If he was, while he certainly would have felt compassion and possibly even empathy for the Troll nation, he certainly would not have joined the battle, regardless of the promised amount of gold, against the Ogres. Yes, the circumstances providing fuel for the Troll’s rage were tragic. Yes, the way the Ogres massacred the Troll Princess’s caravan was impossibly brutal. And certainly, the Troll’s necessity for vengeance could not be denied; but so far removed was he from the conflict that it should have held no real importance to him. The outcome of this battle, regardless of which side emerged the victor, would only lead to a greater conflict, perhaps even an outright war. And while war sometimes resulted in collateral damage, or the inclusion of other entities not originally concerned with the conflict, this one between the Trolls and Ogres was likely to do neither because of their geographical separation with the rest of the realm. Avendia and all of its other people, which should have included him, were content to leave well enough alone and let both sides hopefully decimate each other. However, regardless of when and where his brokenness first became broken, it still was. So, the outcome did matter, or rather his involvement in the outcome mattered because it would absolutely lead to more praise. Because of that, he did what he had to do to get more of what he needed regardless of the risk to himself. So, when the Troll King summoned him to his court and offered him the greater portion of fame and fortune equaling even more prestige and praise, he could not refuse any more than the rain could refuse being driven by the winds of the early spring monsoons coming off the western sea. Hence, he found himself leading the Troll forces as they stood opposite the Ogres waiting for them to signal the beginning of battle. As the rains grew in their intensity, and the winds whipped his long hair across his face, he heard the loud and unforgettable bellowing of the massive war horns of the Ogres. He heard them and would never forget their sound.
With his head fastened to the chopping block by three firm leather straps, and his hands locked in place behind his back equally tight, he could do nothing except listen as the growing cheers of the gathered elves reached a symphonic pinnacle to rival any applause he had once drawn from them so long ago. So primal was their collective expression for blood, that a single tear was released from his pure white eyes echoing the release of his hope that they had not become something reflecting the very evil he was trying to stop. As their cheers grew quiet and they collectively held their breaths in anticipation of the descending executioner’s axe, he too inhaled.
“Can you hear that?” asked the familiar voice of Lord Hinthial. “Can you feel their hatred for you?”
He said nothing.
“I know you want all of them to love you. I know you want to be praised again, like you were so long ago,” said Lord Hinthial as he whispered inches from Eriboth’s ear.
He remained silent.
“I can make all of that happen for you,” he said. “If you would but agree to one simple term. Even at this hour, it is not too late to reverse the damage you have done.”
He remained silent.
“Surely there is something of the elf still inside you. Something that longs to be home again, to belong, to be loved,” continued Lord Hinthial. “What real harm will it do? Would it not be easier, Eriboth?”
He remained silent.
“Very well,” said Lord Hinthial as he stood up, “It is clear you will never see the error of your ways.” Lord Hinthial took three slow steps backward and looked to the executioner whose enthusiasm was being tenuously held in check only by the promise that blood would soon be spilled. When he did receive the signal to continue with Eriboth’s death, he grinned and raised his axe to its fullest height. He would be able to tell this tale to his children, who would then be able to tell it to their children. Indeed, this action, the falling of his axe would be written down in the books of history by The Lorekeeper himself and protected throughout all the ages of elven culture. He would be the single person who was able to kill the legendary Eriboth Dordrosis and forever end the treachery of House Dordrosis. The expectant joy, now palpable, stopped the wind. And then, if one was close enough to see it, the grin on the executioner’s face turned from a life satisfying smile into one of pure and unhindered violence as his muscled tensed in preparation to end a legend.
Announcing and end to the silence, the way the first sounds of thunder end the silence of the calm before the storm, was an impossibly loud horn. All attentions, even that of the executioner, were pulled immediately toward the main gate. Lord Hinthial looked to the executioner and was about to order him to complete his task, but before he could, another horn blast sounded. Echoing a deep bass resonating inside the very chest and all things flesh and blood, the horns were unmistakable. There was only one place from which they could have come. The Ogres were here, and they were prepared for battle.
However, the elves, ever disciplined, were elegant and quick with their response. As soon as the first horn was sounded, their standing militia was already marshalling their strength upon the exterior walls of the Castle of Light. Lord Hinthial ordered for Eriboth to be secured and taken to the dungeons while he dealt with the interruption to elven justice. He emerged from the castle interior to stand upon the dais overlooking the expanse of the land outside the outer wall and saw what had to be nearly half of the entire strength of the Ogre lands arranged in battalions that almost had no end. As Lord Hinthial surveyed their army, he could not help but wonder how the Ogre’s were able to avoid every outpost and roving scouts the elves placed to prevent such an invasion. But he did not have the time to address such a magnificent failure at present. Right now, he had to confront the Ogres and their outright act of war. Riding out from their ranks, he saw two lone riders sitting atop the only beasts large enough to carry them. One was a standard bearer carrying the sigil of the Ogre King, and the other was the Ogre King himself.
In battle, this was the universal sign expressing the desire for a peaceful resolution to whatever conflict was currently driving the machines of war. While it was true that there were many conflicts in the past that would have drawn both armies onto the battlefield, in recent history, both elves and Ogres existed under an umbrella of tenuous peace, neither side wishing to provoke the other to action. So, when the Ogre King rode toward the walls of Meckthenial, Lord Hinthial was forced to respond in kind for no other reason than to satisfy his curiosity. Other than the Ogre’s natural propensity for war, he knew of no reason that would have led them to march the larger portion of their army across The End and into Elvish lands. He motioned for his servant to prepare two horses, one for him and the other for his standard bearer.
The beasts the Ogres rode were called esthuox. They were not the largest creatures in Avendia, but they were the largest available to be trained and ridden. Perhaps because of their years of captivity and use by the Ogres, or perhaps because of their natural dispositions, the esthuox reflected the Ogre’s propensity for war. But, since they lived exclusively behind the natural wall of The End, they were largely unknown outside the battlefields they terrorized and the resulting rumors. Twice as large as the elven horses, they were a perfect companion for the Ogres when riding into battle. As Lord Hinthial’s horse, and that of his standard bearer, completed their short ride to stand opposite the Ogre Kind, he had to admit that the beast itself was an imposing site. But elves were not easily shaken by sights nor size.
It was the Ogre King who spoke first. In a deep and slow voice thick with accent as he spoke in the common tongue, he said, “King Hinthial, it is my understanding that you have a prisoner who was ready to receive his justice. Is this true?”
“I am not sure what relevance this has to you and your people, but yes. It is true,” he answered firmly.
“We are here to claim first rights to your prisoner,” said the Ogre King.
“First rights?” questioned King Hinthial.
“Yes, first rights. He is to be executed because of his war crimes committed against our people,” said the Ogre King as his bea
st growled low.
“Perhaps I would consider entertaining your request had your army, apparently prepared for war, not gathered on our lands. That, itself, is an act of war we will not ignore,” he returned.
“Is he worth it?” asked the Ogre King. “Is he worth facing us in battle? You will certainly win and retain your rights to his execution, but at what cost? Are you willing to pay with the lives of your people only to protect your rights to his death?” asked the Ogre King.
King Hinthial considered for a moment. “You are King Tatharak, are you not?” he asked.
“I am indeed. But you know this. What is your response to my request?” asked King Tatharak, growing in his impatience.
“Are you willing to risk your people, indeed, your very lands for your rights?” challenged King Hinthial in return.
“Yes,” said the Ogre King as he resolutely sat atop his war beast.
“That is most unfortunate to hear. Is there nothing I can offer instead for you to reconsider?” asked King Hinthial.
“No,” said King Tatharak.
“So be it,” said King Hinthial flatly as he turned his horse around before the customary words of departure between kings could be said.
Both kings returned to their formidable forces silently, each suppressing anxious thoughts of the battle’s end. King Tatharak was known for his maneuvers in open warfare. His skill at knowing the terrain, his opponent, his own force and all other variables was exceptional to say the least. He had won his title and unified the loosely organized Ogre tribes into a singularity never before seen. Yes, the Great Ogre tribes had battled side by side many times before, but never had they done so under a single standard representing their unity. The fact that this many Ogres had marched across the wide expanse of The End and into elven territory all for Eriboth illustrated two things. Firstly, it showed that the Ogres were indeed one people now, both in fealty to a single king as well as possessing the same intention driven goals. And secondly, it indicated their resolve and deep felt need to render justice upon Eriboth, a justice that could be sated only at their hands. How outstanding was his influence that he was able to entrap the whole power of a newly formed and unified nation that they would risk their lives and future well-being to travel the impossible path simply to kill him when he was to be executed anyway.
As the newly crowned Elf King entered the city and took his place atop the dais again to observe the battle and adjust to the strategies of his opponent, he reflected upon yet more treachery he was forced to avert because of the man in his dungeons. Could he have handed Eriboth over to the Ogre King thereby avoiding the coming battle and countless lost lives? Yes, he could have easily acceded to King Tatharak’s claim. Had the Ogre King sought to dialogue through other means and not the outright show of power in elven lands, King Hinthial would have certainly entertained the prospect. He probably would have used it as a bargaining piece to establish a trade advantage. But because the Ogre army was within striking distance of the City of Light (something King Hinthial would have to examine much more closely after the battle), and King Tatharak sought to use this to his advantage and effectively bully King Hinthial into acquiescence, his decision was bound to only one possibility.
“Signal the arches to ready their bows,” King Hinthial said to his Artillery General. “Have them prepare the boulders and Dragon Slayers. We will make short this battle.”
Before he could leave, however, the Artillery General was halted by the presence of Esthinor who seemed to have appeared from mist to stand beside the king. “That will not be necessary, King Hinthial.”
“Grand Wizard Esthinor, I did not know you were still here,” said King Hinthial smoothly.
“I would not miss the opportunity to see justice rendered,” said the wizard smoothly.
“You will witness more than that, Grand Wizard. You will watch as one of the greatest siege armies to set foot in the lands of the Great Green Forest is systematically dismantled by Elven superiority,” said King Hinthial confidently.
“I would not be so sure of that, King Hinthial,” said the Grand Wizard as he squinted his eyes to concentrate. “They have Shaman with them.”
“The Shaman have ventured outside of the Ogre lands?” asked the King as he turned his head toward the Grand Wizard. “That has never been done before.”
“Indeed, it has not. But regardless of past customs, they are here now. And they are in force,” he answered ominously.
“Very well. It matters not in the end. Our elven wizards will be able to counter anything those simple Shaman can conjure,” he said as he turned his attention back to the battle field.
“We shall see,” said Esthinor through a small grin.
“On my signal, begin launching the boulders,” said King Hinthial to his Artillery General.
“Yes, my Lord,” the general answered.
As the collective breaths of all peoples gathered on the field in front of Meckthenial’s outer gates as well as those marshalled on the ramparts were held in anticipation of the first move, King Hinthial surveyed the scene once again. Located directly in front of the outer gates were several battalions of the Ogre infantry. They were heavily armored and carried with them long spears in one hand, and heavy shields in the other. On their backs were strapped two wicked looking swords which they were trained to employ should they breach the wall’s defenses. Behind them were ranks upon ranks of longbowmen. With their greater size and strength, Ogre archers carried with them bows that outdistanced any of the other peoples of Avendia. But what they gained in power and distance, they lost in accuracy. On both flanks, because of Esthinor’s words, King Hinthial was able to identify several clusters of what had to be the Ogre Shaman. Because they never ventured outside of their lands, nor engaged in battle unless the need was considered most dire, there was not much known regarding their particular form of magic except that it was said to be drawn directly from their deity, Ogressin. Behind the longbowmen, he could see the great beasts known as The Thunder, for when they collectively stampeded, the esthuox pounded the ground so soundly, it was like a continual roaring of thunder. Each beast had its own rider who was every bit as deadly as the beasts themselves. And behind them, at the very end of the army, King Hinthial could see the elite legion of the Ogre King’s personal guard. The Living Death, they were called because anything that lived, when confronted by this battalion, was said to die. Whole wars were decided upon the skill of this elite force. His final estimation of the total strength of the Ogre army exceeded ten thousand. Formidable to say the least.
But, perhaps the most formidable aspect of the Ogre army could not be quantified in numbers derived from flesh and bone. It could be found only in blood, specifically, the blood spilled on the battle field. Whether it be from friend or foe, when blood was spilled, when its scent saturated the air, and its red drops gathered on armor and weapons, Ogres were driven into a Blood Frenzy. When under its influence, Ogres ignored all but the most grievous of injuries and were capable of inhuman feats of strength and endurance. The more blood that was spilled, the greater the frenzy. And the greater the frenzy, the more blood that was spilled. There were even stories about Ogres wounding themselves to bring on the effects of their blood induced rage. One in particular involved the greatest of Ogre heroes, The Great Gronnod Horisthock. He was said to have withstood and defeated over two hundred trolls while defending his farm lands from a raiding party. Had both armies stood opposed on the open battlefield, King Hinthial would have cause to worry; however, as the Ogre army was devoid of any of the siege machines necessary for penetrating the outer wall of Meckthenial, he was confident the battle would be short and definite.
After his final examination of the battlefield, he judged his position to be fortuitous. He looked to his foremost general, General Mironial, and gave him a silent signal to begin the assault. While it was customary for the defending forces to respond to the actions of the attacking army, King Hinthial, out of his confidence, and quite possibl
y, his contempt for all things non-elven, decided to force the Ogres to commit. General Mironial raised his hand in the air, paused to give the flag bearers all time to see him (although at this stage, their collective attentions should be focused nowhere else) and dropped it emphatically. So began The Battle For One.
From his cell, deep in the bowels of the dungeons of the City of Light, Eriboth could not hear the deep rushing of the first boulder as it was propelled through the air by the one of the tremendously large Elven War Machines. Nor could he hear their crushing blows as they landed on the ground just before the Ogre army. Had it been within range, the damage would have been absolute. Huge craters were left where the boulders smashed against the ground. So high were they thrown in the air that, when they landed, they imbedded themselves nearly two thirds of their height into the dirt and clay underneath. But he did not have to hear the sounds of battle to understand that it had begun; for in his soul, he felt something move. It was foul, it was complete, and it was filled with the dominating control of hate bent upon the complete destruction of its quarry. He did not need to witness what or who had moved. He knew. He felt this deep evil once before when he allowed himself to be examined by Esthinor. Satan was moving.
Somewhere above him, the Ogres were charging. He knew Satan would not reveal himself unless the necessity was great, so he knew the army facing Meckthenial had to have gained an advantage insurmountable for the elves. Although he could not see that when the Ogre Shaman lifted the illusions of their combined magic, they revealed more than double their originally visible forces along with nearly twenty different siege machines. He knew the magic of the elves; and while it was unequalled in its scope, it took time to develop, time that the elves did not have. Every counter the Elves made was nullified by the preparations of the invading Ogre army. Their legendary arrows fell upon a shield of energy the way rain drops fell upon the fabric of an umbrella as it kept the vital components of its bearer dry and unaffected. The advancing Ogre infantry seemed to innately avoid the hurling boulders, flowing around their paths as water flows around a rock. The siege machines, while large and cumbersome, were constructed of magically enhanced materials that, when combined with the defending Shaman, were mostly unaffected by the efforts spent to destroy them. Somewhere above him, he knew the elves were failing. Somewhere above him, he knew Satan was stepping in.
Bloodless Page 62
