Summer 965 MC
Urgon urged on his Orc hunters as they crossed an open field, the enemy visible on the distant hill. Bolts began to whizz by, doing little damage at such an extreme distance, but he knew they were merely gauging the range. Once he gave the order, his hunters began loosing off their own arrows while his spears kept up their advance. Sure enough, the enemy switched targets, sending volleys at the archers in a vain attempt to prevent them from continuing their rain of death. The Orc chieftain smiled, knowing it was a mistake that would cost the Norlanders considerably. Now free of the troublesome bolts, his spears began crossing the stream.
To the west, Sir Heward swung his contingent wide, keeping the enemy cavalry in sight. The Norland lighter horse was directly north of him, but their armoured cavalry stood to the inside of the westernmost hill. He counted saddles as best he could, estimating the Norlanders to have close to two hundred arrayed against them. Accompanying the knight were two companies of Mercerian heavy horsemen, including the famed Guard Cavalry. Heward was confident they could defeat whatever the enemy threw at them.
Tog knelt, allowing Hayley to clamber onto his back. The great Troll then stood, towering over the other rangers. He began advancing with a lumbering gait that looked awkward, but his long strides soon had the effect of quickly closing in on the flooded ground off in the distance.
Hayley risked a peek to her left, spotting Sam who, with her legs wrapped around the neck of a Troll, was trying to nock an arrow. The whole scene looked ludicrous to the High Ranger's eyes, but she had to give the new ranger credit for trying. Right as she was about to dismiss it, she was struck by the idea that crossbows would prove quite useful in such a situation. She shook her head. No one was going to convince her to give up her trusted longbow.
The Trolls continued their advance with little evidence the extra weight was having any effect.
Gerald watched the advance with keen interest. The Orcs were just beginning to cross the stream despite sporadic volleys of crossbow bolts. Tearing his eyes away from the scene before him, he sought out Revi Bloom, who sat atop his horse, his eyes closed while his head bobbed around as if he were flying.
"See anything?" the marshal asked.
"Yes, Thurlowe's army," the mage responded. "But they're still some distance off. Their horsemen are in front, advancing in two columns along the Ravensguard road, exactly as we thought."
"And our Trolls?"
"They should reach the flooded ground long before the Norland reinforcements."
"Keep an eye on them, Revi, and be sure to tell me if anything changes."
"I will."
Urgon heard the crash the moment his Orc spears smashed into the Norland line. The enemy had managed to form a shield wall right before impact, but the Orcs' initial contact forced them back at least five paces, disrupting the defence. The longer reach of the Orcs' weapons allowed them to strike over the defenders' heads to the second line of defence.
Drawing his own sword, its blade glowing with the faint blue colour of magic, Urgon moved to just behind the first rank of Orcs. When he saw a tribemate go down, he leaped into the gap, his sword striking out, the blade scraping across a shield. Quickly, he raised it again for an overhead swing that cut through his foe's helmet. The man went down, leaving a small gap in the enemy line that the great chieftain rushed through, his sword lashing out in rapid succession. Two more men went down, widening the opening to allow the Orcs to flow in, their spears dealing death to the enemy.
Feeling a Norland sword scrape across his chainmail, Urgon kicked out, forcing his opponent back. The man fell, tumbling into the warrior behind him, and the Orc chieftain struck again, thrusting his sword through the man's belly as he let loose with a primal scream.
The distant Norland riders held their ground, refusing to advance. Sir Heward began to wonder why they sat so still in plain sight of his troops. Slowing his advance as his horsemen splashed across the stream, he looked to his right. There, the Orcs were pushing into the Norland line, the sounds of combat drifting to his ears.
Turning back to the enemy before him, he watched as his men drew closer and closer, but still, they didn't react. Throwing caution to the wind, Heward ordered the charge. His great Mercerian Charger exploded into action, forcing him back against his war saddle.
All around him, the Guard Cavalry spurred onward, drawing their swords as they called out to Saxnor. Heward spared them a quick glance, proud of their tight formation, a perfect display of their discipline and training. The Guard Cavalry was the best in the entire land, and he had the honour of leading them this day. He swore he would not disappoint the queen!
Closer they drew until the Norland horsemen began to show signs of unease, their mounts shifting on their feet, and then suddenly they turned and fled northward.
Heward cursed and began looking around, concerned he had been drawn into some sort of trap. Sure enough, rounding the woods to his west, came a large force of armoured cavalry. He slowed his men, turning the formation to face this new threat.
Hayley kept her eyes on the distant treeline as Tog splashed through the water, the mud sucking at his feet as he made his way north. Behind them trailed the rest of the Trolls, each with a ranger perched high atop their shoulders.
A deer sprang from the woods, rushing east, no doubt startled by the sight of the great grey creatures and their strange companions. Tog's eyes tracked the animal, watching it as it rushed across the plain.
"Such strange animals," he said.
"Have you never seen a deer before?" asked Hayley.
"Our home is in the swamp," the troll replied, "and such creatures are rare in those parts."
"Luckily, they are more common here, and the appearance of one is a good sign."
"Is it?" said Tog. "I had no idea they had such power."
Hayley chuckled. "They don't normally, but this fellow tells us the trees over yonder are not full of enemy troops. It appears we shall be arriving to an empty woods."
"Good. It will make our job all the easier."
Gerald shifted his men to the left, coming up alongside his Orc allies and watching in satisfaction as they charged into battle. These were hardened warriors, the cream of the Mercerian army, and they would bring swift and terrible retribution to the enemy.
Protecting the flank were the archers who began pouring volleys into the Norland bowmen who held the westernmost hill. With little room left for further manoeuvres, the men were committed. Now it was a test of arms, of sword against axe, of men tearing at each other in an effort to wear them down.
Gerald could see little of the battle other than his immediate vicinity. The flanks, both out of sight, were hidden by the mass of troops who fought tooth and nail. It was up to others now, and he must trust they would do what was necessary to win the day.
Feeling the tip of a spear sink into his leg, Urgon struck out, carving a vicious cut across his foe's face. His opponent fell back, dropping his weapon and disappearing into the swirling mass of Humans and Orcs.
The chieftain stepped forward, ready to slash out with his sword, but his leg buckled, no longer able to bear his weight, sending him crashing to the ground.
The enemy, sensing victory, mustered the courage to surge forward, pushing aside the long Orc weapons to get in close amongst their enemy. The Orcs, no longer able to strike back, discarded their spears and drew their axes. Blood flew, red and black, soaking the ground as the two forces rained down blow after blow on their enemies.
In the middle of the melee, a Norland warrior stomped upon the prone chieftain's head, stunning him. Looming over his victim, the man stabbed down with his sword, piercing through the Orc's chainmail and into his stomach.
Grunting, Urgon tried to ignore the pain, but his head was ringing, his senses confused. He was helpless to defend himself, but then an axe crashed down into the Human's skull. The warrior fell beside Urgon, to lie still, his eyes staring at the Orc with a permanent look of surprise.
Someone grasped the chieftain's hand, and then he was hauled back from the fight. Shaking his head, Urgon tried to clear the fog from his mind as the face of Kraloch finally swam into focus.
"Be still, my chieftain," said the shaman. Words of power spilled from his lips, and then glowing hands were pressed against Urgon's stomach.
The chieftain felt a warmth spreading over him as the pain dissipated and his head stopped pounding. He removed his helmet to gasp a breath of air, absently noting a huge dent, and then he suddenly understood why his head had spun.
"Thank you," he said. "You have pulled me from the firepit."
"As you would me," said Kraloch. "Now, let us be done with this." He began casting once more, calling forth the spirits of long-dead hunters to drive the enemy back.
Urgon watched as the shaman invoked the spell, but it was soon evident something was wrong. Kraloch finished and turned to his chief in disgust. "They will not answer," he said. "It is worse than we feared."
"We are the Orcs of the Black Arrow," said Urgon. "We do not need the spirits of the past to defeat our enemies." He held his sword in a tight grip, staring at his friend.
"Very well," said Kraloch. "We shall do this in 'the old-fashioned way' as our Human allies would say."
Urgon grinned. "So be it!"
Heward cursed his misfortune. He had regrouped his horsemen, ready to countercharge, but the armoured riders of Norland had been too quick. They thundered across the field, crashing into the Mercerians before they could respond. The knight soon found his men surrounded by the enemy, attacked on all sides.
Striking out with his axe, the knight cleaved through someone's arm. The rider went down with a scream, his horse bolting away. Again and again, Heward swung, feeling his axe bite with every attack. All around him, his men fought desperately while still remembering their training and working in pairs. When he spotted an enemy light horseman in amongst the fray, he realized the very men who had drawn them in had turned to join the fight.
The heavy horsemen of Merceria kept together, forming a rough circle. So far, they had managed to keep the enemy at bay, but numbers would soon tell. He watched as one of his men went down, held fast by his dying mount. The man screamed as the weight of his horse crushed the life out of him.
Heward let out a curse, then forced his own horse into the gap. Standing in the stirrups, he raised his axe on high, letting out a scream of defiance. Metal scraped along his breastplate, and then his weapon came down, cleaving a man's skull.
He struck again, cutting into a rider's chest. His victim fell, his blue surcoat torn apart by the attack. As Heward watched him drop, he noted his newest victim wore the colours of Lord Hollis. Norland reinforcements had arrived from the west!
Hayley jumped off as Tog knelt. They had waded through the bog, little more than a flooded field, and now her rangers were rushing in amongst the trees, seeking cover.
"I shall wait here," said Tog, "unseen behind these small woods. Once the enemy is closer, we shall engage them."
Stringing her bow, Hayley made her way into the trees where her command waited.
"Sam, pull back," she called out. "You're meant to stay hidden. Ayles, keep low until you see the enemy."
The High Ranger made her way through the crouching archers, giving them words of encouragement and keeping their minds occupied. Many had seen battle before, but there were enough new recruits, like Ayles and Sam, that she worried about them. In the distance, she could make out a small dust cloud, a sure sign Thurlowe's army was nearing. Soon it would come down to their volleys' accuracy, something for which the rangers had spent months training.
The enemy banners drew closer until Hayley could make out individual companies of men marching under their officers' command, led by the armoured cavalry. Following were crossbowmen mixed in with the footmen.
Picking out her own position, she then began removing arrows from her quiver, planting them tip down into the ground, the better to draw them quickly. Ayles was to her left, looking pale.
"Remember your training," she said. "All you have to do is fire arrow after arrow, but wait till I give the command. The first volley is the most important."
"And then?" the man asked.
"Then you begin firing as fast as you possibly can. When they're all bunched together, you just fire in the general direction, but as they draw closer, take your time to pick your target. That's when every arrow must count."
He nodded, then began planting his own arrows as she had done.
Gerald watched the battle carefully, looking for any break in the enemy line. It was difficult to make out friend from foe, except where the green-skinned Orcs fought to gain a toehold. He saw his own men wavering, their casualties mounting and sent more footmen to fill in the gaps.
"Marshal," said Revi, "Heward is in danger."
Gerald glanced westward, but all he could see was a swirling mass of cavalry.
"More Norlanders have arrived," continued the mage, "from the west."
"Saxnor's balls," swore Gerald. "Is there no end to them?" He cast his eyes around, desperately seeking some spare footmen. His gaze finally rested on Hearn.
"Aldus," he called out, pointing. "Heward is hard-pressed. Can you buy us some time?"
"I shall do what I can," he called back, "but it will not hold them for long." The Druid closed his eyes, calling on arcane powers.
Gerald sought out his aide. "Hill, get together as many archers as you can. I want them formed up facing west as quickly as possible."
"Yes, sir," the man answered, riding off.
The marshal returned his attention to Aldus Hearn. The Druid had completed his spell, summoning a pack of wolves. Now they raced across the field of battle towards the distant horsemen, who fought a desperate struggle for survival.
Urgon took down his foe with a final swing of his sword. All around him, the Black Arrows surged forward, a renewed energy spurring them on. He was about to join them when Kraloch grabbed his arm.
"You must oversee the army. This is not the time for personal glory."
Urgon stared at him, fighting against his urge to return to the fray. Finally, he shook his head, then grimaced. "You are right, my friend. Can you make out how the battle progresses?"
"I cannot," said Kraloch, "but the crossbows on that hill are still causing us trouble."
"Then we shall drive them from their perch. Call up the hunters. They shall put down their bows and attack with axes and knives. Let nothing stand before them."
Kraloch waved the archers forward, seeing their dark-green faces break out in toothy grins. The moment had come for these hunters to be tested. The shaman was confident they would not disappoint. Joining them as they rushed up the hill, Kraloch drew his own axe, holding it high. They roared as they ran, calling on the Ancestors to give them victory.
At the top of the hill, the Norland crossbowmen took their time, reloading and then carefully picking their targets. They had been under tremendous pressure during the initial assault, but once the Orc spears had reached the point of melee, the threat to their flank had lessened. That all changed when they saw the green swarm climbing up the hill.
It was rare for bowmen to fight bowmen in a general melee, but the Orcs were no ordinary archers. They screamed out their challenge as they drew closer, their axes ready to cut down all who opposed them.
The crossbowmen, not used to such ferocity, broke and ran, streaming to the north in an effort to avoid a terrible fate.
Heward smashed down with his axe, cleaving into the neck of a horse. It stuck, and when the horse fell, it threatened to take his weapon with it. Giving the axe a hefty tug, he felt it come free, but his shoulder ached with the effort.
The Norlanders fought with determination, but the heavy horsemen of Merceria used their well-practiced strokes to tremendous effect. One after another, the enemy fell until the ground was littered with the bodies of men and horses.
When a blow caught Heward in the upper arm, he felt the crunch of bone, and then his arm went limp, his axe falling from his grasp. Only the loop of leather around his wrist prevented him from losing it. He twisted, shoving the edge of his shield into this new opponent and had the satisfaction of collapsing the man's visor and driving it into his face.
A horse beside him went down, its body careening against his own mount. The mighty charger shifted, trying to keep on its feet, but the corpses littering the field made such an action difficult. The great steed stumbled, and Heward fought to remain in the saddle. Another blow struck him from behind, glancing off his backplate, but it was enough to unhorse him. As he tumbled to the ground, the wind was knocked out of him, but he quickly rolled out of the way as his own horse collapsed.
Iron-shod hooves stamped around him, and he pulled his shield tight to his body in a desperate attempt to avoid being trampled.
Hayley watched as the Norland troops marched by. "We must time this right," she said. "Wait until the first few are past us."
Drawing back her arrow, she picked out a target but held steady. The enemy, unaware of their presence, continued on their trek westward, desperate to reinforce their brethren who were fighting for their lives.
"Now!" she shouted, and a flurry of arrows exploded from the woods. At least a dozen Norlanders fell, and then the rangers began loosing off arrows in their own time.
Hayley picked out someone on horseback, possibly a captain, and let fly. The arrow struck him in the centre of the chest, and he slumped forward, then slid from the saddle.
The Norland company, now bereft of their captain, looked about nervously. Some began cranking their crossbows while others looked for safety. Sam took down a sergeant, and then Urzath, not to be outdone, took down another mounted man. The enemy archers were falling into chaos.
A few random bolts flew their way, but the rangers had used the cover of the woods effectively, and none took any hits.
Behind the Norland crossbowmen, though, was a more significant threat, for the footmen had been trailing. Now they began making for the woods, closing the distance with surprising speed.
Gerald watched as the wolves closed with the enemy. Some of the Norland cavalry turned to face this new foe, but being so low to the ground, the pack was difficult to hit. The wolves attacked the horses' legs, doing little actual damage, but frightening the beasts. The cavalrymen, trying to fight under such circumstances, were overwhelmed.
Aldus Hearn gave a yell, his voice carried out across the field by magic. The wolves turned, running back towards him as Gerald's archers finally let loose with their first volley. Aiming low to avoid hitting their own men, their arrowheads sank into horseflesh and armour, devastating their ranks.
After another volley sang out, some of the Norland horse began to retreat, while a small group turned to face the archers, breaking into a trot. Hearn called out again, and the wolves turned once more to face the horsemen.
The horses balked, refusing to close the distance. Their riders finally turned aside, resigned to giving up the ground this day.
Urgon spotted the Earl of Hammersfield beneath his distinctive banner, urging his men to hold the line, a bloodless sword held high. The chieftain called six of his finest hunters to his side.
"That," he said, pointing, "is the enemy general. Kill him, and we have won the day." They gripped their spears with a look of determination. "Follow me, and we shall gain glory in the eyes of our Ancestors!"
Rushing towards the enemy with his fellow Orcs at his side, Urgon aimed for the weakest point of the line where his own troops had pushed back the enemy to form a bulge in their formation. Spears reached out, impaling Norlanders and pushing them aside.
"For glory!" shouted Urgon.
The Orc hunters took up the call and fought with a renewed vigour, forcing the enemy even farther back. The Norlanders were taking frightful losses, yet still, they held their ground.
Urgon stabbed out, taking a warrior under the chin, just as an Orc spear pierced the man's chest. The great chief ignored his victim's cry of anguish, pulling his blade free and pushing on. Three more times he reached out, and then they finally broke through.
Rutherford sat on his horse, watching the scene of death and destruction with detached interest. As Urgon and his hunters rushed through the line, the man's eyes widened in shock, his face growing pale. Bodyguards leaped to his defence, but the Orcs cut them down.
Urgon smashed one in the face, using his fist while his sword arm recovered for a moment. His foot slipped on a body as it rolled to the side, and then the Orc stabbed out with the point of his sword, driving it into another man's groin.
All around them, the enemy died in scores defending their leader. The Orc chieftain wondered what type of man could command such loyalty. Taking down his last opponent, he ran forward, but it was too late. Lord Rutherford was riding like the wind for the town of Hammersfield.
Heward got to his feet, desperate to avoid being crushed by the swirling mass of horsemen. A hoof struck his shield, knocking him back while sending a jarring sensation up his arm. He pivoted, desperate to avoid a second blow, but it never came. Peering over the edge of his shield, he saw the Norland horsemen fleeing in all directions.
They had won against impossible odds, and yet the victory was bittersweet. Casting his eyes over his diminished command, he realized that out of a hundred riders, less than twenty now sat astride their great chargers. The Guard Cavalry, the finest horsemen in Merceria, had paid a terrible price.
Heward knelt and wept.
To the east, Thurlowe's men closed in on the woods. As they approached, the rangers changed their tactics, resorting instead to volley fire, much more effective against the tightly packed troops. Norlanders fell under the barrage, but still, they came until their naked swords were ready to reach out and bring death.
Even as they prepared for the final surge, a mighty bellow issued forth from Hayley's right. The branches parted, and the grey-skinned Trolls exited the woods, closing quickly with their foes.
The attack caught the enemy completely by surprise. Few men had ever heard of a Troll, let alone seen one, and now, with their stone-like skin and towering height, they shook the enemy to their very bones.
Tog struck out with his massive club, smashing a man in the chest and knocking him from his feet to send him flying into two of his companions. The attack was quickly followed by his fellow Trolls, and a gap was soon cleared. Onward they pressed, feeling little as swords scraped across their hardened skin.
Hayley watched in fascination as she bore witness to the terrible carnage they inflicted.
Gerald watched the Norland line fail. The Mercerian forces pushed forward, and then the enemy army simply disintegrated, sending a flood of warriors fleeing north, seeking the safety of the town of Hammersfield.
The men of Merceria paused while sergeants jostled them back into a semblance of a line. With the companies still mostly intact, they resumed their advance at a moderate pace.
Gerald looked at Revi. "What's happening in the east?"
"The Trolls have made contact," the mage replied. "Thurlowe's army is disengaging and withdrawing to the northeast. Should we pursue?"
"No. We might have beaten them this time, but we took a pounding." He turned to his aide. "We need to send word to Commander Lanaka. He'll have to pull his men back. The losses to our own horse have been too great, and we'll need him to screen the army."
"Yes, sir," said Hill. "I'll send someone immediately."
The marshal surveyed the battlefield, feeling a lump in his throat at the thought of so many dead.
"Are you in need of a heal, Gerald?"
He looked at Revi. "No, thank you."
"I should think you'd be pleased. We've dealt the enemy a terrible blow."
"We may have given Rutherford a good thrashing, but Thurlowe escaped. Now he'll retreat all the way to Ravensguard and hide behind its strong walls."
"Still," said Revi, "he no longer has the ability to roam freely. You've seen to that."
"Yes, but now we have to dispatch a force to keep him bottled up. That means fewer men with which to press forward with the war."