The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One

by Aiden L Turner

  ‘You speak well for a blacksmith’, the king interrupted. ‘Offer me terms, but know your life is forfeit, for you have openly challenged the authority of the king. Continue.’

  ‘There are thirty-six men amongst us who have great responsibility within their villages. They hold knowledge of the land and how its farmed, the livestock and how its bred. Others who are the sole providers for whole families, to this end, we beg of you my king that you release these thirty-six men with full pardons to return to their villages, and in return for your generosity the remaining men will go with you freely and of their own will. They will work without the need of the lash and they will swear to you an oath my king, that they will not attempt to escape their new duties to you, or to whoever holds our bond.’ David looked from the king back to Colburn and added, ‘And I accept my death by whatever means you wish.’

  The king sat astride his magnificent horse in silent contemplation, his face contorting between anger and amusement until after long moments he turned to his household steward and said, ‘We shall camp here. See that the pavilion is raised. Captain, see to your sentries. Well, David, it seems we have an accord. Thirty-six men will leave. One will die. The remainder will serve. Stand.’

  David stood and signalled at his men to lower their weapons, which they did slowly and with suspicion. David himself let his stolen sword fall to the ground and bowed deeply towards the king.

  ‘Your Highness is most generous. Might I encroach on your generosity once more and ask to see a priest before my execution, that I may beg forgiveness for the deaths of these men.’ David spoke without fear of death.

  ‘Come forward’, the king commanded. He offered a hand towards David, who took it. The king grasped his hand with surprising strength, pulling David towards him as he shook. Shouting loudly for all to hear, he said, ‘We have an accord! Thirty-six free men will leave this ravine. One will die. The rest will serve. If any man amongst you does not accept this stand forward now.’ Not a man moved. ‘Then this accord is sealed before He who is Greatest and His king.’ The king lowered his voice and snarled, ‘But you David, leader of revolt, murderer and loathsome creature who would dare to force my hand, shall not be needing a priest, at least not today. You will have many years, if He who is Greatest, desires, for it is not your death I require this day.’

  ‘Lord Godwin’, the king called. ‘Take these thirty-six men away, have them clothed and send them on their way.’

  Godwin bowed in the saddle and bellowed. ‘Thirty-six men shall follow me now!’ He turned his horse as David instructed his followers to abandon their weapons and those whose freedom, he had secured should follow the lord.

  ‘The rest of you!’ the king bellowed with authority, ‘you will bury the dead’.

  The king sat in the newly erected pavilion. In his long-backed throne of a chair he sat and thought to himself, his eyes and mouth making twitching movements as he held council within his own mind, a habit he had developed. Suddenly he sat bolt upright as if struck with a great thought.

  ‘Colburn!’ He screamed to the pavilion where around fifty men ate and drank, including the prince and the Lord Godwin. The king gave no sign of surprise as Colburn emerged silently from behind the king, where he had been waiting hidden in the shadows.

  ‘Master?’ Colburn asked with his head bowed.

  ‘You will go to the slave’s encampment and watch them. Find one amongst their number dear to them. One who is close to their leader.’

  ‘Master’, Colburn said, then left through a flap in the tent’s side, without the notice of the men present.

  ‘Hamal!’ The king bellowed into the depths of the hall, and within a few seconds Hamal, captain in the king’s personal guard, knelt before him. ‘How may I serve, my king?’

  ‘You will separate the thirty-six men; they will not have any communication with the others. Double the guard and have them stand watch with drawn sword.’ He cocked his head to the side as if listening to council and continued, ‘In the dawn’s first light send the thirty-six freed slaves north. I shall continue south, but you will remain, in secret, with twenty men and fast horses. You will wait till the following dawn and track those vermin down. Subdue them with force, but do not damage them too much; they are needed. March them, march them hard, captain. To the great forests in the east. Find whoever has charge of supplying timber to the boatyards in the south and deliver them to their new life.’ The king’s temperament seemed to lighten as he thought of his deception, and the despair of those who thought to bargain with him would feel.

  The next dawn found a hive of activity as the camp was dismantled with expert proficiency. The king watched the slaves, who were sitting quietly upon the slave wagons. Their air enraged the king. Their heads held high as if they had won a victory, a victory over their king. He smiled to himself as he thought of their misplaced triumph.

  ‘Colburn, you found one amongst them who will be missed by all, including their so-called leader.’ Colburn signalled he had completed his task. ‘Then bring him to me.’ Colburn went to the slave wagons and climbed the one where David himself sat and grabbed a young man at the back of his neck. And with his great strength he dragged the man to the side of the wagon, ignoring the pleas from the man’s friends as he dumped the man over the side to land roughly upon the ground. Climbing down from the wagon, he took hold of the man again and dragged the winded man as he begged, discarding him to the ground beneath where the king stood. Jacob stepped forward, followed by his guard. The Lord Godwin had also stopped his overseeing of his men’s tasks to come to where the king stood.

  ‘Hearken to me!’ the king wailed, causing all to stop their tasks and watch. The slaves all stood upon the wagons, no longer chained to its boards, but those who tried to climb down were brutally struck by mounted guardsmen. Armed with their long spears they used the butts of the retrieved weapons and their anger to subdue them. The king struck the man who grovelled at his feet. Beating him to submissiveness as he cackled his customary laugh. ‘You, David’, the king screeched, his voice high-pitched and filled with rage, ‘will learn today the price of trying to force my hand. This is the death I shall take today. You would have asked a priest for forgiveness for the lives of the men you took? My men!’ The king screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘You would have begged the Lord above for forgiveness for lives you took gladly? No! You may ask the Lord’s forgiveness for this life that you have taken, with your actions.’

  The king drew his sword slowly from its jewel encrusted scabbard. The steel scraping from the scabbard’s throat sounded loud in the silence of the new dawn. The king looked upon his sword with love, and his body lusted to see its edge bloodied. Kane the Cruel, first of his name, had undoubtedly earnt the name as he cocked his head to the side as if listening to advice. ‘Yes!’ he screamed suddenly. ‘Jacob, come my nephew. I give to you the honour of imposing the king’s justice today.’ The king smiled his sickly smile and handed the sword hilt first to Jacob.

  Jacob closed his eyes momentarily and gathered his composure. A great sickness rose in his stomach as he thought of the man he must put to death. He feared the tears he felt forming in his eyes would betray him to the king. Opening his eyes, he forced a smile as he took the sword. He looked down upon the whimpering man and placed a gentle hand upon the man’s shoulder. He looked towards his king and said, ‘It is an honour to carry out your justice, my liege.’ He took the young man’s chin in his hand and lifted the blood-streaked face. Making eye contact, he said softly, ‘Name yourself.’

  The man trembled with fear. He looked to be a year or two older than the man who would take his life. ‘They call me Eddy, my prince.’

  ‘From where do you hail, Eddy?’ Jacob asked, whilst the king waited.

  ‘Hillsburg.’ His trembling had turned into uncontrollable shaking. His lips quivered as he tried forming the word please.

  Jacob made a mental note of the name and place. He made a silent promise to visit this place, H
illsburg, to speak with Eddy’s kin and to offer compensation. The prince of the kingdom of Man stood up straight and looked down upon the condemned man. In a loud clear voice, he said, ‘Die well, young man.’ The sword stroke fell. Jacob’s great strength was unneeded as the beautifully crafted weapon bit into Eddy’s spine at the nape of the neck. The bone shattered, causing instant death. The hard muscle yielded to the exquisitely crafted blade and in that single stroke every connection from the head to the body had been cleanly severed. Jacob’s face and tunic were splattered with warm bright blood as Eddy’s head seemed to pop from his shoulders, and was sent into the air on a torrent of blood to land with a sickening thud, whilst the man’s body collapsed with a spasm into the dirt.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Battle

  Knight-captain Gymir stood and admired the troops arrayed. Nearly a thousand brothers-at-arms had made it to the rendezvous, and they now stood evenly spaced apart in two lines. In the base of a valley, the first line stretched from the gentle slope to the west all the way to the higher slope to the east. They stood guard upon the flat land and waited. The second line stood equally arrayed only fifty paces behind the first. All the brothers waited for battle, yet for the first time, for most of the men-at-arms, they waited with their backs to the jungle. The base of the valley stretched out before them and it was upon this half-mile-wide, flat piece of land that they waited for the enemy.

  Dawn was breaking, the summer sun rising to the north, and Gymir acknowledged that the sun would be a hindrance to the enemy if they joined battle before midday, but after midday it would be the brothers who would have their vision restricted.

  Sometime during the depths of the night, the enemy had come in vast numbers. A horde of lesser and greater Orc and boar riders had attacked and overwhelmed the defenders of the garrisons of the fortresses, Goblins’ End and Oak Gate, killing or maiming over a hundred of the garrisons’ guards and pushing their way through to the rich and weak farmlands of the north.

  Although reports had made their way to the other garrisons, they were inconsistent, and accounts of the enemy ranged from five to ten thousand. Patrols of brothers-at-arms had confronted the vast horde inflicting death to the attackers but seemingly barely slowing them from their wanton marauding. Reports had come from two of the great lords of the north, Godwin and Lichenton, and a plan had been formulated. The town of Basford had fallen, the people butchered, and the buildings fired. Even from the distance Gymir could see the smoke dirtying the blue of the sky.

  Gymir thought little of the lords that ruled over the peasants that worked the ground south of the front-line, but he had to admit the plan was good. The enemy would retreat back to the darkness whence they came. The lords’ household warriors, all mounted on fine stallions, would drive the great horde through the valley. They would harass the flanks, driving the main body onto the valley floor and using the slopes either side of the valley basin to force the enemy onto the flat ground, where the armies of the brotherhood waited. They waited for one purpose, to be the rock upon which the tide of evil would break upon.

  The brothers stood in an identical fashion, legs spaced apart, shoulders back, their great shields leaning upon their left legs and their bare heads held high. Silently they stood waiting. Waiting for what would be the greatest battle many of them would see. Gymir also noted with a stab of regret that many of these brave brothers would feast in the halls of their fathers tonight. He looked upon the faces of his brothers, those that would rely on his orders not only for their survival but for their honour.

  Thinking about honour made Gymir think about the brothers who would not be fighting by his side, those brave brothers who had defied the ancient laws and their king all for duty and honour. He thought about his blood brother Brandt, the only man capable of beating him with sword. He thought about the style of swordcraft they had developed together as youths and perfected upon the field of battle, the dance of death. He thought about Gulbrand and his endless sermons. And he thought about Colburn, the man who was equal in rank, heart and mettle. When Gymir had first heard of the platoon’s pursuit of the Dark Ones into their domain, his anger was a force he could not control, but after a time he realised it was jealousy that forced his anger, and given time that anger turned to an ache in his heart as he had to learn to live without his blood brother, his friends and Colburn who was as a blood brother to him. Those men would be missed during the hours of battle, none more so than Colburn, who, if he were here, would have the command that now fell to Gymir.

  The brothers, to a man, looked catatonic as they starred, eyes front, towards where the enemy would come, seeking the shelter of their dark jungles. Yet the men-at-arms of the Brotherhood of the Order of Light were determined that none should reach the sanctuary of their accursed homeland. All shall die. No matter the cost. And not for the first time since the army had gathered did Gymir say a silent prayer that the cost would not be so high.

  Gymir looked towards the jungles. A mile or so beyond the second line of his brothers-at-arms, he could make out the treeline and its shadows that seemed to drain the light from the world. He feared an attack from those foreboding trees but trusted the men of the second rank to defend the rear. He looked as deep within the trees as he could, seeking movement or colour, anything that would betray the presence of a large host waiting within the shadows. Nothing. Not the slightest motion. He felt as though he looked upon a land dead, devoid of life. Then a slight shimmer caught his eye, like the waves of heat escaping through a chimney pot. The movement was brief, but Gymir sensed intelligence behind the shimmer and knew with all dread certainty that a power beyond that of an Orc watched on. And Gymir felt the hate beyond the unseen stare.

  ‘Scouts returning’, a voice called from the front line and soon the call was taken up a dozen times as a score of scouts returned.

  ‘Knight-sergeants!’ Gymir bellowed. And thirty-two sergeants left their men in their place in the ranks and came to join Gymir in the centre. It took only a minute before every sergeant and scout had joined Gymir for an impromptu council of war. He picked a scout at random and said briskly, ‘Report.’

  ‘They have entered the base of the valley. Boar riders lead the horde, followed by hundreds of greater Orc. Behind them, Goblins, too numerous to count. Their first elements will be with us in minutes.’

  Gymir nodded his approval at the efficient manner of the brief and said to the assembled group of scouts, ‘If you have anything to add, now is the time, brothers.’

  Halcyon stepped forward, the knight-captain’s own scout. ‘I counted thirteen boar riders, the biggest beasts I ever did see. But also hidden from view high upon the west slopes in the brush, I saw our brothers and can only presume they will come to our aid when they see the time is gravest.’

  One of the other Knight-sergeants, a brother with grey hair and a surly disposition, barked, ‘It is too far a distance to be sure of what you saw youngster, maybe it was the Orc upon the slopes making ready to assault our flank.’

  Gymir growled low and deep. ‘Halcyon has the keenest eyes of any man I have known, which is why I named him hawk. This council is at an end. The time for war is upon us. Go back to your men and prepare to receive boar riders.’ He looked from face to face before saying in a voice filled with pride. ‘It has been the honour of my life to serve this order and the greatest honour to fight with my brothers this day. Let He who is Greatest guide your sword, strengthen your shield and, if it is His will, feast you in His hall tonight.’

  The leaders of the army roared their approval at Gymir’s words, then separated to join their own men. Gymir bellowed loud enough for every man amongst them to hear. ‘Prepare to receive boar riders!’ The call was taken up by the other commanders and within seconds there was the sound of men in full plate armour moving into the preassigned position. One man in three took twenty paces forward whilst the other brothers in the first rank shuffled sideways to reduce the gaps. The tactic to engage boar riders seemed s
imple, to these men whose life was warfare, but only a handful had ever had to put the manoeuvre into practice. The brothers who had advanced would be the target of the boar rider’s first attack. But the brothers would not stand and engage the beasts, they would dance away to their right, shields raised to protect themselves from the beast’s tusks and the rider’s weapons. They would allow the creature to pass and with all the might of the sword arm of Man they would hack into the beast’s rear leg, disabling the beast and bringing it to the ground, where the brothers waiting in the front line would fall upon the injured beast and rider with fury and steel.

  The formation was set with Gymir taking his place in the centre. He spied the dust rising as the beasts began their charge towards the brotherhood. He turned to his left and then to his right and said in a soft voice that nevertheless carried, ‘He is with us. We do His work. Stay your fears and be one with Him.’ His voice rose as the colossal beasts came into view. ‘Let us send these creatures of Darkness into the abyss!’

  As the creatures became visible, Gymir heard the audible gasps, and understood the fear that would spread like a plague through the hearts of his brothers. Men bred, trained and experienced in facing the horrors of warfare against the Orc they were, but men still the same, and what charged towards them were horrors from nightmare. Each boar had the length and girth of a large horse, only they ran on stunted legs. Their tusks reared from the face of the beasts, much the same as from the face of the greater Orc, only these tusks were disgustingly huge, each the length of a man’s entire arm. Metal spikes were drilled into the tusks along its length whilst the top of the tusk were covered in cruel barbs that, once gripped in flesh, would hold their victim, whilst ripping and sawing, as the creature swung its powerful head from side to side. They would gore and tear the poison-coated metal into flesh, they would trampled with the weight of horse, and whilst the men were trying to keep distance from those evil barbs and bring their swords to bear, the lesser orcs sat upon the beast’s back, upon a throne made from the bones of their victims, and would strike at them with spears. The lesser orcs that rode the boars were much stronger and larger than the lesser Goblin but were still inferior to the greater Orc. Yet these lesser orcs who sat upon the beasts’ backs with ease carried long spears and used them with surprising skill.