Iron and Shadow, page 4
part #3 of The Iron Kingdom Series
As the guards reformed around him, Zashuor was impressed. His days in the Cerulean Guard might have been long behind him but he knew the precision of discipline when he saw it. They responded instantly to the commands of their leader without hesitation and before he knew it, the ambassador was ringed with guards. Jandara drew her saber slowly, still sitting in the saddle calmly. They had turned their horses to face the direction the orcs were coming from but Zashuor had noted that several of his guards were facing behind them as well. They were taking no chances.
Arrows and bolts were loosed, some missing, striking trees or skittering off into the brush. Most however, found their targets and the howls of orcs sounded among the trees. The riders reloaded; their trained steeds did little more than snort a bit. These were horses born and bred for battle and they were as ready as their riders. The orcs came on, ignoring their casualties and hurling spears and axes, most of which went wide but one guard was struck in the shoulder with a crude axe. She fell from the saddle but never uttered a sound, grimly dropping her bow as she regained her feet. She gritted her teeth and bound the wound; the axe had bounced off of her leather armor but gashed her deeply. Then the guard drew her sword calmly.
Zashuor looked back up the road where Taris and a handful of guards were likewise exchanging missile fire with the orcs there. The green-skins weren’t faring well as the range meant their thrown weapons were falling short while the guard’s accurate marksmanship with superior weapons showed. Orc bodies began to litter the road as they came out of the trees. Some of their number decided to stay in the trees and move to flank but their movements were now impeded by the same thick growth that had offered them cover.
“Here they come!” Jandara barked, her voice high and clear. More orcs had fallen with arrows sprouting from them but now they rushed out of the forest into the road and Zashour’s guardians all drew steel. As the monsters closed, the riders urged their horses forward and all was mayhem as battle ensued. Brawny orcs hacked and slashed up at horses and riders with their crude axes, swords and war-clubs while the southern warriors sliced and pierced their foes with curved blades and long spears. Meanwhile, their trained horses kicked and stomped the bandy-legged orcs that got within striking distance. The orcs outnumbered them, but it was clear from the onset that they had been outmaneuvered. Their ambush had been foiled and they were forced to attack piece-meal rather than all at once and Jandara’s guards were punishing them for it. Though there were casualties among the humans, the orcs began to fall in greater numbers.
Up the road, Taris and his guards were making short work of the few orcs that reached them. The dim-witted creatures had emerged too far up the road and as they rushed toward the riders, Taris and the others had charged. The irresistible force of the horses had bowled the orcs over as the riders cut their enemies down. Taris had ridden through the disorganized orcs and then wheeled with his riders to return to slay those few still standing.
“Get down!” Jandara shouted and pulled the diplomat half out of the saddle as a spear flew past him where his head had just been. “Keep low in the saddle!” She commanded her charge imperiously moving her horse in front of his.
He nodded and weakly said his thanks but she took no note other than to make sure that he was alright. Far from feeling angry, Zashuor was grateful she’d been there and inwardly cursed himself for an old fool. His eyesight and reflexes were slipping and he could easily have been a casualty this day.
The orc who’d thrown the spear was at the head of a handful who were rushing the knot of riders at the center. The bestial creature drew a stone headed axe as it came on and as it closed, Jandara pulled on her reins. Her trained mount knew the command and reared, kicking forward with its front hooves, striking the orc in the chest. As the creature flew backward, the others still came on. Jandara and the others rode among them, their blades flashing as they slew. A couple of the humans took wounds in return but they made a mess of the remaining orcs.
A few of the green-skins had gotten through however, and one swung a crude sword up at Zashuor, whose guards were all engaged with other foes around him. The old campaigner had thrown himself sideways and the blow missed him. Quickly, the ambassador drew his scimitar from his sheath and swung down but the orc blocked. The green-skin then hacked at the human’s leg. Desperately Zashuor blocked the cut but the orc was the stronger and though robbed of much of its force, the crude blade bit into the diplomat’s calf. Hissing with pain, the human wheeled his horse to interpose the mount between him and his adversary, lashing back and down with his scimitar. The orc’s parry was a clumsy thing this time and Zashuor scored a deep slash across the monster’s forearm. Growling, the beast made to charge forward but was stopped abruptly as Jandara’s horse galloped back toward them like thunder. She’d realized that her charge was being attacked and her face was wrathful as a titan’s. The orc lurched backward to avoid being run down.
Once her horse was between the ambassador and the orc, Jandara leapt from the saddle, drawing her other saber. Her hands were a blur as she engaged the orc. The clumsy creature tried to counter but could not do so against the web of steel that the woman wove. Clearly outmatched, the green-skin gave ground as Jandara’s blades darted in. Within a few moments, the orc bled from a half dozen minor wounds. Desperately, the monster tried to go back on the offensive but the guardian neatly sliced off his weapon hand at the wrist, her sabre effortlessly shearing through flesh and bone. Her follow up strike half severed the orc’s head and he fell dead to the ground, his black blood pooling on the dirt road.
Instantly, Jandara whirled to return to the ambassador’s side. Seeing no more orcs nearby, she stepped close, sheathing one of her sabers and grabbing his horse by the bridle. “Out of the saddle!” She said imperiously. The ambassador did as she bade, gasping with the pain of his injury. “The ambassador’s been wounded!” Jandara snapped then, her voice ringing with command. “Fall back here and form up!”
Most of the orcs had been slain and as the guards followed their leader’s commands, it was clear that the fight had gone out of the creatures. A few of them still hefted weapons but after the other guards took up their bows and crossbows again, some well-placed shots convinced the orcs to give it up. The remaining orcs melted back into the trees and were soon lost from view.
Taris rode back to the others, his face angry. Several guards and horses were injured and a few were dead. “Should we give chase?” He asked, his expression showing that he would clearly love to do just that.
“No.” Jandara answered calmly. “Let them go.” She gestured for the ambassador to sit and waved the other guards to back up. One of them stepped forward with a field kit and she nodded for him to set it down. “See to our other wounded.” Jandara commanded as she looked at the diplomat’s injury. The cut had went through his riding boot. She waved the other guard away and saw to his treatment herself. First, Jandara removed the boot carefully, though the ambassador hissed in pain. Then, she cleansed the wound with water and after examining it, nodded. “It’s a ragged cut but it isn’t very deep.” She commented as she produced a small flask of medicinal alcohol. “This is going to hurt.” Jandara added flatly.
“Oh good.” Zashuor said sarcastically, hissing as she poured the burning liquid onto his wound. She then handed him another flask and gestured for him to drink. The emissary did so gratefully and sighed as he tasted wine.
“It’s laced with something to help with the pain.” Jandara said, her voice now gentle. She took the flask before he could drink more. “You still need to be able to ride, ambassador.” Setting the flask aside “I’m sorry but you’re still going to feel this.” Jandara had produced a needle and fine thread.
Nearby the sounds of groaning, dying orcs could be heard. “I want them all dead.” Jandara said, her voice as hard as stone. “Make sure of it, Taris.” As Taris and a few others moved to make it so, she turned to the job of sewing his wound closed.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Zashuor realized that the pain was somewhat dulled from the concoction he’d drank. He laughed unsteadily. “I haven’t been wounded in combat in years!” He said in jest. “I must be getting old!” Seeing that Jandara wasn’t laughing or even meeting his eyes, the ambassador said seriously, “Thank you.”
Now she did look up and her jaw was set. “Why would you thank me?” She asked in a dry voice.
“Why, for saving my life!” Zashuor exclaimed. “As much as it pains me to admit it, that orc would likely have killed me!”
Jandara shook her head and returned to her task. “Do not thank me, ambassador.” She intoned, anger tinging her voice. “I failed you.”
Snorting rudely, Zashuor replied. “You most certainly did not!”
As she finished up, Jandara looked at the wound. “I failed you when that creature got close enough to attack.” She then looked at her charge. “I believe it will heal, though the scar will be a ragged thing. I do not have the time or skill to make the stitching cleaner.”
“Jandara, you saved my life and I am grateful.” He could see that her eyes were troubled. “There were so many orcs that no one could stop them all from getting through.”
“I have been charged by King Jeurol himself with your safety!” She snapped disdainfully. He realized that the disdain was for herself. “I will present myself to the king for judgment upon our return.”
“Oh, enough of this!” Zashuor said and now his voice was commanding. “I will present you before the king and he shall reward you for saving my life.” It was clear that with the danger past, the balance of power was shifted again. Zashuor was in command unless there was an imminent threat and he was clearly not going to debate this further.
Jandara inclined her head in a brief bow. “As you say.” She rose then and helped the silver haired diplomat up and a few of the guards helped him back into the saddle. He winced in pain but said nothing more. Taris had ridden back up and caught her eye, nodding to show that the orcs were all dead. Mounting back up, Jandara asked, “Our casualties?”
“Three dead, five wounded, though none badly.” Taris answered. His handsome bronze face was still stained with anger but he was calmer now, his training reasserting itself.
“Can they ride?” Jandara instantly asked.
Nodding, Taris asked, “What of our dead and the injured horses?”
Without hesitation, the guardian said. “We cannot linger here.” It was clear that she wasn’t happy about what she had to say next but she forged relentlessly ahead. “Bury them quickly and we must be away. Kill the horses that cannot walk.”
Taris wasn’t surprised at her orders. Though they were loath to bury their dead in this foreign country, they couldn’t take their bodies south, neither could they take the time to build proper pyres or cairns. A shallow grave with stones piled atop would have to do.
“Could we not at least burn them?” The ambassador asked. Their beliefs were that those consumed by fire would quickly go to their gods, while those buried in the ground must wait. They were old beliefs and while the urbane diplomat doubted that the spirits of the fallen lingered or cared, it still bothered him not to observe the formalities.
Jandara was having none of it. Shaking her head, she pointed at the trees around them. “The orcs could return in greater numbers.”
Zashuor shrugged slowly. “I doubt it.” He looked at the corpses of the orcs. They looked ill-fed and equipped. Most of them lacked shields and armor. “They look like they’re the remnants who fled from the Iron Host. I doubt after such a defeat they’ll return.” He looked back at Jandara. “They were probably desperate and hungry to try and ambush such a large group. I imagine they’re trying to get to the mountains.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Jandara said, her voice flat. She looked eloquently at the ambassador’s injured leg before saying more. “I am taking no chances.” There was that in her tone that brooked no argument and the ambassador left it alone.
Gazing at the scattered orc dead, Zashuor wondered how many scenes there were like this in the lands of the Iron Kingdom. He and his entourage were nearing the mountains and the southern border. Jandara had chosen a route that had led them east and then south to avoid the orcs as they drove north in their single minded determination to conquer. The diplomat knew well the truths of war and how many men of the north land must have paid with their lives to stop the orc advance. He hated himself even as he wondered if the newfound alliance with the Iron Kingdom that he’d forged was worth anything, considering their fragile state even in victory. He sighed and tried to put it from his mind.
The emissary watched as the crows began to descend on the bodies of the dead orc down the road. He was glad that at least his guards would be buried and protected from such scavengers. Still, the sight of the ravens as they began to peck at the dead was like an omen and Zashuor felt a shiver run up his spine despite the heat of the day.
* * *
Bright sunshine flooded through the high window, an unwanted intruder that would not be denied. Lifting her head from her pillow, Alanna looked blearily around her bedchamber. She remembered crying herself to sleep again the night before even though she had thought she had cried all the tears that she had left. Thinking of Valun again brought fresh tears to her eyes that she dashed angrily away. She had determined that she would not lie here and weep another day.
Rising from her bed, the princess walked across the room, the dappled sun playing on the flagstones. Though she normally loved the sunshine, it hurt her eyes today as she’d sat up late crying and thinking of all that had happened. Making her way unsteadily to the water basin where it sat atop a stand, she hesitated there, looking in the mirror above it. Alanna mused that she looked little like the beautiful princess that minstrels sang of with her puffy, tear-stained eyes, tousled hair and pale drawn countenance. It dawned on the young woman that for perhaps the first time in her life, she did not care how she looked.
After washing her face and hair, the princess wrapped her hair in a towel and walked out into the outer chamber. Fresh fruit and cheese were laid out on a platter and she stared at them as if they were offal. She could hear her sisters chiding voice in her mind, telling her that she must eat. With a most unladylike snort, Alanna ignored the food and walked toward the broad window. Looking through the panes of glass, she stared for a time out at the distant mountains. It was a bright, clear day and it seemed like she could see forever.
Thinking of her sister now, anger gripped Alanna. She could well understand why Naolin had left with her lover but the fact was the princess felt abandoned. It wasn’t that she felt no empathy or lacked the ability to see why her sibling had felt the need to leave, it was simply that with all that had transpired, Alanna found it a wholly selfish choice. Naolin had always looked after her family, doing her best to fill in for the mother they had lost. At times, it had been difficult for Alanna and Valun but they had always known that she had their best interest at heart. For her to simply leave without saying a word was deeply hurtful to the princess. Added to the loss of her brother and the horrors of the war with the orcs, it was all too much.
Looking at the floor, she remembered when Aiden and Garyth had come to tell her of Valun’s death. Alanna hadn’t wanted to listen, had screamed that they were lying, even as she knew they were telling the truth. The whole thing had seemed wholly unreal to the princess and when she had finally looked at her brothers, really looked at their faces, seen the grief stamped plainly on their features, she had known that they spoke the truth.
Her brothers…the thought was still a strange one. Valun and Aiden had always been her brothers and Garyth…the man she’d always thought a cousin…It was surreal when she stopped to think about it. She knew that she loved him as a kinsman but her brother? It still seemed strange. Yet, in the harsh daylight, Alanna knew that it was a petty concern just as she knew that to think she was the only one dealing with grief was also nonsense. Out there, beyond her window was a city mourning its dead and beyond its walls a whole country did the same. Ravaged by war and anguish, the people of the kingdom were wounded and hurting.
Raising her head, Alanna’s jaw set firmly. She had hidden in her chambers and wept long and hard. The princess knew that because of her station, she had been allowed to do so far longer than anyone else would have been able to. Out there were mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, sons and daughters, grieving and in pain, yet they had their duty and life would not allow the devastated survivors any respite. Even her own family would have been already about their duties, forcing their anguish down to get through the day. If Naolin had been here, she would have come to rouse her sister from her grief-stricken stupor but she was gone. Aiden had stopped by but had left when she said she didn’t want to talk to anyone. She hadn’t seen Garyth since the day he’d told her of Valun’s fate and her father was like a stranger to her.
Alanna shuddered as she remembered going to the king’s chambers. She had wanted to speak with him about Valun. She was hurt and angry and hadn’t really been sure of what she would say. The guards had admitted her and she still remembered her shock when she’d seen her father. The weary old man was gone and in his place was a towering figure much like the one she remembered when she was a little girl. Yet there was a difference now; her father still looked similar to how he had in recent years, the lines on his face were there, the white that dominated his hair and yet…he was starkly changed. The king stood tall and strong, his frame wider than she remembered, his injured arm seemed as whole as his other. It was as though the strength of his youth had returned to flood his frame. Then there was his skin, tinged with a strange blue pallor that looked wholly unnatural. The princess hadn’t been able to make sense of it in her head until later and then it struck her. The king looked like someone who’d suffered severe frostbite, though he was hale and hearty as a young bull.
