LoR - An Ambush in Grahnhaven by ~Erathor Pridenar~, on Flickr
Story:
Garheim was cold even in summer, but at least there was no snowfall to make the conditions worse. Grahnhaven, the city Erathor and his army of both Loreesi and rebel Garhims headed towards, stood high on the horizon, a block of mossy stone on the bare ground, the monotony broken up only by the day-old snow piled all around. Everything was silent.
“Lord Erathor.” A Garhim in well-kept armour marched next to him.
“What is it, Sir Duncan?”
“The city’s streets are tight and winding – you get into trouble inside, numbers will be no help. There are tunnels everywhere in this area the Dragons have no idea about. Let me take my men into these tunnels, and all we will need is the blow of a horn to know you need us.” Erathor nodded.
“I suppose I must trust you. Go, quickly.”
At the edge of the city there was a low wall and an open archway without a gate. Surprised that no attempt had been made to shore it up, the Loreesi passed through with a certain wariness, unable to believe that Galainir’s tattered army had not known they were coming. To the left of the men were a series of long, low buildings with the occasional watchtower amongst them – the storehouses of Grahnhaven. Not paying much attention to these unattractive structures, Erathor led the way along the road, which was getting less wide by the minute as it wound its way towards a second gate. This one, however, was barred shut, that much was clear. They did not have the weaponry needed to break it down, not unless they wanted to wait a week or so before they attempted it.
Erathor frowned as he peered up at the gatehouse. The Dragons were fortunate the Loreesi had been almost constantly on the move for a couple of months: they had not been able to take heavy equipment along with them as it would have slowed them down too much. Still…something wasn’t right. They would surely have realised that a decent battering ram, which could be built in a couple of days if needed, would break the gate down in no time.
Turning his horse around, Erathor rode back the way he had come, wandering off the road every now and again to look about and try to find a way to scale the walls. His loyal men following him, he moved on towards the storehouses.
“ATTACK!” Soldiers in red and black flooded out of the buildings, swarming around the Loreesi. Erathor’s heart pounded as he threw his warhorse into the fray. An ambush, of course. He had suspected it whilst approaching the city, but not that it would come from inside the first wall. Hacking though the red and the black to find some space, he blew three notes on his horn. A knight with a heavy axe threw himself at Erathor, who grappled with him for a moment before throwing him onto the floor and trampling him under the horse’s hooves.
“RALLY TO ME!” came the cry of a huge Dragon warrior, holding Galainir’s flag high. His men flocked around him and together they ran forward. Suddenly, a Garhim brandishing only a knife leapt onto the leader, plunging the weapon deep between his shoulder blades. Seeing this, the nearest Dragon swung his axe and cut off the man’s head, but the damage was done. Panic seized the enemy force as Garhim soldiers rushed out of the storehouses. Erathor sighed with relief, and once again spurred his horse on. This time, though, there was no contest, and soon the red and black banner burnt in the liberated streets.
