Authors: Sam Ferguson
Garrin held up a finger. “And therein lies my first point. The orcs in this tale had learned about their enemy, and it gave them an advantage.”
“Rubbish,” William said.
Garrin shook his head. “Feel free to travel back to Richwater and go into any barracks and ask the men there, they will all tell you the same tale. This is required learning.”
William’s expression softened then and he glanced over at Richard, who was still petting Kaspar and eagerly waiting for the story to continue.
Garrin turned back to the boy and smiled wide, the firelight casting shadows upon his face as the sun began to drop behind them. “The soldiers with Borean began to argue and debate about what to do. Some wished to strike out against the orcs while others said it was hopeless. Only when Borean called them to silence did the soldiers listen to Lazar. The scholar asked how the letter had arrived, and Borean explained that it had been carried in the hands of the man the skin was taken from.”
“That’s a bit morbid,” William said with a frown.
“War is not all glory and poetry as the bards in the great halls would have us believe. Battle is brutal.”
William nodded his agreement, but cast a scrutinizing glance at Richard as if trying to decide whether the boy should be listening to such a tale.
Garrin continued on with his tale. “Lazar told them that it was not only the words on the message, but the fact that skin was used for it, denoted a warning of total and complete destruction. The orcs had sent a declaration of war. He also surmised that if the message had come through to Oleant, then Fort Derengard, which guarded the mountain pass to the north of the city from, had likely already fallen.
“Borean asked Lazar if the orcs could be beaten. You see, Lazar had devoted much of his studies to orcish culture, language, and warfare. He was of the belief that knowledge of the enemy was crucial.”
“What did he say?” Richard asked with hungry eyes.
Garrin shook his head. “Lazar told them the only chance they had to survive was to run and flee the city. He said that the best chance for survival was to load as many citizens into barges as they could and sail away while the soldiers prepared the valley to the north for battle, and tried to hold the orcs off for as long as possible.
“Borean turned and addressed his men, a couple of them many years his senior, with such poise that none of them uttered a word of protest to his orders. Borean said, ‘Gather the city guard. Those of us who have made it our life’s work to defend the city will rise to the task. We will go and prepare the valley before our city, near Aider’s Bridge. That is the one choke point between our city and the mountain pass. The orcs will have to come through it, and it is there that we will cut them down. Go, gather the men and meet me in the fields.’ The warriors left, almost running out of the library. Then, Borean turned to Lazar and instructed the scholar to gather the councilors and flee upon the barges with the other citizens.
“No one knew the fate of Fort Derengard, or how the orcs managed to overtake it without the soldiers there sending any warning to Oleant. All they knew, was that death was knocking at their door.
“Lazar spent the next few hours scurrying about the city. He gathered the councilors and had them load the women, children, and men too old to fight into the barges. Lazar instructed all others to grab whatever weapons and tools they could carry and meet Borean in the field.
“When the barges were full and on their way down the river, Lazar grabbed a sword and spear and led a group of several hundred men to the valley. When they arrived, Lazar saw the city guard busy digging trenches and pits, placing pikes and traps both in and around the holes. Lazar quickly set his men to work, sending a few to aid each group of laborers in the field.
“Borean objected to Lazar remaining behind, but Lazar stamped the butt of his spear on the ground and told his brother that he would not leave him to die alone at the hands of the orcs. They spent the remainder of the afternoon slaving away in the trenches and pits. Near the rear of the army, Borean was hastily putting together a pair of crude onagers and catapults. They also made tar balls, and toward the beginning of the evening the army covered the pits and trenches. Borean then made his men stand in rank, close enough to the bridge to keep it within range of their archers, and far enough that he hoped to draw the bloodthirsty savages toward him and into the pits and traps.
“Lazar stood in the forest along the west side of the valley. He was to lead a group of fifty spearmen in from the side after the armies came toe-to-toe and all the traps and catapults had been used. The waiting was the hardest part of the day. Knowing that someone was coming to attack, but not knowing when they might arrive.
Garrin shook his head then and threw another bit of wood onto the fire. Sparks rose up into the air and he looked back to Richard and continued his tale. “There were no war drums, as are oft mentioned in the old ballads. There were no shouts or screams. The birds overhead still sang their songs and the river continued rushing by. A breeze blew through the valley, but all else was still.
“The sun was starting to fade behind the western horizon when Lazar saw the first ranks pour out from the northern forest. They lined up along the river bank. Lazar counted each and every dark suit of armor he could see. Before long he started counting by twenties, and then by hundreds. His heart sank and his throat dried when he realized that the enemy was easily several thousand orcs strong. They clanged and pounded their shields with their curved swords and their sharp axes. The cacophony reverberated through the valley, drowning out all else.
“From Lazar’s place in the forest, he watched as his brother ordered a volley of arrows to be shot. The shafts tore through the air and rained down upon the orcs. Many of them fell, some of the bodies tumbling down the banks and being swept away into the rapid current. The orcs tried to answer with their own bows, but their arrows fell short of Borean and his men.”
“Did the men in Oleant have better bows then?” Richard asked.
Garrin nodded his head. “Oleant had always been known for producing fine bows. Borean sent two more volleys into the enemy. The orcs tried to cover with their shields, but still many of them fell. A sharp, high pitched horn blew from across the river. Orcs in the back pounded their shields like drums as several hundred jogged their way to the bridge.
“Borean and his men formed a semi-circle, concentrating their fire on the bridge. They dropped dozens of the orc warriors, but the orcs kept marching on. They trampled their dead and wounded alike, without the slightest regard.
“Another horn blast sounded and a group of orcs attempted to cross the river. Fortunately, Aider’s Bridge was the only feasible passage. The river current swept all of the orcs down into its depths, drowning each one foolish enough to venture in. Even those who stripped their armor first found themselves pulled under the surface before they could reach the middle of the river, let alone make it to the opposite bank.
“Borean had prepared well for the battle. He and his men held the orcs off for almost a half hour, until they ran out of arrows. By that time there were bodies all over the bridge and both banks. Still, the orcs trudged through, slinging corpses over the edge of the bridge and clearing the way for their army to cross.
William cut in with a shake of his head and a frown of disgust painted across his mouth. “The whole scene is so appalling. How could they have such a disregard for life that they would be willing to sacrifice so many of their own just to cross a bridge?”
Garrin nodded to acknowledge the sentiment, but he didn’t stop the story to answer the nobleman. He continued on, saying, “Soon the orcs crossed the river, marching to advance on Borean and his men. They rushed forward, fanning out into a thick wave of black and green. Borean sounded two blasts on the bugle. The onagers and catapults were unveiled and they sent flaming pitch-balls into the advancing horde. Blood curdling screams filled the air as flames erupted out and devoured several orcs at a time. But even this did not stop them.
“They came on, falling into pits and running into pikes as they sprang into position. The orcs literally hacked their way through the pikes, and through their own wounded, in their lusty advance to get at Borean. The two forces clashed.
“That is when Oleant’s hidden warriors jumped out of the trenches and rushed in around the orcs. Lazar took heart when he saw how quickly the first wave of orcs was cut down. He thought that perhaps they might win the day, but he was wrong.”
Richard pulled Kaspar up close to his chest, hugging the creature close for comfort as the tension built in the story.
Garrin reached a hand up to the sky and raised his voice. “Lazar heard loud, crackling fire and looked up to the sky to see that the orcs had also brought trebuchets with them. They rained fire and stone down upon the valley, killing their own as well as many of Oleant’s soldiers. After a few pummeling volleys, the orcish trebuchets targeted Oleant’s onagers and catapults, destroying them in seconds.
“Then the next wave of enemies crossed the bridge. Through the haze and smoke, Lazar could see his brother. His grand cape was torn, blood smeared across his once shiny armor. In that moment, Lazar found courage that he didn’t know he possessed. He charged out from the trees, the other spearmen following closely behind him. He ran through the field, carefully picking his way through the pits and traps that now held mangled, mutilated bodies. They sprinted to Borean, biting into the enemy flank only to be swallowed in turn by the much larger second wave.
“There was a chaotic clash of shouting, growling, and blood. Lazar slew a few of the orcs before his spear shattered and he had to use a sword. Unfortunately, Lazar never reached his brother. Borean disappeared in the sea of orcish soldiers, and Lazar fought well into the night.
“When the sun disappeared, it left only the lingering fires from the pitch-balls to illuminate their struggles. The metallic odor of blood flooded the air and smoke blocked out the sky. Oleant’s men fought valiantly, and they held the orcs on the field more than long enough to ensure that the barges had reached the sea.
“Lazar fell that night on the field, succumbing to his wounds and losing consciousness.”
Richard gasped and covered his mouth with his right hand. Kaspar buried his furry face into the crook of Richard’s elbow. Garrin leaned forward, lowering his voice.
“Lazar regained his senses the next morning. His head ached, and his body felt as if it were broken in several places. His ribs burned when he inhaled and caused him to choke and cough. He struggled to his feet only to find a field filled with bodies and blood. Lazar looked out to the river and saw tents pitched on the other bank. Orcs moved about, preparing their food and celebrating their victory.
“Lazar felt a sharp pain in his back at that moment and turned to see a trio of orcs. One of them held a bloody spear, which he used to prod Lazar again until the scholar stumbled forward to kneel upon the ground. Lazar then dragged his finger in the dirt and drew the orcish symbol for scholar. The orcs looked to each other and grunted amongst themselves. Then, one of them produced an iron shackle from behind his back. The first orc placed the spear tip next to Lazar’s heart while the second placed the iron ring around his neck and locked it in place. He then pulled an iron chain and clicked it onto the iron ring.
“The third orc laughed and pointed to the camp. The first two left and the third knelt down next to Lazar, taking the iron chain in hand. ‘Your fight useless,’ the orc said in broken Common Tongue. ‘Your men dead, and your city will die too.’ The orc pulled on the chain and drew Lazar’s face in close enough to smell his fetid breath. He looked down at Lazar with his yellow eyes, drawing his lips thin across his tusk-like bottom teeth as he grinned. ‘You come with me,’ the orc commanded. He stood and yanked Lazar up to his feet. Lazar felt a sharp sting in his jaw as the iron ring bit into his skin.”
“Did they kill him?” Richard asked.
Garrin shook his head. “They took him as a slave,” he answered.
“Better he had died on the field, then,” William said.
Garrin shrugged. “They say the gods have a plan for all of us. They say that the webs of fate that spin the lives of men are part of a grand, eternal scheme. Lazar could not have anticipated that the record of his captivity would survive and become part of the standard military library of Kosvaria. His writings have touched the hearts of countless soldiers and informed the strategy of generations of captains in this and other lands who have been put on the front lines against orcs and various barbarian tribes. From his own account, Lazar would disagree with the idea of a grand design, but even that outlook is used to prepare soldiers for the world-view-shattering effects of war. Whatever the eternal purpose behind his capture and Oleant’s demise, Lazar could not help but feel ultimate defeat. As he left the battle field, littered with the broken bodies of his countrymen now being descended upon by carrion hunters, he looked across the bridge at the orcish camp and then at his captor and he could only think that it would be better had he died. For rank and file soldiers who know they may be marching to their death, Lazar’s tale provides a bitter-sweet hope that the struggle matters.”
William nodded. “I thought you said this story shows the virtue of learning from your enemy?”
Garrin smiled wide. “Think about it, had the orc not learned Common Tongue, they would not have sent a warning.”