When the morning of the judgment day for all Uniearth finally shifted with the night, when the first dawn companions of Artemis started tweeting in green bushy leafage, the wide red hood of the God of the Sun illuminated spacious domain of prince Luminel with its precious shining. Having enlightened Kelterian plains, scattered with chaotically-located piles of stones and boulders, shining Gelios, moving his glowing disk around the azure sky carpet, happily greeted our bold heroes, who had completed their long and exhausting journey and now were ecstatically observing amazingness of the early spring sunrise from the high grassy hill. Every traveler, who had ever reached that place from far lands on his own, evaluated elvish lands far more than just simple natural wonder: Loriel forest radiated powerful energy — every tree, every bush, every mushroom, every leaf filled soul with calamity and confidence in future. Legends say, that Artemis herself was once walking around that lands, and she was so startled at their beauty, that the goddesshunter filled Loriel forest with the spirit of courage, fearlessness and calamity. Our heroes felt all these senses at once when they had finally reached that fabulous creation of nature. Having sighed with relief, Esrael climbed off the dragon's back and, having gazed at the gold-shining curly Loriel's willows, said with relief:
—Here we are at last... Where's Hengerd?
He didn't have to wait for long for the answer — in a few moments, the figures of enormous stone giants appeared on the horizon, whose heavy steps disturbed the stillness of the beautiful morning. Trembling the tips of bushy ashes and slim crying green-haired willows, the stone army of the mighty chieftain of the past was heavily closing in to the rendezvous point. They were walking, overwhelmed with impeccable determination to atone their fault for all the suffering they caused to the world, they were walking with their hearts filled with great courage and valor, which still boiled in their stone veins, they were walking to free Uniearth from all suffering and miseries once and for all. In a few minutes, which seemed to Esrael and the dragon eternity, the cursed army finally reached the meeting point. Having heavily sighed with his thick granitic chest and looked at fluffy branches of bouffant trees of Loriel, Hengerd uttered with his soft bass:
—Many years have passed since I last was in these lands. Many of these trees I see before me were very tiny seedlings, which Luminel planted with his father. I can't believe I'm going to see all of them burn in the torturous fire of war...
—I feel that Zeus will be merciful to us. He just wants us to believe,—the dragon replied.—Believe that these trees shall blossom in summer, shall burst their foliage again; that we'll be lucky to see how shining Gelios enlightens azure sky, riding his golden chariot; believe that children, who will have seen this startling scenery, shall play freely and happily, and their joyful mothers shall gratefully remember our fight on this field, when we fought for the freedom and bright future of our descendants. And this is what we're fighting for.
—I wish Gilroy was here with us,—Esrael uttered with grief, gazing at the horizon, inflamed with the light of the dawn.—He would have given everything to fight with us today, to stand all for one and one for all.
—He didn't vanish in time,—the dragon objected.—He, as well as everyone who died in Tempestwind and Eldoras, is still with us. His spirit, as well as the spirits of all who sacrificed their lives for the freedom, will stand and fight together with us. Gilroy always wanted us to be bold and courage sparkle in our hearts.
—The Keeper of the Good is right, Esrael,—Hengerd interfered, looking at the horizon, bright like a fire of thousands of torches.—Our power lies in unity and strong faith in victory. As soon as our souls are enlightened with these two flames, no enemy shall ever break us down.
Hardly had the last syllable dropped from the granitic lips of the great chieftain of the past, the peacefulness of the prime of the dawn was exterminated by the roar of thousands of copper trumpets, which had thundered from the green grassy Kelterian plains. Having turned on a loud call of vociferous copper messengers, our heroes witnessed marvelous spectacle: having risen over wavy hills alongside with the sun, like a chariot of Athena, a united army of two great kings of Uniearth — Ulther the IV and Grishnak the III — appeared on the horizon, bristled with shining tips of spears, blades of axes, sharp swords and steel muskets. Behind the slender rows of dwarven musketeers and fearless orcs, the main strike force of both armies was marching: powerful steam tanks, exhausting gray clubs of smoke into the dawn sky and rattling with gigantic steel wheels, were slowly moving through the green waves of tall grass alongside with an enormous platoons of chieftain's bison riders, bristled with sharp double-edged axes and tough oaken shields with red patterns of the great spirits of Ruthram. In front of mighty infinite arrays the great kings of Uniearth's two colossal armies were seen: Grishnak the III, mounted on a pure-wight bison and dressed in firm steel armor, with an enormous double-edged axe and bright-red shield with a pattern of a wild boar in his muscular green hands, and Ulther the IV, peeping out of the hatch of the first tank, with a single-shot pistol on a mithril cuirass, forged by the best blacksmiths of the dwarven realm. When the wide standards pierced the sky, crowded with dense rows of curly clouds, Luminel ordered his army to leave the forest. The order was executed immediately: the moment when Israel and the dragon looked away from the two armies, defenders of Loriel, shining with light armor and steel gold-engraved helmets, came out of the forest. Hardly had our heroes amazed at such miraculous appearance, instantly straight lines of elven moose-riders and archers appeared from the farther areas of the forest. When the battle formations of the most peaceful nation of Unearth stopped at the edge of the forest, dozens of beautiful standards of platoons and companies, sewed with golden threads, sky-rocketed into the sky.
—Holy Afrodite...— Esrael murmured, admiringly watching three armies of the greatest kings of Uniearth unite, marching to the rendezvous point and wavering magnificent standards of their regiments.— No chronicler could have ever described such an epic event. Can you believe this?
—The great era is on the way, my friend,— Hengerd proudly gasped, looking at his army. Having gazed upon the united army, he alertly said:—But I cannot see the sovereign of Eldoturian lands, protector of human's holy lands – Pendragon, and this thought terrorizes my sinful soul. Where's he?
—Pendragon has sacrificed too much for our victory,—a familiar soft voice thundered behind our heroes. Turning around, Esrael and the dragon saw prince Luminel, mounted on a brown mustang.—Best sons of his fatherland fell before the onslaught of the enemy's forces, giving us the chance to prepare for such glorious battle. It was his valor that made us still able to fight.
—But what about the spirit of impeccable brotherhood?—the dragon resented.—Did such a glorious king abandoned us in this finest hour? The whole Uniearth? His own people?
—My mind thinks the same,—the elven prince sorrowly agreed with the dragon's resentment,—but my heart stubbornly tells me to hope and believe. Believe even when there are no chances to withstand. And in that very moment, when the end will be at our door, a miracle of all miracles shall occur, and the gods shall gift us with their mercy. I'm sure, Pendragon will not leave us to die.
—It goes without saying, — the dragon agreed. — He is sure to come. By the time the dialogue reached its peak, the united forces of the Three Kings approached the Loriel forest. After all kings had built their battle formations, Grishnak and Ulther dismounted and, rattling their heavy armor, and approached the three standing before the united forces of free Uniearth. — It is an honor for us all to fight side by side with you, the Keeper of the Good, – Grishnak put his sharp axe on his back. — My axe is thirsty for blood! Today we shall finally obliterate these filthy maggots, so they shall not make a single step on our lands ever again!
—Muskets and cannonballs of my warriors shall make their guts fall out of their bellies!—Ulter exclaimed, showing his large six-round powder pistol.— They aisle flee far beyond Eldotur so that they vanish from these lands! —Look!—Esrael suddenly exclaimed, grasping his sword and pointing at the horizon.—They are here!
When the bold five shed their sight on the black meridian, they shivered: the colorful valley slowly disappeared in a thick black mass, being an enormous army of the enemy. Through countless rows of spears and halberds, towering over a shield wall, heavily armored horsemen with massive spiky clubs could be seen. Bull-towed heavy catapults with deadly payload slowly crawled from behind. Flocks of razor-teeth gargoyles terrified the defenders of Loriel. It seemed that the army had no end – more and more regiments of the black army of Thaneorus appeared from behind the hills. Noticing the black standards with the pattern of the red staff, the chieftains ordered their formations to fall in. The regiments moved, the horses neighed, the bisons roared, the tanks clang, the heavy marching of the Army of the Good thundered through the silent plains – the vast army marched to the designated positions. The orc and elf cavalry stood side by side with dwarven steam tanks, protecting the flanks of the elf and orc infantry, bristled with spears. Dwarven musketeers and elven archers stood behind, ready to fire. Hengerds Golems stood as a living shield before them. When two gargantuan hoards stood still, a dead silence fell – only neighing of horses and roar of steam engines were ruining the calm. However the part Thaneorus showed was just the beginning: suddenly the ground behind the enemy infantry started rumbling and cracking like a thin layer of ice, and in a link of an eye flaming beasts emerged from beneath; they looked like skeletons with no flesh on their bones, holding huge maces, scorching the beautiful green plains. This was the titans of Cronos, who once were exiled in Tartarus by Zeus himself. Their flesh had been burnt by hell flame, their eyes were filled with inhumane hatred and wrath, their look was startling and even the coldblooded veterans were petrified. The chieftains saw it, Esrael saw it, the dragon saw it. In his heart of hearts, he knew the warriors, who stood together in that finest hour, needed support, needed hope, needed impeccable certainty that that day the Good would win, that the dawn of the coming day would mean the birth of the new, great era of flourishing and eternal peace. Our scaly hero was sure the soldiers needed him; the bold warriors' souls, hardened by will for victory and courage, needed someone to lead them into battle; the one who would think of the bright new future for their sons and grandsons, who would settle new cities on the plains, where the blood of their ancestors was spilled; the one, who would make them think that in the place, where they sacrificed their lives, bright green plains shall spark; who would make them think that when their bones decompose and grass cover the swords, their sons would remember the fallen as the true heroes of the past, who accepted the challenge of the forces of evil. With these thoughts the dragon stood before the defenders, glanced at the dark horizon and spoke to the united army of Uniearth:
—Defenders of Uniearth! Warriors... Kings... Friends... Once, in the age, when the blood of your brethren was spilled, you could not stand each other, you promised to lead each other to oblivion. I am happy that those days have gone. Never before such a gargantuan army, the international army, united with a sole purpose, assembled on the battlefield! But never before the enemy was so strong, so cruel and so ruthless. Once each of you gave the oath to protect and love your children, your wives, your home, your Fatherland. And there was no lie in your wordы when you swore to defend your home in the finest hour till the last drop of blood, till the last breath, till the last beat of your courageous hearts. And there was no mortal soul, which dared to question the honesty of your words, as in that moment you gave the oath to Zeus himself. It is time, my friends! It is time to keep your promise. The enemy is strong, the enemy is ruthless and dangerous, his forces are vast, his blades are sharp, his arrows are fast... But it is not the muscles and not the thickness of clubs that form your strength! It is righteousness, your spirit, your valor and courage, your impeccable confidence in victory! Fight to the end – stab, chop, crunch, choke till the last arrow of the old-hag-war hits your chest. Stand side by side, crush your enemy together! Our force lies deep inside your brotherhood! Let the enemies remember, when the shall flee from the battlefield, that hope and faith never die! I ask you, warriors, – are you ready to push your enemies back from your lands, to exile him from your home forever?
At that moment it seemed that even the Gods of Rothodor were deafened by such a loud and determined cry of the gargantuan army of light. The swords hit the shields, the horses and bisons neighed, terrified of the war cry of their horsemen. That war cry had the light of thousands of stars, that war cry had the power of hundreds of waves, and a howl of thousands of winds it resembled.
—Forth!—the dragon spread his wings and exclaimed.—To victory! For our future! For every unborn child and their mothers! Charge!
This said, the dragon zoomed into the sky, and the army of three great monarchs, possessed by rapture and strong will for victory, rushed towards the enemy. The horns thundered, the swords shone, the sharp spears and halberds sparkled on the light of Helios. Thousands of muskets thundered and so did cannons of steam tanks. The cavalry, overwhelmed with the power of righteousness, rushed after the infantry, flanking the vast army, bristled with spears and swords. There was no sound powerful enough to eclipse the thundering rattle of hooves and boots. Feisty warbands of Thaneorus did not hesitate: the dark army exploded with the roar of titans, and colossal black horde raised the banners into the sky and rushed into battle. The golems of Hengerd darted towards the titans of Kronos, who wavered their sharp blazing maces. The armies are closing in, Arese's breath is terrorizing the flesh of warriors, the Hades cheers, preparing his sickle, the Death itself is drawn by fury, ready to grasp the perished souls into its skinny hands! And so the armies collided with swords! The rattle of shields thundered through numb abandoned valleys! The last battle for Uniearth began. The swinging of swords, the roar of the bisons, the neighing of horses, the whistling of thousands of arrows and clatter of catapults torn the peacefulness apart. The warriors stroke, again and again, shedding red blood upon the golden valleys. And arms and hands fell on the grass, and blood of soldiers, filled with terror and pain, dewed the land, and fell the copses and bloody pieces of fallen warriors, and blood erupted from pierced armor and helmets, and crippled heads rolled down the golden hills – the carnival of death whirled in the feast of war, like wheel of an uncontrolled carriage. The bisons crushed warriors, axes mangled flesh, spears pierced bodies, muskets, spewing swarms of bullets, mercilessly mowed down the ranks of the army of Thaneorus. If Zeus himself had seen the valleys, he would have thought that water became blood, and vast green fields turned into an enormous bloody sea.
The battle goes on and no one retreats: again and again, the bloody blades pierce through bones and flesh, again and again, foes chop each other and crush the skulls, again and again, the steam tanks crush the warriors of Thaneorus, more and more of the red flesh is left on iron wheels. The swords pierce, the bullets whistle, the shells explode. No ground is left beneath – only flesh of the dead, sentenced to eternal sleep, is under heels, no grass is left, only blooded hair of the fallen flicks on the wind. The whistle of arrows deafened, their swarms blocked the sun. The golems terrorized whole units, crushing everything on their path. Esrael killed everyone, who dared oppose him, and rivers of blood covered his face, like a rainstorm. One is cut by his punishing blade, another, cut in half, falls to his feet. Wrath, pain, fear – everything mixed inside the young warrior. One by one fell enemies to his feet, like a grass, but suddenly Esrael saw the tank of Ulther engage in combat with a titan. Titan's eyes sparkled with wrath, he was ready to tear the tank apart, when suddenly the yell of the dwarven chieftain ended his victorious feast — the shell exploded, and the titan fell on the blazing ground. But Ulther's glee was short – in a moment another titan cut his iron tank in half. The cauldron exploded. The flames zoomed into the sky. Metal and blood mixed together. The wounded king is being carried away by his men, the crippled tank is vanishing in the eternal flame, but monarch does not surrender! He yells: «Don't touch me, for I am Ulther, the king of the dwarves, and I shall not flee from the battlefield, like a coward!» His soldiers lie dead, his tanks are on fire, but again and again, the king struggles to rush into battle, to lead his bold warriors. And so fights Grishnak, and so fights Luminel, and so fights Esrael, and so whistle bullets, and so clang swords, and so boils the blood, and whispers of death are heard. The battle is on! The battle shall be won!
Hengerd fights the titan, crushes his blazing bones, but the titan does not flee – fiercer and fiercer, fight they to death, the stones are crushed, and so they fall on the ground. Hengerd won't surrender, won't give up! So crushes he his mortal foe, so hurls him on the ground and beats him with his granitic fists. But the titan doesn't fall back – he strikes and strikes the chest of the courageous chieftain. Again and again, they fight each other, and none victorious becomes.
Sharp swords of elven horsemen smite warriors of Thaneorus, like a hurricane, like whirlwind on the battlefield, throwing blood and dust into the sky. And so cuts his foes Luminel, and fight his warriors side by side, like brothers. But enemies surround. One by one his bold young warriors fall into the grasp of grass. It seems the end for the prince is near, it seems, he shall never reign again in such a glorious world. He shut his eyes not to watch his brothers die. He imagined peaceful Elysian fields when suddenly Grishnak and his handful of warriors arrived. The fight was fast: bold greenskins minced warriors of Thaneorus, and blood dewed the forest fringe. Luminel gratefully nodded, spurred his moose and rushed to his warriors.
But the battle took place not only on the ground. While Esrael and armies of monarchs fought with warbands of Thaneorus, the dragon struggled in the air. Ugly gargoyle, killed by his claws and teeth, fell to the ground in shrieks. But there were too many of them: weakens our hero, the drops of blood drip from his wound belly. No strength to fight is left. But knows the Keeper of the Good of being observed from beneath, knows he that he has no right to fall or surrender. He must fight, fight to the end! The dragon, licking off the blood from his lips, tore the fifteenth black-pawed gargoyle, when suddenly something big and heavy bumped into him and swiftly pulled down. The sky and the ground swapped places, the dragon went dizzy, he didn't understand, what was happening. Windfall passed by. Branches hit the dragon in the face. Eternal boughs broke under the defender's of weak and desperate body. The dragon felt as if hundreds of swords pierced into his body. He fell on the ground. Again a sudden strike jolted his body. Darkness... Darkness obscured the deep blue eyes. But obscurity didn't last for long: in a moment the dragon felt something pierce his white belly like a knife through butter. The dragon moaned. The pain was excruciating... The dragon seemed to faint, fall into the abyss of eternal sleep when suddenly he heard a burst of cold mocking laughter:
— Did you really think you could hide? The foolishness of this world has become outstanding...—a the stranger pressed harder on the chest.—I thought the Gods have found someone more appropriate. Nevertheless, I should admit your talent in blathering. Unfortunately, it won't do any good for you now.
At that moment even sharper pain chained the dragon. He felt as if thousands of sharp, like a king's sword, needles lodged in his back. The dragon yelled from unbearable pain. The heart strived to jump from the chest, penetrate the defense of twenty-four ribs. The dragon felt his powers fade, his mighty wings slowly lower down, unable to stand proud.
—Oh, I'm sorry, did it hurt that bad?—the voice of the bloodthirsty torturer sounded again. —I'm sure you can handle it. And now... See the face of your death!
In a second something turned our hero on the back, and a dark dragon appeared before his eyes, whose sharp claws grasped the bold Keeper of the Good on the ground. His smile was vile, he violently observed the desperate struggle of his opponent to fight back. Deadlytooth continued torturing the beaten foe: he moved black claws around the wounds of the Keeper of the Good, laughing at grunts of unbearable pain. He was amused by the torment of his foe, he was delighted by the dimming light in the eyes, by the madness, slowly crawling in the mind of his enemy. When the dark dragon was bored, he grabbed our hero, lifted him, fiercely yelled and threw the Keeper of the Good into a tree. The dragon bumped so hard, that a fragile oak, corrupted by beetles, broke in half. Our hero, overcoming terrible pain, wanted to stand up and fight, but he couldn't move his leg. It seemed to have broken. The dragon moaned and fell. Blood oozed from his mouth, dripping on a dark-green moss. His body was nagging from wounds and bruises. He felt a terrible dull pain in his chest; nearly all the ribs were crushed. He could barely breathe. He wheezed at the tiniest breath of air. Deadlytooth was slowly and confidently approaching the dragon, like a lion, ready to stick his fangs into the prey. He was smiling acidly. He worried about nothing. His eyes were sparkling with predator's glee, his victory was assured, he was ready for the final strike. When Deadlytooth finally approached our hero, he cut the dragon's face, covered in blood, tearing his upper lip and knocking some teeth. But our hero didn't utter a single sound. He couldn't. The tongue felt the red blood stream down sharp fangs, filling crippled lungs and alveoli.
—Well, my dear fellow,— Deadlytooth looked into the eyes of his opponent, – you've run out of luck. It's over now. Honestly, I thought this fight would last a little longer, that it would be bloodier, crueler and more merciless, that we would fight for hours, again and again trying to fiercely slit each other's throats,—while Deadlytooth was speaking, our hero was trying to find his last resort.—But it seems to me that I won't have to drench my paws in blood,—at that moment the dragon saw a big sharp stump, a leftover from a once mighty oak. An idea came to his mind.—What can you to me, putrid filth?! Me, Deadlytooth the Greatest?! Your time has come!—Deadlytooth was ready to strike his last, mortal blow. The dragon understood – every second counted. The heart pounded, like a drum, the wounds hurt badly. He had to make one last step to save is life, to win this cruel fight. The Keeper of the Good gathered the last ounce of strength, all will, that was still boiling inside his heart, grabbed Deadlytooth with his paws and mighty tail and wrestled him on the ground. In a second the dragon heard a weird cracking noise, followed by a desperate seething panting. He glanced at Deadlytooth. He met his doom: the root pierced his black neck, blue windpipe and moved his Adam's apple; his maw was wide open, wheeze was barely heard through bubbling blood; Deadlytooth was terrified and desperately glanced here and there, trying to draw a tiny breath to fill the burning lungs with air; his bright-red bulking eyes, once burning with hatred to every living thing, were frantically looking for a thin thread of salvation.
Watching his avid foe desperately grasp a fickle chance of survival, the dragon rose and slowly bowed over Deadlytooth. He couldn't move a muscle. Only his eyes stared at our hero. He breathed weaker and weaker as if it was trying to keep up with fading pulse. The dragon understood that the only right thing to do was to release Deadlytooth from pain. Even he didn't deserve such torture. Our hero glanced at the surroundings and saw a small pond, sparkling on thin rays of the sun. He glanced again at suffocating Deadlytooth, sighed, rose and slowly walked towards the enemy. He took him on blood-covered paws and slowly carried to a deep black swamp.
Deadlytooth tried to attack and injure the dragon, to stab him with claws, but it didn't bother our hero, who step by step came closer to the swamp. Finally, he approached the black pond with rotten islands of green moss. He laid Deadlytooth near water and looked into his eyes. They were full of terror, disguised by hatred and malice, excreting out of his corrupted soul. At that moment the dragon felt sorry for his enemy. He saw the dark dragon's suffering. He saw his dark soul's desire for revenge, the feeling of weakness deep inside. The dragon didn't want to leave Deadlytooth dying in terrible agony. He pushed his foe in the water, saw the last glance of red eyes, turned away and slightly pushed on the neck of the passing away foe. The Keeper of the Good felt the twitches, saw the red-colored escaping bubbles of the last remaining air, escaping from the crippled trachea, witnessed the black paws, covered in blood, grasping his shoulders, trying to escape the domain of Hades. Soon bubbles disappeared, the dark dragon's grasp weakened, black scaly paws released ultramarine scaly hands and lifelessly slipped on a darkgreen moss. The fight was won. The dragon sighed, got his breath, pushed away from the dead body of the foe and wearily leaned on a nearby tree. The wounds were throbbing; he felt, as if molten iron ore flowed down his veins, as if his eyelids, screened by blood, could not hold the assault of Hypnos any longer. He wanted to sleep... But judging by the sounds of ferocious battle, the dragon understood that the united army of Uniearth was still in need of his priceless help, that each soldier, fighting for Loriel, awaits the bold Keeper of the Good to lead him into the last battle. With these thoughts, the dragon humped himself, got up from the bloody moss, prevailing enormous pain, and slowly, leaning on nearby trees, headed towards the fierce bloody battle on Keltherian plains, where the fate of all free Uniearth was at stake.
It was hard to imagine, what the battlefield turned into after a couple of hours: the burnt bodies of fallen defenders of Loriel, crippled by swords and axes, were scattered all across the blood-covered Keltherian fields. The battlefield was full of dead bison and moose with a cut by sharp swords riders underneath; the steam tanks, torn apart by explosions of cauldrons, stood immobile with their lifeless crew hanging from the loopholes, who had fought to the end even under fear of death. Beautiful silky banners, left in dead hands of bearers, proudly wavered above the Keltherian plains, desecrated by the flame of war. But despite the desperate situation, valiant forces of the good fought on outnumbered by evil forces of Thaneorus. Arrows of elven bowmen and bullets of dwarven muskets flew into enormous masses of the hostile army, mercilessly mowing rows of attacking minions of the dark mage. New and new ranks fell in the moist grass, but forces were too uneven: the regiments of defenders of Uniearth were fading away...
The fiercest massacre took place in the center, where big regiments of elves and orcs faced the main enemy forces. Blunt axes slew more and more warriors of Thaneorus into the blooded grass, light elven blades, dancing in the hands of their owners, let the intestines of every fall dared stand against them out. But no matter how fierce and stubborn the warriors were, the initiative was still in the hands of the kings of Uniearth. The right flank suffered the most, where Grishnak's courageous swordsmen fought, using their last ounces of strength: his best warriors gave their souls to the great spirits in the first few hours, and now the rookies had to bear the burden. The chieftain was fighting on his bison and crushed everyone with his axe. He fought and inspired his exhausted soldiers:
—Warriors of Ruthram! — Grishnak's war cry thundered through plains. — Cut these bastards, like trees in the nearby forest! Show no mercy! Stand fast, my warriors! Your ancestors are watching you! Fight! Hold...
At the moment, when the chieftain was ready to give an order, a black arrow pierced his courageous flaming heart. The orc dropped his axe and lifelessly fell on the blooded Keltherian ground. Watching the smoke-covered sky, the deadly-wounded chieftain felt the strength, that once whirled in his veins, slowly fade away, being absorbed by the damp ground straight to Hades. He felt the light leave his eyes, the courage-boiling blood come closer to the tongue, dousing sharp fangs. In a few minutes, Grishnak felt someone lift him and carry towards the Loriel forest. It was his faithful commanders, struggling to save their badly-wounded chieftain from the battlefield. The great chieftain, feeling the chilling breath of death, yelled at the top of his lungs:
—Fight the enemy, my warriors, fight them with the fury of beorn and courage of the Eagle of Ruthram! Let the glory shine above you, let the songs be sung about your valor as heroes, sons that protected their home! No enemy shall ever burn our fields, rape our wives, enslave or children! Let the great ancestors protect you, let the Zeus show mercy to your souls! My time has come. Farewell, my brave warriors!
And so flew his spirit through steppes, and through the red plains it whirled, where w