A Darkness Unleashed (Book 2) (11 page)

Now Tallen sensed the same shock from Maddi she must have sensed in him a moment ago. He put his arm around her.

“Well now,” he murmured to her, “Looks like there are a few stories you haven’t told me yet.”

“The best soldier is the one defending his home.” – Lord Marshal Geovan Starsis, 278 A.R.

J
aerd blew warm air into his fist, trying to drive the cold from his fingers. A long train of cumbersome wagons crawled through the snow, stacked with every imaginable household or shopkeeper’s item. Children and elders huddled in the wagons along with the flotsam. Despite the differences in their faces, they all wore the same look of fear. A few men with mismatched armor and rusty swords rode between the carts, some of which held grain and other foodstuffs.
Not nearly enough.

Dawne brought her horse up beside him, the reins disappearing into the folds of her cloak. A few fat snowflakes rested on her shoulders, and more drifted from the leaden sky. The brownberry dye had begun to fade from her tresses, and a few strands of burnished gold hung from her cowl.

“Did you eat well this morning?” Jaerd examined her pale complexion. “You must eat enough when on the move in this weather.”

She scrunched her face and stuck out her tongue. “I had oatmeal and dried berries. It was hot enough.”

Jaerd looked beyond her to the town of Kirath sitting on its hill.
A day and a night and we’ve only covered a few miles. We’ll never beat the horde at this pace.

“We have to dump some of this baggage,” he whispered half to himself.

Dawne shook her head sadly. “Most of these people feel like baggage.”

“We are doing our best,” Jaerd growled at her. “These folk deserve respect for having the courage to move.” He swung his finger toward the mayor’s keep in the distance, and its four beehive granaries. “Plenty were stubborn enough fools to stay.”

Pulling her cloak higher on her shoulders, Dawne rubbed her reddened nose. “You’re right. This cold has me in a grumpy mood.”

Jaerd patted her back. “Me too, sis.”

They watched the slow moving train for another hour before the thunder of hooves tore from the tree line. Captain Mandibor charged up on his destrier, concern on his face. Earl Boris, Magus Britt, and Lord Gael followed close behind, their own steeds churning up the snow. Brawny followed on their heels, his tongue lolling out and his breath blasting steam. Pushing his horse forward, Jaerd rode out to meet them.

“This is as far as you’ve gotten?” Mandibor shouted, his face red from the cold.

Jaerd looked back over his shoulder at the last few stragglers carrying their lives on their backs. A young dwarf pushed a wheelbarrow with several children in it, both dwarf and human. “At least the end of the line has passed down from the hills. It should move faster from here.” He squinted at the Kirathi captain. “You are the one who allowed them to bring so many of their belongings. It’s all this junk that slows us down.”

Boris pushed his black charger to the front. “We must increase the speed of this train. A large force of orcs moves not three leagues from here. I believe Kirath is their target, but if their scouts get wind of this train they will no doubt strike us first, exposed as we are.”

Shifting in his saddle, Jaerd rubbed Shar’leen’s hilt. “How many in their advance units? We only have about five hundred militia.” He looked at the rearguard of farmers and shopkeepers gripping their weapons. “And they are not seasoned, to say the least.”

Captain Mandibor pointed at about a hundred mounted men who looked far more dangerous. “I have my Range Riders, and every other member of our militia has trained weekly since I took control of the city watch.”

Gael ignored the comments and spoke in a matter of fact tone. “They rove the countryside in companies and battalions. The largest I saw counted about five hundred, though most were smaller.” He kept his eye on the eastern horizon. “That’s usually how orcs move, spread out, each unit on its own, feeding off the land. That way they don’t need as many centralized supplies.” He shifted his dancing horse as if he wished to head back out into the wilderness. “I have no doubt that these orcs are in better communication than most.”

Jaerd thought of the deep cellars under Highspur. “And better supplied.”

The elf lord shook his head. “It seems they brought little of Highspur’s stores. I found no sign of pack trains or wagons of any sort. Just warriors with what they can carry.”

Earl Boris scratched his mustache. “That’s why they aim for Kirath. The winter stores there could feed that horde all the way to Gavanor.” He spat. “Damn that mayor for his foolishness. We could have had most of that grain loaded out and the rest burned to ash before the orcs arrived.”

A rumble of hooves sounded, and Jaerd looked to see Khalem Shadar riding back along the wagon train. The Hadonese quartermaster had taken it upon himself to manage the supplies for the fleeing civilians. Even his almond complexion carried a hint of pink from the cold.

“My Lords,” he called. “Scouts report the people of Yames already on the move. Our lead wagons head directly for Novon.” He cleared his throat. “If we are able to maintain this speed we can be there in three days.”

Boris shook his head, and Jaerd knew why. “We could never keep hidden from orc scouts that long. They could wipe us out, then continue on to Kirath to feast on the mayor’s grain.”

Magus Britt hefted his dog-headed staff. “Then we have to slow them down, at least long enough to let the civilians escape.”

Earl Boris bobbed his head in agreement and looked to Captain Mandibor. “Gather your troops, Captain. We must draw the enemy away from those in our care.” He loosened his sword. “The key to fighting orcs is to stick together and keep organized. No headlong charges into their lines or you will get swarmed. This is key to our success.”

The captain nonchalantly saluted and reined his horse around. At his signal, several riders charged out from the elite company. The rest of the militia began to filter into the clearing, returned from scouting expeditions or called in from guarding the train. Within an hour, over five hundred mounted men of varied skill and equipment gathered around their commander. Eventually even Tilli rode her pony over to join them, her face full of concern for the train rumbling away in the distance.

“She’s been watching over the children,” Dawne whispered, “especially that pack of orphans. I should go see how she is doing.”

Jaerd watched his sister greet Tilli. The dwarf gave Dawne a broad smile.

With the battalion formed up at last, Boris and Mandibor took the lead.

They have some sense of order, but it’s no Bluecloak cavalry battalion.
Jaerd edged his horse closer to Dawne, who had refused to stay behind with the train.
I’d rather keep an eye on her myself, anyway.

They rode out for a few miles. Little moved, save a hawk that circled far overhead. The sun took its height, and the snow began to melt. Jaerd tossed his worn blue cloak over one shoulder. As he urged his horse over a low rise, two riders broke from a distant tree line and made all speed for the column.

“The enemy must be close,” Khalem Shadar whispered from the saddle of his stepper. “Those are our outriders.”

Before he had finished the sentence, a squad of orc warriors jogged out of the woods behind the scouts. Another dozen emerged a few yards down along the trees.

“Gather up and charge them!’ Captain Mandibor waved his rapier over his head. “We will run them down before they know how many we are.”

Earl Boris spun to scowl at the young militia captain. “Wait, dammit! We don’t know how many
they
are. We need to move in formation!”

The earl’s protests were too late, unheard by the mass of troops over the rumble of their advance. Dozens of the militiamen charged down the slope headlong, waving aged weapons over their heads and whooping their horses forward. The Range Riders formed a loose wedge, but the regulars gathered in small clumps, leaving wide spaces between. Before they clashed with the enemy, another hundred orc warriors stepped out from the woods. A half mile away, dozens more ran from cover, well beyond the edge of the militia line.

Jaerd held the reins tight against his steed’s desire to charge with the others. “We’ll be outflanked before we even engage them.”

Anger plain on his face, Earl Boris turned to the Battlemage. “Joz, you will have to compensate for the fool. Can you give that company something else to worry about?”

Magus Britt saluted, then turned to Jaerd and Khalem. “Come with me and cover my rear.”

Jaerd looked at Dawne. “Stay on your horse, stay behind the soldiers, and ride like the Flames eastward if their lines break.”

She waved a hand in dismissal, her face less fearful than Jaerd would have thought.
I guess she’s growing up, too. She’s seen enough of war.

Turning to follow the Battlemage, Jaerd heard the crash of the militia cavalry slamming into the cluster of enemies. He watched them drive the orcs back into the woods, cutting down a few of their number.
Maybe they’ll do it.

His hopes crashed upon the rocks of reality, however, when one of the militia men flew out from the trees to tumble across the ground and land in a broken heap. A roar followed that shook the snow from bare branches. Even Magus Britt flinched at the sound, and several dozen men came fleeing out of the woods with looks of stark terror plastered to their faces. Not far behind them followed a hundred orcs and a huge troll that snapped sapling trees back as if it were pushing aside blades of tall grass.

“Damn the fools to the Flames. Boris told him to wait!” The Battlemage looked at the distant company then back at the troll. He spat on the ground. “When all else fails, follow orders. Come on. We need to protect this flank. The militia will have to handle the troll.” The mage urged his horse to a gallop. “One blasted problem at a time.”

They rode forward, but Jaerd could not help looking back to see the troll crash into the scattered militia line. Everywhere it went, the beast wrought destruction upon the heads of the few men and horses who dared to stand against it. So many were caught up in fleeing from the creature, they rode their mounts into each other, and were cut down by the orc warriors who darted among them like deadly bees. A few militia gathered in defensive clumps, but they had no coordination. Another platoon of orcs ran from the trees.

“We’d better make this quick,” Jaerd called to the Battlemage. “Those men won’t last long against this.”

Joslyn grumbled. “Just watch my back.”

The Battlemage lifted his hand and a flash of lightning, still bright in the daylight, blasted into the squad of orcs. It threw several of them into the air in a shower of mud and snow. More than a dozen still stood, and they rushed forward in hopes of overwhelming the mage.

Another bolt lashed out, leaving a green impression on Jaerd’s vision after it was gone. Four more orcs crumpled to the ground, their bodies smoking and licked by blue sparks. Joslyn lifted both hands and an arc of fire blasted out in a semi-circle in front of them, shaking the air with a concussion. Most of the remaining orcs collapsed screaming, desperate to put out flames that burned unnaturally hot. The rest ran back toward the forest, ignoring anything save their fear of the mage’s fire. He sent a few smaller bursts to follow them, one glancing off a fleeing orc’s shoulder. The warrior ran faster, even though a flame caught on his leather jerkin. Pain filled wails emerged from the remaining orcs scattered on the ground.

“Nicely done, sir mage.” Khalem Shadar managed a courtly bow from his saddle. “I have seen few with such a relentless talent for Fire.”

Joslyn Britt grumbled and rubbed his stubby fingers. He looked back one last time at the smoking carnage he had left in the snow, and then pulled his horse around. “Let’s see what we can do about that troll now.”

Shifting his grip on Shar’leen, Jaerd turned his horse back toward the main battle. Where he had expected to see scattered militia barely holding, he saw a line of soldiers pushing the orcs back. Earl Boris, blue cloak fluttering, waved his silver sword high above the men’s heads, urging them onward.

On their flank, Captain Mandibor rode at the head of his Range Riders. With a vicious battle cry, they charged the troll. The beast stumbled, a dozen arrows and a heavy lance planted in its side. Two more of Mandibor’s men got spears into the troll and it fell, the ground shaking when it struck. Invigorated soldiers rushed in to stab the creature until long after it had stopped moving.

With the troll dead, the few dozen orcs who remained turned to flee toward the trees, their terror written in their faces and strides. Mandibor regrouped his cavalry and rushed after them, cutting down scattered warriors without mercy.

Magus Britt lifted his fingers, and a dozens of tiny fireballs rained down on the orcs who neared the tree line. They screamed in agony as the magical fire burned through their armor, leather, and skin. One fell, the skin melting off his hand like wax running from a candle. Another stumbled forward and collapsed, one of his legs burned to a stump.