Private Tales The Last Ride

[Sloan]

Sloan stayed her ground as more elves approached from every direction, her magic drawing them toward her in larger numbers. They were falling fast, and she shielded from what arrows flew at her whilst trying to keep the attention drawn away from Brackard as he ran toward his horse. One rather large elven man tore off and took a run at the Captain, though as his blade rose about to cut him down from behind, Sloan screamed out at him and threw her spear which buried itself in the elf's back and burst through his chest.

She drew her twin blades quickly, though with her attention diverted to Brackard an arrow buried it's way through the back of her shoulder and protruded from the front and she cried out in pain. She had to ignore the urge to fall to a knee, the pain was dizzying but fighting through it was crucial.

"SLOAN!!!" her brother had felt her wound and was calling for her again, she spotted him amongst the chaos, pain searing through her as she continued to fight off the pack of elves and deflect the onslaught of arrows that flew at her. Her twin shouldered through the men and cut down elf after elf, fighting his way toward her, and as she opened the throats of the last two elves in her path her tired eyes fell on him, and the elven man with a spear in hand, taking aim.

She couldn't get the words out, but she screamed them in her mind and her eyes widened, reaching out to throw a deflection toward him but she was too late. The spear found home in her brother's back, and she felt it as much as he did. The world seemed to slow to a stop, she couldn't breathe, neither of them could. For a moment, they stared at one another, and Sloan watched him slowly fall to his knees and keel forward into the dirt.

"SILAS!!!" she screamed out and choked, grabbing up a spear from the dirt and launching it at the elf who ran to collect his own spear from her brother's back. It fount it's way into his face, and sent him hurtling backward.

Sloan fell to her knees at her brother's side, wracked with the pain that he felt, but at least for her it was all in her mind. She gripped at his shoulders to turn him, tears flooding her cheeks as blood poured from his mouth and sputtered as he choked on it .. "I'm sorry.. I'm sorry. Hold on. Please hold on." Sloan sobbed and screamed for a medic.

Silas reached to grip her face as he stared up at her silently, fear in his eyes. There was no saving him, they both knew it. "I love you brother." she cried, and leaned to press her lips against his forehead. The pain she felt that had belonged to her twin faded, and she felt him die. Her mind was so quiet, she no longer shared it with anyone. She was completely numb. Oblivious to her surroundings, to Brackard, to the arrow in her shoulder, for a blissful few moments, her mind shut down entirely.

 

[Brackard Cain]

Brackard didn't see exactly what happened in the commotion. He heard her voice. Heard her anguish. From his vantage atop a horse he quickly caught sight of her, crumpled on the floor.

He put it all together quickly. Brackard has always been quick to pull the facts together from little pieces around him.

"Charge!" he cried out, baring his teeth and holding his saber high. They were a small group, but they rose together. He imagined this would be the start of the turning of the battle. The thundering charge of a few brave men to turn the day.

They swept the elves aside, clearing a path behind Sloan. He couldn't stop for her, they had to press on.

He swung his saber until it was coated red. His horse trampling several more. The elves scattered from their path and they made the edge of camp.

That was when he saw the white horses emerge from the woods. The gleaming silver plate in the morning light.

Elven cavalry.

 

[Sloan]

Sloan was struggling to think straight. She was staring down at her brother’s face, expressionless and absently pushing his dark hair back off of his forehead as the battle raged on around her. Mute tears fell and her tremulous hand reached to close the man’s eyes for the last time, her words spoken in her mind out of habit, but there wasn’t any answer.

Her mind was brought back to reality as another arrow found its way into her clavicle and she gasped, her scream catching in her throat as she slumped forward dizzily for a moment and tried to breathe.

Sloan’s power was strong as it was, but she released something that had been up until now untapped and dormant, as though she’d shared the power with her brother and it was now entirely hers and she’d absorbed it. She screamed, every ounce of grief, rage, pain and guilt roaring out of her lungs and throwing every human and elven man on foot into a shockwave that would launch them at least ten feet further away from her than where they currently stood.

She pushed the pain from her mind entirely and took the opportunity to stand, ripping her brother’s spear from his fist and she set about slaughtering every elf trying to get back to their feet, weapon spinning furiously in her hands as her rage poured out of her. Those who ran at her simply fell to their knees clutching their own heads in agony and she left them there to their misery until the pain grew too much and they succumbed.

Her eyes fell on Brackard, and followed his attention toward the cavalry he faced. She bolted toward a running horse and grabbed hold of it to pull herself up, frantically riding to catch up to the Captain’s side. She’d let her brother die already, she couldn’t let him die too.

 

[Brackard Cain]

Brackard looked across the even field to the line of elven horsemen. From behind came Sloan's cry. There was only victory or death for the entire regiment now. He could not turn back to try and save her. If anything, that cry would herald the unpleasant deaths of even more elves.

His gaze met the elf in the centre of the line. They didn't carry a herald, they didn't seem to signify their leaders. They did not fight like humans. It made it difficult to work out where to strike to shatter them. He picked a point in that line and declared a charge.

If he was leading this elven brigade that was where he would be. The small group formed a wedge and started to cross the field, slowly accelerating.

 

[Sloan]

A few arrows still flew at her from here and there, she ducked and deflected, pain slowly ebbing back into her mind reminding her of the two arrows that still protruded from her body. Most of the elven foot soldiers had either perished or had run back to the safety of the tree line, and Sloan caught what few more she could before they managed to make their escape.

She kicked hard at the mare's sides in a race toward Brackard, her heart racing as he started a charge. It was a trap, it had to be, they'd been drawing them into the woods where they had advantage. She looked up at the trees and back to the charging line, calling out his name in a desperate scream.

A spear came up in front of her, a dying elf making a last attempt at assisting his comrades, and it drove it's way into the mare's chest and she fell, sending Sloan flying through the air and landing hard amongst the bodies that peppered the field. She cried out as she landed, the protrusions raking along the ground and sending searing pain through her body, she couldn't breathe. She snapped both arrow shafts with a growl and pulled them free, blood slowing freely from her wounds, coating her torso front and back with hot blood.

Sloan pulled herself to her feet and staggered, finding her brother's spear and continuing toward the cavalry on foot..

 

[Brackard Cain]

It was a trap, but in the end the elves decided they did not even need to draw Brackard and his few loyal riders into the woods. Their skirmishers were already pulling back from the camp. They had set most of the horses free, but they did not have the numbers to waste fighting the last stand of these humans. The message had been sent.

Or it soon would be.

Marikoth watched their leader at the head of his last band of men. He smiled from ear to ear and spurred on his own horse.



Brackard lowered his head into the charge. His arm was tired but he lifted his sword. He had never actually taken on a larger force head on. The sport had always been chasing the wounded enemy from the field.

The last few yards flashed by. His horse was jolted by another and his head span. His sword didn't catch anything but the air.

As he came around he felt the sting across his shoulder, felt the hot blood welling up. There were only five of his men turning to clash again. Twelve elven horsemen. Their leader was already riding for him.

Brackard met him head on. He had always known success, known privilege and been showered with accolades. He couldn't understand how the elf so easily parried his blows, read his offensive routine and turned his blade aside over and over.

The elf laughed at him.

"Fucking die!" Brackard screamed, swinging wildly. He left himself exposed. A flash of steel and he felt the pain searing across his face. Blood spurted from his split lip and he spat out teeth. He felt his sword slip from his grasp. Before the elf could finish him another panicked, rider less horse slammed into him. His work span around, but he caught sight of dark arrows falling from the sky towards him.

All the pain that had come before was nothing compared to the weight of his horse rolling across his legs. It saved what little of his life was left as arrow after arrow fell upon his steed. He didn't even have the breath left in his lungs to scream.

 

[Sloan]

Sloan put her pain and emotion aside, nothing else mattered right now other than running as fast as her feet could carry her, and she sprinted the dimpled ground and leapt over the dead men in her path.

No. He was charging. She knew it wasn't going to end well. She knew how much Brackard hated their enemy but surely this was recklessness. "With me!" Sloan screamed out at what men they still had standing on the field as they finished off the last of the elves. A few of them turned to run with her, a few of them collapsed in the dirt. Either way, they had nowhere near enough men to win this.

Sloan's arm rose to deflect a few arrows that came at her, and she heard some others hit home and men fell behind her. She was only leading more of them to their deaths. Her eyes widened on the scene ahead, and she got there too late, and saw him fall.. "Brackard!!" Sloan's voice broke, and what was remaining of her little group met a few other foot soldiers head on.

They battled through, and Sloan dropped to slam a hand to the ground, knocking men off of their feet and spooking the horses so that they reared and bolted. She staggered as she rose up again, her vision blurring with lightheadedness but she stumbled on toward the captain's fallen horse. Her spear swung and stabbed, her dagger found itself in the throat of another and the spear found itself javelined into the back of the elven cavalry's fleeing leader. Weaponless, the last man who opposed her fell to his knees and screamed until she ran him threw with his own blade.

Sloan frantically searched the ground for Brackard, her pulse pounding in her ears. She'd been about to call for him again when she noticed his bloodied face and her heart stopped. She landed on her knees beside him and honestly hadn't expected to see him alive. Her eyes filled with panic and tears as she looked over him and she pressed her back against the horse's limp body and dug her heels into the ground to push with everything she had.

"Over here!!" she screamed to the only two men still standing and they rushed over to help remove the beast from Brackard's broken body.

 

[Brackard Cain]

His head rocked back and forth as if that could distract him from the agony that seared through his body. It could not. His mouth was frozen in a wordless scream. He barely even reacted to Sloan's presence. The elves flitting past as they returned to the cover of the trees didn't even register. He did see the dark column of smoke rising above. As they had fled the elves had set the caravans alight.

He could feel the horse move, felt a general sense of the urgency of the men around him. He saw the fear and horror on Sloan's face an he turned away. Her brother was dead, his regiment decimated. He had ruined them both. Dying would have been better.

He held a vague hope that the removal of his horse would bring a modicum of relief. It did not. As the weight was removed blood rushed back and reawoke a thousand nerves. They all fired off together, a terrible cacophany of pain that stole his consciousness in a heartbeat. The darkness was blessed relief.