Warriors of the Tempest
Orcs First Blood
Volume 3
Stan Nicholls
CONTENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
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19
20
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22
23
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25
1
They rode like harpies fresh out of hell.
Jup turned in his saddle and looked back at their pursuers. He reckoned there were maybe a hundred of them, outnumbering the Wolverines four or five to one. They wore black and were heavily armed, and the length of the chase had done nothing to cool their fire.
Now the leading humans were near enough to spit at.
He glanced at Coilla, riding abreast of him at the band's rear. She leaned forward, head low, teeth resolutely clenched, bunched hair flowing like rippled bay smoke. The angular, tattooed corporal's stripes patterning her cheeks stressed her stern features.
Ahead of Coilla, sergeants Haskeer and Alfray galloped headlong, their foaming mounts' hooves pounding the frigid turf, kicking up clods of mud. The rest of the orcs were spread out on either side, grim-faced, bent into the lashing wind.
All eyes were on the distant shelter of Drogan Forest.
'They're gaining!' Jup bellowed.
If any but Coilla heard, they didn't show it. 'Then don't waste breath!' she yelled, glaring at the dwarf. 'Keep moving!'
Her mind was still on the spectacle they had witnessed earlier, of Stryke unhorsed, then carried off by a war dragon. They had to assume it was one of Jennesta's, and that he was lost.
Jup shouted again, puncturing her brief reverie. He had an arm thrust out, pointing toward her neglected left side. She swung her head. A custodian had drawn parallel with her. His sword was raised and his horse was about to barrel into hers.
'Shit!' Coilla snapped. She pulled hard on the reins, turning herself aside. It got her clear and bought enough time to unsheathe her own blade.
The human pressed in. He was waving the weapon and roaring, his words obliterated by the thunder of the chase. His first swing was wide, the blade tip hewing air just short of her calf. A rapid second stroke came closer and higher, and would have cleaved her waist if she hadn't tilted from him.
That made Coilla mad.
She whipped round and sent out a stroke of her own. The man ducked and it cut a whistling arc inches above his head. He returned a thrust meant for her chest, but Coilla blocked it, knocking aside his sword. He made another pass, and another. She deflected both, their blades connecting with a jarring, steely clatter.
Hunters and hunted sped on, pell-mell. They entered a small ravine perhaps a dozen horses wide. The terrain flashed by, a blur of green and brown. On the edge of her vision Coilla was aware of more humans crowding the band.
She stretched out and swiped at her antagonist again. The stroke missed, and overreaching she almost toppled. He countered. Their weapons clashed, edge to edge, metal ringing. Neither found an opening.
There was a fleeting respite as they realigned themselves and Coilla checked the way ahead. It was as well she did. The forward riders were splitting to either side of a dead tree square in their path, flowing around it like fast-running water against a huge ship's prow. She tugged the reins to the right, throwing her centre of balance in the same direction. The horse swerved and skimmed past the trunk. For an instant she had sight of the bark's scabrous grain. A skeletal branch raked her shoulder. Then she was clear.
Where Coilla passed to the tree's right, the human took a route to the left. But it was an obstacle for the rest of his kind. Their greater numbers clogged at the bottleneck, and for a moment he was alone. Set on being rid of him, Coilla steered his way. They recommenced then duel as the gully gave way to open plains.
Trading blows, she was aware of the decamping Wolverines, with Jup staring at her over his shoulder. At the same time the main body of custodians, coming up behind, was renewing speed. Coilla settled on bold move. She let go of her reins, giving the horse its head, and clasped her sword two-handed. Inviting a fall was a risky ploy, but she took the gamble.
It paid off.
This time, putting all her strength and reach into the swing, the blade bit flesh. It made contact at the elbow joint of the custodian's sword arm, hacking deep. Blood jetted. Crying out, he dropped his weapon and clamped the wound. Coilla's follow-up struck his chest, shattering bone, freeing a copious ruby gush. He swayed, head rolling. She made to strike again.
There was no need. The bridle slipped from the wounded human's fist. For a second he bumped along insensibly, a mere passenger, carried like a rag doll by his racing horse. Then he fell. A confusion of askew limbs and tangled clothing, he hit the ground tumbling.
Before he came to rest, the custodian vanguard rode over him. Some went down in the collision and were trampled in their turn. A chaotic scrum of screaming men and horses formed.
Coilla snatched her flailing reins and spurred onward, several riderless mounts in her wake.
She reached the tail end of the fleeing band to find Jup hanging back for her. As they rode on together the enemy regrouped behind them.
'They're not gonna quit,' Jup decided.
'Do they ever?' She surveyed the land ahead. It was turning boggy. 'And this isn't running country,' she added.
'We're not thinking.'
'Eh?'
'We can't lead 'em to Drogan.'
Coilla frowned. 'No,' she agreed, her gaze flicking to the tree line. 'Bad way of repaying Keppatawn.'
'Right.'
'What, then?'
'Come on, Coilla.'
'Shit.'
'Got another plan?'
She eyed the mob of humans. They were closing. 'No,' she sighed. 'Let's do it.'
Urging her horse, she put on a burst. Jup followed. They weaved through the ranks of grunts to the band's head, where Alfray and Haskeer were leading the charge. The marshy footing was checking progress, yet still the pace smarted Coilla's eyes.
'Not the forest!' she called across. 'Not to the forest!'
Alfray understood. 'A stand?' he shouted back, hefting the band's streaming war banner.
It was Jup who answered. 'What else?' he bawled.
'Stand, yes!' Haskeer chimed in. 'Orcs don't run! We fight!'
That was enough for Coilla. She curbed her mount. The others took her cue and reined in. At their hind the custodians were coming up rapidly.
Wheeling about, she boomed, 'Stand fast! We're meeting 'em!'
It wasn't her place to command. As the highest-ranking officers Jup or Haskeer should have given the order. But nobody was thinking of formalities.
'Spread out!' Jup barked. 'Make a line!'
With the enemy almost on them, the troop swiftly obeyed. They produced slingshots, throwing knives, short spears and bows, though in spears and bows they were miserably equipped, having no more than four of each among them. Snub blades and shot were more plentiful.
The custodians were baying as they swept in. Individual faces could be made out, twisted with bloodlust. Their horses' steaming breath was visible. The earth rumbled.
'Steady!' Alfray cautioned.
Then they were a rock's lob from the orc line.
'Now!' Jup yelled.
The band loosed its meagre armoury. Arrows were fired, spears soared, clusters of stones flew.
There was a moment of chaos as th
e humans braked. Several were tossed from their horses by the sudden halt. Others were felled by arrows and stinging shot. Here and there, shields went up.
Retaliation was swift, if ragged. A few arrows winged back, several spears sailed over; but from their sparseness it seemed the custodians were as badly supplied as the Wolverines. Where they had them, orcs raised their own shields. Projectiles rattled off them.
Soon the stockpiles were exhausted, and the sides fell to swapping jeers and taunts. Hands were filled with close combat weapons.
'I give it another two minutes,' Coilla predicted.
She was wrong. The stand-off was broken in half that time.
Emboldened by their greater numbers, the humans suddenly rushed forward, a black tide thick with steel.
'This is it,' Jup muttered darkly, hiking a butterfly axe from its saddle scabbard.
Haskeer drew a broadsword. Scooping back a sleeve, Coilla plucked a throwing knife from her arm sheath.
Alfray levelled the spiked banner spar. 'Hold fast! And watch those flanks!'
Any other advice was drowned by the onslaught.
The custodians' larger numbers and lesser discipline had them grouping together as they came in to confront the lesser force, hampering themselves. It didn't change the fact that each Wolverine faced towering odds, but it did buy a few seconds grace.
Coilla used it to try picking off some of the enemy before they reached her. She flung her knife at the nearest human. It smacked home in his windpipe and he plunged from his mount. Quickly snatching another blade, she pitched it underarm at the next foe, spiking his eye. Her third throw was wide of its mark, and proved the last. Now they were too close for anything but hand-to-hand. Shrieking a battle cry, she brought her sword into play.
The first warrior to reach Jup paid for it dearly. A blow from the dwarf's weighty axe split his skull showering blood and bone shards on all in range. Two more custodians waded in. Dodging their blades, Jup sent out a wide horizontal swing that severed the hand of one and stove in the other's chest. There was no pause. More opponents replaced the fallen. His weathered, bearded face straining with effort, Jup laid into them.
Haskeer's savage rain of blows downed both his initial attackers. But the second took the blade with him as he fell, leaving Haskeer to face his next assailant bare-handed. The man had a pike. They wrestled for it, knuckles white, the barbed spear jerking back and forth. Plumbing all his strength, Haskeer drove the butt into the man's stomach, breaking his grip. With a dextrous flip, the weapon was delivered to its owner's innards. Prised free, it served again on another custodian. But this victim's writhing snapped it, leaving Haskeer with a useless length of shank.
Then two things happened at once. Another human moved in on him with flashing sword. And a lone arrow zipped from the scrum to pierce Haskeer's forearm.
Howling more with fury than pain, he wrenched out the gory shaft. Brandishing the arrow he lurched forward and employed it like a dagger, stabbing at the custodian's face. The distraction let Haskeer snatch away the wailing man's blade and gut him. His place was instantly taken. Haskeer fought on.
Favouring a hatchet over the spar for close combat, Alfray wielded it with deadly precision. But in truth it was all he could do to hold back the storm. Though he had an orc's lust for bloodletting, his years were beginning to tell. Yet despite his waning stamina he matched any in butchery. For now.
He scanned the melee and saw that he wasn't the only one overextended. The whole band was on the point of being overwhelmed, with fighting especially brutal at the wings, where the enemy was trying to outflank them. The Wolverines may have had little option other than astand, but it was proving too bold a move. They were taking wounds though so far none of them had gone down. That wouldn't last.
Though only a corporal, Alfray was on the point of ignoring protocol and shouting the order himself. Jup beat him to it, yelling words that stuck in an orc's throat.
'Fall back! Fall back!'
The instruction spread along the besieged line. Grunts hastily disentangled themselves and withdrew. The face-off became a rearguard action. But the custodians, suspicious of a feint, were wary of going after their quarry with any zeal. The band knew their reluctance was temporary.
Arms aching from the exertion of slaughter, Coilla retreated with the rest, reopening the gap between the lines. The Wolverines moved closer together.
She came to Jup. 'What now? Run again?'
'No chance,' the dwarf panted.
Coilla ran a palm over her cheek, wiping blood. 'Thought so.'
Their opponents were working themselves up for the final assault.
At Coilla's shoulder, Alfray said, 'We got a good few.'
'Not enough,' Haskeer responded gruffly.
In undertones, some of the grunts were calling on orc deities to guide their blades. Or to make their deaths suitably heroic and swift. Coilla suspected the humans were appealing to their own god in similar vein.
The custodians began advancing.
There was a keening sound in the air. A fast moving shadow passed over the Wolverines. They looked up and saw something like a swarm of elongated insects sweeping across the sky. The dark cloud had already reached its apex and was curving down towards the enemy.
It fell upon them wrathfully. The forefront of the custodian line was riddled with lethal bolts. They bored into upturned faces and chests, arms and thighs. Their velocity took them through the paltry defences of helmets and visors. Shields could have been made of paper for all the good they did. Peppered with numerous shafts, men and horses succumbed wholesale in a struggling, bloodied mass.
A large force was riding, hell-bent, from the direction of the forest, and even as the band spied them they unleashed another deadly cloud The arrows' great arching path was well above the Wolverines, yet still they instinctively ducked. Once more death rained mercilessly on the heads of the humans, bringing further mayhem and chaos.
As their allies approached, the band began to make them out.
Squinting at the reinforcements, eyes shaded with a hand, Alfray exclaimed, 'Keppatawn's clan!'
Jup nodded. 'And well timed.'
The small army of centaurs at least equalled the humans in strength of numbers. And they would reach the fray in minutes.
'Who's at their head?' Alfray wondered.
Knowing him to be lame, the band didn't expect Keppatawn himself to be leading the offensive.
'Looks like Gelorak,' Jup reported.
The young centaur's muscular physique and distinctive flowing chestnut mane were now plain to see.
Haskeer finished wrapping a piece of dirty cloth around his wound. 'Why talk when there's killing undone?' he grumbled.
'Too right,' Coilla agreed, breaking ranks. 'At the bastards!'
They weren't slow in following her lead.
The custodians were in bedlam from the arrow blizzard, their dead and maimed littering the plain. Loose horses and walking wounded added to the anarchy, and those custodians still mounted milled in a directionless daze. They were easy pickings for a vengeful warband.
No sooner had the orcs waded in and commenced their slaughter than they were joined by the troop of centaurs. With clubs, spears, short bows and crooked blades they assured the rout. The rump of the custodian force soon turned and fled, chased off by a knot of fleet-footed centaurs.
Exhausted, battle-grimed, Coilla surveyed the aftermath. The auxiliary chief of the Drogan clan trotted to her side and sheathed his sword. He pawed the ground a couple of times.
'Thanks, Gelorak,' she said.
'Our pleasure. We have no need of such unwanted guests.' He gave a flick of his plaited tail. 'Who were they?'
'Just a bunch of humans serving their god of love.'
He smiled wryly, then asked, 'How went your journey to Scarrock?'
'Well and . . . not so well.'
Gelorak cast his eye over the warband. 'I do not see Stryke.'
'No,' Coilla replied soft
ly. 'No, you don't.'
She stared at the darkening sky and tried to hold back her despair.
2
He was in a narrow tunnel that stretched endlessly before and behind him.
His head almost touched the ceiling, and when he extended his arms he could lay his hands on either wall, which felt cold and slightly clammy. Ceiling, walls and floor were made of stone but the tunnel seemed to have been bored rather than constructed because there were no joints or sign of blocks having been fitted together. There was no illumination of any kind either, yet he could see quite clearly. The only sound was his own laboured breathing.
He didn't know where he was or how he came to be here.
For a while he stood quite still, trying to make sense of his surroundings and uncertain of what to do. Then a white light appeared far ahead. No such light showed in the other direction, so he assumed he was facing the tunnel's exit. He began walking towards it. Unlike the slippery smoothness of the walls and ceiling, the floor was rough in texture, giving him purchase.
It was hard to keep track of time but after about ten minutes, as best he could reckon, the light didn't look any nearer. The features of the tunnel remained absolutely uniform, and the silence was unbroken save for his footfalls. He pressed on, moving as fast as he could in the confined space.
His lack of a sense of time became timelessness. All notion of the passing of minutes and hours deserted him. There was only an endless now, and a universe consisting solely of his pursuit of a light he could never reach. His body became a trudging automaton.
At some indefinable point in his monotonous journey he was roused by a fancy that the light had grown brighter, though not necessarily larger. Soon he found it hard to look directly at it for more than a few seconds.
With each step he took, the pure white light grew stronger and stronger until walls, floor, ceiling, everything was obliterated. He closed his eyes and still saw it. Keeping on, he clamped his hands to his face to shut it out, but that made no difference.
Now it pulsated, throbbing to a beat he could feel pounding at his chest, tearing at the very core of his being.
The light was pain.
He wanted to turn and run away. He couldn't. He was no longer walking but being sucked into its blinding, agonising, searingly cold heart.
Warriors of the Tempest Page 1
