"You return," the elder called out without even looking up.
Dragyr snorted in response. "Of course, you gave me a task. I know how you get when I don't complete them."
Malgar laid aside his blade and looked up at the younger beast. There was a look in his eyes Dragyr had never seen before. "Tell me then what we face."
* * * * *
For the last day, they had made their plans. Dragyr had sat in the war council of assembled warriors and delivered his report. The elders did not despair as he suspected, but instead they calmly began to make decisions on how best to defeat the approaching threat. He was truly amazed to see the different beasts of the forest working together as they devised a plan, but the talks and strategizing was all too much for Dragyr to keep up with. The day went by in a blur of activity that he could scarcely remember.
Now was the time for action; their scouts reported that the greenskins spilled from the mountain pass, making their way toward the forest. The herd's best chance to stop them would be to bottle them up against the pass before they could bring their full weight against them. Dragyr only hoped their plans would prove sufficient. A brightly blooming purple flower caught his eye, and he bent down to enjoy the aroma, however bittersweet it was. The idea of what the orcs would do to their vibrant homeland was worse than the thought of dying.
Hunters already waited above the pass. They had spent the last day priming their trap, but against such numbers, it would probably afford them little advantage. The rocks they had dislodged would fall into the pass, cutting off the forward elements of the orc horde. The greenskins wouldn't be slowed by the rubble for too long, he was sure, but it might be enough to do the damage to their forces they needed to even the odds.
Malgar knelt before one of the herd's shamans. The revered satyr priest dabbed drops of sacred oils onto the elder's horns before making markings with blue woad dyes in his pale fur. A low soft chant finished the blessing, calling for the aid of the Lady as well as their ancestors in the coming battle. Dragyr watched in silent awe, trying to mentally prepare himself.
Branches swayed overhead as they accompanied the fluttering of wings. The harpies had sighted the oncoming horde and rushed forward to sate their insatiable hunger. Immense birds of prey departed their nests in the topmost branches closely behind the avian beastkin.
"They are almost upon us." The shaman stepped back as Malgar rose. He picked up his massive axe and strode down the hill.
The satyrs paused at the edge of the forest and watched as the orcs loped along in no particular order. They weren't an army on the march, they were a wave of destruction, not expecting any sort of trouble. Their fight was many days to the south. Expectations changed as soon as the first elements of the herd broke from the woods, the tribe's elite spirit walkers leading the way. The orcs spotted them almost at once, and with a surprising coherence, their pace increased, immediately charging toward the satyrs emerging from the trees. Fearsome shock troops wielding large axes in either hand led the way, while orcs wielding two-handed greataxes and bearing gore stained banners followed close behind. Orclings, similar to the ones they had first encountered, were pushed aside as their larger brethren surged toward their enemy.
The two forces met with a mighty clash any human army would be hard pressed to imagine. Savagery met ferocity and the lines of battle instantly dissolved into a whirling melee as orc and spirit walker alike were catapulted well into the enemy's ranks by the force of the charge. The orcs outnumbered the spirit walkers many times over; their mighty few were hardly a fraction of the size of the orc army. But they led the way knowing the battlefield was to be their gravesite. Seizing the power of the longhorns mighty ancestors, Dragyr found it hard to watch as they moved like fire through the battlefield; tearing and destroying with a swiftness that could not be matched.
The battle was wild, and it was hard to tell who was getting the upper hand; but most importantly, the orc surge had been halted for a moment.
Malgar raised the signal horn to his snout and inhaled deeply. The tone shifted through octaves, loud and piercing enough to be heard even over the din of the battle raging before them. Moments later, a rumble answered the call of the horn as immense boulders broke away from the cliffs overlooking the mountain pass.
If the orcs noticed the falling rocks behind them, their tenacity remained undaunted. The greataxe wielders continued pushing their way to the front of the battle as though nothing had happened, even though the rocks killed hundreds of their brethren and cut off any chance of reinforcements. Mighty hooves pounding against the forest floor echoed through the dense foliage as the centaurs thundered into the flanks of the combat, intent on pushing the orcs back against the cliff sides.
Trolls came bellowing from behind the front ranks of the horde, appearing from the mass of green like mushrooms in a bed of moss. Dragyr wondered how he had missed them before. They pushed through a tide of diminutive orclings and charged into the ranks of the longhorns, flinging them aside like leaves in the wind with their massive clubs and brute strength. It looked like the push of the trolls might break a hole through their line and ruin the battle plan entirely.
A line of mighty beasts charged in to face the trolls, plugging the gap left as the longhorns pulled back to regroup. These benevolent guardians of the forest's sacred places joined the fray now with unexpected violence. Minotaurs put their heads down and led the way with their long bovine horns; owlbears following close behind, eager to get at the enemy with their sharp beaks and furry claws. The trolls fell back as they were pierced by massive horns and trod under ironclad hooves; their remarkable regenerative abilities had trouble standing up to the onslaught that beset them.
The clash of the brutish warriors spilled into the rear ranks where Dragyr held his ground, picking off targets with his bow. He dove aside as one of the massive owlbears tackled a troll to the ground, nearly taking him with it. Acrid blood flew from the struggle as the owlbear tore with its razor-sharp beak and rended with the ferocity of its giant bear-like paws. Another of the orcs’ lumbering brutes came bellowing out of the haze and sent the beastkin flying off its fallen comrade with a sweep of its massive club. The fallen troll picked itself up from the ground, strips of its flesh hanging raggedly from its torso. The satyr found himself standing before the pair of trolls alone with little hope of winning this combat on his own.
With a savage roar, he drew his blade and charged toward the lumbering enemy, hoping to take the initiative. His quick movement succeeded in surprising them momentarily, and his blade managed to strike home against the already injured troll. His sword could do little against their overwhelming might, and the return blow of the troll sent him tumbling into the dirt and struggling to breathe. He rose to his knees, one of the trolls reaching for him apparently believing he looked like he might make a good snack.
A ground-shaking impact rocked the earth and even the trolls seemed to hesitate. From the dark forest behind Dragyr, a creature even more massive than the trolls appeared as if from nowhere. A towering beast that looked like the combination of a cyclopian giant and a scaled, horned reptile came striding forward, and with a swipe of the uprooted tree it carried as a weapon, one of the trolls simply vanished in a spray of blood. His people called these vast warriors brutox, and they terrified even their own kind when they were riled for battle. But at the moment, he had never been happier to see one.
He rose and followed the brutox as it waded forward into a renewed press of the orcs, these bearing immense axes in each hand. It was hard to imagine anyone being able to wield such weapons effectively, but they seemed to be doing it with far more skill than he had imagined possible.
Over the din of combat, there was a warning cry, followed by the sounds of beating hooves. The satyr paused just long enough to look over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the hunched forms charging their way. Orcs sitting atop massive boar-like creatures known as gores roared as they thundered across the open ground. Their raiders m
ust have been away when the attack began and were now returning to find a fight they were eager to join. Orc spears and gore tusks gleamed in the pale sunlight before the battle turned to complete chaos.
A gore rider flashed past him and a bright flare of pain sent him tumbling back to the ground. The spear had missed him by inches, but the beast's tusk had caught his shoulder, drawing a bright crimson streak across his arm. He picked himself up, trying to wipe away the pouring blood that threatened to cause his blade to slip from his grip.
Before he could recover, he found himself face to face with another foe. The gore’s fanged maw was so close, the putrid stench of its foul breath filled Dragyr’s nostrils. Before he had a chance to escape, the orc atop it leapt down, swinging his bloodstained blade at the satyr. Dragyr staggered a few steps back, and the blade just nearly missed him. The orc brought his blade to bear once more, and Dragyr mustered the strength to bring his own sword up to parry. The orc was stronger, and Dragyr watched as the blades came closer and closer to his throat. A swift rush of air was the only warning before a solid shape slammed into the orc from above, ending their struggle. Dragyr stumbled away, realizing that one of the hunter’s bodies lay atop his foe. He looked upward to see what had happened.
Goblins were overwhelming the hunters that had dropped the rocks into the canyons. The harpies were doing what they could to help them, but the tide of goblins swarming toward them seemed endless. Bodies rained down from above, impacting hard into the midst of the swirling battle. One by one, they were forced from the cliffs above, bleating defiantly as they fell. But even in death, the hunters had helped save at least one of their kind. The orc that had attacked Dragyr was dead beneath one of those fallen hunters, leaving their broken forms entwined in a cruel mockery of embrace.
Finding no others foes in his immediate vicinity, Dragyr pulled back from the battle lines for a moment's rest. He found his mentor similarly pausing and gazing carefully at the onslaught before him.
"Their leader is not among them," mused Malgar as his pupil came to his side. The elder's eyes scanned the enemy ranks, but it was obvious his target was not among the lead element. "I had hoped he would be closer to the front and we could end him here."
"Still, our plan worked. We have thinned their ranks considerably. If we could hold them in the mountains like this, we could win."
Malgar gave a shake of his gray mane. "We have lost many, young one. We are not as thinned as they are, but our numbers are less than favorable. As well, this Krudger is no fool. He will spread out his forces now that he knows that we pose a threat before him. They will backtrack and stream from every pass for miles around in such numbers that we will never be able to bottle them all up. They will overwhelm us. We would not make a suicidal stand, and he knows that as well. It would be best for us to fall back into the forests, striking as they travel, taking bites out of him even as he tries to lash back at us by despoiling and defiling our forest. It would turn into a long and bitter fight where neither side could truly claim victory. Unfortunately, it may be the best option we have left to us."
"Then, what now? What choice remains?"
"They will return, but their leader will be sure to be at the head this time. He will not let this insult go unheeded. We must remember they are not so different from us. Can you think of a single chieftain that would not look to recoup his honor after losing so many warriors?"
Dragyr nodded gravely in understanding. The battle before him seemed much less significant now. True, they had struck a mighty blow today, but against the forces that would soon stream out of those mountains, it was nothing. The only enemy that would defeat the orcs now would be themselves, prone to infighting as they were. Only their Krudger held them together in such numbers. "Single combat might be the only way to effectively end this… Could we possibly goad the Krudger into such a plan?"
The orcs on the field before them were fully cut off now. Their left flank had already unraveled beneath the hit and run attacks of the centaurs, and their right flank still struggled against the savage assault of the lycan packs. Only the center still held strong, thanks to the support of the resolute trolls, but that would change once the flanks broke completely.
"Come, let us join our brothers and help where we can. The fight will be over soon, and then preparations must be made." Malgar set out at a trot to join the final press against the center, his apprentice eager to finally be joining the fight at his heels.
* * * * *
Seeing the broken forms of his kind, Dragyr understood now his elder's reticence when it came to shedding blood. It wasn't for lack of fury, the longhorn had shown him that he held plenty of that. It was to avoid this tragic scene that now unfolded about him. The orc dead were piled high before the pass, almost forming another barrier themselves, but there were plenty of his kindred among the bodies as well. Each still form was a tragic loss, a price paid in blood to uphold the sanctity of their realm.
"We are beasts, inside and out. There is no avoiding what we are. But we are also more. There is something greater inside us, and we cannot forget that." Malgar's voice was grave as he took in the dead surrounding them. He knelt before one still form almost as gray as himself and arranged the body into a state of dignified repose. "They died protecting their herd and home. They deserve all the honor we can manage, but there is little time for ritual."
Night had fallen and the sounds of the orcs clearing the rubble within the pass had grown louder. It would not be long before they broke through. The herd's army set watch fires on the slope before it, and they attended to their wounded and dead while they waited. Sadly, there were far too many of both. Others reformed their ranks just beyond the tree line, ready to meet the orcs head on if they did attempt to break out from the pass again.
With a resounding crack, the last of the rubble was cleared and dark hulking forms lumbered from the canyon. These greenskins were much larger and more fearsome looking than any that he had seen before. These were the elite of their tribes, the personal bodyguard of the host's leader, and their master the largest form among them. His bulk made the others look small in comparison, and his silent approach was far more terrifying than the screaming hordes had been earlier in the day.
Dragyr knew that someone must challenge the orc champion, but still he was surprised when his mentor was the one that stepped away from the group. Malgar called out, insulting the enemy leader. “Finally done hiding behind your underlings? Come and face me, if you are not afraid!”
Tension crackled in the air like lightning before a storm. Time slowed to a crawl as Dragyr took in all the details. The Krudger paced forward, lit by the glow of the fires; his arms raised in gloating invitation. Malgar strode forward to meet his challenge, the head of his axe glinting along its sharpened edge. Embers drifted along on cold winds between them. This dark cousin of theirs had to be ended here for the sake of any future chance at peace. This combat of champions could all but end this war before it began.
Both combatants seemed eager, both of them increasing their pace the closer they drew. A slow measured walk turned to a brisk step, and then they were running full sprint until it seemed there would be no stopping either of them. Malgar sprung into the combat at the last moment, swinging his axe from above and kicking out with his powerful leg strength, but the orc blocked the axe with his own weapon and barely stumbled back from the force of the kick. The satyr landed, rolling aside from the orc's counter blow, and came up to his side with a sweep of his own axe.
To see Malgar now was to see his truest form. He was primal fury made manifest, a rage-filled howl bellowing from his lungs as he met blades with the massive orc. Sparks flew as beast axe met orc cleaver, both weapons moving faster than Dragyr believed possible for such large blades. He'd seen Malgar fight before, spent years learning how to fight and hunt from the elder satyr, but he never realized that he was capable of this sort of showing. The sheer speed, strength, and ferocity of his fight was breathtaking.
&nbs
p; The herd's champion seemed to be delivering the majority of the blows, but the orc just continued to shrug off every cut as though he didn't feel them. Malgar was hard-pressed to keep ahead of his foe's vicious sweeps, parrying or dodging aside at the last moment. But as an eternity of time passed, both combatants were slowing down, exhausted by the intensity of their fight. They broke apart for a moment, circling, watching the other for weakness. All it would take would be one clear opening and this fight could be over.
The two came back together in a clash of blades. The orc put a little too much behind his own swing, allowing Malgar to surge forward past his opponent's guard. The beast kin gave up a cheer as they saw the blade cleave deep into the orc's neck, right where it met his shoulder. Blood sprayed, and the orc staggered.
But the orc did not fall, he just gave a triumphant grin and clamped his hand around the haft of the axe. Malgar tried to jerk it back, but it was stuck fast in the bone. Before anyone could react, the orc swung his cleaver in a wild sideways cut that impacted the graymane across his ribs as he struggled to free his blade. His hands came loose from the handle, and he fell back onto the bloodied rocks. The Krudger pulled the axe from his neck with a grunt and tossed it aside, standing triumphantly over his foe. He raised his cleaver for the blow that would end the fight.
It broke every convention that his people had to interfere in such a way during an honorable contest. But against such a sight, Dragyr found it impossible to stand idle. The arrow flew into the night with hardly a conscious thought. He did not even realize the bow was in his hand until the sharp thwip of the bowstring split the tension in the air. With a sickly wet sound, the projectile found its target, and the orc staggered back from his fallen opponent, the shaft protruding from his eye socket.
Tales of Mantica Page 13
