Ragnald Hadrien, Crown Prince of the Throne of Damocles, took in the smell of the burning huts and makeshift homes of the Orcish people. In these five years that he had been campaigning against the orcs, he never tired of that smell.
Beautiful he thought, the way the embers danced through the air or how the remnants of their tents glowed in the intense heat, these things always brought him peace, not to mention the heat was a welcome relief from the bitter winter winds. For too long these beasts have resisted the rightful rule of the Crown, of his father and his father before him. Ragnald knew in his heart that he was the punishment of the gods for insolence of the tribes and he ached to end them once and for all.
Ragnald was tall by the standards of the kingdom, his armor black, red, and branded with his personal crest alongside the Royal Lion. His hair was blonde and his eyes blue, he stood apart from the men who were of a slightly darker complexion with dark hair and dark eyes.
"My lord, the enemy flees to the east." One of the scouts shook him from his reverie, "If we hurry we can intercept them before they find reinforcements or regroup."
"Of course Captain, we will pursue with haste." He hefted his massive tower shield onto his back and mounted his war horse, Braun, "After all, someone has to put these dogs down." He smiled and the Captain nodded, saluted, and went off to gather the men.
------
As the day wore on, the temperature felt as if it was growing colder and a light snow began to fall on their heads. Prince Ragnald shivered once into his fur cloak and pressed on enjoying the warmth when the sun did break through the treeline and cloud cover.
He was greatly anticipating the return of his scouts, hopefully the gods might be on his side as he had been pursuing this particular tribe for weeks and now, finally, the vice was closing on his quarry.
Ragnald led a sizable force through the plains and forests of Damocles, roughly 500 men and a quarter that number in cavalry. It was more than enough to crush one of the roving warbands of Orcs that have plagued the kingdom since its founding.
When he heard the sound of irregular hoof-beats he looked up in anticipation, expecting to see his advance scouts galloping toward him, instead he watched in horror as a line of Orc Horsemen charged into the flank of his soldiers and volleys of arrows erupted from the treeline surrounding them.
Prince Ragnald wasted no time, "Infantry! Fall back, regroup, and charge!" He bellowed at the confused men-at-arms around him, "Cavalry! To me!" He was alive with adrenaline as his horsemen formed a wedge with him at its head, "CHARGE!"
By now his sword was unsheathed and held high, ready to fall on the first beastman that came within reach.
As the distance closed, the flow of time seemed to almost come to a stop and Ragnald was able to take in the details of his enemy, they were ill-equipped with only piecemeal armor and their weapons were far from uniform; some wielded cudgels while others used axes and still other used plundered Damoclesian blades. They were covered in pelts and fearsome war-paint; their animal howls made even Ragnald uneasy.
Why would men let themselves become beasts? he wondered idly.
A tide of muscle and steel thundered toward the Orc Horsemen, who stood ready to engage the charging Knights. With the clang of metal on metal, the battle was joined.
Ragnald collided with a massive brute of an Orc, very nearly being thrown from his horse in the process, and sent him careening off his mount onto the snowy ground; the sheer force of Braun's collision seemingly killed the smaller steed outright and its rider was brutally trampled in the furious melee that raged around him. He quickly and expertly swung his sword from left to right, finding flesh with each swing. The chaos of battle was where he was at home, nothing mattered here except the next kill; with every enemy felled, the kingdom would be safer. The Prince was proud of the work he did, he was proud of the ruin he brought to the enemies of Damocles.
For what felt like an eternity he slashed madly at the Orc riders all around him: a head would be lopped off here and a throat slashed there, he plunged his sword through the breastplate of an enemy rider puncturing the heart, arterial spray splashed his face as the man ceased his struggle and slumped in the saddle. Ragnald slapped the horse in the rump with the flat of his blade, sending it running wildly through the enemy formation.
He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings; the enemy cavalry had lost its momentum and their fight steadily became one of desperation, arrows still flitted from the trees and rained down on his men, and as his infantry finally began to close in, orc warriors came screaming out of the forest with their massive trademark axes glinting in the sunlight.
Ragnald set his jaw, they were caught in a well coordinated trap. Arrows seemed to come from every direction, a few men at a time would simply gurgle and die as an arrow pierced his visor or scream in pain if it managed to puncture his armor.
This was going to turn into a rout unless he did something and quickly.
"Mages! Set fire to the deep forest edge!" He roared as loud as his lungs would allow and prayed that his runners were still alive.
A moment passed and then the forests spontaneously erupted in flame and smoke soon obscured his vision; he noted with satisfaction that the steady stream of arrows whizzing all around them had nearly stopped as the archers not only couldn't see, but were very much in danger of being burned alive.
But then, so are we. he noted grimly.
He pushed the doubt from his mind, "Press the attack! Let none survive!"
He urged the men forward, to not let up. The day can still be theirs and this thrice damned tribe of degenerates will finally be rotting in the sun. Ragnald turned and charged into the smoke and that's when he saw him.
The leader, the chieftan of the tribe, if he could kill the head then the body would surely follow. He spurred Braun sharply in the side, trying to eek as much speed and power out of his steed as he possibly could, eager to lay the orc leader low and end this. The damned fool wasn't even looking at him, he was just standing there as if in shock!
Ragnald thundered closer and closer, victory so close he could taste it. He raised his sword and swung at the orc chieftan's neck, intent on removing his head from his shoulders, though flesh is not what his sword found but instead the flat side of an ax, the orc had parried with incredible speed and with his free hand punched Ragnald hard in the throat.
The force of the blow threw him from the saddle and he landed on the icy ground, gasping for breath. He struggled to his feet and looked around wildly. He saw that the orcish warriors were being beaten back, they looked as if they would soon break. He shifted his gaze back to the orc chief, who was seemingly unaware of the imminent destruction of his kinsmen. The chief's gaze was locked solely on Ragnald as he spurred his horse into a charge at the dismounted prince. Ragnald threw his tower shield to the ground to increase his mobility and braced, watching his opponent carefully. He ducked low under the massive axe that threatened to remove his head and plunged his blade into the flank of the chieftan's mount, tearing out a significant amount of muscle and organ, sending the horse sprawling and the orc flying through the air.
Ragnald turned around quickly, intent on finishing the fight if it wasn't already over, and was horrified to see the chief had not only landed on his feet but was in a full-blown sprint toward him.
He brought his sword up and deflected the first blow,
and the second,
but the third was more successful. He gasped as the huge tribal axe rent the armor at his flank and cut a section of flesh from his body.
It was at this moment that the orc lines had completely dissolved, they were in full retreat and they ran howling past the two dueling leaders. All the commotion shook the chieftan from his state of concentration and he looked away from Ragnald briefly, the prince was quick to capitalize on his enemy's distraction. He slashed at the chieftan's tendons in the heel, and with a snap the orc fell screaming to the ground. Not willing to underestimate him again, Ragnald unceremoniously plunged the blade into his chest. He gurgled, his eyes went wide with fury, and then he expired.
Ragnald sat back, still gasping for breath and found it harder and harder as the air became thicker with smoke. He struggled back to his feet and whistled for Braun; the horse found his way back to his master and he mounted up signalling to his runners to sound the retreat. To pursue the remnants of the tribe into land only they know would be disastrous, not to mention the growing forest fire.
They regrouped and retreated from the flames; finally Ragnald was able to take stock of their losses.
Well over half of his original force was dead. He cursed, though at the same time, was thankful even that many had gotten out or that they had even won at all.
"My lord...your orders?" One of his aides cautiously inquired, not wanting to further upset his liege.
Prince Ragnald sighed deeply, "We are hurt badly, but this is still a momentous victory. The majority of the orc warband is dead and their chieftan slain by my own hand, this is a loss from which they will never recover." He considered his options carefully, "Tell the men we make for Damocles. It's time to go home."
No comments:
Post a Comment