by 5kops
"Yes, my lord," said the sergeant. "The force we encountered was skirmishers. It wasn't until we stood to fight that the drumming began. It sounded as if it was coming from several locations."
Areck grimaced. It seemed his instinct had been correct: the orcs had sent scouts upon seeing plumes of smoke. The question was, what would they do next? By all accounts the race was fractured, cowardly, and loved to plunder weak targets. However, drummers indicated that there was more than one orcish tribe within the surrounding forests; each tribe contained thirty to a hundred orcs.
'We'd better double the guard posts, my lord," said Redmon, his hazel eyes burning. "If there are drummers in the forest, more than a small marauding party sits out there, waiting for an opportunity to attack."
A deep silence followed. Areck sat atop his stallion with his eyes closed, head tilted in consternation. The entire town was in danger. If a tribe of orcs waited in the forest, then his small force would be hard pressed. And with the town ready to be burned and no fortifications, there were just too many attack points for his few men to cover. There would be no way to stop this orc attack. What if they lost a granary? Or if there were multiple tribes wandering about . . . wouldn't that make them bold enough to try to sack the town itself? They would completely raze the village, killing whomever they couldn't take for food. He could see only one option, and it was another gamble.
Are you a fool? I Ie screamed at himself. I sit here on my horse, acting like some sort of hero out of the Tome of Anduin!
Areck calmed the furious thoughts in his mind. He told himself that he was now a commander and that he needed to act like it. All these things he had done and would continue to do, were because he was a Bre'Dmorian, and sometimes a leader needed to make decisions that cost some lives to save others. This had been his philosophy when quarantining the town.
However, this was different.
His plan was to fight in the forest. He would use surprise against the orcish forces. That he had never fought in a true battle made the decision even harder. None of his company had ever killed another sentient being, and now they would be expected to fight for their lives against a race of ravenous destroyers. Worse, he would lead men to their deaths. If he chose this course, there would be significant casualties in the best of scenarios, a fact the town could hardly bear.
What if your plan fails? What if the entire garrison is destroyed? Who will protect the rest?
“Well, from the looks of it, our small army has been decreased by several soldiers,” Redmon broke the silence. “I don’t think we have enough left to defend the town. We could . . .”
Areck raised his hand, politely gesturing for silence. "How many men have cavalry experience?"
The question surprised the lieutenant. "Fewer than twenty, my lord," Redmon said. "I would need to confirm the number with Captain Tel-mouth."
"Do that, Lieutenant."
"You have a plan?" asked Redmon with a frown.
"I would attack these orcs preemptively, but first I need those numbers," replied Areck, looking across the hazy valley to the estate. He needed to talk to Count Gustafson, and time was running out.
Redmon murmured as he left, "A wise choice, my lord; the men will follow you."
To their deaths, Areck thought in resignation. This outpost was now in his hands. He considered his choices: fight or flee. He wondered if it was even in him to retreat.
Areck decided then that taking the offense was the only choice. He would sacrifice some of his men, though the greatest casualties would come from the common soldiers.
Maybe I will be one of those who perish. He pursed his lips in thought. If he died, no one could say that he had been a fake, a coward, and worst of all, poor in his decision-making.
With a last hopeful gesture, he dismissed all the men standing in front of him. They needed to find a bath and some food. He prayed that his writ was in Aresleigh by now, and that Lord Taryon would send reinforcements. Last, he prayed that Lord Silvershield was hurrying out of Natalinople and back towards his command.
Areck wished that he had never been given command, that someone would step up and relieve him of the burden. In a moment of clarity, he knew that his soul would be forever changed. He felt the momentary derailing of the fate that followed a warrior through life. If he survived this, if his men survived this, maybe they would only court-martial him. And if he died, it would be with honor.
Areck turned his horse and spurred himself towards the count's estate. He hoped that the information had preceded him, making his explanation easier. Maybe Count Gustafson would embrace this action simply in hopes that Areck would die and he would no longer have to submit to the demanding squire.
The count is a good man, Areck thought. He is only trying to do what is best for his people. Let us hope we see eye to eye on this matter. . .
Even if Gustafson didn't, Areck knew that his destiny was to lead his men into the forest. With a resigned sigh he passed through the gates.
On the morrow, the town of Brenly would rise up.
22
WHEN ARECK awoke the next morning, he heard the smatter of rain drops against the stone of his windowsill. He had not slept well; visions of his atrocities swam in his mind. The last nightmare had woken him in the middle of the night, sweat pouring from his face, cold chills running down his spine. That he awoke to a downpour made him apprehensive. Rain on the eve of battle was a bad omen. It took all of his strength to swing his legs over his bed, stand up, and move to a small water basin that had been filled for his use.
Areck cupped his hands and splashed cool water on his face. When he looked into the small mirror, he saw someone else looking back at him. His eyes bore dark circles and his once-soft features looked hard, as if the innocence had been burnt away, leaving only determination and duty. His stomach clenched in nervousness.
Why shouldn't I be nervous? He whispered to himself, drying off his face. You are about to gather all military within the town and kill them.
He knew his doubts were getting the better of him. The others had readily agreed that this was a good choice. He had spent several hours in council with Count Gustafson, Squire Redmon, and Captain Telmouth. Each man admitted that the venture was risky but necessary.
Areck appreciated the count's acceptance and understanding. In fact, upon mentioning that he would lead the men, Lord Oslov had looked at him with . . . respect? Areck shook away any thoughts of camaraderie. It would only be a matter of time before the count turned him in for fraudulent actions; that was, if he lived long enough to see reinforcements arrive.
Areck pulled down on his eye, revealing the soft pink flesh underneath. The whites of his eyes were streaked with small veins.
A lack of sleep, he thought. I can't wait to be back in a bed with no responsibilities. The thought seemed almost alien to him. He had gone down a forbidden road and he knew he could never recover. When the dying started he would forever be changed, either given the responsibility of blame in which he would be court marshaled, or responsible for a victory in which he deserved no recognition.
As he strapped on his armor, his mind turned back to the night's conversation with Count Gustafson. Areck was glad he had not gotten another verbal lashing from the man. He had expected the count to corner him, call him a fool, and denounce him as a traitorous fraud. However, Oslov had actually agreed with the plan, though he did not condone attacking an ore tribe. The noble had seen Areck's point: there was no way to defend the town with so few men and no fortifications. The noble had even been adamant about using haste and secrecy when leaving the town, using hunting trails to enter the forest from the north rather than marching directly off to
Areck agreed with many of the count's suggestions, trusting him and Captain Telmouth to provide accurate details of the terrain. He had listened attentively, writing down details, as the men strategized.
The plan was solid. His full contingent of men would consist of only tw
enty-four riders, a single column, seven of whom were Bre'Dmorian squires. Though none of the soldiers besides Captain Telmouth and his officers was expert horsemen, each man bore the marks of lifelong soldiers. That was to say, all had been blooded. Areck had been unyielding in his request: only those soldiers who had been in battle, excluding his group of squires, would be brought along for the expedition. That decision had cut their numbers in half.
His four advisors shook their heads against his logic. Yet in the end they had all succumbed to his will, understanding that untrained cavalry would only get in the way, and the point was to bring back as many men as possible.
Areck would send out a pair of scouts to report back each hour or upon seeing any signs of the orcs. He hoped that his scouts would find some skirmishing units before the main force came upon an encampment, hopefully cutting off reinforcements and catching the orcs by surprise.
If his plan succeeded, they stood a chance. Amazingly enough, everyone agreed—and none looked concerned; or if they were, they hid it well. He knew he was concerned!
They all think I actually know what I am doing, he thought as he tied the last of his straps. He walked outside to find a pair of soldiers waiting for him, hands held in salute. He wished the nervousness would go away. The men had come to escort him to the stables. They would all expect his nerves to be made of steel, hard as iron, with the grace of the silver.
He dismissed the men's salutes, doing his best to stay formal but polite. He assessed that both looked excited and ready for battle. However, he had business to see to before heading off to his stallion. He turned to the men and invited them to the chapel for a morning prayer. They squinted uncomfortably and asked to attend the horses instead. Areck smiled.
Though he assumed that each man in the town believed in Starsgalt, only the most pious would give thanks before entering battle. For him it was a way of life. He prayed each morning for a glorious day in service. He prayed each evening in thanks for the day's blessing. He prayed when he was conflicted. He had not fallen into a communion with God nor did he feel the sickness that accompanied divine magic, but this did not worry him. It was a test of faith. He might be unworthy of God's attention, but his men and this town certainly deserved God's consideration.
Areck cleared his mind as he moved past the dining hall and into a small chapel with red candles burning.
"Praying for a glorious battle, Commander?" Count Oslov Gustafson shuffled up behind him.
"I am praying that I bring each man back alive," Areck said, dropping to his knees in a reverent position. He pulled one of the candles to the floor and lit his own.
The count grunted in a satisfied tone and said that he would be waiting at the stables.
Areck ignored the words and closed his eyes. Instantly he felt the warmth of God's embrace and the divine sickness which followed it.
Starsgalt, I bask in your light, he began. I have come so many times in the last few days seeking solace that I doubt you even care. However, this morning I come not for myself but for my men. They believe me, your servant, to be something I am not. Please give me the strength to see them through this. If you desire a sacrifice be made, take me instead of any man. I offer my life willingly to you and to them.
Areck let the silence in his soul linger. It felt so good to say those words. It nearly relieved the guilt of his predicament. He saw his candle flicker. His prayers were heard.
Thank you, God, for this lesson in humility. I forever bask in your glory; he continued to recite the Code to which each knight adhered. It took almost an hour before Areck of Brenly was done.
****
The rain fell without mercy as Areck entered the stables, his face lit with a fervent smile. He perceived God’s presence as a blessing. For the first time in weeks he felt as if he would no longer have to bear the burden of these choices, that God would keep his word and look over the column. It made him wonder if God would participate when they engaged the enemy.
Though he had never led such an exercise, each man looked alert. He hoped that they maintained such faith in him—rather, in God—to lead them all into the woods and out again.
Before he was ready to give the order, Areck turned around trying to find the count. He wanted to let the man know that he would bring his men back alive. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the stable, he noticed Count Gustafson near the doors, waiting for him.
Areck looked at each officer and four eyes stared proudly back, their faith unwavering in the face of duty. He respected these men. They meant to follow him to the end. He hoped he could serve them well.
Count Oslov approached Areck and offered several final pieces of advice—places where soldiers could find high ground and tactical observations—before bowing his head and stepping back. Areck thanked the count for his input then pulled himself onto his warhorse.
"Knight-Lieutenant Redmon, I think it is time we ride out and take a look at our column," Areck said, turning the mount towards the stable doors. He hardly recognized the breach in protocol he had just committed—it was custom to ask the captain of the guard to lead them out—and most of the men in this column were the captains.
He was about to say something, when Redmon cut him off. "If you would permit us, my lord, we would like to ride out prior to your exit of the stables, and to take positions amongst our company." Redmon brought his hand across his chest in a salute.
Areck nearly smiled. He could see the question in each officer's eyes. They wanted to show their men that they would lead them into batde as equals, willingly following their commander's orders. It was a custom that knights used when of the same rank and traveling in the same company. He thought it very poetic and wondered whose idea this had been. If the soldiers knew the customs of the Bre'Dmorians, they also knew that each man here did not hold the title of knight. He shrugged it off. It didn't matter why they followed him; each man had embraced his leadership.
With a firm salute he nodded in acquiescence. The three officers walked their stallions outside the stables and Areck heard cheering. When the cheers faded, Areck pressured his warhorse to move at a walk outside the stables.
The column of soldiers was split into two smaller companies of twelve men, each led by their senior officer. At the head of the first company rode Areck, followed by Squire Redmon. The other would be led by Captain Telmouth, a lieutenant poised behind him.
When his officers had first met, Areck had been prepared to split the Bre'Dmorian squires between both companies. However, Telmouth had been against such an idea, saying that he knew his own men's capabilities, as Areck knew his, better than the other. Areck did not argue the point.
plan would depend on each company's ability to work together. He had conceded that the captain knew what he was talking about, as the man was a veteran of several military campaigns to the north.
Areck pulled on his reins and stopped the charger. He looked on without expression other than the sparkle of his blue eyes as fat rain drops splashed on his armor. He tried to be methodical in his approach, trying to look like a strategist and deserving of the respect he was being shown. The thought chilled part of his soul; he knew that some of these men gazing back at him might not return.
"Lord Gustafson has asked that we defend our homes," Areck said, looking at the plumes of smoke that still rose. Why had his life seemed so perpetually overcast since he left Aresleigh? "Brenly suffers, and now marauders in your forests seek to plunder your town and take your women and children for their unholy purposes."
The men stared ahead, faces stoic.
"You have heard the reports that orcs roam the wilderness, destroying whole hamlets, burning and pillaging the land! And now they come for us," Areck's voice rose in a crescendo. "Today is our chance to fight back and do a great service to the land we have all sworn to protect! This is your chance to rid the Aresleigh of these foul beasts that bring plague and destruction!"
The men began to chant a battle hymn, relea
sing their frenzy before they left town. They would count on silence afterward, and there would be no chance to do it later.
"Today we will become the aggressors—the hunters, rather than the hunted. Today we will purge our lands of evil!" Areck finished, surprised at his own sincerity. Men shouted his praise. The Bre'Dmorians shouted praise to Starsgalt.
It was time.
****
Areck sat atop a small rise, waiting for the fourth report from his scouts. His company had entered the forest several miles to the north and had followed a well traveled hunting trail, hoping to catch wind of the orcish skirmishers. Though his plans were predicated on the column of riders detecting signs of the vile beasts, so far none of his scouts had reported anything. Could it be that I am wrong? he thought, grimacing. He had backtracked all the way back to where the initial ambush had occurred, sending scouts to patrol the area, while he hid the rest of the column behind the rise. They had been searching for orcs for over six hours to no avail. It all seems so useless. On horseback we make too much noise . . . they an probably reporting back to their own commanders and waiting for us to venture closer.
Areck did not betray the fact that he was worried. He did not want to continue this search in the dark. The creatures he was hunting were renowned for being able to see in total darkness, while his own men would be severely limited. This near to the town, if the orcs spotted his column they could choose their dying grounds, or simply skip a fight altogether and go right to the town. The thought made his skin crawl. He decided that this hunt would be a singular try: they would either succeed before darkness, or they would head back and try again upon the morrow.
As Areck looked out towards where his scouts had begun tracking the beasts, he could not help but notice the vibrant trees, standing as silent sentinels. In another time they might have stood for the beauty of the forest. From a distance, he could see the different species of trees fighting for light and precious space, a vicious cycle of competition where only the fit, and the first to evolve, survived.