I can't sign out, so I have to put it up on Offensive Bias, and not Kuribayashi. Enjoy...
Chapter Four
Empire of Ice
Sections of the forest were apparently cleared of any and all Coalition presence. That was what the soldiers had been told, and it seemed to prove true. All the better in which to start their operations. One of the Empires Junior Major's was proving himself in a bid to be promoted to a Senior Major. It was dangling right in front of him, he could almost taste it. And all he had to do was win the battle on the edge of the forest. A small army of Coalition forces, numbering roughly a thousand. Against his soldiers, with numbers around the same. It would all come down to skill. Victory was in their grasp! They were only up against 30 Orcs and the rest were the lesser fighters of the Coalition. What an underestimation. Only a handful of the thousand returned. Barely 30 of them were not wounded. He would have to retreat back to the main camp, established at the ruins of Jathrocarta. One of the Coalitions minor towns. The Senior Captain he had sent, had returned. Clutching a heavy wound to its abdomen, sustained while running away from a flurry of Dwarves, and nursing a broken arm, he wasn't in the best shape. The Major was depressed, watching the column of his soldiers come in, red with blood, weary and dragging their weapons behind them, or at least, the ones that hadn't thrown theirs away to reduce the weight.
Captain Mayus lay in the makeshift hospital tent. A Faun prisoner, obtained from Jathrocarta, was peering at his wounds. The Captain, between shallow breaths, yelled at him. “Well!... Can you fix me?!” The Faun gave a little start, clearly terrified.
“Of course, mighty Sir, the wound will need treatment and I can have the arm sorted with a little bit of Faun magic.” Mayus nodded in reply and collapsed backwards onto his white bedsheets, already stained red with blood. The tent flaps were thrown open, and Junior Major Julias stormed over to the bedside. His face was red with rage. Despite that, he managed to keep an even tone.
“Mayus, what the ***! Happened out there?” He seemed he couldn't control his rage with that one word.
“The Coalition! They had... Centaurs. Waiting in the forest. They charged us! We were... Still there and then... The reinforcements came! Dragons and... more Orcs. We barely survived.” Julias opened his mouth, but clenched it tightly shut and marched back out of the tent, stopping to kick at the chained up Faun.
Julias had to leave, but the wounded would slow him down... What could he do? The wounded would make him such an easy target, he would lose his stealth capabilities. But he couldn't leave them. He would have to wait here, hoping amongst the Gods to protect them. Wait until the Coalition had been beat at the battle at the sacred plains. The Verudians would win, no doubt about that. And when the Verudians arrived at Theros to begin the siege, he would be ready to venture out and lend aid to them. He could send a rider to request reinforcements. Yes, he could do that. He wouldn't be turned down, he would just have to be a little inventive with the battle results. The rider was dispatched an hour later to move down to Jathrocarta. They could spare another few thousand, surely.
Back at Theros, the Orcs were happy to be back amongst their own kind. The Orc living quarters were vibrant with news of two great victories. Celebrations rang out everywhere, the celebrations also helped to improve the will and spirit of those who doubted the results of the coming battle at the sacred plains. Bello was at home with his Wife and child. The youngling boy sat at rapt attention, drinking in every detail of his fathers victories. “And then, the Kobold came running at me. Murder in his eyes, dripping red with blood. He looked a fearsome enemy to be sure!” The boy gasped.
“What did you do?” Bello grinned at his child's amazement.
“I ducked under him and dragged this very sword across his arm.” Bello indicated the still bloodied weapon leaning against the fireplace. “But that wasn't enough. He turned back, even more enraged, if possible. He was swinging like a pendulum. Back and forth, back and forth. Every one of his attacks couldn't break my guard. So, when I found a little weak spot, I attacked with all the might I could muster, and severed his head.” His son, Gythar was imaging the fight in his head, a look of amazement in his face. “And one day, you little Fairy, you'll be leaving this city to go and fight like your dad. Just remember, I'm always looking out for you. I wish I will be strong enough in a few years time to accompany you out there.” Gythar was positively beaming.
“Wow, really? Will I kill Elves and Humans and Trolls and Ogres and Kobolds, and-” His mother cut him off before he would go through the names of every enemy of the Coalition.
“Okay darling, I think it's time for sleep now.” Gythar's face went from a wide smile, to a deep frown.
“But mum, I want to hear more stories!”
“There are no two ways about it! Your dad is away early tomorrow, you want to be awake to see him off don't you?”
“Yes mum...”
“Then off you go!” Gythar slumped out of the room and up the clay stairs, his footsteps banging on the wooden floor above them.” Jothin turned to her husband. “I could get us some of that Dwarf ale? I can tell you could use some.” Bello shook his head slightly.
“Nah, I need a clear head to fight.” At the word fight, he slumped his head. The chair he was seated in felt a lot less comfy than it had a second ago.
“What's wrong Bello?”
“What's wrong is, I might not make it back. The scouts have reported back a lot of things. The size, the equipment, the General leading them. It doesn't look good for us out there...” Jothin walked over to him and sat on his knee, she lovingly stroked his cheeks.
“I have no reason to doubt your survival now. Not after everything you've survived. The battle at Grada. As I recall, all the priests of Orthkar and Uthkar predicted a loss. But what happened? You won. And you made a name for us out there.”
“But that's not the point!”
“The point is, that you survived then, and you'll survive now.” He shook his head vigorously.
“But we aren't going to win this fight!”
“You don't have to win. You just have to survive.” The Sergeant took in the words before kissing her.
“I'll come back Jothin. I promise you that. I love you.”
He awoke with a start. The wind outside had suddenly picked up. Blowing through his bedroom and making him alert for danger. After he had recognised the source of the sound, he lay back. Jothin lay next to him, her breathing telling him she was in a deep sleep. He rubbed his eyes to clear the sleep from them. He slowly got out of the bed. He took what could be his last look at his wife, and whispered the words “I love you Jothin.” He turned to the landing, where Gythar's bedroom door was open. He walked in and saw the little child sleeping. He walked over to him and sat next to him. He stared at the little bundle under the bedsheets and pulled the sheets down a little so he could see Gythar's face. “Hey mate. I'm leaving now. I probably...” He choked back tears. “Probably won't be... Coming back. Take care of your mother. You might be all she has...” A single tear dropped down his cheek. “Left...” He stood and walked to the doorway. He turned back as he left the room. He drank in every detail he could of his son, before breathing in a deep breath, and heading downstairs, where his sword and chain mail armour awaited him.
The occupants of the inn roared with laughter. Haskar slammed his cup down on the table in mirth, guffawing like an idiot. Several other Dwarves were seated around him, including one of the Orcs, it was Seeth. He was a lot more sober than the others, and didn't find the sight of a drunk Goblin teetering off the bar a funny one. Haskar elbowed his ribs. “Was funny eh?” Seeth gave a low grunt, and a false smile and drank from his cup. The doors burst open, and Wrex strode in, accompanied by Bello.
“Haskar! You fat ***! Get me some of your ale!” Haskar waddled over to Wrex and slapped him hard on the shoulder.
“Right you are, get a seat. We may as well enjoy the night.” Haskar made off to the bar, as Wrex and Bello sat down at the cramped table. Seeth seemed visibly relieved. He must have been tired of the Dwarves.
“Morning Seeth. You ready for the fight?”
“Yes sir. I just don't want to anger the gods. That plain is sacred to us.”
“We all know that Seeth, we all take to it with a heavy heart. Some drink will do us good though.”
“Um, no thanks sir, I'm fine.” Seeth tentatively raised the cup and drank from it again. Bello tapped on the wooden table, and the sounds of laughter and merry conversation drifted from all corners. For very early in the morning, the pub was packed. Seeth raised an eyebrow at Bello. He was wearing his chain mail and had his sword in its scabbard, dangling next to his armour plated thigh.
“Something wrong Bello? You look a little off.”
“No Seeth, I'm just on edge.”
“We all are mate, the fight isn't going to end well.”
“Ha, you figured? We're outnumbered and those Kobolds we fought were a little suspicious. I think that if they manage to besiege the city, they will have reinforcements from the Empire of Ice.”
“They can't be hiding out in the forest. They wouldn't raid a force like ours, it was an all out attack, and we came off stronger. So, I think we smashed the only ones of theirs around the city. Apart from the ones at Jathrocarta.” Bello smacked his lips, before raising the cup again. This time, he dropped it in surprise as the door burst open with a resounding crash that put an end to any conversation in the tavern.
“My booze!”
A red faced Faun stood in the doorway, illuminated partially by the rising sun. He had obviously sprinted to the tavern. “Everyone! Move... Now! Furiath has... Called the troops to... Muster now!” The Faun was gone as fast as he entered, a few fallen leaves swept inside the open tavern by the sweep of his purple cloak as he turned to run to other parts of the city. Heavy footsteps fell on the wooden floor, the noise was considerably loud. Wrex was walking towards the open door, his chain mail armour jingling as he moved. He held a helmet in one hand. Before he reached the door, he placed it expertly on his head, and then he was gone. The others stared after him waiting for the muster to sink in. Then there was the murmur of conversation, mostly about the upcoming fight and if they would incur the wrath of the Gods. Many chairs and tables scraped back as the occupants in the army made ready to leave. They were going to war.
SPQR! An ambitious historical project, coming soon. Check the Library for early version test writes. Recommended for anyone with a love of history.