Authors: Jason McWhirter
“And you, my son,” replied the king. “Dagrinal, give the signal.”
The king hefted his long lance and dropped his visor down over his face.
***
Fil’s arm was starting to tire. The orcs kept coming, ignoring the bodies of their brethren as they plodded through ground sodden with their blood. The Finarthian infantry stepped over their own dead bodies as they slowly pushed their formation forward.
A young man to Fil’s left suddenly disappeared as a huge rock blasted him from the line. A screaming orc with a black sword jumped at Fil, trying to barrel his way through the shield wall.
Fil had learned from Tanus that orcs purposely keep their blades dirty, that they sheath them still covered in blood, in hopes that they will turn black and become infested with grime that caused infections. A cut from an orc’s blade, even one that was minor, could be life threatening.
So he kept a wary eye on the orc’s sword as he jumped in front of the beast, lifting his shield to block its forward attack. But he couldn’t concentrate on that foe as another orc came at his sword arm. Long ago Fil had dropped his spear for his close formation sword, and he used it well. He slashed his sword across the attacking orc’s forearm as the other orc grabbed the edge of his shield, trying to yank it from his grasp.
The orc was strong, but so was Fil. He gritted his teeth and dug deep for the strength to keep the shield up. The orc’s face was close and he could smell its vile breath over the edge of the shield. The orc kept pulling on the shield and Fil’s tired arm was starting to weaken.
Fil pictured his younger brother being ripped apart by boargs and his vision blurred momentarily as raw anger flowed through his body. He gritted his teeth as he came eye to eye with the gruesome monster. The beast’s yellow eyes with their dark pupils pulsed with hatred. Its thick greenish skin resembled dried mud baking in the summer sun.
The orc growled, showing its long rotting canines. Its deformed head was bald, devoid of all hair except for a few patches that grew in random places.
The orc that Fil had cut on the arm dropped its sword and roared in pain, its forearm flayed open like a gutted fish.
“Time to die,” Fil whispered to the orc in front of him. He couldn’t hold the shield any longer, so he simply let the orc pull it. As the orc yanked the shield back, Fil used that momentum to lunge forward with his forehead, ramming the boney part of his skull into to the face of the orc, shattering its pig-like nose and several teeth. The impact was jarring but Fil maintained his balance, skewering the dazed orc right through the throat.
Suddenly he heard the cavalry horn. He quickly looked up and to the sides to see the knights storm down the hillside. The thundering horses shook the earth as the knight’s long glittering lances sparkled in the sun.
The men around him cheered with newfound energy as the charging knights sent hope into the tired infantry. Fil’s battle lust returned and he, too, cheered as new strength coursed through his body. His sword felt lighter as he lifted it to defend his land.
The knights’ lances tore into the orcs, killing hundreds of them instantly. Many lances were lost on the initial charge, either breaking on shields or piercing enemy warriors and falling to the ground with their victims. It wasn’t long before the knights were using their close formation weapon, the long cavalry sword.
The Finarthian Knights were known for their horsemanship and their skills were quickly displayed with deadly precision. They maintained their formation as they cut through the orcs, swinging their cavalry swords left and right, destroying the screaming monsters. Each horse was perfectly positioned to give them room to fight but also to maintain the line without any breaks. They had trained long and hard with their steeds until their movements became nearly instinctive.
King Olegaurd’s cavalry reacted to the signal horn as well. He and his brother, Lord Dynure, led fifteen hundred Annurian cavalry into the right flank. The orcs and ogres were in utter chaos. They were being attacked on three sides now as the ‘horns of the bull’ drove them back up the hill. Hundreds died as the unstoppable maneuver slowly closed in on the desperate creatures that couldn’t escape.
Dagrinal kept close to his king, his spinning sword defending his liege with lighting speed. The swordsman glanced to his left, making sure that King Gavinsteal was still close.
The king swung his massive sword with one hand, his powerful arm easily cleaving his sword into whatever unfortunate creature got close. But his movements were slowing already, his age taking its toll on the battle hardened warrior.
Dagrinal urged his horse on, expertly moving it closer to the tiring king. He roared defiantly as he lanced an orc through the eye and looked up for his next victim.
A huge ogre lumbered near on their right. The beast was twenty paces away and he carried a large stone in his hand.
“Lord, look out!” shouted Dagrinal as he frantically drove his horse forward. The ogre heaved the stone overhand with a loud grunt just as the king swung his horse toward the beast with his sword raised high.
The stone took the king’s horse in the neck, snapping its spine instantly and sending the king flying backwards into the air.
“To the king!” yelled Dagrinal as he leaped from his horse and ran to King Gavinsteal. One burly orc raced forward with a wicked looking axe lifted over his head. The beast growled and started to swing its axe downward towards the unconscious king’s head when a flying dagger took the orc in its open mouth.
Dagrinal followed his knife, jumping over the king, straddling his inert form and swinging his long sword in a deadly dance, keeping the attacking orcs away. Enemy blood covered his plate mail and Dagrinal clenched his jaw firmly, gazing through the eye slits of his helm at the enemies surrounding him. “Come on! This kill will not be that easy!” yelled Dagrinal as more orcs attacked him viciously, hoping to kill the downed king and the man now guarding him.
One lunged forward trying to skewer the swordsman but Dagrinal was too fast. He swatted the sword away with a lighting quick parry and sent his sword swinging left and right so fast that the orc didn’t even register the fact that its stomach was just sliced open. The orc’s eyes bulged while he frantically tried to hold his intestines inside his stomach cavity. Dagrinal kicked him in the face and lanced another orc in the throat. “Come on you dung eaters, my blade thirsts for more blood!” Dagrinal yelled in defiance as he parried another attack and sliced open an orc’s leg.
Third lance, Lathrin, hearing Dagrinal’s call, spurred his horse forward and rammed the remaining orcs away from the downed king. He swung his sword downward, slicing open the skull of one orc while Dagrinal leaped on top of another fallen beast, stabbing him through the heart.
Just then a ring of knights moved in to form a protective shield around their king.
“Get the king out of here!” yelled Dagrinal.
“I have him!” cried Lathrin over the screaming and yelling of the battle around them. Dagrinal lifted the king up as Lathrin reached down and grabbed a hold of the king’s sword belt. As Lathrin lifted up hard, Dagrinal heaved the king’s body over the back of Lathrin’s horse. Dagrinal swatted the horse on its hindquarters as Lathrin spurred it to the back of their line, towards the safety of the royal tent.
Suddenly Prince Baylin’s horn blew, signaling the appearance of the enemy cavalry. Seconds after that another loud horn blew, one that Dagrinal did not recognize. It was an enemy horn and he quickly found his horse, leaping back up into the saddle. Dagrinal’s heart sank as he saw a wave of enemy cavalry rise up over the crest and gallop towards them like a thunderous earthquake. In front of the horses ran several hundred boargs. But that wasn’t all. As enemy cavalry moved in from both sides, thousands of tribesmen sprinted over the hill towards them, yelling their war cries.
Dagrinal quickly grabbed his horn and blew the signal to retreat and regroup.
***
Fil had no enemies to kill as the remaining orcs backed away from the deadly infantry. He lowered his exhausted sword arm, panting heavily. He tried to lick his dry lips but his mouth and tongue were devoid of any moisture.
Just then he heard the horn that signaled their forces to retreat and regroup. The infantry officers sounded their horns again and the trained fighting force slowly retreated backwards in formation.
The thundering of horses drew Fil’s gaze up the hill and what he saw drained the blood from his face. Thousands of enemy cavalry stormed down the hill towards them. In front of them ran several hundred boargs. At the sight of the hated creatures, Fil’s heart began to beat faster. He clenched his jaw, his long-held rage at the boargs pulling him out of formation towards the oncoming beasts.
“Fil!” Calden screamed.
Fil stopped, recognizing the voice. He turned to see Calden running towards him. He was covered in blood and he had a vicious cut running down the side of his left cheek.
“Fil, you can’t beat them by yourself! Get back in line!” He grabbed Fil’s arm, cutting through Fil’s trance.
Fil shook his head and looked at his friend. Sweat soaked Calden’s head and dripped freely down his dirt covered face. The sight of his friend alive brought Fil out of his killing rage. “You’re right. I lost it for a moment.”
More horns blew and both the warriors looked around to see what was happening. Their own cavalry was expertly moving backwards and regrouping in two separate formations to the infantry’s left and right. They were angled outwards to deflect the incoming enemy cavalry while the infantry stayed in the center to fight face to face with the fearsome tribesmen.
“Here they come, get back in formation!” yelled Tanus.
Both the men ran back, joining forces with their infantry. The Finarthian infantry stood still, shields and swords locked together in a massive wall of determination, strength, and experience.
The screaming tribesmen raced down the hill yelling the names of their own gods. As they neared the infantry line Fil noticed their dark bare skin covered with black and red paint. Most did not wear any armor except metal and leather skirts. They carried short stabbing javelins and long curved swords. This fearsome group of fighting men screamed and raced down the hill with abandon, joining the remaining orcs as they neared the Finarthian infantry.
Prince Baylin raced his five hundred horses down the hill to reinforce the cavalry just as the enemy cavalry neared them. The enemy cavalry would have crushed the knights if they had not reacted so quickly. Their skill and experience as a fighting force enabled them to retreat and reset their cavalry against the vulnerable part of their own infantry. Now the enemy cavalry was racing towards a set line of determined knights rather than the backs of a surprised group of soldiers.
The prince lifted up his long lance, shaking it toward the approaching enemy. “Show them the strength of our steel! For your king!” he roared.
All the knights shook their lances or swords, yelling as loud as they could. The prince lowered his visor and spurred his horse forward. Instantly, five hundred knights launched forward towards the rapidly approaching enemy.
***
The Annurian Knights were not faring as well. The enemy had crested the hill closer to them, not giving them time to fully reestablish their perimeter. But they were skilled and brave knights who had fought in many battles. They held their ground as the enemy crashed into them.
Hundreds of Annurian Knights died quickly on the long lances of the enemy, but they didn’t break or flee. Lances were dropped and cavalry swords banged against shield and sword alike.
King Olegaurd leaned over in his saddle, slicing his long sword across the leg of a horsed rider. The man screamed and frantically brought his sword down to block the next attack, but the king met the man’s blade and rolled his razor sharp edge over the weapon, ramming the point into the surprised man’s chest. The warrior fell off his horse without a sound.
King Olegaurd had lost his lance after it snapped under the pressure of taking a horsed rider in the chest. Now that he had a few seconds, he reached up to the leather harness that lashed his buckler to his back and yanked it down, bringing the small round shield around to his front where he inserted his forearm into the straps. He cinched them down quickly and looked around at the chaos.
The small shield, or buckler as it was often called, had the diameter of his forearm and allowed him to use the reigns and block various attacks from the saddle. They were designed specifically for horsed combat and the Annurien Knights were experts in their use.
The cavalry skirmish was not going well for the Annuriens. They were being overwhelmed with superior numbers as the enemy had broken their ranks. It was now a free for all as Annurien Knights fought for their lives.
Lord Dynure rode up to his older brother, his face covered in sweat and splattered with crimson stains. He too had lost his lance and now held his long cavalry sword.
He nodded in greeting, no words needed to be said as they understood their situation.
“Stay with me, Brother,” King Olegaurd said softly, but with quiet intensity.
And with that he urged his horse forward toward the enemy line, his brother to his left, both with swords raised and fire in their eyes.