Black Metal: The Orc Wars (2 page)

“Enough!” bellowed the Ghalik as he thumped the butt of his war axe on the ground at his feet.

“Only the unworthy die today,” he commanded, “You thirty younglings are the survivors. The Blooded! You have proven yourselves in battle and are now worthy of the tattoos you bear. Now it is your duty to remember this day, now that you have learned. This is what makes you Angir. Let us return home as victors.”

The Ghalik motioned for the warriors to restack their weapons as they filed out of the arena and back down the mountain. The haphazard pile of killing implements increased as Ghalik drew a shiny new mace from his belt and threw it on the stack before he turned to go. The weapons grew cold in the mountain wastes, waiting until spilt blood warmed them again.

“I’ll tell you true, them as called Orcs are born with axe and shield in hand. The old songs say that for every one you see there’s a twin brother he left slain in the womb. I’ve spilled blood for coin in three wars, but you ask me to fight the likes of them, I’ll tell you I’m retired.” --- Reed, a sellsword

The crude boats glided silently across the icy surface of the slow moving river. The thin layer of frost gave way as the thin crafts made their way. These were neither the sleek canoes of the elves nor the strong flatboats of men and dwarf. The roughness of their arrow shaped design and the haphazard style of the craftsmanship gave away their orcish origins. Despite their primitive design they were good vessels, stronger but slower than elf craft and faster yet not as strong as the ships of man and dwarf. Each one was designed to hold four occupants. The orcs at either end of the boat did the paddling while the two in the middle held spears at the ready, in case of an opportunity to attack or the need to defend.

In this manner several score of such vessels made their way down river. A few days down the river lay a port town of men. In ages past the town had been larger and relatively undefended, but as the strength, numbers, and ambitions of the nearby Angir grew the townspeople felt the pressure to build. Now the town of nearly four hundred people conducted its affairs within the protection of high walls and mercenary guardsmen. So far the building of fortifications and the garrison of mercenaries has fought off the small orc raids.

Little did they know that Ghalik of the Angir had been biding his time, holding off the main assault for reasons far more sinister than fear of walls or hired swords. He had been planning this raid for sometime now.

He had a fresh crop of young warriors in need of their first taste of manflesh. They were eager to prove themselves, and Ghalik knew that if he did not direct their bloodlust towards real enemies they would turn of each other. Raiding has been slowing down considerably in the last few years anyway. Towns were either being abandoned or becoming impregnable. It wasn’t that Ghalik or the Angir feared to lay siege to these fortified cities, it was that the Angir were few in number compared to the number of towns and their full compliments of sellswords and militiamen. Being such a small tribe was a difficult thing, especially considering the tribe’s ancient custom of the Blooding. Siege required vast amounts of resources and large numbers of troops, raiding however was the perfect method of warfare for the orcs of the Angir. As such, they were masters of hit and run assaults and were crack shock troops. To them siege warfare was the lowest form of combat.

The Angir were going to have to expand thought the Ghalik as he sat in his boat, the great waraxe of his predecessor lying across his lap. Perhaps they could overthrow the orcish clans in the south, who were large in number and had many strong women for childbearing. At this Ghalik began to think of his own childbearer. A great and bloated creature. He smiled as he pictured her resting her girth upon the mats and pillows that adorned her part of the Motherhut. Surely by now all of the women would be awake, gorging themselves on whatever food was brought to them by their youngling servants. After all, for most of their pampered lives they were eating for seven to ten.

The Ghalik was the only orc with a woman all his own. While he had the privilege of breeding with her and choosing his heir from his own litters, all other Angir males had to constantly compete for breeding rights. The women would only deign to breed with the strongest and mightiest orcs of the tribe. So it was with most orc tribes, ensuring that the race as a whole moved ever closer to supremacy.

Ma-Gur also thought of these things as he paddled the boat steadily onwards. Last night he’d had his first mating experience, his bruises from the encounter still fresh and sore. Having had such an impressive Blooding rite, Ma-Gur had been chosen by one of the younger women to share her bed. So after a few days of healing his wounds he had gone inside the Motherhut.

Orcish women are violent and passionate creatures, often quite dominant during the act of love. Many a tale was told around the campfires of mighty orc warriors being “savaged” by their women. Laughter and a few knowing looks usually accompanied such stories.

A harsh whisper tore Ghalik from his reverie and Ma-Gur from his bruises. The raiding party had neared the fortified village. The glow from the sentry’s torches could be seen in the distance. The raiding party quietly grouped their boats together, silently moving towards the dock en masse.

As they neared the docks the orcs steered their boats towards the dockside shore. Once they reached more shallow water they disembarked their vessels, sliding silently into the shoulder deep water. It was frigid in temperature yet no warrior flinched or complained. They pushed their boats ashore then returned to the shoulder depth shallows. They waded towards the docks as their hot fetid breath hung in clouds all about them.

The docks were built to service the main town gate. All of the loading platforms had walkways across the shallows and right up to the main gate. A handful of sentries were posted at the docks and two guarded the main gate. None of the sentries noticed as the orc raiding party waded towards the gate through the water right underneath them. The sentries had no worry that such a thing would be attempted. No man could stay in that water for more than a few moments without risk of freezing to death, but these were not men.

At a gesture from Ghalik the main group of orcs continued towards the gate while Ma-Gur and four of his blood brothers stayed behind. Their duty was to disable the group of sentries on the docks as the main force brought down the gate. The young orc had no idea how the wizard was going to open the gate, but Ma-Gur did know exactly what to do about the sentries.

He gestured to each orc, indicating where he wanted them and what they should do. It was an advantage of the orc race that so much information could be communicated without words. Soon each orc nodded in turn and set about his task.

The orcs spread out underneath the dock. Then the orcs grasped the support beams and each one began to climb up a different beam. Their claw like fingernails and bulging muscles allowed them to climb stealthily upwards with relative ease. As they reached the top the orcs peered out onto the surface of the docking platforms.

There were four sentries armed with crossbows walking a lazy beat around the docking area, totally unaware of the looming threat. Ma-Gur ducked back under the dock to peer into the darkness towards the underside of the platform nearest the gate. With his orcish night sight he saw the hulking forms of Ghalik and his older, more experienced warriors right next to the gate. Ghalik noticed Ma-Gur’s inquisitive look and nodded back. Ma-Gur gave his four comrades an affirmative nod and began to climb.

As the sentries walked their beat one of them heard a scraping noise. He turned on his heel, his crossbow held before him, but say only the empty edge of the dock. Suddenly, just as he relaxed and lowered his weapon, an especially nasty looking creature with a white tattooed face rose up from its perch upon the support beam. Before the guard could react it hurled a wickedly barbed spear straight into his chest.

Hearing the impact of metal and flesh the other guards turned towards the sound. As they did three other orcs launched themselves onto the platform, hurling spears as they came. Two of the guards went down without a word, their surprise melting away as they collapsed with spears in their chests. The third sentry was faster than the others and with his off hand managed to deflect the spear away from his chest and into his leg. Biting back the pain as he fell to one knee the wounded guard aimed his crossbow and fired. The arrow caught one of the orcs in the throat, which stumbled back and fell into the water as he gurgled and choked. The sentry drew his sword to defend himself but died instantly when Ma-Gur’s sword splint his skull as the orc came running up from behind.

Once Ghalik nodded for Ma-Gur to begin the assault the ugly wizard had waved his hand at the two warriors nearest him, gesturing for them to kill the two gate guards. The two experienced warriors sprang into action, each one taking a different side of the dock. They moved quietly and quickly as they waded out of the water and crept towards the two gate guards. When the attention of the sentries was distracted as the battle on the docks began, the two orcs made their move.

Just as the sentries looked up to witness the ambush on the docks the two orcs came at them from both sides. The guard of the left never saw them coming, dying soundlessly as the orcish mace crushed his helmeted head. The guard on the right was given a few moments to react due to the longer climb forced upon the other ambushing orc. He managed to bring his spear into a defensive position and brace for the attack. The orc rushed furiously towards him brandishing a large cleaver with both hands. The oncoming orc leveled a powerful blow at the guardsman, who just managed to duck out of the way, the cleaver making sparks fly as it chipped off a piece of the stone walkway. The guardsman stepped foreword with a counter strike, plunging his spear into the enemy’s guts.

To his horrifying surprise the orc did not go down, in fact, with an intensified fury it pushed itself down the shaft of the spear. To late the guardsman realized his mistake, as the orc further impaled itself it was drawing closer to the man holding the weapon. The guard tried to let loose of the weapon and flee, but before he could the berserker orc dispatched him with its cleaver.

The guard’s body crumpled to the ground as the wounded orc bent over, supporting its weight upon its upturned cleaver. Ghalik and the others were making their way up to the gate, they were quickly joined by Ma-Gur and his remaining ambush party.

“Hold him,” Ghalik commanded as he moved closer to the wounded orc. As the old wizard rummaged in his belt pouch the older warriors moved to support and brace the wounded orc. Many of them had seen what was about to happen and tensed, the younger warriors looked on in wonder.

Ghalik pulled from his pouch a small sack, which appeared to be full of some kind of powder. The wizard walked up to the wounded orc and drew forth a fistful of a glowing green dust like substance. He held it aloft and spoke in the broken syllables of magic, as he did the glow of the green dust faded. Then he began to smear the powder all around the wound until it was completely covered. He took a quick step back and broke off the shaft of the spear, leaving the point securely embedded in the wound.

The old wizard quickly stepped back and nodded at the warriors holding the wounded orc, who tightened their grip in anticipation of what they seemed to know was coming. Ghalik gestured towards the rest of his forces.

“Split into two groups, one on the left and one on the right,” barked Ghalik as he un-shouldered his waraxe, hefting its weight like a familiar friend, “Lorak will take the center.”

At this the older warriors cast a wary glance towards the wounded orc, Lorak, who was now shaking uncontrollably. Only the brute strength of the others holding him down kept the orc from convulsing so hard he injured himself. The younger warriors hesitated in curiosity of the wounded orc plight, but were quickly jostled into formation by the older warriors.

The two groups of orcs stood in loose clusters on their respective sides of the gate. While orcs were not known for making uniform or complex battle formations, they did have a grasp of strategy. The primary reason for their seemingly simple organization was that once the fighting began each individual orc would basically do as he pleased, so formations tended to crumble into seething tides of berserkers.

Ghalik knew this, and he used it to his advantage. Once inside the town everyone would to their own way, each seeking his own glory. Thus, the battle would spread quickly throughout the area as the orcs jockeyed for position. Yet Ghalik also knew that the older orcs now feared Lorak, and that fear would spread to the younger warriors. Fear would keep everyone in formation long enough for his plan to work and bring victory to all.

Ghalik stopped close to the city gate, its metal hinges and sturdy wooden planks barring the way of the would-be invaders. He began to sway back and forth as if in a trance, his eyes closed as he whispered in the maddening language of orcish magic. He began to flex his arms and heft the axe as if he were going to strike the gate. Then he would let the waraxe fall slack again. He repeated the process over and over again, each time reaching a higher crescendo.

Ma-Gur looked at Ghalik with an intense mixture of fear and admiration. He knew that Ghalik was the oldest orc Angir, some said the oldest orc alive. There were legends of his exploits told to Angir children and songs of his glory sung over the burning villages of the enemy. For Ma-Gur it was like taking part in a legend, as if just by being a witness to the evening’s events were enough to include him.

Then he felt a tingling sensation of the back of his neck. A strange glow was being emitted from the waraxe in Ghalik’s hands. It was as if the very air around the murmuring wizard was shimmering and pregnant with powerful energies. Ma-Gur felt as if he too was in a deep trance as he watched the wizard craft his spell.

Suddenly Ma-Gur’s attention was torn from the Ghalik by a low rumble that seemed to come from everywhere at once. He turned to investigate, his eyes falling upon the wounded Lorak. The two warriors who were holding him down had backed away, leaving the wounded orc kneeling alone. As he stared in wonder Lorak’s head shot up, his now bright red eyes boring right into Ma-Gur’s very soul. Even as those eyes seemed to burn him, the pupils emitting wisps of red smoke which could not be natural. As they stared at each other Lorak’s eyes sent a message that Ma-Gur could not help but to receive. This was no longer an orc, but death made manifest. The horrible truth struck him as he turned away, fear and elation threatening to pull him apart.