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The BloodVaine EpicChapter 98: A New Dawn For Dametreos
Dawn was creeping up slowly, but not slow enough. Everyone from each side would like a bit more rest, but in the end a battle does not wait for anyone. It was a restless sleep for Graygon, his thoughts drifted to his broken home land, then to Bjarn wounded badly and the fact that he was not there to help his friend. In the end all Graygon was hoping for was a peaceful end to this for everyone he knew, but that peace was coming at a cost that was beginning to have a very high price.
Wanting to try and gain an edge for his side Graygon decided to scout out some enemy positions. Moving with speed and what little cover of darkness was left he headed out alone, toward the enemy in hopes of doing enough to free his mind of negative thoughts.
Bourne, who had been dozed under a tree, woke with a start.
“It is done.” his whispered. He stood, calming his nerves. Then he walked to where Barbod, Gonderin, and Radjar stood.
“BloodVaine’s dead.”
“What?” was the instant reply.
“The spirit box was opened. BloodVaine was devoured by his own deeds.”
There was a stunned silence, then Barbod let out a whoop, which soon was taken up by everyone nearby.
“BLOODVAINE IS DEAD!”
The cry ricocheted around the camp a person were starting to celebrate when Bourne suddenly cut the festivities short.
“The war’s not over, so don’t act like it is. Many have fallen on both sides, and there are pockets of resistance still out there. We must be diligent until the enemy has been squashed and reconstruction of Dametreos is complete. Only then can we count our blessings.”
“Aye,” replied Radjar, “The war’s not -- SHIFTYBRICK!”
The camp erupted into chaos. The Cross Knights, still loyal despite their leader’s death were making a last desperate attack on the Allies.
Sir Dractor had barely gotten seven hours sleep when the cry of battle woke him, and he was as stiff as board, and more sore than he had imagined possible. But he was able to fight.
Throwing on the chainmail shirt he had purloined from the armory, grabbing the conical helm he had snatched from a wounded man's bedside, and grabbing the spear and Bull Knight shield he had been given, he began to head for the battle, loosening his muscles as he went. He definitely needed to get himself some better arms, he thought as he made his way to the battle.
Barbod was already there, rallying the troops. The enemy was nearly matched with the allies for numbers, but they had the element of surprise, and a greater number of horse. Fortunately, they didn't have the number of archers that the Forestmen and Dark Forest commanded.
“Fire!” yelled Gerald Vos, in command of the Allied archers.
“What are you doing here?” asked Radjar as Sir Dractor came up behind him, “From what I last saw, you shouldn’t be able to stand upright.”
“Appearances are deceiving,” said Sir Dractor simply, “I am not in prime condition, but I can fight. And there is a battle that needs my assistance.”
“You have that right,” said Radjar quietly.
The battle was bloody, very bloody. The Allies had been caught unawares, and it would cost them. The Forestmen, Wolfpack, Bulls and Dark Forest were in no condition to fight, but they did, and they were cut down in droves until the kettle-helmeted Western Knight’s Kingdomers and the multi-colored Eastern Knight’s Kingdomers had organized themselves in a meager line to defend the camps. As the line advanced and the Forestdwellers pulled back to take a breath, Sir Dractor stumbled into Shainya, who grasped him firmly and rebuked, “You are in NO condition to fight at all!”
Sir Dractor grimaced and sank to the ground. “Oof, tyco catapult…”
Shainya glared at him as a mother would at a child who's bedtime had been ten minutes ago. She bent to retie a loose bandage, her face screwed up in worry. Sir Dractor was about to say something non-committal when his eye widened in horror.
“SHIANYA!” he screamed. She whipped about, automatically scrabbling for Sir Dractor’s fallen sword. She brought the blade up awkwardly but quickly, and managed to block the Dragon Master halberd. The force of the blow sent her downward onto Sir Dractor, who groaned as her weight pressed upon his cracked ribs. The Dragon Master heaved upward and aimed the halberd for another blow, but Shainya rolled out of the way and shoved the large sword into the armpit of the Dragon Master with all her might. The sword cut into bone and stuck, causing the Dragon Master to houl in pain. He drew his short sword and swung it at Sir Dractor, but Shainya had flung herself on the Dragon Master, trying to throw him off balance.
The Dragon Master moved off course thanks to Shainya’s attack, and Sir Dractor managed to grab his spear off the ground. Javelin-like, he threw it directly at the Dragon Master. It soared right past Shainya, and into the Dragon Master’s side. He collapsed in agony, and without a further glance in his direction, Shainya led Sir Dractor away.
“You’re the worst man I know for pushing yourself too hard!” she scolded, “And that includes Reno Regga! You should be in bed! Unable to stand!”
“That was a good bit of swordplay,” said Sir Dractor, without considering her words too much, “And as it happens, I am able to stand. And there is a battle that needs every able hand.”
“Your oath to Bjarn is fulfilled,” said Shainya, “Aezazel is no more. You can take a REST!!!”
Sir Dractor shook his head, and shrugged her off.
“Even if I cannot fight in direct combat, as seems to be the case,” he looked ruefully at the Dragon Master he had been unable to fight alone, “I cannot sit, or as you would have it: lay, idle while the camp is in such danger.”
“Then what will you do?” asked Shainya, rather irritably.
“Find myself a bow,” he said.
Shainya gave a long-suffering sigh. Archery was less strenuous than swordplay certainly, but far more than he ought to be doing. Still, there seemed to be no arguing with him. She thought it wise though, to see him to the armory tent, and make sure he didn’t collapse or get attacked.
No such fortunate occurrence happened on their way to the tent, and when Sir Dractor emerged with a couple quivers and longbow slightly too small for him, he set off back towards the battle, heading for the south end of the lines, where the Forestmen archers were harrying the enemy lines under the command of Fraun.
Shainya was still with him. After all, there were wounded men enough to take care of in the archery division, if not quite as many as elsewhere. As they approached the camp, they heard the sound of trumpets.
Shainya and Sir Dractor turned to the south. A cloud of dust was rising as a small army was coming in their direction. There were about five hundred horsemen, two hundred elite Dragon Masters bearing black-dragon shields, and five dragons flying overhead.
“Oh no!” said Shainya, “More of our enemies. Those are Classic Knights and Dragon Masters. Pink-less Dragon Masters.”
“Nay!” said Sir Dractor with a sudden smile, “Those be Club Knights, of Talistrand, and those Dragon Masters be our allies. This is doubly good news. The Black Falcons have been turned back, and Bernard Quorandis has sent men to our aid.”
Soon, both sides of the battle noticed the approaching company. Willem, in command of the southern flank, took Sir Dractor’s advice, and opened a pathway through his ranks. The Club Knights charged through into their renegade countrymen, with the dragons flying overhead. And to Shainya’s credit, Sir Dractor collapsed not too long after, having fired nary a shot into the enemy ranks.
When the Club Knights crashed into the Cross Knights the Allied army had been given knew vigor and had charged behind the Club Calvary slicing any enemy in their way. The Cross Knights and Dragon Masters surprised by the latest attendee to the fray had been caught completely off guard. Their false hope in Falconis had been crushed and they were now in a complete panic.
Fraun had ordered his men to fire at will, and they were. They were no in no fear of getting attacked by the Cross or Dragon Knights and they were slaughtering every Dragon Master or Cross Knight that forgot of the Forestmen archers. Frayla was among the archers but kept giving a glance over at that strong and fit form of her Captain.
What was she thinking? That had been a long time ago. But...maybe...he still loved her. No. There was no way. Just because they had had crushes on each other when they were 13 doesn’t mean that he still remembered her. It had been nearly 10 years ago. She just had to let go...she had to...
Fraun had noticed Frayla looking at him. How long had it been since they had kissed under that hemlock. It must have been about 10 years. What was he doing? There was a battle at hand and all he could do was day dream of a love story that wasn’t meant to be.
He noticed a deployment of elite Cross Knights, armed to the teeth with knives and stealth weapons making their way to the Forestmen Archers.
“Well.” he mumbled, “There will be a surprise for them when they get here. Men, draw blades! Pikemen in the front. Charge that battalion of elite Cross Knights on my order.”
He pulled his right hand man over and said, “See that small hill there Vingire?”
“Yes sir…” said the confused man.
“Move your archers behind that hill and wait for my signal. And make it fast.”
“Yes Sir!”
With that Vingire moved his archers to complete Fraun’s trap.
“Pikemen...ready weapons...CHARGE! FOR BJARN, FOR DAMETREOS, FOR THE ELK!”
The Forestmen charge, yelling like people possessed. The Wolfpack and Dark Forest also charged, and together with the Classic LEGOlanders and Knight's Kingdomers the last resistance was crushed. The battle had been long and bloody, like many battles, but victory was at last achieved. The Dragon Masters and Cross Knights loyal to BloodVaine were given no mercy, for they gave no ground, not even when defeat was clear. They died vainly, still believing in the necromancer who had terrorized Dametreos for months.
As the last soldier fell, a trumpet sounded and everyone turned. A band of pink-clad soldiers, bearing the Black Falcon flag, were marching down the hill. Their numbers were no more than six hundred, but the sight of their odd colors brought a cheer to the weary Allies’ lips. It was guaranteed the color pink would go down in history as the uniting color of Dametreos.
Barbod laughed, and then gasped painfully as a wound in his side opened up. He stumbled forward, searching the ranks for his friend.
“I say, lad!” he shouted at the leading Falcon, “Where be the Lone Falcon?”
The Black Falcon dismounted and bowed. “Lord Barbod, the Lone Falcon is elsewhere, aiding other rebel Falcons in the overthrow of Falconis XXVIII. I am Bersun, and I am the leader of this army. Alas, I see we are too late to aid you in battle.”
Barbod grasped Bersun’s hand warmly, then sheepishly removed his hands when he realize he had smeared the Falcon’s hand with blood and dirt.
“Megabloks, it’s tyco good you’re here anyway! We’re all worn to the bone, we’d be much obliged if ye would patrol about and protect our borders, so to speak.”
Bersun bowed again. “As you wish, Lord Barbod. Mills!”
Another Black Falcon stepped forward. “Yessir?”
“Select your fastest rider and send word to Xoneyur to load as much food, medical supplies and clothing into the wagons and bring them here as soon as possible. After that, take a party of two hundred and surround the Allied camp. I’ll take the rest of the troops and enter the Yellow Castle to flush out hunkered-down minions of BloodVaine and to locate survivors.”
“Yessir, very god sir!”
Bersun turned back to Barbod and, disregarding the muck, shook hands with the Bull King firmly.
“Let me say, My Lord, it is an honor to shake the hand of the true king of the Bulls.”
Barbod smiled weakly. “Bersun...I’m glad there’s more bloody Falcons like you!”
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