The Colors of Magic Anthology (magic: the gathering)

by Richard Lee Byers

  Two hours later, the three orcs came to the site of the battle. Even after three months the area looked haunted and forsaken. Broken spears stuck out of the fresh snow at odd angles. Boulders were scarred by blasts from the magic unleashed at the battle.

  Jonar walked along a low ridge that had served as his last stand as his routed forces had rushed past him, out over the pass and back to Balduvia. His thoughts turned back to the battle, and for a moment his eyes were there, watching.

  He could see the long lines of orcs, standing in ranks six deep, swords, spears, and shields ready for the oncoming Kjeldoran infantry. On the enemy came. The Kjeldoran regiment closed to within a hundred yards, and then suddenly it changed formation. From the rear, pikes were brought forward, and the line shifted from a square with the flat facing the orcs to a diamond with the point threatening them. The point advanced.

  Jonar did not know what to do. He knew the pointed formation had a far greater reach with pikes, and that it would split his line in two like a knife through butter. He watched in horror as his prediction came true. Jonar tried to plug the line with his own bodyguard of fifty warriors, but they could not hold long. Their fight gave the rest of the line enough time to retreat, however.

  Over and over he replayed the moment in his mind. Should he have pulled back? Should he have enveloped? He ran the battle through his mind.

  Without warning, an animal-skin-covered green goblin rose from the snow not ten yards in front of Jonar. His reverie ended in a flash. Without thinking, he drew his sword, an instinctive reaction from too many years in the martial profession.

  The goblin eyed him warily. "You big general boss man?"

  Jonar calmed himself and re-sheathed his weapon. He turned and the other two orcs did the same.

  "You speak Orcish very well for a goblin. I am General Jonar. Who are you?"

  "Me Tramas, Clan Champion for goblins of the Flarg mountains. Your mage promise us much to fight with you. We much need this victory, but we much need payment as promised." The goblin's eyes shrank to slits. "You bring?"

  Jonar reached inside his jerkin and brought forth a small leather pouch. He tossed it to the goblin. It hit the ground and sank slightly in the snow. Tramas picked up the pouch, dusted it off, and looked inside. His eyes went wide. He pulled a diamond the size of his little fist from the pouch.

  With a practiced eye, he turned it over and over, inspecting every facet. Finally, he put the diamond back in the pouch and dropped it in his own pocket.

  Jonar took a step forward.

  "Let me introduce my field commanders. This is Lavash and Jel, my brave and faithful associates."

  The two stepped forward, bowed slightly. Jonar was impressed with the level of respect they showed.

  Tramas nodded in acknowledgement and motioned with his right arm. Around the orcs, hundreds of goblins rose from the snow where before there had been none. The three orcs stood in awe. None had seen any hint of an entire unit of goblins, let alone right at their feet.

  "I am impressed, Tramas," Jonar said. "Very impressed. I have never seen goblins that could… well, er, you see… I hope I'm not rude in saying…"

  Tramas lifted his hand to stop the general. "You never seen goblins looked like they could fight. Me right, General?"

  Again, Jonar was impressed. "Right," he answered.

  "Goblin King know this. Goblins sent to fight so far just buy time. Many other goblins, many train for war. We now ready for war. What you think? Goblins only play Cricket?"

  "No, no," Jonar backpedaled. "I think you'll do just fine." He swallowed his pride. "You will meet us at Mount Delapre four days hence. Will you be there?" Jonar's eyes bore into the goblin champion.

  The goblin returned a bow just as the orcs had done. "We be there. You remember rest of payment," he said.

  Jonar nodded, turned and walked back the way he had come. Jel and Lavash followed.

  The march to Mount Delapre took another two days after Jonar and the two chieftains returned to camp. The orcs moved slowly through the freshly fallen snow in the high pass, pulling their carts full of provisions along after them. The line stretched out for nearly a mile as the four thousand orc warriors and attendant families trodded on.

  Jonar went to each of the clans to tour the troops, show them that their leader was ready to fight. He found soldiers tired from the march but otherwise in good spirits. They needed to win, to show that they were not disgraced as they had been at Balesh Pass. They needed to prove themselves. Jonar could understand their feelings.

  The disfavor shown to orcs in Balduvia had been a great blow to orc forces everywhere. The clans had fallen in stature and were falling on hard times as the war went on. They could use a victory.

  Jonar was surprised to hear the soldiers talk of the goblins. A few hardened veterans sneered at the thought of fighting with the diminutive grunts, but many had heard the story that their clan chieftains had brought back. Clearly several were in awe at the way the goblins could sneak up on an army and ambush it. A few even boasted that they had seen the goblin king at the battle of Narmund Forest and that he was a sight to behold.

  Still, the veterans sneered until they saw their general. Jonar made a point of telling all who would listen that the goblins were the key to victory. Several of the veterans argued-a bad sign indeed-but all had come around after seeing the general's eyes. Each veteran smiled, as if a great secret had just been shared with them. Their general had a plan, and that was good enough for them. Once the veterans agreed, the younger orcs all jumped on the cause with great fervor, to prove that they were just as tough.

  The next day Jonar rose early. He couldn't sleep; he could never sleep when a battle was coming. The night before, a messenger had brought news that the Kjeldoran force was only fifteen miles away, camped for the night. Through the night, the Flarg goblins were to have harassed the knights, ensuring that they were not well rested for the battle.

  Almost as if by magic, two goblins rounded a tent and came toward Jonar. He started but composed himself quickly.

  "I am truly impressed with your stealth, " the general greeted them.

  They bowed slightly. The one on the right stepped forward. "The knights are coming this way, " he said. "They know you here. They ready for battle. Tramas says tell you we destroyed several supply wagons. Kill many in last night raid. Much death. Still, they ride. Will come here mid-day. "

  Jonar nodded, more to himself than to the goblins, as he thought through his preparations.

  "Good. You tell Tramas to be here, with your clan, ready to fight, as we agreed. Tell Tramas there is a bonus for good fighting, too. "

  The forward goblin smiled a big toothy grin. "Me get food before go back?"

  Jonar smiled and waved him on. "Yes, but hurry."

  The two trotted away, much more interested in food than their message. Still, Jonar thought, the message would get through. Tramas seemed to have his troops whipped into shape.

  At an hour before mid-day, Jonar summoned an all-officers conference at his tent. The officers from both orc clans, chieftains, sub-chieftains, battle standard bearers, and family champions all stood in a loose semi-circle around the general.

  "Today we fight the dreaded White Knights of Kjeldor. The last time we battled them, we did not fare well. We had the advantage in terrain then, so they couldn't mount, and they still came on. All of us bear the shame of that battle with us-I more than anyone."

  Jonar paused to let his words sink in. A murmur went through the assembled officers.

  "Today, however, will be different. Today, we fight to regain our honor and glory, and today we take the spoils of war from the damned knights!"

  Jonar manipulated the mood of the gathering like a master. He could see the orcs' eyes go from flat gray to sparkling blue. He could smell their hunger for victory.

  He reined them in. "We will gain no victory from brash actions, nor from foolish bravado. We will not win by rushing into waves of charging knights.


  "I have a plan for this battle, and you must trust me, your general."

  Heads nodded. They remembered the ill-fated battle and how it had gone.

  "When I give an order today, you must follow it. Cut down any orc who disobeys. My orders must be carried out exactly and precisely. Any failure will mean our failure. Do as I order, and victory will be ours."

  A loud cheer went up from the assembled officers, the two chieftains leading their orcs.

  "Cheers for General Jonar!" one yelled.

  Jonar cut him off.

  "Not yet, my brethren. We have won nothing yet. Obey my orders, and fight like warriors. We will win this day!"

  Another general cheer went up.

  After the clans had eaten a light meal, they formed battle lines. Each clan stretched for a thousand yards, four ranks deep. The losses from Balesh Pass had cut the clans' numbers severely. The breeze rose from the lower ground ahead of them. Fur cloaks and tassels fluttered off every warrior's armor.

  Each warrior bore his own personal weapon. All, however, carried spears and a shield, bearing the emblems of clans. The sun was bright in the clear blue sky, but there was little heat.

  Between the two clan regiments stood Jonar. He had a small bodyguard of twenty orcs, the largest orcs in any clan. One carried the battle standard of Balduvia. It was a tattered old flag, and officially they were no longer allowed to carry it, but no one would stop them this day.

  The orcs in charge of the baggage train packed up all that they could, prepared to move at a moment's notice. They were ready to run in case the enemy began to win the fight. If their army won, however, they would provide all the services necessary to an army-food, medical attention, ale-and lots of it. They trod a fine line. Too cautious and it would look as if they lacked confidence in their own army. Too cavalier and the enemy could ride them down in a minor breakthrough. The carts weighed in excess of two tons each and could only move at a slow walk, especially up a snowy mountain pass. The furs covering the stores looked inviting and warm, but they offered no shelter if the enemy broke through.

  Jonar waited for the white horde to come over the low rise to their front and begin their descent into battle.

  "No surprises, not today," he whispered to himself.

  Nonetheless the arrival of Elkan startled him. The mage rode from the rear, down the mountain approach and through the lines of the baggage train. He dismounted and strode up to Jonar's command.

  "What are you doing here? You are supposed to be ready to aid us up in the mountain pass some ten miles from here." Jonar's face flushed with anger.

  "I am your commander, and you will address me with the respect I am due," Elkan stated with a haughty air. "I am here because this is my army and my battle. I do not think you understand the whole reason for this excursion."

  The mage continued, "I have prepared some very unpleasant surprises for anyone who breaks through to the pass, whether Kjeldoran knight or running orc. I felt I would be of better use here."

  Jonar, disgusted, turned back to watch for the enemy to the front.

  The Kjeldoran knights came over the low ridge and trotted to a halt. Jonar felt a sinking feeling in his gut. Two regiments of heavily armored soldiers stretched across the horizon. Each mount wore the livery of its knight, each knight bore the mark of Kjeldor on his shield, and from each lance a small banner or favor fluttered in the wind.

  The blue-and-white checkerboard pattern on the shields and banners was striking in the midday sun. Plate armor shone with an unearthly glow as the sunlight glinted off every facet.

  Jonar looked nervously across his line, far shorter than the cavalry line, but much more densely packed. His soldiers stood four deep, while the cavalry were one or two rows deep. The numbers looked roughly equivalent which still gave the knights a huge advantage.

  A faint whisper grew among the ranks of the orcs as they absorbed the sight before them. Soldiers readjusted equipment out of nervousness. Eyes shifted around, looking for support in their fear.

  The knights waited until their command group joined the two regiments. The commander, a mage in white robes, sat next to an armored officer who was mounted on a fantastic black charger. The giant standard of Kjeldor fluttered in the wind from the standard bearer directly to the officer's rear. The command group trotted out ahead of the knights, turned, and the mage addressed the white army.

  Elkan snickered beside Jonar and began to cast a spell. A second later, lightning flew from his fingers and arced across the field to the enemy command group. Two of the bodyguard knights were thrown from their mounts, and two more were shaken, but the standard fluttered high and the rest were untouched.

  The white robed mage turned. He faced his enemy across the field. His hands flew up into the air just as his words broke into a shout. Energy shot between his hands, and electrical tendrils shot out at the snow around him.

  Jonar looked over at Elkan. A look of stunned horror was on the wizard's face. He shuddered, then uncontrollably convulsed. Suddenly, the shaking stopped, and a look of triumph spread across the mage's face. Elkan threw off the magical attack. He rose to his full height and launched a bolt of fire that arced unerringly across the field toward the other mage. An explosion of fire engulfed the spellcaster, who crumpled in the flames as his mount screamed and bolted from the field.

  The orc command staff and bodyguard had all backed away from the mage. They were trained soldiers, but they did not understand, nor would they interfere, in the ways of mighty wizards. Their problems were their own.

  Jonar had stepped back too, impressed.

  Jel trotted up to Jonar.

  "What is it? What has happened?" He sounded panicked. Evidently he had seen the magical exchange between the mages, but did not know the outcome.

  Jonar kicked at the snow. "Our mage is better than I had envisioned. It may be…"

  "Damn!" Jonar heard from behind him. Elkan looked down at his shaking hands.

  "What? What is it?" Jonar asked, noting the fear in the mage's voice.

  Elkan shook his head bitterly. "I may have destroyed that damned mage, but he drained the very mana from beneath me. I won't be able to cast another spell for at least an hour. In that time…"

  Jel looked frightened. Jonar lifted his hand. "We had not expected you at all at this battle, mage-" he began, but Elkan cut him off.

  "Just do your duty, and die like a good orc!" he raged. "Win me this battle! Hold them off for an hour. They will be spent, and I will rain death down upon them!"

  Jonar stared at him contemptuously. So the orcs were to be sacrificed for the mage's greater glory. He turned back to the chieftain. "Get back to your clan, and don't do a damned thing until I say…"

  At that moment, the murmuring in the ranks rose to a cacophony. Both orc officers turned to see what had happened.

  Across the field, attention centered on the enemy command group. The Flarg goblins, nearly forgotten by everyone, had mysteriously risen from the snow around the enemy group. They had pulled down the standard and hauled the bodyguards from their mounts, but the enemy commander fought valiantly, trying to break free.

  Just as suddenly as they had appeared, the goblins broke from the fight and ran. They ran straight for the orc lines.

  The distance between the opposing forces was nearly a mile. Jonar saw his chance. With his loudest drill voice, he gave the order.

  "Advance!"

  The ten assembled drummers behind him relayed the order in a flourish of pounding drum notes, then settled into a deep cadence, slow but threatening.

  The orcs around him lurched forward. They had not expected the order to advance, but they quickly recovered, and the ranks straightened.

  Across the field, the knights had rallied once the goblins broke off. The knight commander bellowed an order, and trumpets carried the notes across the field. They too began to advance.

  Jonar shouted orders to both left and right to straighten the line, to tighten up. Both Je
l and Lavash were yelling too, maintaining the cohesion of their ranks. It was a practiced maneuver, but not all the orcs remembered what to do. The sound of steel clinking over stretched leather and the sound of four thousand pairs of boots clumping into fresh snow brought back memories for Jonar-of Balesh Pass.

  The Flarg goblins sprinted across the field slightly faster than their pursuers. The two lines had closed to half a mile, and the goblins were only five hundred yards out.

  When the goblins had closed to one hundred yards, Jonar ordered a halt. The soldiers brought their shields up and straightened their lines as best they could, trying to catch their breath. They closed together and locked shields.

  When the first goblins were twenty yards from the orc line, Jonar yelled, "Spears!"

  Nearly in unison, the entire line thrust spears forward and planted them in the snow against their back foot. The goblins saw only spears and shields.

  The goblins slowed, then stopped, unsure of what to do. They faced a half-mile-long porcupine. Spear points protruded at all angles, making it impossible to retreat through the lines.

  Jonar grasped the moment.

  "Cheer for the goblins!"

  A hearty cheer ripped from the orcs right across the line. It started slowly but built in intensity. No orc had ever seen goblins who could fight like these Flargs had. The cheer was genuine, but the orcs weren't about to let the goblins off the hook.

  Elkan appeared from the rear.

  "What is it? What are you doing?" he gasped, out of breath from the run.

  Jonar smiled as the roar continued from his lines.

  "Goblins, or most of them, don't speak orc!" he said with a broad smile.

  Elkan didn't seem to understand.

  The knights, seeing the goblins bottled by their own allies, broke into a charge. Horns rang out perfect notes, announcing the charge.

  Snow flew up over the charging riders, kicked up by the thundering mounts.

  The goblins panicked. They turned, saw the cavalry, turned again, saw the spears, and turned once more. Their only hope lay through the cavalry-or so they thought.