Out onto the plain ran the Orcs, their calls for blood carrying far in the crisp, early morning air. Urgon emerged from the trees at the rear, trying to make sense of what was happening.
The earl had deployed his own men some distance away, facing the woods, and now the enemy was trapped between his forces and the tribe. The horde swarmed towards them, one solid mass of green while their foes were formed up in straight lines.
He ran forward, eager to catch up to his kin, but the fight in the forest had put the bloodlust into them. Eager for vengeance, they pressed close and ran fast.
He heard the initial impact as the two forces clashed, a deep thudding noise as axe met shield and sword met flesh. He saw blood spray upward, both black and red, and tried to push forward, eager to do his part, despite his objection to this war.
Suddenly, through the sea of green, he spotted Agrug. The chieftain was behind the main force, urging them on with shouts of encouragement while others fought and died.
Urgon called out his challenge, but his voice was lost amid the din of battle. Rushing forward, he felt the blood pounding through his veins. Agrug was close, and he called again. The mighty chieftain turned, their eyes meeting.
“Stop this now!” shouted Urgon.
Agrug drew his axe. “I will not. This is our destiny.”
Urgon came closer until they were only a few paces apart. “You are killing our people.”
“No, I am saving them. Would you have our tribe wither and die at the hands of Humans? If we win this battle, there will be none left to oppose us!”
“It is not our way.”
“It might not be YOUR way,” said Agrug, “but it is the only chance we have to survive as a people.”
“At what cost?”
“Cost? Do not talk to me of cost, Urgon. Even your own father gave his life to benefit the tribe. Am I not asking the same of these others?” He swept his hand to indicate the horde.
Urgon pointed at the chieftain’s torc. “You are not worthy to wear that.”
“Then come and take it from me if you think you can!”
Urgon rushed forward, slashing out with his sword. Agrug, quick to respond, used his axe to block the blow, easily turning it aside.
“Is that the best you can do?” the chieftain taunted.
Urgon struck again, this time using a jabbing motion to hit his foe on the arm. The giant Orc pulled back in time to prevent any serious injury, then immediately counterattacked, although with little force, merely scraping along Urgon’s chest and cutting his clothes but deflecting off the chainmail shirt.
“You shall die, Urgon, your name forgotten by our people.”
The magic sword sliced out again but whistled through the air. Urgon readied for another attack but was knocked forward as horses surrounded him, forcing the two Orcs to give ground.
Agrug was lost in the chaos. Urgon screamed out in frustration, swinging left and right, his blade cutting into horseflesh and scraping off armour. A rider loomed over him, raising a sword on high just as another Orc leaped onto the saddle behind him, stabbing out with a long knife. Urgon saw the look of triumph on Galur’s face even as another warrior plunged a sword into her back. Her eyes glazed over, and she fell to be trampled by yet more horses.
He caught a glimpse of the warrior woman, her great steed rearing up to deliver more death and destruction. A pair of Orcs managed to grab her shield in an attempt to pull her from the saddle, but she simply let go, causing them to fall back. Her horse's hooves came down, crushing bone as she transferred the sword to her left hand and pulled forth a hammer with her right.
Urgon, unable to tear his eyes away, watched, fascinated, as a spear took her in the leg. As she toppled from the saddle and disappeared from view, he tore his gaze away to concentrate on finding Agrug.
The initial charge had spent its momentum, quickly devolving into individual pockets of horsemen surrounded by Orcs. Urgon knew his chieftain must be somewhere near, directing things. He finally spotted him, surrounded by a half dozen of the toughest looking hunters he had ever laid eyes on. Throwing all caution to the wind, he advanced towards his destiny.
An Orc fell in beside him, and he turned to see Vulgar. A few more steps, and then Urzath joined them. Around them, the battle raged, but more and more Orcs left the fight, determined to watch this confrontation.
“Agrug,” Urgon called out. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”
The chieftain was having none of it. “Tarluk, Ragath. Kill him!”
Urgon took a stance, waiting for the attack to come, but Urzath and Vulgar moved past him, engaging Agrug’s bodyguards. The fight was brief but bloody, and after only a moment, the two minions were down, clutching wounds while nursing their egos. Around them, many Orcs formed a circle while still others battled the enemy.
“Time to settle things,” said Urgon.
“You will not defeat me,” taunted Agrug. “I am far more powerful than you. I shall crush you just as I will crush the Humans who stand against us.”
“Look around you, Agrug. Your cause is lost. Even as we speak, the Humans fight back. Do you honestly believe they will let us live in peace?”
“And so you seek to kill me?”
“You brought this upon yourself. You betrayed our people, turned your back on them for your own profit. What did the earl promise you, Agrug? Gold, perhaps?”
“You speak of profit, but it is you, Urgon, who craves power. You seek to become chieftain only to command others.”
“No, the chieftain rules by the will of the tribe. It is a sacred duty to do what is best for all our people, not just a select few.
It was a strange sensation, standing here facing off against his own chieftain while the horde battled around him. Agrug rushed forward, his axe swinging in a wide arc to graze Urgon's chest, knocking him from his feet, but the Dwarven steel rings held back the sting. Agrug raised his axe for a second blow, and Urgon stabbed out. The attack was rushed, with barely enough power behind it to do any damage, but it struck his foe in the face, digging into the soft flesh of a cheek.
Agrug roared in pain and then smashed his axe down with all the force he could muster. The blade dug into the dirt as Urgon rolled to the side, then thrust out again, taking his enemy in the arm. As a howl of pain escaped the lips of Agrug, he released his axe, letting it fall to the ground.
“Stop,” the large Orc shouted as he stepped back. “You have defeated me.”
Urgon stood, not quite believing his ears. Agrug removed his torc, tossing it to Urgon, but as he did, his hand snaked around to his back, and he drew a large knife. Urgon fumbled to catch the torc, his mind distracted, and that was when Agrug rushed him.
The chieftain, substantially larger than his opponent, used his bulk to knock Urgon off his feet, crushing him beneath his weight as they landed on the ground. Barely able to breathe, Urgon tried to use his sword, but so close was the threat that it was impossible to wield.
Agrug's knife stabbed forward. Urgon felt it sink into his shoulder, burning as it dug in, the pain excruciating. He struggled to stay focused on the battle, his life, and the future of the tribe hanging in the balance. Closer pressed Agrug, the knife stabbing out again, this time at Urgon's chest, but the Dwarven links held, preventing further damage. Their faces were now so close he could smell the chieftain's breath.
“Now,” hissed Agrug, “you shall die for your interference.”
Urgon, pinned by the weight of the chieftain, did the only thing he could think of—used his helmeted head to smash into his foe's face.
Agrug’s nose exploded, sending black blood flying, and he rolled to the side, his eyes watering, his vision temporarily impaired. Urgon, quick to react, scrambled on top of him and grasped the chieftain's dagger hand. A test of strength now ensued as each tried to out-muscle the other.
Agrug was stronger, but Urgon had the advantage of position. He leaned in, using his own weight to push the dagger down, finally sinking it into the chieftain's chest. With a final gasp of air from Agrug, all resistance faded as his head rolled to the side.
“It is done,” announced Urzath. “You all saw it. Agrug willingly gave the torc to Urgon. Until we can return to Ord-Dugath to select a new leader, it is Urgon we must follow.”
Tarluk took a step towards him. “What is your command, my chieftain?”
Urgon looked around. The Orcs still pressed heavily against the Human line while the horsemen were now scattered into small pockets of resistance. He wanted them to pull back, to quit this battle, but it must be justified, or he would lose his grip over the tribe.
Kraloch interrupted his thoughts. “Urgon, you must come,” he begged.
“What is it?”
“It is the Human warrior, the same one who fought us last night. We have her surrounded.”
Urgon followed his shaman to another ring that had been formed. However, this time, they pointed spears into the middle, to where the armoured woman stood, her weapons thick with black blood.
She shook her head, then tore off her helmet. Red blood ran down her face, while red hair fell to her shoulders. A broken spear was stuck in her knee joint, and she pulled it free, tossing it to the ground. She ran back and forth, striking out at spear tips, but no Orc would take the bait.
“Send in Vulgar,” said Urgon.
The ring parted, allowing the massive hunter to enter the fight. He swung his sword left and right, loosening up his muscles. She watched him warily, and then he darted forward, striking out with immense speed. Her sword rose to her defence, deflecting the blow, and then she struck with her hammer, sinking it into the great Orc’s knee. Urgon heard the bone break as Vulgar fell to the ground, screaming in agony.
He turned to Kraloch. “You must do something.”
Kraloch nodded, then snapped up a nearby spear. The end had broken off in the fight, but it would suffice as a staff.
“What need have you for that?” asked Urgon.
“I do not wish to get too close to that Human. Thus I shall heal Vulgar from a distance.”
“Using a staff?”
“It serves to focus my mind, nothing more.”
Kraloch stepped into the ring, keeping his eyes on the Human. He chanted, calling up words of power and then touched the end of his staff to the writhing form of Vulgar. The patient ceased his screaming and looked up at his new chieftain. “Shall I continue?”
“No,” said Urgon. “Kraloch will choose another to take your place.”
Kraloch looked around the ring of Orcs, selecting the largest he could find, a hunter covered in scars. “You, what is your name?”
“Draleth,” the Orc replied.
“Care to try your luck?”
Draleth nodded, then made his way into the ring. The hunter carried an axe with a long blade and a short handle, more akin to a cleaver. As he stood watching his opponent, he drew another such blade from behind him and waited, a weapon now held in each hand, ready to fight.
The two combatants rushed towards each other, he with weapons held high, her with a more relaxed grip. They traded blows, back and forth, each blocking the other's attack, performing a deadly dance of life and death. The dance continued, but they were so well matched, neither could score a hit.
Fresh blood poured from the woman's head, and Urgon could tell she was weakening, yet something in her resolve told him the fight was not yet done. Draleth rushed forward, expecting the battle to continue, but then the woman suddenly dropped to the ground, kicking out with her feet to strike the Orc’s ankle. Draleth tumbled, falling atop her, but clearly she had been expecting it. Urgon saw the tip of a blade protruding from Draleth’s back, and then the woman rolled the body to the side and pushed herself to her feet, swaying unsteadily.
“Do I send another?” asked Kraloch, his voice low.
“No,” said Urgon. “I shall see to this myself.”
He stepped into the ring, his sword held with the point downward. His intent had been to fight this warrior, but now, seeing her stand before him, he began to have doubts it was the right thing to do. He paused some three paces from his opponent.
“You fight well,” he said, using the Human tongue. “We honour your valour.”
She stared back, her face betraying her confusion. “What?”
He could well understand her bewilderment. He struggled to find the right words, but the Human language was still new to him. “We will give your life and that of your companions in recognition of your bravery today.”
She said something in reply but far too quickly for him to follow. Still, her hesitation was quite evident. He spoke slowly, hoping she would understand. “We will withdraw from battle. You have my word as leader of the Black Arrow clan.”
Again, the quick response, although he recognized the word ‘battle’.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“I am Dame Beverly Fitzwilliam,” she replied. “Knight of the Hound and protector of Princess Anna of Merceria.”
Urgon had no idea what any of that meant. The name was clear enough, although difficult to remember. He looked at her, seeing the warrior for what she was. Blood from her head ran down her arm, dripping from the end of her sword.
He seized on the image. “To us, you shall be known as Redblade, for your prowess in combat is impressive. Tell your princess that we shall trouble her no more. We wish only to live in harmony.”
Again she spoke—this time enquiring as to why they were here.
“The Earl of Eastwood promised us land,” he explained, “but he is a man without honour. My predecessor was foolish, and now many of my people have died. Even our healers cannot bring back the dead.”
“I think I can guarantee that the princess will agree to leave your people alone once I explain what has happened.”
Urgon bowed his head. “Perhaps one day we shall meet again, Redblade. It would be an honour to fight beside you.” He turned to leave, nodding at his companions.
“Order the retreat,” shouted Urzath.
“Wait!” called out the Human. “What is your name?”
Urgon turned, looking at the battle-hardened woman. She had fought well, earning his respect but, even more importantly, had given him the opportunity to save his people. His heart swelled with pride as he spoke the words he had waited so long to say.
“I am Chief Urgon of the Black Arrows.”
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