"...And upon the Wings of Storm..." - Finale: Final Assault Alduin came out of his dream. He slapped himself hard enough to leave a mark. "Idiot! Where are my papers, my inks?" He dropped into the hole and Balefire heard much shuffling and throwing about of things. A moment later--far too long it seemed to Alduin--the little man popped up and set to writing at a pace that caused the warmage to raise an eyebrow. The blocked gates burst asunder. Great blocks of hot stone pelted the men and upon the wings of storm there issued forth the full force of the denigroth. The air was thick with black bodies, smothering the men in wings and claws. The Werre held their ground at first, but soon their ranks were broken and scattered. The siege engines were overtaken and broken. Rallying cries rose up and were cut down just as quickly. The Werre were becoming as islands in a wrathful sea. The denigroth broke upon their shores even as the shores eroded. K'tarin pointed to a large band of Werre slowly retreating. "There is Th'Sollar. He is retreating to that short hill there. We call that place Duralgdur Th'Sollar. It means 'Lord Sollar's Stand.'" From the ridge came one last group of men. They were robed and carried no weapons. They came faster than feet should allow, and the storm did not touch them. Fire was in their eyes and upon their brows a light shone. Down they swept and a token force of denigroth greeted them. White fire erupted when the two groups met, and the denigroth were no more. A cry went up upon Th'Sollar's hill and the Werre fought with redoubled strength. The denigroth fell back and the Werre regrouped and the newcomers arrayed themselves about the hill. If Mea could frown any deeper, she would have. "I thought Werre could not use magic. I know you are immune to it." "We are apart from magicka, yes. Those mages you see are not Werre, but White Mages. They are those that escaped the persecution of the Horned Council and found friendship among the Werre. It would take some time to recount the whole history of the Werre and why we exist, but I will say that denigroth, though immortal and impervious to ordinary weapons, are not immune to magic. Now watch!" *** The robed figure watched the Heart intently. It was back on its pedestal and its core was burning bright. Its throbbing was on the edge of hearing. "It is time to play your part. It will be the last time." *** The black beasts formed a great crescent and again swept upon the men. The Mages sent rolling fire over the sand, consuming many of the enemy, but they did not slow, for behind them, a great shadow had gathered. It came from the smashed gates and towered above the earth. Within it some great shape moved. Like a man it was, but greater, and from its back spread wings that blotted out the gates. Again, the horn above the citadel blew and the Shadow moved forward. "Oh Julianos, what is that?" K'tarin cut off the question with a savage chop of his hand through the air. Alduin stopped writing, dropping his quill. Th'Sollar blew his horn in answer. The Werre were galvanized again, and the battle renewed its strength. The denigroth forced the Mages away from hill, using shear numbers, unheedful of their losses. Soon the hill was swallowed in a mass of black bodies and the fire of the Mages grew dimmer. A group of them were forced toward the adventurers. The Mages were routed and dwindling even as they gave ground. Soon only a few were left amid a sea of darkness. K'tarin pointed. "That is the Grey Mound. Koranan the Grey fell there, perhaps the greatest White Mage." Even as he spoke, only one Mage still stood upon the mound. He had a great grey beard and in his hands was a slender grey staff. The mound was the center of a cataclysmic battle. Fire and lightning ripped at the mound and air, shredding the denigroth as they advanced. Their bodies piled high about him, but he could not keep pace with them. A denigroth, larger than the rest, mounted the low hill and gripped his staff. It burst asunder in a blinding flash. Then the mound was empty, its sand blasted away, leaving grey earth. J'layah turned to the Redguard. "Was that what hurt your feet?" "No. We passed over the Grey Mound in the storm. I was mounted then. Remember we were over there when Balefire gave you that rose." K'tarin pointed far to the right. There was another battle ensuing there. A mage was surrounded by Werre and was hard pressed to hold them off. Terrible magic was unleashed upon them, but they shrugged it off, though some staggered from its power. Denigroth approached and the Werre were forced to fight on two fronts, but soon the beasts were slain. Shortly, though the mage fought valiantly with his great sword and slew many men, he fell under the heavy axes of the Werre. "That was a member of the Horned Council. Where I stepped, I felt the power of a denigroth still within the ground. Though we be immune to their deadly touch, it is painful." To stave off a question, he continued: "Though their touch cannot kill us, we may die from the flowing blood their claws draw." "So just as the bones of yer ancestors dampens magic, the bones of the denigroth allow it. Thet is why Twilight was able te cast her spell..." K'tarin nodded. "You have keen insight, Elfiran." A terrible roar jerked their attention back to Th'Sollar's hill. The crescent of denigroth had surrounded the hill, and the Shadow stood at its foot. A wedge of men ran into the Shadow, but did not come out. Another group attacked. All died. The ring of black denigroth held the hill, but did not advance. They let through the Shadow. Again the question was asked: "What in the name of--?" K'tarin gave no answer. J'layah knew. "It is the Heart." Fourteen Werre held a tight circle about their lord, standing defiantly before the Shadow. All others upon the hill had perished. The Shadow and the tiny men faced each other. The seconds stretched to minutes. Then the Shadow stepped forward. A thin voice cried out, and even from this distance, the adventurers could hear the words: "Au nauth Penterah, for nauth osthula!" The Shadow halted its advance and seemed to grow smaller. J'layah's eyes widened. She looked at K'tarin. "You've said those words." The Werre's face was inscrutable and his eyes were steadfastly fixed upon the hill and the man standing tall upon it against all hope. "Tol'a porte na!" cried Th'Sollar. "Shal F'thathin queshta. Pere osthula! Pere Penteran!" The Shadow grew again, drawing itself up to its full unguessed height. It closed on the Werre and enveloped them. The ring of denigroth seethed. A single cry rose above and a flash of piercing red tore apart the Shadow. One man now stood upon the hill, holding aloft a fiery stone. Red light shone forth and the darkness of the Shadow diminished. The denigroth screamed in dismay. A great beast, like the denigroth but greater in all aspects, now stood before the lord. Though they did not touch each other, a titanic battle of wills was being waged. All about the field the battle waned and soon both Werre and denigroth were transfixed by the red light. The lord fell to his knees and the First stood tall above him, but it seemed to J'layah that the enemy was shrinking and the man growing, though he did not actually grow in body. It was his presence that grew. The First trembled, then gave a thunderous roar as it disintegrated. A great smoke rose, obscuring the crown of the hill. Below, the denigroth fell upon the hill in frenzy and raced up it sides. All about the field of battle, the fighting renewed. Both sides had lost their leaders and a berserk rage fell upon all. The Werre and denigroth tore at each other with abandon. However, whereas the denigroth had no direction, the Werre fought with hot purpose. They drew together the remaining enemy and slew them to the last. For a long time, the survivors lay upon the ground as if they were dead themselves. A few climbed the hill, and took up the body of their lord. Another searched for something on the crown. He stooped once, then continued his search. Eventually he gave up. "The Bloodstone was recovered, but the Heartstone was not." K'tarin continued to stare at the hill. His eyes were wet. "The denigroth under--" He choked and stopped for a moment. "--under the cover of the smoke took the Heart into the citadel. It was a hollow victory indeed." The ancient battlefield swam before them and the wind became very real. Sand blasted them, bending them over. Reeling, the party stumbled back into the relative safety of the cleft. Sand poured over them. With effort, Elfiran stretched his cloak over the swords the party had planted in the rock. The other did the same, though some cloaks were immediately torn away and thrown back into the hole. With the last of their strength, everyone held up the windscreen. Their strength waned quickly, and soon the sand bore down upon them as a part of the structure collapsed. Everyone crowded into the corner farthest from the wind, pushing the horses further back. *I cannot imagine having to fight in this* thought J'layah as the sand closed off the open end of the cleft. Alduin fairly fell into their hole when the storm reasserted itself. He was able to snatch his parchments, but his ink and quill were lost. Balefire dropped in after him, cursing at the suddenness of the storm. Sand quickly filled up the hole in the wall they had made. Alduin lay panting and mumbling to himself in the dark. Balefire came over and laid a hand on the old man's shoulder. "Are you well?" Alduin looked up in the darkness. "I must remember all that I've seen in the morning. I mustn't forget a thing!" He continued his fevered mumbling. Balefire smiled to himself. "I doubt tonight is something you will forget, good scribe. If you do forget something, I will remember it for you. Go to sleep! The night is old, and we will have need of our strength in the morning. Stop your mumbling." Alduin stopped, but he didn't find sleep for some time. Balefire, deep in thought, didn't sleep at all. *** The Hunters made good time. ++++++++++++++++++ Alduin dor Lammoth