Fantasy & Sci-Fi

Albinor Chronicles Chapter 9
"The Battle of Drow"

By Marcus Pan

March 5, 003

Gathered before the gates of the city of Alfeim stood an elite cavalry division of the high elven Army of Alfeim. All on riding horses, they wear elfin chain covered by riding cloaks. Their shields flash the livery of Alfeim on it's steel an oak tree on a white field with two wooden spears crossed in front of it. Standing neatly in 6 mounted rows of 10 men, 60 soldiers in all, all carrying longswords on their right sides that shine brightly in the morning light like 60 grounded stars. Long bows and quivers filled with white-feathered arrows are slung on their backs. Before them, a figure cloaked in fine garments stitched with elven symbols and wearing fine elfin chain and a great steel helmet motions the army to present swords. Like a single movement of a giant beast, longswords are drawn from their oaken scabbards and raised swiftly, blazing brightly in the sun like flames. The leads, Mayor Glamour Faeriewalker, shouts loudly for all his men and bystanding citizens to hear. "On this day we ride on to the sinister Drow Castle. What fate shall befall us none can tell. But remember. We ride as saviors of our people. Saviours of Cannolbarth Forest and all of Alfeim. Now men, sheath thy blades and may the next time they shine in glory of the high elves with a dark one on the end of it's point!" Cries and trumpet blasts exploded in the morn as the people of the city wished luck and blessings on the men.

They traveled northwest on the trail until they reached the city of Celltum. At this time the army broke into bands of 10 or 20 men each as they delved into the forest on a straight course for Drow Castle. Unbeknown to them the unseen and silent wood elves wished luck on them as they passed.

After five days of rough travel since Alfeim City, they came upon the same clearing that Corellon and Barrazzo came upon months before. The men assembled their six ranks before the castle. "Drow master!" shouted Glamour. "We've come to assure your death!" At this, the portcullis of the castle rose and the door creaked open. Three black-robed figures rode slowly out on warhorses. They are Orduin Grimoire the lama, Squire Jaques Hierla the champion and Captain Champion Erric Vangroom. A hideous voice floated down upon the high elves from above. Looking up, they saw a dark figure looking down upon them from a high window.

"Nay, fool. But we will assure your death for blatantly disturbing my rest so early in the morn." said he.

"Master Ragwulf Calds, King of the Drow, Faeriewalker." he replied. "I leave you to become associated with my men, for my time is much too precious to waste on a fool and his boys." With that said, the master turned and walked from the window.

A shout rose on the field. Vangroom and Hierla charged, screaming, into the fray swinging their longswords in circles above their heads. Grimoire rose the wand he held. The top flared to life, glowing brightly and sending arrows of apparitions flying to their marks without fail. There was a loud rumble as dark elves of the castle stormed forth brandishing longswords and shields with the drow livery a red 'D' over a black field upon them. A few of the mayor's men let fly arrows into the front ranks of the drow and some fell only to be trampled by their allies. The high elves surged forward and the armies clashed, high elves on mounts and drow elves on foot. Many men fell this day. Glamour Faeriewalker threw himself into the fray, striking from horseback at the dark elves below, his great warhorse rising on it's back legs to kick the life and dent the skulls of the unfortunate who were before it. The three dark heroes rode swiftly, hacking high elven men off their horses and toppling them to the awaiting drows below. Orduin's wand flared constantly, sending unfailing, magical arrows to the breasts of his enemies. Steel struck steel and cries of the dead and wounded rose.

About 20 yards ahead, Glamour saw Jaques Hierla, the evil squire, laying low man after man. Raising his blood-soaked blade over his head, blood flowing down over his gauntlet, and shouting an elven cry he swiftly rushed forward into battle. Jaques turned to face him. Both horses drew upon each other and rose on their hind legs. A loud clash of steel on steel emanated, more hideous and audible than the others, ringing over the battlefield. Swords crossed together and the heroes faced each other. The scene broke as the horses came down on their front legs, the elves continuing the blade swinging. Jaques reared up and swung his blade mightily. The block attempted by Glamour failed and a mighty blow scored his chest. The links of his armor snapped and wrenched apart, the blade cutting deeply into his chest. He dropped the blade from his left hand and fell back, landing heavily on his back. Jaques pulled the reigns of his horse and it reared above the mayor. It's nostrils flared as it's front legs came down upon him. Glamour covered his face in his hands, but his mount reared up on it's own, striking Jaques' beast on the left side of it's skull. It lurched to the side, missing the elf with it's trample, a great gash pouring blood from it's head. Glamour quickly rose and mounted his steed.

Looking out over the battlefield, he saw a sea of drow elves. Less than a single rank of Glamour's men still stood. It hurt his chest to breathe. With a cry, Jaques Hierla came galloping towards him. Glamour ducked in his saddle and swing at the squire's head as he passed. His sword clashed against a steel helmet. With the force of Glamour's swing, the helmet split asunder. Jaques let out a muffled cry and fell off his steed, what's left of his helmet falling beside him. Glamour galloped off, yelling, "Come! We are lost high ones. Flee!" Behind him rode the remaining men of his division, only nine. Together they burst through the treeline and bolted into the forest of Cannolbarth riding swiftly from the lost battle.

Back on the battlefield, 34 men of Glamour's force who had fallen but somehow retained their lives were taken to the dungeon cells far below Drow Castle. Pools of blood could be seen, carrion birds feasting upon them. A mound of soil was risen and in it was buried the dark ones who fell lifeless on the field of battle. The high ones found dead on the field were beheaded, their bleeding skulls placed atop 6' spears stuck in the ground and the bodies thrown into the forest for the forest's creatures to feast upon. Jaques Hierla, his face streaked with sweat, dirt and blood, gave a mighty kick to his split helm. Flying into the woods, it lands with a thump against a tree.

The above item may have been edited by the author since its first appearance in Legends No. 18.