“My King, perhaps we should look for a location from which to ambush them. I’d rather bring the fight to them than get stuck in the open where they could attack us at will,” added the general.
“My thoughts exactly,” replied Kromm thoughtfully as he gazed up the path they had just traversed. Behind them was a narrow trail a few paces wide flanked by two walls of rock spanning a stone throw’s distance north and south, and at least twenty paces high on both sides. The rock faces were not straight up and down, but rather sloped at a steep incline, interspersed with several large stone ledges. It was a perfect choke point for an ambush. The problem was that the king did not know if the orcs would channel through the trail as a group, or move in several groups, some flanking the narrow gap and moving around it through the rocky terrain. It would be a gamble, but either way, it was a good location to make their stand, and a better one might not present itself before the orcs arrived.
General Farwin smiled knowingly, following the king’s gaze up the hill
Four
Stand and Fight
It was a simple strategy. Ten knights with bows would conceal themselves in the rocks just above the trail where it narrowed to a span only wide enough for two men at a time. As the orcs moved through the choke point, they would hammer the beasts with arrows from above. In the meantime, ten knights with spears would be hiding in various locations on the upside of the trail. Hopefully the orcs would move past them in haste, getting stuck in the narrow chute while the archers slaughtered them. Then the spearmen would come from behind to block their retreat, while Kromm led ten more men at the front, completely boxing in the orcs. In the narrow confines of the choke point the orc’s massive size would hinder them, allowing only one or two to fight at a time. At least that was the hope.
“My Lord, we are taking an enormous risk by assuming that our men won’t be seen above the trail. If they are sniffed out then our plan will crumble and our men will be at the mercy of the entire orc patrol,” the wizard said worriedly as he looked around at the battleground.
“I know, Addalis, which is why I am moving to the front. I’m going to lure them in. After all, it is me they are after,” the king said calmly, lifting his giant sword off his back. Queen Sorana, standing nearby, protested immediately.
“You cannot, my love. It is too dangerous,” she said, grabbing his arm with concern. Turning to face her he gently covered her hand, smiling reassuringly.
“I will be fine. It will take more than fifty orcs to bring me down. Besides, I will not be alone,” the king said, turning to face his knights who were preparing themselves for battle. “What five men will join me as bait?” he asked.
Three of the swordsmen that were given the honor of guarding the queen and the prince stepped forward immediately. One was a tall warrior with a cleft chin and eyes as dark as a demon’s heart. He nodded his head in affirmation. His name was Gylow, a warrior well known for his courage and his skill with a blade.
Another was Vilnos, a short burly man with an ugly face that looked like it had been kicked numerous times by a horse. He smiled through several broken teeth. “I would be honored, my Lord.”
“And I,” added Kandoron, an aging veteran who fought like a berserker with his two hand axes.
“Father, I too wish to fight with you,” Riker announced, stepping next to the king. His eagerness to test his blade and be a part of the fighting was apparent in his expression.
“I’m sorry, son. You need to stay here and help the general. I need your sword near your mother. Will you protect her for me?” the king asked gravely.
Riker set his jaw, fire flaring in his eyes. “I will, Father, with my life.”
“It’s your sword she needs, my son, not your life. Our family must survive, do you understand?”
Riker simply nodded in affirmation, gripping his sheathed sword tighter.
Two other men moved toward their king to join the fighting group. Both were archers carrying long bows and swords strapped to their sides.
“Good, we will need your bows. I have a plan,” announced the king, turning toward General Farwin. “General, be ready. We will lead them through the gap in all haste. Tell the archers not to fire until we are well past the narrowest point. If they fire too early the orcs will back up and we will lose the advantage.”
“I understand, my Lord. Are you sure it is wise to be the hen for the fox? Your safety is paramount.”
“Do not fear,” interrupted the king. His eyes were hard and focused. His anger had turned to rage and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he anticipated the coming battle. “I have not yet quenched the fires of revenge.”
General Farwin had seen that look many times and knew that the king’s mind would not be changed. And he knew his men would follow their king to Dykreel’s torture chamber with nothing more than their fists for weapons if need be. They loved the king dearly, for he treated them as his equal, as brothers in combat, and he would not ask them to do anything that he would not do himself. That kind of respect was earned, and in so doing, was returned tenfold.
The king kissed his wife good-bye, and then ran up the trail with his five men trailing closely behind. They ran past the spearmen as they were selecting suitable concealed locations at the top of the chute. They wanted to be far enough away from the main trail that they would not be detected, but not so far that they couldn’t sprint into the gap to quickly close it. The spearmen pounded their fists against their armored chests in salute to their king and his men as they sprinted by.
Balzrig stopped momentarily, sniffing the mountain air. His pig-like nostrils flared open, seeking the scent of man. They were near; he could smell them and his mouth salivated at the thought of destroying them and devouring their flesh. His massive chest heaved in and out as he breathed deeply. But he was not tired. He could run for days on little food and still fight like the enraged beast that he was. His brethren were the same, but they did not quite have his strength and size, which was why he led. They were all encased in thick black armor, and carried bows and giant swords capable of cleaving a man in two with one fell stroke.
The fifty orcs stopped with him, their yellow eyes scanning the forest while they waited for their leader’s command. He roared something in orcish at a large beast to his right. The orc, growling in acknowledgement, conversed briefly with the beasts near him. The sounds were guttural and harsh, a reflection of their breed. Quickly, twenty orcs raced off to the right while thirty stayed behind with Balzrig. Balzrig tightly gripped his stout bow in his huge hand, signaling them to continue on. They were off immediately, their heavily muscled legs moving them steadily through the forest.
“Do you hear that, my King?” asked Vilnos.
“Aye, they are near. Men, stay hidden. As soon as they see me, Jarvis and Orion, I want you to use your bows. The path here is fairly open so you should be able to get a few shots off. Then we run. We must get them to follow us, but do not fall behind or they will overrun you. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the men replied in unison.
“Very well, now move off, and be careful,” ordered the king. The men jumped into the nearby cover of brush while Kromm stood in the open trail casually gripping his massive sword. He looked up the trail, his eyes scanning the forest for their pursuers. He had to hope they lived up to their characteristic stupidity for the plan would only work if they did not divide their forces. They had to get the orcs to pursue them into the choke point. From there, devastation would rain down on them in a barrage of steel tipped arrows.
Kromm suddenly tilted his head, hearing the faint sound of muffled footsteps. It was a distant sound, barely audible, but it did not take long for the sound to rise to a crescendo as booted feet hammered the forest floor.
Balzrig’s long muscular legs carried him quickly down the mountain trail. Thirty orcs followed closely behind him. They were all close to eight feet tall and half again as wide. As the orc leader came around the corner of a switchback, h
e came to a halt. Standing on the trail ahead of him was a large human, almost as large as he, casually holding a giant two handed sword.
Balzrig sniffed the cold air as his orcs came up behind him, some standing in the trail and others stepping into the undergrowth fanning out as they saw the human before them. It was the king, Balzrig could smell the man. He growled deeply, showing his long yellow teeth.
“Flank the human, and look for more. He is not alone,” he growled in orcish. As he spoke, he nocked an arrow, slowly walking down the path. Several orcs stayed behind him while the others fanned out, moving through the brush like stalking cats.
“Damn,” whispered Kromm to himself. They had spread out and they were not charging him as expected. They were not acting like orcs, and that made Kromm nervous. They would be circled and trapped, something that he could not allow to happen.
Kromm waited for them to get closer before making his move. They were just as Addalis had described, gigantic, much larger than their more common brethren. Heavily armored and outfitted for war, their weapons also appeared to be of much better quality than those of their cousins. They also seemed to move with a precision and focus uncharacteristic of their race. And their leader; he was a giant. And though he was only a bit taller than Kromm, his wide girth made him look larger than the king.
“We must retreat! Archers, take the leader and everyone fall back!” bellowed the king.
Just as Kromm ordered the retreat, Balzrig drew back his stout bow, releasing a black shaft right at him. The archers had jumped from the brush, standing in front of their king, and bringing their bows to bear simultaneously.
Jarvis, one of the archers, took the orc’s arrow in the chest before he could release his own. The impact of the shaft from the powerful bow launched the man backwards, crashing into Kromm, who caught him easily, easing him to the ground, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Orion got one shot off before another arrow took him in the leg, the impact spinning him around in a complete circle before he landed on the ground in a crumpled heap. The arrow had completely pierced his thigh, the barbed tip creating a grievous wound that bled profusely.
Orion’s arrow covered the length of the trail in the blink of an eye, hitting the orc war leader just below his armored shoulder. The arrow penetrated his pasty green flesh, but did little damage. His skin and thick muscles proved to be a tough barrier and the arrow only sunk in several inches. Balzrig stopped, yanking the arrow from his arm as if it were nothing more than a bee sting.
Kromm surged forward, lifting up the wounded archer as if he were a baby. Flinging Orion over his shoulder he raced down the trail with the three other swordsmen right on his heels. As arrows whistled by them Kromm heard several grunts of pain from behind. Although he did not look back he could only assume that several of his men had been hit. He didn’t want to break stride by turning back, so he kept his head low and vaulted down the trail. Clearly they were being chased as he heard the roar of the orc leader and the stomping of booted feet behind him.
As they ran by the opening of the rock face, Kromm yelled for the spearmen hidden there. “Men of Tarsis, retreat with me to the choke point!”
Kromm heard, rather than saw, the spearmen emerge from their concealed locations, following their king down the trail that was cut into the cliff face. They raced past the choke point coming to the location of General Farwin’s men.
“Men, form up, groups of three, four rows deep! We must hold the orcs here! Protect your queen!” the king roared.
Instantly men came from around the rock wall at the end of the choke point. Their swords were out and their faces were set with determination. General Farwin moved to his king as several men took Orion from him.
“I will stand by you, my King,” the General replied, moving into position. Kromm grabbed his shoulder, turning him about.
“My friend, I need you to stay back with the queen and the others. If they break through I can’t have them taken. You must run and lead them to safety. Take the five best swordsmen with you!” General Farwin was just about to protest when the king added solemnly, “I am trusting you to watch over all that I care about in this world.”
“Yes, my King,” replied Farwin. “It will be as you say.” He gripped the king’s hand. “Be careful and may Bandris guide your blade,” he said as he moved behind his men who were now forming a barrier between the rock faces that formed the natural bottle neck at the bottom of the trail.
The king looked beyond his men, making eye contact with his wife just as the pounding of running feet forced him and his men to turn and face back the onslaught storming down the path. Orcs raced toward them, roaring and bellowing their war cries.
“Form up! Behind me!” yelled the king, moving forward to the narrowest part of the path. The rock walls tapered to a part of the trail no more than a few paces wide. Two to three men could fight there at a time, and not more than one or two orcs could return their thrusts. It was the perfect place to stop their charge. Kromm swung his huge blade from side to side and the spearmen stood just behind him, their long weapons pointing towards the attacking orcs. Kromm glanced up, hoping that the archers had remained hidden. “Come on you whoresons! Come feel the might of Tarsinian steel!” he yelled up the trail.
The orcs, led by their giant leader, were pouring into the narrow path. Kromm looked up, expecting to see arrows fly down upon the orcs, but instead he heard the commotion of battle from above. He caught glimpses of men turning from their hiding places to fire their weapons at unseen assailants in the forest behind them.
“We make our stand here!” roared the king, filled with fury and desire to wreak vengeance on those who had destroyed his kingdom and threatened his family. His muscles tensed and his body swelled with an intensity fueled by his rage. He stored it in every thread and strand of his being, releasing it with every sword stroke and surge of his powerful muscles. He had always felt a huge rush of power when he fought. He seldom tired and his strength was prodigious in battle, allowing him to perform feats well beyond those of a typical soldier. He could fight through most wounds and he seemed to heal faster than the average man. He had the charisma and a constitution born for war.
Balzrig ran at Kromm, swinging his mighty sword in a powerful arc. The men flanking Kromm jabbed their spears forward, and several tips were sheared off by the orc chief’s vicious strike. More spears jabbed forward from the ranks of men, skewering several beasts near the orc chief.
The king hefted his mighty sword, aiming for the orc chief, but instead hitting another orc in the shoulder. The blade drove through muscle and bone, burying itself against its spine. The orc’s eyes widened in shock at the tremendous power of the strike, which killed the beast instantly and caused it to fall back into its comrades, who were now stuck two by two in the bottleneck.
Balzrig saw the king lodge his sword into the orc’s shoulder and tried to take advantage of his enemy’s predicament. He brought his sword up and across, aiming at the king’s stomach, hoping to disembowel him by starting at his hip and moving all the way up his body to his shoulder. He held the heavy blade with both hands, aiming the stroke with tremendous power.
Kromm, sensing the attack, let go of his sword, pivoted to his left and kicked his huge leg out, snapping his booted foot into the orc leader’s lead sword arm. The massive orc bellowed in rage as the power of the strike hyperextended its elbow, causing the sword to clatter helplessly to the ground.
Kromm then drew his dagger in one smooth motion, ramming the blade into the orc’s side, seeking the seam in its armor and finding it with precision. The orc roared, snapping his other arm forward, hitting Kromm in the face. Kromm’s head rocked back, his nose exploding in blood.
The fighting was chaotic. Orcs, flanking their leader on both sides, were beating the spearman back. A handful of knights lay dead, cut down by the powerful orcs, as the next knight moved in to replace them. Normally, a battle with orcs in this type of killing ground would be
over quickly. But these orcs were beyond the strength and endurance of even the great Tarsinian knights who were desperately struggling to keep from being overrun.
As the bloodied king and his knights fought furiously against the formidable orcs, Goran, one of the archers given the task of ambushing the orcs in the bottleneck, was suddenly ambushed himself by the beasts that had separated from the main force to flank the narrow path. Hearing commotion behind him, he had quickly turned and launched an arrow directly into the face of a charging orc, simultaneously leaping to the side and drawing his long sword. An orc arrow, fired from the concealment of the brush nearby, had struck his thigh. Despite the pain, he managed to jump out of the way of the dying orc as it fell toward him. His arrow had taken the beast between the eyes, snapping its head back and killing it instantly. Goran reached down, gritted his teeth, and snapped the shaft off so it wouldn’t snag on anything as he moved. Growling in pain, he looked up, quickly assessing the situation. As the archers had prepared to fire their weapons at the orcs below, more orcs had suddenly attacked them from the forest behind them. It was total chaos as the men frantically tried to defend themselves. He saw three knights fall, killed instantly by the deadly arrows that had taken them by surprise.
The situation looked bleak. As Goran saw several of his outnumbered brethren go down, he rushed forward, struggling over rocks and brush to help a nearby comrade. The man brought his sword up over his head to block a downward strike from a snarling orc. The strength of the beast was astounding and the force of blow knocked the knight to his knees. But the seasoned warrior quickly drew his knife, aiming for the gap just under the orc’s breast plate. The orc had lifted its sword high for another strike, which lifted its breastplate, widening the gap enough for the knight to thrust the razor sharp blade into its flesh. The beast howled in pain as the warrior buried his blade to the hilt, jerking it to his right. He gutted the orc the length of the blade just as the beast kicked out with its powerful foot.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck Page 11
