The Captain continued, “I will say this though, I don’t doubt that we can win this battle. Orcs and goblins have no idea how to attack in mass. No idea how to strategize large-scale battle. Our superior leadership and structure will lead to our victory. Do not forget the history of Veceron Faren and his legion.” The reference to the famous leader and his men was well timed. About seven hundred years earlier, when the Sadic Empire north of the plains was establishing itself as the undisputed most powerful nation in all the realms, various barbarian invaders nearly brought the empire to its knees. A powerful general, Veceron Faren, found himself defending an important trading city that was monumental to the empire. It was said his troops numbered thirty seven hundred while the barbarian hoards attacked with seventy five thousand men. Through tactic, strategy and perseverance Veceron and his men defeated the barbarians two times and bought enough time for support from the empire to arrive and finish off the invaders.
Dougard pointed to an area on the map between the wooden piece representing the advancing army and the piece holding the place of their current encampment in the recently taken city of Southland. “We’ve been told that there are hills and valleys here yes? The scouts have said that they do not have many mounted warriors. Perhaps we could ambush them here with our cavalry. Coming down from the hills our riders could do great damage plowing through the ranks of the enemy.”
Victus’s blue eyes were fixed on the area to which Dougard was pointing. After a moment he shook his head, “While the initial impact would be devastating, we could lose a great deal of our cavalry if they get funneled into the middle of the army. Also, the giants and ogres could play a large role in thwarting the efforts of our mounted soldiers.” With that he took a step back from the table and stood with a pensive expression.
“We need to take the advantage of numbers away from them.” The Captain’s gaze returned to the map and his expression changed as he glanced at the wooden piece representing Southland.
“Orvious, your men have trained to defend Abellard’s walls?” Victus asked curtly and with purpose.
“Yes.” The burly man from Abellard replied.
“The only damage to this city’s defenses was to the gate, is this correct?”
“Yes, it appears that way.” Ludlow chimed in.
“Very well, we will remain here.” Victus spoke assertively. “We will defend from within the city we just conquered. The army travels slowly by all reports, so we have two days. They may be prepared to attack with siege weapons, but let us pray they do not know how to make or use them. For the next two days every man we have will work to prepare this city.”
Again the confidence with which he spoke began to inspire those listening.
“We will build structures at the city’s entrance to keep them out. We will create defenses on the walls that will force the giant’s to stay away. The priests and mages will contribute in all ways possible. These futile monsters may very well have sent most of the rest of their army to attack us. A victory for us could spell an end to Faletonia…and return safety to our cities and to the dwarven nation as well.” He was interrupted by the horns that served to wake up the rest of the army at dawn.
The Captain looked to the exit of the tent. “Let us go, there is much work to do with very little time. Go and have your officers wake your men, and make sure all understand the sense of urgency. Unto our honor men.”
“Unto our honor,” his officers replied in unison.
Victus held the curtain that served as the door to the tent open for his officers and then was last to leave. Their preparations had to be perfect. There was no time to spare. He had to focus on leading his men, even through the slight headache he had form the victory celebration the night before.
Chapter 18
The council of Lunemire decided quickly to not send their army to support the campaign of Victus Antonel and the two other cities of the South Sea. Lunemire was by far the largest city of the three. Its farmland spanned the furthest, its productivity was the highest, and it was nearly twice as large as the smallest of the three cities, Abellard. The council did not look lightly on Faletonia; however they would rather wait and see what the nation’s intention was from within the sanctity of their walls. They would not abandon the other cities entirely though. Before the army left, Lunemire had sent significant amounts of weapons, armor and supplies. Every man who fought for Victus Antonel was clad in some form of armor and wielded a steel weapon. This gave the humans a significant advantage could not have happened without the assistance of Lunemire. Furthermore, additional supplies were still yet to be sent, including food and water.
Although the council had firmly decided their decision about sending troops, the opinions of the citizens were still mixed. Tales of Faletonia had spread throughout the city but were warped and twisted by the influences of whoever was telling the story. To some, Faletonia was a murderous horde of brigands, intent on conquering the lands and enslaving the humans. To others they were an admirable new land of the free, or a thriving conglomerate of potential trade partners. Some even schemed that Faletonia was no more than a large tribe of orcs whose story had been forced upon Lunemire to strengthen the collective position of Abellard and Rogsnelk.
Word of Victus’s attack had first arrived to the city of Abellard. Legendary stories of might and magic, of knights and monsters filled homes and pubs. Stories of how Victus himself slayed mighty giants with his blade in one on one combat bounced from ear to ear, while other tales of powerful divine spells were spread with enthusiasm. Soon each of the three cities heard of the siege. These tales seemed to only add fuel to the spreading fire of disparity of opinion and emotion in Lunemire, which became evident in the streets of the city. In the large city square near the Great Hall of the Fathers, the meeting place of the city council, large crowds gathered and clashed. Emotions ran high as each crowd screamed their case. Some people held signs, some banged drums. Based on the amount of tension and animosity between the groups, violence was a distinct possibility. The city guard was present and prepared for unrest.
Ostinus was in full armor side by side with other members of the guard. He stood with his hands on the top of his rectangular shield, the bottom of which was rested on the ground. The city guard had to dress alike in both armor and garb, or he would have had his own kite shaped shield and sword with him.
“Spare the lives of our men and our supplies, the monsters have been no threat so far!” Screamed a heavyset man in the crowd to Ostinus’s right.
“Send our troops before it is too late for the other brave men who marched to war or we all face the wrath of these vile creatures!” A man from the left crowd shouted.
“Go yourself then, as others have! Why do you wait here?” The heavy man replied. He was referring to the small group of men that left on their own accord to support Victus.
“I’m part of the army of Lunemire and will do as the army of Lunemire does…Have you ever even swung a sword before you fat bastard?” The man replied nastily.
This comment caught Ostinus by surprise. His smirk could be seen below his helmet since the steel only surrounded his head and had a thin steel extension down his nose. He felt the guards besides him tense up in anticipation of a violent retaliation, but only more shouting ensued.
Ostinus was surprised by the composition of the crowd. Both those in favor of supporting Abellard and Rogsnelk and those against the cause were a fair mix of the wealthy and the middle class. Even members of the poor class were scattered throughout. Like many cities in the more populous realms north of the plains, Lunemire had a small wealthy upper class that controlled most of the city’s wealth, a large thriving middle class who were the majority, and a modest sized lower class who lived in poverty in the seedy north western ghetto of the city. Since Lunemire was the largest city, it seemed to have the largest amount of poor, and this hardly ever changed. Many blamed the council for this; they never seemed to truly help the less fortunate.
Th
e bickering back and forth continued and Ostinus grew weary of his task, but he knew he must remain until the crowds dissipated or other guards relieved him. He was not happy with being back in the army. Being in the army meant he could be called to work in the city guard as well. But he was a man of his word. Besides, he would no longer be welcome in Lunemire were he to not serve.
In his heart though, he wished to join Victus…and more importantly Elberon. He was uneasy about his dearest friend being away on such a perilous campaign without him. The warrior also knew his priest friend would return with stories of valor and battle, while he could only speak of training and preventing riots. He thought of just leaving like some others did; however it was important for him to honor his vow . Lunemire may need him soon, or he may be sent with the army to join the mission. The situation was indeed volatile and uncertain.
A tomato flew from the group to the left and splattered somewhere in the middle of the group to the right. The screaming picked up and both sides moved closer. The top felt ready to blow on this whimsical crowd. A man, barely older than a boy, had another tomato in his hand and was ready to toss it. Ostinus removed a small club from his belt and pointed it in the man’s direction. The young man then dropped the tomato and disappeared into the crowd. The other guards moved towards the middle of the groups with their shields up. They caused significant separation between the sides and soon the crowds were just back to screaming and balking at each other.
For now, dealing with situations like these was what Ostinus had to do. He was a man of his word…although he secretly hoped that a bit of violence would break out.
***
Fires burned throughout the camp and orcs were settling down for dinner and then some sleep. They had traveled all day through lands with which they were unfamiliar and they were tired. The trip had been long so far and they still had some distance left to go to find Faletonia. Just over two hundred and fifty orcs were travelling from the unsettled lands to the southeast of Lirrowick Forest, just northwest of the island cities of Ischiod. They were three large fierce tribes united under one chief. They were travelling together to join their kin in the promising nation of Faletonia. Like most that arrived to young cities, these orcs longed for a better more stable life. They knew there would only be peril if such a large group traveled west through Lirrowick Forrest, so they circumvented it by riding below its southwestern border. From what they knew, if they travelled up along the edge of the forest for quite some way, they could turn west and find the cities they had heard about.
Taking a route south of the forest brought them closer to the human cities, but far enough to likely avoid even being noticed. Based on what they had been told, they would arrive at their new home in a matter of days and would join the successes of their kin. Travelling took longer than normal with females, children, elderly and lots of cargo but they managed to keep a decent pace.
The group consisted of the tribes Dark Wolf, Long Boar, and Stone Claw. The initial meeting of the three tribes, although not rivals, lead to bloody tests of might and battle. Several of the elite warriors of each tribe had fought each other to establish supremacy. In the end a formidable orc called Droste, of tribe Long Boar, prevailed. He was challenged two times after his ascension to leadership, and both times he defended his position by brutally slaughtering the opposition. None would dare challenge Droste again.
After some rest, the orcs were up and moving shortly before dawn. As usual, scouts were sent out on horseback to survey the land around them. They had already heard about the human city of Abellard to the southwest from some of the first scouts sent on the speediest horses days before. Riders from Faletonia, all orcs, had approached them as they were reaching the southern tip of Lirrowick Forest. They were sent as missionaries to continue to bring news of Faletonia and its achievements and glory to the orcish and goblin tribes scattered to the east. It was these active outreaches that would spread the word of mighty Faletonia to all corners of the lands south of the vast plains.
This most recent run in with Faletonian missionaries did not bring good news though. Droste and his tribes were informed of how the humans had taken the Faletonian city of Southland. The story they were told was that the humans deceivingly conducted a surprise attack shortly after agreeing to peace terms. This false spin on the truth served as propaganda to get other orcs to join Faletonia and increase their ire towards the human cities of the South Sea. They told tales of orcish children being thrown from the captured city walls and shot by human archers on their descent. The Faletonian riders insisted that the city would be recaptured by the time Droste and his orcs arrived in the to Faletonia. The missionaries told the three tribes that if they kept travelling along the forest’s edge, they would not encounter any human forces.
To the east of Lirrowick Forest there were extremely small human settlements that lived rather primitive lives. At the onset of the trip, Droste considered raiding and pillaging any human gather he passed, which would not be an uncommon action for orcs. The idea was even more attractive due to the fact that he was at the helm of such a large force of warriors. No small human force would be able to stop them. Ultimately he decided not to do it. There was no reason to lose soldiers or to possibly cause more humans to immigrate to the cities of the South Sea, strengthening their numbers. Plus it would simply waste time.
When Droste was told of the sacking of a Faletonian city and lies of the slaughter of orcish females and children, his desire to join his forces with Faletonia grew. He knew his group, which consisted of over one hundred seasoned warriors, would aid the cause.
The fierce orcish leader sat atop his horse and watched as his kin continued in the direction of Faletonia. Some mounted warriors rode horses. Others walked beside their horses, which were loaded with cargo. Female orcs also carried belongings. He turned his head to see an orcish male child of his tribe, Long Boar, struggling to carry a large crate of supplies. The child was then approached by a young adult male orc who took an item or two from the crate and put it in his own to ease the boy’s burden. This orc was from tribe Stone Claw. Although still heavy, the child was able to carry the crate.
“Halt!!!” Droste screamed in his native tongue. “Halt!” He yelled again and quickly prodded his horse forward. His deep voice carried far and all came to a stop. Their leader rode through them, summoning his officers. Once all were assembled they rode together a small distance away from the others and stopped.
Ten orcs were with him. All were silent as they watched their leader pace his horse back and forth and look south into the distance. Droste was an enormous creature, built for war. He was at least seventy pounds heavier than a large human. He was in most of his armor, although his breastplate was attached to his horse’s side. His head was large and his expression normally angry. The area above his left eye was forever swollen and distorted from a past battle, but it did not affect his vision. His tusks protruded high from his bottom lip and were thick. The ten commanders looked at him as he continued to stare off pensively. He then looked back towards all of the other orcs of the three tribes who were a short distance away. Finally he spoke.
“We are not far from Faletonia, where we will unite with the great force of our kin…and the others that fight as one.” He paused then continued in the rough orcish language, “The time for human dominance has come to an end. South of the plains will be ruled by orcs.” Heads nodded and a couple of grunts were heard. “ We will not all go to Faletonia at this time.” He paused again and looked at the other orcs, meeting eyes with each of them before continuing. Their wicked expressions made it clear they were eager to hear more.
“The four of you,” Droste pointed to the four orcs furthest to his left, his bulbous eye leading the stare. “Each of you gather five solid warriors. I will take the three tribes north along the forest to find Faletonia. We will travel up several miles and then eventually turn in west. But you and your warriors will not be with us.” He smiled a devious smile. “You will meet
up with us later, first you must perform our first contribution to Faletonia, much to the terror of the humans.”
***
Two days passed and the human army accomplished more than they had hoped to within the taken city of Southland. Although he allowed a bit of wine to be drank, food to be eaten, and fun to be had the night of their victory, Victus commanded his men to work nonstop over the following couple of days and nights in an effort to fortify the city. He had thousands of men at his disposal and each knew how dire the situation was.
Men with any skill of making weapons were charged with creating items that could kill or at least stop the giants. The twenty-foot beasts would be a huge problem literally and figuratively. They stood about as high as the walls themselves and could cause massive destruction. The walls had to hold or the men would get over run by the much more numerous orcs.
They were confident in the weapons they made. The majority of items were large bows, taller than a man, with arrows that more resembled spears. Only the strongest of men would be able to pull the string and accurately release the arrows. While there were a few men with adequate strength, there were, unfortunately, not enough to get the job done. They would simply have to make more men stronger, an impossible undertaking were it not for the spells of the priests of Tuemis. Each of the five men (all had indeed lived through the first battle) knew the spell of strength, and could cast it upon several men at a time. These men would have to put arrows into the flesh of the giants before they could wreak havoc upon the walls and its defenders.
Other men spent time bringing barrels of oil to the gate. They saturated the ground outside of the city’s entrance for thirty yards. The plan was to wait until the enemy was storming the area and then ignite it into fiery inferno of death. More oil would have been useful, but they had brought little, and found less than half of a dozen barrels.
Kingdom Come (Price of Power Book 1) Page 22
