Bright Lord's Wrath - A Rise of the Dark Lord's Tale

Chapter 10 - Disaster in the Northern Kingdoms

A FEW HOURS LATER, THE EASTERLING AND NILFGAARDIAN ARMY WAS IN AN AMBUSH POSITION. Daemon had carefully arrayed his forces; positioning his archers, battle sorcerers and cavalry out of sight in the thick tree line. To Celebrimbor, it would seem that his force comprised only of infantry and Daemon hoped the Elf Lord would take the bait and his force would enter the kill zone. From the back of the Fell Beast, the former prince watched as the enemy advance on his exposed troops. Daemon smiled to himself as it seemed his plan was working, yet he could not help but feel a grudging bit of respect for the Elves. Their discipline was beyond anything he had ever observed. While his men shouted war cries and beat their shields with their weapons, the Elves marched quietly – hyper focused on the imminent battle. Daemon could see Celebrimbor at the front of the massive column; his face was a scene of pure tranquility. But beneath the calm exterior, Daemon could sense the storm brewing in the Elf Lord. The Bright Lord raised his arm and the Elves halted their advance. Daemon landed and joined his men who eagerly awaited the coming bloodletting. Drawing Dark Sister, his kissed the blade of the sword and prayed to the pagan gods for victory. The Targaryen again smiled as an estimated ten thousand mercenaries charged their lines. It had been a while since he had last killed and Dark Sister drank her fill of blood. Today would be an excellent day. He gave the order to form a shield wall.

Seconds later, the mercenaries slammed into the shield wall. Despite being outnumbered and for the most part ill equipped; the sell swords fought like wolves defending their cubs. Blood sprayed the faces of his men as sell swords limbs flew and heads fell from their shoulders. The shrieks of the wounded were music to Daemon's ears as he became blood drunk. He stood over a wounded mercenary who begged for mercy. Ignoring the pleas, Daemon drove Dark Sister through the man's chest. Looking up, he watched as the Elven army begin to withdraw from the field. Anger surged in Daemon and he gave the order to send the cavalry to pursue. As the Nilfgaardian soldiers thundered past, their lances lowered charging, still the enemy showed no sign of panic. As the last of the sell swords were killed, Daemon watched in horror as a storm of arrows cut down the Nilfgaardian knights from behind the small hill where the enemy was assembled. Every arrow seemed to find a target – both man and horse screamed as the deadly missiles found their marks. Enraged at the loss of his mounted troops Daemon gave the order to charge.

Not since the Great War in Tamriel had Elves and Men fought each other and Daemon had overly estimated his army's ability. The Thalmor were butchering his men. The loss of the cavalry really hurt him and now he had to rely entire on infantry. He could not signal his archers without risking hitting his own men. Daemon watched in rage as Easterling after Easterling fell to Elvish blades – the Bright Lord claiming many of them. Using the new Ring, the Elf moved faster than the wind cutting down scores before they even had a chance to defend themselves. Coming to the realization they could not win; Daemon decided it would be better to fall back to Cintra where they could fight in a stronger defensive position. He gave the order to retreat. But to his horror, a second force emerged from the rear. It was Francesca leading eight thousand of her own troops. Looking at Celebrimbor, the Bright Lord smirked and his face was one of pure arrogance. Daemon had fallen into a trap and the result was pure chaos in the Easterling and Nilfgaardian lines. Some of his soldiers dropped their weapons and tried to run. Others tried to surrender, while a few brave men tried to put a stout valiant defense. All were cut down by the wrath of the Elven sorceress. Daemon signaled to his archers and his sorcerers to fire knowing many of his troops would die. It was their only hope of escape.

As the arrows rained down from the tree line and found their targets, hundreds of Easterling, Nilfgaardian and Elvish soldiers fell dead and wounded. Another volley fell hundreds more as the panicked retreating allies ran through the forest back toward Cintra. As Daemon mounted the Fell Beast, a Nilfgaardian arrow slammed into his thigh. He screamed in agony and tried to pull the missile out of his leg. For his efforts he broke the shaft instead. Looking back, he watched as the Thalmor began executing wounded men who lay littered on the ground like discarded broken toys. Daemon prayed that none would be taken prisoner for he knew Francesca would torture those pour souls out of revenge. Now knowing their only hope for victory lay behind the walls of Cintra, he flew back to the city wondering how many men he would have left for the coming siege. If I only had a dragon, he thought to himself as blood poured out of his leg. Daemon then remembered there was a dragon in Tamriel that served his future bride's father.