Black Metal: The Orc Wars Read online

  Shouting battle cries and waving their weapons the men of Iithsul charged. The goblins, knowing they were outmatched, scattered and attempted to flee into the safety of the woods. Some were killed in the charge, but most of the survivors made it into cover. The situation soon became a running battle as the human warriors fanned out and gave chase. They were able to move quickly because of their long stride, but the goblins were able to move faster in the tangled underbrush. The main body of surviving goblins eventually outpaced the humans and escaped into the forest. What stragglers there were soon fell to the blades of their determined pursuers. The human pursuit from that point on was significantly slowed as they began to fall dead to the traps and snares placed by the goblins to cover their escape.

  The goblins had been running since then. Now the sun was beginning to set, and they were exhausted. They knew that the humans would not be far behind, so they must warn the army of the pursuing foe. The goblins crossed a stream running red with what could only have been blood, avoiding the burned bridge as they opted to ford the shallow waters. They crested the hill to find that they gazed down into a small village.

  As they carefully approached they could see the horde’s camp at the top of the hill across the valley. Form the wisps of smoke rising from the town and the smell of burnt flesh, it took little imagination for the goblins to deduce what had happened. Expert trackers that they were, it took only a small effort to see the story of the raid in the kicked up dirt and the corpses of the fallen. Like most settlements in these parts this village was no doubt one of the supply towns for the dwarven stronghold. Growing crops and raising livestock for the dwarven larders in exchange for protections and well-crafted dwarven metals. There were no walls or gates to the town, it must have been a slaughter.

  The goblins felt no pity as they moved through the village, which had been picked clean of plunder. No doubt several of the warriors in the horde would be sporting dwarven weapons and armor. While they were disappointed not to have had a chance at spoils, they did get to kill some elves, and most goblins were simple folk with simple pleasures.

  The goblins could see that Ghalik had put all of the harvested wood to use in their absence. Now that the army possessed all of the wagons, carts, and mules of the burned village below, there was no need for the sleds. So the wood had been split into planks and lashed together with rope, which consequently they noticed a group of goblins still weaving even more coils of. These lashed planks were currently being used as makeshift walls in various parts of the camp, placed so that they would impede an advancing foe but not cut off the horde’s escape.

  A call went up form the sentries as the bushwhackers returned. They were quickly ushered to Ghalik’s now portable throne. He sat in silence, with Reygoth and Ca’tic’na on either side of him, as he listened to their chirping report. Upon hearing of their pursuit he frowned, but beyond that did not seem worried. When they were done he thanked them, gave them permission to select spoils from the leftovers in the community wagon, and had food brought to them. He then gestured for Reygoth and Ca’tic’na to accompany him as he walked into the night.

  “So are we going to fight them?” asked Reygoth as he walked alongside the old wizard.

  “I have yet to decide that. On the one hand we could carry on as we have, raid the next village and wait for Okada’s return. But if we do that this new threat will surely put us between themselves and the dwarves,” Ghalik grumbled as he looked out over the burned village.

  “Perhaps we could do both,” Reygoth suggested, “We could leave a small force of trolls and orcs here to ambush the humans while we take the rest of the horde and press on.”

  Ghalik thought to himself for a moment, turning the idea over and over in his mind. He discussed it with Ca’tic’na in a rapid exchange of the goblin tongue. After a few moments of silence following the exchange, Ghalik stopped walking. The look of his face betrayed the fact that his decision had been made.

  “We will leave a detachment of orcs and trolls here while the rest of us move on. They will hide themselves in the remnants of the village. Should our enemies enter the town our forces will do battle there. If they skirt the village to hasten their pursuit, our warriors will have them in a vice, and sooner or later we will turn and fight as they are cut down from behind,” he explained as he once again began walking, this time back towards the camp, “Reygoth, select a third of your warriors and have them assembled at my throne as soon as is possible. We will lay the trap tonight, just in case they have advance scouts who can see our fires.”

  Within the hour Ma-Gur found himself at the head of a force that was nearly a third of the entire horde. At first Reygoth chaffed at the idea of the trollslayer being in command, but a few wise words from Ghalik about Ma-Gur’s popularity with the orcs and prowess against the late troll champion would do well to ensure that he was obeyed. And so it was that the strike force carefully bedded down in the ruins of the village.

  The rest of the army was up and moving just before dawn, packing up supplies and heading off into the hills to pursuer their raiding campaign against the dwarves and their allies. The strike force awakened to the commotion of the moving horde, then strained their ears against the silence left in its wake. For long hours they waited, orc and troll, impatient for the fighting to begin but disciplined enough to stay in cover.

  It was just around noon, when the sun was at its zenith, that the sounds of hoof beats and marching could be heard. The hidden warriors tensed as they heard the sounds come near. It was working, thought Ma-Gur as he listened to the humans enter the village. Only moments now until they were far enough into town that they could be bushwhacked. Armored horses moved into Ma-Gur’s field of vision, close enough to touch. He quickly and silently emerged from the broken doorway he had been hidden behind, and attacked.

  The knight never saw it coming, the orc’s heavy blade cleaving through his leg and into the horse’s flank. As his led separated from his body he toppled off his dying horse, only to be pinned by its dead weight as it landed on top of him. The knight next in the column was just able to deflect Ma-Gur’s blow with his shield, but was soundly unhorsed by the powerful swing of an ambushing troll’s stout club. The knight landed in a heap as the survivors of the initial attack struggled on.

  Ma-Gur felt as if there was something the matter, in spite of the one-sided battle raging around him. Using the powerful muscles in his arms he lifted himself onto the only partially destroyed roof of the building he had been hiding in. As he gained a purchase and steadied himself he looked out across the town and the hills from whence the enemy had come. Ma-Gur was surprised and shaken by what he saw there.

  Only about a third of the enemy forces had moved into the village. The majority of the knights had remained in the open alongside their supply wagons while the footmen escorted the scant few knights that had moved in to investigate the village. Ma-Gur cursed as he realized that they hadn’t been completely fooled, but true to his nature, put them out of his mind and leapt once again into the battle below.

  The battle was swift and brutal, the human numbers had been reduced heavily during the initial assault. Yet they fought with the determination and tenacity that came with the knowledge and understanding of victory or death. Casualties on both sides were mounting, but in the close quarters fighting that was so common in cities, the pure brutality of the orcs and trolls was telling. Soon it was over, the humans killed to a man.

  Ma-Gur was quick to reassemble his troop around the town square, knowing that he must act quickly.

  “The humans must know by now that we are a threat, but they do not know how few we are compared to them. We cannot engage them in the field or their cavalry will run us down. But if we spread out over the village, perhaps we can fool them into thinking that our entire army resides here,” he spoke as he pointed in the direction of the Iithsulian force.

  “What would that accomplish?” bickered a gangly-armed troll, “Other than show the humans that we w
ould rather hide than fight.”

  His statement was echoed by many of the troll warriors, even some of the orcs, who were obviously wondering the same thing.

  “If they think the whole army is here, then they will concentrate on fighting us, and not pursuing our brothers,” Ma-Gur answered, the red in his eyes bristling at the implied challenge.

  The young orc stood defiant as he gazed menacingly at the assembled warriors, silently daring them to debate. He had managed to maneuver them into a position that would make any who did not go with his plan seem like fools for wanting to fight in the open or cowards if they fled. This realization sunk in as the thunderous sounds of hooves signaled a movement in the enemy ranks. Ignoring the sound Ma-Gur held his eyes fixed upon the crowd, entering into an unspoken test of wills with those less inclined to follow his lead. For a moment all that could be heard was the sound of the moving forces outside the town, then one troll who stood at the back of the gathering spoke.

  “Enough of this! Reygoth and the greenskin wizard chose him to lead us. They would not have done that without good reason. I say his wisdom is sound!” shouted the troll as he shouldered his mace and walked towards the sound of the enemy’s position.

  “Maybe we were left behind to die,” argued the first dissenting troll.

  “Does it matter? It is likely that we were, but we can sell our lives at a high cost,” Ma-Gur retorted as he too moved to walk towards the enemy, “I for one would rather die with a spear in my chest than in my back. I know you want to fight, and fight you shall. But here, on our terms, not theirs.”

  With that the group dispersed, even the disgruntled troll, who shrugged at the suicidal logic of the orcs as he hefted his club and followed. He preferred a stand up fight to all of these underhanded war tricks, though he had to admit that they were outmatched and outnumbered. Maybe this was the best way to win.

  “Even their gods are cruel.” --- Olisandre Lostris

  The orc and troll warriors dispersed among the ruins of the village. Some allowed themselves to be seen standing in the streets and alleyways facing the approaching enemy, while others took to the rooftops and balconies of the ruined buildings. Though they were fewer in number than the oncoming enemy the defenders had spread themselves along the edges of town in such a way that from the outside looking in it appeared that a much larger force waited in the village’s winding streets.

  At first it seemed as if the humans were going to bypass the ruined settlement, cutting their losses and continuing the pursuit. Yet as their outriders neared the village and saw its defenders, the column of knights turned towards town. While a full third of their forces had been wiped out the humans still made deadly and numerous foes. Armored knights upon muscled warhorses lead the way while the remaining companies of men at arms followed behind. A small handful of footmen stayed with the supply wagons as the primary force marched forward.

  Upon seeing that the knights had taken the bait the orcs and trolls pulled back deeper into the village. The knights became grim and set their jaws, this would be a nasty fight. Uprooting the evil house by house. The orcs and trolls knew it as well, this would be a battle lost and won street by street, blood spilt on both sides would mark every gain or loss of even an inch of ground.

  Not wishing to meet a similar fate as their comrades, the approaching knights dismounted when they neared the village. The advantage of being mounted would not hold here in the narrow streets, the warriors had to be free to move and fight in such close quarters. The humans marched into the town, shoulder to shoulder as they prepared for battle.

  Not assault met them when they reached the outskirts of the village, so they spread out and moved cautiously down the alleyways and streets in groups of two and three. Men at arms rushed into nearby buildings, searching for hidden ambushers. For long moments the only sounds that could be heard were those of the humans pushing their way deep into the heart of the village.

  Then, without warning, and inhuman cry went up from the village as orc and troll warriors emerged for battle. Many came rushing down the open streets to clash with the humans head on, while others lashed out from ruined buildings as yet unchecked by the men at arms. Shaken yet not undaunted by the onslaught of the enemy, the humans stood their ground as battle was joined.

  The main body of the orc and troll force had rushed into open combat without much care for strategy or cunning. Ma-Gur couldn’t blame them, they were not soldiers who followed orders, but individual warriors who had to follow their own instincts. It was all he could do to attempt to guide them, hoping to make at least their timing uniform. They had decided that when the humans reached the old foundry building they would attack. It was a large building that all could see from whatever their vantage point was. Beyond that simple matter of timing the orcs and trolls fought however they pleased.

  Ma-Gur paid little mind to this fact, nor took offense or felt his leadership questioned. He knew just as well as everyone else did the way that such warriors were. The young orc himself was one of them. According to the stories and lessons he learned as a child around the campfires of his people orcs had little use for strategy, preferring to merely ride the current of battle to its natural conclusion. It was said by many, even begrudgingly by their enemies, that of all the races of the world it was the orcs who had the superior talent for tactics. Empathy for the ebb and flow of battle and the adaptability to use that as an advantage without fear or hesitation.

  It was this mastery that gave Ma-Gur the confidence that allowed him to banish the worry and doubt of his force’s ability to win. Even if eventual defeat was the inevitable result for bloodthirsty immortals, they would walk to their deaths over the corpses of their enemies.

  These contemplative thoughts passed through Ma-Gur’s mind as quickly as they came, replaced by the maddening din of battle as Ma-Gur joined the fight. He burst forth from a building near the middle of the now roiling struggle. As the orc cut down the soldier nearest him he found that from the doorstep he could see much of the battle carrying on around him. The trolls, cliquish as ever, had grouped together and were mowing through the ranks of humans. Their massive bludgeons crushing bone and armor, laying low scores of humans in the tight press of bodies in the narrow streets.

  The orcs seemed to have ended up in two groups. One had stayed relatively uniform in its formation, a tough wedge of green skin and steel that fought toe to toe with the stalwart knights. The second group was enmeshed with the majority of the men at arms, not pushing their line back, but holding them in place as the trolls came at them from the other side.

  A few orcs had followed Ma-Gur’s example, and had waited inside buildings and on rooftops for opportunities at ambushing the foe. These ambushers soon found themselves battling the stragglers that were not involved in the thick of the fighting.

  Ma-Gur took in all of this with a moment’s glance, then returned to his own task. Behind him in the building from which he had come were a handful of orcs and the troll who had spoken in his defense, Orvo. The small band followed Ma-Gur as he hacked and hewed his way through the loose formation of the men at arms already fighting other orcs. Ma-Gur did not focus upon killing his opponents, but merely passing through them. Using his shield as a weapon he bashed down those who stood in his way, lashing out with his blade if the opportunity presented itself. So it was with the rest of his small band as they followed in his wake, dispatching those who drew to near.

  The band reached the other side of the battle, having only lost a few warriors in the process. Their goal was not the battle in the village, but the supply wagons waiting in the fields beyond. Ma-Gur left the village at a dead run, followed by the orcs and quickly outpaced by the long-legged Orvo. The few guards that remained soon forgot the welfare of their comrades and piled into the wagons, whipping the horses into action. At such a distance the wagons stood a chance of being able to escape the pursuing enemy.

  There were six wagons in all, each laden with food and supplies, this making
them move slower than the guards had hoped. Soon Orvo’s long legs carried him within striking distance, and with one massive blow sent both driver and guard flying off the front seat in a jumble of blood and limbs. One of the guards in the back of the wagon managed to drive his spear deep into Orvo’s shoulder, though the troll did not seem to notice as he bolted towards the next wagon.

  The last two wagons in line, both having lost their drivers as Orvo rushed after the third, a second spear in his side, slowed their pace almost to a crawl. The remaining guards inside the wagons attempted to retake the reigns and move on, but by then the orcs were upon them. Ma-Gur vaulted over the rear of the wagon, both hands steadying himself as he slammed both of his feet into a guard’s chest. As that guard was flung from the wagon by the blow the last one set upon Ma-Gur with his pointed shortsword. Not bothering to parry Ma-Gur sidestepped the blade and drove his shoulder into the chest of the oncoming guard. The human fell to the floor of the cart, he began to rise again but his ascent was cut short by Ma-Gur’s heavy blade.

  The orc looked up from his victim to witness Orvo charge the first wagon in the line. The rest of the supply carts had slowed and were being overrun by the orcs. The two guards in the back of the remaining cart were following the example set by their fallen comrades and hurling spears at the pursuing troll. Orvo, whose body was already wounded by spear and blade, finally fell as the two spears thrown from the cart buried themselves in his chest. The troll went to the ground without a sound, his life seeping away as the moments went on. The lone cart escaped into the woods.

  The orcs came to a halt near Orvo’s body, all panting heavily from their excruciating pursuit. There was no catching the escaped cart, so without much more than a callous glance at the valiant troll’s corpse, the raiders returned to the captured wagons. Eager to discover what lay in the sacks and crates that burdened each one.