Warband

Author's note: this story has been re-edited to bring it up to my current standards as part of an effort to make Ebooks. It features improved editing, grammar, punctuation, and also includes rewrites and expanded scenes where necessary. Please see my bio for more information.

CHAPTER 1: CLASHING STEEL

"Shields at the ready men! Hold the line!"

The standard-bearer galloped down the row of Paladins, their white armor reflecting the full moon as it bathed them in its pale glow. His spear held aloft and the flag of their noble company flying proudly, he rallied the villagers behind them, the heavy hooves of his steed sinking into the wet mud. They were a disorganized rabble, impoverished farmers and woodsmen, their clothing ragged and their weapons merely repurposed farm tools. Axes, hoes, and scythes coated in rust and too blunt to pierce anything but a sack of grain. The Paladins were here to defend these people and their remote village from a band of roving Orcs who had been sighted nearby. Orcs did not congregate near human settlements without good reason, and as they had suspected, the warband had moved into position and was preparing to launch an assault.

Orcs were savage, evil creatures, hulking masses of brawn and violence who preyed on the helpless and raided defenseless towns on the outskirts of the kingdom for plunder and slaves. Paladins were sworn to protect the weak, to counter the forces of evil wherever they might be found, and so the two dozen knights steeled themselves for battle.

The rain began to pour, fat, heavy droplets clattering on their winged helmets and steel pauldrons. Bevan peered through the slot in his visor, his eyes straining to make out shapes through the darkness and the storm. He clutched at his spear, keeping it level over his heavy shield, interlocking with those of his brothers to his left and right. Together they formed an impenetrable wall, ready to skewer anything that dared to attack them from the front. Behind him, he could hear the horse snorting and its heavy footfalls as it stamped impatiently, along with the apprehensive murmuring of the villagers. They were reluctant, some far too old to fight and others too young, but those that fell on the battlefield in defense of their loved ones would be looked upon favorably by the Divines. Bevan was certain of it.

A flash of lightning illuminated the field before them, and for a moment Bevan could see the silhouetted shapes of the Orcs, lining up on the hill to meet their challenge. They were taller and wider than a man, hulking beasts, their features obscured beneath a layer of crudely hammered iron and animal pelts. There were dozens of them, a hundred maybe, too many. Bevan felt a twinge of fear rise in his belly, but he quickly banished it, murmuring a prayer of purity under his breath as the standard-bearer marshaled the troops.

"Stand your ground, give them no quarter! Auxiliaries, hold back unless the line is broken!"

"T-This is folly! We're done for!" one of the villagers cried as he dropped his rusted scythe in the mud, turning to run back towards the wooden shacks.

"There is no place in heaven for cowards!" the standard-bearer called after him as he fled into the night.

The other villagers muttered, a low chorus of frightened voices. Bevan worried that more of them might flee, not that they would have been of much use in battle anyway.

The piercing call of a horn carried over the field, loud and clear against the rain and the thunder. The Orcs were declaring a charge. The Paladins braced, driving their metal boots into the mud for leverage and calling their readiness down the line. Lightning flashed again, and the horde of Orcs rolled down the hill like a tide, a mass of tainted metal and cruel, hooked weapons. Their roar conveyed a lust for battle that shook Bevan to his bones, but he stood ready to meet them, confident in his blessed armor and his righteous purpose.

"We will hold this village," the standard-bearer called, his voice rising over the storm. "Or we will meet on the shores of Paradise!"

The knights yelled their approval, their voices echoing through Bevan's hollow helmet and filling his heart with the warmth of courage.

The Orcs covered the ground quickly, growing in size as they approached the waiting Paladins. They had looked large in the distance, but as they drew closer, Bevan could truly appreciate their sheer mass. If they were to impact the line at full speed, throwing all of their weight into the charge, would the knights hold? Of course they would hold, for their purpose was a righteous one. Remember the scriptures Bevan, have faith.

The beasts came into range, raising their brutish weapons above their heads. They wielded swords like giant fish hooks, machetes and cleavers, war axes and maces. Tools designed to butcher, not to dispatch their enemies with any dignity or grace. Their armor was made up of heavy, thick plates of iron that was stitched together with leather straps and decorated with fur and bones. It was crude, but the sheer weight that the Orcs were capable of carrying without being overburdened made it effective.

Religious fervor overcoming his fear of mortality, Bevan angled his spear downwards, ready to intercept the charging monsters. The Orcs impacted the line of shields like a wave crashing against the rocks, pushing the Paladins back, their boots failing to find purchase in the slippery mud. Yet they held steady, their spears seeking out spaces in the Orc's thick armor and thrusting deep into their flesh. Some were felled, others were merely angered, bellowing in their guttural voices. As more Orcs piled into the fray from behind them, the line of shields began to bend under their weight. Powerful blows from hammers and machetes reverberated through Bevan's shield, and he gritted his teeth against the vibrations as they pummeled his arm. He jabbed with his spear but it glanced off their thick armor, and as he pulled it back in for another attempt it was yanked out of his hand. He fumbled for the scabbard on his belt, drawing his short sword and readying it.

They broke through down the line to his right, the swarm of enraged Orcs overcoming the knights. One Paladin fell back, knocked down by a blow to his shield from a massive war hammer wielded by an especially large specimen, who finished him off in the mud with a bone-crushing crunch as its fellows swarmed through the breach.

"Draw swords!" the standard-bearer called out, skewering an Orc from horseback with his long spear. The knights were not routed yet, and they drew back, regrouping and unsheathing their weapons. Combat was joined, their bright blades flashing in the night and biting into Orc flesh as if they wielded the very moonbeams themselves as a weapon. Bevan was high on adrenaline, seeing the world as if in slow motion as he parried a blow from a cleaver with his shield and drove his blade into the unprotected throat of his assailant. It slumped to the ground, gushing black blood.

The standard-bearer charged at the massive Orc who had broken the line, his spear level and aimed at its head. The Orc let out a terrible roar, then swung its enormous hammer into the horse's chest. Both horse and rider were knocked to the ground, the standard-bearer thrown through the air as his steed belched blood and convulsed in the dirt. Before he could rise to his feet, the honorless horde swarmed him like jackals, hacking him to pieces with their blades and picks. Seeing this, many of the villagers fled rather than face the beasts in battle, not realizing that flight was pointless. They either fought and died here, or they would be hunted like wild game, ending their lives as sport for these animals.

The knights were losing ground. For every Orc they brought down there were three more to take its place, and so they made a fighting retreat back towards the village square in hopes that the narrow streets might make the horde more manageable. Half of their company had been killed by the Orcs, and Bevan had to control his panic, muttering curses and hymns as he fought. It didn't matter if he died tonight, his corporeal form was merely a temporary vessel, playing host to his incorruptible soul. To die in service to the Gods was the fate and ultimate aspiration of all those who walked the path of Paladin. Bevan was young, he had not seen much of the world, but his immortal soul would outlive it.

One of the beasts broke ranks and charged at him, swinging a mace decorated with pointed spikes. Bevan raised his shield in order to parry the blow, but it was too powerful, the massive impact knocking the shield from his arm. It landed in the mud with a splash, its pristine surface now stained with filth. The Orc brought the mace back around for a second strike, but it was too heavy, too slow. Bevan stepped in, driving his sword into its belly below the armor that protected its chest. The monster shuddered, dropping its weapon and falling forward. He stepped out of its path as it landed face first in the mud, its weight shaking the ground beneath his feet. Bevan moved to retrieve his shield, but two more Orcs rushed at him. He had to draw back, closing ranks with the remaining knights.

One of the braver villagers made a futile attempt to engage an Orc, swinging his hoe wildly. Bevan whispered a blessing as he was cut down, barely slowing the creature as it advanced. The Paladins reached the outskirts of the small village and bunched up, using the dirt paths between the houses to funnel the Orcs. The creatures were driven by bloodlust, or maybe they were just stupid, charging headlong into the knights despite this new strategy. Even without a leader to rally them the Paladins were of a singular mind, their training and experience dictating the best course of action.

Orc bodies piled in the street, yet still they came, clambering over the fallen and sparing no pity for the dead and dying. Bevan noticed the large Orc wielding the war hammer, standing a head above the rest as it stared him down. It waved its weapon, seeming to direct the others. What were they planning? He couldn't see them, they were obscured by other Orcs and the buildings around them.

He was distracted as another one of the beasts swung at him with a machete, countering it with his steel sword, knocking the creature off balance and slicing through its thigh. He had expected it to fall to a knee so that he might cleave off its loathsome head, but it endured the pain, turning to strike him with its clenched fist. Bevan's helmet rang like a bell as he fell back into the dirt, dazed and disoriented. Through bleary eyes, he saw the Orc raise its machete over him, but it was stabbed through the ribs as a spear found the joint in its armor. His savior grasped him firmly by the hand and pulled him to his feet, thrusting his sword back into his gauntlets.

"Keep fighting! The Divines are with us!"

Bevan shook his head, trying to clear his mind as the chaos continued around him. He returned to the line, their strategy seeming to work. When their numbers were limited by the confined space, the Orcs were unable to best the Paladins. They were consistently out-fought as they stacked up, filling the street with a clamoring, clanking mob.

Suddenly he noticed movement to his right, they had gone around the building and were charging through a side street. The Paladins moved to block it, weathering the assault as the greenskins pushed against them. The Orcs poured in from the left too, the Paladins were being surrounded. The knights were being stretched too thin, and they only had one exit, the southern road behind them. If the Orcs circled all the way around the village, the Paladins would find themselves trapped. He slashed at an Orc, his blade glancing off its armor. One of the knights to his left was pulled forward and into the crowd, the horde trampling him underfoot and cutting him apart, his screams abruptly silenced.

Bevan heard clashing metal behind him, his worst fears realized as the Orcs raced down the street to their rear and into the waiting Paladins who had turned to face them. The four defensive lines were buckling, there just weren't enough of them to hold the beasts back. Another Paladin fell, and another. With only a handful left standing they were in danger of being overrun.

"Into the houses!" one of them called, and Bevan turned to see him kicking in a wooden door. Before he could break it down, the left flank caved, and Orcs swarmed into the town square. Assailed from every angle, the knights fell into chaos, swinging and thrusting in all directions. They were trapped in a brutal melee, blood mixing with the mud as their boots slipped in the wet earth. One after another they were brought down, their shining, white armor now soaked with filth and gore. Bevan warded off a blow from one of the hooked swords and met its wielder with a stab to the gut, the Orc falling screeching to the ground. He ducked under a swinging mace and drove his sword up through the chin of another. As he yanked his blade free, he noticed that the battle around him had come to a standstill. His comrades were dead or dying, and the Orcs were moving away from him, clearing a circle as if they were afraid of him. Was his faith in the Divines rewarded? Had some miracle of heaven come down to drive the beasts away and save his life?

No, they weren't afraid of him, they were afraid of the massive Orc with the hammer. It was barking at the rabble in their ugly, guttural tongue as it walked towards him, the massive weapon resting across its broad shoulders. This had to be their leader, the only thing that Orcs respected was strength and fighting prowess, and none could be stronger than this one. The crowd parted to let it pass, and it stood before him, towering over Bevan as he raised his sword in defiance. In his mind he was already long dead, his fate sealed. What mattered now was how he met his end and if it would please the Gods. The creature watched him curiously, its helmeted head cocked.

"I am Bevan, son of Henwas, and I am not afraid of you."

The Orc chuckled, its crude armor bouncing on its massive frame. Did it understand him? It raised a hand to its helmet and pulled it loose, dropping it into the mud with a wet splash. It shook its hair free, long and as black as the night, then peered down at him with yellow eyes embedded in its dark green face. Its features were somehow less brutish than he had predicted, oddly feminine. Was it a female? As it opened its mouth Bevan's eyes were drawn to its two tusks, like those of a wild boar, protruding over its lips. It spoke his language with an odd, halting accent, the voice deep and coarse but unmistakably that of a woman.

"Well, Bevan, son of Henwas, what will ye do now?"

The other Orcs kept their distance, watching eagerly, waiting for his response.

"You might succeed in taking this town, devil, but we will be rewarded in the afterlife for standing against you. What will be your reward for the paltry spoils you take from this village? A handful of slaves, unfit for sale? Barely enough gold to feed yourselves for a day? The Paladins have cost you dearly, you shan't profit from this raid."

"Aye, ye have cost me," she replied as she appraised the piles of dead Orcs blocking the streets. "Quite a pain in my arse, hitting me in the wallet. Orcs win the day though, all yer friends are fucked."

"My comrades wait for me on the shores of Paradise. I intend to join them, now have at you!"

He took a fighting stance, pointing the tip of his short sword at her.

She grinned and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, dropping the hammer heavily from her shoulders. She began to walk around the limits of the circle that the Orcs had formed, spinning the war hammer in her hands. Bevan followed suit, it seemed that her horde would not touch him for the duration of the duel. He doubted that he could best her, but it would be a glorious end. He dispelled the fear of pain and death, singing a hymn as she watched him.

"Songs won't help ye now, boy," she laughed. He continued the song, ignoring her mockery and advancing towards her. "Yer Gods aren't here, look around ye."

Bevan moved in and lunged, striking at her with his sword, but she parried it easily with the haft of her weapon. She knocking him off balance, then hooked the head of the mighty hammer under his foot and pulled, sending him crashing to the ground. She continued to circle, allowing him to get back on his feet and steady himself as the horde of Orcs laughed and jeered. The Orc was toying with him.

"Ye think ye got nothin' left to lose? Ye got plenty to lose, kid."

Bevan ignored her, controlling his breathing and trying to remain calm as he prepared his next attack. He dashed forward, but it was a feint, and as she moved to parry it he ducked under her outstretched arms and aimed a thrust at her belly. Instead, her knee met him in the gut, her massive limb lifting him clear off the ground and dropping him back into the mud. He rose to his knees, his emptied lungs gasping for air. This time she did not allow him to stand again, catching his head with the hammer's long handle, the powerful swipe denting his helmet and knocking him onto his side. His ears rang, and as he tried to push himself up, he felt a boot connect with his ribs. He rolled over onto his back, his body failing him and his consciousness threatening to fizzle out.

The Orc loomed over him, crouching so that her face was mere inches above his visor.

"Ye still got somethin' left for me to take. I deny ye death, ye zealous fuck."

Bevan blacked out.

CHAPTER 2: CAPTIVE

He awoke to vibrations, the sound of cartwheels, clanking metal and snorting horses. He raised his head gingerly and saw that he was lying down in some kind of metal cage strewn with straw. All of his armor had been removed, leaving him wearing only his gambeson and leggings. He was on a cart, and it was moving, the trees to either side of the road passing him by at a snail's pace. His head pounded, and he cradled it in his hands, shutting his eyes against the lingering pain.

He started as a metallic clang rang through the cage, jumping out of his skin. An Orc ran its machete across the bars, laughing at him as it kept pace with the cart. Where were they going? Why had they not killed him? Anger and indignation flared, why had he been denied his glorious death?

"Good mornin' sleepyhead." The big Orc was walking alongside the cart, a smirk on her face as she looked him over. "Ye get a good night's rest?"

He scowled at her, rubbing his head.

"What do you want with me, creature?" he spat. "Trying to recoup some of your losses by selling me to pirates?"

"Nah, I got other plans in store for ye."

She leered menacingly, and Bevan recoiled a little. Were they going to torture him? Eat him? Use his pure blood in some evil ritual? His fate uncertain, he rested his arms on his knees and stared out past the bars of his cage at the passing scenery. They had traveled a ways from the village, that much was sure, and his order would assume he had been slain along with his brothers. There was no help coming for him now. He would have to formulate his own escape plan. Orcs were stupid, that much was known to mankind. Eventually, they would make a mistake that he might take advantage of. It was just a matter of biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment.

"Well don't go all quiet on me, boy," the Orc chided. "Keep talkin' yer Paladin shit, it'll make this walk less borin' for me."

"Paladin shit?" he replied sarcastically.

"Aye, Paladin shit. Oh, I'm a big strong Paladin and I ain't afraid of ye! I say, 'ave at ye, en garde and so forth! Brings me no end of joy to watch ye fall over yerself, ye little idiot. How old are ye anyway? Ye don't look to be more than a boy."