A Darkness Unleashed (Book 2) Read online

  “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 m
ake 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.

  Jaerd lifted his hand to his face as he fought back his gorge.

  “We can’t let them report back,” Joslyn said with a flat tone. “And orcs are useless as prisoners.”

  A grimace spread across Jaerd’s face while he watched the slaughter. No matter how often he saw battle, he still hated its violent gore. Mandibor’s horses trampled over burning, crawling orcs, while the militiamen moved among them on foot, killing off those who still breathed. A sour taste rose in the back of Jaerd’s throat.

  A cloaked form moving through a line of wounded militia drew Jaerd’s glazed stare from the butchery on the field.

  “Dawne!” He spurred his sorrel forward, leaving Joslyn and Khalem to follow behind.

  Jaerd leapt from the saddle once he closed on the makeshift infirmary. A long line of men lay moaning and bleeding, some still as stone. The one Talented healer among the militia, his face fixed in a tight, deadpan expression, spared his powers for only the worst cases. More mundane healers cared for the rest and provided comfort to those beyond help.

  Dawne knelt over one man who kicked his legs against the frozen earth in pain. She held a white strip of cloth against his bare chest, while a healer pulled a black arrow free from the man’s ribs. Blood spurted across her riding dress. A sharp, barking scream sounded from the man’s throat before he passed into unconsciousness. The healer tossed the arrow away, while Dawne wrapped the bandage around the wounded soldier’s body. Deep red soaked the white rag, and she pulled another from her bag, pressing firmly to staunch the wound. Red stains dotted her face.

  Jaerd dropped to his knees beside his sister, pulling another bandage from his own battle pouch. “Let me help.”

  A pale, withdrawn calm obscured Dawne’s face, but she gave him a firm nod. Down the line of men they worked, more than a few dead before they could be reached. Some thrashed and screamed in panic, while others grit their teeth and bared the pain. Most kept a sort of graveyard humor about it all.

  “Looks like I got out of planting for da’s farm this year,” one man younger than Tallen said between gritted teeth as Jaerd wrapped his right arm, severed above the elbow. The healer had only been able to close the wound. “Ah, who am I kiddin’. He’ll probably just tie a hoe to the stump, and make me do it one handed.”

  Jaerd did not reply, but he heard Dawne sniff. She stood and moved to the next man, who held a bloody rag to his head. Jaerd continued wrapping, his mind focused on the job.

  “Do you care for the lives of all the men who serve you?” Jaerd heard Earl Boris bark at Mandibor through his concentration. The two approached each other across the battlefield. “Or do you just care for the glory of your Range Riders. If you had held the line with us, far fewer of these militiamen would be laying here.”

  “How dare you, sir?” the roguish watch captain shouted back. “I give everything for my men.”

  Tying the bandage in place, Jaerd let the soldier lay back down on his cloak.

  “You were given orders, Captain!” Earl Boris stalked toward the Kirathi, his face nearly as red as the blood on the man Jaerd covered with a spare blanket. “You charged into battle before the lines were set. Dozens died that might have been saved if you had shown more prudence and judgment.”

  “You dare to order me!” Mandibor swung from his saddle and whipped out his rapier. “This is not your country, sir.”

  Jaerd gave the wounded soldier he nursed a questioning smile to ask if he the bandage was secure, and the young man nodded back.

  “My country or not, I will not allow you to waste lives.” Earl Boris clenched Greyiron, which would snap Mandibor’s rapier with only a light swing. “Your carelessness killed far more men than needed die today.”

  Leaving the wounded man to rest, Jaerd rose to his feet.

  Mandibor drew back as if to gut thrust Boris. “I’ll have your liver on my blade!”

  “Enough!” Jaerd shouted, thrusting his own body between the two men. “These wounded need aid, not pride and recrimination.” He pushed Mandibor back into the arms of one of his own lieutenants, and then turned to rest his hand on Boris’ shoulder. “Discipline can be handed out later. Right now we need bandages.”

  The earl’s face might have been carved from granite, save a rogue hair from his mustache that fluttered in the cold breeze. He stared at Jaerd, unreadable. The icy glare shifted to Mandibor, then back.

  “Good point, Captain Westar.” He lightly pulled Jaerd’s hand from his chest. “If you please…” Boris turned and stalked back to his horse. He pulled a medical kit from one of his saddlebags and tossed it over. “You seem to have a knack for it.” Boris looked at Dawne where she worked on a struggling soldier. “You both do.”

  Jaerd jogged back over to the wounded, his heart still pounding from the confrontation. It soon passed, however, while he worked, aiding the healers and his sister in their task. They worked to save the lives they could, everyone in a hurry to move before more orcs could appear. Many of the injured had to be borne from the field.

  “Take the wounded on ahead to the wagon train with horses and stretchers,” Earl Boris told a militia sergeant as Jaerd walked up, wiping his hands on a dirty towel. “Ah, Captain Westar.” Boris placed one hand on Jaerd’s shoulder. “Thank you fo
r your wisdom and calm earlier. It is good officers like you that help good commanders stay focused. Perhaps I let the heat of battle get the better of me in my judgment of Mandibor.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jaerd lowered his head. “I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.”

  “You did.” The earl patted his shoulder. “And let’s not make a habit of it.”

  Jaerd drew his brow down in concern. “We will have a hard time in another pitched fight like this. We will need more strategy if we meet another group this large.”

  Boris looked at where Mandibor led his Range Riders in a screening action along the prairie. From the glower that shadowed the earl’s face, Jaerd feared he had reopened the recent wound. “If his men are good enough, and if he can follow orders for once, we could use a feint and fade to draw the orcs toward Kirath and away from the refugees.”

  Nodding, Jaerd followed the Riders as they moved in a tight, well-organized line. “We could give the mayor another try. His guards would be a welcome addition to our force.”

  Earl Boris shook his head slowly, his countenance never leaving Mandibor and his men. “We can return much faster without the train. I doubt Mayor Kodi will be of much use to anyone, but perhaps we can convince enough of his guards…”

  A solitary arrow clattered against the cobblestones, skidding to a halt just a few yards from where Jaerd had ducked behind a salt-filled barrel.

  “Blast it, Wardson! It’s me, Mandibor!”

  The guards around the mayor’s keep only replied with another arrow that stuck in the seat of an abandoned wagon.

  The brash captain cupped his hands around his mouth. “It’s true what these men said about orcs in the wilds! We fought them ourselves!”