Chapter 7: Outlast
Early Autumn, Mid-Territories
It's been two days since the raid on the orc encampment, and it hasn't been an easy time since.
Almost immediately following the raid, we had to make a stand on a hilltop against the approaching horde. Our band barely held back as what had to be easily a hundred of the bastards rushed for the hill. Stopped only because of a wall of fire the archers had been prepared to ignite beforehand. Even then the losses were palpable.
Dennis is dead. It was right at the start of the hilltop fight, he'd forcefully turned me around to yap about something. The next, a crude ball of stone smashed his face, spraying his fragmented skull on the dirt. I was picking up pieces of bone of off me and the ground for a while after that.
His death raises the number of footmen lost to ten. The militiamen who serve as our caravan guards fared no better. If anything, they suffered worst once the orcs caught on our side of the fire opted to suicide charge our lines. I can feel it getting colder in my bones thinking of the corpses we've piled.
Anyhow, our scouts had found a path through the woods in the night that led us to an abandoned fort. It was a rather small and quaint thing. Yet, remarkably intact for whatever reason. The wooden palisades sported ramparts that our archers have manned with haste.
Things have gone quite since then. I haven't seen the yeoman -Owen if I remembered right- throughout all this. Hence, I'm unsure as to the state of the distraction party. None of the other yeoman are approachable either and I am unwilling to approach the Lady as it doesn't seem appropriate doing so.
Speaking of the people we rescued from the encampment have been steadily recovering. Some are still shaken and far too weak to be of help, but most are doing what they can. Mainly, it's cleaning and bringing the few structures within the fort to a more comfortable state.
I've seen a few young lads walking up the Lady. From what I see, it appears that there's more to just rescuing these people than just a good deed. That woman is headhunting, and it appears we'll be getting fresh blood for the company afterall.
But that isn't for me to think. For now, Dennis' possessions are being filtered out. I happened to receive an airtight flask. Expensive piece that'd cost someone like me an arm and some toes. Curious, I opened it to see what was inside.
It was bloody asters.
I'd cry if I'd were a woman, but I'll leave that for the lady and the child he left behind.
Gods, thinking about it makes me uneasy. I have no idea how to break the news.
New day. Same shit. Only difference was the bowel movement, and the -by now- normalised sensation of violent demise a few paces away outside a wooden palisade.
He made note to track down whoever was responsible for last night's meal. He never thought spice could have a different feeling coming out the backdoor. Fortunate for him that he wasn't in charge of latrine duties.
Passing a rather tense brethren of Foot, he suspected he wasn't the only one. That outhouse was going to be in need of a pyre by day's end, assuming the schmuck in charge of cleaning had offed himself to escape the task.
Puffing his chest, he let out a long breath of air. The white, translucent cloud that escape his lips was hardly worth of note.
Rubbing his hands and pressing the joints of his fingers, he made his way to the two-storey building used as an armoury for the band. A simple glance, and the militiaman on duty at the front end wordlessly handed him a spear and a new shield to go along with it. He muttered a muted thanks. Some idle talk followed, mostly a matter of going through the motions.
'Anything interesting last night?' Nope.
'Camp gossip?' Nothing worth of note.
He spared looks around the encampment that'd been set up within the walls. The townspeople were sleeping in. They did that a lot aside from helping too. It wasn't really worth worrying about for anyone within the Band.
The sleeping townsmen would only wake up long enough to chow down a good meal from their meagre supplies, then resume their prolonged hibernation, huddled together in large piles. Old, young, it didn't matter, they were all tired and none could blame them. A demon camp was the last placed one wanted to be trapped in.
With nothing worth to waste his breath on, he bade farewell and headed quickly up the ramparts that overlooked the ground surrounding the hilltop.
Men were already up there; most were fresh and about. He was apparently just one of the last to take over from the night watch. The man he was supposed to take over from gave him a rather tired glare, but otherwise said nothing and left to find a place to rest.
Looking out, he settled in for the long shift. There was tall grassland in all directions of the hillfort, down to an extra few paces of clearing that separated the base of the hill from the treeline. Despite it being his job to keep watch for anything that comes out of there, he couldn't help but bend the nature of the task a tad. For all it took was just a brief glance into the dark gaps between the trunks to get his heart racing.
And in this creeping cold, it could be mistaken for being the end of your life.
Breathing deep again, he clicked his tongue and opted for a short walk. Technically, it wasn't necessary to move from an assigned spot on the palisade, but that didn't stop anyone from stretching their legs if they need to. Less they wanted to lose face complaining about cramps down at the campsite.
It was a windless day. Save for an odd zephyr here and there that threatened to seep into his joints.
"Hard to guard from the cold, yeah?"
A voice drawled mid-step. No surprise from him. He'd heard their footsteps long before they'd spoke.
With a lazy head turn, he noted the bowman standing there to his right. One hand holding his weapon like how one lazily held a walking stick.
"Taking your bloody time making the rounds," continued the man.
A shrug in response. "No point getting taut."
He had no reply in mind. Adjusting his grip, he leaned on his spear and lolled his head out once more.
Some birds were leaving the tree canopies. Late bunch, it seemed.
"Heard you footmen lost a handful."
"…."
"Guess what I'd want to say is sorry."
"For what? Not like that'll spring them up from ash."
"No pities in our line of work, huh?"
"Hm."
The two men stared out into the nature enveloping them from beyond. Birds chirped here and there, occasionally they might see some critter making brouhaha in the bushes.
"What do you think they're up to?"
"The pigs?"
"No, I mean the dead of course."
The footman snorted. "Feel free to go out there and tell me then. Who knows, maybe you can find both kinds rolling together having a rut in the mud."
"Keep your filth up your ass."
"Too late, it's someone else's problem in the outhouse now."
The bowman let out a dry bark. It was a sound that, oddly enough, seemed nostalgic.
He didn't have to wait long to figure out why though. A sting punctured his heart, thinking of the half-face of the man he'd call a friend. The liquid that leaked from that wound made his weight feel heavier than it should've been.
He hated it.
Sniffling, his head jittered underneath the kettle helm he wore. The steel rim along the edge shifted out of place, forcing to lift an arm to adjust. Huffing, he tried replacing the sting by looking at the treeline.
Then he blinked, noticing a form coming out.
Whistle.
There'd been no time to register. He only felt suddenly off-balance. Felt as his back hit the floor of the rampart. A choke-gargle followed suit, but his attention hardly spanned past the highly narrow space his vision offered at that moment. He saw the sky above, saw the light grey nimbuses idly aloft and ignorant to the happenings on the earth. Occasionally, objects would speed past him in what he could describe as an 'down-to-up' fashion from his place on the floor.
A figure soon appeared at the bottom of his vision. He could clearly see the face, but putting a name to what it was felt like trying to peak through masonry.
Shouting. Screaming.
Two dark things were suddenly thrusted into his eyes. Not fast, nor of ill-intent, just to irritate. A sting, an actual one this time, soon spread across his right cheek. The wall that partitioned his clarity of mind broke under the pain.
"Snap out of it, damn you!" the bowman was now grasping both his shoulders, lifting and shaking out whatever stupor he was in. "Pigs are here! Get down and find the Lady!"
'Lady, find her. Yes.'
He shook. Then nodded. Scrambling on all fours, he made his way towards the ramps that'd take him down.
A quick glance showed that his bowman wasn't the only one on this side of the wall now. More had appeared. A few footmen as well who simply opted to keep their heads down whilst the missile troops exchanged volleys with the enemy.
'Find the Lady. Find the Lady,' his mind repeated.
"Orc attack! Everyone up the walls! They're coming from the southwest!"
Screaming, shouting and helter-skelter fill the interior of the walls. Two days of peace within its confines seemed enough to get people to forget that they were supposedly being hunted. She saw and appreciated her men scrambling to their assigned posts. She saw and regarded neutrally the hysterics of the freed people.
Appearing from within one of the houses in full battle regalia save her helm, Lorraine regarded the chaos before her. Immediately, her attention was to one footman approaching her.
"L-Lady! Pigs are striking. Slingers!"
"How many?"
"N-Not sure."
The man before her swerved back and forth. From underneath the kettle helm, he seemed hard at work trying to correlate a response.
"Get it together, Foot! You piss drunk or something?!"
Both heads turned to see the oncoming Harold from the left.
"I'm sorry. I got hit. Everything looks-"
"Enough," she interrupted. "Get yourself checked, then get back up there. Hurry."
Nodding frantically, the man then scurried off.
"Ma'am, should we move the people into the houses?"
Turning her head right, she regarded the militiaman now standing there. By company standard, he wore a long dress over his tunic and leggings. A simple breastplate was worn over his chest along with a padded coif.
"Please do," she replied. "Use the one furthest from the south. Keep some men on guard in case there's need to move."
The man nodded and hurried to relay orders. Now undisturbed, she wore the helmet that was held under her left arm and began brisk walking to the walls. Other men rushed right after her. These being the three remaining men-at-arms, Harold, Neal and another called Eugene, who were quick to attach themselves to her flanks and rear.
As they approach the base of the ramp leading up, the sounds of battle grew louder. High-pitched whistling was the only strong indicator of the missiles flying about in the air. The occasional loud thump or cracked signified a direct hit on the wood. Albeit it was to little effect even with the strength of an orc's throw.
She and her entourage climbed up until she reached the top. They stopped from exposing themselves pass the much higher section of timber laced wall that guarded the top of the ramps from enemy missiles. A footman greeted them there, his back fully braced on the palisade with his armaments hugging his form.
"Glad to see you up about, Lady."
"You didn't expect me to miss this, didn't you?"
"Nein, but I'd be lying if couldn't use some cavalry action."
There was a loud 'crack' and she swore the timbre between her and the man had shuddered.
"They're just skirmishing for now," the veteran continued. "Must be trying to poke for a gap."
"Any attacks elsewhere?"
"No, it's all been focused here in the south."
"AARRG-!"
Both hers, the footman and the men-at-arms snapped their heads to the scream. Just in time to see an archer topple off the ramparts. His fellows and the footmen they used as additional protection all spared only a moment to glance before resuming their standoff with renewed ferocity.
The maiden, too, joined this with her own vigour. A hand reached out and grabbed the footman's shoulder. He turned to look at his displeased superior.
"Who was watching this side of the wall? How in hells they missed a bunch of greenskins running up the hill?"
"I don't know, ma'am!"
"You. Don't. KNOW!"
"I'm from the east side! South was Breck's! He's on the other side of this target fest!"
Not relinquishing her grip, she looked at the other end of the section of the wall where the aforementioned footman was also pressing his back to the high section. It took him only a snap to realise that he was being watched. His eyes met hers, and a silent conversation followed.
'No idea either,' was the answer.
She exhaled, and half groaned. Finally letting go of the poor man, she stepped aside and leaned over the ramp to look at the archer who'd fallen.
Some militiamen had braved themselves to come over and see the bowman. Of the three, one looked up and shook his head.
'Damn it,' she internally cursed.
Archers were a commodity. Only some could meet company standard and be trusted to hunt. Fewer could make it to a proper position of Company Archer and be entrusted with all its duties, which include scouting, pathfinding and irregular action. Many of these skills take years to hone. That wasn't going into the training to kill demons.
'Nothing can be done, Lori,' she forced herself to calm down.
She didn't as much hear as she did sensed footsteps. She turned and looked as the footman that'd come to warn her from earlier raced up the ramp. Looking no longer dazed, but expectant.
She turned to the veteran still hugging the wall on her right.
"Take that man and circle the rest of the wall. Make sure these bastards aren't trying anything else and don't muck this up."
"Yes, milady."
"Go!"
The veteran moved past her, gestured the man, and began running down the ramparts in the direction opposite the one under assault. A moment was take to adjust their shields to their right hands before proceeding.
Lorraine watched, then turned to face the three men-at-arms that remained steadfast behind her.
"Get down there and gather men. I want those buildings down there searched for every piece of furniture and wood that's not the walls. Let's get some mantlets up on these walls."
Neal and Eugene nodded and rushed back down ramps. Harold stayed.
"This isn't looking good for us, ma'am," came the grim prognosis of the horseman. "Trapped like this, it's only a matter of time before the bastards figure out we can't put up as much of a fight as they think we could."
"I'm aware, Harold."
"So, what's the plan?"
"We hold out that's what."
"That's not a plan, ma'am."
"But its an action and won't interfere with what we agreed at Slip Head. They'll get here, I know it."
The harsh look from Harold didn't ease in the slightest. Only the softest spark that spoke of otherwise.
"If things don't go right. Don't hesitate to make a break for it, ma'am. Losing you means the company's done for."
"Like hell I'll let that happen. I'd sooner take another axe in the gut."
Their moment was cut short from a cry from one of the archers.
"Cease! Cease! They're pulling back!"
Both sported a look of surprise before turning to peak over the safety of the wall.
Sure enough, they could make out the rustling of tall grass as the orcs fled for the safety of the distant treeline. A dozen or so orcs lay dead or dying across the open space around the fort.
Knowing the encounter had ended, the remaining archers and their footmen aegis began to keel or knelt from the fading adrenaline. The one lone footman who'd lost his bowman took a peek over the edge to ascertain his partner's demise.
Lorraine, on the other hand, turned to Harold.
"Get some militiamen together and go out to take the ones still alive. Collect the arrows, no point leaving them to rot with the carcasses."
For his part, the dismounted horseman merely huffed and made do with his orders. That left the maiden alone for the time being. She stole one last glance at the woods below the hills before heading down herself.
"We're down to a couple of days' worth of rations ma'am. Three, if the townspeople continue to sleep the day off. I don't that'd be happening anymore though."
She nodded hearing the words of her yeoman. Eyes closed in deliberation.
They were using the second floor of one of the three buildings within the walls. She and the other three men-at-arms were having a quick meeting to discuss the situation.
"Guess we'll have to pray hard that Owen and Fionn along with the others get back here before then," she concluded.
"With all due respect ma'am, do you really think they have any chance of pulling a miracle of all things?" asked Neal.
"It was a miracle we even pulled off that raid. Reckon we can try another."
"Horse-shit!" he snapped. "You know as well as I do, we've screwed the pooch. If it weren't for your need to sate your damn glory itch, we wouldn't be in this mess!"
A hand reached out and palmed the horseman's chest/
"Ease off, Neal," growled Harold, a gentle tone being used.
"And why should I?" Neal challenged.
"Because it wouldn't look pretty for the folks out there if they see us a fightin'. Alan would've had your tongue, also."
A scoff-bark of laughter escaped Neal. "Yeah? But he well can't do that being dead now, yeah? And who you think we have to thank fo-"
"Bring the dead into this and I cut your freedom, Neal."
Both men turned to look at their master. She'd spent the entire time remaining hunched on her seat. Her helm beside her and the padded coif lowered down and behind her scalp. In her hands was a Tamarisk pendant.
She breathed, deeply. Then turned to look at both of them. Neal in particular.
"You and Alan were a pair, yes? Born and raised together, I get it. That doesn't mean you get to hide behind him now when he's not anymore among the living. Abuse his memory one more time, and you'll be stripped, I mean it."
The man in question visibly gulped, but iron still dominated his features. Dark eyes watched as the maiden rose from her sella, turn and approached till the distance was mere a finger's length. Both the other two men instinctively backed away, and Neal would've taken a step behind had it not been for the person in front of him cocking her head almost predatorily.
"This is no place for splintering," she voiced. "Consider doing so after we manage to find a solution out of here."
She then turned to the other man-at-arm. The one that was all but named.
"Escort him out. Don't let him out of your sight."
Said horseman nodded, fast. He then nudged Neal away and towards the stairs.
As this happened, the maiden returned to her seat and resumed the deep pondering. The sound of boots against the hard wood floors echoed for a while, but eventually it turned inaudible and finally dispersed with a loud clap of the wooden portal on the ground floor that led outside.
Harold stood for a little while longer after the sound of the door below. Slowly, he took soft strides to another chair that set at an angle opposing the maiden.
"Out with it," she half-snapped after a brief silence.
"Don't let the happenings get to your head, milady."
The hand holding the pendant reached for her temple. It's gloved feature slowly but gently rubbed the surface before a sigh escaped.
"I can hear Gil raising a fit over this."
"And he'd be right too."
"Analach would look less than amused."
"As he should."
"And Ser Connery living up to his bastardry."
"He never fails to be one. You'd think he was a result of a big pile of adultery."
This drew a laugh out of the maiden. Harold's lips twitched. Yet, the moment was not to be lived for long. Dying like a flicker.
"…. Do me a favour, Harold."
"Anything, ma'am. If its within reason."
"Sucker punch me if we live through this."
"You want teeth intact after?"
"Yes," the nod that followed was lacking, weak. A hand hesitantly reached out. "But if we don't, promise me this gets taken to the proper people."
The senior man had to blink at the white charm in her hands. A split later he realised the significance of the ornament and turned to her.
"Alan's was always a close student of Paul, eh?"
"Moreso than his brother. Surprised me at first. You'd think it was the more emotional of the two that would be spiritual."
"Well, we all have our secrets ma'am."
The hand holding the pendant faltered. "Yeah…. Yeah we do."
Harold reached out and took the pendant. Allowing the hand of the maiden to final retreat to its owner.
Another moment of stillness followed.
"….. How many of those bastards you collected are alive?"
"Four, three if you ignore the one who'll be dead soon."
"Get the townspeople roused. We have a militia to raise."
"Standard practice, ma'am?"
"Yea, I'll join you shortly."
Snapping a quick chest salute, the man-at-arm stood up and made for the exit. As he reached the landing, he spared one last glance at the one he called his superior, noting how she once more had a thousand imaginary yards before her in one direction. With light from a lone square window to illuminate her.
He spared no other moment and went down.
It was an orange sky which greeted her when she finally exited the building. She smelled the night's meal being prepared near the large fire pit at the centre of the compound. Looking around, she noted the distinct lack of people, but she already knew what that was the case.
She turned northwards and sure enough, there was a crowd gathered there. Three long poles stood straight and peaked just ever so slightly above the heads of the townspeople.
Lorraine took a lengthy approach around the crowd. Her strides consistent as they were long. As it happened, she came towards the northeast area, where they used a section of the wall as a makeshift stable for the horses.
Misha, bless her grey hairs, trotted over with blatant jubilee. She had to pin her own joy at seeing the mare but managed a hug at the very least. The assigned horse master for the caravan said that it'd be wise to not let anyone near the beasts to give them the time they needed to naturally rest. Of course, having cared for her steed over the better part of a decade, she knew her Misha wasn't one to be unfaithful.
Still, she'd respect the ones in charge, and it wasn't like she was cut off altogether from the courser. With a light pat, she shooed her mount off so that she could continue on.
Another few strides later, and she was in position where she could observe the scene before her without making it obvious the crowd and men were being watched. Her back leaning against the wooden palisade.
Spear tip burrowed deep into the monster. A twist followed suit earning a squelch but no mewl.
The pig was long dead. No uncertainty there. It had enough holes in it, that a whole family of rats could fit in with possible room to spare. It's brethren beside it fared no better.
A short distance away, the other two remaining orcs could only watch as the townspeople took their fury on their brethren. One had tried defiance, but consecutive heavy blows from two clubs had thwarted any attempt. It's face turned into a pulp and so swollen it could hardly see out either eye. The other orc beside it wisely kept silent.
"AAARRRHH!"
Guttural, inane. The man who held the spear let out weeks worth of pain in that moment. He screamed hard till his throat felt like shattered glass. Till his lungs were but a void chamber. Both normal and pale eye burned hot with tears as he finally tore the spear from the monster's side and threw it on the ground.
None bothered him as he left the gathering. Another took his place. This time a boy hardly into a decade and a half of his life. He sported a missing upper lip and burns on both arms. Hollowed eyes stared wide-eyed at the demon tied before him, then to the spear.
"Hold it," a gruff voice sounded.
He turned to the man who spoke. All seventy or so townspeople followed. They watched as said man walked to the tied demons.
And promptly cut them loose.
If the people wanted to voice outrage, they never got the chance as they witnessed both corpses collapse to the ground. Less like bodies, but more like stripped carcasses. The man spat on both corpses, before motioning to the half dozen militiamen guarding the other two orcs.
"Bring them here," he called.
One of the militiamen nodded. Said man motioned for two of his companions to drag the unbeaten one to the poles. Uncaring to the two corpses on the ground, they tied the new orc and stepped aside.
The spear tip was quick to thrust. It penetrated the gut, just above its privates. And remained there.
Bony fingers tried pulling the shaft out but failed. A sound reminiscent of a whine sounded from the youth as he tossed his weight back and finally succeeded at pulling out the weapon.
The man in charge looked at the wound on the aberrant, then at the boy flat on his rear. He then turned to the crowd.
"Fair lesson, these bastards have plenty of fat. Enjoy stabbing these for now. After, we'll get to work on putting those eyes of yours to good use."
He motioned for the boy to stand. Said youth didn't hesitate and thrusted once more. Alas, his strength wasn't there, and he fumbled the next two thrusts. One wounding the creature's right thigh, and another the left bicep. The man ordered the boy to pass the weapon and step back.
This continued and the orc was soon turned into a used pincushion. The second, beaten orc soon followed suit and it could only watch as its would-be victims at one point took out their antipathy on its kin. It followed the same fate not long after.
Night had fallen by then and the people then gathered for a silent meal. Food was given, along with what water could be spared. None broke the silence.
That was until she came. Approaching from the north, the armoured figure made their way through the crowd until they stood mere steps away from the flame. Her auburn hair reflected on the orange light. The rings on her maille glistened.
She eyed the townspeople, then her each of her own man. There were no smiles to be had. No merriment or open acts of gratitude. Even days after their flight, the exhaustion born from long suffering continued to haunt them. The fact that those responsible now assailed them from beyond the walls brought no comfort.
Eyes that were void and hollow looked at the figure before them. Aware enough to take note, but too downtrodden to be curious or annoyed.
The figure clicked their tongue. "Enjoyed your meals, people?"
A few nodded.
"Good," she breathed. "Good. Then, suppose you owe me being frank in how it can be repaid. You know what's outside these walls, yeah?"
She pointed a thumb at the palisade. The few among the crowds nodded once more.
"I'll also be bold in saying that there's nothing left of your hometown to return to. Slip Head, as you know it, is gone. Mere ash and char now. Not to mention, there isn't enough of you either to rebuild, much less seek refuge in another settlement."
The brief pause allowed for the reality of the situation to sink in.
"As it stands, we may have another day or two to hold out. Three, with some help. I need your help."
One man spoke up. "This is what's come to, eh? A ghastly death."
"Looks that way, doesn't it?" came the retort. "But would you prefer getting eaten alive, or made a sacrifice for some heathen ritual?"
No response came, but another answered. This new voice being a woman's.
"So, if we're just going to die, what's that show earlier for? Why go through the trouble tying some freaks to let us poke 'em to death."
"Because I believe that, even if you're going to meet your ends, that you people deserve some satisfaction that the pain inflicted upon you got returned in some way."
"And you think that's the end of things? That's it? We get to wait as those…. bastards…. claw in here, see their fellows and let them have their way once more with us?"
The maiden inclined her head. "Not at all."
"Then what's the point?" came the broken question.
"There is none. I'm offering you a choice."
Once more a pause.
"Die miserably or die fighting. The outcome? That's what you decide. That's what you stand to gain. And I for one will not go quietly if I can."
"What you got to lose for, lady?" asked another man.
"Plenty," was the answer given, a faint curve of the lips followed. "And it's for those reasons that I will see to it that I fight to the end. What of you lot then?"
A few faces cast downwards at the question. Some went stiff, almost looking offended.
"You have nothing to lose for, but I suppose that is a thing you've got going for on your own. None of you own anything, nor do you own it to me in order to fight. You fight not for anyone but yourselves. And for that reason, ask yourself, is it any different to die fighting than it is otherwise?"
It was then she followed with a chest salute. "I swear it. Upon myself, upon the lives of my bannermen, upon this very ground I stand on, that I will fight. Not for coin, not for glory, but a sliver of chance that I might see the light of tomorrow."
"Not for the Goddess?" an elderman asked.
She half-snarled as she looked at the man. "And if I did? You'd think she swoop in and take my place to be defiled for me? Take me yourself, old man."
"Bah, I'm too old for chasing skirts," the man guffawed. The sudden cheek-in-tongue was short lived. "But I ain't old enough not to swing a blade though."
Pushing his kneecaps, the man swayed upright, his form looked ready to break at the slightest breeze. That, however, didn't stop him from letting loose his next words.
"Those bastards owe me my grandchildren. I ain't leavin' this world before I get to settle the score."
Another man stood. This being the one missing half his lips.
"Ella. Dear Ella. Those bastards will pay for her!" he half-screamed. "Beat them! Crack them!"
One more rose. A boy who was half-blind and had burns on his bare arms. He made to speak, but there were no words leaving his throat. The point was the same either way.
Soon more and more rose. Even the woman who looked half-reluctant earlier. Each had reason. Each had suffered. Each was vocal over the though of death from inaction.
The door of Death was open, but it was not its hand that would undo the latch.
And beneath the façade of ascertain calm, there was warmth in the war maiden's look.
"Hold. Thrust! Pull! Thrust! Backs straighter! What are you?! Men or hunchbacks!"
"Pull that bolt back faster! Do you think Mr. Pig has time to wait for you! Do you think he's happy to wait his hunger out?! Pull it! You little shit!"
"I don't care what you have under those rags! I want to see swings! DO! YOU! HEAR! ME!"
The morning air was wild and livid. Screams, curses and all manner of tongue lashes sounded off within the compound as the newly assigned instructors got to work in putting their newly acquired militia to work.
While the trainers themselves were senior instructors, that didn't discredit their capabilities. Every single townsperson was put to the spotlight of verbal bashing, having been assigned a weapon based on physical aptitude. It was mainly spears, falchions or crossbows. Each of the three being easy enough to handle without needing extended time of training.
From their place on the north wall -specifically the landing with its high palisade for cover- the maiden observed the training regimen along with her usual guards. All fully clad in battle regalia since waking up.
"It ain't gonna be enough," came Harold's inference.
"Still better than if we let them have at it on their own," she bounce back.
"Training, no training. What's the difference? Lot, and I mean a lot, of them are gonna get chewed alive," interjected Neal.
"We'll handle that as we go along. Look at it this way, we're not too stricken on the numbers this time. If we can keep them off the walls, then for the most part we'll live another day or two."
"Damn this, woman. Try and act a bit scared would you?" Neal both groaned and sighed.
"I'll have you eating grass if you say that again, man."
The moment was interrupted by a loud sound looming across the sky. For the first time, actual confusion etched itself on the townspeople in training. For even when their home was razed, such a sound hadn't been heard.
But to the bannermen of the Willows and their master, the lot of them may as well have been hit with a blizzard to the face.
For the high brass and long roar of a carnyx was unmistakeable.
"SOUTH! SOUTH! SOUTH!" a bowman echoed in the distance.
Lorraine immediately stepped forward and pointed down at the instructors.
"Resume training! Don't stop unless I say otherwise!"
She then motioned for the men-at-arms to move. As they did so, they passed archers and footmen along the walls. The latter was split between those holding position and others who patrolled and brisked across section of the walls. With the addition of mantlets, there wasn't a need for the footmen to act as protective covers anymore. Hence, freeing them up for other duties,
Travelling along the length of the wall, they soon reached the south edge. The same direction they had arrived in days earlier when the scouts first found the abandoned fort they now resided in.
Inching the last stretch of distance, she peaked from behind the cover of the tall wooden barrier. A whistle was the warning she had to snap her head back before the slung stone impacted the edge of the palisade. Additionally, she heard the distinctive crack of wood and had to check herself for splinters. She spared a glance at her aides, all of which shook their heads to signify all clear.
Turning her head the other direction, she observed the bowmen busying themselves with trading missiles with the enemy. One of the three suddenly cursed and knelt whilst flailing his drawing arm.
"Hey!" she yelled.
"What?!" the bowman screamed back. His eyes turned to his thigh whilst rummaging for something on his person.
"How many 're there?"
"I've seen a dozen or so!"
"Javelins?" she yelled in inquiry.
"Can't tell shit! They keep going in and out of the grass!"
Another whistle in the air, and the maiden raised a vambrace to block the inevitable eruption of wood from the palisade. Sure enough, a loud crack, and she actually felt bits and pieces of timbre impact her guard.
"EAST! EAST!"
Eyebrows shooting up. She snapped her head around. Sure enough, she saw bowman loosening missiles downward. Only, she was more aware that they did so with their bodies bend halfway over the edge of the walls.
One of the footmen stationed peered over the edge himself, he then turned to shout.
"THEY'RE CLIMBING!"
Even before the last vestiges of the shout died, the maiden had spun heel to run.
"Shite! They're climbing this way too!"
Muscles stretched, teeth grit. One foot shot out and dug into the rampart as she turned to face behind her. The archer she'd been talking too earlier had a clear look of worry on him.
A hand grasped her shoulder. She turned -half expecting the need to headbutt- and was eye-to-eye with stone-faced Harold.
"Me and Neal got the other wall. Take care of this one."
The words reverbed in her mind with little refute. She nodded. Then, turned to face the danger coming from the south wall.
South wall. East wall. What about the west? Maybe too few in numbers and tools. The north was the opposite end and too far. Hence, unlikely for an immediate attack.
With this in mind, she settled into the mind frame for a violent dalliance. She drew the long seax, her short spear long lost by this point in the raid days back. A simple order was given for the archers to retreat and for footmen to make ready. Glancing back, the other man-at-arm who she couldn't recall had readied his own arming sword.
The last archer backed away just as the axehead of the first orc hooked over the edge of the wall. A second axehead followed, then the head of the demon itself.
It wasn't alone. One, two, three others followed suit across the length of the south palisade, unopposed. The defenders having cleared the rampart and blocked either ends that led down to the compound.
Behind a line of footmen, the archers resumed the work they'd been doing earlier. The monsters barely had a chance to note their surroundings before being riddled with arrows. Some fell forward and landed within the compound; others fell backward and over the edge they came from.
The maiden and her remaining retinue had locked shields with the southeast line. She could hear the battle behind her, though there was little she could do but have faith her men would pull through.
More and more orcs climbed the walls. Some had axes like the first, others had spiked clubs, and a sparse few with crude long hooks. Eventually, the numbers grew too much, and one was able to turn and charge their way.
To their credit, the two footmen who formed the bottom of their two-by-two wall struck first. Both spears punched clean through the pigs gut and it crumbled with a groan. However, they then ran into the problem of trying to pull out their weapons.
Another orc shoved past the first and took an arrow deep in the eye for its trouble. It stumbled forward in pain, and Lorraine took the chance to strike its throat and follow up with a shield bash that sent it flat on its back, choking on its own blood.
A third followed. To her right, the footman underneath her retinue had freed his spear but couldn't bring it to bear against the demon. Instead, he braced and the man-at-arm above him followed suit.
The orc's shoulder slammed with all the force of a ram, nearly bowling them over. Still, both men held firm and screamed in defiance of the weighed threat. That, and it was also the only way not to be deafened by the demon's own roar as the reverbs came within a span of their ears.
Lorraine saw this. Saw what needed to be done. And took her chance with a reverse grip stab just as it seemed like her men would buckle. The tip of her blade went through the pig's wide-open maw and out the back. The man-at-arm, too, saw his chance and stabbed from above, landing a clean thrust through the collar bone.
With that, the greenskin went limp and its muscles seemingly lost vigour as it slumped forward on both men's shields. Wisely, the two of them pushed and forced the corpse over the edge.
Once that was done, the maiden turned her sights forward expecting a new foe. A clear line of sight towards the other end of the ramparts was what awaited her. The men on the other end having held their own for better or worse.
That left only the east side.
"Aaarg-!"
Sure enough, she heard a scream. She turned to look just in time to see a man having his head ripped off by an orc far larger than the ones they'd slain. The sight alone made her feel like a layer of ice had embraced her.
Black Orc.
The larger than average greenskin swatted another footmen, catching him by the head with such force that it tore off the body. Underneath the afternoon sun, its crude iron armour was a giant opaque slab.
It stood towering at the furthest end, near the northeast tall palisade. Harold and Neal were on the other side dealing with the greenskins that'd taken advantage of their superior brethren to climb the walls unscathed.
Her neck strained and twisted to address those with her on the south wall.
"Archers! Loose arrows on those pigs! Someone get down and have the militia make ready! I want every bolt and arrow loosed on that walking iron!"
A series of yeses sounded off and she registered the loud footsteps of one man running off behind her. She herself made haste to aid the remaining defenders.
"Ma'am! Take m' spear!"
Twirling around, she caught the polearm thrown her way and barely managed a nod before resuming her run. The long seax switching hands and held in the same grip as her shield arm.
Harold drove his axe into the neck of another bastard.
With a single tug, the axeblade came free and he used the momentum to punch with his heater shield, sending the greenskin over the edge and out of the fort.
Neal, likewise, dispatched his foe with a shield bash that twisted the upper half sideways, before sidestepping and thrusting up and into the back of the neck. With a final kick, he sent the orc to its death on the ground within the fort.
Both barely made out long, sharp whistles in the air before the first arrows struck the remaining orcs.
Harold spat and wiped his lips with his right sleeve. A simple shuffle proved he hadn't been injured noteworthily, and one glance at Neal proved much the same.
That left the only major problem.
The Black Orc sent a man flying into the compound with one swing of its arm. The lone remaining footman with the three archers behind him continued to shuffle back slowly. Only, pure knowing fear of what would happen if they run kept them from breaking formation.
Clinking and loud footsteps sounded behind them. Both men turned just enough to note the familiar crude helm that appeared with spear and round shield in hand.
"Lock shields! Everyone with me!"
None argued. The two men-at-arms formed the flank with the maiden in the centre and began to advance. Behind them, the two footmen followed suit with their own line and spears resting above their shields. Three archers were furthest back with arrows nocked.
A scream sounded from the front. It went from frightened, but with courage, to simply frightened. The owner of the voice having been picked up and stuffed into the maw of the Black Orc. The archers that'd been behind that man simply loosed what arrows they'd left. Some of which harmlessly got stuck between the gaps of the monster's armour to which it chuckled.
Its fun would be cut short, however.
Before it could take another step forward, it stiffened then grunted in pain before turning to see what the cause was.
There, the maiden stood with her cohort. She herself having slipped out of line just enough to land a thrust between the gap around the waist before pulling back.
The creature snorted. Dropped the now headless body of its latest victim before switching the hold of its crude spiked mace into its other hand.
Its advance began anew.
"Backstep, follow!" came the command.
Screek.
Though lacking any form of mail, that didn't mean the creature's armour couldn't shriek as individual crude plates grinded against each other. One such cruel noise sounded as it raised its club arm.
"Back!"
The air itself morphed in the face of the swing that followed. Cold wind of autumn blasted the faces of the line and had it not been for the timely call, three heads would've taken flight.
"Back!"
Another call, another swing. An angry snort and squeal. It wouldn't take another miss! And so, the orc held its weapon in two hands and prepared a shoulder charge, weapon facing out.
There was no show or time to prepare. Leaning forward, the monster thundered straight into the line.
"Archers!" screamed the maiden. As she did, she slammed a knee to the ground. Her retinue following suit and the footmen behind them. The archers loosed arrows.
The monster was unfazed by the volley, simply adjusting its left arm to shield itself.
It was within three paces from them now.
"Harold, move!"
With a scream, the aged warrior seized the moment to break away from the maiden's right flank. Half-crouched, he scraped the side of the wall and dashed pass the monster's guard.
The orc didn't let this slide and twisted to try and grab the oncoming human. The archers were quicker and let loose a scatter over the heads of the fighters still knelt in front of them. The impact served to only irk the beast.
It was barely enough.
Harold cleared out and was now in position behind the greenskin. He turned just in time to guard against a blow that splintered his heater shield and sent him flying to the floor of the rampart.
Screaming in unison, both the maiden and Neal took their chance to strike the monsters once more exposed rear. The former hastily dropped her shield before thrusting once more in the waist gap with both hands. The latter was more cautious, but a spark of ingenuity had him change position to the maiden's right where Harold once stood.
The monster flailed trying to dislodge the spearhead embedded next to its tailbone. In a feat of dexterity and part strength, the maiden twisted and shoved the metal in deeper, causing the monster to pause and let out a roar in pain. Neal took his chance then.
Unwilling to let it go into full rage, the dismounted horseman tackled the beast shield first. The greenskin's already unsteady poise finally gave way and both fell into the compound.
The maiden lost the grip on her spear. She barely managed to glimpse the form of her man plummeting with the beast.
"NEAL!"
Dust was kicked up in the impact with the ground. She scrambled to the edge, and peered over to see what became the fate of man and monster. She hardly registered the multitude of footsteps around her.
Her eyes gazed at the demon. Landed flat on its back, breathing hard and struggling to move.
Her eyes glazed on the form of Neal, who struggled and crawled on the beast's massive chest. With sword still somehow in hand, he slipped it into the gap where the neck was. The monster squealed, but before it could try and fight for salvation, the man-at-arm proceeded to deepen the wound using his weight against the pommel of the weapon.
And still, it wouldn't die.
By now, a number of the militia that'd been on guard within the compound had gathered around the two. No less than ten came and didn't waste time using their pikes and other assorted weapons to stab and thrust between the gaps in the armour. Some did the wrist, others the legs and two went straight for the eye.
Half mumbled curses filled the air. One militiaman released the pike embedded in the creature's waist in order to approach the man-at-arm still sitting on the monster's chest.
"Ser? Are you alright?"
They didn't respond. Seemingly sitting there, breathing hard.
"Ser?"
The second time, there was a jerk. Said man turned and craned his head to look at the militiaman.
Before promptly going limp.
The militiaman barely had time to catch him. His immediate act was to scream for a healer.
And from above, the maiden watched the scene unfold. She too breathed hard now. No longer worrying too much now that the beast was dead. Pressing her helm to the edge of the rampart, she took greedy gulps before pushing off the wooden floor and standing up proper.
She regarded her left and right. Noting the shaken footmen and two men-at-arms standing and forming a semi-circle around her.
"Alright, shows over. Tend to the wounded and dead. Have some men from the other walls take watch over the East and South. And somebody tell the militia to cut training today."
With a final 'go', the men scattered off to do what needed doing. As there was none to watch, only then she took the chance to pat herself for any injury. She found none.
Another exhale escaped her.
"Ser Neal's suffering from exhaustion, ma'am. It's more a miracle than anything else that he didn't somehow kill himself in the fall. Moreso, he's relatively unharmed outside of a full body bruise."
The maiden nodded, then pinched her nose knowing what was coming next.
"What about the dead?"
"Six dead footmen. One archer."
"….. Alright. Return to your duties."
The healer nodded and went off. Once he was a distance away, she inhaled deeply and released in an elaborate breath. Her shoulders sagged and going limp.
"What now milady?"
She turned to face Harold, who now had his arm in a sling. The unnamed man-at-arm behind him. Neither had lively looks to them. Simply being tired is what it was.
Licking her lips, she turned to look at those in their surroundings. The battle had turned morning to early evening fast. While there weren't any major attempts at climbing the walls again, the bastards did continue to send slingers to skirmish. Albeit there was less vigour about it.
The townspeople, as per her orders, had ceased their training. Most now wandered about, holding a varying assortment of protective accoutrements and weapons. Mainly, it was some manner of helm and spear combo. Some of the more capable men had the arms of the fallen footmen.
Expectance was plastered on all of their faces and even her own bannerman. Many ate their early dinner with trepidation.
'That obvious, eh?' she thought.
"Milady?"
Turning to face the man-at-arm, she blinked and took another quick breath before speaking.
"Wash and have a meal. Then get ready. It's going to be a long night."
The senior fighter looked at her with an odd look but didn't pry. Rather, he motioned for the other man to follow. As they left, she saw Ceri had been standing behind them.
She beckoned him to approach and the two shared hushed words.
He stood squatted with his back to the wall of the building.
A hand reached up to loosen the strings that kept his helm clinging to his head in a vice-like grip. Sweat soaked his attire from neck down, and there was an indescribable urge to relieve himself despite there being a contrasting feeling pressing him to sit.
That didn't even include the matter of his stomach. He felt ready to blow grits despite not eating the whole day.
With a final tug, the string came undone, and he all but threw the kettle helm across the distance and into the grass. Dark, sweat-matted hung around his face as he brought both hands up to rub his eyes.
Six more.
Six more of his lot.
Just like that. They were gone.
He'd only stood and watched they all died. Stood and kept in line as his betters strode in and fought the beast. Stood and watched as it tumbled with one of the men-at-arms.
Was that all he was good for? Standing by and watching as the world spun.
He choked and bit his lower lip.
"You alright?"
"Hrk!"
Pain pulsed as his teeth sank hard into his own flesh. Snapping his head left, he came to face with a pair of green eyes.
Green concerned eyes.
It didn't take long for him to discern whose it was. Flailing his limbs, he kicked the ground and thrusted his hips, mimicking a flailing fish as he scrambled to stand.
"Hey, ease it! I didn't mean to scare you!"
She stood there. Gloved hands raised and looking mildly surprised. She too, seemed to be sweating underneath her armour. If her exposed head and sweat-drenched look was anything to go by.
"I-I didn't mean to be like this ma'am. My duty's off and I just thought I could use some-"
"Stop."
Sharp and precise came the order, like a refined thrust.
"Just… stop," she accentuated with hands movements and a sigh. "My…. What a gaffe."
Then, unexpectantly, she went to where he'd been squatting and sat down on the grass. Back laid fully against the wall with legs stretched out. Her eyes soon closed along with her shoulders slumping.
The footman simply stood there, unsure as he was how to continue upon seeing the current state of his superior. Hence, he fell on what he knew.
"Stay. Sit."
All intentions to depart from the area left him upon hearing the voice. One foot had already been in action, the half-turned heel retreating back until it was facing straight once more.
On one hand, he felt utterly out of depth being this close to her.
On the other, he knew better than to defy a command from her of all people.
So, there he was, standing. Unsure just how to proceed. Swallowing a thick amount of saliva and blood in his mouth as his head throbbed trying to glean an answer to a bother.
Bother.
….. That's all it was, yes?
So why-
"Don't make me repeat myself."
… To hells with it then.
Throwing reason out the window, he settled himself in what he believed to be an appropriated distance away from her. His own back now sat leaning against the wall of the building.
Eventually, his eyes close too. Though, he found no call to slumber. Discomforted as he was from the day's struggle along with just how much his eyelids hurt for whatever reason.
And then there was the mouth bite as well. Damn him.
"You need anything for that lip?"
That voice again. He turned to look at her.
"…. No," he replied, straight and disregarding.
"Sure?"
"Yea."
Her head lolled a bit. Almost like a nod. Once more the two enjoyed silence as dusk moved through the world.
"…Foot?"
"Yea?"
"Can you tell me names?"
"Names?"
"Six foots got killed on the wall today. Tell me their names. I'd like to know."
He swallowed hard again. The entreat was a twist in the gut, and that sensation of wanting to barf came back in full.
Still, he forced himself to wrack his mind for an answer. Only to be met with quiet.
That alone brought still to his innards.
"…. I don't know."
"Hm?"
"I don't know. Didn't really know any of them well enough. Last man I knew got killed back at the hill fight days ago."
"Oh… I see."
More silence. More of that damnable silence.
Until she spoke again of course.
"So what are you doing here then?"
"….Thinking."
"What's a man got to think about the dead he hardly knew?"
"Matters when you could be next and not know of it. Not like you'd care, I give."
"….. So, I see."
"Who was that friend you lost?"
"…. Dennis."
"Dennis," she repeated. "Was Dennis the one looking for flowers back at Ken?"
That made him snap his eyes open to look at her.
"You knew?"
She shrugged. "Had to figure out how Neal got himself into trouble then. Mostly I just knew in passing. Not that I knew why he wanted flowers."
Now it was her turn to open her eyes and look at him.
"I suppose that makes you Geoffrey then?"
He nodded. Hardly registering the fact he was still remembered after all this time.
"Well, nice to see that some of the candidates for the Sham Shields are still alive."
"Didn't say I'd join ma'am."
"I apologise. It's just easier to remember the overall details than its nuance."
With that, she turned forward and leaned back.
"I'd recommend sleeping right now if you hadn't anything else. We're expecting something fierce tonight."
Blinking at the lady's acts, he turned to look forward and gently closed his eyes too. But not before asking.
"Are we going to die tonight?" slipped the question.
He never did get an answer.
Silhouettes dashed across the clearing. Their forms obscuring the fire pit in split, brief interims.
One such shape approached the armoured figure near the fire, who stood poised with their shield and spear in hand. With straps tightened and face obscured by the shadows of their helm.
"Better not screw this one ma'am. I ain't explaining it to either Sers or Neal for that matter if anything happened to you," spoke the silhouette in a gruff tone.
"You worry for yourself, man," snapped the figure, their voice feminine, but firm.
"This. Is. Dangerous," the outline stressed.
"…..," the figure turned to look out into black.
BRUUUUUNNNN!
Every silhouetted craned their heads up, hearing the loud bass echoing across the dark roof of niht. Every silhouette either visibly paled or went still as a statue upon hearing the reverb.
"…..Time. Get everyone indoors, Harold."
"…. Milady."
"Now, Harold. This is our only chance. If not else, then at least we can be assured that this threat leaves 'ere with no head."
The silhouette's sole good hand became clutched in a bone white grip. They turned heel and began walking off, but not before sparing one last glimpse at the maiden still standing out at the edge of the fire pit.
Within moments, the compound was devoid of life. Not a single sole remained save for the armoured form that had steadily moved to position herself within two strides of the roaring flames of the firepit. All the three buildings were barred shut with no entry in.
That was when the first of them arrived. Their kind weren't the type for silence but can be cunning when they wanted to be.
A distant boom followed by the sound of a dozen snorts and rumbling. She heard their heavy footfalls before their silhouettes began to be discernible. Even then, there seemed to be great care taken to not approach the touch of the fire's light.
A stench was in the air. It wasn't something anyone cared when in the thick of a fight. But now, it was palpable and very distinctive for the presence of demons.
A small knot formed in her stomach.
That knot grew as an armoured boot appeared from the dark. Like a tree, that extremity grew to be a full leg, then a torso and finally a foul head of an orc. Like a snapping twig, a small part of her appraised that this was yet another Black Orc before her.
Subtlety, she shifted her stance. Left foot forward, back hunched with shield face front and spear resting more on the shield than her.
The mind was set and prepared for a clash of arms. It almost came undone at what happened next.
"Breed-un."
…..What?
Beneath her helm, she blinked.
"Breed-un," snorted the Vile-Thing. "Smell breed-un."
A crude, but actual scimitar manifested from the dark. Its hilt gripped in an armoured hand, almost undiscernible from where the weapon ended and the limb began.
"You. You breed-un. You bad, bad breed-un. Kin killer. Thief!"
With a mighty slam, it brought its weapon down on the earth. It's other limb appeared form the dark, and she could just barely make out the round shield it held in hand.
Grass came undone in the wake of its mauling of the ground. It howled, roared and flailed like a half-sick beast on two legs.
"RRRAAAAGGH!"
The sound of violence rang in her helm. A sound so loud she felt akin to be underneath a church bell.
It made her drag a foot back a full stretch.
"RRAAA- HAHAHAHA!"
Even with the distance from the flames behind her, there was no mistaking the way its form seemed to flop. From vehemence to mockery in all the time taken for a tree to sway under harsh gale.
"Breed-un! Fighting breed-un! Grakka lung not have fighting breed-un! Your killer Grakka brother!"
A slick, slopping sound followed with the undeniable excited porcine squeal.
"Grakka likes breed-un now…"
She would've been seen rattling like a crumbling framework if it weren't for the padding and maille she wore.
She knew what awaited her.
She knew and had seen firsthand what it could and would do to her.
A naked truth all born in this cursed land knew.
And all she had to show for it was…
"Come and get it, then."
"GRAAAAGGH!"
Monstrously rabid sounds assaulted her ears once more. Instinct struck her limbs and she barely got herself into a roll just in time to avoid as something barrelled straight through where she stood. When the terror left, she allowed those same instincts to correct the roll on their own.
Entering a crouched stance with spear in a reverse grip over the shoulder, she brought every sense to the forefront in finding the monster.
There! Just slightly past the fire. The bastard actually ran straight through the pit! Dragging ash and traces of embers with it.
As it turned, she noted that it hardly looked effected by its own stunt. Rather, it opted to roar in clear excitement over its crazed act.
"GRAKKA'S UN! GRAKKA'S UN!" screamed the beast whilst slamming its armoured chest.
Risking it, the maiden stole a glimpse behind, and sure enough, the other orcs were stepping back. Not interfering in their warlord's game.
Snapping front, she'd turned in time to watch the demon jump across the pit and land right in front of her a short distance out. Every fibre of her being came alive pulling her in all directions. When the beast did charge, she tried for another roll.
It didn't work.
A metal limb clasped around a stretched leg and yanked hard. She felt like it'd been torn off then and there, only to be proven wrong as she soon found herself sailing straight across and into the western building.
Slam-cracking the wall, her adam's apple rocked in her throat. She barely made a choked sound. Her vision swam around her.
'Fight Lori! Fight!'
That voice… who's?
She slammed her head into the wall behind her and started blinking hard. Through the dissipating ringing, she heard the laughter of the Vile-Thing.
"Breed-un strong! Grakka like it!"
With her spear for balance, the maiden stood. She tested the leg that'd been pulled, finding it numb. Good enough for her use then. Pain was a detriment right now.
She gathered herself. Forcing her way into another crouched stance. Eyes reattaining the focus she'd lost.
Her mind had only a moment to register the metal behemoth that was going to ram her. Strength became speed as she craned her head and crashed her entire body into the earth. Her right ribs trembled in the falling.
She rolled onto her back. Looking up to see that the pig had planted its sword arm into the wall. Seeing the awaiting exploit, she rose onto a knee and went for a strike.
Rationale would dictate she try for the neck or at worse, the orc's thick arm. However, that kind of thinking didn't work on orcs. Orcs like to ignore wounds that would otherwise cripple a man.
Yet, two legs were still two legs.
Sure enough, she didn't need to stare hard to know that it's footwear wasn't all metal. The barely noticeable strip of metal was all the reason she needed to drop her spear and pull the seax she carried on her.
With a cry, she stabbed it into the Achilles tendon. Both her arms flexed as she pulled hard out the back of the leg, eliciting and actual pained roar as the demon lost balance and bent a knee.
Quickly scrambling to her feet, she smashed her shield into the monster's head. Once. Twice. Thrice. And again, and again until just barely she could make out green from underneath the black iron.
She switched the seax into the hand of her shield arm. Reaching down, she grabbed the spear and made to thrust it into the beast.
Only for it to tear its hand out the wall and bat her away with a fierce roar.
Landing on her back once more. She raised herself enough to see as the pig-headed demon began closing the distance rapidly. Or rather, as rapidly as one could with a torn heel.
Even with its helmet still half-on, the murderous gaze it held wasn't dimmed. Gone was the sense of sadism. It wanted her plain dead now.
Good.
She got up. Battle-honed senses guided her into a stance, despite that now she became mildly aware of a growing pain in her leg.
Ignorance was a bliss. A well-used one in the right place.
This was one.
In terms of reach, both her spear and the orc's scimitar were fairly matched. She was counting on that as she counter charged the oncoming foe. Her strikes prodded and pried the guard of the orc, who in turn swung wide and low. She allowed it to think it had control. To think it could get away with intimidating her.
It worked. Just not in its favour.
Their tempest took them back to the campfire. The east building to her left. Though it kept swinging hard, the monster was tiring now. No doubt the wound in its leg was starting to drag it down.
"Stupid," it growled. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"
All four of its limbs touched the ground.
"Breed-un stupid! Can't bend and take Grakka! RRRAAAGGH!"
Kicking with all its might and combined with the pull from its arms. It might've succeeded in launching itself up into the air in another time. Alas, this wouldn't be the case with its injured limb.
Instead, the orc ended up half tripping. Had it not been for its two arms, it would've gone straight into the dirt.
The maiden saw this and rushed right up to it. Delivering another shield bash hard enough that its head shot up. She didn't wait, and with another shield strike that sent the head sideways. She climbed the demon and stepped onto its back to get to her actual prize.
Before, it wouldn't have been too wise to try and strike the waistline.
Now, however, half-tired, half-dazed as the foe was. The time was ripe for the taking.
With all her strength, she sent the spear down hard into the thin gap of its waist. She didn't need to see to know that the spear went completely through and out the other end. Planting itself into the ground.
Her foe screamed. It began to thrash, but strong as it was, it could do little with a spear in its gut keeping it in place. In addition, the maiden on its back had twisted the polearm for good measure.
Jumping down, she got to work. Her new prizes were the back of the limbs, where the armour was less covering. She took to the seax once more. Stabbing and running long cuts on the wounded leg first. Then, in a moment of indescribable clarity, she thrusted her blade straight into the opponent's derriere, eliciting a cry of surprise and actual pain before it thrashed hard to get up.
She didn't allow it. Her blade drew more long cuts into the other leg, leaving it helpless from the waist down.
By this point, exhaustion had reared itself, and the maiden felt like she had anvils for shoulders. Still, her mind recognised the task wasn't done.
The beast had tired itself out by now. It couldn't lift its arms to do much, and its strength was leaving with the blood spilled from its legs.
Yet, the maiden refused to let her guard be the death of her. Approaching from an angle, she quickly thrusted into the orc's right armpit and twisted the blade. It grunted in pain but found little could be done other than to wiggle and tremble. The maiden took it as a means to deepen and worsen the wound.
Once certain the limb was done for, she yanked the blade out and proceeded with the finishing touch of the long-drawn out dance.
"Mercy-"
Its plea was cut short when she stabbed and sawed at the neck. Eventually, cutting enough of the nape that it went utterly limp right after.
Greedily, she began inhaling large gulps of air thereafter. With her foe now dead, all the strength she had faded with it. Trembling fingers made to undo the leather that kept her helmet attached, only to catch herself halfway upon reminding herself that this orc wasn't alone.
Sure enough, as she turned her head south. She watched as the rest of the demons approached her and their fallen leader. The glints of their eyes reflected their curiosity and perturbance at seeing their leader completely still and laying on the ground.
She could barely make out the fact that there was some manner of conversation happening. It was mostly slurs and grunts but eventually a message got across and throughout the gathered greenskins.
It was to charge.
It would be their mistake.
"Now!" Lorraine screamed.
From above, and even below, the windows of each and every building opened. Arrows whistled through the frames, catching an orc each. The effect was immediate as the creatures panicked and scurried off into the night.
Doors bashed open. Bold screams and shouts followed suit as a mix of the townspeople and her own bannermen raced out, eager as they were to give chase to a routing foe. Some went after the fallen foes. Others were more brazen and chased after the fleeing ones.
She wouldn't have any of it.
With what little she could muster, she took the olifant that dangled on her person. It had remarkably survived the melee, and she blew hard into it. The horn succeeded in getting everyone's attention.
"Form a circle! Protect the buildings."
Most of the townspeople were stunned. It was the discipline and training of her own men that won through the confusion and began barking orders. Veterans were quick to get those present to form a proper cordon against any possible threats.
As this happened, Harold approached her.
"Milady," came the gentle tone. It made her earnestly smile.
"Harold," she breathed.
Gently, he held her by the shoulder, trying to get her to stand. She winced, and he looked at her.
"Just the usual, man. Don't get you stirs twisted."
"With all due respect, I don't think getting thrown into a wall and leaving a mark is usual."
"On par for the course, then?" she tried to jest, wincing at the flare of pain across her whole body. She wisely returned to a sitting posture once more.
The senior grumbled, but whatever he wished to express fell mute upon the sound of horns.
Both turned their heads to look in the direction of the south. Everyone else had in fact, and all were equal parts confused and alarmed.
Unlike the demon's, this particular horn was far more 'human'. More than that, none could mistake the sound of battle in the distance, past the dark of night.
"What the hells?" someone asked openly.
Hoofbeats could soon be heard past the din of battle. Then came the most unexpected of voices.
"MAAM! MAAM!"
"Benji," breathed the maiden. "Benji!"
Sure enough, the man-at-arm rode through the darkness and closer to the camp. Some of the townspeople made to block but were in themselves halted by the footmen in their midst. With haste, the horseman dismounted and approached the maiden.
"I saw the gate open," he began. "Feared the worst, you alright ma'am?"
"I'll live," came the reply. "But where are the others?"
"Forget that. Just where in hells you been, lad?" growled Harold.
Immediately, the other man's face seemed to go completely straight.
"Answer us, boy!" snapped the senior.
"There was no choice," the young man stammered. "We got worried and were out of wits how to get back so we-"
"Benji! Benji! Where in damns are ye lad!"
A gruff voice echoed in the air. Now it was the maiden's turn to have a straight face, and even stiffer body.
It did well in expressing just how cold she felt in that moment.
Heavy footfalls could be heard in the dark. But soon, a man appeared, holding a massive sword in his hand. Caked in blood head to toe. Yet, nothing came close to the nonchalant smile on his face.
"Vault," muttered the woman.
A/N: That's that.
Took me longer than I'd like. But alas life caught and all that yada.
I hope you all have enjoyed this first arc. We'll be getting into the real grit from here. Hopefully.
But until then, stay tuned and do leave a review. Much appreciated as always.
Gonna sleep now. So damn tired.