Free Heir to the Sundered Crown by Matthew Olney Page A

declared albeit with some doubt in his words.
    The baron scowled at the knight, but seemed to relax at the words spoken.
    “You are correct of course Sir Grandir. Danon is gone forever. When this is over I will allow full access to my lands to launch your crusade. Never again must these relics from the Magic war threaten the realm. We must root them out and burn them.”
    Just as Grandir was about to reply, the horn sounded again. This time the enemy was in range of the first line of defences; the battle of Fuio pass was about to begin.
    The pass was a mile across with steep mountains on either side. It was a perfect spot to mount a defence and the forces of Eclin were confident of victory.  Five hundred paces from the vast pile of earth that formed the first line of defences stood the horde of the enemy. Thousands of black armoured figures stood in eerie silence, their faces concealed by their helmets. Behind them staggered the zombies, moans filling the cold air, chilling the defenders blood with fear. At the flanks came the werewolves in numbers not seen for eons. Hundreds roared, snarling at the rangers who took position at the top of the earth mound.
    Woven was among them. Being one of the most skilled archers in the kingdom he insisted in joining his fellow rangers. He was still weary from his journey to the camp, but fear and adrenaline kept his mind sharp, and gave his arms the strength needed to draw his massive longbow.
    Six thousand Rangers stood with their bows drawn, arrows of death notched and ready to fly at the enemy. Tension filled the air, men sweated and prayed, and then came the roar.
    Quickly the black armoured troops surged forward, swords and spears at the ready, charging headlong at the Eclin defenders. Within moments they came into range of the Rangers who as one loosed the first volley of arrows.
    The sky turned dark as thousands of arrows momentarily blocked out the sun to slam into the attacking forces with a deafening crash.
    Woven stood stunned as he watched the arrows strike. Hundreds of the armoured figures had been struck, and yet none fell or even screamed out in terror or jubilation at having survived. It was then as the horde continued to come at him that he realised with horror that he had been mistaken. The armoured figures were not men or even mortal. They were ghouls!
    Another volley of arrows was loosed, and another and still not a single figure fell. The rangers began to desperately shoot shaft after shaft, but still none fell. Panic swept through their ranks as they realised that they could not harm the enemy.
    It was then just as the first defenders were about to break that Woven saw the werewolves charging along the flanks. Those he knew they could kill.
    “Target the flanks! Kill the wolves!” He bellowed putting his words into actions. Swinging his bow to the right he loosed.
    The arrow pierced his target in the eye. With a satisfying roar of pain, the beast collapsed to the ground. Now all the other archers loosed their arrows at the werewolves, killing dozens at a time, but still the armoured figures approached inexorably towards the Rangers. Soon they would reach the foot of the earthworks and the sword work would begin. 
    The armoured figures reached the mound and halted. The werewolves fell back having learnt not to approach the stinging arrows.
    Once again an eerie silence filled the pass. Woven stopped shooting and shifted nervously. He could see that the Rangers had slain at least fifty wolves. They hadn’t even inflicted a scratch on the enemy that now stood in ominous silence.
    “Draw swords.” Growled Woven. With the wolves out of range their arrows were harmless against the armoured ghouls. He wasn’t even sure if the sword would harm them, he just knew they had to try.
    The ghouls stamped their feet causing the ground to shake. Incessantly they carried on stamping unnerving the defenders.
    Then came the zombies.
    Thousands of them swarmed through the ranks