LXXXI. There were two hundred miles between the castle of Ronnos and the Pass of Hel, if they wished to catch their wind, they would have to travel lightly and at full speed. As it was agreed, Sir Estewan led the Neldor cavalry further ahead always chasing the Buram horde, which first met with his forces on the second day of their march. Though they were outnumbered the Knights of Neldor managed to delay the Buram advance, using their skill and wits and one too many raidings at night.
Master Asadue was keen to study the situation they found themselves in. As he puts it in his own words, Edwald’s plan was flawless and then he proved himself to be a worthy heir of his father regarding matters of war. “Two days behind them (the Knights of Neldor), was the most of the allied armies, Sixteen thousand men galloping with the utmost haste northwards. Lord Elbracht rode at the head and along with him cantered Brother Carédock and me, behind us followed Lord Antuel and Lord Tyén. The infantry was commanded by the other vassal lords, whereas all the cavalry made out the strongest front; Edwald had devised it so, that Lord Antuel would command the land troopers and footment, while he would head the cavalrymen.
“Taking advantage of the horse’s speed, the Lord Elbracht split the army into three sections to outsmart and weaken the Buram Horde before they could even reach the Pass of Hel. Sir Estewan’s army was the fastest and ablest of all, yet numbers were of the essence and the Knights of Neldor had lost many a fellow oathkeeper in the Battle of Ronnos. So they were used only as light attack to slow our enemies down. Once they’d lazed their pace, the cavalry would have gained enough time to get close to them, engaging just long enough to get them back on the run, after which we would halt to regain strength and do the same some days after, all the while the Knights of Neldor would repeat the same move, slowing them once again only to be met with steel and Lord Elbracht’s riding host. The subtlety of his warcraft was evident in his designs. For all these light and heavy attacks were just to keep their enemies on the run, until time had been bought for the rest of our armies to reach the Pass of Hel.”
Edwald’s plans, he told his fellow commanders, his words were certain as his sword was truthful. And the phantom of fate was there among them paving over yet uncharted roads. They left Ronnos before dawn, and cutting north and west, through the snowy boscages of the vale, they set their goal at the banks of the River Dúnk. Thither Edwald’s host made its way, cantering among the bare thickets beneath the hillocks, which souring tops were—rather quaintly—not the white of snow, but green and bright of grass and moss.
Brother Carédock held the captaincy over the Black Cloths and Edwald asked his brother to scout the lands and terrain and search for signs of either the Buram horde or the Neldor force. The Rogue Monk did as he was told. It made him content to be riding alongside his brother once again, fighting for a common end, back together in a quest; this once, it was not some childish game they used to play at long ago; it was a struggle, a test of fear and pluck. Nevertheless, neither fright nor hope gave them both—Edwald and Carédock—much to care for, since alone the fact that they strove once more for a single goal made each feel more fulfilled than any other adventure they had had on their own.
Upon the second day since leaving Ronnos, the leadership had split once more. Lord Antuel and Lord Tyén cut short their pace to remain with the infantry forces, Edwald, Brother Carédock, and Master Asadue rode ahead of the cavalry, and each of their horses were also of Neldor stock; Sir Estewan had given each of the captains a horse of his own for them to escape should the need arise. However, Edwald would not become famous for fleeing away from despair. He took those horses to good use, giving them away instead to key scouts and officers, which he sent east and west, searching for clues and signs to find the Buram trail. It mattered not whether there had been any trace left on the snow, for some of these lookouts found a track, not of hooves or a horde, but rather of towns and villages consumed by fire and smoke. This was not the work of the Buram wrath, this was the rage of a single man, who fates had betrayed and the Gods had bereft of all grace and favours. The Black Knight left his wake stained with black and red, and the deaths of those whom his cruel hand had not deserved.
As it so seemed, the Buram host was slowing down on its own, for the time it must have taken to raid and burn all those villages. Were they to speed up their pace, they might have been able even to reach them long before the Pass of Hel. All of the above Edwald thought of, and not the lives and pains that in most should induce sorrow and pity. His mind was cold like the snow all about him, for though losses there were, in spite of their evident triumph in the war, many more lives had been spared already after their hopeful stand at the Gap of Ronnos.
From ashen town to ashen town, the whole of the cavalry went, and the wind that swept up the icen dust from the thoroughfare was like the breath of a frost drake, which though not hot, it burned on their eyes and skin, as each blow of the breeze roasted their flesh and bone. Yet the men did not break, for they followed a will as strong as fate; Edwald’s frowned eyes piercing sharply through the hazy snow seemed like the head of a prowling hawk, which souring winds and iron claws were thrice sharper and colder than the wind’s blow.
Master Asadue noted rather in detail the atrocities brought about by the Buram. “…Ever so often another broken, burnt, and slaughtered town would come. There was a stench of frozen blood and burned moss and timber in the air, and the heat of the flames struggled against the cold of the snow. In the end, neither would remain, only the ashes covered the towns and fields. For two days in a row, we followed this ashen trail until at last, we caught in sight the outline of the River Dúnk; a deep blue vein, dark as night, ran through the pale skin of the land, evergreens there were gathering from across the boscages on either bank. Furthest to the north, where the eye meets the edge of its sight, rising tall and bent like the spine of the earth or the ribs of some Gorgen-monster*(1) left over by the ancient heroes in days of yore, the King’s Mountain stood solemn, fast, and proud beyond the river; its silver-white tops glinted like crystal under the sky. The small folk used to say that the sun himself takes a break upon its zenith for a while during the day.”
Even as they approached the river, the lookouts spotted a company riding like the wind towards them. They bore the banners of the Order, yet not all were Knights of Neldor; some had been replaced both by Sovarós soldiers and a few Black Cloths. At the head rode Sir Estewan, he stopped by Edwald and his brother as they were on their way to the river banks.
-“Don’t go across the River, my lords.” Sir Estewan said tired of much striding, his steed was near its limits as well. “The Buram Host have not followed the road by the river, they move through the fields and snow, up the Dúnk and towards the west.”
-“The burnt villages…” Asadue said, “They go down that way, to the east, not the west.”
-“It’s a trick.” Sir Estewan said, “Those towns were indeed attacked and burnt down by the Buram, though not by many. The main host veered off to the west before they ever reached the river bank. Yet they sent a small force the other way to raid and set on fire all hamlets from here to there.”
-“More lies and illusions.” Edwald said, “We must set our goal west, then.”
-“You must go west,” Sir Estewan said, “I will take some of my men and put an end to this trail of ash and blood.”
-“You must come with us; we still need you at the front.” Edwald wished not to have said, “You are well renowned even amongst the Buram, and your mind is an asset we can make good use of in the battle to come. So, forget the villages and go back to the front.”
-“And leave those villages to their demise?” Sir Estewan said, “What about the people who lived there? Should they have survived the blaze and slaughter, they will be seeking a new home, dealing with a hundred perils on the road. It is my duty as a knight to protect the innocent and defend the roads?”
-“Forget about your oath just yet, there is a war at hand, and we need every man who can fight.” Edwald replied, “So we cannot dispense with a single knight, least of all, the Neldor swords and their captain.”
-“So we must leave these poor souls to survive on their own?” The Toothache said, “If we cannot defend our own, then we are no better than the Buram folk.”
Edwald pondered upon that for a while. Was it really the bother to protect a bunch of peasants who had just lost their homes, even when at hand there still was a war to be fought? In his mind, he thought it absurd, since it was not to their advantage to lose more men even if they were just a few of them, just for the sake of now homeless common folk, yet in his heart, he saw it was the right thing to do, for “…even when the certainty of death knocks upon one’s door and it is best for him to flee from danger, there is always time for virtue...”. These words were marked in Edwald’s heart, since among the few things he managed to learn from his father, despite all his cruelty and vanity. He saw then the wisdom in them, and grew sad about the fact that his vengeful spirit blinded the treasures in his heart.
-“You may tell some of your men to go east and take care of the unfortunate.” Edwald said, “But you must remain at the front where you belonged. This war shall not be won without you on our side, tasting the conquest—that much you are owed.”
Edwald did not find it so strange to bind with Sir Estewan after all. For he noticed both his eyes and his voice that at that instance he was talking to the man he briefly called friend, during their time in Culgarost. Behind Sir Estewan, however, stood another man as tall as him on his horse as Estewan made his way back to the front. The man behind was no man at all, it was the breath of a squall, which vanished away as soon as it was blown. This ghost Edwald had seen before, it was the wraith of his father, Lord Elreck, who had come to him once more. In his face, there was a smile and his father looked at him from beyond the grave just as he had many times looked at his brother, Carédock. The young Elbracht was this time neither haunted nor afraid; he was simply content to have seen his father just as he had thought of him.
Taking one of his father's few wisdoms to heart, Edwald gave way for a fourth of the Neldor army to stop the Buram company that had been reducing towns to ash and dust. Sir Estewan did as he was told and went at the head of the Neldor force on his horse; they were to continue the tactics they had followed before. And so the army split once more. The cavalry rode with striding pace towards the west and away from the Edwald’s host, which in its turn also began their march; their aim was set upon the same goal.
Five days went into that march, repeating the same strategy over and over again until the Buram Host learned them well enough to ready themselves for any raiding. All the while, thrice Edwald and Sir Estewan met in council, and though the scholars did not write so well about Brother Carédock, it was from him that the next strategy came. The city of Kamsta had been destroyed by the Buram over a couple of months ago, and the people that tarried thereafter were given aid and defense from the Black Cloths Brotherhood. So, it was not hard for the Rogue Monk to find a common cause with them and sway them to fight on their side. Upon the third day, since they turned west, the Buram Horde came to Kamsta where they hoped to replenish their provisions and rest, before the Knights of Neldor could raid them again, yet the raiding that came thereupon instead came from the common folks that lived there.
Though Brother Carédock’s move went just as it was planned, the leadership regretted having agreed to it in the first place. Had the Buram host halted in Kamsta without the peasant’s revolt, the rest of the leadership and the main host could have gained enough time to catch them up even before they had left sight of the River Dúnk. The Black Knight led the remains of his forces thence to the north and must have made camp somewhere in the Woods of Hel, where the scouts and lookouts of Edwald’s host could not reach them.
So it was that this small victory turned time against their favour. For it so was that as the Buram horde was drawn out of Kamsta, Lord Antuel, and Lord Tyén had reached the River Dúnk. The main host was still three days behind Edwald’s. Though the numbers were on his side, Edwald feared the Buram would, nevertheless, gain the chance to escape the kingdom through the Pass of Hel out of the Realm. Ever smart in the arts of war, he thought of a way to slow down his foes.
-“We must take our forces north.” He said, “If we get to the Pass of Hel before they do, we could hinder their escape.”
-“Why does it matter?” Sir Estewan asked. “The Buram threat is no more; the Black Knight has been defeated. They do not have the numbers to risk another invasion any time soon. We should let them flee and take care of the mess they’ve left us with.”
-“The Black Knight wants me.” Edwald said, “While I live, I remain a target for his plans. He might yet gather more men to his rank and upon some years, be back for another fight.”
-“Not everything revolves around you, my lord.” Sir Estewan answered, “Your claims about what the Black Knight told you are still not unproved, why fight in the name of revenge, when our job is all but done?”
-“They’ve invaded the Realm, they spread much pain and death.” Edwald said to his defense. “Should we let them leave these lands without harm, and not be punished for their crimes?”
-“If we knew where they were, I would gladly join the fight against them.” Sir Estewan replied. “But as matters stand, we do not know where they hide. For all we know they could even have already made it beyond the Pass. Into the frozen dunes of the northern lands, I will not be leading my knights; they have had enough of the cold for a while. Why should I take them thither where the snow does not melt even in the summer, while there are still matters, to which here we need to attend. Many villages along the river Dúnk have been sacked and burnt, our efforts are better invested in caring for those we can defend than chasing the Buram Horde into an icy death. You may keep the horses we’ve given you, however, all the rest will ride with me back to the east.”
-“You cannot, Sir Estewan.” Edwald said in a rage; his voice was like the bark of a wolf. “First you fight us, then you ally with us, and now you are leaving? You got yourself involved, now you must stay and see the job done.”
-“‘Tis not I who has neglected and delayed the King’s request,” Sir Estewan said back to him. “I only fight at his behest, unlike you who are known for betraying your king and the realm.”
-“If you leave us now that we are so close to the end, I will make sure the histories do not forget your mistake today.” Edwald warned the knight, but blind and deaf of ears and eyes, Sir Estewan took his men and within the hour, he galloped away back the road to the east.
Edwald might have had the greater numbers, yet after the Toothache abandoned him, he took with him also the raiding vanguard of his army along with the speed of the Neldor horse. Edwald had to do on his own with the mounts he had, which though healthy and strong were not of such noble stock. The Black Cloths were put at the front and Edwald told his brother to take on Sir Estewan’s place at the front, with the hope that at least his forces were enough to raid the fleeing Buram Horde.
Alas, they were not.
The cavalry left Kamsta on the morning of the next day; their aim was set north. Seven times the Black Cloths rode forth and back, reporting no sign of the Buram from abroad, upon an eighth, however, the Rogue Monk proved to be as keen of eyes as his brother. He spotted the track of the horde, even in the white of snow, and followed their trail into the King’s Woods, where he found beneath the shadows of trees the remains of the Buram camp. By the looks of it, they must had left over half a day ago. So, he took his Black Cloths back to Edwald’s host, and upon reporting what he found, Edwald grew hopeful again. Since deducing by the length of the road and the speed of their horses, the invading army must have been within three days away from the Pass. So, having time again in his favour—for he was two days ahead of his foes—he resolved to increase the pace of their ride.
For a long while they cantered across the ever-slopier fields up towards the Pass of Hel, and they struggled with the cold as each wind blew from beyond the north. The ice petrified Edwald’s hair, making him look like a statue, which remained fast against storm or squall. His outlook mirrored the conviction in his heart, and all the men around him looked and wondered at him in awe, all following him with an ever more faithful soul to wherever his goal was set. For so was the passion in his eyes that were he to turn east or west and neglect the Buram chase, they would follow him to the end, regardless of the aim. This was noticed by Master Asadue, and though only he was keen to write later on thereof, Brother Carédock and Sir Estewan, before his departure, were aware of it as well.
The wind blew fiercer as the riding host rode on, the snow carpet grew thicker beneath their hooves, and before them stood two giants whose frozen robes stretched and spread downwards towards them. To the east rose the King’s Mountain, thrice more solemn than before, and to the west rose the Peaks of Hel, which purply tops were the stuff of tales, and between them was a vale, a wide gap known across the Realm as the Pass of Hel. Edwald had been right; there was neither trail of the Buram of Horde nor a sign of them anywhere near. The track might have been erased either by the snow or the strong gales of cold from the north, and still, he knew they had not yet reached the Pass, for there was a quiet in the vale, and the winds hushed the finch’s song and nowhere was heard the sound of a horn.
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“It felt like the calm before a storm,” Asadue tells us, “the breath from the north was blown from beyond the vale, aside from which everything else was still; the trees east and west did not crackle in the air and the birds did not tune their song. And yet all this calm would soon be undone, for clouds were being mustered above the Pass, which march, southwards bent, soon dimmed the white snow of grey.
“We had not reached the top of the Pass when across the vale we heard a blast; the twisted Buram horn had been rung, the hooves of their mounts were like drums of war and both echoed up and down the slopes between the skies and the snow. Lord Elbracht had been right; the Buram host was about a day behind, yet their armies had been split apart. The remains of the once numerous horde cantered up the slope with striding pace and they were arranged in three companies, all even in size, and since they all wore the easterling colours of a grey so dark, it was hard to say among which force rode the Black Knight.”
Edwald had not foreseen this division and though his armies had grown into about thrice the size of that of his foes, the three companies moved forth purposefully far apart from each other. Were he to do the same, Edwald’s chances of victory would split as well. Against a single Buram force, his numbers would have given him the battle right away, yet without Sir Estewan’s mighty horsemen, breaking his host apart would only improve the enemy’s odds. Choosing one among the three was not without its risks either; regardless of their choice, the other two companies could attack Edwald’s host from either side or both—not unlike the tactics he, himself, had used before, now they were being used against him.
-“Which shall it be, Elbracht?” his brother asked, “split the cavalry or attack just one?”
-“Why not two?” Asadue proposed, “We might yet outsmart the Buram by attacking in two flanks.”
-“And what of the third company?” Edwald said, “The Black Knight could be among them, and they might still escape.”
-“What of him?” Carédock asked, “Even if he managed to survive, most of his army has already been slaughtered. Let the ‘Black Rat’ find a hole to hide and die in.”
-“Neither he nor his men can be allowed to leave these lands unpunished.” Edwald said resolved of mind.
-“It’ll be no more than a few hundred men if one of the three companies manages to escape.” Carédock argued, “Why should It matter if the Black Knight is among them when all of his host we have utterly routed?”
-“I have business with the Black Knight,” Edwald said in the confidence of his mentor and brother. “Questions must needs be asked, and he might be the only one who could answer them.”
-“Whatever do you mean?” Carédock asked understandably baffled.
-“You were not there, brother,” Edwald replied, “But the Black Knight knows quite a good deal about the Order and—so seemingly—all the things you rightly guessed to be true back in Culgarost.
“We’ll have time to discuss it later. For now, however, we must deal with these invaders. Mentor, take the second and third regiment,” Edwald said turning also onto Asadue, “You will attack the eastern companies; Brother, you will charge against the one to the west, I will take the one in the middle. We must push them back as far as we can, regroup them if we must, and surround them if it comes to that. Leave the Black Knight alive, I shall deal with him myself.”
Both the cavalry and the odds were split, but Edwald would not allow the Black Knight to leave. From above the slant, his host charged down towards them. Like three streams of blood red and black, they seemed, rushing down the snow-carpeted slope. The three companies all were stopped and a battle ensued thereupon. The dark clouds had stretched southwards above their heads, and strangely enough, it began to rain, this time there were no icen flakes, but tears of fresh water instead. Beneath the weeping skies, the calm in the vale was disturbed by a clash of steel; the iron of the horses’ hooves was as sharp as their riders’ blades and the snow and ice with red were stained.
Master Asadue is the only one among the three captains who kept an account of his front, yet it was from the mouth of Brother Carédock that Asadue would later learn that the Stoneface was among the ranks of the third company. Under the rain, the Black Knight fought and struggled against the Rogue Monk, whose iron helm alone was enough to frighten all Buram men he’d come across. His might was greater than his foe’s, though the Black Knight was twice his size. Overcome by the onslaught, the hooded knight made a horn be rung, after which booming blow all three Buram companies retreated down the slope. In the middle front, Edwald took heed of it, and knowing only the Black Knight could have given the order to blow the horn, he wished to turn his horse west and go to meet his foe, yet he could not leave his company without its captain. Instead, he made his men ride right and forth towards his brother’s front.
Asadue’s front had so far managed well on its own, yet as Edwald pushed the Buram west, his mentor’s company was left without aid. The numbers were on his side, and there were many a skillful warrior among his ranks, but his men were not learnt in the savagery of the easterlings, whose swing of their curved swords was almost as wild and loud as their roar of war. Regardless of this fact, Asadue had a weapon of his own, which was almost as powerful as Oakenjaw. Asadue had a mind that was just as sharp as his daggers—his weapon of choice. So he pulled his men out of the fight and from above the slope he charged at the wild easterlings from east and north.
And so, slowly but surely, the Buram horde was regrouped once more and upon the fourth hour since the battle began, all three companies met in the western side of the slant as one. Edwald, his brother and mentor had fortuitously made do with their plight and turned the odds back on their side. Near the middle of the slope, somewhere halfway across the heavens and earth, a song of steel was sung, instead of harps and lutes; there were blades and horns playing a quarrelsome tune, and the northern wind blew a strain like the sound of a frosty flute. The Lay of Ender the Bard is keen to embellish the battle, nevertheless, it fails utterly to account for the dread and peril each man had faced on the battlefield that day.
Our most excellent Hazagodian tells us that the stench of fresh blood spilt on the snow and the smell of steel crashing against flesh and bone were stronger than the scent of the woods east and west or the icy breath from the north. The allied forces bore sword and shield in hand and seasoned though it was, the wild and fierce curved blade of the Far East was hard to outsmart. Past the first two hours, the red on the snow was covered with the dead bodies of both Sovarós horsemen and Buram soldiers. Mounts of every hue and stock sprinted aimlessly across the field which defeated riders lay on beds of red and white.
Amidst the bloodshed and clamour, Edwald looked for his foe, his armour of twisted iron, his black rags hanging down his shoulders, and the loose hood that covered his accursed stone-face. Unbeknownst to him, however, his brother the Rogue Monk kept on fighting the Black Knight, and both their garments were so black it was hard to find either of them among the red and grey of the clash. But then, Brother Carédock let out a terrible cry, which aching sound revealed to Edwald where they could be found. Like a bolt on his Neldor horse, he galloped swiftly through the quarrelling mob, and even as it had happened to him over a year back in Culgarost, he found his brother; his mount had fled the slaughter and now he lay limbless on the snow-filled mud. Just as Sir Martid had done before as he tried to kill Lord Osguald Guelmo, the Black Knight had defeated his opponent in the brawl, and rather than taking his life, he took his one remaining limb as a duel reward.
Edwald saw in madness as the Black Knight laughed and guffawed; he saw him swing his brother’s leg to and fro in the manner of a sword until it amused him no more.
-“You are the one they call the Black Knight. That I have heard before.” He said, “A knight without a leg is hard to come upon. Since now you have neither, I guess you should remain just a monk.” He waved his leg once more, and threw it away, like a toy, of which he had grown bored.
On the ground, Brother Carédock ‘the Limbless’ cursed both his foe and his lot, and all the while, Edwald watched the scene in wrath, and grasping tightly Oakenjaw, he charged towards the Black Knight on his own.
-“So you’ve come back for more.” he said with a taunting tone on his greyish horse, “Your heart might be made of gold, but against me, all your thew falls short.”
-“Keep your tongue for the crows; I will make you pay for what you’ve done.” Edwald said in response.
-“And what have I done, my lord?” The Black Knight asked in earnest, “I have spilt some blood, burnt down a thousand homes, and wreaked war within your fold; none of this is not unlike anything the so-called ‘High Men’ have done unto the Buram Folk. For thousands of years, both realms have been at war, and more often than not it has been the men of this realm that have cast the first stone.”
-“It is your blade that has the blood of innocent men.” Edwald asked as he stopped.
-“You are too young to know, but in your father’s and grandsire’s hands there is the blood of eastern men and maid, and countless lives which also fell to their swords.” The Black Knight replied, and Oakenjaw confirmed whereof he spoke. “Perhaps, it’s not my crimes that you wish to punish me for, but rather for the leg your brother-monk has lost.”
Edwald’s heart turned to ire and burning with hateful fire, he charged once more towards his foe, thrice he held his sword aloft, and thrice the Black Knight parried it with his own. There were flames of wrath on the blade of Oakenjaw and the Stonehead’s curved brand was wrapped in shadows of blood. Back and forth they rode against each other in the manner of a joust of sorts, and all the while Brother Carédock tried his best to crawl away from the fighting, yet his arms were numb from the duel he had lost. Edwald could not keep his eyes off the now limbless Rogue Monk and his rage blinded his thoughts, for his aim was set on killing his foe rather than sparing him as was his original goal. Edwald had, from the moment he left the Dwarf-Delve up until this point, always been driven by the power of Oakenjaw instead of his own talent and toil. Now it was he who led the sword. Every charge and blow was as brutal and strong as those of the Buram folk.
Asadue was nowhere near their duel, yet the character of this fight was told by bards and sages in tales and songs and the outcome of this telling concurs with the Hazagodian’s account just well enough. Edwald could neither defeat the Black Knight nor restore his brother’s leg, still he managed to bring down his horse; even on the ground, tall and fast the Black Knight stood, parrying and dodging every blow he could. However, his might and thew could do little against Edwald’s swift mount and his flaming sword. So fearing for the first time that each breath might be his last, he ran away from the fight and ordered a flight in the Buram Tongue.
The eastern horn was blasted thrice and the Buram horde replied by drawing back from the clash. They turned their horses to the south, Edwald’s cavalry chased them down the slope, yet as they approached the lower skirts of the slant, they shifted their ride twice to the right and fooled the Sovarós army by fleeing nigh the edge of the woods to the west, Edwald commanded his host to do the same; he blew his horn himself, and after the sweet, yet mighty, song of its booming blow, all his men, the black-clad rebel monks, and red clothed Sovarós began to chase the retreating horde. In haste and disarray, both forces galloped north and as they marched up the slope, the heavens crumbled and the Gods threw bolts of wrath from above, clashing with power against the snow, which white shattering shrouded the whole vale in icy fog.
Up the slant, both allied men and Buram foes rode and though they both were close, none of them engaged in an armed brawl, for all their horses were more afraid of the striking bolts than the slaughter and bloodshed. With the sun’s beams dancing with the wind above, they reached the gap’s top; behind them, a cloud of white and grey had set upon the slope and once on the edge of the Pass of Hel, beyond which the view had cleared; a vast ice-clad country broadened towards the north. It was covered in ashes and embers and pending over it clouds wept frozen tears that melted on the clinkery slopes and fields. They were deep in winter and yet on that very top, there was no trace of snow or frost but the winds blew cold and the air was filled with haze and smog.
As he noticed these fey surroundings, Edwald felt a fear of fate, beating like a pulse in his heart. He bethought of the visions shown in the Dwarven Halls in what seemed like years ago and the knowledge whereof was about to unfold. The Black Knight galloped forth beyond the Pass and behind him followed the remains of his once mighty Buram horde, which spread and scattered down the gap’s north-side slope like a running stream stained with dark oil upon the ashen cold. The clock and bells of fate ticked and tolled all across the vale hid behind the thudding of drums and the blows of a hundred horns.
Edwald’s forces had reached at last the top, yet the Buram horse—less noble than Neldor’s stock—had managed to outpace them. However, even as it all seemed lost for Edwald’s goal, and the enemy lines had all but escaped the vale, the Black Knight stopped his flight and bid the remnants of his host to also halt. He gazed back at Edwald from below the slope and though his dreadful eyes, glittering gold and scarlet beyond the shadows of his cloth, were set on him though five miles lay between them both. He pulled off his hood and his cracked face could be seen from afar.
The allied host waited on the heights of the Pass eager for Edwald’s command to attack. The wind was still, no horn was rung, the bolts that had struck from above were gone and a silent breeze from the north the fields and mountain walls stroked. All was quiet for a while until the clock of fate stopped its clack and its mighty hand began to write the omens and visions foretold to both pupil and mentor and Dwarven folk. Like the blast of iron against the mud, the Buram horses began to hit the snow and the song of steel across the gap was heard. Their march was swift and wroth; up the slope, they charged it seemed to Edwald like an army of corpses, which were summoned from their graves for a last brawl, and as they approached the top, from the mist that south the Pass of Hel had formed another army appeared out from the fog, bearing the semblance of a host of ghosts. Soon, he realised, this was no horde of wraiths, but rather the rest of the Sovarós armies led over by Lord Tyén and Lord Antuel of Fyore, which coming thither lands had been hidden by a cloud of snow. So terrible was their might and size, the Corpses Host almost turned to flight. Their captain did not lose his aim, however, and his sword was set on the foe he had twice defeated.
Edwald understood upon that moment that whatever he saw after drinking from the Mworhúrna—the Dwarven King’s Horn—it all played out just as it had been foreshown. The ghosts fought the dead on the face of the slope and he knew his fight against the Black Knight was about to come. Thus, grasping firmly Oakenjaw, Edwald, whom the Gods with powers had blessed, charged forth and down the slant to the north, and the whole of the allied force, united once more, rallied behind him.
Ender the Bard tells of the battle that if souls could sing, they would have filled the vale with countless lays, for the heart of each and every man either wielding a sword or riding a horse burned with a flame that the heavens and hells both had kindled. Angels and demons fought with mighty words unheard that day and the clash of steel against steel rolled across the land like the tune of an iron-stringed harp. Amidst the clang of a thousand blades, Edwald and the Black Knight met in the field once again and they both knew then, this would be the last time they would see each other’s face and the wielder of the Dwarven sword duelled the captain of the corpses host.
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LXXXII. many sources tell of their duel. Most accounts come in the form of songs, Ender the Bard wrote quite a detailed exemplar of this battle in his famous Lay, yet often scholars discredit him, for taking one too many freedoms regarding this clash. Since myths always come after the fact, with the pass of time, the duel would be over-embellished and over-fantasized, this has led many modern age historians that the confrontation did not even take place, but was rather fully contrived by Ender the Bard himself. Nevertheless, the histories are seldom straight. Based on the account of Mentor Asadue, who stood close by as the duel was fought, many of the passages in the disavowed Bard’s song are historic enough to be confirmed.
Both in Master Asadue’s and the Bard Ender’s telling, the duel begins in the same manner.
Edwald sat tall on his white Neldor Horse, the last of which remained from its original host, and since he came down the slope, his shadow was wide enough to cover the large Black Knight on his bestial steed. Edwald embraced fate as his foe came his way, and deeming it best, he pulled up some of his white cape and wore it as hood he cast upon his face. In his mind, by doing this he portrayed himself as the equal and still contrary of his adversary, instead of a Dark Paladin; he had become a Gallant of White. Where the Black Knight was wicked and wroth, the White Knight was righteous and just. He raised his sword to his right; one hand holding the leash, the other grasping the hilt. With might and haste he galloped down the slope and from the high ground his mortal foe he struck.
The blow was swift and sharp, mortal and fierce. It was not aimed at the Black Knight, yet rather his steed, and as it fell to bleed, The Dark Paladin fell as well on his head and his curved sword escaped his grip and was thrown on the snow. Tall he stood once more and undefeated still on his feet. Edwald had an honour of which he was proud, so he dismounted his horse and stood on even ground. The Black Knight pulled Edwald’s sword from his the flesh of his dark horse and though its blade was stained with blood, its truthful power in his hand, it burned.
Edwald had learned from both Lord Carathuel and this Buram Lord, and knowing that the wicked and cunning, like Lord Carathuel, could neither understand the power of Oakenjaw nor wield its truthful aim against their foe. The Black Knight picked up the Black Knight’s curved sword and having learned also from his manners of war he fought against him even as he had done in Seranos before.
Wild and fierce, like a prowling wolf he fought, and the truthful aim and wise of his blows the Sword of Sooth could not foretell. Unaware of the power of his brand, he knew exactly the way, how to fight against his own battle style; the Black Knight turned to his cunning and slyness. He wished to fight with both deceit and guile, but Oakenjaw forced his truth-bound will upon him and rendered him dumb and clueless against Edwald’s strikes.
Swift and graceful was his style, the White Knight swirled about like an eagle in flight, and came back at him like a bear with might. Upon his fourth blow. The Black Knight fell on his knees and dropped Oakenjaw. Edwald threw the curved sword back to his rightful bearer, and he lifted up his Dwarven Sword from the snow once more. Edwald embraced the soul of Súnthaz and being of one heart and mind with the sword, the Black Knight was smooth and true in the brawl. He swung his sword to and fro, up and down, from left to right and otherwise; his cape swirled behind him, the rain turned to sparkling frost and falling like gems upon them both, he whirled around his ground-lying foe. As the wind blew strong against his brow, uncovering the gold of his hair as the hood was drawn off by the breeze, Edwald lifted up Oakenjaw; his blade pending unmoved upon the Black Knight, he let it fall upon his chest like a thwack of doom and the sharp point of Sooth was thrust into the Stoneface’s heart, cracking his chest, his neck, and limbs.
Hours had passed as the duel raged on. The dead were fighting wraiths and amidst the horror another cry was heard, the Black Knight's armour shattered, and his sword was broken. Lying on the ground near his end, Edwald rushed to him moved both by fear and hope. The stone-face turned white cold and handing over to the victor the shards of his blade the Black Knight uttered his last words.
-"Beware, my blood," he said. "Darkness is coming. The Enemy is at hand." And so the Black Knight passed away like mist on the wind that cowered away from the storm. There is no escape from the hand of fate, my son, against which binding doom no will of man is free to change its prose. Farewell, my blood. May the fates shine upon your name as it was foretold and you bring down the tower which watches over us all.”
And so the Black Knight was no more. His body became a pile of ashes and stone dust, which by the mighty breath from the north was swiftly blown towards the south and east. Following his death, the rest of the Buram horde scattered away, striding headless and aimlessly across the northern fields only to later be devoured by the snow. ‘It all seems strange.’ Edwald thought, ‘Against the power of fate what power could have thriven?’ Regardless, of his doubts the battle was, nonetheless, won and though unfulfilled was still the feeling in his heart, after the storm came an eerie calm.
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Elbracht/Edwald crowned with Oaken Leaves [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/928675464401281116/1177349658650099742/Elbracht_crowned.jpeg?ex=65722f50&is=655fba50&hm=6d6d3226b3469d13b626cd05c60e20106a3e938a108e069a63e09011a6c490e0&]