The Battle of Ebulon (32 page)

Alatearame was almost
stunned beyond words. The doubt and uncertainty that she had been
grappling with all day was suddenly boiled off like the morning fog
and she truly believed now that they had a fighting chance. “Ok.
I'm impressed. We may yet win this thing. If you gentlemen would
come with me please, I'd like to show you what we're up against.”
She turned on her heel and began her march back towards the lookout
post, the three divine kitchenhands following closely behind her.
As she scaled the ladder with all the expertise of a professional
soldier, the three simply began climbing the wall beside her as if
it were the most natural thing in the world for them to be defying
gravity. Reaching the top, they waited patiently for Alatearame to
join them. Upon reaching the lookout post, Alatearame walked past
the three and pointed out across the battlefield, preparing to
begin her briefing. She politely ignored the ongoing sniffles of
Semillion who was still rather upset by his unpleasant encounter
with his own armour.

“
As you can
see, the mountain ranges encompass this entry point almost
entirely. The Orcish vanguard actually marched upon us from amongst
those foothills but the main hordes would have trouble maintaining
formation through such rough terrain so we're expecting them to
approach through this pass” she moved her arm to indicate the
direction. “Now, the standard Orc troop is armed with...”
Alatearame was cut of by a sudden and unwelcome sound. The sound of
mighty drumming emanating from the hills. It was an audible warning
that Alatearame knew all too well. The Orcs were returning and this
time, it wouldn't be a screening force. The main battle was upon
them. She dropped her arm and turned towards her remaining troops
to give orders. “We have incoming! All units form up and establish
defensive positions around the entry point.” Before she could
continue, she noticed a thick sticky liquid forming a puddle near
her foot. Turning swiftly to identify the source, she realised that
the divine kitchenhands were all drooling. Their faces had taken on
a demonic scowl that chilled her to the bone. Their eyes burned
like fire as their forked tongues lashed the air like whips. Steam
was rising from their mouths as their drooling was superheated by
some internal fire that Alatearame could only guess about. Were
these demigods or demons?

Troops were running in
every direction to form their defensive perimeter and the Orcish
horde was storming towards the outpost like a green avalanche.
Suddenly, Celarius spoke in a voice unlike any Alatearame had ever
heard. A voice so resonant and powerful that she almost fell back
down the ladder. “Crispy Bacon!” Edamgouda added to the still
echoing atmosphere of the warzone “Succulent Pork!” Moments later,
even Semillion chimed in with “Honey Glazed Ham!” A fear gripped
Alatearame the likes of which she had never known. Just what were
these beings? Before she had the opportunity to reflect on this
internal question, the three divine kitchenhands leapt down from
the lookout post and began running towards the hordes. “Wait! Come
back! We need to hold the position!” Alatearame called after them
to no avail. The three had the scent of pork products in their
nostrils and there was now no stopping them.

The troops of
the 7
^th
brigade were almost in position but Alatearame could not tear
herself away from the scene that was unfolding on the battlefield.
The Orcish hordes had moved into battle formation and were prepared
to march on her position while the three divine kitchenhands stood
between the two, continuing to drool with anticipation of what
awaited them. The Orc commander grunted out some orders to his
forces and they braced themselves for battle, spears coming to the
ready and the shields forming up in the phalanxes. The divine
kitchenhands didn't move in the slightest and if anything, their
drooling intensified. The tension could have been cut with
Semillion's knife if he had the coordination to do so and both
sides were teetering on the edge of engagement, the anticipation
absolutely electrifying.

The order was issued by
the Orc commander and the hordes began casting their spears towards
the three. The sky was almost blackened with projectiles and
Alatearame waited with baited breath to see the divine kitchenhands
in action. Edamgouda raised his hand towards the heavens and
decreed in a voice of immense intensity “By the power of the
almighty Pothcroth, supreme God of cookery, I summon the divine bib
of guarding!” The clouds parted and an enormous, ethereal bib
descended from the heavens. It was large enough to stand before the
three divine kitchenhands and stood over 20 feet tall. It glowed
with a majestic radiance and was emblazoned with the seal of the
almighty Pothcroth, a roast pig complete with an apple in its
mouth. The flying spears of the Orcish hordes hit the divine bib of
guarding and simply deflected away except for one poorly aimed
spear which passed to the side of the bib. Semillion ran to his
left to collect the spear and, as it was what was happening with
the rest of them, decided that it was a good idea to throw this
spear at the bib too. After all, it might feel left out. He cast
the spear at the bib and it deflected back and bounced off his
saucepan helmet. Semillion stood there looking dazed for a moment
and fought to stop himself from crying again.

As the final spear
deflected off the divine bib of guarding, Celarius stepped around
it and faced off against the hordes, reaching his hand towards the
sky and proclaiming “By the power of the almighty Pothcroth,
supreme God of cookery, I summon the divine cupcake sprinkles of
flaying!” Instantly, a stream of multi-coloured sprinkles began
descending from amongst the clouds directly towards Celarius. Just
as leading edge of the stream was upon him, Celarius raised his
other hand and pointed it towards the assembled masses of Orcs. The
stream of sprinkles deflected off his outstretched hand and poured
down on the Orcs with all the intensity of hellfire. The
multi-coloured stream of cake decorations tore through the Orc's
armour like an arrow through tissue paper and the Orcs in its path
were swiftly cut to pieces. Celarius guided the stream across the
ranks of Orcs, leaving nothing but devastation and sliced bacon.
Seeing their comrades taking this punishment was enough to cause
the remaining Orcs to break formation and begin charging towards
the three divine kitchenhands. They focused their offensive on
Semillion who had not yet participated in the battle in any
meaningful way.

Semillion raised his hand
towards the sky and began to scream in anticipation. The hordes
moved closer and Semillion was still screaming, appearing to take
no action to stop them whatsoever. Finally, he called out “Give me
the mighty tongs of holding. Please”. Nothing appeared to happen
and Semillion was still standing there, hand raised to the heavens
with the horde teaming towards him. Somewhat confused, Semillion
lowered his hand and turned away from the oncoming Orcs. He looked
at his hand as if it were a broken toy, trying to figure out what
went wrong. Alatearame began to panic as it was clear that even
with the mighty powers of the divine kitchenhands, Semillion was
about to get swarmed by the Orcs and the line would buckle. While
Semillion was still inspecting his hand, a dark shape came down
from the clouds. What appeared to be a giant's bottle of barbecue
sauce landed on top of the oncoming Orcs, crushing them and ending
the offensive. Somehow, Semillion had managed to summon the Divine
Barbecue Sauce bottle. It was even smokey barbecue, the perfect
companion for the pork meat that was the Orcs it had
crushed.

The troops of
the Ebulonite 7
^th
brigade looked over the battlefield in utter
amazement. The entire Orcish assault had been quashed in a matter
of minutes using nothing more than a bib, cupcake sprinkles and a
bottle of smokey barbecue sauce. What WERE these beings? Nemmin
joined Alatearame in the lookout post to witness the carnage just
as the three divine kitchenhands assembled in a circle. They then
crossed their giant cutlery pieces together in the fashion of
knights crossing swords and began to chant. “Ham and Bacon and
Roast Pork, I want piggy on my fork.” Nemmin turned to Alatearame
with an exasperated look on his face “What on earth are they doing
now?” The chanting suddenly stopped and the three declared in
perfect unity “By the power of the almighty Pothcroth, supreme God
of cookery, we summon the skillet of the heavens!” On command, a
frying pan almost as large as the outpost itself descended from the
sky and came to rest before the three. In a flurry of action, the
divine kitchenhands moved to the frying pan and attempted to light
a fire under it with which to cook their hard won feast. After
several minutes of work, Edamgouda turned back towards the outpost
and addressed Alatearame, still standing in the lookout post.
“Commander, how can we start a fire on such a frigid and snow
covered landscape?”

Alatearame turned to her
assembled troops and issues orders for her sappers to assist the
divine kitchenhands by lighting a fire under the frying pan. As she
turned back, Nemmin addressed his commander “Ma'am, I must confess
I am confused. Why are we lighting a fire for them?” Smiling for
the first time that day, Alatearame simply said to Nemmin “Well,
they saved our bacon back there. So it's only right that we save
theirs.” Nemmin snorted in laughter and proceeded to descend the
ladder in order to assist the troops in their efforts. Alatearame
issued orders to her remaining troops to assist in gathering the
fallen Orcs for the divine kitchenhands.

With the fire now burning
under the skillet of the heavens, the divine kitchenhands began
preparing the Orcs for cooking, binding their flesh and throwing
them into the pan. Semillion stood and raised his hand “I summon
the mighty seasoning of salt”. Upon his command, a rain of pepper
began to fall into the frying pan. Edamgouda walked up beside
Semillion and smacked him in the back of the head with his giant
fork. “You idiot Semillion. It's ruined now. You need to add salt
BEFORE you add pepper.” As Semillion began sobbing softly again,
Edamgouda turned to the skillet of the heavens and jumped on the
handle, launching the half cooked Orcs like a catapult. One of the
Ebulonite soldiers turned to Nemmin and said “Gives new meaning to
'when pigs fly', don't it sir?” Nemmin shook his head laughing and
walked away. Could this day get any stranger?

With the pan now empty
again, the troops started helping the divine kitchenhands to throw
the remaining Orcs into the pan. Alatearame had descended from the
lookout post to render aid herself when one of her soldiers
approached her “Commander, we've found the Orc chieftain. He's
badly wounded but still alive.” Reflecting on the earlier battle,
she remembered the way the Orcs had slaughtered so many of her best
troops. The brutal savagery that had been inflicted on her kingdom
by these brutes and with a coldness she rarely felt declared “Throw
the bastard in. Let him cook alive.” Overhearing the command,
Celarius approached the commander and implored her “That is not
right Commander. It is barbaric and uncivilised.” He then pulled a
pepper grinder off his belt and handed it to her. “Here. Bash his
skull in with this first.”

Meanwhile, Edamgouda
walked up to Semillion who had spent the past few minutes preparing
but a single Orc. “What ARE you doing Semillion? You've been
preparing this one Orc for over five minutes now?” A confused look
on his face, Semillion looked up at Edamgouda and said “But I
really want Crackling. It won't turn out any good unless you score
the skin and rub some salt in. It's just taking a little longer
than I thought it would.” Edamgouda simply shook his head and
replied “Well, you could take the armour off first. That might make
it a little bit easier Semillion.” This took a minute or two for
Semillion to process and as Edamgouda was walking away called out
to him “I never would have thought of that. Thanks.”

The smell of cooking pork
filled the air and the last of the Orcs had been thrown into the
pan. The divine kitchenhands formed up together and crossed their
cutlery once more. Together, they declared “By the power of the
almighty Pothcroth, supreme God of cookery, we summon the divine
dinner setting!” Long banquet tables mystically appeared around the
frying pan and out of nowhere, tablecloths, cutlery, napkins and
even candles appeared. Instead of a waiter though, a violinist
appeared, playing soppy romantic music and walking around the
tables. Celarious looked at Semillion and simply said “You had one
job. Seriously”. Still, the music was beautiful and relaxing so no
great ado was made about the lack of a waiter. Edamgouda approached
the commander once more. “Commander, we would like to invite you
and your troops to dine with us this evening in celebration of the
salvation of your kingdom.” Alatearame nodded to him in
appreciation of the gracious invitation “It will be as you
ask.”

Nemmin, overhearing this
walked up to Alatearame and quietly asked her “Commander, it's not
that I'm ungrateful for their assistance but are we really going to
eat Orc meat?” Lowering her voice Alatearame instructed “With all
that they have done for us, I think it only fair that we at least
try their cooking. Issue the order to the troops. Everyone is to
join the feast or they'll have to answer to me.” The troops began
to gather around the tables and though initially concerned about
the nature of the feast, to a man they found the food to be
delicious. The celebrations carried on for hours with good food,
good company and good music courtesy of Semillion's violinist.
Suddenly, the festivities were disrupted by the whistling sound of
a falling object above their heads. Looking up, Semillion cried out
with joy “Oh. THERE are my tongs!”