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

by Aiden L Turner

  Jacob struggled to see past the hulks and sails of the ships closest to his own vessel and climbed the mast for a less obstructed view. He climbed slowly, using the small pegs designed for use by men of a much slighter stature. His limbs ached, his lungs burned, the taste of death lay rancid in his mouth. The ship swayed dramatically as he neared the top of the mast, and as he looked southward towards the entirety of the great fleet, he staggered under the blow of defeat.

  The destruction looked complete. Great piles of wood floated where entire ships had been crushed, as if some giant hand had squashed them. Human wreckage had attracted back the sharks they had seen fleeing before the Kraken. Other ships listed to one side, with huge gaping holes ripped through their hulls, and everywhere the cries of pain.

  Jacob climbed wearily back down the mast, the deck filled with men-at-arms, sailors and slaves alike. All turned towards him, a vast circle of expectant faces. All had kin, comrades and friends upon the other vessels.

  ‘The Kraken...’ He paused. ‘The Kraken ripped through the fleet before we even caught sight of it. The losses will be great.’ The prince did not know what else to say, there was little comfort he could offer men. Men whose fear had been let loose in the nightmare that had attacked them, men whose grief would have no comfort, all bore witness to the abject horror of a death given by the foulest of beasts.

  ‘Then there is but one thing for it’. the captain said, standing with his arms resting upon his sailor’s shoulders. ‘We limp home.’

  Jacob looked at the captain in silence, no emotion upon his face. But one of the young sailors, who the captain had an arm around, shrugged free of his comforting arm, and said in a voice filled with anguish. ‘And what of those, eh?’ The boy who could not be more than fourteen, said whilst pointing towards Beringer’s annihilated flagship.

  ‘We have a full complement onboard as it is. No sense us sinking, waiting about for it to return’, the captain said.

  ‘You’, Jacob answered the captain, ‘are a pig’s turd. A fat, useless, pig’s turd. With all the balls God grants a newborn baby girl. How you have the rank of captain is beyond my reasoning but let us now have clarity: you have no authority! You will be about my commands, as I give them, and you will not make suggestions to me or any other aboard this vessel. Clear, captain?’

  The captain nodded vigorously as a reply but then gave a resounding ‘yes’ when it was clear the nodding was not a sufficient enough reply.

  ‘Right!’ Jacob bellowed in a voice loud enough to be heard on other vessels. ‘We shall make a fortress here. We shall lash our ships together. We shall search the waters for our fallen brothers. We shall treat our wounded. Take account of our supplies and reform our strength. As we would upon a field of battle, so shall we do here. And then, when our strength is recovered and our spirit renewed, we shall continue forth in our expedition.’

  It took two hours to get the first five ships lashed together in a row. It was a crude structure, but it moved as if it were one rather than five. The prince was ensured that the currents would drive them north, but nevertheless he and everybody else on the floating fortress thought of little else other than being driven onto rocks. Little else except the moans of the wounded being treated, the screams of Mangled limbs being amputated, the sobs of grief as slaves or sailors pulled the dead from the waters and discovered a relation.

  Jacob was left with a hard decision about what to do with those numerous floating dead. There was not the room onboard and no time or energy to spend giving burials at sea, as was the sailor’s custom. So, it was decided that a circle, the symbol of He who is Greatest of them all, be carved in their flesh, shoulder and chest, and then the corpses be given back to the sea. Jacob and the men of the brotherhood told the grieving sailors and slaves alike that the symbol would offer the dead protection from evil and the embrace of God, yet it was only so they knew not to bother dragging the same dead back onboard.

  More ships joined the floating fortress, lines were rigged, and the vessels were gently gliding into place. The aft section of the newly added ships fitting into the bow section of two of the already secured vessels.

  Night fell, but with a full moon and a clear sky, visibility was good and by the morning the floating fortress consisted of twenty ships. The wounded were receiving the best possible care, the supplies were secured, and the remaining forty-two ships drifted within sight of the large construct.

  Over half the souls who sailed from the kingdom port were lost, most unaccounted for. Slaves, still chained to the rower’s benches, below deck, had gone to the bottom of the deep, food for whatever evil creatures abide in such places. Whilst the deck of those vessels had been striped clean of life, food for the beast or just pulled to pieces in the Kraken’s rampage of wanton destruction.

  Eighty men-at-arms of the Brotherhood of Light were gone, dragged to the depths of the ocean by the armour they, to a man, refused to abandon even for the length of the sea voyage. When asked by sailors, who were barefoot and often naked except for a pair of short, light trousers, why they wore steel knowing they had no chance of staying above water in the heavy armour, they all replied the same. ‘The strength of armour is not in its protection but in the ability to move as if we do not wear it.’

  And eighty of the brothers had sunk with the weight of that armour. They were mourned in silence. The men-at-arms of the brotherhood carried their grief as the armour they still refused to shed. They wore it about them, like a dark cloak on a frosty night, as they tended the wounded and consoled the mortally injured or grief-stricken sailors, soldiers, or slaves alike.

  Jacob cleared room onboard his own vessel and called a council of war. Twenty men sat against the hull or stood, and Jacob struggled to recognise a third of them. The great Lords Godwin and Beringer had been taken by the beast, both had gone to death with honour, with drawn sword and hidden fear. Miraculously, Beringer the Younger, had survived and been amongst the first rescued. The great southern Lords Otelin and Armine were amongst the unaccounted for. No one had come forth with witness to the fate of the vessels they sailed upon. The Lords Lichenton and Aelinor sailed upon vessels that had been destroyed by the beast. The lords themselves missing and presumed to be dead. Of the great lords of the kingdom only Audemar and Rowland had survived, their decision to remain and defend the north now seemed prophetic.

  ‘We shall take all but two of the seaworthy ships and continue north. Our strength is reduced but our resolve is not.’ Jacob spoke in a voice calm and lacking warmth.

  The new Lord of Beringer, the oldest son of the now deceased Lord Beringer, spoke with the voice of the assembled noblemen. ‘Why reduce our strength further?’ He spoke coldly, his tone speaking volumes of his regard for the men not equal to his rank. ‘Kill all the wounded slaves, give mercy to the soldiers and sailors who cannot perform their duty, and press forward. It is not difficult.’ He spoke dismissively.

  A few men muttered agreement, though most remained silent. Jacob noted that all the enthusiasm of this voyage was now absent, dragged to the bottom of the ocean with their fellows.

  ‘The two ships will remain with all the wounded. Ten men from the brotherhood will remain to oversee their treatment. We shall come back via the same route and retrieve all who have been injured in service to their king.’

  ‘Folly!’ Beringer the Younger spoke with contempt naked in his voice.

  Jacob rounded on the young lord. ‘You impudent wretch!’ He screamed into the young lord’s face. ‘You have not yet had the rank of your father bestowed upon you and you dare question a crowned prince!’

  Beringer the Younger paled, then withered before the sudden fury of the prince. ‘I beg your forgiveness, my prince, I am only concerned for our future success.’

  Jacob calmed his voice, though his eyes still shone with anger. ‘I shall forgive your transgression, once, for you grieve for your father, as do we all. But dare to insult me again at your own peril.’

  Chapter Thirty-fo
ur

  War Fire

  Lord Audemar and Knight-captain Gymir stood atop the flat roof of the great fortress of Iron Guard. Both looked upon the jungle in silence, their thoughts lingering upon the horrors that awaited them. The trees looked still and silent, yet they felt the presence of the enemy. They sensed, as prey does, the eyes of the predators within the shadow of the trees.

  Gymir continued to stare out towards the unseen enemy as he broke the silence. ‘I do not know if it will be enough’, he began quietly. ‘But without your aid, the order would surely not survive this coming invasion.’ He turned to Audemar and held out a hand and said, ‘My thanks, brother.’

  Lord Audemar took the hand and grasped it firmly. ‘This war will come to us all in the end, I fear. I shall play my part, and do my duty, with those men brave enough to meet the enemy at the first. Let no man say that those in the south dare not fight in the front rank.’ Then Audemar laughed, a good-humoured chuckle that surprised Gymir and caused him to look at the lord with slight confusion.

  ‘I do not see the humour in this, my lord’, Gymir said, slight irritation in his voice.

  ‘I laugh at the exploits of fate, my dear friend’, Audemar replied with a gesture to dismiss Gymir’s irritation. ‘For years I petitioned the king to grant me permission to lead men of the south to confront the Orc menace, as my father had petitioned before me, and always I was mocked. ‘Leave the north-lands to those sworn to protect the north’ our king’s advisors would say, and now look, here I am finally ordered to come, my wish granted.’ He shrugged. ‘Just in time for the greatest battle the north has ever known. It is merely fate, brother.’

  ‘It is said in many ancient tomes, written by the wisest of men, that only in the darkest hour and when the need is most high will He who is Greatest move his hand. You are here, when you are needed most, because that is as it should be, my friend’, said Gymir.

  ‘And the prince?’ Audemar asked, his tone now serious, his laughter gone. ‘I have heard of his prowess on the battlefield, and I would not believe the half of it, had the accounting of those tales not come from so many worthy men, including yourself. Is he here, upon this fortress, where he is needed most? No Knight-captain, he is not, and it troubles me deeply why he went at all upon this grand quest, when he above all men claim knowledge of the doom we face.’

  Gymir looked hard into Audemar’s eyes, his expression stern. ‘It is not my place to question the prince, and even less my place to question the one who grants him authority. He will be where he is needed most, of that I am sure, as we are where we are needed most.’ Gymir turned towards the still trees once more. ‘We are here, brother, to meet the enemy with sword and with bow and with fire.’

  The Lord Audemar, one of the great lords of the southern kingdom, bowed theatrically. ‘And what fire I shall bring, Grand Knight-captain of the Brotherhood. Such fire to melt the bones of our enemies.’ Lord Audemar looked towards the south, towards the civilisation that lived behind the fortresses, where people came and went upon their daily tasks. ‘Come, my brother, that’s my man I see, and he looks to be ready for the demonstration.’

  Audemar and Gymir left the roof of the fortress and made their way down the spiralling stairway and into an evening cool and fresh but without need for warm clothes or furs. Walking towards an open meadow, a few hundred yards to the south of the fortress, they were joined by many warriors, both brothers of the Order of Light and Audemar’s bowmen. They came upon an area made clear of bracken, crops or trees, where a shallow hole had been dug, and men stood around awaiting their leaders.

  The hole was only a foot deep but had the width and length of ten feet, and into the hole a thick black substance had been poured. Men jostled with each other to see the demonstration, and skins of wine were being passed around.

  ‘Enough!’ bellowed Gymir. ‘Do you think you are at a carnival? Have you paid coin to witness a spectacle?’

  The gathered men shrank back from Gymir’s rebuke, but though they edged back, they still stood close enough to see.

  ‘Favian?’ The Lord Audemar called over his man, a short man with a bald head, a large bulbous nose and a girth that gave him an overall round physique.

  ‘My lord’, the man named Favian said as he bowed low to Audemar. Gymir looked the man over and turned to the lord with eyebrows raised in question to the man’s ability.

  Audemar smiled at Gymir. ‘Despite this man’s appearance, he has worth tenfold to any of the skilled warriors of the order’, Audemar said, smiling. Gymir looked back at the man and his face took on a grave expression, but before he could voice his outrage at the insult, Audemar spoke again.

  ‘He is an Alchemist’, the Lord Audemar said, whilst the grubby, short and hideously fat man bobbed his head up and down in agreement. ‘And he has found a way to mix a small amount of pitch, from charcoal burners, with rendered fat from animals and the same minerals that you yourself use for those colourful warning fires, to create a substance that can be poured into a hole in the ground, where it can remain for months unaffected by the weather.’

  Audemar touched Favian gently on the shoulder and said, ‘If you are ready, my friend?’ The man waddled off and began shooing the gathered warriors back, away from the hole and the substance within. The warriors laughed as the short, round man attempted to push them further still until Gymir’s voice cut through the air.

  ‘Do as the man named Favian bids. Or do you wish to volunteer for additional latrine duties?’ Gymir said with gleeful relish. To a man they fell back and in silence looked on. Favian took a brand and walked some fifty paces to a small brazier and lit the brand. He walked to the hole and stood some ten paces away. ‘My lord.’ He called out in a loud, clear and theatrical voice. ‘Behold! War fire!’ With those words, he threw the flaming brand into the hole and the effect was instantaneous.

  A great fire ball burned with a white-hot intensity, flaring outward and upwards. It knocked Favian to the ground. Those brothers closest to the hole, but still twenty paces away, covered their faces and withdrew from the savage heat.

  Favian rolled on the ground, his eyebrows and clothing singed but he was laughing manically. Gymir and Audemar shielded their eyes from the sudden white flash that came with the fire and from the heat, but within a few seconds the white became a bright blue that in turn faded into an orange. The fire still blazed fiercely, but without the sudden heat that would warp even the strongest steel and melt flesh in an instant. At ten feet high the flames licked the air, and the entire area of the hole became a sudden and continuous pit of fire.

  Audemar turned to Gymir, smiling, ‘We have enough of this foul substance to fill a hundred small holes, each only a tenth of this’, he said, pointing to the still blazing fire. ‘A hundred for each of the fortresses. We have already dug them, scattered sporadically to within a bowshot of the fortress’s battlements. My men will station the battlements day and night, with braziers and fire arrows ready. You and the other commanders of the brotherhood still believe the enemy will attack the forts in strength, as they begin their invasion?’

  Gymir nodded. ‘In times past they have come without method or logic. Raiding, killing and capturing the weak. But now they are with leadership and their attacks more organised. It is mere speculation, but speculation grounded in learned observation. Yes, I believe they will not leave the fortresses of the north at their back. They will storm upon our walls, and we must break them here or the kingdom shall be broken.’

  ‘Then break them we shall! They will throw Goblin and Orc upon the fortresses, seeking to wear us to dust by their vast numbers, but their ranks will be packed tight and my bowmen will bring fire and death.’ Audemar stopped speaking and turned to the right side of the battlements. ‘They will be forced wide of the forts and funnelled into the open space between the fires and arrows. They will be forced forward, and you and your brothers’ swords will greet them with yet more death.’

  Gymir looked at the Lord Audemar with admiration.
‘It is a fine plan, brother.’ He said no more. He looked up at the banner of the broken Orc, its flesh preserved by magic means. Then he looked towards his sentries, standing ever watchful, and the ten bowmen leaning against the battlements. He lamented at the great sacrifice these brave men would make and silently prayed the invasion would not come.

  Then from out of the trees, with a single motion, an unbroken line of enemies stepped into view. One moment there was only the foreboding shadow of jungle, the next a line of huge baulking Orcs appeared. In silence the enemy appeared and in silence they now stood, motionless, like statues, hideous in their stillness.

  Bells rang out, from left and right and from behind. A multitude of ringing broke the silence. From left to right columns of coloured smoke rose in the evening sky as the sun began its descent. Voices bellowed orders from various points and distances. From a silent still evening chaos had fallen, and now men hurried to their place of duty to await the battle that would be the death of so many. The battle that had been foreseen. The battle that had been generations in coming and yet had still surprised.

  Gymir ran through the fortress and ascended the stairway. He bowled over a brother as he ran through the doorway and onto the roof. As he leaned upon the battlement calculating the enemies’ number, drumbeats sounded beneath the jungle canopy, each a single strike, deep and foreboding. The line of Orc took a single step forward and their Goblin brethren came behind them. Hundreds of greater Orcs stood at the front of the army that had come to obliterate the race of men. Gymir felt despair like he had never felt before. He more than most had faced the strength of the greater Orc and he had prevailed in single combat against such beasts, but now before him stood an army of such creatures.