Chapter 3: A Wall of Steel

“Volley!”

Geordi covered his ears as his clan’s assembled cannon loosed as one. Across the line, swathes of orcs were cut down in deadly paths ranks deep. As the tattered enemy overcame the shock, and began to continue on, a series of cracks rang out. A wall of metal shot laid low what was left of the charge. What had once been a wave of green now receded defeated back. A few stragglers stopped to loose javelins at the dwarven line. Most fell short, but a few clattered harmlessly off of steel covered pavise shields, as the front rank of dwarves scrambled to take cover behind the portable wall of steel. Another volley of cannon fired. Geordi winced as the sound hit his uncovered ears. He must have missed the order to fire.

The deafening roar was a small price to pay for the vantage point over the battle that the hill offered him. Geordi had ordered this firing position set up here rather than on the lower hill to his right, where previously the human artillery had been routed when the human line buckled.

Far to their right, the human’s line fared much worse than his. Once they’d realized their earlier breakthrough had been plugged by the arrival of Geordi’s forces, the orcs had redirected their main effort to another part of the line. The human line bulged backwards, hastily thrown in pike companies scrambling to push back the orc onslaught.

Geordi winced. Whoever was prosecuting the orc assault today had positioned this new assault in the perfect position, just beyond the firing ranges of geordi’s own artillery, and the remaining human artillery far to the right. Geordi supposed that his decision to make his artillery here had created this issue. On the plus side, Geordi’s left flank was well covered by overlapping fields of fire. No orc assault had even reached melee range where his own line rejoined the human one. That was for the better, since coordination on the ground there suffered from the discontinuity in commands. Unfortunately the same issue seemed to plague his right flank. Where the human line bulged back, his adjoining line had naturally pulled back to stay abreast, but while on the opposite side of the bulge, human elite queen’s guard had begun to lead a push, geordi’s own line stood back, merely holding defensive on the flank of the orc assault.

Geordi shook his head. In solving one crisis, he had created another one. He supposed the responsibility therefore fell on him to resolve it. He also supposed that in any case, he was itching to raise his halberd.

“3rd Company, take up Pikes! Ranks!”

He hoped his line would do without one of his reserve companies. He turned his attention to Brumnar, acting captain of his guard.

“Brumnar!”

“Underking!”

“I’m leading the third company on a foot assault as a relief force. I leave overall command to you.”

“I’m honored, Underking. I expect you’ll take a few squads of the banner guard along with you, as well?”

“Only one. You’ll need all the reserves you have.”

“Aye, sir.”

Geordi turned, greeting the banner guard. Yarvik, The commander of the 3rd company joined him, a young orderly with bagpipes in tow.

“Pipes, son. I want a march, double time.”

The young lad nodded, and began the call to march. The tune was shrill, but it was loud and strong, and the notes were true.

Seven score sets of feet began to march to rhythm. Most did not imagine dwarves as fast on their feet, but a well disciplined force can march twice apace that of a lesser one.

They climbed the hill where once the human artillery had stood. A score of heavy steel cannon were strewn around in the grass, their wooden mounts shattered by orc axes. Around the guns were also strewn the bodies of human fusiliers, hand picked men given the expensive flintlocks to effectively guard the artillery. From the number of bodies, they seemed to have fought to the last.

As they crested over the hill, Geordi could see they were too late. The orc vanguard had shattered what was left of the line’s cohesion. In the pockets where men still stood abreast, they fought in vicious melee with orcs on many sides. Arquebusiers had long abandoned reloading, and instead took up short swords or fallen pikes. Geordi noticed a few of the queen’s guards swing their priceless flintlock muskets overhead, hands gripping the barrel as if they were clubs.

“Orders? Sir?” Commander Yarvick asked

“Advance to the line.”

As they descended the hill, he noticed that his dwarven line here had not in fact fallen, but had been hidden as they had swung backwards like a door, holding on the descending slope of the hill, disjointedly attempting to hold their own while chaos engulfed the human line.

A trumpet sounded a long note before him. Geordi squinted, sweat dripping around his brow as he attempted to locate the call. A pike came up in the middle of the fray, a bolt of colorful cloth adorned its tip, streaming in the wind. The ribbon of fuschia and gold waved too and fro, an island of resistance in a sea of green. It was what was left of the Queen’s guard. Geordi turned to his own banner squad. Pushed back by the line of pikes from the still cohesive dwarven line on the hill, the orcs mostly concentrated around the easier prey of the human pockets in the field.

“Banner, wave a response.” The dwarf nodded, waving the banner back and forth in acknowledgement. Geordi turned back to his men.

“3rd company, Lock ranks!”

Over a hundred dwarves tightened ranks, pikes raised up forwards at the ready. He looked towards the lad on the pipes.

“Sound an advance!”

A triumphant tune blared out, compelling them forwards. To the long trained company, advancing at the sound was almost instinctual. Proceeding down the hill, they held close ranks, even over the uneven ground of the slope. Forewarned by the pipes, the thin line of dwarves at the base opened up just as the company approached the line, allowing the mass of the company to advance seamlessly into the fray. They sliced deftly through the dispersed orcs who had been up until now merely harassed the dwarven line with javelins. The lithe orc skirmishers receded back fleeing the wall of steel pikes and halberds. A few brave hulking ones charged forwards, and were cut down on the long pikes, jabbing forwards for the kill before being pulled back, black stained tips extricated from the dying.

A large orc in a breastplate of bronze discs roared a command. Of the orcs streaming into the break in the line, many began to rally around the one adorned in bronze. Unlike their leader, they wore no armor, but their clubs and spears adorned with obsidian. They formed a loose front, banging the wood of their weapons on their leather shields. The disciplined rhythm told Geordi they were as much warriors as the fiercest orcs faced in invasions past.

“Keep Moving!”

The company kept forwards. The armored orc raised a short curved bronze blade, and let out a roar. The assembled orcs charged.

“Halt! Plant!”

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The dwarven company stopped. Pikemen planted their hafts underfoot, leaning forwards into the impending impacts. The leading orcs swatted the leading pikes aside with their own weapons, but couldn’t stop, pushed forwards by the ranks behind them. Pikeheads ran through rib cages as pike butts were forced into the dirt.

Alarmed cries burst out across the pike-bloc as dwarves skidded back into the bracing rank behind them. Geordi was taken aback as an impaled orc locked eyes with him. The green-skin put a heavy foot in front of the other, pushing his skewered body down the pike, closer. His eyes were full of wroth. Geordi gripped at the hilt of the shortsword on his waist. Another stride. Its eyes widened. Finally, blissfully, the light faded from the orc’s eyes, and it collapsed. Geordi noted the dwarf warrior was struggling to extricate his pike, as were many others, their pike-heads driven clean through dead and dying orcs. Just as they began to regain their footing, another surge of orcs hit the line. Many pikes rapidly raised, though a few did not. Orcs lunged headlong into the fray, this time as many reaching the halberds as were cut down at pike-length. A small band of Orcs charged their right flank. They were met with shields and halberds. The orcs pressed against the shield wall, clubs smashing down on the tops of shields, searching desperately for a gap. In seconds those forwards were cut down, but a dwarf halberdier stumbled out of block, turning dazedly. He was cut down in an instant. A call rang out, and the dwarves shifted over, rapidly filling the space. Orcs gathered on their left, roaring out at distance as their numbers grew, gaining courage.

We cannot stay here. Geordi thought. He looked at the fuschia banner in the distance. It dipped for a terrifying second, before it was again lifted up, no doubt by new hands.

“Forward!” He Yelled.

The formation grunted in affirmation.

Commander Yarvik began to call a slow cadence.

“Push! Step! Step! Hold! Thrust! Retrieve! Push! Step!-”

With each call of “Thrust!” Deft pikes lunged forwards as one, Impaling many and driving back the rest.

“Step! Step! Hold! Thrust!” Their progress was slow, but it was steady. Bands of ragged orcs, many of which had so recently charged headlong at the static block, now faltered and broke away from the advancing tide of pikes.

In the fray of panicked orcs, standing firm behind the line of contact, that damned bronze clad leader locked eyes with Geordi. They weren’t wrathful, moreso– Analytical?

Geordi dismissed the thought. Finally, the orc looked away. Geordi followed his gaze. It was towards the Fuschia banner waving in the wind. The orc raised a thick fist, and roared a command as he turned away, shrinking back into the horde.

“ Step! Hold! Thrust! Retrieve! Push!” The pace quickened. Bagpipes joined in as the resistance shrank away.

“Advance at pace!” Yarvik called out.

The block began to gain momentum, slowing only briefly to finish off the fallen, or lay low courageously stupid stragglers.

Soon that fuschia banner was near at hand. One final push broke through the now surrounded ring of orcs, opening up to the look of amazed human troops. At least the few of them who remained.

“Split ranks!” Was Yarvik’s triumphant call. The block of dwarves divided into smaller clumps of ranks on each side, forming a wide path back to the dwarven line behind, which had advanced cautiously behind the push. Many exhausted, injured and quite shocked human troops began to trickle through, incredulous to have been relieved. Geordi glanced up at their tired faces. A few gave passing nods of thanks, but their expressions were shallow, their emotion and strength expended.

Geordi himself walked in the other direction, up the hill towards the shrinking perimeter. Many more exhausted faces passed him, some looks of real awe smiled distantly and hobbled away. Finally further up the hill. Geordi found who he was looking for.

A tall man in regal silvered cuirass and plumed open faced helmet saluted him, the tall feather on his helmet dancing in the breeze.

“Captain Erik of the Salt-cay 2nd Yeomanry, fifth Grenadier company, I- We- We are ever in your debt. Errr– Sir!.”

“Geordi, Stone-foot Underking. I’m glad to be of help. My apologies for taking so long.”

“None needed sir, I was sure we were to be overrun. I’d almost lost hope.”

Geordi nodded grimly. “Little enough of it is left. Have you any who might still run? I need you to send a messenger to your Empress. Tell her to commit the whole of her vaunted fuschia guard to the field. If they fight anything like yours have, we might yet avert this from rout.”

Captain Erik stared in a blank stupor. He blinked, obviously trying to process Geordi's words. Finally he found his words.

“Oh of course! You haven't had vantage to see nor messengers to hear. Let me show you.”

Confused, Geordi followed after.

The climb the rest of the way up the hill was a short one. When Geordi finally gained a view, he was shocked. Waves of green poured through the pass, from where he stood to the right wall of the pass.

Captain Erik stepped up alongside and knelt down to Geordi’s level. “Don't you see? We’re the furthest right force still fighting.”

The horde was endless. A rushing wave of green sweeping past their lines. At any moment Geordi knew, the line would be rolled back as orcs swept their flanks, smashing their lines from two sides. Starting with them. Geordi gasped. He stammered, quite beside himself.

“We must sound a general retreat. Roll back as best as we can control. Make a stand on stronger ground for all it will avail us.”

Erik shook his head. “Don’t you see. There’s no need. They are no longer stopping to engulf us. That's why they did not assail you harder. They had not need to.”

Geordi shook his head in disbelief. The orc onslaught truly was slowing. “Why? Why not dash us against the left wall while they have the chance? They are continuing north. Why?”

Erik’s response was faint. “I– I cannot say.”

Geordi raised an eyebrow. “Something dark is afoot. You cannot say? Or will not?”

Erik’s countenance darkened. “I would not, as dark as I suspect, for I know not the truth in the matter. I could not speculate for the shadow I could cast.”

Geordi stewed on those words for a while. He had not the time to think more on the matter. Whatever Erik knew, he was not like to tell. And besides, no treachery was likely. Secrets Geordi despised, but no leader no matter how craven would commit their force to such slaughter as part of a ruse. The wounded who passed him by bespoke an honesty to their efforts, no matter what secrets the humans kept.

So what was the orc’s part in this? They flowed like a river north, passing the fortress by. Foolishness, to leave such a stronghold and such a force to their rear, as could soon oppose their return or retreat. What other path out of the fuschia empire did the orcs envision? Whatever it was, the river of green flowed north as the now unmolested human-dwarven line watched in confusion.

Erik leaned over “Excuse me under-king, but I must see to my men.”

“As I think you ought to. Pardon me for keeping you.”

Erik nodded, thanks and reverence in his expression.

Geordi shook his head, still incredulous as he looked on. The last of the orc horde was slinking past their position, rushing at a brisk pace. He noted that his banner had caught up with him. He waved for Yarvik. The commander rushed over.

“Your spyglass, commander?” Geordi asked. Yarvik gestured to his orderly, who produced it from a bag, handing it to Yarvik, who gave it to Geordi.

Geordi extended the telescoping tube, peering out to spy more closely on the passing orcs. Through the scratched glass, he spied something strange. The center of the loose rear column was made up of smaller shapes. Goblins? No. Orc-spawn, children. The madness was beyond Geordi’s belief, and yet it was. He scowled.

He handed the spyglass back to Yarvik, and leaned over to whisper.

“I want a rider or chariot brought up. I have much to relate to the council.”

Yarvik nodded and left to see it done.

A tall man stepped up to Geordi’s left. It was Captain Erik from earlier.

The captain wasn’t paying mind to the dwarves to his right or the orcs to his rear. Instead his gaze was locked south, from whence the orcs had come. He produced his own spyglass, longer by half than the one Yarvik had given over. A sullen expression came over the captain as he peered through the lens.

“What do you see, guard Captain?” Geordi inquired, concerned.

“Beasts. A green tide. A wall of beasts. A wall of steel.”