"I’ve never seen such organized Orcs, firstly bows and arrows in the hands of the Puckered Browns, now hunting dogs. After that, what else can we expect," King High exclaimed almost stunned by the unusual turn of events.
"My brother, however daring our soldiers may be, we are too few and too tired. Escape is the only option," Holaf began, impressing everyone. High simply nodded and spurred his horse.
"Tulsky can overwhelm them, and you can kill off the wounded!" Arian vigorously rebelled against the idea of running away.
"Good friend, I agree with the Lords of the North and East, we have only nineteen tired and afraid horses. The same can be said of their riders. At the moment, we are not even capable of overwhelming a flock of sheep," Evghenij replied, shaking his head.
"Not this from you! I wasn't expecting words of such defeatism, my friend," replied Arian, annoyed and convinced of his improbable ideas.
"Look at the eyes of our soldiers, do they look like fearsome instruments of death? To me they seem terrified men, their hearts infirm, and I cannot deny, even my hesitant hand trembles, well knowing the strength of those warriors," replied the Devil of Vilniar ending the discussion.
They spurred the horses, as they would have liked to do for love of a faithful companion. They launched themselves all into a crazy and very dangerous race along the steep road, which luckily, was no longer stony and treacherous. Often the Lord of the North turned his gaze to the fearful set shoulders of the God-Slayer, and was pervaded by the same feelings. Their hearts were full of worry, thinking they saw the silhouettes of beasts chasing them on the horizon. King Holaf cried out urging men and horses not to spare themselves, knowing perfectly well the speed Orcs were capable of.
"How do you tell an old Orcs Commander from a young one," the Devil of Vilniar asked jolting on the back of his horse to spur the steed.
"The bigger they are, the older they are and the stronger they are," Long Sword answered, not giving many details and not happy about the choice of the moment for the lesson.
"Forgive me, my King, but I don't understand!" insisted the man of sinister fame and white moustache.
"Orcs are not like us. They cannot die of old age, they die only of violent death. Usually their life expectancy is not at all high, because if they do not get killed by us, they kill each other or die in an attempt to climb the mountains!" King High interrupted the narrative to give yet another look back, where the Bear Head was caring for Princess Tyra and dark Sersy, both upright a single horse, to giving up their own to carry a heavier soldier.
"So, I was saying," the God-Slayer spoke.
"You were telling me how and when Orcs die," Evghenij suggested, very interested in the lesson.
"Exactly! I gave you the facts, including the hard skin and resistance to death of those beasts. Accumulating a life-long battle experience, when one of these beings survives for several years, he becomes a fearsome opponent because of his cunning and not because of his strength. Nature loves these animals so much that it gives them an enviable metabolism. Such gift allows an infinite growth, allowing the elders to reach to a size almost worthy of giants."
The listener interrupted the King of the East, surprised:
"You say that Orcs as big as a mountain could possibly exist?"
"How big a mountain I don't know. I know for sure I've seen and faced gigantic Orcs," King High answered almost annoyed by Evghenij's disbelief.
"My King, how much bigger than you in height was the largest on you have knocked down?" asked Vilniar's enthusiastic Devil, continuing with his thorough interrogation.
"One defeated by the edge of my sword was about twice my size. He was a tremendous adversary, but the biggest was killed by a trebuchet siege machine. The beast stood outside the buildings of Black Portal: he swallowed all the knights he could reach together with their horses. The beast did not breach the walls only thanks to the strong stones of the east, like those used to build the Titan. His skull still adorns the black room of the Fate Fortress today," the Lord of the East ended the memory with a strange pleased smile on his face.
The knight, who survived the Vilniar massacre, would have liked to ask a great many other questions in order to be ready to avenge his subjects, but he stopped his flow of words, seeing the King of the East was busy controlling the horizon.
Tyra and Sersy began to have problems: their horse, having made a great effort, began to slow down, although the princess spurred him on enthusiastically.
"Get a move on, stupid nag! You can't leave us on foot right now," the blue-blood blonde shouted in a worried voice.
Evaluating and weighing everything, the poor horse had not had a good rest or been able to graze on good green grass for some time: but the menu provided was only dry stale oats, given to the poor steed in filthy sacks. For men the situation was not much better, their painful limbs were spared for only short bits of the road and the food filled neither stomachs nor minds. Little of the path had passed under the hooves of the horse the two girls were entrusted to when the inevitable happened. The steed’s mouth was wide open, its chest struggling for breath and its head almost touching the ground. The poor horse breathed fast, emitting huge clouds of vapour and did not react to anything. Not to Sersy's pleas, even less to Tyra's more loquacious whipping. The horse staggered towards the edge of the road, where the snow still covered everything, and continued to sway uncertainly, causing the ladies to dismount rapidly for fear of falling to the ground with the horse.
"What are we going to do now?" asked the blonde beauty of her brave Bear-headed warrior.
The knight did not hesitate for a moment. Reaching out to the young Lady he hoisted her onto the back of his steed.
"Thank you, my hero! What an honour and what a romantic situation," Tyra whispered to the young knight, recalling the stories she had read as a young girl, full of similar deeds.
"Like hell its romantic! What can I do? Here I am, left as a snack for the Orcs," Sersy complained. She had been left to walk and was overwhelmed by fear.
"Don't be afraid, Elisabet's horse is showing no signs of giving up for now, and when it does, the knights will certainly offer to save you," commented the fourth rune reassuring the black beauty.
"New friends," shouted King Holaf, who waiting with the three ladies and the kind warrior pointed his finger at the horizon behind them.
In a wild hurry they resumed the march, pushed from behind by a friendly wind pleasantly helping them ride. But this same friendly wind also brought the screams and grunts of the pursuers as distant whispers. The evening arrived with long shadows and a bright red romantic sunset, reflected on the snow and on the shining spears of Tulsky to divert their thoughts from the difficult situation. Immersed in such a calm and harmonious evening, it did not seem true that they could not slacken their pace through challenging sister night, damned and treacherous with those many beings who showed no respect for her black mantle.
"Soldiers, I am asking a lot of you, I'm aware of it, but this night will be a night of travel," shouted the Demon of Trondheim behind his terrifying helmet, son of the worst shadows and nightmares.
The soldiers did not dare to contest or complain, the penalty for indulging in a few hours of rest would have been too harsh. No matter how much hard effort the company asked of its horses, some of the most experienced and knowledgeable warriors could not hide the bitter truth. The crazy race was just delaying the inevitable battle and probable death.
King Holaf knew that he had to lead his men as close as possible to the woodland of Zubrovka: a small copse of dense vegetation that the river divided from the forest of the same name. Not for a moment did the idea of facing the ford on the river occur to the two Kings. They remembered all too well the voracity of the waters. This river flowed from the west, where it rose, and then meandered throughout the Kingdom to the east, then turned its course south to join the sacred river Vhola in marriage, just before the mouth of the Dead.
On the horizon, the black silh
ouettes of the plants so longed for by the Sovereign of Trondheim seemed tiny. In the thick bush, slender and agile men could have defended themselves better, manoeuvring their bodies between rocks and trees, as they had done between the sharp spurs of rock next to the abyss of the Mouth of the Dead. Of course, the outcome of the battle did not seem obvious. First of all luck, hope in good fortune were needed to reach the thickest part of the forest. Then it would be war without quarter. Thoughts as heavy as boulders filled the head of the Nordic Sovereign, so immersed in thoughts of the imminent skirmish that he murmured out loud.
"What did you say, my brother? I didn't understand you." asked High, believing himself invited to discuss the situation together.
"No, sorry, I was talking to myself," answered Long Sword, brought back to reality.
"Will we reach the woodland of Zubrovka, in your opinion, my brother?" asked the God-Slayer in a low voice, little more than a demoralized breath but with the power to dishearten.
Holaf looked at him harshly and not being able to offer any good news he replied:
"My brother, if we were to come to arms, I promise to show you my sword black with blood and my arms weak from fighting before succumbing," was the worthy response of the King of Trondheim, Lord of the North, sincere and powerful exactly reflecting Holaf’s personality.
The God-Slayer gave a burst of hearty loud laughter, attracting the attention of those who rode near.
"My brave brother, do you intend to give posterity story telling of mountains of Orcs, defeated by a single man?" asked High satisfied, his eyes shining. "So, I promise to double the length of the poem by bringing back two mountains of horrendous beasts and a couple of heroes, exhausted sitting on top!"
King Holaf with the gesture of a leader confirmed the intention to fight and later shouted:
"Soldiers, fast, like lightning in the sky, ride to the dark depths of the woodland of Zubrovka! There we will defend ourselves from those clumsy great creatures! Cheering flowed in unison from the mouths of the cavalry, echoing proudly in the total silence of the complete darkness of the night. Forced to reduce their pace because of the austere lack of light, the knights dismounted from their exhausted horses, but there was no rest. They walked at a rapid pace without any point of reference, without stars or moon, hidden by the black clouds hoping not to be seen by the horrendous nightmare of their pursuers.
It was the hardest night in the memory of the girl. The forced march caused Sersy to collapse several times forcing the Dragon to carry her, almost unconscious, in his arms. The great Nordic warrior did not mind this difficulty at all, as he had an abundance of strength at his command, especially if he could use it in favour of his beloved. After all, she was a very light woman, and in this way she could feel the warmth and smell of him even if the latter wasn't exactly attractive, given the number of days that had passed since it had been possible to take a bath, a desire within in the minds of all travellers. Tyra, who was more robust, had less trouble, swaying and whispering to keep up her strength. Finally, tiredness also took over and she collapse exhausted into the strong arms of her Elisabet, who, also exhausted, asked for help from the fourth rune who was very willing to carry the young Lady.
"My brother, have you taken the river into account?" asked the God-Slayer of the King of the North.
"In what way, good High?" Holaf answered with a question.
"The waves could look bloody again, therefore, the trees will have the same problems as the vegetation on the banks of the sacred river Vhola," said the Lord of the East barely distinguishing his interlocutor in the dark.
"Yes, I have thought of such an eventuality, and the idea pleases me as much as that of being torn apart by Orcs, coming upon us. But we're short of options, either we hide among those disgusting branches, or we turn to the east, where there is a small fortified village, dragging all the inhabitants to hell with us," the Lord of the North answered eloquently.
"It wasn't my intention to criticise you, but just to analyse our possibilities," High defended himself from a non-existent reproof.
"My brother, every objection you make is welcome, always and in any case. Don't excuse yourself," Holaf said, overwhelmed, yawning with tiredness.
The black night slipped away on tiptoe, driven away by a pale rosy aurora. Only the usual collection of clouds remained on the northwest horizon, while the rest of the celestial vault was a beautiful intense blue. No bird, however, was in the air in playful flight, nor was any singing or chirping to be heard. The feeble but icy wind brought incomprehensible grunts, roars and other noises to the ears of the Kings. Silent and indifferent on the horizon, austere mountains watched the hard struggle for salvation undertaken by daring men. They could see black and noisy rows of Orcs. The infamous mass was relentless, screaming and thirsting for blood, not bound by any brotherhood to those of them who were late. The wicked creatures had made up ground under the cover of darkness.
The dismay snaked together with fear among the men of Vyborg and the knights of Tulsky. The dreadful feelings had an effect on even the most stoical War Masters. Defeatist chatter, giving a bitter aftertaste, flew among the soldiers, reaching as far as the ears of the two Sovereigns, who were forced to pretend to be deaf, even if they wanted to encourage their men with words of fire, to fill them with valour. Only these words were absent, leaving their tongues dry and vanished to hide deep in the stomachs of the Kings.
Sersy opened her splendid eyes and found herself in the lap of the Dragon's Head intent on his galloping horse. The Lady said nothing and was amazed to feel safe in those strong loving arms. Next to them was the Leopard's Head and just ahead stood out clearly the size of the Sovereign of Trondheim beside the God-Slayer his hair blowing in the wind concentrating on spurring their horses. The new unfriendly background noise of screams and growls attracted the hearing and attention of the black beauty as soon as she awoke. They were now becoming stronger and more malevolent.
"Good morning, my knight," Sersy exclaimed with a breathtaking smile.
"I wish you good morning, my Lady, I hope I haven't shaken you too much," replied a metallic voice from the helmet of the daring Dragon.
"No, do not be afraid, knight, you have been impeccable in your care of me. I was torn away from dreams by humming, hovering in the air. What has happened? I can just remember collapsing," Sersy asked, rubbing her eyes with her hands.
"You fell victim to the long march, not being able to keep you on horseback I carried you in my arms almost all night," replied the warrior of the third rune.
"What did you do? Almost all night!" the amazed young woman turned red.
"Certainly, my Lady, until dawn caught us. There is no way I could leave you alone at the mercy of those disgusting creatures; moreover, you know what feelings I have towards you," whispered the warrior in love.
"I thank you, my saviour, how can I ever repay you?" asked Sersy very embarrassed because of the situation and because of his shy behaviour in the past.
"I ask no repayment. I carried you with joy last night and I am ready to repeat it for as long as it is necessary, my Lady," said the third Master of the War answered with unexpected grace.
"Are our executioners close?" asked the dark Lady with deer-like eyes.
"The enemy is about to stretch its claws for our heads. A battle, I fear is inevitable. When this happens, you will ride my steed to the South Winter, I do not intend have you or my beloved horse killed," the third northern rune explained the situation without the slightest attempt to sweeten the truth. Though the great Dragon did not want to cause sad feelings in Sersy's heart, a pure clear tear made an unexpected appearance.
"But what do you intend to do? Won't you ride to safety with me?" naively asked the young dark girl.
"Sersy, to arrive safely behind the walls of South Winter will take time. A barrier against the enemy must be made. In that I am a master," the man with the shaggy mantle replied in no uncertain terms.
"You don't want to get yourself
killed!" the young woman hiccupped, clutching tightly at his armour.
"I certainly won't kill myself, but they will all try, and my task will be to kill as many of those beasts as possible, leaving their bodies cold for the worms," answered the Dragon's Head.
As Sersy discovered new feelings, strange and unknown to a woman who had been forced to work with her body, the first arrows began to whisper towards the back of the column.
"Arrows! So many and so many bad," Boris shouted arriving late because of his tired horse.
Leopard's Head reached him and took the reins of the Prince’s horse, pulling it along.
"Stupid mixed-race horse, it has no more resistance to fatigue than a sheep," the second rune of the north expressed his displeasure.
Boris did not know what to say, but he was heartened to see the arrows stick into the mud partially covered with snow several meters behind him.
"These are just shots to measure the distance, but soon it will rain metal," the Nordic saviour brutally explained to the blonde prince.
"We'll be able to make it through this time too! King Holaf can take down a thousand enemies with one arm, all the other Masters of War, are no less valiant," the Prince of Vyborg boasted optimistically.
"Yes, we heard similar stories from them too, my Prince, only we have never seen them," the worried warrior repeated.
"Leopard, my brother, do not weigh down the young prince with your tormented thoughts. Today will not be the last dawn to fill our eyes of glittering amazement," stated the Bear Head galloping with the blonde princess in his arms.
Tyra had lost her usual reassuring smile, only a fool could truly believe in a happy ending, and the blonde of South Winter, despite her dreams as a young princess, was certainly not stupid. Tyra noticed the roars strengthening with the passage of time, understood that the arrival of the enemy arrows was imminent. She saw the hopes of saving everybody fade like the fire of a falling star.
"Beautiful and sweet Tyra, don't be afraid, the Lord of the North has certainly thought of a plan to complicate the situation," the good Bear's Head announced with a certainty and a smile that skilfully concealed his real thoughts.
TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering Page 42