The Dark Lord's Handbook (29 page)

The Count himself was at a loss for words. Sir Edwin was standing there, fists planted on the table, glaring, defying anyone present to better his military judgement. Though the plan was total excrement with obvious flaws, the Count was not inclined to be so blunt. After Black Orchid, Sir Edwin and his cursed sword were the two things he feared most.

“An interesting alternative, Sir Edwin,” said the Count. “It’s been a long march, so shall we adjourn for now, and you and I can go over the details of this idea. In the meantime, as a precaution, Sir Romquist, could you look into the siege engine situation? Good. Right, I think that’s all for now. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us.”

The nobility filed out, muttering as they went. Several references to Edwin’s humble birth rose above the general grumbles. Fortunately, Edwin did not seem to hear. He was standing as he had been, staring at the smashed city and fuming. The Count could see Edwin’s neck pulse with anger.

The tent was empty before Sir Edwin let rip again. “They are all fools. Every second we delay is a second longer that Griselda spends in suffering. What do they know of war? Have they stood on the Desolate Plains and faced the innumerable armies of Evil? Have they plunged their swords into the hearts of dragons, or wrested victory from many tentacled Bog Lords of Crenzo? We should act now.”

Count Vladovitch was at a loss for a reply. It was a strange thing to say for the son of a blacksmith barely into adulthood who, until a few months ago, had never gone further than the local provincial town. The hairs on his neck told him something dangerous was at work here. As if to confirm it, the awning to the tent was swept aside as a familiar figure made an entrance.

Black Orchid had been quiet in the last few weeks, coming and going as she pleased and happy to let the Count and Edwin do their thing. The Count was pleased that she at least had faith in his military prowess. He hated meddlers who thought they knew everything because they held the purse strings or, as in Black Orchid’s case, had him by the nuts.

“Ah, my two favourite men,” said Black Orchid. She walked to the table to stand between the two of them. She ran a long fingernail under Edwin’s chin. “And how are you, my sweet? You seem agitated.”

The Count could see Edwin blushing. Black Orchid did have a terrible beauty about her. Or was it anger rising once more? Either way, the lad was dumbstruck, as he often was in her presence.

“We were going over the military alternatives, my Lady,” said the Count. “Edwin here was proposing a direct approach, while the more seasoned among us were more inclined to give them a chance to surrender with little loss of life.”

The Count wasn’t sure that Black Orchid had heard him as her attention was still completely on Edwin. “You want to kill those evil kidnappers, don’t you? Poor Griselda must be suffering so terribly.”

Edwin’s eyes were burning into Black Orchid and the Count felt like he might as well not be there.

“I don’t think you should worry so much about how many people get killed, Count” said Black Orchid, all the while caressing Edwin’s face with her nails. “We are at war, after all.”

“Well,” said the Count, “strictly speaking, we aren’t at war yet.”

“We aren’t?” said Black Orchid. “Well, if that’s the case, I suggest we remedy that immediately. Arrange a meeting for tomorrow morning with whoever is in charge in Bostokov, and let’s see what they have to say for themselves. And take Edwin.”

The Count was relieved. There was always hope if he could convince them to hand over the city. Having Edwin on hand may even expedite matters when they saw him and realised they were deadly serious.

“Very good, my Lady,” said the Count.

“And be sure to negotiate aggressively, won’t you, Edwin?” said Black Orchid. She was staring, unblinking, into Edwin’s eyes.

“Certainly,” said Edwin, breaking his silence and holding Black Orchid’s gaze. “I will ensure we get what we want.”

Suddenly the Count was less than sure that this was a good idea after all. The gleam in Edwin’s eye was disconcerting.

“I’ll leave you two boys to it then,” said Black Orchid, and with a swish of her black silk dress, she was gone.

“I’d better prepare my men,” said Edwin. He followed her out with a definite spring in his step.

Count Vladovitch found himself alone in the tent. He picked up one of the figurines from the tabletop. It was a pikeman and his pike was bent over where Edwin had smashed it. The little man’s comrades lay spread over the table, mixed in with the broken remains of the city. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen tomorrow but he was certain it wouldn’t be pleasant. A guilty part of him hoped it would be every bit as swift and bloody as he feared and then at least he would be home with the wife before the harvest festival.

He laid the broken pikeman back on the table. In the following weeks he would be putting real men into the earth. That was the price of war and one that in years past he had happily paid. Perhaps it was because he had always imagined that he would fight hard and die young. Having avoided that fate and seeing the bright young men that made up his army, he hoped that they too would enjoy his luck and see out their days.

It was a naïve thought and he gave himself a mental slap. War was never pretty, never clean and nice, like many imagined, and always had a price to be paid. He had better get over this melancholy and get his head clear. The lives of his men depended upon it.

*****

Edwin was happy to see the morning after the pathetic council of war was a grey and misty affair. It would help him in what was clear he must do. The Count was weak and did not have the will to face evil on its own terms. It was his age. Edwin was sure that Count Vladovitch had been a great leader in his time but now he was old and obviously would have preferred to be at home with his twittering wife.

Though he was still unclear where Black Orchid fitted into things, it was more than clear that she was the one who was really in command, and that she appreciated Edwin in ways that the Count never could. You could not pander to evil. You had to be strong and have the will to do what was necessary. The only negotiation that would be had today would be at lance tip and sword point.

The meeting was to take place at a crossroads a mile from the slum that skirted the city walls. A single tree marked the crossing so in theory there was no opportunity for hiding troops for ambush. It had been well chosen, but fortune had smiled upon Edwin and he had been able to make the needed arrangements for his men. The thickening mist would serve him well.

The delegation from Bostokov was waiting for them at the crossroads. A large orc sat astride what looked like a work horse. Behind him there was a small guard standing twenty yards back; they were all orcs, unmounted, and armed with an array of pikes and vicious looking bill hooks. The weapons were intended as defence against knights, and Edwin wondered if he had been betrayed. If he had, he would deal with the betrayer after the orcs had been cut down.

As they drew near the orcs opened their mouths in a rictus of sharpened teeth. Edwin had done his research in training and knew those lines of teeth for what they were, a challenge. There was no peace to be had here today. All this parley was pretence, a sham to justify the notion of war conducted by rules. Edwin laughed inside. He knew that there was only total war, with no quarter asked or given. There were no civilians or rules or niceties. War was conducted for one purpose alone, and that was victory. Any army that fought otherwise had lost already. But if the Count wanted to play his games then Edwin would let him. He, however, would not be fooled by polite chit chat.

Edwin nudged his horse forward to a few paces behind Count Vladovitch. The orc was waiting patiently on his mount. Close up, he looked older than Edwin had first presumed. He had thick, ugly features that suggested a lifetime of outdoor hard labour. The silver ring in his ear marked him as a dock worker. His uniform, if that’s what it was, was an assortment of chain and leather, with a curved blade hung at his side.

“Good morning, Count Vladovitch. I am Kurgen,” said the orc. “I am Lord Morden’s representative in Mordengrad.”

Edwin was taken aback by the gall of the orc. “I think you’ll find that would be Bostokov,” snorted Edwin.

He was about to go on to pronounce the orc to be a number of other reprehensible things but the Count’s raised gauntlet cut him short. Although he thought the Count weak and unable to do what was necessary, he was still in charge and his rank deserved respect. He had also knighted Edwin, which was no small thing in itself.

“Kurgen,” said the Count, his Eastern provinces accent coming to the fore in pronouncing the orc’s name. “We should try to keep this civil and so I must apologise for Sir Edwin; he is young and unschooled in diplomacy.”

Edwin had to clench his jaw tight to prevent the retort that naturally came with the observation that Kurgen was hardly schooled himself. He was at best a dock foreman, not a Prince.

Kurgen inclined his head in acknowledgement. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“I require that you surrender Bostokov to me, Count Vladovitch, as representative of the legal rulers of the city, and in return we will listen to the grievances that forced this unfortunate state of affairs. We also require Morden, so that he can be held to account for his actions. If you comply then you will be spared your lives. This I guarantee.”

It was the weak kneed offer that Edwin had expected. Why they should pander to these menials in their rebellion, and worse, their aligning with a person as evil as Morden, was beyond him. Edwin was not completely without mercy, however, as it was a recognised virtue, so he would have offered them a swift death should they surrender immediately or face agony should they not.

“I don’t think so,” said Kurgen. “For centuries we have been an oppressed people and we would rather die than go back to the slavery that was our lives. And I would not assume you will run over us with your army. You will find we are made of stern stuff.”

“We want no bloodshed if it can be avoided,” said the Count. “But you have broken the rule of law, and you must answer for that.”

“Your laws, not ours,” said Kurgen.

Edwin could barely contain himself, but it was not quite time. He needed a few minutes more.

“Perhaps, but they are the only laws we have,” said the Count.

“We have Lord Morden Deathwing’s law now,” said Kurgen.

“Deathwing?” said the Count.

The tone of the Count’s question made Edwin look over to him. Was that fear he heard? The Count certainly looked like blood was draining from his face.

“I see you know the name,” said Kurgen. “And so you should, for all the world will know it. Morden Deathwing, a black dragon and man of legend, has come and set the orc nation free. And there’s nothing you can do about it!”

From behind Kurgen, the orcs raised their weapons and began to shout:

“Morden! Morden! Morden!”

Edwin was both surprised and pleased. So Morden was the dragon he had seen; the dragon who had snatched away his minion and Griselda. Anger swelled up inside him, and a familiar fury. If only Morden were here now. But he was not. He would have to make do with what was on hand. The orcs’ reaction to Morden’s name would work perfectly for him. This could not have worked out better. “Treachery!” he shouted, turning his horse to the honour guard and drawing his sword. “Treachery!”

It was the signal he had given his men that he had in the escort, and swords sang from scabbards. “Treachery!” they shouted, joining Edwin in his accusation. Though dampened by the fog, an answering cry came from off to the left.

“We have been betrayed,” shouted Edwin. “Treachery!”

To Edwin’s right, the Count had drawn his sword and was swinging his mount around in a tight circle looking for the source of the threat.

Strangely, Kurgen seemed completely unsurprised. With a yank of the reins he turned his huge horse around and was inside a ring of steel before Edwin could reach him to cut him down.

Edwin’s allies in the escort jumped forward on their mounts and formed up either side. From the mist came the sound of thundering hooves as the rest of Edwin’s men came galloping in. Just as they had trained for, they formed a wedge designed to break lines such as the orcs had formed. Their mounts had steel plates across their fronts that would turn a blade, and the sheer power of the formation alone would smash pikes apart.

Edwin deftly kicked his horse up to speed and swung it in behind the wedge. The knights hit the orcs full on and broke them. Not for hundreds of years had orcs met such a charge and, despite their set position and long weapons, their front rank was swept away. Steel flashed and orc blood sprayed the ground.

Edwin cut and sliced to either side. He knocked away spear points and hooks that sought to grab him. He reared his horse to bring its hooves down on the skull of an orc and crushed it like a soft fruit.

In seconds, Kurgen was left with a small group of orcs who had reformed and were holding the knights at bay. They had learnt quickly and poked at the horses legs; the chest and heads were too well armoured.

It was clear what Edwin had to do. He spurred his horse and put some distance between himself and the knot of orcs.

“To me!” he ordered and the knights followed.