The Battle of Ebulon (2 page)

“If they were preparing to
attack then the drums would have softened not silenced,” Torin
pointed out.

Juruz nodded but kept his
strong gaze beyond the city walls. “About 20 minutes ago the drums
stopped and in their place came the sounds of clashing steel and
vile Orc screams and then silence,” Juruz said.

A smile came to Ulka’s
face when a comforting thought entered his mind. “Are we fortunate
enough that the Orcs turned on one another, their confederation is
made up of so many different tribes and Orcs are such petty things,
if we are lucky they have slaughtered one another.” His cynicism
was momentarily replaced with hope that was soon massacred when
Juruz shook his head.

“Orcs love to bicker and
fight, but if that was the reason then the drums would have started
again.” Juruz took a sharp breath, his men were already terrified,
of all days he didn’t need this riddle confusing his
thoughts.

“This doesn’t make sense,”
Torin said. Like many warriors of his realm he had been fighting
Orcs since he was old enough to hold a sword. Yet he had never
heard or seen such a thing.

“What do you think it
means?” Ulka asked, his own experienced mind failing to find the
answer.

“It is a question we must
have an answer to,” Juruz said after a long troubled moment of
thought. Suddenly he turned and stepped to the inner railing of the
walkway. “Lieutenant Luvis!” he called. His voice echoed gently off
the thick stone walls of the courtyard and while every head looked
to him Luvis was the only one to respond. “Yes Captain?”

“Myself, Lieutenant Ulka
and Torin are going to scout the nearby range, until we return
you’re in charge.”

“Yes Sir,” Luvis replied,
doing her best to hide her own concern.

Juruz turned to the
lieutenants, neither looked particularly calm.

“We’re going out there?”
Ulka asked, rarely did he question his captain, because rarely did
he have to, but this was an important exception.

“How else will we find out
what is going on?” Juruz asked, bluntly.

Torin shook his head
slightly. “Captain the safest place for us to be is behind these
stone walls, they have allowed us to fend off Orc attacks for
thousands of years, they are more useful on this day than they ever
have been.”

Juruz nodded, “All the
better that only the three of us and a handful of troops go on the
scout then.”

“But captain,” Ulka
pleaded. “These men and women are terrified, they will need your
strong voice and skilled hands to lead them when the attack
arrives.”

Juruz raised his head
slightly, his mind filling with thought. “I am just a man Ulka,
just like you, I have no plan on dying out there, but if I do these
fine troops will still rise to defend it. This act serves more than
one purpose, if the troops see the three of us willing to go in so
few a number it will keep their confidence up and their wills
strong…better than any smoked weed.” He didn’t wait for a response
and began walking to the closest stairway. Juruz had always been a
man of action and his wisdom rarely failed. Ulka and Torin took
long breaths before following him.

As he walked through the
courtyard Juruz pointed at various soldiers. “Join us,” was all he
had to say for the various men and women to follow him without
question. With two dozen warriors following him Juruz left the
courtyard and entered a stone stable. Built directly into the walls
of Ebulon, there were many such stables designed to keep the strong
mountain horses from the slicing chill of a winter night. These
horses were strong and fast but in truth they weren’t compulsory
for the upcoming battle. Instead they were being kept alive for
their meat, in case the Orcs decided to surround the city and
merely starve the humans out. Orcs were known for enjoying bringing
the longest death possible to their enemies, so this was a real
possibility. But for now these horses would prove their worth and
help keep the scouting party safe.

Juruz walked down the
center of the stable merely pointing and directing the warriors to
a single horse each. He took the farthest horse from the stable
entrance for himself as he led the mounted party out of the stable
and towards the entranceway. The group could feel the eyes of every
soldier upon them, each wondering if the party would return. The
party waited nervously as the thick iron gate was raised. It was
solid and capable of surviving a direct catapult attack, but every
soldier knew this gate couldn’t keep the Orcs at bay
forever.

As they rode out Ulka held
his breath, still wishing he could see the sun fully. As the grind
of the gate closing filled the air Juruz waited for silence to
fall.

“Remember we are simply to
investigate why silence has fallen, it is more important that we
all survive than it is for any of us to be a hero, so keep close,
safe and above all us speak only in a whisper.” The group heeded
his words and replied solely with nods.

They moved collectively in
a slow gallop, the horses had long grown use to the uneven terrain
the mountain landscape provided and so rode easily. Each of them
kept a sharp look out in every direction but still the source of
the silence eluded them. Frustratingly the path ahead of them was
considerably wide, allowing hundreds of Orcs to charge side by side
and attack the city, there would be no way to force them into a
lethal bottleneck. Like the others Ulka was aware of this and still
held onto the hope the Orcs had slaughtered each other so badly
there weren’t any of them left to bang their drums.

Only silence met their
ears when they moved further down the curving path. Yet another
sense quickly became enflamed. It was unmistakable; the air was
cursed with the smell of death. Orc blood and rot was extremely
foul, even by death’s standard and it consumed the air. Orcs had
died, but for what reason?

The end of the trail was
now in sight; it curved severely behind the girth of a mountain
peak. Even Juruz was hesitant to see what lay on the other side of
it. Fortunately every one of them had smelled Orc death before and
so they were able to keep themselves from coughing or puking, even
though the smell was stronger now.

When Juruz passed around
the peak he didn’t have to command his horse to stop, it did so by
its own accord. Juruz, the captain who had led his troops into a
thousand campaigns and who was known for his calm demeanor openly
gasped, as his marble eyes flinched.

“What?” Torin gasped,
losing control of his own senses as his horse stood alongside
Juruz’s. Every single one of them was brought to the most intense
silence they had ever felt. What lay before them was a hellish
image of death. The Orcs hadn’t been killed they had been
butchered; there was not a single corpse that lay intact. Arms,
legs, heads, torsos and entrails filled the clearing, combining to
make the vilest soup upon the ground.

“Even the Wargs are cut in
half?” A woman warrior gasped out. This was even more astonishing
for the tough hides of Wargs were denser than steel, even Ebulon
axes had difficulty cutting into them. What kind of weapon could
possibly have cut them in half? “There must be a hundred dead Orcs
here?” Ulka said as each of them searched the bloody landscape for
the source. Juruz could see that even the drums had been cut to
pieces; whoever had done this had desired obliteration. Juruz
checked the sky yet he could see no birds of prey, they weren’t
picky, those black birds would have feasted upon Orc flesh without
a problem. Was it possible that they had seen what had happened
here and even they were so afraid by it that they had fled this
place?

“Captain,” a warrior
whispered in a trembling voice. Juruz didn’t need any more
direction he could see it for himself as they all could. There was
movement from the other side of the killing field, a lone figure
that couldn’t be missed. There was something about the way he
walked, something subtle yet definite that was unlike anything this
world had seen before. He was dressed in a black military uniform,
one not even Juruz could recognize. The figure’s hair was white yet
there was nothing elderly about him. His 6’4 frame was impressive
in every way and there was not a single wrinkle or blemish to
hinder his flawless skin. Though the figure walked with a large
sword in hand and a black cape on his back, none of them could look
away from his eyes. They were the most powerful shade of red anyone
of them had ever seen. They carried a power within them that could
make the entire world tremble in fear.

“A single soldier killed
all these Orcs?” A female warrior muttered, like she was convinced
she was stuck in the middle of a nightmare.

“It couldn’t have been
him,” another soldier pleaded. “There isn’t a speck of blood on
him.” This was true, even the figure’s sword was bloodless. Yet
this rationale did nothing to put them at ease. This figure was the
only thing still living in the field of death, that was enough to
make him terrifying.

The figure slowly walked
towards them through the blood drenched clearing, taking no notice
of the slaughtered around him. He got to about 30 feet away and
suddenly the horses began acting up. They screeched and
uncomfortably shuffled about and each soldier struggled greatly to
keep them under control. This made no sense, these horses were use
to the smell of death and blood, and they were extremely well
trained. Yet their training couldn’t keep them calm in the presence
of such a figure.

He approached and each of
them waited with held breaths, as if fearing he would strike them
down if they breathed too loudly. The figure looked to each of them
and his gaze sent a thousand chills through their souls.

“I am Cada Varl,” his
voice was like nothing they had heard, it was powerful, ancient,
distant but perfectly clear. In one way it was human and in another
it was anything but. Regardless of what else happened today each of
them would never forget his voice. When he received no answer Cada
Varl spoke again. “I was brought to this place by a voice in my
head, it told me a kingdom called Ebulon was in need of my help.”
Slowly Cada Varl looked over his shoulder towards the field he had
decorated with death. “May I ask what these creatures are?” Fear
remained but it was joined with puzzlement for a moment. They then
realized that this Cada Varl had come from another world and was
not familiar with their eternal enemy.

“Don’t you have Orcs in
the world you come from?” Torin forced himself to ask, his
bewilderment momentarily overcoming his fear. Cada Varl briefly
glanced to him before looking back at the killing field. “No,” he
said. “But my world has monsters of its own.”

Through everything he felt
Ulka smiled nervously, help had arrived. It didn’t matter that Cada
Varl was a single figure, not when he could kill so many Orcs
single handily.

“I am grateful that you
have come Cada Varl, this feat deserves a fine drop of ale.” Ulka
stated. Cada Varl looked towards him and Ulka got the feeling he
wasn’t trying to intimidate him but he still felt unnerved by such
a gaze. “I thank you for the offer, but this group is nothing
compared to the numbers I saw within the mountains.”

These words brought Juruz
back to his familiar self, Cada Varl was awe inspiring but there
were enemies to be dealt with. “Sir,” he began. “How many did you
see?”

Cada Varl looked to Juruz
as he said, “I have lived for over 4,000 years. If I had all that
time back just to count the Orcs, it still wouldn’t be enough to
count them all.”

This revelation chilled
each of them far more than the presence of Cada Varl. They had
known the enemy number was large but never imagined this many Orcs
had been assembled.

“We should head back to….”
Torin didn’t finish his thought for a good reason. Across the other
side of the clearing more Orcs had appeared, each on top of a giant
Warg. It seemed just like Juruz these Orcs had come to see what had
happened to the advance party. Clearly Orcs and Men didn’t think
all that differently. But the main difference between them was
Juruz had brought two dozen troops, while these Orcs had come 500
strong. Instinctually Juruz reached for the horn on his belt, he
could blow upon it sending a call for aid. But his troops were safe
behind the city walls, it would be foolish to fight these Orcs on
open ground. Yet he knew how fast Wargs were, they could easily
catch them even upon horseback. And what of Cada Varl? Juruz
refused to abandon this man who had come to help his city. Juruz
studied the green and black faces of the Orcs, he had never gotten
use to their ugliness. His eyes rested upon one in particular and
for good reason.

The Orc who led the 500
strong troop was infamous in the realm of men. Grock, the King
Killer, he had earned such a title for how many human kings he had
defeated, the stubs of slain kings’ crowns decorated both of his
ears like piercings. Even by Orc standards his hatred for mankind
was immense, he was one of the cruelest beings the world had ever
seen. After laying waste to a human city he was known to find the
king and queen, where he would nail the king to a large piece of
wood and force him to watch as Grock ate the Queen alive, piece by
bloody piece. He was more human like in stature than most other
Orcs, yet seemed more monstrous than most.