Black Metal: The Orc Wars (5 page)

It was then that Ghalik bellowed for their attention. They were so enthralled by the magical power in his voice that they could not help but to obey. The horde gathered around him at the center of the now demolished circle of wagons. The wizard’s waraxe no longer glowed, but a palpable aura of power crackled around the bloated orc. He was still very much under the sway of the Gor-Angir, but he seemed to be able to maintain his composure with some effort.

Before him he held a young wounded knight by the hair. The human was on his knees at Ghalik’s feet facing the crowd, upright only because the old wizard held him so. The Ghalik looked around him, his gaze meeting the now lighter red eyes of the assembled horde. For many long moments the orc warriors and the wizard stared at each other, none saying a word. The only sounds that could be heard were the cackling of the crows that had come to feed on the dead.

Slowly and deliberately Ghalik raised his axe, holding it aloft for all to see. Then, with surprising alacrity, brought it down upon the young knight’s neck, severing the head. Ghalik threw the head at the feet of the horde, then spit his scorn upon the body. Having done that his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground unconscious. The orcs stood in silence for a moment, then moved to plundering the dead, though all of them fell unconscious as well long before accomplishing their task. The Gor-Angir was a harsh ally, and had left them to their wounds and their exhaustion, alone.

“I fought in the Bitter Swamps campaign against the southern orc hordes. It was a living nightmare of dead trees, rotten waters, and even in daylight the whole world seemed dark with bloodflies. Our mounted division was useless in all that mud, and with no visibility our archers were of little consequence. We had to fight them toe to toe in the bogs for two days, men standing back to back, everyone covered in so much dirt and blood we could barely tell orc from man. What was the point I ask? You can’t grow crops in a swamp.” --- Sir David Tolen, former man-at-arms, knighted on the field

Ma-Gur slowly returned to awareness, the dull haze of his vision clearing. He still found it exceptionally difficult to move, the extreme physical rigors of the last several days had all taken effect. His bones creaked and his muscles ached as he rolled onto his back and sat up. He put his head in his hands and massaged his temples in an effort to sooth his now blinding headache. He stopped rubbing suddenly when he heard the sound of voices behind him. With determined effort he turned his body to face the sounds, the fact that it was after nightfall not affecting his keen orcish night vision.

Before him stood two short creatures with pale green skin and very long pointed ears. They were covered in tattoos and little bone trinkets, wickedly barbed spears held menacingly in their hands. Goblins, thought Ma-Gur. He should have known better than to fall asleep out in the open after a battle, especially in areas well known to be populated with the small warriors. At first Ma-Gur tensed for a fight as the two creatures approached him, spears leveled at him threateningly. But then the goblins pointed their spears away and moved towards him with open hands extended. Without even realizing what happening he instinctively took the hands he was offered and found himself helped to his feet.

Ma-Gur shook his head and looked about him, noticing that the clearing was full of goblins. Most of the other orcs had been helped to their feet and were being herded towards the center of the battlefield. He felt a gentle nudge on his thigh from one of the goblins and began to walk towards the apparent gathering point.

The young orc shouldered his way through the dazed mass of orcs until he reached the middle of the assembly. Before him, on a makeshift seat, was Ghalik. Next to the old wizard stood an armored goblin, and judging from the lack of metal armor in the present goblin ranks this suggested that it was the leader. They appeared to be engaging in a very animated conversation. Though Ma-Gur could not comprehend the high-pitched chirping sounds that made up the goblin tongue he did begin to get an idea of what had happened. The goblins must have come upon the battle site only shortly after the orcs had fallen. Because of something to do with Ghalik the goblins had not looted and murdered the surviving orcs, instead they had helped. Odd indeed.

As Ma-Gur looked on Ghalik and the goblin chief finished their discussion. The armored goblin stepped back and the wizard made to address the assembled orcs.

“My comrades, a strange thing has happened this day. We have been sparred in our moment of weakness by those who would have normally murdered us without a thought or care. Their leader says that they have been following this army since yesterday. They kept their distance because of the elves, and when they became aware of our pursuit fled into the forest,” Ghalik explained as he picked up his blood crusted waraxe and hung it upon it’s place on his broad back, “They tell me that groups of these knights have been raiding all across the borders and now deeper in-country, displacing the goblin clans and even the troll tribes.”

“He says that most efforts to combat them have failed because of their heavy cavalry and elvish allies, until now. The goblins want to join with us. They say that they can lead us to something they call the Meeting Stones. According to them it is the place where the other groups have made camp. I say we go to these Meeting Stones and get the others to join us as well. Then we can find a way to fight back, and drive those would-be heroes into the dirt,” Ghalik spat as he emphasized his statement by stomping his foot heavily upon the blood-soaked soil.

Ghalik looked at the orcs expectantly, and one by one the orcs nodded their heads in acquiescence. Once the warriors had agreed to follow him Ghalik turned to the armored goblin and extended his hand. The goblin leader filled Ghalik’s hand with his own as he clapped the orc’s meaty palm. At once a murmur of chirping went up among the goblins, who then began to fan out amidst the battlefield. The two groups made quick work of plundering the site, and soon the heavily armed group was ready to move out.

They went silently through the forest, the heavy orcs trying to match the almost feather-light step of the goblin clansmen. While a bargain had been struck by the leaders, tensions inevitably ran high as the group covered ground. It was obvious that not all of the goblins were supportive of their leader’s decision to join up with the orcs instead of murdering them and looting their corpses. The orcs were able to pick up on those attitudes and reacted with an almost indignant hostility. However, everything was held in check by the two leaders, who kept watchful eyes on their warriors and reproachful scowls on their faces.

The band of warriors carried on this way until well into the night, neither group willing to show weakness. Though eventually the longer stride of the orcs began to tell, and the goblins started to lag more and more behind. Seeing the situation as a potential breakup of the newly formed alliance, both Ghalik and the goblin chief agreed to call a halt for a time. Relieved, the exhausted warriors of both parties sank to the ground, too glad to be off their feet to remember to be hostile to each other.

Ma-Gur sat with his back to a tree and watched through tired eyes as Ghalik and the armored goblin talked. He wondered what the two creatures discussed, noticing that they often referred to a drawing or map of some sort they had drawn in the tough dirt. Personally he wasn’t overly concerned with what the two discussed. He found that he trusted the old wizard to do what was best, be it a decision that meant his survival or death in battle. He was a warrior without a tribe. Just a warrior, whose one purpose was to fight and die. He was comfortable with that role. He was an orc, and one of the few remaining in the world who knew what that meant. What did these goblins think, he wondered. They had likely never seen such a display as they had witnessed earlier in the day. Perhaps it wasn’t awe or the need for aid that had stayed their hands, perhaps it was fear.

The thought struck him like the blow of a hammer. That was it! They were afraid. He looked around at the goblin warriors, noticing for the first time that they were all men. Many of them were bearing well-concealed wounds, as if this force had seen battle not too many days before. A similar fate must have befallen the goblins as well as the Angir. The younglings and women slaughtered while the majority of the warriors were away. Now that he was paying attention he could almost detect the slight bitter scent of fear and defeat. It was a feeling that had been nagging at him all night. A palpable fear had crept insidiously into these lands.

Ma-Gur looked closer at the crude map that the two leaders were pouring over. He could just make out the sticks and stones that must have represented their combined forces. He could also see what appeared to be a battle line sweeping across the map in their direction. He grunted derisively as he turned his head and closed his eyes for sleep. Let them come.

The first rays of dawn filtered through the trees not long after, shining upon skin and armor until the heat and light awakened the sleeping warriors. They rose to their feet, shaking the sleep from their bodies as they prepared to move on. Soon all were roused and standing, the order was given, and the day’s journey began.

The orcs had regained much of their spent strength from their pursuit and battle with the knights. What vitality had been leeched away by the Gor-Angir seemed to be well on the way to being replenished. Though many of the orc’s eyes had a reddish tint that never faded as long as they lived, a reminder of their past and likely future.

The day carried on much like the previous one, the orcs and goblins marching quietly along, putting mile after mile behind them. They rested at the end of the day, the orcs begrudgingly grateful for the begrudgingly generous goblins and their food rations. While orcs and goblins can out march any human alive, they suffer from hunger like all creatures. Once appetites were sated the group set watches and slept. So this routine was repeated for another day, the goblins and Okada foraging and hunting as the group pressed on. At the end of the third day of travel, just as the sun was setting on the horizon, they reached the Meeting Stones.

“All this talk of orcs is well and good, drive them out I say, slay them all. Though if you asked me, I’d say send those elven rangers with their fancy bows into the foothills of my country at the head of a rich caravan. The goblin clans will show them a thing or two about spear and snare.” --- Salis Kahn, caravan master

A great many myths and legends surrounded the place of the Meeting Stones, most were lost in the haze of time and forgetfulness. Though there were some who remembered. Ca’tic’na was one who remembered. He was the goblin leader of the force that traveled with the orcs as well as the defacto authority over most other goblin clans on the north side of the Iithsulian border. While diminished in size, like all goblins, he was a formidable fighter and expert hunter. He was also one of the few loremasters left in this world, one of the few receptacles of knowledge about the old world that continued to slip into obscurity. Like Ghalik, he knew the true history of his race, and that knowledge would die with he and his warriors. So it was with the ancient races of goblin and troll, even the immortal orcs, life was short so there was little time or use for history.

While Ghalik and his people lived high in the mountains surrounded by villages and fiefdoms yet away from the continent spanning empires of men, Ca’tic’na and his people lived right on the border between empires and wild lands. He had witnessed the vast numbers of fighting forces march out of Iithsul. He knew that the religious leaders of men had called for a crusade against the remnants of the old world. A genocidal holy war designed to carve out more of the world for what they called the good people.

He told Ghalik of these things, the old wizard never ceasing to amaze Ca’tic’na with his command of the goblin tongue. He told the orc about the lightning raid on his clanhome, a savage massacre resulting in the death of all but he and the warriors, who arrived too late to make any difference. The goblin chief was about to tell Ghalik about the dwarves when one of his scouts chirped a warning, they had arrived.

The place of the Meeting Stones was impressive indeed. A circular clearing in the thick woods nearly one hundred and fifty yards in diameter. Tall, ornately carved stone pillars ringed the clearing, their tops curved inwards to give the illusion of claws coming out of the earth. Several campfires had been lit, shedding soft orange light into the coming night. Around these campfires sat an alarmingly large number of hulking, yellow skinned trolls. These creatures were taller than even the orcs, their gangly muscular arms nearly as long as their entire bodies. They were clothed in threadbare loincloths and boiled leather armor, at their sides or in their hands the majority of them carried wickedly spiked cudgels or maces. One particularly large troll, undoubtedly the leader, stood to reveal a massive greatsword strapped across his back.

Ca’tic’na chirped a greeting as he entered the circle, the trolls relaxed and went back to their eating and talking. The troll leader approached Ca’tic’na but suddenly stopped short with a threatening snarl when Ghalik and the orcs began stepping into the light. Immediately the trolls were on their feet and crowding behind their leader. The orcs reacted just as quickly, forming up to match the trolls as they bared their teeth and growled.

The goblins retreated in confusion, Ca’tic’na and his band joining the other clans forced to camp outside the circle of Meeting Stones. The goblin leader scowled guiltily, he had known this was going to happen. Yet he felt that in a goblin’s life one must follow the strongest or none at all. After doing the bidding of the displaced trolls, he was glad to have found the orcs.

Ghalik immediately sensed the deception, finally understanding that Ca’tic’na’s purpose in saving the orcs had been to use them to face up to the trolls. While he was angered with the conniving goblins, he understood their position. Perhaps Ca’tic’na’s talks of fighting back were true, but the goblin’s first priority had been to replace troll leadership with orcish authority. Ghalik smiled inwardly, Ca’tic’na was one of the few goblins that understood the almost mystical role of goblins as minions of stronger beings, at least the goblin chief knew why he was inclined to be subservient. That knowledge gave him the power to choose his masters, too bad that freedom would pass when his clan’s time was ended.

The brutal intensity of the situation brought Ghalik’s wandering mind back to his present surroundings. The two forces stood opposite each other, ready for the slightest indication from their leaders to attack. Sensing the hesitation, Ghalik stepped towards the troll leader, who moved to face him.

“I am Reygoth. I am master of this place. Who are you and why have you come here? Answer me quickly for my patience runs thin,” commanded the troll as he planted the tip of his sword in the earth before him, his hands resting lightly upon the pommel.

Ma-Gur was outraged at such a blatant display of arrogance and disrespect for the Ghalik. With rage burning in his eyes he took half a step forward, growling as he hefted his blade. Immediately his actions were mirrored by a troll standing near Reygoth, his mace ready for battle. The two squared off and were about to exchange the blows that would ignite a widespread blood bath when their respective leaders restrained them with harsh words. A mutual understanding seemed to pass between them as they once again resumed their conversation.

“It seems, troll, that you do not desire a fight any more than I do,” mused Ghalik as the glimmer of an idea began to form in his mind.

“No, orc, we do not. Our numbers have been depleted by men, and it would shame us to die in the slaughtering of your people while there are still humans in the land,” uttered Reygoth as he smiled savagely.

Again a tension seemed about to break as Ghalik took the subtle insult in stride. Only Reygoth noticed the tiny smile that briefly played across the Ghalik’s face. It almost frightened him.

“We also have been set upon by men and their elven allies. It would be foolish to throw away warriors that could be used to fight the humans. Perhaps we should settle this the old way,” the old wizard suggested.

“There is nothing to settle greenskin. Trolls rule here. You orcs should just move on,” threatened Reygoth as he pointed away from the circle and into the darkness.

Ghalik’s voice instantly grew deeper and more resonant. It was as if all audible sounds in the area ceased, leaving only the orcish wizard’s voice booming in the air. The electric feeling in the area was the telltale sign that magic was afoot.

“Trial by combat,” he uttered, the words so powerful it seemed that they would knock the troll over, “If a troll wins, we will leave. If an orc wins, we stay, and we will lead.”

Despite the magical potency of Ghalik’s words Reygoth appeared unaffected, while behind him the assembled trolls all fell under the spell’s influence, and began to nod their heads in agreement. Ghalik could see that Reygoth’s willpower had managed to throw off the manacles of the spell, so reacted by making one last effort to control the situation.

“Ca’tic’na! To me!” he thundered, his spell enhanced voice booming through the woods.

For a long moment there wasn’t a sound, then just as Reygoth was about to snort his disapproval, the goblins emerged from the wood. Not just Ca’tic’na’s clan either, but all of the other clans as well. Diminutive in size, yet their numbers were staggering. As was the fact that they held their spears at the ready, and were moving up to flank the trolls.

Reygoth quickly realized that a fight would now be a guarantee defeat for the trolls. Perhaps they could beat the orcs, but not all of the greenskins at once. The glint of bloodlust had sparkled in the orcish wizard’s eyes, almost daring the troll to order an attack. Reygoth could only see one way out, to do as Ghalik wished. Inwardly the spark of hope shone yet. Reygoth was a knowledgeable leader despite his quick temper, and he knew that possible subservience was better than assured annihilation.

“Fine, trial by combat,” he muttered, taking a step back and placing his hand of the shoulder of the troll that almost came to blows with Ma-Gur, “Let the two so eager to draw blood decide this thing.”

Ghalik nodded silently to Ma-Gur, who hefted his weapons and stepped forward. Ghalik whispered in his ear, “All great deeds are bathed in blood. Never forget.”

A circle of orcs and trolls quickly formed around the two combatants. The occasional goblin had squeezed into witness the action, one of these was Ca’tic’na. His eyes went wide as he looked into the circle. Right in front of him stood two warriors entering into ritual combat. How odd he thought, that these orcs and trolls were using the place of Meeting Stones for such things. Only Ca’tic’na remembered the stories and legends. Only he knew the tales of the sacrifices made by vast armies here. Who before battle would hold ritual combats to consecrate their war efforts with spilt blood. It was held that victory was assured when the stones shook as a sign of the god’s approval. He had no idea what that would mean, but still he stood enthralled as history unknowingly repeated itself.

Ma-Gur and the troll looked across the makeshift arena at each other. The menace and hostility was electrifying and contagious. Threatening snarls and growls filled the circle as Ghalik and Reygoth held their forces in check. The two leaders exchanged glances, then simultaneously nodded and held their right hands in the air. The silent pause was deafening, all that could be heard was breathing and the creak of armor as everyone waited for the fight to begin. Without warning the two leaders chopped the air with their hands as they lowered them, signaling the beginning of the match.

Ma-Gur and the troll roared their battle cries and charged straight towards each other. The troll ran forward madly, raising his giant mace to the sky. Ma-Gur had slung his shield onto his back and charged the troll with his cleaving sword held in both hands. It seemed like an eternity before the combatants finally collided.

The massive troll brought his club down at the same instant Ma-Gur swung his sword. The two weapons met in midair with a grating clash as sparks flew from the great impact. Their strikes mutually thwarted, their parry became a test of strength as both troll and orc locked their weapons and began to push.

Ma-Gur was the largest orc in the tribe other than old Ghalik, and had quickly become known in the tribe for his size and strength. Always being the strongest, and never having fought a troll, led Ma-Gur to make the mistake of entering a contest of strength with his opponent. For a few moments the two warriors seemed evenly matched, but as muscles creaked and the tension built the troll’s superiority began to show. Ma-Gur was slowly forced downwards by the impossibly strong troll. Soon Ma-Gur was on one knee, barely staying on his feet under the combined weight and strength of the troll warrior.

The deadlock was broken when the troll lashed out with his foot in a vicious kick to Ma-Gur’s ribs. The force of the blow picked the orc up off the ground and sent him sailing through the air until he finally skidded to a halt. Covered in dirt and grime Ma-Gur quickly forced himself to his feet. He grabbed his aching side and spit a gob of blood onto the ground, the pain of his old wound mingling with the new. He turned as he heard the troll snarl and close in for the kill.

Without his sword he was defenseless, it lay far from him and the troll was not between he and it. Remembering his shield the orc slipped in onto his forearm and braced for the assault. It came as the troll closed in on the young orc, swinging its mace as it advanced. Ma-Gur managed to duck the first swipe, then side step the second. The third however, hit him with a glancing blow to the thigh, knocking him to the ground.

The troll tried to splatter him as the lay on the ground, but he managed to roll out of the way just in time. While the troll’s guard was down Ma-Gur hurled his shield at the troll’s face, the edged metal breaking its nose. While the troll reeled from the pain Ma-Gur made a desperate run for his sword, hoping his luck held as he heard the troll’s enraged pursuit from behind him.

The young orc pumped his legs with all his might, building up speed as he dashed for the fallen sword. He could see it lying in the dirt before him, he was almost there. Just as he neared it he felt and heard the troll bearing down on him. With a desperate yell Ma-Gur dove for the blade, but at that instant his injured leg gave out underneath him. The orc hit the dirt face first, his hand plowing a gouge through the loamy earth as he still single-mindedly went for his sword.

The troll let out a cry of victory as he raised his mace to deliver the blow that must surely finish this onry opponent. Ma-Gur’s bruised fingers found the handle of his weapon and closed around it. As the troll brought the mace down towards the fallen orc Ma-Gur rolled over onto his back, bringing his sword around to parry the blow. The head of the mace buried itself in the soft ground as it missed its intended target. The troll lost his balance and stumbled forward, almost falling completely over. Before the troll could recover Ma-Gur, still on the ground, launched himself upward to deliver a bone crushing left hook punch to the unbalanced troll’s jaw.

The sound of the troll’s jaw breaking echoed through the night as he stumbled a few steps away from the young orc. This gave Ma-Gur the chance to back away and bring his sword up into a guard position. The troll had managed to regain his balance and get his mace back into both hands. For a moment the two opponents looked silently at each other, then as Ma-Gur saw the half-conscious look in the still punch-drunk troll’s eyes, he attacked.

The orc warrior advanced on the dazed troll, who managed to snap out of his stupor just in time to block the first sword slash. Quickly realizing that he was faster than the now near blind troll Ma-Gur pressed his attack, hurling strike after strike at the larger warrior. The troll was a skilled fighter, but was wounded and slow. With his heavy mace he wasn’t able to effectively parry the lighter and faster sword assaults. It was not long until the orc’s blade had hacked a large chunk out of the troll’s leg, quickly followed by a deep gash in the troll’s head from a glancing blow.