Disclaimer: This is not the final version as it will be available from the usual e-book sellers and eventually, bookstores. Rather, it should be seen as an (almost) final draft. If you are interested in becoming a beta reader, or you have any comments, suggestions or thoughts that you feel I should consider before publishing please drop me a line using the contact form.
Sitting it Out
Put like that, Ala really couldn’t do anything but acquiesce. The Westmarch men that were sent to the army ended up taking part in a big battle in Taladaria. It eventually became known as the Battle of Vanidil after the fief that lay closest to the battlefield. The orcks never came south into the Westmarch in any number, there were only increased sightings of small bands that were driven off by the hunters and miners that plied their trades in the south of the Westmarch. Only once did she run into a group of orcks with her patrol, near the foot of the Irins. Bernard wanted to be certain the road to Ford Inn was safe so they were riding cross country, a few miles south of the road where the land started to rise into the Irins. She had stopped the patrol. All ten of them, as was customary, sat on some high ground where they had a good view of the Irin mountains. The weather was slightly overcast despite the time of year, but the light was good and she could just make out movement, seeing figures heading down the mountainside quite a way to her east.
“I see movement, over there,” she pointed in the direction. “Perhaps a group of figures.”
“I wouldn’t mind some of that elven eyesight, even half of it seems to work wonders,” quipped Willard. He peered in the direction she pointed. “I can’t make anything out… or… maybe… some movement? Could just be the light, fooling me, though?”
Willard Balderson was her second. He was only twenty-two, but he had proven himself very dependable and was more interested in the affairs of the militia than most and motivated to learn soldiering, too. His father was one of Thetwick’s most successful horse breeders and quite rich by Thetwick’s humble standards.
“Looks like they’re on foot. Setting quite a pace, too.”
“So, you’re saying a group, on foot, moving fast, coming down from the Irins? Sounds like orcks, if I were to guess?”
“Could well be. We’d better take a closer look. Bernard said to be on the lookout for scouts. We prefer not to have them reporting back.”
“Don’t suppose you can see how many they are?” he asked as he turned his horse.
“Even my eyes aren’t good enough for that, sorry.”
They rode hard, making for the next rise that should give them line of sight to their quarry again. They came to its crest, which should put them perhaps a mile from the group Ala had seen, assuming they didn’t change direction. She observed where she thought they should be by now. It didn’t take her long to spot them. Definitely orcks, she counted fifteen of them. Several had crossbows. One or two carried swords and wore some metal armour, the rest had spears and clubs.
“Well, definitely orcks then,” said Willard, with a bit of a worried look. “More of them than there are of us, too.”
“Yes. Too many, I think.” Bernard had explicitly warned her not to think of orcks in the same terms as raiders from Oakharrow. An orck was far stronger and tougher than a human. He’d suggested counting each as two men, to get an idea of when you were outmatched.
“What do you want to do, Ala?”
“You take one of the others and ride to Thetwick. Bring out at least twenty more, archers especially. You must move quickly.”
“Understood. How will I find you?”
“Assume they carry on in the same direction. If they don’t circle back through here, I will mark a trail, you remember how to read the markers, right?”
“Of course I remember,” he said, annoyed that she might think otherwise. “I’ll get moving.”
It had been easy to follow the orcks after she had found their trail. She diligently left markers for Willard to follow when he returned with reinforcements. It was a rough few days. Keeping up with the orcks’ speed wasn’t hard, but they didn’t rest for long. Eventually, Willard caught up to her again and they devised an ambush. The orcks had found the road to the Ford Inn by now and had turned West, heading for Thetwick itself. When Ala and Willard sprung their trap, it was devastating. The Thetwick archers opened fire at long range. They were well practised after so many years under Bernard and Ala’s tutelage and the range meant even the Orcks understood that they would all be killed before they managed to approach their assailants. The orcks turned and ran, only for the survivors to run into Ala’s cavalry unit, now reinforced to forty Thetwick men. She cut down two of the orcks herself in the initial exchange and chased down two more survivors, that had managed to get out of the ambush area. She was very careful about their massive size and strength, but the destrier she was riding more than made up the difference.
When she made it back to the ambush site, she found out that two militiamen, riders, had been killed in the exchange, despite the enormous numerical advantage. Several more men were wounded, a few quite badly. Several men stood guard over two wounded orcks. One of them was older. After Ala had checked on her own wounded militiamen she went on to see the orcks. Bernard’s orders weighed heavily on her mind. He had said she should execute any orck prisoners. They were incorrigible, he said. They were too dangerous to be kept as prisoners and if you released them, they’d be back to kill you next season with their friends, he’d warned.
The two surviving orcks were quite different from one another. The bigger one was clearly old for an orck. Ala wondered whether he might have been the scouts’ leader. The other was young, very young. Adolescent by human standards. She decided that she might as well try and gather some intelligence, however unlikely she was to learn anything.
“Do you speak common?”
The old orck responded in a guttural tongue that she couldn’t make head nor tail of. She pointed to herself, “Ala,” then to him. “Who are you?”
The old scarred orck spat on the ground in front of her, earning him a kick by one of her militiamen. She tried once more, pointing at herself, “Ala,” then pointing at him, gesturing in a questioning manner.
The orck clearly understood what she wanted. He frowned and growled, “Okox.” The amount of hatred and disdain the orck managed to put into one word was impressive.
She thought Okox must be the old orck’s name. Either that, or it was a orckish curse, but the defiance that had been behind it made her decide that a name was more likely. She made several more attempts, trying to find out what the objective of the scouting might have been. The orck would say nothing more though and the rest of the words he used probably were curses directed at her and her patrol.
Eventually, she gave up and focused on her next dilemma. She considered taking the orcks to Bernard, but he often talked about how orcks were completely unintelligible. He would understand nothing more, she was certain. Though she attempted to avoid the conclusion for another hour, she finally made the grim decision to execute both of them. She had to do it herself, she felt. It was unpleasant brutality, no matter how quickly and cleanly her blade killed them. It left her feeling nauseated and dirty. The only thing left was to bury the orcks in a shallow communal grave and prepare the bodies of fallen Militia men for transportation back to Thetwick. With all that done she could finally report to Bernard. She didn’t sleep very much that night.
That was the only thing of note that she experienced in Thetwick during the time of the orck attacks that culminated in the famous Battle of Vanidil. Bernard eventually even sent Willard to join the Duke’s army when a request came for yet more troops. He arrived just in time for the great battle and served with distinction. Eventually she understood that it had been her duty to stay in the Westmarch, but she was still disappointed. Several people from Thetwick had gotten killed either at Vanidil or the skirmishes surrounding it. Gerry Kettle, the friendly smith who had let her use his workshop to restore her blade, was among the men who didn’t return from Taladaria. One of the Williamsons, from the Bullstead, was also among the numerous dead.
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