* Note: Despite my tendency to act like it, I do not own Magic the Gathering or anything related to it, with the exception of a bunch of cards and my obsessively gathered collection of everything to do with Fallen Empires- *
The Fury of Icatia
The sun broke through the horizon with a golden glow that flowed through the rolling fields of wheat. It crept slowly up the valley, dotted with scattered clumps of trees. It seemed a humble, peaceful, quiet morning with a tightly knit community to wake up to it in their own little ways. But, this village had no idea of what was about to unfold in this morning. No idea what horror would pounce with little notice. For, this little village was Montford. And it would go down in history as one of the greatest terrors, and greatest triumphs of all Icatia, and all Sarpadia.
The preacher was just getting to his small church to plan the day; the baker was already in his shop firing up the oven. The children were skipping, and laughing, as they made their way to the community schoolhouse near the center of town. The sun continued its reach, stretching with the villagers as if it itself was waking up to the new promising day. The villagers welcomed it, and it them. The sun soon made its way to the edge of the valley, over to the edge, where it revealed a mass of tents carefully pitched, almost invisible to the untrained eye. But, there they were, lines, and lines of tents all filled with young soldiers all getting over their goodbye kisses to their wives, and dashing officers filled with anticipation for any fight that might come their way. They all picked up their swords, and javelins, and all went to their fires to eat all their breakfasts. One particular officer woke up with more concern than the others. His old expressions made him look more experienced, and more firm. He walked with pride, but nothing more than that of a commander. He walked out of his tent, and squinted out at the valley, now bright with the sun. He tipped his hat at a nearby soldier, who took it with surprise, clearly being outranked. And this commander was not any officer. He was the General in command of the whole army. He was General Jacobson; Icatia now knew the name well. He was the appointed commander of the new Icatian army, fresh from Trokair itself. It was an army put together in a very makeshift fashion, but still with the same Icatian promptness that made them the power they were. Most of the men had never been in battle, except for a few officers from the early militia before the war who had handled thief bands, and other organized enemies. The men had the training down, but battle was another thing entirely.
War hadn't come to that particular part of the border yet, but the Icatian leaders knew better than to take that sort of thing into consideration. Jacobson had been assigned to scout the area with his army, and find any signs of a reported Orcish swarm that had been apparently prowling the area, rumored to be nearly thirty thousand strong, and was undoubtedly going to attack. The Orcs delighted in lightning raids on Icatian, and Dwarven towns; an unprepared enemy is easier to defeat. The Icatian leaders knew this was just the case, and so Jacobson and his army came in. There had been no sign of the orcs, or their goblin allies, except for the occasional dropping. Jacobson scanned the area, worry in his eyes, knowing he had to find them soon. He back over to his tent, when another officer approached him. He was another of the young, proud officers, who always kept his sword on his hands, as if twenty goblins were to suddenly jump on him, and he were to slay them all. Jacobson looked over at him, nodded in greetings, and the officer saluted before speaking.
Commander, the scout details are ready for their orders for the day. Shall I have them search in the area of the village?
No. I don't want to startle the townspeople. I don't want to panic them if I don't have to. He looked over at the huddle of houses and shops in the distance and then looked back at the officer. We don't have much time before they make a move, I fear, so we need as much ground covered as possible. Have them scout in all directions, as far out as they can go. The main body will move out of the valley later this morning, so as to give the scouts a quick chance to give one last look of the valley.
If you wish, sir.
That will be all.
The officer saluted again, strode to his horse, and went off to the waiting scouts.
Ailis Connaut, young and ambitious, looked out at the mountains before her, the outer wall of the valley. She brought her horse to a stop, and pulled out her telescope. She put it up to her eye, and stared. There was nothing. She had been out for nearly an hour, and hadn't found so much as a flake of Orcish skin. And they were known to shed often.
She squinted, hoping that something would show up. She was considered the best scout in the army; almost good enough to be in the Army of Trokair, the main Icatian army itself. But, they said she needed discipline before going into something like the main army. It was dangerous there, especially in times of war, the army always being flung into each and every battle in its sights. But she was up to it. She was willing to risk her life to preserve the glory that was Icatia. The beauty of rolling hills, and forests, and clear lakes that was Icatia was worth defending, and defend it she would. And, Icatia was in danger. Just a matter of months ago, the cooling climate reached the point of apparently becoming habitable to some unique races. No one had seen them coming, and no one was ready for them. The once peaceful Sarpadia was now engulfed in deepening war, and it didn't look promising for the Sarpadians. Out in the mountains, the Dwarven city-states, and the mountain merfolk had been taken by storm, and Orcish swarms backed by many nearby Goblin tribes now had nearly half the Dwarven Empire. Little, if not any Dwarven resistance had been made on the initial attack, and only now had the Dwarves been able to temporarily hold the invaders. Great walls, and fortifications were made, but the small Dwarven armies were constantly being washed over by the countless waves of attackers. Everyone was now saying that the Dwarves would not have a name in just a few more months. The merfolk, too, were vastly outmatched, and could only watch as their rivers and lakes were spat into by the merciless Goblin and Orc hordes.
The Elves, desperate for new food sources with their game dwindling in the climate, had attempted to grow a new breed of fungus to feed them. But, something went wrong, and now the Elves were under constant torment from all directions against an enemy that merely grew back when killed. They had some more luck than the Dwarves, with their somewhat greater numbers, and their extreme resourcefulness, but they, too, were in grave danger. Their militia battle lines were not strong enough to hold against the fearless, and unstoppable Thallids. And, the sported guerrilla warfare did little good against the fast growing enemy. The Elves, too, were feared to be lost.
Both the peaceful, nature loving Thelonite clan, and the mighty Vodalian merfolk of the sea were busy, themselves, with the Homarids, giant crustaceans who hungered for nothing more than destruction. The Thelonite, having almost no defenses to begin with, merely waited for an end, while even the highly trained Vodalian schools could not completely stop the Homarid intrusion. They, though, could fight back more than most of the others, and their feared end was certain to be only after a great war; a valiant one.
Even the much feared, and outcasted Ebon Hand had met the threat of destruction. Seizing the moment of Sarpadia's being dragged into war, the tortured, and brutalized Thrull slaves had finally rebelled, led by the bred wizard Thrulls, who had the intelligence to lead such a revolt. The Ebon Hand was just now mustering its forces, preparing for their own invasion to deal with.
And, now, even the name of Icatia was in grave danger, and Icatia now called for defense, announcing official war just a month ago. Not only had the infamous band of thugs known as the Ferralite once again start pirating the Icatian villages, but the Orcs and Goblins, knowing their win over the Dwarves was assured, now had turned to Icatia, and the noblest Sarpadian Empire was enveloped in an all-out war, which was sworn to be a fight to the very end.
Empires all over Sarpadia were desperately looking for help. But, everybody was too busy with their own problems. Everybody was too busy waging war with one face of death, and couldn't even consider a war with a second. The mountain merfolk, and the Dwarves tried, sharing the same land, to fight together, at least fight for the same land, but the Goblin and Orcish invasion came too sudden to put anything together. The Elves and Icatians, in fact, had tried to combine arms, against the Thallids, Orcs, and Goblins alike, but it was to no avail. Both the Elves, and Icatians were too busy fighting one war to take on a second. Only a few combined, unofficial skirmishes were able to be put through, and all of them were losses. The Ebon Hand, in their pride, refused alliances, while the Vodalians, being merfolk, were almost impossible to ally with due to the fact that the land armies could not help them under the waves. Even if it were possible, they had just as much pride as the Ebon Hand, and would fight for their grand people on their own. It seemed pointless, and hopeless. Victory was an unlikely outcome for most.
But, boasted Ailis to herself, not the Icatians. The Icatians were strong, and dedicated. The Dwarves, Thelonite, Ebon Hand, Elves, and even perhaps the Vodalians might be in danger of complete destruction. But, the Icatians were disciplined, had the most men free, was currently the least scarred by war, and everyone knew, if anyone could chase out the vermin that had challenged precious Sarpadia, it was the Icatians.
Suddenly, with a glimmer in Ailis's telescope, she shook herself out of the thoughts and worries that circled her, and focused on what she had just seen ahead of her. She strained her eyes, trying to see what it was, and gasped. It looked like the glimmer of metal. As it crept closer, she picked out figures. Her heart pounding in shock, she ducked down, as if it would help conceal her, and brought her horse into a walk for a cluster of trees on a hill ahead near the edge of the valley. She looked down, peering through the trees, and waited until they got closer. She soon made out the glimmering of metal again. She recognized it. It was brass. She looked back into the telescope, leaned forward in her saddle, and held her breath. It was brass, alright. Claws. Iron ones, too. A mob of muttering Brassclaw, and Ironclaw Orcs. They all came closer, making grunts and groans, and savage sounding conversation. No doubt talking about what they were going to plunder for breakfast, Ailis hissed in her mind, as she pulled her horse slowly away. Once far enough away, she let her breath back in, and broke off into a gallop into the valley as fast as she could.
Ailis could make out the lines of tents of the Icatians after what seemed too long, and urged her panting horse on. Worries, excitement, anticipation, and reality all raced around her, in her, through her. As she made it to the outer stables, a sentry approached her.
You came just in time, scout. We were just about to leave. Lost track of time?
Take me to the nearest officer. I have urgent information.
The sentry, sensing something serious, nodded, as a stable boy came up to take her horse, and give Ailis a fresh one. Ailis nodded her thanks, jumped onto it, and in a flash took off for the nearest officer's tent she could find. When she approached one, and barged in without considering formalities, she jumped as it turned out to be Jacobson's. Jacobson looked up at her from his desk, and gave a gesture of shock.
I beg your pardon?
Ailis was forced to pause to catch her breath, face red with exhaustion and embarrassment, while Jacobson got up, and walked to her.
I have she gasped for breath again, found the-
Yes, sir.
Where are they, then- Jacobson tried his best to look patient.
Sergeant Ailis.
Yes, yes. Where are they, Sergeant? He waited for an answer, as he pulled out his map of the valley, and the surrounding area.
North of here. They are headed straight for the village. They look like they're going on an average raid, sir. I don't expect they know we're here.
They've heard the rumors. But, they wouldn't believe the Icatians could actually find the force to stop them. How far away?
Just a few miles- She paused for more breath, and Jacobson stared at her. Maybe about five, sir. That's about two miles from the vill-
The village. Good work, Sergeant. I want you to go out, and get the Orcs' formation, and numbers. You understand?
Yes, sir.
Good. You may go.
Ailis saluted, walked out of the tent, jumped back on the horse, and with one last gasp for breath, took off, leaving a parted trail of startled soldiers, and dropped coffee behind her.
The village was just starting to get busy, being mid-morning, when the villagers noticed a man in uniform gallop into the center of town, and call for everyone to hear him. They came out of their shops, and homes, dropped their carts, and crates, and came to listen to what he had to say. The man had an anxious look, almost worried, and the crowd started into a hum about what could be happening. They all knew in the back of their minds what it could have been, but none of them dared mention, or even think it. So, the man said it for them. He beckoned silence, took a heavy breath, and held up his hands in urgency.
I come from the army just west of here. I have been sent to tell you that we have found an Orcish army headed this way. The crowd gasped, some shrieked, and a few even broke into tears in realization of what was about to happen. The man tried to seem not to notice. You are all to pack your belongings, and I will escort you from here.
A man cradling his sobbing wife looked at the messenger as if he were ordering their deaths, and to some he was, and stammered. Y-you mean we have to just leave?
The messenger looked frustrated, even though he knew how hesitant he would have been in their place. You must head for safety.
Another man raised his fist, and shook it in anger as he spoke out not really to the messenger, but to the whole crowd. I'm not going to let them just take the town. I'm going to fight.
I assure you, sir, that that is what the army is for.
How do we know they'll get here in time? There may be nothing left of the village! I'm not letting these invaders come, while we run away! I'm going to fight! A cheer rose from some of the men, but many of the voices were unsure.
If any of you wish to form militia, that is your choice. But you must supply your own arms, for we do not have the time to distribute anything. The rest of you follow me away from here in a few minutes.
A woman's voice pleaded from the back of the crowd. Please, sir, I need more than a few minutes to pack my belongings, and to get my family together, and-
The Orcs will be here shortly, and we must be to safety before then. A few minutes is all I can give you.
Suddenly, a young man came running down one of the streets, out of breath, and in sheer terror. They're here! They're here! The orcs! They're here!
Screams rose, and everybody turned to see them. And there, approaching the outer village, they were. Thousands upon thousands of orcs, showing little sign of formation, broke into a run for the village. The orcs were ugly things- burnt orange skin, wrapped in rags, and large jutting jaws, all waving their arms in savage cheer. They had brassclaws, ironclaws, stones, clubs, and anything else handy. As long as it was lethal, and it would be a painful way to go, they used it. There was nothing the orcs liked more than inflicting pain- that was their entire idea of battle. And, that was exactly what they were rolling into as far as they were concerned. There were weapons, and people to kill. Battle.
The man in uniform turned the other way, and saw nothing. The Icatians were nowhere to be seen. He tried to put order to the panicking mob, but they didn't even notice him. They ran in all directions- as long as they could run. The man's shouts became pleas for order until there was no one left in the square to shout to. A small band of men with pitchforks, swords, and anything else they could find formed out on the streets, and they ran out to defend their homes.
Orcs began to pour into the thin streets littered with dropped items, and they overran everything in their way. Villagers were washed under the wave of orange, screaming for help until their voices were muffled, or they were crushed under the weight. The orcs screamed too, but with joy. They shouted in the rush with whooping, and jeering the tattered villagers under them in their idea of glory. The man looked around, as orcs filled the streets in front of him. He turned, and fled in the other direction. He could see scattered villagers ahead of him, but the rest were unseen. He heard a scream for help behind him, and turned. A woman was trapped, crying, under a fallen cart. She cradled a bleeding, and still baby under her. The man started for her, and she shouted even louder for him. He reached the cart and tried to lift it, but it was to heavy. It groaned, but it would not move. He tried again, but succeeded only in pushing himself backward. He heard another shout, but this one more happy than desperate. Then, he looked up to see the wall of orcs coming closer, and a knot of orcs were headed straight for him. The woman wailed, and huddled her baby even closer. The man took a heavy breath, then stood up and ran. He looked behind to see the woman reaching for him, face drenched in tears. The orcs ran up to her, ripped the baby from her arms, and threw it aside. The woman cried even louder, now, and the orcs pointed at her and laughed. Then, one came forward with his club, and raised it high. It came down, and the man looked away. What kind of creatures were these? What savage filth were they? He turned back, pulled out his sword, and let our a roar that made even the orcs turn in confusion. He ran at them like a madman, and they just looked at him. After a moment, they came to their senses, turned, and fled. He chased them to a crossection in the street, where they finally turned on him, weapons raised. But, before he could reach them, they were plowed aside by another wall. One of Icatians. They were everywhere. They flowed onto the streets just as powerfully, and clashed with the orc lines. The Icatians had made it at the last moment. Any later notice of the orcs' approach would have spelt disaster. He watched in awe, then walked over to the dead orc bodies left behind by the Icatian surge. He spit on them, took his sword, and then ran off to battle.
Ailis crept through the wheat fields, coming ever closer to the Orcish formation. She peered out for a moment, and gaped as she saw the battle begin to unfold. She grabbed the binoculars, and stared. The main Orcish body was in a long line, marching forward without sign of hesitation. The Icatians had little time to gather a formation, so they charged with fury, like a number of waves washing over a great wall. Except, frowned Ailis, this wall fights back. The Icatian soldiers behind the charge were forming a line themselves to meet the Orcs, but it needed support if it were to hold against the great Orcish numbers. Ailis looked over at the Orcs, who had just heaved back another huddle of Icatians, and were marching on. Their line was thick, and though showed no order with rows and columns, still showed fierce might. The line extended from the village for nearly a mile to almost just a few hundred feet from Ailis's position. Thousands of them marched on, raising their weapons in a daring cry, calling for the Icatians to hurl more men at their face. The clamor of metal became louder as they crept by Ailis, and Ailis crouched in the wheat in one swift motion. She then watched on as the Orcs moved by, slowly approaching the main Icatian line. Ailis watched, suspicious, as the Orcs moved on now beyond her. There were seemingly many from the front, but from behind, there seemed less. She peered into the binoculars again, and squinted for a better look. The Orcs were moving behind the lines, but what they were doing, Ailis could not determine. After the Orcs were safely in front of her, she quietly got up, and snuck through the wheat for a better look.
As she did, she heard a rustle behind her. She turned, to see only the parted wheat behind her. She figured it was just her, or a field snake, and kept going, watching the Orcs closely. She heard something again, and swerved around. Once again, there was nothing. So, she kept going, listening for the sound again. Then, without even hearing anything, she swung around, and thought she saw a green arm for only a part of a second. She walked to where she saw it, but nothing was there.
Elves, Ailis thought as she rolled her eyes. They knew when two major armies were in the same area. And, any major news was worth peeking in on for the Elves. Not that the Icatians minded- they were, after all, friends in the new threat of destruction. But, Ailis grumbled in her mind, it would have been more appreciated if the Elves had sent some militia instead of a scout. Ailis didn't really see the need for the Elves to spy on the Icatians, too. The Elves were crafty and sly, but they were also nosey, and most of all real pests at times.
Ailis looked back on the Orcs, and noticed their pause as the Icatian cavalry swept into the battlefield, and crashed against the line with all their speed. Ailis took the momentary distraction to creep into the open field, behind the Orcs. It was there she could see the problem. Though she was behind the tip of the right Orcish flank, and the line stretched close to the horizon, her binoculars showed her the problem. The right flank was only what the scouts called facing off. It was packed in the front line to look as if it were where all the Orcs were, with only Goblins behind them, when in fact they were massing on the left flank. The Icatians were suspicious, but the urgency to meet the apparently pressing numbers on the fake side won over, and the Icatians were now sending all their support there to stop the Orcs. The Icatians did not see the massive Orc numbers on the left; they were hiding behind the occupied village. All Icatian counterattacks to take the village back were savagely driven off, and the need to conceal the force made a good explanation for it. With the surviving villagers safely behind Icatian lines, there was no one to warn the Icatians of the trouble. But, Ailis, wondered, if the Orcs are constantly feeding the tight and costly decoy on the right, and they were massing Orcs on the left, where were they coming from? She peered out at the center, not before sneaking back into the wheat, since the cavalry had been driven off, and gasped. It was virtually empty. Only a few goblin units, and a couple lines of Orcs also facing off stood there. The center was thinned to the absolute least. Ailis grinned. One good push, and the center would break like an egg shell. It was perfect. She put her binoculars away, got halfway up, and started to make her way back to the Icatians. She heard an Orc shout close to her, and she knew the shout was for her, for soon after a couple Orcs made their way into the wheat close to her. She broke into a run, and the number of shouts, now behind her, grew. She broke into a heavy pant, sweating from the wheat that whipped and stung her as she flew by. Not far behind, an Orc brassclaw followed her. Ailis pushed herself to run as fast as she could. Her feet pounded the ground over and over, and all she could consider was the Orc behind her, and the ground to run to in front of her. She suddenly felt a tug on her shoulder, and she stumbled. She fell on her back with a hard thud, and she panted even harder. The Orc raised his claw over her, and grinned.
Pity-full hewmon. You all die tou esy. He hissed, and plunged the claw down. Ailis closed her eyes, and braced for the unbearable pain that would follow. But none ever came. The only pain was that on her chest from all the running. She opened her eyes, and looked up to see the orc figure wavering above her, an arrow in his heart. He rasped for breath, convulsing, then looked at Ailis with fury. Arrows wun't save yuh peple. Pay fuh yuh criemes, huwmon scum. He then rose his claw again, his hand shaking. Then a green blur jumped from no where, and drove the Orc to the ground. The Orc slammed the firm ground hard, and was knocked into a daze. He coughed a bit of blood, cursed, and then went still. The green figure then ripped the arrow out, and wiped it on the Orc's hide to clean it. It then turned to Ailis, and smiled. We scouts have to watch after each other. Happy hunting, Icatian. With that, the scout sunk into the wheat without a sound, as if it were never there. Ailis laid still for a moment, catching her breath, then got up. Maybe those Elves aren't too bad, admitted Ailis. Then the shouts and screams and clangs of battle brought her duty back in mind. She looked at the dead Orc in disbelief, a second ago about to kill her. It stank horribly, and it's jutted jaw smiled in the rush of battle. Even in death, they looked barbaric. She started in a run back to the Icatians. She ran slower, now exhausted, but nevertheless reached the Icatians quickly. In a coughing, gasping running fit she dashed to an officer on a horse overseeing the bad battle. He looked at her, and spoke in a casual tone, assuming her an officer.
It's not looking good. Look at that. He gestured at the line of Icatians furiously pushing at the Orcs, but with no success. This flank is being guarded fiercely. If only there was a weak point. He then looked back at Ailis, and gasped. Good lord, are you alright? You look like you just took a bath in a mud hole.
I need that horse. Ailis grabbed the reigns, and started to mount it even before the confused officer got off. The moment he did, she galloped down the battle line, nearly riding over the officer, who just stared as the mad lady sped off with his horse.
Ailis rushed on, until she sighted a cluster of officers pointing, and remarking on the progress of the battle. She came up to them, and began to speak, but broke out panting. The men parted for her, revealing Jacobson in the middle of the group. He eyed her, concerned, but almost amused, and waited a moment for Ailis to be able to speak. She couldn't stop panting, and so he spoke instead.
Is this how you always report to officers?
Sir- I,...
I- found,...
Found? Yes? What did you find?
The Orcs- they're- they're
Massing behind the-
Ailis gestured to the village, and Jacobson caught on immediately. They're facing off over here on this flank? Feeding us bait? While they prepare to sweep down our line from the other?
Ailis nodded. Weak point is-
In the center?
She nodded again, now breathing more calmly. Jacobson looked to his officers, and thought a second on what to do.
Alright, the weak point is the center. The Orcs behind the village will take a minute to come out if they see anything wrong,- they have to go around the village to make it out here. I want all the regrouped cavalry to ride over the center. Don't make it look big to let the Orcs know something's wrong. Just make it look like a lucky hit. Then, when the center goes, I want all forward lines, and the cavalry to move down the flanks, and decimating all Orc formations as they go. It won't be hard- they have them all lined up nice and neat just waiting to be swept over one by one. I'm going to try to keep them lined up and away from supporting the center by taking my main line, and advancing once the center goes. By the time the Orcs figure out they're in trouble, they'll have no center. That mass force behind the village will be nothing without support. And they know it as well as us. Understand?
A chorus of acknowledgments rose, and the officers all rode off in all directions. Jacobson then turned back to Ailis. You have done your job well, scout. Twice. Now all you have to do is sit back and watch.
Ailis nodded, and looked out to the field with a smile. The battle wasn't won, but Ailis felt that victory was certain. Jacobson didn't show it in his eyes, though. He watched, cautious, as the main line of Icatians, now deployed, prepared itself for the surprise charge. The scattered men who had been before challenging the Orcish advance now gathered around the center, but not too close, as to not startle the Orcs. The cavalrymen picked up their swords, rose them high, and cheered. Then, they flew torewards the center, but just a little to the left so it looked as if they would miss it- they got closer, and closer, and the Orcs smiled, taking it as only bravado. Then, right before they reached the Orcs, they swerved right, and slammed into the center. It looked strong from the front, but the cavalry pushed them back almost as soon as they reached them. The Orc lines were torn away by squads of mounted men, and the Ocish battle line was stripped to reveal just a few tall goblins, all wide-eyed in shock. The Orcs sent soldiers from both sides of the hole to pretend the thin numbers was an oversight, but the Icatians knew better. The regrouped advance infantry was now in two divisions each of nearly a thousand men. Five lines thick, two hundred men wide, the infantry rolled over the scattered Orcs lines in the center, tearing the Orc battle line into two mobs of furious Orcs. The Icatian cavalry with their infantry beside them marched on, unopposed with the exception of a couple huddles of defiant Orcs, spears raised, but even those were trampled over in the confusion. Then, both groups hit the firm flanks, already having broken everything in the center. There, they stopped, and the Icatian march clashed against the thick wall of Orcs. That was the signal for the main Icatian line. They picked up their javelins, and their swords, and with a mighty cry from one of the commanders, they marched forward. The whole line, over twenty thousand strong, lurched forward in one motion, as if it were a great gray line crawling torewards the waiting one of orange. The Orcish advance stopped completely, and they braced for the Icatians.
An officer rode up to Jacobson, and he saluted. You summoned me, sir?
Jacobson pointed out to the battlefield, and then looked at the officer. The Orcs behind the village should be coming out soon. I need the soldiers to be ready. He stopped, and stared out by the village. They were already out- the massive wave of Orcs, all sitting, waiting for the Icatians to reach them. The Orcs in the way of the charge broke into a run for the safety of their comrades, and Jacobson frowned. We'll have to do this the hard way. I want our men to turn, and when ready, make a straight advance. When I give the signal, I want a mass charge. Understand?
Yes sir. The officer turned as he said it, and then galloped off rising a path of dust behind him. Even before he delivered the orders, the Icatians started to turn to the Orcs, who were collecting and massing the ones from the original line. Slowly, the gray lines turned, as the cavalry paused, waiting for their orders to attack. Finally, the Icatians faced the Orcs, both lines sideways to the village. The Icatians took one last heavy breath, one last prayer, one last gulp of worry, and then they marched again. They crept slowly up to the Orcs who waited patiently, watching as the great mass of lines and formations met the great mass of orange knots, and mobs. The Icatians got closer, and closer, narrowing the gap between them. Seven hundred feet, six hundred feet- Both sides trembled, silent. The whole field fell silent except for the sound of feet brushing against the grass. Then, the Icatians stopped, and there was no sound at all. Everyone could hear the breeze blow through their uniforms, and everyone could feel the breath of their comrades.
Jacobson looked at the bugler next to him, and the man looked back. With a deep breath, and a nod, the bugler picked up his bugle and the whole field heard the sound. Then the others joined in, and the sound was joined by the cheer of the Icatians. They rose their weapons high, and cried. All across the lines, the Icatians cheered, and shouted, and lifted their arms in the glory of the moment. The cavalrymen reigned their horses, and lifted their banners high. Then, the men, mounted or by foot, all began to run. They tore across the ground, and the Orcs tensed for the impact. The distance once again narrowed- three hundred feet, two hundred feet, one hundred feet-
The Icatians thrusted into the Orcs, and the Orcs were pushed back. Then they fought, hand to hand, sword to spear, and the Icatians slowly pushed forward. They pressed on, ever slowly, ever steady, until the Orcs started almost to make a full fall back. But, then, they made their own thrust, and pressed all their weight onto the Icatians. The infantry overlapped their swords, and the furious Orcs splashed against the wall of armor. The Orcs reeled back. Then, they came again. But, the disciplined Icatians held. They held their shields with all their strength. And, no matter how hard the Orcs tried, they could not force the Icatians back. Realizing their trouble, the forward Orcs turned and started into a run. The other Orcs shouted at them, calling them cowards, but when the Icatians began to roll on again, they, too, ran. Soon, the Orcs were in an all out rout, and the Icatians chased after. They snatched up line after line of the Orcs, and chased the rest for nearly a mile. There, the Icatians stopped, and cheered. The Orcs were gone. The battle was a victory. Icatia was safe. And, the once before feared horrors invading Sarpadia, for a moment, did not seem all to bad after all. And as the soldiers patted each other's backs, and thrusted their swords into the ground in joy, they thought, maybe Icatia is not doomed. Maybe Sarpadia can be saved.
And, in the corner of Ailis's eyes, from the wheat field, Ailis thought she saw a green face peek from the wheat plants for just a fraction of a second, smiling.