One by one the men fell in behind their leader and as Torben readied to bring up the rear he glanced behind at the minstrel and said, ‘The knight-captain is named Colburn, meaning “slow to burn”.’
Chapter Six
Realm of Darkness
The troop halted at the top of a low ridge. After having run for over six miles in full plate armour, with sword and shield, sweat ran freely from the heads of the exhausted men. Gasping for air, thinking his lungs might not be up to the task at hand, Colburn drank deeply from a waterskin. The trail, both captive and captor made, was as clear as sunlight in the midst of a summer’s day. Twice they had glimpsed their quarry in the distance before they were lost again over a rise or hill. Twice hope had glowed back to life in his heart, like an ember stoked into a flickering flame, only to have it dashed as they caught sight of the tree line. The ground between himself and the trees free from friend and foe alike.
Finally catching enough breath to speak, he announced with resolve, ‘I shall not stop here.’
His men looked up towards him from their individual places of recuperation, their faces betraying the exertion the run had took. Their eyes showing fear, an emotion seldom felt. No man had ever ventured into the forbidden jungles of the north and returned to speak of its terrors. Every child in the kingdom knew the tree line was where the kingdom of Man ended, and the Territories of the Orc and Goblin began.
‘Any man who wishes to leave now is free to do so. I shall not think ill of him or dishonour his good name.’ With a very slight smile he added, ‘I shall only think him sober and in possession of his sanity.’
This brought a few snorts and grunts, the closest to amusement these men would express whilst in the field. ‘But those who would stay, I say this. A vow unto death. We track these beasts. We cut a path to where our foe will lay its head and then with, He who is Greatest by our side, and in our hearts, we shall leave them slain or be slain ourselves.’
Without discussion, the men found their feet and drew their swords. With hand on hilt, and the point almost touching the ground, they placed their sword, hand and hilt, across their hearts and cried into the gloom of a storm-clouded day in one voice, ‘To death do we swear!’
With a slight nod of appreciation and respect, Colburn replied. ‘Let us be about our business.’
With the troop falling into single file behind him, Colburn strode purposely towards the place where the tracks met the trees. As they closed on the tree line, the sun broke through the clouds from the south and illuminated the imposing jungle wall. Colburn felt the warming sensation of the sun’s rays upon his neck as he took one last look at the world of light. Taking a deep breath, he said a silent prayer and signalled his men to follow.
Sword swinging, in wide figures of eight, Colburn entered the trail. If the slight depression in-between the dense brush could even be called a trail. He faced a wall of darkness so black its oppressive nature seeped into his very soul, almost to the point of total despair, with his heartbeat thundering through his chest, his throat and his head. He felt his veins and arteries throb as bile rose in his stomach. He fought the urge to turn and bolt. His mind raced with dread and darkness. Every evil thought, every evil sight now presented itself in his mind’s eye. A thousand voices, all screaming, begging for release, for the pain to stop. Suddenly the darkness brightened a little. The oppression that had threatened to overwhelm him seconds before lifted. He looked for the source of the sudden illumination, knowing that none of his men had any remaining torches, and found that the ancient runes decorating the edges of the shield every brother of the order carried, had begun to glow a vivid red. He let out a gasp of surprise. The warriors were told during endless schooling sessions that the patterns were an ancient protection against true darkness. A darkness where only true evil would dwell, yet that truism had been given up as legend, then eventually the legend had turned to myth. Hope warmed his heart. His spirit was resolved. Colburn continued onwards.
The men each experienced the same despairing feeling when they followed their captain into the jungle, and the same wonder at the shield they had carried throughout their entire career. They were warriors all, bound by vow to fight the true enemies of Man and protect the weak, and this was the quest that every true warrior dreamed of. The thoughts of fear and apprehension had now given way to grim determination, an overwhelming desire to prove themselves worthy in the eyes of their forefathers, who they were sure to meet soon enough.
The jungle was thick with bushes and trees, some with razor sharp leaves that blooded unprotected faces as they scanned the path they took. Their only sound came from Colburn, trail blazing, as he broke the trail for the single file of determined men. They had been going for about twenty minutes, and by Colburn’s reckoning had only managed a hundred yards, yet at least they would have a clear path to guide their return. If they were to return. The track opened, allowing the men to move more freely and at a greater speed, as they trudged onwards through the eerie woodland.
Colburn realised his only sound was that made by the men behind him. No birds called out. No insects buzzed. No animals marked their presence. Not even the sound of wind was whistling through the leaves. Bathed in the red glow of the shield runes, the men marched forward into the darkness—into the silence.
An animal sound stopped the men in their tracks. High pitched and wailing, the sound cut through Colburn, sending cold shivers through his entire body even though the heat was stifling. It sounded again only much louder, an unnatural screech, something between anger and pain, blood curdling in its ferocity and urgency. Another cry took up the first in what seemed a response. Quickly followed by a third. Then a fourth. Suddenly the unnatural screeching was all around, making it impossible to judge numbers and distance, unrelenting, bone chilling and everywhere. It was almost as though the trees themselves were screaming at the human intrusion.
Colburn snapped a command, and the men formed two lines back to back, shields locked, swords raised. Eyes searched high and low, scanning the foliage, straining through the darkness, to put a visual aspect on to the unnatural sound.
Colburn issued his next command, ‘Right men. When a beast roars a challenge, you stand your ground, you answer in kind and you roar back.’ Colburn bellowed over the incredible din, ‘Let them hear your war cry.’ An accumulation of pent up anger and frustration was released in a deep and threatening roar. The contrasting sounds of feral screeching and the harsh growl of men competed for dominance in the closeness of the jungle. Each warrior took sport from attempting to outdo his brothers, and each man tried to create the most racket as swords banged on shields and feet stamped upon the ground.
The cacophony of noise from the men slowed, then stopped as the warriors, one by one, realised that the screeching had stopped. Then silence. Eerie. Deadly. Complete. The men tried to wipe sweat from their foreheads but with gauntleted hands they found it but a token gesture. The darkness lessened even further as the runes lining the shields of Man changed from the bright red to a glowing white. The murky darkness became something akin to daylight, only much more contained, limited to the area surrounding the platoon.
As he gazed around in a state of wonder and trepidation Colburn noticed colours in the foliage. Dull at first then slowly becoming as vivid as freshly dyed cloth. Unmoving patches of different colours: blue, red, pink, green, orange, yellow, gold, and silver, all stark against the dark greens of the jungle canopy. Dozens appeared like candles bursting into flame. A dozen colours soon became a dozen shades of a dozen colours. Hundreds became thousands. Then the jungle came alive.
One moment there was silence, stillness. Then a kaleidoscope of colour began bouncing throughout the canopy. So much colour and movement, every man had his head raised trying to follow the movement, preparing to defend themselves, but the movement and colour disorientated the eye and baffled the mind. It was as though the jungle had come to life, angry at the incursion into its domain. The howling resumed as the entire woo
dland danced in every direction. Then they attacked.
Some sort of small monkey came upon the band of men with a savage intent. They were about the size of a domesticated cat, the type little girls have for pets or farmers keep around to kill vermin. Colburn remembered that the old cook at castle Sprettaman had one, but his had been a dark brown creature, timid and friendly. He remembered feeding it fruit from his hand and laughing as the creature had stroked the palm of his hand as a way of gratitude and accordance. Yet what moved through the leaves sounded ferocious, angry and without fear. They came at first from the sides, jumping through the dense bush on to the locked shields. The brightly coloured things burned their clawed hands and feet as they came into contact with the brilliant white runes, causing them to drop to the ground screeching. But for every one that fell many more came to take their place, clambering up armoured legs, and throwing themselves selflessly at the line of men. The things began biting and tearing at armour plates seeking to expose the flesh below. A few of the brothers brought their swords to bear, skewering and slashing downward to swat the hideous things out of the air and hack them to bits. But it soon became clear to them all that the great-swords were not ideal to the task at hand.
‘Drop swords and draw mace!’ Colburn bellowed over the overwhelming noise of hundreds of screeching critters. Rather than fight in such a confined space with the massive sword strapped to their backs, they dropped them to the ground and drew the short, spiked mace. Then the fight began in earnest.
Even though the creatures were tiny in comparison to the armour-plated warriors, the men were struggling with a constant stream of rabid monkeys. Fangs broke on armour as the things attempted to bite through the plating. Colburn brought his mace up to his chest sharply and squashed a bright blue monkey’s skull against his plated armour, leaving brains to cling to its dented surface. The men were each swatting the things out of the air. The lightweight creatures were breaking on maces, bursting and being crushed under steel-clad boots. Like giant bugs, the creature’s insides burst out in gushes under the weight of steel and man. Hundreds lay mutilated or dead upon the jungle floor, yet still they came with a conviction that bordered on lunacy.
Then they dropped like stones from the high branches above. Landing with extraordinary agility on exposed heads, they tore and bit unprotected faces and necks.
Colburn caught a glimpse through his own personnel struggle at the private next to him. Young Jedrick was swinging his mace blindly but unflinchingly. His face a torn and blooded mess. His nostrils were ripped open and bite marks covered his lips and cheeks. Just as he overcame the foes to his front, a gold coloured howling creature dropped, like molten stone, landing upon Jedrick’s wounded head, biting and clawing at the poor man’s eyes. Jedrick was so distraught at the thing tearing at his face he struck out blindly with his mace, but the creature danced nimbly on to his left shoulder as the mace struck home. The mace connected with force upon his own face, shattering the eye socket to fragments, and causing the eyeball to drop and dangle from its inner workings. The same creature swung around the back of the panic-stricken man and perched itself upon his right shoulder. It snatched the eyeball with lightning speed, as if scared to lose the exotic treat, ripping it from its sinewy rope that it hung from, and the satisfied monkey ran off into the bush to devour its prize, whilst another of its brethren took its place to torment the agonised warrior.
‘Accursed be, you beasts!’ Colburn roared as he crushed another creature. They were losing, he thought, to things they could crush between their hands with ease. An epiphany hit the seasoned soldier like a blacksmith hits iron to remove the imperfections. For the six years he had trained at the academy from the age of ten until sixteen, they had taught him that to be unarmed is to be unmanned. Yet now he saw the simple truth. He threw down his shield, with its runes facing towards the canopy where they burned with a fierce intensity. Then he let his mace fall where he stood and began grabbing the creatures one by one, breaking their spines like kindling, before casting them aside. He turned to the now one-eyed Jedrick who nevertheless fought on with valiant courage and snatched two of the foul things off the man’s back. One in each hand he squeezed until his steel-clad fingers burst through the creature’s torsos in a torrent of blood and pulverised organs. He pulled the things to pieces, filled with hatred for the vile creatures and the terrible injury they had inflicted on his man. He bellowed an order over the primal battle that had erupted on the trail beside him. ‘Drop your shields! Drop your weapons! Fight with your hands!’ For the first time since attaining the rank of knight-captain, his order was ignored. Grabbing the soldiers closest to him, he screamed. ‘These things are best fought with hands!’ To demonstrate he grabbed another and burst its head like a grape being pressed for wine.
Shields fell, along with mace, and then the tide of the battle turned as abruptly as it had begun. All down the line, men were grabbing the creatures and tearing them to bits. The floor became covered with a multi-coloured layer, some feet deep in places, but one colour remained more apparent than any other. Blood, both human and beast, splattered the foliage and ground in vast quantities. Soon enough the call was heard all down the line and a frenzy began. The men were tearing the creatures apart, limb from limb. Necks were wrung so tight that heads became detached from the body as the men reeked their revenge. The contemptible things were grabbed by legs, arms and tails, to be swung with the full might of the sword arm of Man. They collided with trees and the compacted earth of the trail to explode in a shower of blood and bone. The attack which moments before had been a one-sided wave of momentum had completely faltered. No more creatures dropped from the trees. No more launched themselves from out of the darkness, and soon the only sound heard was the sound of bone being snapped, crushed and ground to bits as the men stamped all around them. Dying and wounded monkeys attempted to drag themselves to freedom, but the steel-clad feet were relentless in seeking movement and ending it with anger.
Colburn removed his gauntlets to wipe the blood from his eyes and assess his wounds. Multiple lacerations leaked bright crimson blood across his face and neck, and the top half of his right ear was missing, fang marks a testimony to its fate, but he had fared far better than many of his men. Gulbrand and Adelram had completely lost the use of their eyesight, having had both eyeballs torn and ripped to destruction whilst still in their sockets. Many more eyelids had been torn from blooded faces. Lips, cheeks, noses and ears had been chewed, and large chunks were missing from every face, of every man. No man cried out in pain. Each remained stoic whilst they treated comrades who would, in turn, treat them.
Along with Colburn, the least grievously injured retrieved their weapons and shield and stood guard, as they applied powerful herbs with salves to stop the bleeding and treat infection. The eyes were the fundamental problem, with two men now completely blind and another two left with vision so poor they could barely see a few feet in front of their own faces. Colburn had a quarter of his men disabled within a few minutes of the first engagement of the quest. Four men out of the fourteen who had entered the jungle were now a hindrance to any further fighting, rather than an aid to the mission. Colburn thought over the next move whilst having his own wounds dressed. There was only one thought plausible. The four men would have to follow the trail out and seek medical attention. With the two partially sighted men taking up the front, and the rear, they should be able to follow the trail back out without too much difficulty.
He moved Gulbrand and Adelram to the centre of the line, guiding them and holding them upright as they slipped on the corpses of their enemy. He called over Folke and Jedrick from where they had just finished having covers strapped over their empty eye sockets and began his brief.
‘Folke, you will lead Gulbrand and Adelram out of this forsaken place. Jedrick you will watch their rear.’ Jedrick protested before Colburn cut off the stout young warrior. ‘Jedrick, you fought bravely and have earned your place beside us as a brother.’ Even through
the pain and torn lips, Jedrick beamed with pride. ‘You have earned your name of meaning and from this day forth you shall be named Trygve, it means “worth of trust”, and you have truly earned your name, brother.’
Passing to each one of the injured men he offered his thanks and praise, saying such things as, ‘You are heroes to a man’, and, ‘no man has harried the enemy into the dark lands, go take your place in legend’. He said these things with a tone that shone through with admiration but without a trace of sympathy or compassion. To do so would have shown weakness, and the remaining men needed to be sure of their leader’s strength. The men exchanged their farewells and continued the quest.
The trail widened, and the bush thinned out slightly and soon the men could walk comfortably two abreast. Having one flank protected by a sworn brother in arms their confidence grew. Again, the oppressive silence resumed. Apart from the tracks they followed, they neither heard nor caught sight of any foes as they marched wearily onwards. Just as Colburn had begun to give in to hopelessness, he heard a faint but penetrating scream. The men also heard it and all movement stopped as they forced their hearing to focus, on nothing, absolute silence.
Colburn gave the order, and the men advanced, shields raised, and swords drawn, down the trail as quickly as stealth allowed. After two hundred metres, the jungle opened even more.
A single scream of blood curdling pitch sounded through the air. Filled with utter anguish and pain, it ripped through the men, cutting through armour like no weapon could, and delivering dread deep within their hearts. Colburn signalled, and the men fanned out as much as possible and advanced with speed between the tree boles.
A scent in the air caused Colburn to order a stop as he recognised this slight smell in the thick air. The unmistakable tang of blood. The troop rounded a slight bend and were confronted with a sickening sight. A recently pregnant woman lay on her back in a pool of blood and gore, her form twitching as her body began to give way to death. Between her open legs sat a Goblin slowly eating her unborn foetus that it had ripped from her young body. The creature seemed unperturbed by the arrival of heavily armoured men as it devoured the last mouthful of its hideous crime. Slowly it chewed as it eyed the shocked men.
The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One Page 8