’s mighty army was assembled and ready to march.
Across the plains of Faranhold, four columns wide they marched. They marched to the music of blowing trumpets, marched to the cadence of a hundred drums. They marched to the skirling of a hundred bag pipes.
If Angvaradel felt feathers of fear in her mind she did not display it. She stood straight and tall upon the hill. Rays from the afternoon sun reflected off of her golden hauberk. The plume of red feathers on her helm, were ruffled by the gentle breeze. The red gems of her sword hilt sparkled. She held a large staff that had a silver rams head on top In her right hand.
The moment the great host reached the midpoint of the plain Angvaradel raised the staff high and brought it down hard upon the ground. A translucent, shimmering curtain sprang from the earth and reached up towards the few wispy clouds floating in summer sky.
A shower of sparks and streaks of light shot outwards as the first company of elves ran into the almost invisible wall. Two hundred warriors, wrapped in green flames fell to the ground screaming.
Daramlhoardd roared, “Halt,” company, platoon and squad came to an abrupt stop. “Alabar, Bring up the ballista and the ammunition wagons. Tell my wizards that I want them now.”


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