Chapter 16

Survivors of the Battle of Kenniford swore that as bad as this battle had been, the dreadful defense of the town of Ruromel had been worse, but Rowan was not at all sure. Only the deadly accurate missile fire of the goblin slingers had kept the sides of the battle-line clear enough to allow the flanking cavalry archers the freedom to sweep the opposing Eorfleode ranks with bow fire deadly enough to keep their center line from being massively overwhelmed, right from the very start of the battle. Their companions fell like autumn leaves in the battle-line to be replaced by the next rank, and then the next, until at last the wounded members of the reserve came forward to desperately hold the line, but still the Eorfleode horde seemed inexhaustible.

Right from the very start, Rowan placed himself into the center of the battle-line and his sword blazed with daemonic fury as the brave lad sought to carve down entire ranks of the enemy entirely on this own. No Eorfleode spear or sword could get close enough to touch him, but the field of battle was just too great for his prowess or skill with his infernal blade to have any meaningful effort on the final battle.

Gwenda, once again right at his side, with dual weapons in hand and disdaining the use of a heavy shield, sought to keep his rear flank once again guarded, but he was on more than once occasion nearly overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers. She looked to the city gates and knew that their relief force had been spotted, and that the main assaulting force had been diverted from their gates, but yet she could see no trace of any friendly sally from the gates, to fall upon the unprotected rear of the enemy that could deliver the fatal blows to their remaining forces. Surely the army of Boar-Men was now much decreased, but so too was their regiment! Soon their wounded would exceed their effective numbers of soldiers, and the battle-line must break and they would all fall!

Rowan knew this as well, and even in his fury he could not slay the Boar-Men with his sheets of infernal flame fast enough. Even with the flames of his sword reaching out over a dozen feet in all directions, he could not seem to bear his implacable will upon the entire army all at once! He feared that if he surrendered himself to his growing rage that his own companions might be felled as well. But in growing frustration, as he watched his regiment falter and even take a few steps backwards under the irresistible press of bodies that faced them and bore down upon them, Rowan knew that he had to now do something, or else they would all be overrun.

Bidding his regiment to retreat back yet further to a safer range, he at last unleashed his full inner rage and frustration upon his foe, releasing nearly the full infernal fury of the sword, causing a great blast of flame, like the rays of the early morning sun itself, upon the great host of his enemy, burning alive hundreds or perhaps even thousands wherever the point of his sword indicated.

The entire battlefield became a flaming pit, not unlike the depictions of hell itself, as the hordes of enemy were felled in its place and devoured utterly by flame. In a matter of moments the Eorfleode no longer possessed an army, but a ravaged force of creatures that had seen and endured a horror beyond comprehension. Faced with certain death, the Boar-Men paused their final and certain to be decisive assault upon the arms-men of the battle-line, and paused in terror and wonder at the unearthly carnage that they had just beheld.

For the first time in record history, an Eorfleode army had paused, stopped dead by fear and uncertainty in their very tracks by a nameless dread, the panic of facing certain and utter destruction in which they could gain no personal honor ... only flaming death. A defeat that promised no sort of glory for their tribes whatsoever and a certain destruction that promised even the bravest warrior only a nameless grave, and with utter and complete certainty. Now, perhaps for the first time in their lives or their ancestral memory, the Boar-Men felt fear, and it bit at their heels like vipers. They turned and fled from this terror that they could not remotely begin to understand, even throwing their arms to the ground to speed their flight.

For Rowan in his fury, this was still not enough, and he now called out for the remnants of his warriors to charge forwards and onward, over the bodies of their comrades, and over the heaping mounds of the seemingly endless Boar-Men dead, and into this fresh burning hell. Somehow his soldiers found the voice to cheer their champion Hero, and even more remarkably they found they had the will and the strength to run after their retreating foes. Being fleeter afoot, and with the help of Boyle's cavalry, the rout was made nearly complete.

Even with the cavalry chasing after the fleeing Eorfleode, not quite all of them could be cornered or slain. Some few would yet remain to tell the woeful tale of their defeat to their companions, that proud men had withstood their greatest might and had indeed held unto the very last. In the end, it had been the Eorfleode who had fled in terror. They had tasted the dregs of bitter defeat, and perhaps now they knew the true meaning of fear.

Even while they hunted down the fleeing Boar-Men, Gwenda could see the tears in Rowan's eyes as he saw for the first time what this seemingly glorious victory had cost his soldiers, in hundreds of lives and even more near-mortal wounds the survivors would bear until the every end of their days.

Even at the very last moments of the battle, the gates of the city remained closed. No avenging sally had ever emerged and the defenders of the city had seemed content to watch their relieving force nearly utterly perish upon their behalf. Even now, they appeared to have little if any interest in their rescuers outside of the walls and the city gates remained closed to them. Such dishonor was not at all to be borne!

"Open the gates to the city!" Rowan cried out, as he rode up to the front of the ranks angrily waving his flaming sword before the startled guardsmen of the city gate tower. The soldiers were more than willing to do so, but the captain of the gate bellowed out loud orders for his men to hold firm and keep the gates closed. A younger nobleman at his side even had the temerity to fire a crossbow at Rowan, and with a fair bit of accuracy, but with a casual flick of his sword the bolt was knocked harmlessly away in a cloud of flames.

"Go away!" The captain called out to the battered remains of the regiment assembled below. "For the gates shall not open to the ragamuffin likes of you! Soldiers in rags and bearing the banner of no particular Lord or Duke, not that we recognize or acknowledge any overlords over us any further. Be gone from our gates peasants, lest we let our arrows fly to sting you along your path!"

Rowan could hardly believe his ears. He bore the authority of two Dukes and had rescued one of their greatest and most valuable cities from siege and sack, and the bloody foolish local barons were taking this moment to fully seize their independence. The lad knew he had little time to waste in parley with these ungrateful pismires, as he had a great many wounded that desperately needed urgent care if even half of the wounded were to be saved.

To his surprise, the Lady Ayleth rode up to join Rowan, astonished that the gates of her own city were barred to her. Upon a brief explanation of the situation, the Lady went into a fury, and it was more than justifiable for once, and Rowan let the ducal daughter give the rebellious barons a good bit of her tongue.

"Open the gates!" She cried out. "In the name of the Duke of Tellismere, for I am his daughter Ayleth, supreme commander of this regiment, fighting in the name of the Duke. It is to me that you owe your allegiance! I command you to open these gates at once!"

The gate Captain laughed and the young nobleman by his side ordered a flight of arrows to launched from the walls. While quite a few bowmen balked at obeying this order to fire upon the Lady and her soldiers, some did commit this treason, and several dozen arrows now flew towards Rowan and Lady Ayleth. To her credit, she didn't flinch in the slightest as Rowan's sword burst forth a great swath of flame that devoured the arrows even before they reached half the distance to them.

Commanding the regiment forward, the Lady Ayleth herself sounded the call to attack, and with a few carefully and artistically placed bursts of infernal flame, Rowan's sword blasted open the steel reinforced gates of the city. The survivors of the regiment, along with the goblins and camp followers, charged forth in conquest and triumph into the city, to a very mixed reception. The common people cheered them and even threw flowers in their path, and offered the weary and wounded soldiers food and drink. The upper classes were much less delighted, and soon were making hasty plans for defense against this quite unexpected upstart.

To the credit of the city, the vast overwhelming majority of the city guardsmen, after a single glance at Rowan's flaming infernal sword decided at once that they were quite unwilling to face a Duke's wrath, or a hero with a flaming sword that had nearly singlehandedly slain an entire Boar-Man army. They sided at once with the regiment and quickly swore oaths of obedience to the Lady Ayleth, and to the two Duchies, and were extremely prompt and helpful at pointing out officers and sergeants who had publically sided with the rebellious barons. There was a little bit of unsanctioned revenge as old scores were quickly and often publically settled, usually quite fatally, but the outer parts of the city were quiet and secure, leaving only the remaining rebels inside the city's inner keep.

Once the wounded had been quartered and every medicus and wise-woman available had been summoned to their care, Rowan tried to will himself to relax but his anger at these rebellious barons and noblemen, who had now locked themselves in terror behind the stout walls of the city's inner keep, along with their personal men-at-arms, if anything only increased. Worse, the delay in receiving immediate treatment had been deadly to some of the more mortally wounded.

The traitors that had timidly hid behind these fortress walls now had an even fiercer enemy, and Rowan was determined that he was going to make these rebellious and treasonous barons pay for every drop of blood that his regiment had spilled on their behalf. It was now going to be open civil war and Rowan couldn't have cared in the slightest. His remaining soldiers were now safe, his wounded were getting treatment and care, and the cowards who commanded the city defenses would soon learn that there was at least one person far more dangerous and deadly than any Eorfleode army.

Gwenda appraised her lover's mood, and as she finished supervising the transport of every single one of their wounded into the city, she made a brief prayer for all of these foolish rich and noble men who had made their sacrifice unnecessary, for her beloved and kind-hearted Rowan would have no pity upon them or their souls! A blood debt was certainly owed, and payment would be exacted to the very final measure!

Rowan's eyes blazed with malevolent fury, and with an unearthly orange malevolent light, as he beheld the alleged obeisance of the sixteen Barons of Lloan Valley, all now in attendance before him. The lad was not at all impressed at what he saw, and from the surly looks on their defeated faces, the feeling was apparently mutual.

The Lady had given the traitorous Barons, all sixteen in number, and their rich merchant allies, until dawn the following morning to submit themselves to her justice, but the deadline came and went without event. Even though virtually every member of the city guard had now sworn themselves now in loyalty to her, and to the Duchy, the large numbers of privately owned soldiers the barons kept inside made a normal direct assault on the inner keep rather problematic. Many of the senior officers of the city, such as the Gate Captain, had joined the rebels, but the vast majority of their NCO's, as well as most of the common guardsmen had remained loyal. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of that infernal sword!

Rowan was little concerned. He hadn't planned for the two opposing armies to clash anyway. Some reports even had the Baronial forces outnumbering his total effectives by at least three to one. They had plenty of stored food, access to fresh water and the keep could withstand a siege for years, behind good thick and tall stone walls. That was nice, Rowan supposed ... but they didn't have a Daemon-Horn blade, and a very angry willingness to use it!

In fairness, once Rowan led the assault and cut through the steel barred iron-oak of the keep gate in just a matter of moments, even the most fearless of the baronial troops had little stomach for a direct battle with the angry lad.

"Drop your weapons, surrender and you will live!" Rowan bellowed, but heard nothing by silence afterwards. Finally he let out a deep sigh and ordered his forces forward. Why was burning infernal steel necessary to resolve nearly every confrontation they found themselves in? With a blast of flaming fury the inner keep gate disappeared into flame and he charged into the maelstrom. The remnants of his regiment followed hot on his heels, but only rarely ever had to lift their weapons in actual combat, even briefly. The private guards of the rebellious nobles couldn't surrender fast enough. The Lady Ayleth, with Gwenda closely guarding her personage, tried to stay hot upon Rowan's heels as he blasted his way into the inner keep for his moment of reckoning.

A few more burst down doors and portcullises led Rowan into the main audience chamber of the keep, where at last he came eye to eye with the disobedient nobles. While they were surprised and more than a bit astonished at how quickly their private guards had either given way or surrendered with little or no fight, the haughty noblemen were in little mood to make parley to save their skins, let alone inclined grovel for mercy.

In a moment, three of the younger noble sons of the barons, including the sneering young aristocrat who had ordered the flight of arrows from the Gate Tower yesterday, drew their swords and charged Rowan, determined to cut him down. The trio were all indeed excellent trained swordsmen but the lad never gave them the chance to display their skill. Blasted in a sudden semi-circle of flame, the three rebellious youngsters were at once consumed, leaving nothing but ash and molten bits of metal to drip from the smoky air onto the stone floor.

"Kneel in submission or die!" Rowan growled, and he meant it. Most of the assembled nobles did drop to the floor but a handful did not, and they haughtily sneered at him. One even spit upon the floor upon seeing the Lady Ayleth enter the room. She was quite out of breath and trying to look ducal while at the same time still hastily trying to reach her champion's side.

"A few of these rebellious noblemen will not kneel to you, My Lady ... shall I make them?" Rowan asked her in a loud whisper that everyone in the room could easily hear.

"Do so, at once, my Champion!" She commanded.

A couple of these remaining noblemen decided that they had been quite brave for long enough and they dropped to their knees, but four still remained defiant. The first nobleman quite kept his nerve as Rowan showing him his flaming infernal sword, and at a rather close range, but still he remained defiant. The lad, despairing of convincing the fool to listen to reason, brought the man to his knees by the expediency of slicing off both of the man's legs just below the knee joints. This demonstration quickly convinced the other three holdouts to submit, just as Rowan turned to face them as well.

In a few moments, the entire room was on their knees, loudly, and mostly sincerely, craving mercy from the Lady, but she was not inclined to offer it. Now they had to decide what exactly to do with these rebellious barons, their families, and the rich merchants that had joined with them.

When the keep was completely secured, Rowan consulted briefly with Gwenda, Ayleth and Oddtus, who had also just now arrived after the battle was over, and the four of them briefly conferred. Surprisingly for once, they all agreed on a common course of action for dealing with the rebels.

"Take all of these rebel Barons and merchants to the dungeons, to a cell with a window that looks to the courtyard where they can watch a scaffold be erected for their execution. It is my will, and the will of the Baron of Broadmore as well, that every rebel captured in this room, whether noble or base born, shall be hung from the neck tomorrow morning, with every guild master and guards officer of this city watching in attendance!" The Lady ordered, and she displayed not the slightest hint of mercy.

The wives and daughters of the condemned wailed in bitterness at his feet before him, but Rowan was implacable as well. Even the limited fighting to secure the inner keep had not been bloodless, and three more of his regiment had fallen in the brief fighting. Their tears, no matter how sincere, would not bring the two fallen arms-men and another brave lass back their life. In fact, even as the gallows began to be constructed out in the large outer courtyard of the keep, the counsel met to make their final plans for the disposition of the town. A small group of guild masters was selected, along with a couple of minor lords and a few senior city guardsmen, none of which had participated in the rebellion, to take control over the town and give a local voice of authority to the uneasy city.

As for the private mercenary armies of the Barons, it was decided that a stockade should be erected outside of the town to hold these now master-less men, under guard. They were also put to work immediately gathering up and burning all of the Eorfleode corpses that littered the plains around the city. At nearly three thousand men, they could pose a problem, even disarmed.

While technically rebels, for the most part they had been just paid soldiers or retainers following their lawful lord, and no one was entirely sure if their loyalty could be counted upon. For now anyway, the Counsel decided to park them outside of the city and wait until later to deal with them.

With the weak autumn sun just now above the walls of the courtyard, the sixteen condemned men, formerly barons of the two Duchies, were led forth to the beating of drums to their gibbets, as if they were but common thieves. To many of the common people that were present, who shouted scorn and threw rocks and rotten fruit and produce at the condemned, that was indeed how they were seen as, but common thieves that had ruled their fiefs like petty tyrants, and had overtaxed this once rich land into near poverty.

There were few signs of pity from the crowd, save from the small circle of some family members of the condemned that were kept behind a row of guards near the scaffold, to witness the fate of their loved ones.

Behind the long scaffold, with its sixteen hanging nooses, the next group of condemned, the somewhat larger group of wealthy merchants and factors that had encouraged and supported the rebellious lords, awaited their turn next. They stood quivering like frightened children, with nooses hung around their neck, marking them for execution. Being twenty-eight in number, they would have to hang in two separate groups later on, and already they weren't being nearly as brave about the matter as the condemned former barons. Loud, improbably huge sums of money were being offered, both openly and boldly, and clandestinely, for their lives and freedom, until laughingly Rowan ordered for the merchant prisoners to be gagged, as he and the Lady Ayleth moved to the front of the great crowd to get the executions started.

The large courtyard was indeed completely packed, so that there was hardly a place for another single person to stand. In the front ranks to the left of the long scaffold, were the families of the condemned, bewailing the fate of their men. To the center were the new city selectmen, the guild masters, and other burghers of the city. To the right, were all of the senior officers of the city guard and the officers and commanders of the formerly private baronial armies. Then the rest of the courtyard filled with a great mass of the loyal men and women of the city, eager to see justice done.

After a brief consultation with the still dour Oddtus, who was certainly not wearing his motley Foole's costume for this large audience, the Lady Ayleth stuck quite to her prepared script. Reading forth her prepared signed and sealed proclamation, attested to by the authority of two separate Dukedoms, she first stripped each of the baronial families of their nobility, all of their lands and titles being now forfeit to their respective Duke. Stripped even of their own family estate, the sixteen families would be escorted under guard to their homes and each only allowed to take with them such personal possessions as could fit unto one wagon, and their own backs, (which certainly did not include sacks of gold or silver plate) and given instructions to either abjure both Duchies forever, or else accept resettlement to some small minor wilderness lands.

This was harsh, but fair. Even the Lady, ever sensitive to the better qualities of noblemen, agreed that these stern measures were necessary. Even with the rebellious barons executed for their treason, even a brief examination of their elder sons suggested that their pride and willfulness had not been tamed, or even much curbed. The eldest sons would assume the titles and would once again bear homage only reluctantly and under duress, and would undoubtedly begin to act independently once more, the moment any supervising army left their sight. Instead of a few very powerful barons ruling this vast valley, it was decided that having a great many smaller strong-holders would be better, at least for now.

Her proclamation of justice finished, Rowan then spoke to the condemned, but his words were really more intended for the living.