Rogis looked at him. “Something is awry?”
Rashnir had come up from a position at the center of the convoy. “No. I simply came to talk.”
“There’s no one back there to talk to?” Rogis quipped.
Rashnir shot him a sly look, “No one who can hold an intelligent conversation.”
Rogis grinned. “So what’s on your mind, then, Rashnir?”
Rashnir sighed and looked away sheepishly. Looking at the distant horizon, he replied, “Kelsa.”
Rogis puffed his breath audibly; resigning himself to a conversation that he’d long known was coming. “What of her?”
Rashnir turned and looked Rogis in the eye, “I desire her. I wish to take her as my wife, to marry her.”
Rogis nodded and swallowed before speaking, “Her father is dead. You need no permission.”
Rashnir gave him a slanted, knowing look. “I may have killed Mind, but I am asking you.”
Rogis’ looked softened a little as he held Rashnir’s gaze; the young man had grown great in skill and countenance in only a short while. He’d truly become one of Rogis’ friends. “You would surely have my permission.”
The look on Rashnir’s face shifted from concern to elation.
“Now get back to your post. It won’t be long before we enter the hot zone.”
Rogis also took a new position. Slightly behind the point riders who wore heavier plate-mail, he found a spot safer from projectiles. Rashnir rode Nikko back to the center of the line.
He spent the next leg of the trip in a cloud of joy, thinking about his future prospects, his hopes and ambitions with Kelsa. He finally forced himself to focus on the task at hand. In a short while they expected to be attacked by a horde of orcs.
The convoy journeyed another half hour until tangled branches and wild growth surrounded them on all sides; thorny walls rose up around them, curving above their heads to create a canyon effect. Brambles almost enclosed them completely; only a few sparsely knitted sections of the canopy let light’s full spectrum shine through and illuminate the main road.
The scouts in their party kept ever alert. Some of the horses tensed. The whole convoy collectively ceased individual conversations and became one unit, each section on high alert. Rogis noticed how, except for the creaking of wheels on the convoy’s wagons and the sound of hooves striking earth, silence reigned. He leaned and mumbled to the soldier next to him.
At Rogis’ behest, he struck up into song. The silence made it too obvious they expected an ambush and that the Rangers were trying to lure the orcs into attacking them.
“Oh! There was a dumb lass
That I knew so well.
She wasn’t an unfriendly belle.
“Never a beauty
She always smelled foul
Like the girl lost control of her bow’ls!
“She had no friends
‘cept fer’er big ugly litter
No wonder she spent her whole life so bitter.
“Yes, my story tis true
The world’s ugliest lass,
She was half-orc and—”
The mocking lyrics provoked a battlecry from the leafy shroud nearest them. Orcs leapt from the bushes, brandishing crude weapons of various, wicked shapes. The Rangers responded with their own war cry and unsheathed weapons of their own.
Rogis joked to his bard as he drew his own sword, “You must have struck a nerve there. Nothing quite so effective as insulting someone’s mother.”
Battle ensued with crossed blades and clashing shields. Two large groups of orcs, each at least thirty strong, blocked the escape path on either side. They pressed the attack from the ends as individual orcs harried the convoy from the sides, picking at the flanks. But the convoy wasn’t concerned with escape; they came prepared for this formation, which allowed them to split the orcs’ numbers into manageable portions with their unconventional tactics.
At Rogis’ shrill whistle, archers leapt up on the foremost and rearmost wagons and began firing away at the front and rear raiding groups. They first targeted any orcs with slings or crossbows and then turned their attention to the harried flanks of the convoy. Most of their shots, because of the angle, struck non-vital areas of the orcish bodies; they took the shots anyway. All they needed were distracting wounds that could give the foot soldiers opportunities to make killing blows: attrition would whittle down their opposition.
Rogis led a small band of warriors into the fray at the front of the convoy just as his archers turned to protect their own flanks. His small but elite group decimated the distracted orcs, dividing their formation. The rest of the Rangers turned and began clearing out the sides of the convoy as the rear group mimicked Rogis’ maneuver. From start to end, the whole skirmish was over in a matter of minutes. Fewer than twenty orcs escaped into the trees; most of them nursing some kind of injury.
Rogis met up with his second in command. “How many losses?”
Rashnir replied, “We lost maybe a dozen men, with only a few men wounded. I would guess about fifteen casualties.”
Rogis nodded. The dozen dead men were likely newer recruits. New, unseasoned recruits usually had a short expectancy in the Rangers; only about an eighth of new recruits survived, but those that did usually became skilled warriors in whichever house of the Mercenaries Guild they petitioned for membership.
The warriors regrouped and tended their wounded. Rogis sent a few scouts out to dispatch those orcs that slipped away, into the trees. Rashnir gave an order to check the orcs for possessions and designated a location to dump the plundered goods; they would be divided later. As the men checked the bodies they would also finish their work, killing any enemies that remained alive.
A short while later, the scouts returned to report. “All of the stragglers are dead. ‘Bout a dozen of em, all their tracks lead in the same direction. They tried to mostly keep to the different critter trails. The smarter ones tried to take a more roundabout path, but they all ended up leading to the exact same destination. We figure it must be their hideout. Jaker is exploring the trail further and will catch up with us in a little bit.”
Rogis nodded to Rashnir, “Assemble those Rangers that are the most green; we’ll leave those ones here to guard the convoy. If Jaker is sniffing this closely, he’ll find something. We’ll head out towards his location and see what he’s discovered.”
Rashnir directed a dozen of the newest members of their guildhouse to set up a watch and guard the convoy until the remainder of the Rangers returned. He caught up with the rest of his men as they entered the woods. All on foot, a more seasoned group of Rangers, nearly forty-strong, swiftly crept through the trails until they found the brash, young scout sitting atop an old, fallen tree and smoking a pipe.
“Jaker!” another scout chided. “What in the lands are you doing? Someone could’ve smelled that smoke and come and plugged your smokehole up with an arrow!”
“What?” he shrugged nonchalantly, “I knew you guys would find me first. Never fear when the mighty Rogis Rangers are coming to your rescue.” He grinned arrogantly.
Rogis just shook his head. Rashnir got along with Jaker all right, though he could sometimes find him unbearably sarcastic; he wasn’t sure that Jaker cared for him all that much, though. Jaker and Kelsa had been close friends for many years, ever since they were young, and so Rashnir did his very best to keep a positive attitude about him.
Some of the men looked to Rogis or even Rashnir to put Jaker in his place when he acted out of line, but Rashnir knew why Rogis tolerated Jaker. Rogis tolerated the young scout for the same reason that he had put up with Mind: he was the best at what he did. A good leader often had to pick skill over likeability, though Jaker was likeable by most accounts, as long as you had enough of a sense of humor and a forgiving attitude. Of course, there was another secret reason—but none could prove it; the chance existed that Rogis was Jaker’s father, but very few knew of that.
&nb
sp; “What did you find?” Rogis asked.
“We got a big old rabbit trail about two hundred yards that way,” Jaker threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Big trail; must be the main route that the orcs split off of to find their way to the ambush points. The ground’s dug up like a cattle pen indicating pretty heavy traffic. I’d guess, by what I see, that our convoy’s ambushers made up only about thirty percent of their total gang.”
Rogis’ jaw tightened, this was one large group of bandits. Only half of the members of their guildhouse had been chartered for this mission. Rashnir knew that Rogis wished to have the rest of the Rangers there with them now so they could storm the orcs’ base; he also knew that if the rest of the Rangers had been along, the mission would have failed at conception. The orcs wouldn’t have been foolish enough to attack such a well-guarded convoy in the first place.
“How far does the trail go?” Rashnir asked.
Jaker turned to face him, “About half a mile, then you can see the outskirts of their base. I wasn’t spotted and I was able to scout it quickly.” Jaker drew a basic layout for them in the dirt and Rogis worked through an attack plan. They’d come too far to leave the mission incomplete; they’d have to make do with half as many men as hoped for.
***
The Rangers split into several battle-groups prior to the assault of the raiders’ base. Rashnir led the main group, which acted as a decoy.
His group approached the orcs’ base. Crested with trees, a gently rising hill loomed in front of them; within it, a large cave had been dug. They assumed that the cave had been further excavated to make room for the burgeoning community of orcish thieves.
The mouth of the cave yawned open before them. In plain sight, the decoy group moved directly up the main trail. Their archers quickly picked off the few orcs already about the grounds of the main encampment. Skewered orcs fell to the dirt, arrows protruding from their vitals. The Rangers crept through the bowl-like glade that spanned the encampment’s clearing.
Sixteen warriors made up the decoy group, six of them were armed with bows and arrows; everyone else carried tall shields. Two smaller groups flanked the main decoy group, but remained out of sight. Inside of the cave sat their main target: several large bundles of hay and other potential flammables.
According to Jaker’s report, it did not appear that anything of significant value would be damaged by a visit from a friendly neighborhood arsonist. The decoy group planted down and formed a shield wall, making as much noise as possible in the process. Once set, they screamed orcish curses and the archers shot burning arrows into the mouth of the cave, igniting the straw and other flammable materials.
Orcs wielding various weapons poured from the mouth of the flaming cave; many of them suffered burns in the evacuation. Hearing the curses, they flung themselves towards the decoy group. Archers picked off some of the ekthro, twirling them violently as they fell wounded or dead, making others stumble over the bodies. The bulk of the orcish horde continued their charge at Rashnir’s group. All their rage was focused on the decoy, blinding them to the others, just as planned.
Just as the mass of orc attackers finished pouring into the open glen, the decoy archers tucked themselves behind the shield wall. Suddenly, orcs began pitching forward, falling dead upon the ground, arrows sticking from their backs.
Rogis directed a group of archers on the rise above the mouth of the cave where the archers launched deadly projectiles at the enemies as fast as they could loose them, knowing that the decoy group relied on them to do a great deal of damage in a very short time as they fired arrows into the unprotected backs of the baited ekthro. The archery fire caused a few moments of disarray until the now-reduced orc militia realized the gravity of their situation: they were taking fire from the rear while caught in the open.
As soon as the orcs figured out that the decoy group was bait, sent to goad them into this trap, Rogis stepped aside. Jaker stepped up and dropped to one knee. The scout fired a strange looking weapon; his device looked like a combination between crossbow and slingshot. It hurled a shiny object similar to an hourglass which it sent flying like an arrow directly into the heart of the orcish horde.
The double-bulbed glass projectile impacted and the glass broke. As the bulb’s contents mixed together, the chemical reaction caused an escharotic explosion. Its meteoric wave discharged with hurricane impact; flames rode on the eddicurrents, sheathing everything in the immediate vicinity with alchemical flames that harmlessly washed off of the tower shields.
The bait group hunched protected behind their temporary shield wall; the acrid blaze enveloped only the ekthro and the trampled flora. Most of the orcs fell to the intense flames, dying instantly. Some survivors of the bandit group ran in chaotic, confused circles, trying to shed the caustic embers that had once been their flesh.
Archers on the rise released another, more directed volley, taking careful aim at their enemies and dropping specific targets; two flanking warrior groups broke from the trees and charged in to clean up the orcs, as did the decoy group. The orc base had been fully undone. Any still alive soon fell under blows that they never saw coming.
Every orc was dead in mere minutes. The brilliant plan had been derived on the fly: make them punch-drunk with fast misdirecting strikes, get them in the open, confuse them, and hit them hard once and then again from all sides.
With the orcs defeated the Rangers regrouped at the mouth of the cave. A small foray of scouts went into the cave to root out any others.
A thorough investigation of the area verified their success: the Rangers had eliminated the orc threat in the area. Several storage rooms in the cave held the spoils of recent plunders. Rogis set up a small contingent to stay behind and guard the cave until the Rangers could return and send wagons to gather the plunder, a bonus beyond the Rangers’ normal pay. The rest of the Rangers began the trek back to the convoy, leaving the others to set up a makeshift defense perimeter in case they encountered any unwelcome visitors.
The Rangers formed up and continued escorting the convoy on its way towards Aphinnea where it would probably pick up a new, cheaper, escort to take it through safer trade routes.
Rogis rode over to Rashnir’s side as they went, another hard day at work nearly complete. They’d be back in Grinden after a few days.
“So you are planning to take Kelsa then?” Rogis’ face warmed as he looked at Rashnir. “You will, of course, be inviting us to the wedding ceremony?”
Rashnir nodded, “Of course.”
“And you would maybe need someone to stand in and give away the bride? Someone who is a fatherly type of figure…perhaps someone you already know…”
“Well…” Rashnir prodded, “I was thinking of asking you, but then I thought…”
They traded sagacious glances in good humor.
“Oh stuff it, Rashnir. Let me give away my little girl.” Rogis grinned and the convoy continued moving.
Chapter Four
Rashnir’s horse shook its sweaty mane, calling him back to the moment. He urged the beast on again, leaving behind the familiar debris and pursuing his mission.
Sentiment crept in and momentarily softened his resolve for a moment. Rashnir absentmindedly fingered the dead spots on his hands: lines of seared flesh where his enemy had branded his palms with hot iron. The old wounds killed his nerve endings where they’d raised ugly scar tissue. Rashnir thrust the happy memories away and shook his fists with rage. Now was the appropriate time for bitterness and indignation.
Over and over in his mind, Rashnir killed King Harmarty, each time in some new manner; he replayed scenes, each time reacting to different invented situations. He spurred the horse to coax more speed from it. His retribution flew on tired hooves.
***
Rogis sat with Rashnir and Kelsa. Their wedding day had drawn near when Rashnir received a summons by the newly crowned king, King Harmarty. Rashnir met him once at an event he’d attended with Rogis. At
that time, Harmarty was still a spoiled prince living in the resentful shadow of his respected father.
Harmarty was an arrogant snob, too accustomed to a life of privilege, as far as Rashnir was concerned. Mired in the mindset that saw people as inferiors, as possessions existing only for his personal amusement, Harmarty’s outlook was fundamentally broken. Harmarty had also once studied with Rogis; as a close friend of the previous king, Rogis trained him as a personal favor. Harmarty learned very little and often ignored his teacher; he’d proven himself a poor student.
Rogis knew that Harmarty’s reign would not benefit the kingdom, but no other heirs could challenge his right to the crown. The king tried vainly to correct his wayward son through the years, but Harmarty only got worse in the adolescent years. Selfishness and vanity had deeply twisted the young man, though no one recognized the extent nor knew the cause of his fundamentally deviant mind.
As all men, Harmarty surrounded himself with those of like mind and desire; he’d been a close contact with the deceased Ranger, Mind, who he’d given several gifts and pieces of artwork. Without a doubt, Harmarty could not paint well, but his court praised him for it regardless. Harmarty’s opinions were taken as fact; the prince always got what he wanted.
Now, King Harmarty demanded something he could not have: Kelsa’s love. Kelsa had long avoided Harmarty’s advances, but Mind had once promised her to him and Harmarty had become bent on it.
Figuring it best to meet in person to discuss the impasse, Rogis prepped Rashnir for their meeting which would take place on the following day. They hoped to reason with the king and make him understand that Kelsa would not be his; she was a person and not some plaything. It would likely be a foreign thought to Harmarty, but they had to try.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 6
