It was just past noon when the army arrived near the site of battle, anticipation was in buzzing in the air, and nerves were at an all time high. All were fearful and hopeful at the coming fight. In fact, the army had stopped around 3 miles away, so they could hide their supplies and not worry in case of a potential retreat. All the soldiers dismounted, and orders flew. The 33rd would be in the back of the army, due to its below average numbers.
“This is bullshit.” Admier clenched her fist, she wanted the taste of battle, and enemies dying at her feet. “Why the hell should us having less soldiers matter! They are the ones that didn’t supply us enough damn fighters!”
Neumien smacked Admier “First off you seem to forget I am your superior in both rank and experience ‘soldier’. Secondly there was a chance we’d have been sent to the back even with optimal numbers. Not everyone can be in the front of the damn line you sadist.”
Admiers face contorted with hate, not even her father had hit her, she stormed off to the groups cart, intensely ‘cleaning’ her gear. Drusis approached the obviously fuming Borderal “You think you-”
“Want me to hit you as well boy?” Drusis immediately backed off, meanwhile Hadvarr was imagining a very dominating scene involving a whip hitting him. Fallion began praying to himself that Hadvarr would stop sending him these images, praying for them to happen to him.
In the distance a horse approached, on it was Lt. General Ruckgevir “Hail Borderal.” nodded towards Neumien
“Hail Lt. General.” She saluted him in response
“The enemy has been spotted all platoons are to hear-by form in the ranks and file assigned to them immediately, that is all.” He galloped away, informing the other platoons of the new orders. After all, having General Denos shout orders ran the risk of the enemy hearing us, giving them more time to prepare mentally. The army took shape in a standard arc. The curve faced inward, and the platoons stood side by side, facing the enemy. Each brandishing their weapons. To most, the dwarven army looked jumbled up and deformed, no real order or reason to it. However, what made the army of the dwarves in mean was its lack of uniformity in this aspect. Each platoon was like a small army, carrying out individual orders, like a hive and the General the queen bee. Of course, that made most orders rather simplistic due to the need of many given out simultaneously, however there stood the reason for ‘platoon’ training. This was to allow the leaders time to figure out potentially potent tactics they could have the group do, while following the simple orders from higher-up. It was for this reason Dwarves never once lost territory in the Great War, however neither did they pursue it, finding comfort in the size they had reached back then.
During the celebration the previous night, near the departure all the platoon leaders were called for a mass meeting, this was for their orders during the first day of fighting, and how each should make plans around certain occurrences, like retreating or pushing into their lines. The role of the 33rd was simply keeping the enemy from being able to flank them, a role fit for scouts since the Hurrden Plains was surrounded by patches of dense forest leading to the Verous Folly to its front, and the Gumberak Canyon to its left. The main concern was the forests as the only other way into the Canyon was near Poius, a location heavily fortified in case of attack from the canyon.
Valder checked his bow, plucking slightly at the string, a nervous tendency of his Fallion had discovered. Fallion slapped a hand on Valders right shoulder, causing him to look up and smile, if a bit forced.
Fallion then detached his helm from its strap at his side, and placed it on his head. Others following suit, though only Valder and Fallions faces were no longer viewable, due to the iron helm they wore.
Seconds past into minutes, and minutes to what seemed like hours. In the end, three hours had past before the orc and beast-men army crept out of the forest, spreading like ravenous fingers over the plains. No one spoke, the wind had ceased and any sound became rare. Anxiety grew, and so did nerves and the rustle of armor became slowly more frequent as seconds drew on. The air was thick for the upcoming battle, Fallion found it slightly hard to breath. The enemy force was similar in number. Around 11,000 give or take. At least, that is what he heard scouts report. Though the number could have increased without anyone’s knowledge. On the opposing side, flags began to crop up, bearing different insignias. Unlike the dwarves, orcs and beast-men were very standard. Pike men and some archers in front, soldiers behind that, more archers after that, and the possible cavalry unit, however only elves and for the most part used cavalry, it was simply unpopular to the other races, though all knew the uses and drawbacks to them. Six riders came from the opposing lines. The leaders of ours rode forward as well. The ‘formal greeting’ was one of the magically bound rights in the Treaty of Yort. After several intense moments of ‘pleasantries’, the group split back off, returning to their respective sides.
General Denos, looked at the army a moment before turning back around to face his opponent. He sighed deeply before dismounting and sending his ride away, the other leaders following suite, dwarves face their enemies on their own two feet after all. He paused a moment and then put on his ornate helm, dictating his rank. He drew his blade and pointed sky high, before slicing downwards, the edge towards his enemies. “CHARGE!” and a battle cry erupted movement in the ninth assault force. Immediately following that, the 33rd, 78th, and 52nd platoons broke off, moving around to the right to prevent a potential side assault.
Returning focus back to the main force, following behind the leaders were the 87th, 23rd, 7th, and 1st platoons, they were the ‘breaker’ platoons. Once made of mostly beserkers and what was called ‘bashers’. Bashers had no weapon, except two large great shields instead. The shields fit together like puzzle pieces when closed together allowing the wielder to ‘crush’ or more commonly ‘bash’ the enemy to death. Bashers were very useful against standard armies, as they were specifically trained and ‘made’ to help break those lines. The orc pike men knelled forward, allowing them to absorb more force from the dwarves charge, and put their pike out at 42 degrees, the optimal angel against dwarven infantry, though this number differed towards species. The running force collided into the orc defense net, orcs were the most naturally endowed race when it came to physical labor and fighting, however this was utterly smashed or rather ‘bashed’ into nothingness as the skilled platoons of beserkers and bashers carved a chunk out of their front line.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Having broken through, the ‘regular’ platoons began slowly separating from the main group, looking to keep pressure on the sides so no reinforcements could come to the middle. Hours had past since the beginning, and the dwarves eventually reached a stalemate when met by the beast-men ‘varrigans’ and orcish ‘koleds’. Varrigans were nimble warriors who wielded massive great axes, and were surprisingly effective, while koleds were heavily armored warriors wielding a great shield and a great sword. Both devastatingly powerful opponents. However the bashers and beserkers made them their match, causing neither side to gain any ground for quite some time.
Eventually an orcish horn resounded, calling for a retreat. While the main beast-men and orcish force retreated, the varrigans and koleds kept the dwarven force from pursing, that and the now heavy archer bombardment kept them from being able to do much. Suddenly the arrows grew even more intense in barragement, and the enemy fighters used this cover to retreat safely. Suddenly the arrows thinned out, and General Denos decided it would be best to pursue the enemy into the forest, after all it was more than likely the enemy had no time to do anything but begin trying to regroup, something the General wouldn’t allow his opponents the chance at. Lt. General Ruckgevir approached him “Sir, I don’t think pursing is wise, it could be a trap.”
“Nonsense Ruckgevir, the enemy just retreated, they haven’t the time, but while you keep me here instead of hunting them down, they do get that chance.”
“General the retreat in itself could be a trap, don’t you think it wise to retreat and regroup, sir?”
“Did our forefathers retreat once in the Great War?”
“Well no sir but-”
“Then don’t question your orders ‘lieutenant general’.” Denos looked back towards the forest “For the glory of the dwarven and human kingdoms!” the general charged in without looking back, with fourteen platoons following behind. Ruckgevir was not blind enough to simply ‘charge’ recklessly as such. Especially if it risked too many lives.
However seven platoons had also stayed behind, one of them, the leader of the 12th platoon approached Ruckgevir “Sir, we are at your command.” these commanders had seen the wisdom in his words, and thus thought it better safe than dead.
Ruckgevir nodded, already relatively certain of what awaited those who entered the forest “Well, then let us prepare to soon return a favor.” Ruckgevir signaled for the groups to retreat, and had the 77th leader sound the horn of retreat.
Meanwhile, Denos followed in close pursuit, catching up to the feeling opponents, his mind was racing and his blood pumping. Truth be told, he too saw the wisdom in Ruckgevirs words, but the warrior in him didn’t want to stop fighting. He couldn’t. Ever since he was a boy, he always carved his way through life whether by the fist or the blade. Fighting was his life, and he relished it every chance he had.
Suddenly a twig snapped to his left, Denos turned to face the source, but it was too late. Several arrows and thoroughly punctured his body through and through. Thousands of arrows were loosed onto the soldiers following behind Denos and bloodied screams assaulted his dying ears, and as he fell to the ground, the only regret he had was not the death of his men, but he had to stop fighting. Truly a dwarf of ancient tradition.
Ruckgevir turned towards the forest, it was a damn shame, over three hundred men dead, because of the now former generals damn inability to keep his blood lust in check when it mattered. He spit on the ground, cursing the folly of the general, but simultaneously thankful. As he was the only lieutenant general among the leaders. The others were only of the rank of Liberdal. If it wasn’t for his sudden promotion by Denos, such a situation wouldn’t have occurred. However, Ruckgevir would be lying if he said he didn’t respect the man, he was a brilliant tactician after all. It was just that all went to the wind when his blood began pumping. For now, it was time to regroup the army. He had to think of a plan to give back what they had received, after all he knew few who wouldn’t throw caution to the wind when they killed the enemy leader. Another problem was what to do about the fact a rumor would quickly sprout the general was slain. Moral would drop severally. He had to something, but what? He looked to his right, and he saw the Gumberak Canyon, and he saw what appeared to be a sort of ‘shelf’ and an idea sprouted in his mind. Those orcs would regret it if they did become cocky, though he knew that if they caught onto his plan it’d have devastating backlash. He chewed his bottom lip as he ran, a habit since he was a young boy. He tossed several other possible ways, but the one with the best likely results was the canyon, even though it also held the most risk. Thoughts like ‘is it worth it?’ and ‘can I save the situation if it fails?’ He reached the main camp, the location where all the carts and supplies were left, and called a meeting of the surviving platoons. Over 2,000 men had already died today, he was determined to limit it the best he could, and of course there was the possibility one of the platoon leader or the other army leaders had seen an angle he had by chance missed, after all one can never be too certain towards anything. Several minutes later, the remaining leaders, or replacements if the leader had fallen stood before him. It was time to make a very battle changing decision.
--------------------------------------------------
I honestly suck at battle scenes, and I apologize profusely for it. I didn’t want to ruin anything so I wrote it a bit cautiously, not risking too much detail for the fear of going to far, but I may have gone too little instead. If that is the case, please comment before I start working on chapter 12. The battle should be until chapter 15 or so. Around chapter 18-20 should be the end of the stories ‘prologue’ as it were. As always please leave any criticism you have.