His hands are numb and his heart is pounding hard in his chest, almost bursting out of his chest through his broken ribs. He wait for another assault, one he know he will not stand through.
For three days he have fought the horde and in each wave he has been pushed back, inch by inch by the sheer number of attackers falling around him. His blade ha long been lost and he hold the mace of a fallen foe in his only usable arm. His body is covered in blood, both that of his enemies and his own. He slip on the blood covered ground and stagger until his broken an exhausted body find it’s balance once more.
He see his enemies starting to move again, encouraged by their commander and this time the black ogre that have been standig like an obsidian statue for the past three days take the lead. Twice the horde have sent an ogre against him and twice he has defeted them, but at great cost. This black ogre make those past encounters seem like childs play and he can barely lift the mace, let alone put up a fight against such a formidable foe.
Three days he have cut down the horde and defeated all they have thrown at him. He send a silent glance towards the sky and pray that his suffering have not been in wain and that his death will be quick. A reflection of the sun high above him make him look up. He notices the dwarven scout and smiles relieved.
He made it after all.
Pale broken lips form the words and aching lungs fill the words with melody as he sing a farewell and get ready to fight one last time.
“You look towards the sky hoping for a miraclebut time has cometo sing your farewell
the time is nowstand tall and always knowyour time, forewer locked awayin my heart
farewell my love,know that youwill be with me forever…”
The song end as the Ogre comes near enough to attack. He look the beast into it’s evil eyes and as it strike he fokus all his might to do one last battle.
It is over quickly.
The scout run to meet the king with rage marked in his face.
“Speak quickly, are we to late?”
The king’s woice is tense with worry and even before the scout say the words he know the answer as he notices the tears in the scout’s blue eyes.
“He held out until he knew we had arrive my lord.”
The words knock the kings legs from under him and his men hold him firmly so he will not fall down. In a moment his face changes from chock and sorrow to ironclad determination and he stand firmly and lift his battlehorn.
The deep sound echoes down the pass and make the air vibrate as if alive. Behind him another horn sound, then another and another until the air is filled with the sound of a thousand battlehorns.
On the other side of the entry to Greystone pass the deep howling of a wolf join the battlehorns, then another. Soon the howling match the Dwarven battlehorns in numbers and it is joined by the sound of a thousand drums.
Then as sudenly as it begun the sounds stop. The silence is almost deafening.
An order is shouted and the sound of thousands of hands drawing their weapon cut through the silence like a flash of lightning cutting through darkness.
Buzzing sounds like a miljon bees fill the air and for a moment the sun is blocked out as if Gods wrath itself is descending upon the pass.
The king wipe away a tear from his chin with a ironclad fist as he watch the first volley of arrows hit the horde with the force of a tidalwave and lift his royal axe high above his head.
He need not utter any command for no words are needed now. Instead he scream out his anger and sorrow. His cry is soon joined by thousands of dwarves under his command and a moment later from across the entry to the pass.
The Dwarves move like a tidalwave of death towards the horde with a single purpose. Today the Grey Wolf’s death will be avenged and the horde crushed without mercy. Halfway towards the horde the elves join their Dwarven allies with tearfilled eyes that gleam with sorrow and hatred.
On all their minds one thought is burning…
They arrived just a few moments to late.