They were met on the beach of Ynis Gwydrin by the witch's ragtag island forces, goblins mostly, but some other races, including more than a few humans who had spent years in Ceridwen's captivity and did the witch's bidding only out of fear of reprisal. Undisciplined and untrained, the island defenders went in a mob towards the first barge that skidded aground near the beach, swarming like ants, and those soldiers on that barge were sorely pressed.
But the soldiers of the other craft, including Gary and Diane, came ashore with relative ease. Mickey used his tricks to aid in the confusion near the first barge, making men appear where they weren't and sending goblins splashing to the surf after wild swings that hit nothing but air. And Gary led the charge of the Connacht infantry, all of them calling, "Yield to the spearwielder!" with every running step.
They formed into a wedge as they cut into the island mob, with Gary at its tip. Donigarten's spear flashed every which way, cutting down goblins. As the monstrous ranks parted, Gary came upon a human soldier, a filthy wretch of a man.
But a man nonetheless.
"Yield!" Gary screamed, jabbing the spear's deadly tip near the man's belly. "Yield!" Gary desperately hoped the man heeded the command, desperately hoped that he would not have to kill another human. His sigh of relief was sincere when the enemy threw down his makeshift club and fell groveling to his knees, whispering "Sir Cedric" repeatedly.
The wedge cut on, soon linking with those soldiers caught on the barge. The witch's forces swarmed around the lines, hoping to encompass the entire group, but as they went wide of the Connacht soldiers, they presented wonderful targets for the battery of archers waiting patiently further down the beach. By the time the goblins had passed that rain of arrows, the back edges of the wedge had come together, turning the formation into a defensive diamond, and though Ceridwen's forces still outnumbered and had surrounded the invaders, the skilled Connacht troops were now fighting back to back, with no weaknesses in their line.
Gary, still the spearhead of the group, swung them about and pressed in from the beach, and like the prow of a fast ship, that corner of the diamond sailed through the sea of enemies. "Above!" came more than one cry, and one Gary recognized as Diane's voice. All those soldiers, Connacht and island forces alike, who were not engaged looked up to see a black swarm coming out one of the crystalline castle's high towers, a line of monkey bats, screeching and beating their leathery wings. Even worse, out the castle's main door came two huge shapes, mountain trolls, armored head to toe with heavy metal plates over their thick hides and carrying swords taller than Gary, with enchanted, glowing blades as wide across as a strong man's leg.
The Connacht soldiers closest to the trolls rushed in fearlessly, scoring vicious hits with their fine swords. But the weapons seemed puny things next to the brutes, and were turned aside by the two-inch layer of metal armor.
The trolls swept across with their huge swords, cutting through shields and armor and men alike, cutting a swath of devastation in a single swipe.
Gary understood his duty here, knew that he alone carried a weapon that might get through the trolls' plated armor. He broke from the formation, running across the sand - and those minor island troops that saw him coming worked hard to get out of his way!
You must not let them maneuver about you, the sentient spear telepathically instructed. Position, brave young sprout, will see us through!
Gary didn't consciously answer, but was nodding his agreement as he came up on the first troll. He swerved far to the side and winced as the troll slashed its sword, sending an unfortunate Connacht soldier flying through the air. Then Gary came in hard, jabbing the spear against the side of the troll's leg. Sparks flew as the speartip connected on the heavy armor plating, and as Gary had expected (as Gary had prayed!), the mighty spear, the most powerful weapon in all the world, poked through.
The troll roared; its leg buckled sideways. It didn't tumble immediately, but roared again in absolute agony as Gary yanked the spear back out and ran on, out of the stumbling thing's reach.
Back near the water, Diane, standing with a handful of infantry as guard to Kinnemore and to the archers, heard the cry and noticed Gary's daring actions. Her heart skipped more than a few beats as she watched her husband rush around the wounded troll, cut between it and its other gigantic companion.
"Mickey!" she called, hoping the leprechaun might in some way help, but when she turned, she saw Mickey behind the battery of kneeling archers, as intent as they on the approaching flock of monkey bats.
As one, the archers fired, and so did the leprechaun, casting a spell to make every arrow appear as ten. Barely a dozen of the three score monkey bats took any hits, and only half of those were fatal, but all of the group went into a frenzy, dodging illusory and real bolts, slamming against each other, and spinning desperate maneuvers from which they could not recover.
The archers quickly readied and fired again, but before their next volley was even away, Mickey's continuing line of arrow images had the monkey bats scattering. A few more took hits and tumbled from the sky; the rest broke ranks and flew off in every direction available to get them away from Kinnemore's nasty soldiers.
The wounded troll tried to turn about as Gary darted behind it, and that movement, pivoting on its torn leg, brought a resounding crack as the monster's knee snapped apart. Down it went in a spinning tumble, dropping its sword and clutching at the leg. A swarm of Connacht soldiers, following the lead of the spearwielder, of their King's champion, fell over it, hacking mightily and mercilessly.
Gary, bearing down on the next troll, hardly noticed the brute behind him, had his focus straight ahead. He clutched the spear in line, one hand balancing the shaft, the other near the weapon's butt end, and put his head down as though he meant to run the weapon through this troll's leg as well.
Up went the troll's sword and the beast lurched forward, bending to cleave the puny charging human in half. More than one soldier coming behind Gary cried out, thinking the man surely doomed, but Gary skidded up short and straightened suddenly, and his back hand rushed forward, hurling the spear straight for the most dumbfounded expression Gary had ever seen.
The troll cut across with its sword, trying to parry, and for a moment, Gary thought it had somehow knocked the spear aside. But when it all sorted out, there stood the beast, somehow still clutching its sword, hands out wide, and with the back portion of the spear's shaft protruding from its neck, angled up under the brute's chin. The sword fell to the sand and the troll reached up with both hands behind its square head, weak fingers grasping at the spear's other, more deadly end.
It fell forward, and Gary did well to scramble out of its way.
The fight was over in the span of a few minutes, with dozens of goblins and a few of Ceridwen's men lying dead in the sand, many more of the humans huddled on the ground in surrender, and many more of all the monsters and humans running wild, scattering in terror along the beach.
It took Gary and a half dozen men a long time to shift the dead troll about so that Gary could pull free his bloodied spear, and by the time he had the weapon back in his grasp, Diane, Kinnemore, and Mickey were again at his side.
The King said nothing, but his admiring expression showed that he had gained new and greater confidence for this man he had named as his champion. Gary knew that Diane, too, was proud of his actions, but her sour look only revealed her disgust at the carnage on that bloody beach, and at the pieces of gore that Gary had to wipe from his magnificent weapon.
The skilled Connacht soldiers soon had the beach, all the way to the crystalline castle, fully secured, with an area set up for their wounded, and another for the prisoners.
King Kinnemore gathered his leaders together and bade them to sweep the island clean of opposition. Then he hand-picked a group of soldiers to accompany him and Gary (and Diane and Mickey - and the leprechaun wasn't too thrilled about that!) into the castle to parlay with the witch.
Kinnemore allowed Gary the honor of rapping on the huge doors of the castle, and Gary wisely did so with the butt end of his spear. Sparks flew and a minor explosion erupted as the weapon connected with the door, and Gary was thrown back several steps and would have fallen to the seat of his pants had not two Connacht soldiers caught him by the arms and held him steady.
"A minor trap," the embarrassed man said, and he was glad that he wore the great helmet so that the others, particularly Diane and Kinnemore, could not see that his hair was standing on end.
With a determined grunt, Gary went back to the door and pounded it again, even harder. "Little witch, little witch, let me in, let me in!" he called in his best big-bad-wolf voice. He turned to Diane and winked through the faceplate of his helm. "Ceridwen doesn't have any hairs on her chinny-chin-chin," he said, trying to make light in the face of his true fears.
Those fears were fully revealed when the door unexpectedly swung open, and Gary jumped right off the ground and gave a yell.
Geek the spindly-armed goblin stood eyeing the man curiously.
"We have come to speak with Ceridwen!" King Kinnemore declared, stepping past his unnerved champion. Geek nodded stupidly. "The Lady will see you," the goblin announced, and his confident, evil chuckle - even though he was so obviously vulnerable and overmatched - made more than a few soldiers look to each other nervously, as did Gary and Diane and Mickey, all wondering if they were walking right into the proverbial spider's web.
But in went King Kinnemore, fearlessly, and the others were obliged to follow.
The Connacht and Braemar armies fought well, continuing the slaughter that had begun between the rocky outcrop-pings of the great spurs on the eastern edge of Penllyn. But the vast lava newt force could not be stopped, made its inevitable way to the west, taking one trail after another and pushing the defenders back on their heels.
Geldion and Badenoch each saw fighting that afternoon, each bloodied their weapons and took many minor hits. Most devastating was Tommy One-Thumb, the giant pounding away whole groups of lava newts at a time. But when Geldion and Badenoch came upon Tommy, sitting behind the lip of a high ridge overlooking Ynis Gwydrin, they knew that the giant, like an honest reflection of their entire army, was nearing the end. Tommy was truly exhausted, and his resigned look spoke volumes for the Prince and the Lord of Braemar, who knew that they could not win.
Gradually the human army had contracted, coming together on a high and flat plateau in north central Penllyn. The well-organized lava newts were all about them, particularly on the lower fields to the north, preventing them from fleeing the mountains and running back to their towns.
Prince Geldion blamed himself, thinking that he should have hit at the newts repeatedly, but with the ultimate design of fleeing the mountains.
"We could not afford that course," Lord Badenoch promptly reminded him. "The mountains offered our best defense, better than the walls of Connacht."
"And how many soldiers will run free of Penllyn?" Geldion asked sarcastically. "And what shall Connacht, and Braemar, do without their armies when the witch comes free?"
With no comforting answer, Badenoch shrugged and eyed the black host encircling his force, the ring growing ever tighter.
The lava newts continued to show skill and discipline. Those on the east, west, and south of the plateau dug into defensive positions, for the trails were narrow and treacherous from those approaches, and easily defended by the soldiers on the higher ground. The host in the north gathered in increasing numbers, filtered together in a vast swarm. Their run to the plateau was open, though uphill, and the human defenders would be hard pressed by lines a hundred abreast.
Like a thunderstorm, the lines broke, and with a singular, hissing roar, the lava newts rolled towards the cornered humans.
"Fight well," Badenoch said to Geldion, and from his tone, the Prince understood the further implication: Die well.
King Kinnemore knew nothing of the battle as he walked along the maze of the crystalline castle's winding and mirrored corridors. The lava newt force would be held at bay on the eastern edge of Penllyn, so he hoped, and thus he had devised the terms of surrender, including the reversion of Ynis Gwydrin to the rightful King of Faerie.
With their common understanding of the powerful witch, Gary and Mickey thought the King's plan grandly optimistic and based on presumptions that simply did not hold true where wicked Ceridwen was concerned. Neither said anything, though, or showed their fears, for Kinnemore was more determined than any person either of them had ever seen.
And he was the King, after all.
They met Ceridwen in a bare, octagonal room, its walls, floor and ceiling mirrored so that it took each of them several moments to get their bearings. The witch, beautiful and terrible in a black silken gown, seemed completely at ease, standing barely a dozen feet from her greatest adversaries.
"You know why we have come," Kinnemore said to her, his voice steady. If the King was intimidated, nothing he did, nor the tone of his voice, revealed it.
Ceridwen cackled at him.
"Your surrender will be accepted!" Kinnemore demanded. "The truth is known, evil witch, throughout the land. And ever was the truth your greatest bane."
Again the witch cackled hysterically. "The truth?" she chided. "And what do you know of the truth, foolish man? Is it not true that your pitiful son is even now being overrun in the mountain passes? That your pitiful army, so undeservedly proud, is now in full flight from a host of lava newts that have come to my call?" Both Gary and Diane eyed the witch curiously, then looked to each other. Beyond what Ceridwen was actually saying, which was disturbing enough, the witch's lips seemed to be moving out of synch with the words, like a badly dubbed movie.
"What do you know of the truth?" the witch boomed in a voice that was not Ceridwen's, in a voice that was powerful and deep, grating and demonic in its pure discord.
Kinnemore began to reply, but the words were caught in his throat as the witch began to change. A third arm, black and scaly, burst from the creature's chest; writhing tentacles grew out of her hips, slapping the floor at her sides.
"What do you know?" the beast roared again, from a head that was now monstrous, fishlike, with a gaping, fanged maw and needle-sharp spikes prodding from the forehead.
Kinnemore fell back a step, Mickey whined, and Gary and Diane couldn't find the breath to utter a sound. Neither could the five escorting soldiers, though they remained loyal enough to their King to draw out their swords.
"Be gone!" the King managed to call to his escorts, but when he and they turned about, they found only another unremarkable mirror where the door had been.
"That might be a bit harder than ye think," Mickey whispered.
Geldion centered his front line, arrows flying over his head from behind, cutting devastation into the lava newt ranks. The Prince only shook his head, for the black tide was barely slowed, the monsters merely running over their dead and wounded without regard.
A hundred feet away, Geldion could see their slitted, reptilian eyes, gleaming eagerly, immersed in the thoughts of the killing that would soon begin.
But then another volley of arrows hit the lava newts, a greater volley than had come from behind Geldion, and this one coming, not from in front of the approaching horde, but from the west!
"Tylwyth Teg!" screamed one soldier, and it was true. Riding hard along the western trails, their white mounts shining in the light, their bows humming in their hands, came the minions of Tir na n'Og. Behind them charged the remaining men of Dilnamarra, a group whose eyes were set with such determination as can only be inspired by great sorrow.
And from the north, from behind the horde of lava newts, came a second force, a greater force, such a host of Buldrefolk as had not been seen outside of Dvergamal in a dozen centuries. Geno Hammerthrower and Kervin were at their lead, and beside them, Duncan Drochit, and behind him, the brave soldiers of the town of the same name.
Great gnomish war machines rolled across the rough ground to either side of the dwarfish force, hurling stones and flaming pitch and huge spears into the midst of the suddenly scrambling lava newts.
Prince Geldion did not miss the moment. "Ahead!" he cried to his men. "Fight well!"
Lord Badenoch echoed that call, and this time, there were no dire, unspoken implications in his exuberant tone.
Kelsey, his bow spewing a line of arrows, rode hard and fearlessly. Unlike in the battle for Tir na n'Og, the elf saw a definite end to this fight, a conclusion from which all the goodly peoples of Faerie would benefit. He had left Brae-mar hopeful, but with the knowledge that the witch would soon be free and the misery could certainly begin anew. To Kelsey's surprise, he had found a host of elves marching east on the road outside of Dilnamarra, along with the remnants of Dilnamarra's militia and those soldiers the phoney King Kinnemore had left behind to guard the town. The word of the imposter haggis and the return of the true King had spread faster than Kelsey's ride, and already, the people of Faerie had seen the opportunity presented them. And so the elf had been thrilled, but not truly surprised, when his force had swung to the south, a direct line towards Penllyn, and had found another army - the men of Drochit, a strong contingent of gnomes from Gondabuggan, and a force of sturdy dwarfs five hundred strong - marching south from the Dvergamal line, paralleling them on their way to Penllyn.
The lava newts were not nearly as chaotic and self-serving as the goblins and trolls and, under the guidance of iron-fisted Robert, had trained for large-scale battles. But now they were caught by surprise, nearly surrounded and with death raining in on them from the front, from the side, and from behind. They tried to swing their lines about, to regroup into tighter defensive formations, but they were too late, and the elfs and dwarfs, gnomes and humans fell over them, cutting their force piecemeal.
Many numbered the dead of the men that bloody day. Many elfs, who should have seen the dawn of centuries to come, would not, and many of the sturdy Buldrefolk were taken down, but not a one before he took down a dozen newts with him. The only unscathed force was that of the gnomes, and not a single name would be added to the plaque of Fearless Gnomish Fighters, as with all gnomish awards a posthumous honor, from the fabled battle of Penllyn. The lava newts did not know what to make of the huge gnomish war machines, and kept clear of them. The closest any gnome came to serious injury was when an upstart young female by the name of Budaboo strapped flasks of volatile gnomish potions around her waist and, desperate to get her name on that plaque, and perhaps even to win the posthumous Gondabugganal Medal of Honor, launched herself from the basket of one catapult. Budaboo had the good fortune (or misfortune, from her perspective) of sailing into an area near a friendly giant with soft hands, and Tommy promptly caught her and carried her back to safety. Later tales of the battle claim that Budaboo's ensuing, "Oh, pooh!" was heard above the clamor of the fighting, above the trumpets and the cries.
None of Gary's friends fell that day. Among them, only Geno took any hits at all, and the dwarf, with his typical stoicism, shrugged the wounds away as inconsequential. And when the battle was ended, the lava newts were scattered and beaten. The call of Ceridwen had been silenced by the thunder of armies joined.