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

by Aiden L Turner

  ‘Arnsten, you are changed with dereliction of duty. It is said that you abandoned your ordained route of patrol, taking your patrol south to the comforts of the inn at the town of Ravenscroft and during your absence the farmstead north of the town was attacked, and without protection there the Goblin foe did wantonly destroy the folk within.’ Gymir stood from his stool and came to stand before the manacled man. ‘Damn you, Arnsten! Have you any words to defend these charges?’

  Arnsten looked upon Gymir with an expression of innocence. ‘Am I a slave to be denied the comforts we keep safe for all free men?’ Arnsten said, as if his actions were of the soundest reason and logic.

  Gymir turned to Hund. ‘And you followed this order, Hund?’ Gymir said softly, yet with accusation open in his tone.

  ‘Aye’, Hund replied calmly. ‘I took the sergeant to one side and voiced my opinion, as did the other two corporals, but he chose not to heed our advice. He had command and thus his word is law in the field, is it not the way of things Knight-captain Gymir?’

  Gymir nodded his head reluctantly. ‘It is the way of things Hund, and the responsibility is Arnsten’s. But the shame will be shared by all.’ Gymir said the last with disgust. ‘Hund, you may return to Death’s Grip, but no longer as a corporal. You are sergeant now...’ Hund began to interrupt with an objection but was immediately spoken over by an infuriated Gymir. ‘You have refused promotion before Hund, claiming you have no head for such responsibilities, but not now! Know this sergeant’, Gymir spat the word sergeant. ‘This is a punishment. And with this rank you will not have the honour of knighthood, for you have allowed this to happen through your own indifference to the outcome. Too often of late has there been a lack of strength in honour amongst the brotherhood. Your first duty will be to hang your predecessor. You are dismissed, brother. And take the dead man with you.’

  Hund took hold of Arnsten’s chains and led him from the room. Neither man spoke nor showed any emotion. When they had left Gymir said in explanation to his mood. ‘We lose men to the Orc and their foul brethren. Our brothers see their friends killed, they see that our ways are failing, and they have begun to lose their sense of honour in service. We now lose a fine warrior because he lost his hope that we can defeat the dark servants.’

  Jacob spoke as a student would speak with a tutor, seeking information with the knowledge that he is before a peer. ‘You say they lose hope, so I presume this is a recent occurrence. What causes men that have such strength on the battlefield to lose hope? Are the attacks becoming so frequent, or is it something else that saps at their morale so?’

  Gymir raised an eyebrow slightly as he looked upon Robert who was smiling proudly. ‘I see you have taken well to your education, my prince.’ He came to stand before Jacob and gestured permission to sit beside the prince who in turn waved him to the seat. ‘I shall speak frankly with you, my prince. Arnsten has been unhappy in his service for a while. His wife was taken through sickness and his two children with her. His uncle and father both died under Colburn’s command, and he has ever mourned them deeply. He has been unlucky, and it has pulled him away from He who is Greatest of them all. He would have left the brotherhood, in truth, if such a thing were permitted. And now he will die without honour, as would a criminal, and it pains me.’

  Gymir looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued. ‘But he is not isolated in his growing despair, for we all feel it. There is a Darkness greater than Orc or Goblin dwelling just without our sight in those dark trees.’ He eyed Jacob thoughtfully. ‘I see you already know of what I speak. The Dark One has risen!’

  Father Robert and Jacob looked to one another whilst the others looked about confused at the mention of things from lore and legend. Father Robert broke the silence. ‘It is true we fear the return of a Lord of the Darkness, or one who has been given dark power. Jacob knows more of these things than most priests, but I wonder how a knight-captain in the brotherhood comes to know of these things.’

  Gymir laughed, a sound devoid of humour. ‘I know because I have stood before It, on a battlefield littered with Its slain minions, and I have felt Its sight upon me, as have my brothers. There is coming a time when the brotherhood will stand before a wave of Darkness, and many sense that it will be the end of our order.’ All eyes were upon Gymir now as he continued. ‘Some, like Hund, carry it lightly and will accept fate as it is, dealing with things as they come to pass without giving in to worry or despair; whilst men like Arnsten feel it is just another injustice in a long line of injustices.’ He shrugged slightly. ‘Some feel, much as I do, that our duty is to stem the Darkness and Its servants, not vanquish It completely, and we shall fight as we always have and die as we were born to do, yet those who feel this do not despair for we shall die well as warriors of the light and in death we shall see reward.’ His face took on a serious expression. ‘But then there are those who have given in to despair and despair, my young prince, is akin to infection that spreads like plague and once infected fear takes hold. Despair and fear are weapons of the Darkness.’

  Jacob looked surprisingly cheerful and his expression seemed to anger Gymir. Jacob caught hold of Gymir’s clouding features and sought to pacify him. ‘I understand the severity of the situation, Gymir. I just have a thought on how to boast morale.’

  Gymir looked unconvinced. ‘With all respect, my prince, although it is an honour to have you here, and I am sure men will take heart to see you, you do not know the minds of the men who serve as men-at-arms of the order nor the enemy we face.’

  ‘With all respect Knight-captain, you know nothing of me or my role in this world. I shall give your men a victory.’ As he spoke, Jacob had drawn power from within and he radiated authority that went far beyond his royal status.

  ‘Apologies my prince, you are correct. I assume too much’, Gymir replied. ‘I merely meant we gain victory in battle, though at times the cost is very high.’

  Jacob remained cheerful. ‘But I shall give your men a victory they have not seen before.’ Jacob stood, and all stood with him. ‘For I mean to set a trap and capture a greater Orc and I shall break the creature’s spirit, mind and will, and then all men will see the enemy not as a savage, snarling, servant of Darkness but as a thing broken by the power of the Lord of Light.

  Jacob stood in the open ground between Iron Guard and the border of the forbidden jungle. Beside him stood his oath-men Brondolf, Askia, Holak, Gulkin, Zachary and Wilhelm. And with them a troop of thirty men-at-arms of the brotherhood under the leadership of Gymir. In the fortress of Iron Guard, a full hundred men stood waiting. In full armour they waited for the sound of Gymir’s horn that would call them to battle. Another two hundred men-at-arms waited, hidden half a mile behind the great frontier fortress, waiting for the orders that would bring them to the front.

  Gymir turned to Jacob and said, ‘It is a fine notion my prince, but we have failed before in luring the Orc to battle, although we have not been so eager of late to draw them to battle as we have in days gone by.’ Gymir spoke lightly yet Jacob sensed his worry and knew that the captain did not worry for himself but rather his men. Luring the Orc to battle was risky, as they could not contain the numbers that came but only dictate the battleground.

  Brondolf aired his opinion. ‘And if they do not come to give battle my prince, or worse still, if they come in a great horde?’

  Jacob was looking thoughtfully into the dark trees, his face set in silent concentration. He neither spoke nor acknowledged Brondolf’s questions and Brondolf was about to ask again, thinking the prince had not heard, when Jacob suddenly spoke with a great surety in his voice. ‘They are already here, Brondolf. Hundreds wait beyond your mortal sight.’ Gymir and Brondolf exchanged a look and Gymir raised an eyebrow at the mention of ‘mortal sight’ but they remained silent as Jacob continued. ‘They will come in numbers, but those It sends have little power. There is one there who radiates power, granted by the Dark Lord, but that one waits upon his throne. He wishes to test me but dare
s not to face me.’

  Gymir looked upon Jacob in a new light as he saw beyond the powerful man and beneath, to the well of power within. ‘My prince’, he said in hushed tones. ‘Orcs do not see risk. They thrive for combat and one powerful enough to lead them. Well, I would doubt he knows fear.’

  ‘And yet the king of the Orc, as he is known, fears me.’ Jacob looked up to the sky and bellowed a series of ancient words, their meaning known only to Robert, yet every man there sensed the power. He drew his sword and pointed it to the trees and roared, ‘I see you, craven creature! Slave! Weakling! Come and meet your end!’ Jacob turned to Gymir. ‘Call up all men now.’

  ‘My prince, the plan was to lure them with a small force and call up the men once we weighed the enemy’s strength. It is a good plan, my prince. We shall bolster our small force with those in the fortress whilst those hidden storm their flanks.’

  Jacob turned upon Gymir and gone was the young prince of logical plans and reasonable questions. In his place stood a being of power. Jacob dropped the faceplate of his helm and his eyes dazzled through the eyeholes as bright as stars in a winter’s night. Power irradiated from Jacob like waves of heat from a furnace and Gymir now saw that Jacob commanded here, not from his title or rank but from power and as a champion of the one who granted Jacob that power.

  Gymir gave the command and within minutes three hundred warriors stood at Jacob’s back whilst to his sides stood Gymir, Brondolf and Jacob’s oath-men. Jacob turned his back upon the treeline and addressed the grim-looking warriors.

  ‘Long have you, brave warriors, stemmed the tide of Darkness that attacks from out of its dank lair. Long have you paid with blood to protect those preyed upon by evil. Too long have you fought without hope for end or lasting victory. And now you all see, as I see, that the power behind the Orc and Goblin and the creatures who serve the Darkness willingly grows in its strength.’ Jacob paused, looking from man to man. ‘But I say let them come! Let the masters come with their pets.’ Jacob turned to face the jungle and began chanting words unrecognisable to his comrades, long ago forgotten words. With his sword raised to the sky, he roared, ‘I am a Lord of Light! My master is without peer and I shall shine his radiance to the darkest shadows!’

  As Jacob roared his proclamation to the heavens, all men behind him dropped to their knees, awed by the presence of the power He who is Greatest of them all had granted this young man. A Lord of Light led them, and a new resolve surged through the warriors like the warmth of a roaring fire soaking into frozen bones, revitalising hope and crushing despair.

  ‘Rise, my brothers, rise’, Jacob said, his armour glowing, his strength God-given. He turned to Gymir and whispered, ‘It cannot let this challenge stand. Its nature will not let it go unanswered. But It is ill-prepared, and we shall have a victory today.’ He turned back towards the warriors and shouted, ‘Fight with me, brothers! Fight! For He has called you.’

  As one, every warrior raised their shield with their left arm and in the same fluid motion drew their great-sword from over their shoulder with their right. And out of the jungle a scream penetrated the ranks of warriors, a scream terrible and filled with dread and anger. A wind blew upon the scream, and with it the stench of death and decay. And then the architect of that foul noise sent forth his minions.

  They came in a horde of hundreds. With no discipline, and no fear, they ran as if they flew on the wind of death. Brandishing their crudely made, wicked knives, an uncountable wave of Goblin and lesser Orc came with all haste. All at one point they rushed, all coming to kill Jacob in an overwhelming flurry of black steel.

  Jacob saw their goal, saw how their forces were so consolidated in such a tightly packed group, and roared his order, ‘Shield fort!’ And with the discipline of men who had only known warfare, a hundred warriors came to stand in line. With Jacob and his oath-men and Gymir at its centre, the men raised their shields. The shields became a wall, three feet in height, with swords levelled along the top and double-edged, steel spikes facing towards the enemy. As the front rank formed the men behind the shields braced their immense strength behind the wall of steel, as the second rank formed behind them and lifted their shields above their heads. Placing their shields at an angle of forty-five degrees to the shields in the front rank, they made a sloping roof of steel and braced for the impact of the charge. The remaining hundred men-at-arms took ten paces back from the wall of shields and made ready to slaughter those who broke over the wall, or those who were thrown behind it.

  They braced and smiled. Gone was despair. Fear, but a memory. To a man they knew that this was a battle not dictated by the enemy. It was not a rush to save peaceful folk from a gruesome death, but a mad answer to a challenge the enemy could not comprehend or overcome.

  The first hit the wall. Many just threw their bodies upon it without apparent concern for their lives. Others were impaled upon the swords that were thrust between the shields. Back and forth those swords came. The weight balanced on the top edge of the braced shields as the sword arm of Man thrust and retrieved, thrust and retrieved, relentlessly.

  More of the evil foe attempted to jump the wall completely but were met with the shields of the second rank who lifted their shields with their great strength and sent their enemy to the ground before the third rank, who despatched them to hell with savage butchery.

  The shield fort held. Hundreds of lesser Orcs and Goblins lay hacked and torn before it and still they came, though Jacob could feel their numbers slackening. He looked out from the gap between the shields and laughed a sound of joy as he sighted his goal. A greater Orc, monstrous in stature, strode confidently towards the wall. It bellowed at its lesser brethren, and Jacob felt the fear his enemy had of its own commander. And it was a terrifying creature. Eight foot in height, it towered over its subordinates, with arms that bulged with muscle as thick as that on Jacob’s own huge thighs. Bone white tusks flanked a mouth agape with anger and jagged fangs. It roared its challenge and the lesser Orc and Goblin fled from it. It strode on purposefully, as if the wall of Man and steel would wither before his presence, and Jacob studied it with calm. Its flesh, a surprisingly bright green like moss growing on a winter bare tree, was criss-crossed with an uncountable number of scars. In its hands was the largest two-handed battle axe Jacob had ever seen. Its double blade a circular disc two feet across, broken in the middle by the weapon’s shaft. Yet it was not the weapon the greater Orc carried that wrought the most terror, but rather the cloak it wore. A gargantuan patchwork of human scalps lay draped over the thing of nightmares and trailed behind it as it marched.

  ‘Open!’ Jacob yelled, and as one the wall dissolved into another formation, every man in the second rank took two steps back, leaving before them a river of dismembered Goblin and the ground slick with thick green blood. Then every other man in the first took another two steps back, while the second rank took six paces back and from the centre moved out in a wave that left a sword’s length between each man, leaving a staggered wall that still stood a formidable defence but left room for movement. The attack had faltered, and all but halted, in most parts, as both sides awaited the combat of their champions.

  Jacob pointed his sword at the colossal Orc and dropped his borrowed shield. ‘I choose you’, he growled and stepped forward. ‘I shall break you, fiend! Come and witness the power of the light.’

  With that, the Orc came. It was still ten paces from Jacob when it swung its enormous axe, as if testing the weight and stretching its hideous muscles. An unfortunate Goblin wandered within its path and the greater Orc brought back his axe one-handed and with contempt for its lesser brethren’s life it brought its axe in an upward sweep and the blade bifurcated the Goblin, sending entrails, blood and organs in a shower of green.

  Then the Orc was upon Jacob, swinging the axe with two hands at the base of the weapon’s shaft, bringing all the power to its swing in an attempt to destroy Jacob’s armour through brute force. Jacob stepped mockingly aside and flicked the t
ip of his sword to cut the beast’s hand as he moved to the right. The creature was all rage and brute strength, but he recovered quickly and used the long-hefted axe to keep Jacob at a distance, thrusting the weapon’s head at Jacob’s helm. But Jacob had speed unmatched by any mortal and he moved his head each time the Orc thrust, and the axe head went impotently by.

  The Orc threw back its head and roared its displeasure. It brought the axe back and swung it round its head in a large circular arch before bringing it down to crush Jacob’s helm and skull. Yet Jacob effortlessly raised his left hand and gripped the shaft of the weapon and stepping forward, and to his right, he brought his sword down on to the shaft, shattering the thick wood only inches away from the Orc’s grasping fingers. The Orc lost control of whatever combat patience it possessed and with it its skill. It put its head down and charged, throwing itself upon the prince with the force of a felled oak tree. But any force the Orc held could not move the warrior of light and he simply bent low at the knees and as he rose delivered a stunning left hook to the side of the charging monstrosity’s head, sending it reeling to the ground.

  The men-at-arms of the Brotherhood of Light cheered for their prince. Cheered at the contempt with which he held the enemy. Cheered at the ease with which Jacob dealt with such a fearsome adversary. And Jacob encouraged their exuberance, knowing that these men needed to see their enemy humiliated. He allowed the creature to rise and as the greater Orc shook its head clear, the whooping and cheering stopped.

  A lesser ran to the aid of his master and presented him with a large, curved sword which looked like a mere dagger in the oversized monster’s giant fist. In return for the sword, the greater Orc tested its blade by stabbing it deep into the throat of the lesser Orc. Jacob watched on in mute interest as the greater Orc grabbed the dying Goblin by the back of its head before it could fall and plunged its own mouth into the dying creature’s bloody wound. The greater Orc ripped with its fangs as it drank deep of its fellow’s blood. After a few sickening moments, the Orc let go of the weaker Orc and it dropped dead to the ground.