Fury of the Crown, page 37
He turned in the saddle, keeping his eyes westward letting his riders continue the advance.
Tog, noting his position, broke off from his Trolls, coming to stand beside him. It created quite a scene, for he was so tall that, even on foot, his head was above that of the marshal.
"Saxnor's balls," cursed Gerald, "I wish my eyes were better, I can't see a thing. Something has caught the morning sun over there, do you see it?"
Tog turned his attention to the west. "There are Norland troops behind us," he warned.
"So it would seem."
They watched in silence as the rest of their small army continued their advance towards the gate.
Soon the enemy came closer, allowing Gerald to finally make out some details.
"It must be Hollis," said Gerald, "and it looks like he's got cavalry. Can you make out their numbers?"
Tog stared for a moment, then looked at his marshal. "I estimate one hundred fifty horsemen and double that in foot."
"And the archers?"
"A similar number, and they look like they have crossbows."
"That doesn't bode well," said Gerald, "they're more than capable of penetrating your hide, my friend."
"Then we must take action to close with them quickly."
"My thoughts exactly. Halt your troops, Tog, and I'll have Urgon lend us some hunters."
"And the assault?"
"We have no choice," said Gerald, "we can't call it off now. Our best hope is to take the gate. Make your stand here, I'll form the rest up on your flanks."
"Agreed," said Tog, his voice booming in the early morning air.
Hayley let fly, the arrow sailing across the room to dig deep into her targets chest. The Norlander clutched the shaft, sinking back against the wall to then fall to the floor, unmoving.
Rangers rushed past, striking down all opposition. The room was the full length of the gatehouse, with winches at either end to raise and lower portcullises. In addition there were two massive gears, designed to operate the great doors themselves. Rangers started examining the mechanism, trying to determine how it worked, but most of them were country folk, not used to such things.
"It's similar to the gatehouse in Bodden," said Sam, "only bigger."
"How do we open the gate?" asked Hayley.
"This winch raises and lowers the portcullis while that over there"—she pointed—"controls the gate, but they'll have to go down and remove the drop bar first."
Hayley dispatched two rangers to see to it, then turned her attention to the two extra doors. Each led to a side tower that watched over the entrance, a dangerous place to allow the enemy to mass if the attacking Orcs were to be successful.
"Get that winch working, Sam," she ordered, "and you two come with me."
"Where are you going?"
"We need to secure one of the towers. She slung her bow, drawing her sword. "This will be close in work, until we get to the top."
The sounds of fighting drifted up to her ears.
"They're below us," warned Sam.
Hayley swore. "Block off those two doors, we'll have to secure the entrance first and take the towers afterwards.
Gorath looked over the assembled Orcs. "You have many hunters, Ghodrug. Are they ready to fight?"
"They are," replied the chieftain. "Is it time?"
The Orc ranger peered back back outside. "Soon. The alarm has been raised and the enemy rushes to the gates. We wait only to come upon them from the rear."
Ghodrug turned to her people. "The time is nigh," she said. "The Ancestors have seen fit to place us here this day, let us be worthy of such attention."
She nodded to Gorath. The Orc ranger grasped the door, readying himself to take action. Outside a troop of men rushed past, intent on the fracas as the gate.
"Now!" he yelled, pulling back on the great oak door.
The Orcs of the Raven surged forward, their axes ready to bring death to their enemies. Out the door they went, spreading out in all directions, screaming out defiance in their native tongue and terrifying all those that witnessed their descent on the city.
Gorath watched them rush by, keeping his rangers in reserve. The Orcs of the Black Raven would spread throughout the city, but his job this day was to keep his head and ensure success at the gate.
More and more Orcs disappeared out the door. He waited until the flow slackened, then led his rangers into the streets of Ravensguard, their bows at the ready.
Lord Hollis smiled as he surveyed the scene before him. "We have them at last."
"Just as you predicted," said Jendrick. "And we easily outnumber them, even without the aid of Lord Thurlowe's men. Your orders, my lord?"
"Begin the advance," the earl ordered. "Cavalry to the front so they can carry out a charge before those heathen's organize any type of defence."
"It is too late, my lord, they already turn to face us."
Hollis stood in his stirrups, trying to get a better view. "It is a feeble defence, a smattering Orcs and those Trolls. Our cavalry will soon make quick work of them."
Arrows began to fly from the Mercerian line.
"They have archers, my lord."
"Move up the crossbowmen," said the earl, frustration evident in his voice, "let them trade arrows for bolts."
He watched as his own archers ran forward. They halted in line, then started cranking their bulky weapons.
"We'll soon put them in their place," said the earl. He pulled his horse to the side letting his footmen march past. Three hundred of them marched, more than enough to deal with the pitiful Mercerians. "Where's your mighty general now?" he asked.
"My lord?"
"Not you," said Hendrick, "I am merely thinking of our enemy."
"He shall not stand long, lord, our cavalry will cut him to pieces."
"Yes, and then our footmen will push past and force the rest of them into the walls of Ravensguard. Thurlowe will have a field day!"
The crossbowmen discharged their first volley. It fell short, but it wouldn't take long for them to find their range.
"Move them closer," ordered Hollis, "I want this done quickly."
An aide rode off, yelling orders as he went.
Hollis rode forward to get a better view.
The enemy was in a fearful state, there was no denying it. The entire Mercerian force numbered little more than five hundred Orcs, with a smattering of Trolls and a handful of Human riders thrown into the mix. Now they were split, half attacking the city while the remainder tried to form a desperately thin line to hold off the efforts of Hollis.
The earl smiled. "This day will go down in history as my greatest victory," he said, "you mark my words."
Hendrick bowed dutifully. "As you wish, my lord."
Thirty-Four
Battle
Summer 965 MC
* * *
Gerald turned to Kraloch. The shaman had remained with the rear guard even as Chief Urgon pressed the attack against the gate and now the shaman stood waiting, an archer at his side.
"Now?" asked the Orc.
"Yes," replied Gerald.
Kraloch turned to the archer, but words were not needed. The hunter pulled back on the string, sending an arrow skyward, a thin red ribbon trailing it.
Gerald looked north, to where the captured tower stood sentinel over the battle. Moments later a similar arrow flew forth, this time with a blue ribbon.
"It is done," said Kraloch.
"Yes," agreed Gerald, "but the real question is whether or not it'll work."
"You must have faith."
"I trust my life with these people," he replied, "quite literally in this case, but one still can't help but worry."
A crossbow bolt sailed past.
"They have the range," he noted absently.
"The horsemen are still approaching. We are in danger of being on the receiving end of a charge."
"Hold off on the volleys, we'll deliver a crippling blow once they've committed to engaging us."
Commander Lanaka saw the arrow off in the distance.
"It is time," he said, in his native Kurathian. He turned to Captain Caluman. "Ready the men, we ride to glory."
The captain raised a horn to his lips, blowing three clear notes that echoed off the mountainside. It was repeated down the line and then the Kurathian horse, the finest horsemen in all the known lands, began their advance.
They began at a trot, conserving their strength for the final push. All along the line the harnesses jingled, swords slapping against their saddles as the pride of Kurathia rode south.
Off in the distance Lanaka saw the Norlanders, advancing on the Orcs. He gave the command and the horns sounded again, calling their enemy to warn them that death was approaching.
Out came his sword, and he held it high, glittering in the sun. It was a clear day, the early morning mist having finally fled. Green fields awaited them, stretched between the two arms of the mountain that housed Ravensguard.
The enemy line was perpendicular to their approach for it was focused on the army before them, not the horsemen approaching from the flank. As Lanaka led his troops closer, he saw the enemy cavalry begin a slow turn to face the new threat. The Norland horsemen were heavier troops, armoured in chainmail, but it made their mounts slow, something that he aimed to take advantage of.
Closer they drew, until he could make out individual faces hidden beneath their nasal guards. He gave one final scream of challenge, then they struck the enemy horsemen.
Lanaka slashed out with his sword, carving a thick red cut across someones arm. Had the Norland horsemen had sufficient warning, they could have closed up their ranks, but with the suddenness of the onslaught they were ill prepared for the tactics of their enemy. The Kurathians rode into their numbers, passing by riders with little more than a passing swing of their swords. Once in amongst them, they spread out, doing frightful damage as their more heavily encumbered opponents struggled to tell friend from foe.
Commander Lanaka struck out, sinking the point of his sword into someones armpit. He withdrew it quickly, slashing to his left and deflecting a blow. His horse took him forward and he felt the press of horseflesh as a rider bumped into him. He struck again, this time with the hilt of his sword, causing it to crash down onto someones helmet.
All about him were the sounds of grunts and groans as warriors struggled to deal out death and destruction.
A blade sliced across his stomach, damaging his armour and he slipped his foot from the stirrup, kicking out in a mad gamble. His boot struck someone's shin, scraping across their armour and then his spur caught on his foes stirrup.
The Norlanders horse stumbled, dragging Lanaka from the saddle. He heard bones snap and then he was dragged along the ground as the creature tore across the field.
Gerald saw the horsemen collide. The melee, from this range, quickly devolved into a swirling mass of riders, making it difficult to tell friend from foe.
He turned to his few horsemen. "Go," he commanded.
One word was all it took. His precious Kurathians burst into a gallop, riding north to assist their countrymen.
To his front, Gerald could see the Norland footmen, forming a solid wall, several hundred strong. Hollis himself was there, beneath his standard, sitting on his horse like a peacock, his plumed helmet and colourful garb easy to distinguish amongst the more muted tones of his troops.
He looked at his own lines, a small group of Trolls backed up by a smattering of Orc archers, and smiled. The warbows of these gallant warriors would play havoc with the enemy, and the Trolls would prove all but impervious to the swords of their enemies. His thoughts were interrupted by another crossbow bolt and he swore, for they were the one thing that could throw their plans into disarray.
His eyes sought Kraloch. The Orc shaman was concentrating on the enemy footmen, watching as they started banging their shields.
"Master Kraloch," called Gerald, "I think it's time you called Aubrey."
The shaman nodded, closing his eyes and ignoring all that was around him. Words of power drifted from his lips, lending an eerie feel to the battle. The Orc archers, knowing full well what he was doing, began stamping the ground with their feet to show their support.
Kraloch put aside all thoughts of battle, concentrating on the power that began to flow through him. On and on he droned, spilling forth the words that would release the power within him. He finished the incantation, then felt the surge of power rush through him. He opened his eyes, to see the ghostly image of Aubrey Brandon floating before him.
"Lady Aubrey," he said, "we are under attack."
"Is it Lord Hollis?" she asked.
"It is," he confirmed.
Her image looked towards the side, speaking to someone out of his field of view. Moments later she turned to face him once more. "Hold on, we'll be there as quick as we can."
Kraloch dismissed his spell, then turned to Gerald. The marshal was standing in his stirrups and peering at the enemy line, heedless of the crossbow bolts.
"It is done," called out the Orc.
"And not a moment too soon."
Kraloch switched to his native tongue. "Draw bows!" he commanded. The Orc hunters pulled back on the massive warbows, ready to unleash a deadly volley.
"Hold," said Kraloch, counting the enemy steps. "Hold," he repeated. The enemy stepped closer and then the Orc saw what he was looking for, a small stone littering the ground. It was much like the myriad of other small rocks that spread across the field but this one had been painted white, dropped in their advance to mark the range. "Loose!" he commanded.
As one the arrows flew, creating a small dark cloud that rose into the air. The Norlanders, content that the range was too great, took little notice of the effect, but it was to their own detriment. The mighty warbows of the Orcs were far more powerful than those of their Human foes and easily sailed across the field to come crashing down onto the Humans heads. The footmen cried out in alarm and then the mighty warbows let loose with another volley.
The crossbowmen, who were south of the Norland line, moved up, intent on taking revenge. Their weapons sang out, sending death and destruction into the lightly armoured Orcs.
Hayley cursed. Foot soldiers had swarmed the gatehouse and now the rangers were struggling to close the access door. Ayles gave a grunt, then fell, a crossbow bolt taking him in the chest. Two more rangers tried to force the door closed and even Hayley had her shoulder to it, pushing with all her might.
Someones arm stabbed out, a sword taking a blind thrust through the gap. She slashed out with her sword, taking the hand off at the wrist. The arm pulled back and the door slammed shut, allowing the drop bar to be pushed into place.
Hayley took a moment to catch her breath, then saw to Ayles. The bolt protruded from his chest on the left side and he was wheezing badly. He tried to speak, but it was clear that his lung had been punctured.
"Do what you can for him," she said. "We have to take those towers."
Urgon approached the gate. The walls were towering over him now, and bolts began to descend on his Orcs from the Norland crossbowmen. He cursed his luck, for he had sent his archers to help Gerald. Now he was stuck at the gatehouse, unable to enter, yet sitting prey for the archers above.
"Axes!" he yelled, desperate to gain entry.
A dozen Orcs ran forth, brandishing large, two-handed axes. They took up a position to the front of the door and began hacking away with all the strength they could muster.
Above them he could see the murder holes, diabolical channels through which boiling pitch or water could be poured. Movement drew his attention, and then someone waved. Moments later a rope began to descend.
Urgon didn't hesitate. He scabbarded his sword and rushed forward, seizing the rope and hauling himself upward, hand over hand. He reached the top to see a hand held out, ready to grasp his own. He took it, then felt other arms grasp his and pull. Through the hole he went, thankful that it was large enough for him to fit through.
He sat, panting with the effort, and looked at the young woman that had offered him aid.
"Thank you," he said.
"You're welcome," said the woman, "I'm Samantha, from Bodden, but you can call me Sam."
"Greetings Sam," said Urgon. "Was it your idea to use the rope?"
"It was," she confessed, "though I wasn't sure anyone could fit through that murder hole."
Where is the High Ranger?"
"Down below," she replied. "Fighting to keep the enemy at bay."
He pointed at another ranger. "You there, get more rope down those holes." He returned his gaze to Sam. "How do the doors open?"
"This mechanism here," she said, "but we lack the strength to open it."
Urgon laughed, "then it is good that you have found a way for the Orcs to help. Show me how this thing works and we'll see what can be done."
Gorath pushed his way through the mass of Orcs. The Black Ravens had force their way into the streets and were now pushing the defenders back towards the main gate. Townsfolk were screaming in fear, but the great green hunters ignored them, for it was the warriors they sought this day.
He heard a clamour and then a group of horsemen burst into the street, their swords dripping with black blood. Instinctively he nocked an arrow, pulling the fletchings back to his ear and then loosing. It struck the lead rider in the face, puncturing one cheek and protruding from the other, giving the man a macabre scarlet grin. He gave a yell, now unintelligible, and turned in the saddle, but the Orc had not been idle. The second arrow took him in the chest, punching clean through the armour to emerge from the middle of his back. He toppled from the saddle and Gorath turned, sprinting across the road.
