Between Winters, part IX - That Third Day of Rain
#12 of Between Winters
Between Winters
By Glycanthrope
Part IX
That third day of rain
Commander Oghier sent a silent curse towards the grey clouds that broke the new dawn. For the first time in almost a hundred years, the order of the Sabrehold Knights stood ready to launch into a battle of significance - historical or any. Two hundred elven archers, one hundred mounted human soldiers and two hundred dwarven axemen were under his command, and were ready to strike against the rebel force that faced them only a few hundred yards away. Their armour was polished down to a perfect gleam, but in spite of all this the sun still refused to show.
It was the third day of non-stop rains, and the Grimslade plains lay barren and water logged. It was far from the ideal setting for a pitched battle, but the allied army was determined to conquer the plains back from the orcs. Four human settlements had been razed by the rebel army so far, and there were early signs that orc civilians were about to descend from the mountains and take the plains for their own purposes. The best strategy was to strike now while the orc presence was limited to that of warriors.
Advancing forward into the plains, Commander Oghier scanned the army under his command; not only had the alliance managed to raise an army of five hundred capable soldiers in record time, but they had also formed bonds between humans, elves and dwarves. Oghier had limited knowledge of the composition of the rebel army, but elven scouts had reported sights of several hundred orc warriors along with supporting forces counting both centaurs and minotaur units, with the centaurs serving as both archers and mounted troops while orcs and minotaurs were on foot and hoof and preparing for melee combat.
The ground was wet and soft to the step and the morning sky was dull and grey, but the wet air carried no trace of wind. Oghier smiled, this was perfect for the initial attack: two hundred of the finest elven archers armed with longbows were to fire deadly volleys of long-range arrows into the rebel masses to reduce their number before they had a chance to retaliate. The rebel centaurs were also armed with bows, but these were shorter than the elven longbow and did not shoot nearly as far. Therefore the half-human half-horse beings would need to move in close in order to present any danger to the allied forces.
Oghier rode his destrier to the front of the ranks. The first enemy line stood three hundred yards away and he could see clearly that it was composed mainly by minotaur infantry. Minotaurs were not archers by any tradition, but preferred toe-to-toe combat wielding the fearsome twin-headed taurian battleaxe. Thick skinned and covered with a heavy layer of natural fur, the minotaurs only wore partial armour of leather with metal buckles for decoration and refused to wear any armour that could restrict their movement. They were fearsome to behold and even more so when angered and engaged in melee. Still, they stood little chance against the assault of two hundred elven archers.
"Archers! Ready your bows", commanded the elf known as Silent Windfall.
Much to Commander Oghier's surprise, the enemy ranks did not move or make any effort to cover themselves from the oncoming onslaught. "You've got to hand it to them; they sure got morale - or balls."
"They are up to something", Silent Windfall noted matter-of-factly, "no army faces our elven archers without as much as a flinch".
Oghier noticed a sudden gust of wind that he did not remember being there just moments before. "It's getting windy, speak about rotten timing"
"My archers will compensate for the wind when they aim."
"Archers! Take aim", Silent Windfall shouted, and two hundred elven bows were drawn and aimed into the air at an angle of forty-five degrees to cover the maximum distance with minimum effort. Within moments, what had only been a slight breeze had turned into a strong wind that made the army banners wave in angry snaps.
"Curses, this can throw the arrows off course. Better aim low"
"Archers! Fire at will"
Hundreds of arrows were released into the air. They ascended into the wind and flew unsteadily for two hundred yards, and were about to rain down upon the rebels, when the wind turned into a maddening gale that seemed to come from all sides at once. The flying arrows veered unsteadily in the air, then dropped like wounded birds.
Commander Oghier was speechless. His mouth opened and closed a few times in rapid succession in an attempt to express what he could not comprehend. "What the... but how?"
Silent Windfall saw the front line of minotaurs unmoved and unfazed by wind or archers. "They saw this coming - all of it."
"Tell your archers to fire another volley!" Commander Oghier ordered, struggling not to sound shaken.
Silent Windfall wavered for a moment then issued the command, and once again two hundred elven bows were drawn.
"Fire at will!" Silent Windfall shouted, his voice almost drowned out by the howl of the storm. Two hundred arrows were released into the air, and the same two hundred arrows were caught by the wind moments later, spinning harmlessly to the ground.
"This is of no use; they must be using some kind of magic to control the weather", Silent Windfall commented dryly.
Commander Oghier felt sick to his stomach. An initial attack by archers had never failed before. The archers had been instrumental at the historic battle of Grybant and decisive at Shateron, but something had gone terribly wrong this time. The elves were renowned for their skills as archers, but were useless in melee combat, which technically meant that the alliance was down by two hundred soldiers only minutes into the battle.
Silent Windfall motioned to his archers, who retreated to the back of the ranks with synchronised elven smoothness. As much as he hated to admit it, this was the best defensive position to keep them in the case of an upcoming retreat.
As sudden as it had risen, the howling gale now subsided to a silent hush. Banners slumped and the sky returned to its former dull grey. "So, they had their little magic display. Let's see how they fare when it's down to knights upon minotaurs then". Oghier composed himself and motioned for the mounted knights to move up to the front line. "Our lancers will scatter the minotaurs with a frontal charge, and then we send in the dwarves."
The rebels watched the allied army restructure itself, and then responded by retreating the minotaurs ten yards while centaur troops stepped forward. "Ha! Centaurs" Oghier spat, "Centaurs were never worth shite in melee combat. Sure they are deadly at short range with their bows, but they are bare-chested. Our knights will mince them".
One hundred human knights brandished their lances; they spurred their destriers and galloped towards the front line of centaurs. Crossing the three hundred yard distance between the two armies took scarcely half a minute, but to Oghier it seemed like half an eternity. Still shocked by the unforeseen disaster of the archers, he did not know what to expect, but only knew that they could not afford to lose this assault. The very moment the knights lowered their lances, he ordered the dwarven infantry to advance, and two hundred axemen clad in the traditional dwarven gambeson, round shields and masterfully braided beards charged forward.
Moments before impact, the trained destriers came to a sudden halt. The horses bucked and kicked, but refused to charge into the ranks of centaurs, their eyes were wild and mouths frothed in confused panic while their riders tried to control their mounts and fight the nimble centaurs at the same time.
Then it dawned upon Commander Oghier: for more than five generations their horses had never stood muzzle to muzzle with centaurs. They were now confused by facing what they believed to be their own kind and refused to charge.
The ranks of dwarven infantry reached the scene of chaotic battle seconds later, but were unable to break through to face the rebel infantry as long as they were caught behind the fighting cavalry, some riders lay dying, some were dismounting to face the centaurs on foot, but all were struggling while agile centaurs circled around them firing their short-ranged bows with deadly precision.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Commander Oghier knew that the battle was lost. The archers were useless against the magic wind, the mounts refused to charge the taurians and the dwarven axemen were too slow to manoeuvre around the centaurs - and too far away to take on the rebel infantry.
Eventually, he found himself shouting the one command that had never been issued by any commander of the Sabrehold Knights in the entire history of the order:
"Soldiers, retreat!"
Forty miles south of the Grimslade plains, the scattered network of trails that connected the towns of Namairith had all but dissolved into random streams of rainwater, and the heavy horses pulling the trade caravan turned the streams into mud.
Edward Cooper, the caravan master rode up front and tried to make out the path to Leaside but his torch illuminated only a few feet of empty darkness crisscrossed by streaks of heavy rain. "It's of no use. It's too dark!" he shouted back at the caravan and the wheels of some twenty wagons came to a slow halt. "We'll camp for the night and try to make it to Leaside in the morning. See if you can get a fire going".
Two towering minotaurs joined Edward in his silent stare into the darkness ahead. "By the ears of Inaris! I had hoped that we could make it before nightfall. You taurians have night vision, can't you see if we're off the trail?"
"We sense only the warmth of life, not trails". The minotaur breathed heavily, and steam bellowed from her nostrils. "Living things approach!"
Edward Cooper squinted against the blackness and held his torch up high. Unlike the minotaurs, he could only see a few feet of impenetrable black. "In this weather? Could be a stray wolf"
The minotaur waited silently until she could make out the shape of the approaching warmth. "Not wolf, it's a horse and a humanoid".
A human figure stepped out of the darkness and into the torchlight. He was on foot, dragging a rouncey behind him. The horse jogged with a limp, and a small figure covered in blankets rode bareback.
"I'm Edward Cooper", the caravan master greeted the newcomer.
"Name's Ashford Tanner, and the girl is Kululu", Ashford pointed to the troll girl who was almost entirely covered with the exception of her hands, which held on to the reins.
The caravan master noticed the scaly skin of her hands "Is she a goblin?"
"Close, she's a troll"
"We have a couple of goblins travelling with us - and we have spare room for passengers if you care to join us".
"We'd love to; the horse is hurt and can't carry the weight of us both. If you have a couple of bunks we'd be happy to buy our passage"
"Fifty gold each will buy you bunks and passage all the way to Farvale".
"Deal!"
"Then you guys can share passenger carriage six along with the badger".
The minotaur motioned to Ashford and Kululu, and they followed her past the first dozen wagons of the trade caravan. They were all trade wagons while the passenger carriages made up the rear of the caravan. The minotaur pointed towards a large carriage and Ashford tied his rouncey behind it. "There are vacant bunks in that one and only one other passenger so far".
The carriage was built from a wooden frame on four wheels. A semi-circular framework covered with course canvas was erected on top of this to provide living space. An outside lazyboard served as seating for the teamster who controlled the two horses assigned to each wagon. Snowheart, who was their sole fellow passenger and current teamster, was busy feeding the horses and wiping them dry with large handfuls of straw. He nodded a greeting to Ashford and Kululu and motioned for them to climb into the wagon.
Apart from two bunk beds with two cots each, the wagon contained a small table and a cast iron stove for heating. A lantern suspended from the ceiling illuminated the carriage in dim yellow.
Ashford helped the exhausted troll to bed. She was feverish and shivered uncontrollably but still investigated her new surroundings, and she eyed the badger closely as he returned from the horses and began to dry his fur with a large towel.
"You have dirty face", she giggled and Snowheart wiped his face thoroughly with the towel.
"I think she talks about the stripes", Ashford said.
Snowheart laughed, "well little one, these won't come off I'm afraid. Have you never met a badgerkin before?"
The troll shook her head.
"She hasn't been around a lot. We've only been on the road for a few weeks."
"Your daughter looks unwell. Maybe you should have one of the herbalists take a look at her."
"Kululu? But she's not my..." Ashford hesitated, "You're right, the journey has been pretty rough on us both."
The first travellers to pay attention to the two newcomers were Ulmus and Ulgis, an aging goblin couple who sold dried roots and tubers from the south-eastern parts of Namairith. As soon as they heard that there was a sick troll-child on board they showed up at the carriage with warm soup and blankets, but carried little sympathy for Ashford who now sat on his bunk and looked miserable.
"What kind of parent allows a five-year-old to ride for days in this kind of weather?"
"but I'm not..." Ashford objected again, but then conceded that Ulgis was right; he was the closest thing that the girl could have for a parent.
"The poor thing is exhausted, you should know better", Ulgis berated Ashford while spoon-feeding soup to the little troll, who wholly enjoyed the attention.
Snowheart watched the new passenger from his own bunk. "What's your name, little one?"
The troll accepted a few spoon-fulls of hot soup before she answered Snowheart. "K'luul"
Ulgis clapped her hands, "Ohh! I have a grandniece who's also called K'luul; she must be your age too."
"It was a very popular name a few years ago", added Ulmus.
Ashford and Snowheart tried to pronounce her name, but both of them lacked the vocal capabilities to make the clicking sound needed to say her name correctly, and their attempts only caused K'luul and the goblins to burst into bouts of laughter.
"Is it okay if we just call you Kululu?"
K'luul and the two goblins giggled at Ashford's suggestion but otherwise accepted the odd nickname.
If the trails connecting the towns of Namairith were the veins of Namairian economy, the trade caravans were the blood flow. They carried goods, letters, news and an ever-changing stream of passengers and profit. Travel by caravan was slow, and it was generally agreed that you would be better off riding alone if you were in a hurry to get somewhere, but caravans provided safety, comfort and company, and this made them a popular choice for many travellers with their individual goals and agendas.
The caravan snaked its way from Farvale in the southeast to the Kruaht Steppes in the north and then turned west towards the mountains and the Grimslade plains. The current conflict between the orcs and humans stirred up a great deal of debate among the traders, whether to take the caravan into the plains or simply to pass around them to the south. A vote was cast and the planned stop at Wynymt Pinnacle was skipped, as were any stops in the plains themselves and the caravan travelled south of the troubled areas, much to the dismay of traders who were reliant on trade with the orcs.
During daytime travels, Ashford and K'luul now rode in the wagon along with Snowheart, where he began to teach her words in the humanoid common language, which in turn made Ulgis and Ulmus very unhappy, "If you are going to teach her a language, at least make it the beast tongue or taurian", so whenever the caravan made stops, K'luul helped the goblins in their shop while they taught her the goblin language, which was close to trollish.
"Where are the two of you heading anyway?" Ulgis was busy replacing the bones and feathers woven into K'luuls hair with fresh beads made from wood and glass while K'luul studied herself in a handheld mirror and clearly enjoyed being doted on by the grandmotherly goblin.
"We're heading to wherever they'll accept us. We don't exactly blend in easily."
"Why don't you go to our settlements in the southern mountain ranges? Goblins are no strangers to taking in troll-kin."
K'luul's eyes lit up by the suggestion. It was no secret that most trolls looked up to their more refined goblin cousins, and the premise of making a home among the mountain dwelling goblins would be a welcome change.
"Well, the caravan does head in that direction and we've already paid our fare, so I can't see why we shouldn't pay your tribe a visit."
The caravan stopped a few miles east of the minotaur compound of Broken Horn. Here the two minotaur guards bade their farewells to Edward Cooper and headed off to join with their tribe. Snowheart borrowed Ashford's rouncey and joined them to have a discussion with chief Silverspear, as was his duty and privilege as an envoy of the council of badgers. After a good hour of riding, they entered Broken Horn, taurian town and home to more than a hundred minotaurs. It was a thriving settlement of thirty cabins built from logs and clay and most were adorned with colourful flags and banners. The houses were larger and taller than in human settlements to accommodate for the larger frame of the minotaurs, and each was home to a taurian couple along with their three to four calves.
The streets were bustling with minotaurs mingling with centaurs and orcs. They were celebrating, and Snowheart noticed the smell of strong elderberry wine as they rode through the streets towards the town hall. Snowheart entered, still flanked by the two caravan guards and here they found Chief Silverspear in the company of an impressive looking orc, whom Snowheart recognised as chief Musclefang.
Snowheart bowed and put his right hand on his chest, as was the customary greeting when in the presence of any taurian. "I bring you greetings from the council of badgers."
Silverspear and Musclefang were both seated on large cushions in front of an open fireplace. They drank elderberry wine from large stone mugs, and Silverspear motioned for Snowheart to sit down. "They already know why I'm here", Snowheart thought and sat down across from the two warlords.
"The relationship between badgers and taurians has always been amiable, but your recent movements against the humans have been the cause of some concern. Badgers, foxes, goblins, even the felines from the Sheterran Empire have come to our council for an explanation, yet we can give them none."
Musclefang who had been staring silently into the fire now raised his head and spoke. "One hundred years ago, the humans chased us into the mountains after the battles of Grybant and Shateron. My people eventually learnt to live there, but we have always longed for our old land, and every time that we ride through it, we see how the humans have done nothing with it. Over one hundred years, all that they have done is to raise four small settlements, while my people starved in the mountains. Now, the time has come to reclaim the land that is ours."
"If you only talked to the human settlers, or allow our council to do so, this could all be resolved without further bloodshed", said Snowheart.
"No! the humanoids have grown too powerful and too self-righteous. Were you aware that humans raided and killed an entire troll warren only a few weeks ago? They went in there, at least two of their knights. They killed the brood-mother, the males and most of the children. The humans then left the rest to starve to death."
"But surely," Snowheart said, "not all humans are like that. I myself travel along with a human, who has taken a small troll girl into custody and they are very fond of each other. He treats her like she was his own child."
"One kind human does not make up for their random aggression! Together we shall show the humanoids just who will be in charge for the next hundred years"
"Might I suggest that you take your disagreements to the council of badgers?" argued Snowheart. "Most races in Namairith have trusted our council for centuries to make just and agreeable solutions to any conflict. Surely we could make arrangements that both your people and the humanoids can agree to"
Chief Musclefang frowned at Snowheart's suggestion. "Nobody has any use for your council anymore. All you badgers ever do is avoid conflict while my people starve. Fighting is the only solution now, little badger. We will crush the humanoids and reclaim our lands. Then they can go and starve in the mountains for a change."
"The songs of battle will be long and glorious", Myron Silverspear said dreamily.
Musclefang shrugged. "We crushed the allied army only a week ago in the Grimslade plains - not that it was a difficult battle. The humans always use the same strategy: first they send in their elven archers, then the mounted troops and finally the dwarven foot soldiers. Our shamans cast spells that created a gust of wind to slow down the arrows, and their horses refused to attack our centaur allies. My troops and our friends the minotaurs then dealt with the foot soldiers."
Silverspear looked slightly disappointed at Musclefang for revealing the strategy. "The songs of battle would be more glorious if only the humans were not so predictable."
They were interrupted by a centaur messenger. "I bring disturbing news, my liege."
Silverspear nodded for the messenger to come forward.
"We have reports that a single sorceress of Oakenford has managed to stop the spread of bloodcough in the city. They say that she uses some kind of powerful magic that makes the healing potions work".
"Surely this news is of benefit for both humanoids and your own tribes equally", Snowheart said.
Musclefang shook his head. "The blood cough can target any race, but only the weak and old orcs die, and they are no great loss to us. All humans can die from the plague, young, strong or old. They sustain great losses while we sustain little."
"You could say that the plague is an ally of ours", Silverspear added "-a costly one, but still very useful. We would be better off without this magician."
"I shall put a price on her head of one thousand gold pieces", Musclefang instructed the messenger.
"A thousand? That is very generous of you"
"Killing an unarmed female carries no honour, so most hired killers will refuse the task. We need to attract the most hungry and desperate thugs for this one, those with no honour to defend: humans, dark elves and goblin warriors."
The messenger had more information, but hesitated for a moment. "Actually there is more. I know that it does not make sense, but the reports have it that the sorceress may be a fox".
Chief Silverspear laughed out loud, "a fox sorceress? Your people have spent too much time in the tavern, now they are beginning to see things. What will they come up with next? Dwarven warlocks perhaps"
Musclefang's ayes narrowed as he looked straight at the messenger, "I don't care what her race, kin or affiliation is. I want that sorceress dead. If the hired killers won't touch a fox, then increase the reward to two thousand gold pieces."
Snowheart gasped at the cynicism in addressing the plague as an ally. The bloodcough continued to claim lives all across the continent, and killing the one person who could stop the plague was against everything that the council of badgers stood for. Musclefang noticed his reaction and looked calmly at Snowheart. "It is time for you to return to your caravan now, little badger. The rest of our meeting does not concern you - or your kin anymore".
He clapped his hands, and two minotaur guards entered the tent. Together they escorted Snowheart unceremoniously to the gate.