by Mark Barber
“Twenty-four of my soldiers are ex-legion,” Constance continued, “the rest are former soldiers from their own home nations. However, many of us – myself included – have run afoul of Basilean justice once or twice. We are not on good terms with the Hegemony, and we will not wear its colors.”
Tancred raised a fist to his closed mouth and fell silent for a moment.
“I am afraid I cannot resolve that,” he finally admitted. “Hugh of Athelle is commanding this detachment and those are his orders. I do not have the authority to rescind them. Basilean blue is also worn by my order – perhaps you could think of yourselves as attached to the Order of the Sacred Ark rather than the legion?”
“With pride, my lord,” Jaque spoke up, “but that does not make it any easier to stomach having to wear the white tabard again.”
Constance looked across at the paladin with a degree of surprise, realizing her initial impression of the young man was unkind. He did at least appear to be doing all he could to assuage the company’s concerns, and she realized that she was in danger of crossing the line from standing up for her principles to being pig-headed and stubborn. The fee was excellent and her soldiers deserved it; she was also keen to move the conversation on before Hugh was brought up again.
“We will honor the contract,” she conceded, noting Hayden narrow his eyes as she spoke. “I’ll request my soldiers wear your colors, but I won’t force any of them, my lord.”
“That is all I ask,” Tancred replied. “Thank you for talking this through. The next settlement we pass, I will pay for the outfitting myself.”
Constance watched the paladin walk back over to his magnificent warhorse and vault back up into the saddle. She turned to face her two comrades, forcing an uneasy smile. Hayden beamed broadly.
“That,” he grinned, “is a lot of money! I’ll be able to buy my daughter some good land with that!”
“Aye,” Jaque nodded bitterly, “and I don’t begrudge you that. But I’m not comfortable with this. Not at all. And I won’t wear their colors. Not after what they did to us. You should feel the same, Constance.”
“I don’t need you to tell me how I should feel,” Constance replied, politely but firmly. “My chief concern at the moment is making sure that my company is paid well enough; these men and women should not lose out because of my principles. I’ve made my decision. Hayden, get them up on the road in three ranks.”
The tall man turned to bellow a string of orders out to the waiting mercenaries.
***
His eyes narrowed in concentration, Dionne watched from his secluded vantage point as the mass of orcs navigated their way through the narrow mountain pass below. The late afternoon sun forced a few pillars of light through the thin, broken layer of clouds above that glinted off the battered, dirty armor of the twenty green skinned warriors. While there were as many variations in the heights and builds of the orcs as there were in humans, the general physique of the creatures was constant – hunchbacked, taller and broader than a man, with bald heads, flat snouted noses, and a lower jaw packed with tusk-like, sharp teeth. Dionne smiled grimly as he regarded the huge orc close to the front of the patrol, a gargantuan monster clad in thick plates of armor edged in rust and carrying a vicious, serrated axe with two heads. He was a Krudger; an orc so violent and dangerous that he had managed to fight his way up into their society’s – if such a word could be used – ruling class. Dionne wondered for a moment why a Krudger had chosen to lead a mere patrol of twenty orcs. Then he ruefully remembered that he was out on a patrol of his own with just thirty men.
Dionne’s men formed a thin line along the rocky ridge above the mountain pass. He had personally selected the choke point three days before and had spent the last two nights waiting for news from his scouts concerning the orcs and their movements. He had expected a far larger party, given the extent of the atrocities committed against the mining villages along the mountainside, but the opportunity to eliminate a Krudger was worth showing his hand and launching his ambush. The narrow pass snaked along the mountainside below them, allowing only two orcs to move from left to right below the human soldiers as they trekked south toward the area’s mining villages. Below the path lingered several thin sheets of mist that had clung to the mountainside since dawn.
“Are we taking them?” a hoarse whisper came from next to him.
Dionne glanced across at Teynne, a relative newcomer to his group who had rapidly established himself as invaluable with his seemingly endless range of skills. His long, blond hair framing a thin face with red, perpetually fatigued eyes, Teynne looked at him expectantly. Dionne nodded. He turned to his right and gave another nod to the three soldiers who waited at the end of the line by the rock fall trap they had prepared, their heavy hammers at the ready.
The line of orcs carried on heedless below them, the stench of their sweat drenched clothes combined with their rusted armor and blood smeared weapons drifted up in the easterly wind that issued from the seas to impact against the foot of the mountains and force its way up toward the heavens. Ten of his men slowly and carefully tilted their crossbows down to aim at the silent line of greenskins below. Dionne watched as the trio of orcs at the head of the column edged ever closer to the spot on the path directly below the trap. He had little concern for them – it was the Krudger just behind them that he wanted. He raised one hand above his head and waited patiently until the huge orc was only a few paces from the trap. There – he brought his hand down in a swift, cutting motion.
The three men by the rock fall trap swung their hammers down to knock away its wooden supports, allowing the collection of jagged boulders to tumble forth and drop down over the lip of ground. A guttural shout of alarm was issued by an uncharacteristically observant orc toward the rear of the group, but the reactions were too late. The boulders slammed down to crush the two orcs at the front of the line, their hunched bodies swiftly disappearing beneath the cascade of falling rocks and dense cloud of dust which blossomed up from the unnatural rock fall. Dionne swore – the Krudger appeared unscathed.
Dionne’s crossbowmen did not need an order to react now the trap was sprung. A wave of ten crossbow bolts whistled down to cut through the ranks of the orcs, sending a trio of the muscular warriors twirling down over the edge of the narrow path to fall yelping to a violent demise below.
“Get down there!” Dionne yelled as he leapt to his feet, brandishing his sword above his head. “Cut the bastards off!”
A series of gruff commands was bellowed from the Krudger, and the line of orcs turned in place to quickly retreat back along the path to escape the killing ground Dionne had created. His first few men skidded down the steep slope to confront the orcs on the pathway below but were quickly overrun by the lumbering greenskins; three of his men were savagely hacked down while a fourth hapless soldier was lifted above the head of one of the orcs and tossed screaming off the mountain side.
Dionne and Teynne were the next two to arrive to confront the retreating tide of orcs. Dionne brought his sword and shield up to face a pair of the greenskins who seemed intent on charging through him as soon as his feet hit the path below. With a snarl, Dionne ran headlong to meet them. He took a heavy axe blow on to his shield and deflected it to one side to open up the defenses of the first orc, and then swiftly dispatched the creature with a clinical slash across his neck; he then ducked under a hammer blow from the second orc before lunging forward and piercing the greenskin’s torso with a well aimed strike to the heart.
Teynne dashed past Dionne, his longsword held aloft. The blond haired man brought his own blade down unnaturally fast, severing the creature’s sword arm. The orc staggered back, holding onto his bleeding stump with a look of surprise that provoked a sharp laugh from Teynne. The blond warrior held out a hand, uttered a few words under his breath, and a stream of orange flame issued from his palm to set the wounded orc alight and running blindly in terror as his bass screams rose above the shouts of battle. Dionne watched as the
orc tripped and tumbled down the mountainside, the flaming creature bouncing and rolling off the jagged rocks before disappearing into the mist below.
It was then that Dionne saw the orcs had followed his example and had dropped down to take advantage of another pathway below, where they now fled back to the north.
“Follow them!” Dionne yelled to his men as he lowered himself over the edge of the pathway to slip down the mountainside in pursuit. “Don’t let them escape!”
Wincing and ignoring the terrified screams of one of his own men who mistimed his descent and plummeted to his death, Dionne led his surviving soldiers down the mountainside and after the remaining orcs. Their retreat was orderly, suspiciously so for a foe Dionne knew was reluctant to retreat or use orderly tactics. He sprinted after the orcs as the lumbering creatures followed the path into a broad opening on a shallow slope before disappearing into a dark, jagged cave mouth in the rocks. Dionne stopped and allowed his men to catch up as the last of the ten orcs disappeared into the cave. He repressed a pang of sorrow as he quickly counted the men as they arrived; he had lost six. Six good men who had trusted him and looked to him for leadership. There would be time to dwell on that later.
Before he could issue his next wave of orders, Dionne watched as thick, wooden barricades were quickly erected across the mouth of the cave ahead.
“They’ve got defenses prepared?” asked Phellius, a tall, dark haired soldier who had been with Dionne since his days in the legion.
“That’s not like these scum,” Dionne hissed. “Something’s amiss here.”
The powerfully built Krudger appeared at the mouth of the cave, giving Dionne a clearer look at the enemy leader. An angular breastplate and pauldrons added to the creature’s already imposing frame, while scraps of holed mail added extra protection. A bandolier of severed heads crossed from the orc’s shoulder down to his waist, tied to the band by their hair.
“You wanna fight?” the huge orc yelled. “Come in here and fight proper! No more skulking ‘round with yer traps!”
Dionne regarded the barricaded cave with seasoned eyes. The orcs had higher ground and an easily defendable position. It was nothing Dionne had not seen countless times before. He turned to issue his orders.
“Crossbowmen, load!” he shouted.
The crossbow armed soldiers rapidly formed up into two ranks and took their pulleys from their belts to ratchet the heavy weapons, ready to shoot again. “Teynne, burn them out!” Dionne commanded.
The blond warrior gave a slight smile and held out both hands, muttering his incantations before twin pillars of fire leapt from his fingertips and enveloped the wooden barricades with an audible whoosh. The dry wood of the defenses ignited immediately, lighting up the mountainside with a column of flames. The heat of the blaze warming his face, Dionne watched as a pair of burning bodies stumbled out of the cave mouth. The guttural screams of agony rose over the roaring of the flames as the tragically familiar smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Howling in despair, the Krudger, who had stood at the cave entrance, turned to watch as his last few orcs died agonizing deaths before his eyes. His own back now ablaze, the flesh of his face blistering in the heat, the Krudger turned again and stomped purposefully down from the cave toward the band of human fighters. He pointed his axe toward Dionne and roared.
“You!” he demanded. “Get out here and fight! Show me what yer made of! Fight me!”
A few of Dionne’s men glanced across at him. He was aware of the customs of the orcs, of the need to die a good death and the unadulterated hatred of any enemy who fought using ambushes rather than brute strength. But even though he was confident that he stood a better than even chance against the Krudger, Dionne had nothing to prove. War had nothing to do with honor and certainly was never worth taking unnecessary risks for something as pointless and idiotic as ego. War was only about results. About victory.
“Crossbows, take aim!” Dionne ordered. “Loose!”
Dionne did, however, have to admit that he felt a grudging respect for the Krudger who continued to swear and rant as he staggered toward Dionne, still somehow alive and willing to fight after being punctured by ten crossbow bolts. But injured gravely, the Krudger could do nothing to stop Dionne pacing forward and slicing off his head.
Chapter Four
An enthusiastic cheer erupted from the three ranks of legion men-at-arms as the trio of horsemen cantered along to the crossroads from the west. Afternoon was turning to evening on the third full day of marching, but the long, summer days preserved the warmth in the air until well after sunset. The road north was flanked by low foothills and farmland with neat, picturesque olive groves set out in rows that seemed to wish to compete with the soldiers for orderly precision. A few isolated farmhouses and the occasional windmill were the only evidence of habitations; and without a town or village in the area, it would no doubt be another night of sleeping in tents. The relative discomfort did not bother Tancred; it was the wasted time in setting up the encampment only to be packed up again the next morning that irked him.
The three horsemen who approached the detachment were all well dressed, their cloaks, boots, and feathered hats showing that they were men of status. Tancred noticed with interest that their horses were also animals of good quality and breeding, but nothing that matched his own steed. A murmur of conversation rippled through the ranks of mounted paladins as the trio of horsemen approached; not without excitement but certainly not matching the enthusiasm of the legion infantrymen. Tancred glanced across to the crossbowmen; the thirty mercenaries regarded the newcomers in complete silence; sneers, disapproving glances, and folded arms being among the more noticeable signs of animosity.
Tancred spurred Desiree, his warhorse, away from the other paladins to catch up with Captain Georgis as the legion officer walked out to meet the new arrivals.
“Your Grace,” Georgis bowed to the closest of the three men as they approached, “thank you for joining us. I am Captain Georgis of the 32nd Legion.”
“It is a privilege to serve with your men,” replied Dictator-Prefect Hugh of Athelle as he stepped down from his saddle.
The Dictator-Prefect was just a touch above average height, with a thin beard punctuating his dashing features. The flecks of silver in his hair and the first few wrinkles at the corners of his green eyes put him at about forty years of age, but those signs of age made his countenance all the more distinguished. Pulling a thick, leather glove off his right hand, Hugh stepped forward to shake hands warmly with the legion captain.
“Sorry for the delay,” he smiled. “I had to tend to a family matter. Captain Georgis, these are my aides, Platus and Trennio.”
Tancred looked across at the two aides, both of whom were of a similar age to the Dictator-Prefect and were similarly well armed and armored. Their names seemed familiar; the penny dropped quickly in Tancred’s mind, and he remembered that they were both famous names in the dueling and tournament circuits, expert swordsmen and riders. The two men nodded courteously but remained silent. More than a little annoyed that a mere legion captain was taking center stage over him, Tancred lowered himself down from his warhorse and walked over to the gathering. The Dictator-Prefect was a powerful man with great political influence, and given Tancred’s ambitions, favor from the nobleman would do him well.
“Your Grace,” Tancred bowed, “allow me to present myself. I am Lord Paladin Tancred of Effisus, commander of the knight paladins of the Order of the Sacred Ark that have been placed under your overall command.”
The nobleman again flashed his charismatic smile and shook Tancred’s hand.
“I’m thoroughly delighted to have elite knights of one of the most prestigious orders in all of Mantica at my side. It is a pleasure to meet you, Tancred. I know your family name, of course.”
“Your Grace,” Tancred bowed again in acknowledgment.
“Let us not stand on ceremony,” Hugh replied, “a simple ‘sir’ will suffice from here o
n in. So, onto the task in hand. What are your thoughts?”
“The reports that have filtered back to the Duma place Dionne to the very east of the Mountains of Tarkis, not far from the coast,” Captain Georgis began. “We know very little of the size of the force he commands. I’d suggest we make haste to the area and set about patrolling the mountains to locate his base of operations.”
“That will take too long,” Tancred countered, ignoring the look of irritation his contradiction garnered from Georgis, “and we need to acknowledge that we are not dealing with an overt enemy force. This is more akin to small bands of skirmishers who will harass a conventional military force. This man has made himself something of a legend in the area, a real hero to the people. We would do better by establishing ourselves in the area with a proper show of force, and putting down any insurrections that might stand against the Hegemon’s authority.”
Hugh nodded slowly.
“I think the paladin is right,” he winced. “Given the reputation that the self styled ‘Centurion’ Dionne has made for himself, we need to be prepared for the fact that we will be facing hundreds of peasants and farmers who will stand against us with every weapon they can muster. These simple folk genuinely believe that Dionne is a hero who stands on our borders, killing orc warbands and hordes of Abyssal demons to protect them where the armies of the Hegemon have failed them. They don’t see him for the skulking traitor he really is.”
“Our force is small but better trained and equipped than anything we will face,” Tancred continued, “but if Dionne gathers enough support in one place, we can still be overwhelmed. Even though these are our own people, I believe we need to make a statement as soon as we are in the area. A very obvious one.”
“Agreed,” Hugh exhaled, scanning his eyes across the ranks of soldiers on the road behind them. “Where is our war wizard? I assume the Duma would not dream of sending us off on such a task without magic to support our soldiers?”