The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One

by Aiden L Turner

  Bolivar was the first to go down, in the gap between the treeline and their objective, but not the last. And within a few more strides Hakon was brought to the ground, tackled by a lesser Orc. He hit the ground hard; the air knocked out of his lungs as the tide of evil bore down on him. He had not gained his breath before the wicked knives of the horde descended on his prone body, butchering him as he swung his sword blindly and for the last time. As with all his brothers, Hakon, the highest son, went to the halls of his forefathers fighting to the end.

  The lesser creatures were nothing more than wheat before the scythe when faced with charging armoured men. Yet creatures that matched the men in size and aggression had joined the fray, and the men were being forced to engage whilst trying to keep the momentum of the charge.

  Colburn reached the captives first. His rage undiminished his skill as he began dispatching the captive’s guards that stood before him. He fought his way through, with his men to his flank and halted. The largest thing that moved, which he had ever seen, was standing not ten feet before him. All Colburn could see before him was a grey, pockmarked creature with its back turned towards him. A back covered with warts as a field is covered with blades of grass. Nine feet tall, with shoulders six feet wide and legs as thick as trees. All around, Colburn could hear his men fighting to defend this area as he stood transfixed upon the monster’s back. He realised that the creature was not concerned with him or his men. It gave the knight-captain a moment to compose his thoughts, and he realised he had read once, long ago, of creatures that were, by description, similar to what stood in his midst. The book described it as a thing of the past, belonging to the ancient world, before the times of the kingdom of Man The thing of nightmares, a tale to scare children in to behaving and working hard. A Stone Ogre. He realised that the things arms were raised before him, as if it busied itself upon an important task, one more important than an attack from man.

  A woman’s gargled scream cut through the air, as Colburn called a challenge to the unknown monster. The thing of nightmares turned and showed the captain, a face more akin to a boulder than of anything of flesh. A face that held no features, just two holes where most living things had eyes, and a gaping chasm where you would expect to find a mouth. Its mouth was moving up and down. It was chewing.

  The thing acknowledged Colburn’s presence by roaring. Spittle, red and stinking of decay, left its mouth, as fire sprang into life, a deep and foreboding red in the pits that were the thing’s eyes. It abruptly stopped its roar and moved far too quickly for something of its size, but it did not attack Colburn as expected. Instead, the thing stepped to the side and revealed the source of its previous attention.

  Naked, spreadeagled and tied vertically to a large cross-shaped structure was a young dying woman. Two bloody and torn holes where her breasts had once been bled freely over her exposed rib cage, as she waited, mumbling an unheard prayer, for the sweet release of death.

  The thing reached out with an enormous hand and laid a loose grip on the woman’s head, encompassing the woman’s skull. The Ogre slowly applied pressure. The thing rocked its head back and a sound approaching laughter, but hollow and lacking any warmth, reverberated through the air as it increased the pressure.

  Colburn lunged forward and his sword struck the monster’s head redundantly and left no mark. He struck again and again with the only damage done, being that done to his own blade. The thing’s laughing continued as the fire within its eyeless sockets burnt brighter. It increased the pressure in a last surge of power and its fingers bursts though her bone, squashing her skull and brains into a pulp, as it closed its hand into a fist on what had once been her head.

  Colburn realised that even with all his training and experience there was no confronting this thing of evil, this Ogre, and taking victory. He looked to his men and saw that whilst he had been witnessing this act of barbarity; they had been carrying out his orders. Egil, Brandt and Einar kept the green-skinned vermin at bay, whilst the twins, Taben, and Torben, freed the still able-bodied prisoners and gave the suffering the mercy of the blade.

  ‘How many?’ Colburn screamed whilst keeping his sword and his eyes trained upon the thing.

  ‘Six’, was the reply. ‘Including Rochelle.’

  Colburn turned and roared as loud as he could. His voice cutting loud over the sound of battle. ‘Then we run! Do not look back! Do not stop! Just run!’ He turned and ran to Rochelle.

  Scooping her up on to his shield arm and giving her as much protection from his shield as he could, he ran. All thoughts of fatigue vanished as he felt his charge move upon his arm. He had taken a few strides towards the men providing the protection, when he heard the stone beast behind him launch its attack. Taking one of the captives, a man of middling years who had found a sword during the rescue and had fought beside the soldiers bravely, albeit with little skill only anger, the huge Ogre held the screaming man, turning him as if inspecting a piece of meat. Then the screaming turned from a sound of fear to one of agonising pain as the thing began pulling its victim apart, limb from limb. The unnatural creature took its time, as if its dissection of the now dead man was an act of education.

  Egil, Colburn, Einar, Torben and Taben all carried a survivor upon their shield arm as Brandt charged forward and hacked through the enemy in the clearing. His own and Vali’s swords whirled through the air, leaving nothing but corpses in his wake. Goblin after Goblin fell before his skill as the steel sung in his hands. Colburn could only compare the display of swordsmanship as God-like as every move and stroke melted in to the next, leaving arcs of blood flying through the air as his dance of death decimated the lesser creatures, but the Orcs and larger beasts had withdrawn. And then it became clear why.

  Arrows poured into the clearing from the left of the escaping men. The noise of swords destroying Goblin flesh was replaced with the singing of arrows and the pinging sound of the missiles bouncing off armour plating. But for every dozen that harmlessly glanced off steel, one found flesh.

  The vastly accelerated rusting of the iron and the continued fighting had loosened their armour plating. Leather straps and metal clasps had broken. The last of Colburn’s men fell around him in a storm of short shafted, cruelly barbed arrows. He raised his shield to protect Rochelle, but he knew she had already been struck at least once. His heart sank at how little noise she made and how little movement he felt from her. A quick glance behind him and he saw that Egil and Einar had been slowed by multiple arrow wounds.

  Colburn, Brandt and Torben turned to see Taben engage the stone-like monster. The Ogre slowed by his fascination of its victims now began to seek more prey. Torben watched helplessly as his twin Taben engaged the monster and fell to it within seconds, as his weapon proved to be worthless and his attacks futile. Now it advanced towards Egil and Einar. The two warriors, both struck by many arrows, struggled to stand to meet their deaths, as the captives they were charged to protect lay dead beside their feet. Swords raised, they met the beast with valour, but it tore through their courage, their armour and their flesh with ease. Colburn turned his head back towards the tree line. Ten more strides and they would at least have some cover. Torben was beside Colburn, Brandt beside Torben, and all three knew that they would not reach the trees before the monster would be amongst them.

  Brandt screamed with all his heart. ‘For our Brothers!’ and he turned to face the creature from out of the abyss.

  Colburn’s eyes followed Brandt’s movement as Torben turned abruptly and whispered to the barely conscious women in his arms.

  ‘I grant you mercy and beg your forgiveness, my lady.’ And in one fluid movement ran his blade against her throat, whilst gently laying her upon the ground. He ran to Brandt who was already engaging the creature, and shouted over his shoulder, ‘Run’, he screamed as his sword struck the stone-like creature. ‘One must live, or all would have been in vain.’

  Colburn did not stop or even hesitate, he ran. Pumping his legs with all his might, he reach
ed the trees. The sound of his trusted and beloved comrade’s blades striking rock echoed behind him as he said a silent prayer of thanks for his brother’s sacrifice. His muscles screamed at him to stop, to give in and sink to his knees. Just as his heart gave in to despair, he felt a warm brush upon his cheek. Brought immediately out of despair he looked downwards and saw the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The love he felt from those blue eyes staring up at him was almost overwhelming.

  ‘All will be well, my love, you shall be safe, I promise you, my sweet girl. I promise you.’ He added the last softly, as if he were telling himself. He came upon the place where Vali had fell, the shield’s runes still glowing, the sight warmed his heart with anger and grief, and with renewed vigour he pounded on through the trail.

  He was just passing the body of the woman and the despicable Goblin he had dispatched earlier when behind him the sound of pursuit became audible, then became louder as Goblins raced through the trees. Just as he was beginning to believe in the hope that they would evade the evil behind them, and make it back into the realm of light, the realm of the living, the realm of men, Goblins raced through the trees beside them, seeking to intercept and cut off their escape. Colburn lashed out with his sword, but the stroke was more of a token than an effective attack. His weakened body was nearing complete depletion of his energy reserves, and he almost ground to a complete stop as he spotted the body of Trygve, the youngest of the troop to whom Colburn had, only a few hours ago, given his name of worth. He hung naked and upside down from the trunk of a large tree to the side of the trail. Huge, spike-like, nails hammered through his feet and into the wood held him in place, and a single word was carved deep into his torso, YOU.

  Movement brought him from his revulsion as a Goblin attempted to snatch Rochelle from his arm. His anger fuelled his spirit as he brought his sword down on the Goblins’ head, ending it swiftly. All around him the jungle had become alive with noise again. The tree branches swayed with the weight and movement of the creatures of Colburn’s torment. He reached within and found hidden strength and continued, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Another twenty painful strides and he came upon the body of Adelram, his eyeless sockets staring out at Colburn accusingly. Tied to a tree with a vine around his neck, Colburn only slowed long enough to notice both of Adelram’s arms were missing and a single word was carved deep into his naked chest, ARE.

  He continued, not allowing himself to dwell on thoughts of his beloved men’s agonising deaths. The enemy were all around, making their presence known by their displays of movement and threatening noise. Colburn did not dare to hope they would not attack, and instead he tightened his grip on his sword’s hilt and shifted the weight of Rochelle and his shield upon his exhausted arm. The runes of the shield were glowing fiercely as they reflected something on the trail before him. He looked about as he slowed his laborious run to a walk and saw his brother Gulbrand propped up against a tree, his immense girth reduced by the removing of his bowls. Colburn’s sight returned to the trail before him and he saw that Gulbrand, ‘sword of the Divine’, the most pious warrior Colburn had ever known, had been butchered to leave another single word. Laid out across the width of the trail, Gulbrand’s, intestines spelt the word FOUND. All the terrible sights and smells of the day could not prepare Colburn for the smell of Gulbrand’s blood and shit, nor for the sight of him, left less worthy than butchered livestock. He turned his head away from Rochelle and vomited before stepping over his brother’s remains, and took one pain-filled step after another, as he started to believe he might save the only girl he had loved from death at the cruel hands of this evil place. Slight shards of light penetrated through the trees and he realised he was within a few feet of leaving this foul place. But his pursuers had no intention of releasing the remaining survivors.

  Suspended in the air horizontally and facing towards the trail was the body of the last of Colburn’s men. Blocking the path in which the men had first entered, Folke’s face had been completely removed, his skull cleansed of flesh, leaving it a stark white compared to the rest of Folke’s body. Carved into the entire length of his body was the word WANTING. The W starting the word at Folke’s throat, and the G ending it at the place where his genitals had been violently removed.

  The ultimate attack began as Goblins and Orcs burst through trees seeking their prize, spurred on by the Ogre’s presence on the trail. Colburn wasted no time and hacked at his dead brothers’ ankles and wrists, added more mutilation to Folke’s body though releasing him from his state of suspension.

  Jumping over Folke’s remains, Colburn burst through the treeline and into broad daylight. The light he had been craving since entering the jungles now blinded him. But onwards he ran. He had made it two dozen strides from the trees, running with his eyes closed, the warmth from the sun upon his face, breathing life into him once more, when he stumbled and fell. His legs were finished. He could not stand. He turned his head towards the jungles and opened his eyes as the Goblins bursts through the dense brush. They came at him fast, knowing that he had finished his fight. He looked at his beloved, knocked unconscious by the fall. Gently, he stroked her hair away from her face and slowly tried to lift his sword. He accepted a painful death, just as his brothers had received, but he would give Rochelle a quick one before the beasts fell upon them with their jagged blades and hungry teeth. He lay the blade upon her throat, her soft skin that only days before he had kissed so tenderly, he now intended to open, and the thought made him weep silently. The creatures were mere seconds away and Colburn could delay no longer. He raised his arm to deliver a quick thrust.

  The beasts stopped so abruptly they skidded and fell upon their backs. Colburn looked on with disbelief and stayed his hand, shocked at the creatures’ behaviour. Then his head cleared, and he heard the rumble behind him.

  The Goblins were gaining their feet as the first of the horses tore past the ground beside the bewildered knight-captain, their hoofs churning the grass to mud as they stormed past, smashing into the enemy ranks. Colburn realised that the men, who were whooping and cheering as they slashed and hacked the remaining Goblins to pieces, were wearing royal colours. The majority had shields sporting the sigil of the king. The golden circles, broken, then joined to form a horizontal figure of eight, one the symbol of He who was there in the beginning and the one who remains at the end. And the second circle, the crown of kingship. But there were two others familiar to him, the northern star above a naked sword, sigil of the house of Aelinor. And the snarling bear’s head, sigil of the house of Godwin.

  Rochelle stirred in his arms, and he turned his attention towards her. ‘Is it over?’ she asked in a hoarse voice. ‘Are we safe?’

  He turned and kissed her on the forehead and replied, ‘We are safe, my love. You are safe.’ He collapsed to the ground and held her against him. The closeness and fatigue letting the pair forget their wounds for a moment. Colburn did not realise he had drifted into sleep, but a shout had brought him out of his exhausted state.

  ‘Colburn!’ The voice called to him, and he heard the accent was one of nobility. ‘Colburn, you will open your eyes when I am addressing you.’ His voice was calm and clear, resounding with the confidence of one expecting to be obeyed. ‘So, you have survived’, he continued. And now Colburn recognised it as Lord Godwin the Younger, first son to the Lord Godwin and heir. ‘I commend you for that Colburn, I really do, but, you see, the king is in residence at my little home, Castle Cadaay, and I believe he said something about you costing him an entire platoon of His men. I think explanations are in order. Yes?’ He looked down at Colburn from his horse and with a curt nod of his head issued a command, ‘Take him into custody’.

  Two large men dressed in black approached Colburn. The king’s Enforcers of Law were carrying iron manacles, and each held an iron club. With a grim expression upon their faces, they moved to grab Colburn roughly about the shoulders. Being torn away from his beloved Rochelle, after all he had done to save her, b
rought him to alertness. He tried to fight, but the men were rested, strong, and even with his own formidable size, the last few hours had left him like a feeble child to them.

  As they dragged him towards a prison cage affixed to a wagon he screamed, ‘Please! She needs a doctor, my lord! We have a duty to protect the people. All of them. You and I share that honour, my lord. Please, my Lord Godwin’, Colburn pleaded and begged as he was dragged away.

  ‘Indeed, we do, Colburn.’ Godwin the Younger called after him. ‘Indeed, we do. I shall take care of her; you have my word.’ He signalled, and a physician ran to aid her.

  Feeling a spark of contentment, knowing that she would be treated and looked after, he shouted his thanks to the lord and allowed himself to be bundled into the cage. As the cart began to wind its way towards Castle Cadaay, a single horse passed him. Colburn took no notice as he drifted back into unconsciousness. The rider passed him without making comment or saying a word. The single horse stopped a few strides from where Rochelle lay, the doctor treating her carefully.

  ‘Stop that’, Lord Goodwin ordered the doctor, but the doctor carried on his assessment of her injuries. ‘I said move away. Now, doctor.’ The lord said more firmly. The doctor looked up and with a sigh he rose from his patient and took two steps backwards as the single rider stepped down from his horse.

  Baron Oswald approached the girl, his face disfigured from his running with Colburn. Unable to form words with his broken mouth, he grunted and kicked her to get her eyes upon him. The hatred that burned from his eyes towards her caused fright waking her fully. Here stood a man glowering such anger towards her she could not fathom it. She succumbed to panic as he slowly drew his mace, trying against her pain and injuries to flee from this new threat. His ruined mouth formed the slightest hint of a smile as he raised his mace and brought it down in a powerful stroke.