by D. A. Adams
When he got there, Molgheon was already barking orders at her sergeants to send word that everyone needed to pack and prepare to march through the night. The group groaned their complaints, but she silenced them with a stare that none dared argue against. Then, they dispersed into the army to convey the orders. Once they were on their way, Molgheon turned to Roskin and said:
“Red has found his spot. It’s three days away, but we have to reach it in two. Get back to the rear and keep the stragglers in line.”
“Anything else?” Roskin asked sharply. From his upbringing, he didn’t like direct orders.
“That’s all I know,” Molgheon returned even more sharply. “Red needs us there in two days, so we’ll get there in two days. That okay with you, Roskin?”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he said, trying to control his temper and soothe hers at the same time. “I was just hoping for more information.”
“Me too, but that’s what we got. Now, please get back there and keep order.”
After nodding his understanding, he moved back through the ranks, growling at groups of five and six to get ready to march. Nearly all of the freed slaves had seen him fight either in the leisure slave cage or at the recently liberated plantations, so his words stirred them to motion. By the time he reached the rear, the advance had already begun, so he gathered his few belongings and stuffed them into his pack. Then, he summoned Vishghu and the other leisure slaves to him.
“Spread out and keep everyone moving through the night. It’s going to be a long walk.”
They nodded and murmured their acceptance of the charge. Then, they fanned out across the width of the formation while Roskin remained in the middle. Darkness came to the foothills early that time of the year, and as twilight turned to night, many of the freed slaves voiced their displeasure at still walking. Instead of barking at them this time, however, Roskin began to sing a slave song he had picked up during his bondage. While unable to overcome the thumps, clomps, and rattles of so many marching, his smooth baritone reached those closest to him.
The song was an elfish ballad, and even though he didn’t know what it actually meant, he did know that it captured the sadness of bondage as well as any song he’d heard. Except for Molgheon and Vishghu, all of them shared that emotion, and as he sang, Roskin tried to make those near him feel it. They marched through the dark, climbing hills and descending into dales, and all the while, Roskin sang, sometimes that one, sometimes a different song. At first, the dwarves closest to him ignored the singing, but as he started into the elfish ballad for the fifth time, one of them joined him.
Very soon, a few more joined in, and as the number of singers swelled, the song transformed from a doleful lament of slavery into a celebration of freedom. In short order, most of the regiment gave up complaining and took up the melody. In the darkness of the foothills of the eastern mountains, the army marched away from the plantations but towards an uncertain battle, yet any who might have heard the sound in the distance would have believed they had already won. That night passed without incident.
At dawn, they stopped for a short breakfast and then resumed the march within half an hour. The morning was clear and pleasant, with a breeze to keep them cool, but after lunch, the day turned warm. Roskin’s tunic soaked with sweat as they plodded up and down the rolling inclines. Throughout the day, more and more of the oldest and unhealthiest struggled to keep pace, and by the time they stopped for supper, several dozen were being carried.
They rested for an hour, and Roskin moved along the rear, assessing the situation. He was exhausted himself and knew that even the healthiest would crack if they had to carry someone through the second night. Soon the mass would refuse to go farther, so he called Molgheon to the rear. Within a couple of minutes, she appeared, her face drained and pale.
“This won’t work,” he said, pointing to the elderly who lay on the ground, some already asleep. “We should continue forward just with those of us who are healthier.”
“Who’ll protect them?” Molgheon asked, scanning the crowd.
“We can leave a couple of platoons with them.”
“I don’t like that. We’re already outnumbered.”
“How many of them do you think can fight, anyway?” he asked. “The ones who can will catch up before the battle begins.”
“I guess you’re right,” she responded. “Make it happen.”
With that she returned to the front, and Roskin quickly moved from platoon to platoon, spreading word for the old and feeble to stay there and telling the healthy to get moving. For several minutes, the camp seemed lost in chaos, but as the strong marched away from the resting point and regained formation, the disarray subsided. Before they had gone too far, Roskin halted two dozen elves and told them to lead the weak at a pace they could manage for as long as possible. Then, they would have to make double-time to reach the battlefield. The elves obeyed without question, returning to the more than four hundred elderly and weak at a steady run. His intuition offered no feeling, good or ill, so Roskin watched the elves run and hoped that he had made the right decision.
***
Crushaw sat in the late afternoon light and surveyed the terrain of his battlefield for the hundredth time. To his left, which was north, a narrow but swift river rushed by the open field. To the south, a bluff that had been carved by a glacier thousands of years before rose twenty feet above an open field. The lowland was itself a slight incline that crested even with the bluff. It was nearly three hundred yards long but scarcely more than fifty wide. With the river to the north and the bluff to the south, the field would offer both of his flanks protection, and the orcs would have to narrow their formation to meet his. The landscape was better than he had hoped for.
In the distance two days walk away, the Pass of Hard Hope was visible between the two ridges that dipped towards each other to form it. In the summer, the weather through the pass was calm and predictable, but in the other seasons, the shapes of the ridges and the natural air currents worked against each other to produce dramatic ranges of weather. In a matter of hours, conditions in the pass could go from somewhat warm and dry to frigid and icy. Many travelers, even veterans of those mountains, had lost their lives because of an unfortunate shift in conditions. As such, it made a formidable natural boundary between the orcs and the Marshwoggs.
From his vantage point, Crushaw barely noticed the beauty of the pass and the mountains. His mind was focused on where he would place the different elements of his force. In order to draw the orcs to this spot, he needed them to think their size would be enough to overwhelm the freed slaves, so he would hide many of his soldiers. From what Molgheon had told him, they had about a hundred skilled archers and had managed to fashion crude bows for all of them. They wouldn’t have many arrows each, but if they were hidden on the bluff and not discovered too early, they would have enough to weaken and demoralize the orcs.
Then, he wanted to hide another 250 or so troops along the river’s southern bank. The slope was sufficient that dwarves could lay against the mud with their legs in the river and not be easily noticed. The biggest problem would be that they might have to remain there from before dawn until late afternoon. If the day were particularly cold, they might not be able to endure it. However, if they could maintain the subterfuge, they could emerge behind the orcs and cut off any retreat.
Finally, he wanted to dig shallow pits and trenches in the middle of the field and fill them with sharp stakes and water. The orcs could easily avoid them on the initial charge up the incline, but when they turned to retreat, not only would they find the second line behind them, but the traps would claim many panicked orcs during the chaos of battle. As long as the dwarves didn’t push too far up the field and tumble in themselves, the traps might prove as valuable as the archers.
From his experience, Crushaw knew that the plan could implode with even the slightest unexpected turn, but he believed it gave them the best chance to defeat the much larger force.
As long as the orcs approached from the east and drove straight for them, it could work. His biggest concern was that the Tredjards who had consulted with him on orcish warfare had given him bad information. Obviously, they wouldn’t do so on purpose, but they fought with orcs from the west, and these were from the east. Geography and necessity can alter cultures tremendously. His entire plan hinged on the assumption that orcs loathed archery in pitched battle and, therefore, would not be able to thin out his ranks from a distance. Even if they just brought a couple dozen archers, the plan would fail. Given that he hadn’t seen the first bow or arrow at any of the plantations they had liberated, he was fairly certain the dwarves were right, but he still worried about it.
His thoughts were interrupted when the second elf returned from scouting for an overlook to serve as a watchtower. He explained that he had found a steep hill to the northeast about a mile away and across the river that provided a panoramic view for many miles. He would return to it when the others arrived and wait until he spotted the orcs. Then, he would signal the army with a small mirror he had taken from a plantation. He and Crushaw worked out a crude system of flashes that would allow them to communicate across the distance. First, he would flash four times rapidly when the orcs were spotted. Crushaw would respond with one short flash from his own mirror. Then, the elf would use a certain number of flashes to indicate which direction the orcs were coming from, and again Crushaw would respond with a single flash. Finally, the elf would flash once for each approximate mile the enemy was away from the main camp. That would give Crushaw plenty of time to get everyone organized and positioned and then ride out to meet with the orc generals.
Soon after the system was worked out, the elf heard noises from the west and rushed to the crest of the field to scan the horizon for motion. As soon as he saw the first of the freed slaves come over the next rise, he called to Crushaw that they had made it, and the general rose from his resting place to greet them. His ankle was mostly healed, but it was still sore and weak, so he moved gingerly to where the elf stood. When he saw how many were missing, his heart skipped a couple of beats, and he thought that they must’ve been attacked. Then, however, he realized that none were freshly wounded.
The army crossed the last hill to reach him, and as they moved within range he called out an enthusiastic welcome. When the front rows heard him, they responded with a loud cheer that the long walk was finally over. Crushaw ordered the blacksmiths to set up their forges and the cooks to prepare the kitchen in a clearing that would hopefully be away from the battlefield. Then, he told the rest to assemble in front of him.
The ones that formed ranks numbered less than a thousand, and they looked more like refugees than soldiers, as they were filthy and exhausted. Still, Crushaw was proud of them for making that march in two full days. Having done it would allow them to prepare their fortifications and still get to rest for two full nights and most of another day. The respite would improve their organization and get their legs back under them. He had won many battles because his soldiers had gotten to rest well just before the battle and had more energy than the enemy. While the march had been difficult, he was certain that the long-term benefits would outweigh the short-term negatives.
Still, he was curious about the ones missing, so before he addressed the entire army, he called Leinjar and Molgheon to speak in private. The two captains came forward, their eyes puffy and bloodshot, and stood before the general. He thanked each of them for their efforts and then asked about the missing people. Molgheon explained what had happened, describing how Roskin had seen so many being carried and how they had agreed that their only hope to reach Crushaw in time was to let the ones who couldn’t continue rest and move at their own pace.
“Roskin made that decision?” Crushaw asked.
“No,” Molgheon returned. He could see in her eyes that she hadn’t yet forgiven him for the other day. “He only suggested it. I take responsibility for the decision.”
“And you left two dozen elves to protect them?”
“I thought that was all we could spare.”
Crushaw looked over the two dwarves’ heads, scanning the faces of the soldiers in his new army. He knew that Roskin and Molgheon had made the right decision, and he was glad that they had overcome his mistake at not anticipating that problem. He should have thought of it himself, but he was glad that they had acted of their own accord instead of blindly following a flawed order.
“You did well,” he said. “Move back into formation and let me speak to everyone.”
They stepped back to the line, and as they did, Crushaw stood more erect to address his troops. What he had to say would not be popular but it had to be done, so he needed to project as much authority as he could muster. He cleared his throat and spoke, his voice booming over the crowd:
“Army of the Free Peoples, you have made me proud. Lesser soldiers wouldn’t have made it here that quickly.” A weak cheer went through the crowd. “But your day’s work is not complete.” The cheer quickly changed to soft boos. “We must begin digging pits and trenches on this field behind me if we are to have them ready for the battle. We also need to carve sharp stakes. We can use the prisoners for some of the labor, but you’ll each have to do a part before you can rest tonight.”
“We’re tired,” a voice called out from the middle of the crowd. “Why can’t we do this tomorrow?”
“Because tomorrow you may be dead on an orc’s pike. You can rest all you want then. Now, move to the bottom of this field and wait for me.”
At that, he strode towards the blacksmiths and cooks, not showing the pain that shot through his left ankle with each step. None could see that he still hurt, for that would create doubt where he needed absolute trust, so he recalled the smell of the food trough, which always reminded him that however unpleasant his current task might be, it could be worse. As he moved to the level clearing, Molgheon and Leinjar marched the army to the bottom of the field to await his next orders.
***
Roskin sat with Crushaw and Leinjar on the bank of the river, discussing details of the strategy. The army had finished digging pits and making stakes the previous night and had then gotten a good night’s sleep. Today, they had been left to themselves for the most part, only being asked to sharpen their weapons. Molgheon had already hidden the archers on the bluff, and from where he sat, Roskin couldn’t see them, even knowing where to look. As he listened to Crushaw explain the second line’s objective, he dragged the whetstone down his blade.
He and many other dwarves would have to sleep near the river and be ready to coat themselves in mud early the next morning. Then, they would have to hide along the bank for longer than he had ever held still in his life. He liked the plan but was unsure if he could execute it as well as was necessary. He had never been trained for this sort of task.
In the distance, a light flashed four times from a hilltop, and still seated, Crushaw drew his dagger and glinted sunlight off the blade. Then, the light flashed twice more, and again Crushaw responded with one flicker. Finally, the light gleamed nine times. To this, Crushaw responded with two flashes and sheathed his dagger.
“They’re nine miles due east,” the general said. “Tomorrow we fight, so get your dwarves ready.”
When he finished talking, he rose to his full height and stretched. With the sun in Roskin’s eyes, all he could see was shadow, and much like that morning outside of Molgheon’s tavern, Crushaw’s silhouette was imposing. For a moment, Roskin imagined the general as a young soldier, and the Kiredurk was glad that Crushaw was on his side. Even though he was now older and less powerful, Evil Blade was not someone to fight against, and that thought gave the dwarf courage.
“Gather everyone together,” Leinjar said to Roskin, his voice distant.
Keeping his temper in check, Roskin hopped to his feet and scurried from platoon to platoon, telling each sergeant to get moving. Once the dwarves were assembled, he took his place beside Leinjar and waited for him to s
peak. For several heartbeats, the captain stared at them, his crazy eyes wild with bloodlust. Then, his voice uncurled in a primitive snarl.
“I’m not much on speeches. Tomorrow, we kill orcs. Be ready.”
The dwarves cheered loudly, waving their axes and pikes above their heads. Roskin drew his blade and joined them, letting a guttural scream explode from deep within. He had missed the fight on the Slithsythe, and even though he had helped liberate several plantations since then, this battle was his chance to earn his freedom from the orcs and secure a safer route home to his father and his kingdom. Much as the need for the Brotherhood of Dwarves had burned inside, the desire to protect his family and his people consumed him. That moment was the first time he had thought of them as his people. He screamed again, and a rush of adrenaline washed through him. The orcs would regret having taken him as a slave.
***
The orc general sat on his pure-blood stallion and watched an old man ride a draft horse towards him. Behind the human, less than 600 slaves formed a thin line at the crest of a slight incline. The orc was disgusted by the sight, for he had been expecting 2,000 well-armed troops led by something immortal. As an ambitious leader, he had been hoping for a glorious battle that would make him famous as the one who quashed the great slave uprising. Instead, he would get to slaughter a handful of rabble, and this battle would scarcely be remembered even by those who fought in it.
“My lord,” his aide-de-camp said aloud since the old man was still beyond earshot. “Should we send troops around the bluff to cut-off their retreat?”