Daeron's 500: The Quiet Massacre

         Law ascended the staircase slowly, listening to the sounds of the world awakening around him.  His hair blew back in the dawn breeze and he looked up at Beöl's Wall above him.  He had not expected this turn of events and now that morning was here, he wished that it had never come at all.
         His marshals would be rousing the men now, but Law wanted to be the first to stand on the Wall this day.  If he could not die with his knights, then he'd be sure to pay respect before any man.  Law looked down at his hands, remembering the years and the battles and all the good men he'd lost along the way.  There was always danger awaiting when ranging beyond the Wall and there had been many times when, by some ill chance, one of his men had died in his place.
         How did it come to this?, he thought as he neared the top of the ancient wall.  Who am I to be given command of all this?  He turned to look back as he stood on the walkway of Beöl's Wall.  Weynör Keep lay nestled in the gentle hills typical of the Northlands.  The three great spires of the Commander's Tower, the Library, and the Aviary reached upward to the skies in stark contrast to the barren and flat landscape around the town.  And most of that once beautiful town now lies in ruins.
         And Law thought, Why must we always lose that which is most precious?  That which is so innocent and beautiful?  He turned and looked out over the Wall into the barbarian's encampment and the wild lands of the Unknown with hatred in his heart.
         The sun came up over the horizon and Law's eyes were filled with a golden haze.  The clouds above lit up in brilliant splendor and the frozen earth sparkled.  But the air was cold and there was no warmth in the day's first light.
         Law looked and saw that the Red Knights had changed their banners since last he had viewed them from the wall top.  To his left he saw fliers with yellow fields and to his right they were all red.  They were makeshift banners, not at all as pristine or dramatic as the ones they had been flying before.  Law did not know what to make of that and he let it pass.
         Then he eyed the catapults, all in rows by the tree line of the forest.  Law noted, once again, how they remained silent and he could see that they were unmanned.  He smiled, weakly.  That we should be given such a stroke of luck.  It is truly gracious of the gods to give us this gift in exchange for our brave few.
         Behind him, the sounds of the men of Weynör amassing rose up in turns.  More had begun to climb the Wall and the noise of armor and metal clinking and grinding forced itself in place of the early morning's solitude.  Law leaned against the parapets, bracing himself with his palms.  The songs of war, he thought.  Ever shall death and decay haunt our doorstep, and bring with it the promise of tumult and discord.  Peace shall never endure in the presence of lawless men and their wayward hearts.
         Law's mind shifted then to thoughts of how he might defend the Wall once the catapults had been destroyed.  The Red Knights would not attempt to scale the Wall, and surely their Alchemists would turn their devious minds to a fouler solution.  Law had no knowledge of that subject, however, just as most of the civilized world, save maybe a paltry few in the academies of the First City.  And perhaps those of the mythical Votus Order.  But even then, they could not give aid here, and Law had a mind only for the placing of his archers, not for charms or enchantments or whatever devilry those fantastical entities delved into.
         He began to pace as the men of Weynör gathered on the Wall.  Daëron had not said when they would strike, but the men seemed interested, or perhaps concerned, with their lord's fate.  Law realized that they would see his fate as influencing their own, and that, if things went badly, then despair could set in very quickly.
         There was no order to anything on this day.  Their leader was gone, without any pomp or speech.  He had simply left in the void of the night with well-wishes.  It will be up to me to organize them, he thought, when the day is done.
         And so Law paced the Wall, speaking to the captains of the footed men, preparing to deal with the fallout, inevitable now.  And the sun rose higher, brightening the land but not warming it.  Midway through the morning the winds began, whipping the white cloaks sideways as the soldiers stood in attendance.
         The sun rose, and then it began to fall.  No sign could be seen of Daëron or his five hundred, and the men began to grow hungry.  But none desired to leave their place on the wall, for even the lowest soldier in the ranks loved Daëron as fiercely as did Sir Lawrence.  Bread was passed and the men ate standing, and the day began to die.
         The winds did not relent, even as the sun neared the far horizon.  With the darkening of the approaching twilight the air became even colder, but still the men refused to leave.  Law was proud to see their devotion so tested and in this he took solace.  These men are brave, too, he thought, and it would be just as honorable to die commanding them.
         And then, just as the last rays of day faded in the west, the Horn of the Rangers was heard, sounding from the forest beyond the Red Knights' encampment.  Daëron and his knights materialized from the greenery and charged across the hills toward the unprepared Olluení.  Law spotted Sir Daëron himself, his sword flashing in the dusk, at the tip of the spearpoint formation.  In all his fine armor, he looked glorious, the look of battle on his face, devoid of any fear or doubt.  No one on the Wall moved, lest the slightest noise should shatter the majesty of what was to unfold.  Torches lit up all across Daëron's line, and the knights held them high overhead as they neared the array of catapults.  Then the dots of fire flew in crisscrossing arcs as the torches were cast into the wooden contraptions.  And the knights continued the charge.
         Law had not once looked at the encampment since espying his sire.  He saw now that the whole area was in mass confusion, and they were not prepared for the first sweep of the charging knights.  As the catapults were engulfed in flames, Daëron and his knights broke into the lines of the Red Knights and made to charge straight through.
         A sea of the Red Knights could be seen, lying prostrate, in the wake of the charge as the knights made their way through the mass.  Law saw the manticores, tethered in groups, straining viciously against the chains that held them in place.  Law sighed heavily as he saw the first of his men fall.  He rode too close to the chained beasts, and with one fell swipe of a paw, his horse had been tripped and he had flown from his seat into the midst of the beasts.  The man didn't even have the time to raise his shield.
         And on the knights galloped, some falling by, having been bested, and still more scoring hits on the footed Olluení.  They were a testament to the Guardian Order; the intense training and suffering they had all endured.  These knights were the best horsemen in all the Northlands.
         But as Daëron's knights regrouped on the near side of the encampments, the Red Knights were becoming more organized and they formed up, awaiting the second pass.  Daëron was the first to ride forth for the second sweep, his sword flashing again, arcing over his helmeted head.  Half the men spurred their horses onward after him, and the other half halted, retrieving their bows.  They timed their shots perfectly, and the volley struck the front line of the Red Knights just before the charge hit.
         Law saw Daëron push through the stunned line, but their progress was slowed by the now-readied Olluení.  And then the second group charged past Daëron, having stowed their bows after the first shots.  With this surge they pressed into the heart of the amassed Red Knights.
         The catapults were now in full flame, and the light from the fires cast an angry aura over the scene.  Many of Daëron's knights had now fallen, but somehow, the survivors escaped from the encampment again and regrouped under the fires of the machines.
         Law saw ripples of red tearing through the mass of Red Knights that had collapsed into turmoil a second time, and he realized that the manticores had been released.  And as the remaining Guardians, less than half of the original five hundred, came around for a third pass, they were met with a thousand arrows raining down on them.  Most of the horses collapsed or keeled sideways, throwing the knights into each other and down the steep hills of the no-man's-land beyond the Wall.
         The last of the knights, a scant hundred if even that, met the manticores head on and were overwhelmed by the mass of fur and teeth and claw.  Law tensed beyond hope as a handful actually made it through the red devils, and Daëron at the lead!
         Daëron's hair flapped wildly behind him as he charged into the Red Knights yet again.  He had lost his helm somewhere and his brow was covered in blood.  Law gripped the stone parapet till his knuckles whitened and his fingers grew numb.  One by one the Guardians around Daëron fell, until at the last, he was the lone horseman in a wave of red.  And then it happened.  His horse reared and was hewed, and he fell to the side.  A man with a great warhammer closed in, but the surge of the crowd blocked Law's view.
         To the north, the last of Daëron's five hundred was racing his horse erratically, trying in vain to outrun the manticores.  The fires of the catapults were dying and the light waned sadly on the solitary soldier still left out there, daring to the bitter end.  Law watched, crestfallen and suddenly cold, as the man broke free and was quickly surrounded again.  He was very near to the onlooking Red Knights, and as the manticores closed in, his horse reared in terror, and the Red Knights released their bowstrings.
         His sword, flashing in brilliant arcs, suddenly flew tangent as he was pierced in many places, and he too, fell.  The whole of the Red Knights fell silent as the last Guardian slowly slipped from the saddle, and Law thought he could hear the soft thud as the body crashed into the ground.  The manticores swarmed the body as the last embers of the destroyed catapults died and the flickering lights went out, casting the killing field into darkness.
         By morning, the earth will have drunk all the blood of the fallen, Law quietly mused to himself as the men on the Wall silently filed down the stairways.  By morning, the bodies of our brave few will be gone, desecrated and devoured by these cursed, foul...treacherous...  His shoulders slumped, finally, and Law was unable to take his eyes off what he could no longer see.  And by morning, they will be at our door.