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The
Fall
of
Manetheren The
banners
waved
fierce
in
the
gusting
wind,
which
brought
with
it
the
smell
of
a
fresh
new
day,
carrying
away
the
scent
of
death
that
covered
the
ground.
Men
cheered
and
clashed
swords
and
shields
together
with
joy
as
the
trolloc
army
was
finally
broken
and
sent
fleeing.
On
the
field
on
Bekkar
the
armies
of
Manetheren
rejoiced.
Ral
Contra
was
with
them
and
he
cheered
and
jumped
with
the
rest
of
them.
Once
again
the
unbreakable
sword
had
stood
strong,
but
even
as
he
stood
amongst
the
others
cheering
he
felt
a
cold
hand
grip
his
heart.
As
the
feeling
passed
a
rider
galloped
forth,
horse
foaming
with
the
strain,
right
to
the
very
tent
of
Aemon
al
Caar
al
Thorin,
the
king
of
Manetheren.
“Something
is
wrong,”
he
muttered
to
his
captain
standing
near
by.
“I
can
feel
it.”
As
if
he
had
said
some
incantation
the
wind
turned
bitter
cold
and
not
a
man
there
did
not
shiver
in
response.
There
was
a
slight
arousal
of
the
army
as
Aemon
called
his
generals
to
his
tent
and
then
shortly
after
the
captains
were
called
forth.
With
in
a
short
time
the
whole
army
of
Manetheren
had
learned
the
news.
An
army
of
trollocs
was
marching
upon
Manetheren,
too
far
away
was
the
army
of
Manetheren
to
reach
their
homeland
to
defend
it.
That
was
others
whispered
as
the
news
spread
to
the
other
nations,
but
the
men
of
Manetheren
did
not
falter,
there
was
only
one
choice
for
them.
Still
covered
in
the
dust
and
blood
of
battle
they
marched
forth
from
the
field
of
Bakker,
a
field
of
victory
to
defend
their
homeland.
Day
and
night
they
marched,
their
thoughts
consumed
by
the
sights
they
had
seen,
and
the
knowledge
of
the
destruction
that
the
trolloc
armies
left
behind.
Not
a
man
could
sleep
knowing
that
such
things
threatened
their
beloved
home
of
Manetheren.
Moving
with
feet
like
wings,
they
marched
faster
than
any
of
their
friends
could
have
hoped
or
their
enemies
could
fear.
Ral
Contra
was
amazed
at
the
speed
himself,
knowing
full
well
that
the
march
itself
would
be
something
for
songs.
The
battle
that
would
later
ensue
though
would
leave
it
a
faded
memory.
And
so
the
brave
men
of
Manetheren
returned
home
to
defend
their
land
and
their
families.
When
the
Dark
One’s
armies
swooped
down
upon
the
lands
they
found
the
men
of
the
mountain
home
waiting.
Ral
gasped
at
the
sight
of
the
enemy,
and
so
did
many
other
men
with
him.
It
was
a
sea
of
black.
The
trollocs
mixed
with
their
human
counterparts
and
among
the
dark
friends
and
shadowspawn
the
Lord
of
the
Graves
Dredlords
marched
as
well.
“The
light
protect
us,”
Ral
heard
men
mutter
and
then
he
turned
to
them
and
said.
“No,
the
light
be
merciful
upon
those
who
now
wish
to
take
this
land.”
With
that
a
cheer
rose
from
the
throats
of
the
men,
their
backs
to
the
Tarendrelle
they
stood
ready.
Death
was
inevitable
for
them
and
they
stood
prepared
to
embrace
it.
“Three
days?”
Aemon
asked
the
messenger
breathing
hard
from
his
ride.
“My
men
have
marched
like
the
wind
and
yet
they
tell
me
I
have
three
days?
Very
well
then
we
will
not
loose
the
Tarendrelle
before
then.”
With
that
he
left
the
ten,
armor
gleaming
in
the
light
of
lateday,
sword
held
ready
in
his
hand.
As
Aemon
walked
forth
he
looked
out
towards
the
enemy.
A
host
so
large
to
daunt
even
the
most
stout
hearted
of
men.
Ravens
blackened
the
sky
and
trollocs
blackened
the
land,
but
Aemon
did
not
quaver.
In
the
city
of
Manetheren
itself
his
wife
Eldrene
waited
for
his
return.
His
eyes
shone
like
stars,
bright
and
piercing,
and
the
sword
in
his
hand
sent
a
blinding
light
in
reflecting
before
him
in
the
setting
sun.
With
tens
upon
tens
of
thousands
the
Dredlords
were
confident
in
their
victory.
As
the
night
came
on
their
cook
fires
were
lit.
So
many
were
there
that
they
rivaled
the
stars
in
the
sky.
It
was
a
long
and
terrible
night;
no
man
could
sleep
with
such
a
force
sitting
so
near
to
his
homeland.
With
the
coming
of
the
dawn
yet
another
surprise
was
unveiled.
The
Banner
of
Ba’alzamon
waved
at
their
head.
Ba’alzamon,
heart
of
the
dark,
an
ancient
name
for
the
Lord
of
the
Grave.
The
Dark
one
could
not
have
been
free
of
his
prison
in
Shayol
Ghul.
The
forces
of
the
entire
world
could
not
have
stood
against
him,
but
there
was
still
great
power
there.
The
Dredlords
and
some
other
evil
that
made
the
light
destroying
banner
seem
to
be
no
more
than
right,
sending
into
a
chill
into
the
souls
of
the
men
who
saw.
The
men
of
Manetheren
could
not
be
turned
though,
they
knew
what
they
had
to
do,
and
were
prepared
to
down
to
the
vary
man.
Ral
stood
at
the
front
lines
as
the
first
assault
rushed
forth.
Arrows
whirred
past
his
head
as
the
archers
thinned
the
first
line
and
then
the
men
were
given
the
command
to
go
forth.
With
one
voice
the
men
screamed
their
battler
cry
rushing
forward
with
swords
shining
bright
in
the
sun.
It
was
a
bloody
affair
but
as
the
sun
sank
below
the
horizon
the
men
of
the
mountain
had
not
budged.
Against
odds
that
should
have
overwhelmed
then
in
the
first
hour
the
army
of
Manetheren
held
for
two
ours
and
then
the
next
and
the
next.
After
three
days
no
help
had
yet
come,
but
the
men
of
the
mountain
still
did
not
yield.
For
three
more
days
they
fought,
and
for
three
more
after
that.
On
the
tenth
day
king
Aemon
knew
the
bitter
taste
of
betrayal.
No
help
had
come,
or
any
messengers.
“We
can
not
hold
the
river
crossing
any
longer
my
lord,”
one
of
Aemon’s
general’s
protested
once
again.
“You
are
a
fool.
We
can
stop
them
here,”
argued
another.
They
had
been
fighting
over
the
decision
for
hours;
Aemon
with
holding
his
decision
until
finally
it
had
come
o
this
point.
His
face
was
black
with
anger.
No
one
had
come
to
the
aid
to
his
aid,
after
nearly
two
centuries
of
helping
others
when
they
needed
it
Manetheren
was
to
betrayed
by
its
allies.
“He
is
right,”
Aemon
said
finally
interrupting
the
shouts.
“We
can
no
longer
hold
the
river
crossing.
We
shall
go
across
and
prepare
ourselves
there.
Come
let
us
make
plans.”
With
that
they
moved
close
leaning
over
a
map
of
the
lands
beyond
the
Tarendrelle
and
talking
in
hushed
voices.
They
prepared
for
the
defense
of
the
homeland.
Ral
stood
watching
as
his
brethren
moved
across
the
bride
which
led
to
the
other
side
of
Tarendrelle.
Ral
had
been
chosen
to
stay
and
guard
the
rear,
given
the
duty
to
set
the
bridge
on
fire
as
soon
as
the
last
men
were
across.
It
was
not
a
plan
that
everyone
was
happy
with
but
the
bridges
had
to
be
secured
at
all
costs
to
buy
the
army
time
to
reassemble.
“Look
out!”
the
cry
went
up
from
hundreds
of
voices.
The
Dark
ones
forces
were
moving
again,
sweeping
down
towards
the
men
guarding
the
bridge
in
a
reckless
rage.
“Run!”
Ral
screamed
at
the
men
still
crossing,
waving
the
torch
in
his
hand
to
get
their
attention.
Men
stepped
forward
to
meet
the
oncoming
rush,
to
buy
those
crossing
just
a
little
more
time.
With
a
terrible
clash
of
steel
the
two
forces
met.
Finally
the
last
me
were
reaching
the
other
end
of
the
bridge,
and
Ral
did
not
hesitate,
thrusting
his
torch
into
the
liquid
fuel
that
had
been
poured
over
the
wooden
planks
of
the
bridge
to
cause
it
to
bur
faster.
With
a
great
blaze
it
took
flame,
crackling
with
the
heat.
Still
the
enemy
came
and
the
bridges
were
still
standing.
On
the
other
side
of
the
ricer
the
men
had
set
the
other
end
a
light
as
well.
In
a
black
tide
the
came
on
unrelentingly.
Ral
would
not
abandon
his
post
though,
not
even
to
help
those
who
had
thrown
themselves
into
the
fighting
early.
He
stood
next
to
the
burning
bridge
almost
utterly
alone
sword
gleaming
in
his
hand.
His
mouth
moved
silently
uttering
prayers
for
his
family
and
his
soul
and
the
souls
of
those
dead
and
dying.
His
dark
brown
eyes
burned
with
a
fire
that
if
released
would
have
consumed
the
forces
of
the
Father
of
Lies
where
they
stood.
Behind
him
the
bridge
crackled
the
wood
changing
colors
as
it
burned.
A
mass
of
trollocs
broke
through
the
front
line
of
men
and
came
charging
towards
Ral,
how
many
there
were
he
could
not
have
guessed.
He
was
no
longer
a
man
but
a
machine,
a
machine
of
death
made
for
killing
alone.
His
sword
swept
through
the
first
before
they
could
utter
a
cry
and
soon
other
fell
also.
The
bodies
piled
in
a
circle
around
him,
but
none
could
break
through.
Finally
the
men
of
the
front
lines
faltered
and
were
consumed
by
the
overwhelming
forces.
Ral
faced
them
all
alone
now,
bleeding
from
hundreds
of
wounds
he
stood
his
ground.
Many
died
by
his
sword
before
he
finally
fell.
As
his
body
hit
the
ground
hundreds
of
trollocs
rushed
onto
the
bridge,
but
it
was
too
late,
with
one
great
creak
the
bridge
broke
and
those
trying
to
cross
were
tossed
to
their
deaths
in
the
waters
below.
“Go
man,
and
hurry,
the
people
must
be
warned,”
King
Aemon
said
to
the
last
messenger.
He
had
been
sending
them
out
to
all
corners
of
his
realm
since
he
had
crossed
over
the
Tarendrelle.
His
people
would
be
saved
even
if
his
army
was
destroyed.
They
marched
on
until
they
reached
the
spot
where
they
were
to
set
their
new
line
of
defense,
for
even
as
the
messages
were
sent
out
the
trolloc
horde
had
already
begun
its
crossing.
The
army
would
buy
what
time
they
could
for
the
people
of
Manetheren
with
their
lives.
This
was
Aemon’s
plan,
to
save
his
people
at
all
costs.
The
people
of
Manetheren
were
not
to
perish
from
the
earth.
So
the
men
of
the
mountain
fought
on,
leaving
the
butcher’s
yard
before
the
Tarendrelle
to
create
a
new
one
on
their
very
lands
which
hundreds
of
others
had
fought
to
protect.
“You
all
must
flee,
find
shelter
in
the
mountains.
The
Trolloc
horde
will
eventually
break
through
and
then
it
will
sweep
over
this
land
slaying
all
that
they
find,”
Aemon’s
messenger
declared
to
the
leader
of
the
small
village.
It
was
the
forth
he
had
visited
already
that
day
and
he
knew
there
were
still
many
more
he
had
to
reach
before
the
sun
set
that
day.
“I
will
not
leave
my
home,”
a
man
declared
in
the
crowd.
“My
father
fought
for
this
land,
and
his
father
and
his
father
before
him
did
as
well.
I
will
not
flee
from
these
monsters.
I
go
to
fight
with
king
Aemon
if
running
is
my
only
choice,”
he
declared
and
left
to
suit
his
words.
Other
saw
wisdom
in
his
words
and
agreed.
It
had
been
the
same
for
the
messenger
in
many
other
towns’
men
did
not
want
to
give
up
what
they
knew
was
theirs.
And
so
it
was
in
many
of
the
small
villages
and
towns
in
Manetheren,
a
small
trickle
of
men
began
to
make
their
way
the
aid
of
the
army.
Other
fled
at
first
but
soon
they
too
saw
what
those
who
had
first
left
had
seen,
and
they
too
left.
Men
and
Women
alike
marched
forth
to
defend
their
homeland.
Shepherds
with
bows,
farmers
with
pitchforks,
even
women
shouldering
what
weapons
they
could
went
to
the
armies
aid.
They
went
to
pay
the
price
for
the
land
that
had
been
their
fathers
and
would
be
their
children’s.
None
that
went
knew
that
they
would
return.
Not
an
inch
of
ground
was
given
without
it
being
soaked
in
blood
but
the
black
tide
of
the
trolloc
hordes
could
not
be
stopped.
Eventually
the
forces
of
Manetheren
were
driven
to
a
place
that
would
later
be
called
Emond's
Field
and
were
surrounded.
Sword
in
his
hand
Aemon
stood
at
the
forefront
of
the
attacks,
his
battle
cry
ringing
in
the
cold
crisp
air.
“Carai
an
Caldazar!
Carai
an
Ellisande!
Al
Ellisande!
For
the
honor
of
the
red
eagle!
For
the
honor
of
the
rose
of
the
sun!
The
rose
of
the
sun!”
And
where
he
went
others
took
up
the
cry,
with
one
voice
they
screamed
as
they
fought
the
battle
cry
of
Manetheren,
the
battle
cry
of
King
Aemon.
In
piles
the
bodies
fell
trolloc
and
dark
friends
alike,
circling
around
the
forces
of
Manetheren
like
a
great
barrier,
but
still
more
dark
creatures
climbed
over
those
charnel
mounds.
There
was
only
one
way
this
day
would
end.
Not
one
who
stood
under
the
banner
of
the
red
eagle
would
survive
that
day.
Down
to
the
last
of
Aemon
fought
a
valiant
warrior
to
his
last
breath,
his
last
thoughts
on
the
rose
of
the
sun
who
sat
alone
in
the
emptied
city
of
Manetheren.
Eldrene
sat
in
silence
that
day
her
thoughts
completely
to
her
king
and
husband
Aemon
who
fought
with
his
army
in
the
defense
of
Manetheren
and
its
people.
A
most
beautiful
maiden
she
was.
It
was
said
that
the
flowers
bloomed
to
make
her
smile,
but
this
day
no
flowers
were
blooming
in
the
nation
of
Manetheren,
the
ground
covered
in
blood,
trampled
by
the
passing
of
the
large
army
of
the
trolloc
horde.
As
King
Aemon
breathed
out
his
last
breath,
the
name
of
his
beloved
upon
his
lips
Eldrene
sat
up
gasping
for
air.
“Aemon!”
she
said
in
a
hushed
voice,
she
had
felt
him
die,
and
with
his
death
so
died
her
heart.
In
its
place
was
only
a
thirst
for
vengeance,
vengeance
for
her
fallen
love
and
vengeance
for
her
people
and
land.
She
reached
out
towards
the
True
Source,
hurling
the
one
power
at
the
trolloc
army.
Where
ever
they
stood
the
Dredlords
looked
up
from
what
they
were
doing
at
the
very
instant,
their
mouths
opened
in
a
silent
scream
before
their
bodies
burst
into
flames.
They
were
consumed
by
fire
and
fear
consumed
their
just
victorious
army
sending
them
fleeing
north
like
wild
animals,
killing
each
other
and
drowning
in
their
desperate
flight
from
the
land,
like
animals
driven
before
a
wild
fire.
Those
that
survived
in
the
escape
were
eventually
killed
in
other
lands.
None
that
did
murder
in
Manetheren
lived
for
long.
Weep for Manetheren. Weep For what is lost forever. |