Adam’s team was not the only group to bring back fresh game that day. The other warriors had managed similar kills, and the foraging groups had also done well.
The furnace of orc metabolism took a lot of calories and little thought was given to the preservation of food in a war camp. Each orc had a plate piled high with slabs of meat and heavy, energy-dense roots.
The chief waited until every orc had a full plate before he started talking. Every night, he would repeat the same themes of honor, glory, and food. Yet, no one at the camp ever got tired of hearing the chief speak. As an ancient orc, the chief's voice sounded like two magnets grating together.
Tonight, his speech was about the successes of the previous day. He lauded Adam's group and placed special praise on Adam's bravery. The group had proven themselves and the chief made sure everyone in the camp knew it.
In the past, Adam had asked the chief about why he did this. The chief stared at Adam for a while before answering, “Adam, a war camp is a delicate balance between individuals and soldiers. Soldiers will follow order, even to the death. But orcs are only soldiers on the battlefield. The rest of the time, they're individuals. And a seed of doubt, left unaddressed, can blossom into impulsive actions in battle.”
Most of the time, orcs in camp would take the pause after the chief's speech to bring forward their own problems. Today, Adam rose to his feet.
“I have something to show the camp - an idea, a new way of waging war. Something I think will bring more bounties and protect orc blood.”
As one, the camp looked to the chief. Presenting a new idea at a meeting was a gray area. It could be viewed as a form of leadership, and that was the domain of the camp’s war chief.
It was entirely within the chief's power to dismiss Adam. Yet, he had just spent the past few minutes throwing praise in Adam's direction. So, the chief grimaced before grunting.
All right, Adam thought. The easy part is over, I guess.
—
For a half hour, Adam explained his thinking. He talked about the unpredictability of the humans as a tactical advantage that only grew as the numbers of fighting orcs dwindled. He brutalized the foolishness behind the orc's only method of battle, constantly moving forward.
Using his parchments, he painted a picture of reversing that dynamic. How a squad of orcs could catch a knight by surprise and keep them from directing the masses of lesser humans to attack.
“It’s a small formation that moves quickly. It strikes like the tip of a spear. When the humans organize defenses against the formation, it shifts and strikes elsewhere. At their knee, at their neck, and keeps attacking until the entire enemy force is in disarray.”
To his relief, Adam saw many of the older orc warriors in the audience nodding along. Human tactics had felled many of their comrades. Individually, humans alone were nothing to be afraid of. Their numbers made them cumbersome, and their tactics made them lethal.
“It’s a small formation that moves quickly. It strikes like the tip of a spear. When the humans organize defenses against the formation, it shifts and strikes elsewhere. At their knee, at their neck, and keeps attacking until the entire enemy force is in disarray.”
To his relief, Adam saw many of the older orc warriors in the audience nodding along. Human tactics had felled many of their comrades. Individually, humans alone were nothing to be afraid of. Their numbers made them cumbersome, and their tactics made them lethal.
But the chief’s remain unmoved. Against the flickering fire, it looked like his face was etched in stone.
Adam explained the intricacies of his new formation. How the front two shields protected the spear, how the spear could strike a lethal blow without worrying about defenses, and how the archer allowed the formation to slip away from large human groups.
As he talked, Adam kept glancing at the chief. The rest of the orcs were leaning forward and hanging on every word of his. But eventually, the silence from the chief started to wear on Adam. He slowed down, spoke softer, and came to a stop.
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Only then did the chief rise to his feed. Crossing over to the parchment, the chief pointed first at the left, and then at the right.
“If the humans come from both sides - if they strike from more than one angle, if they wrap around your shields like a wave. What of your archer then?
“We would be moving backward… we would..” Adam blanched.
The chief pointed away from the group, towards the parchment’s representation of the human army.
“Why do the shield-bearers stay in the front?”
“To protect against human charges and arrows.”
“So what happens if one of them falls? Or what if the humans aim for their legs?”
The chief moved through tactical situation after tactical situation that would devastate the formation. Adam tried to reply, to answer that the speed of the group would allow them to spin and pivot and create chaos, or to say that the enemy would be in disarray after encountering the formation. But the chief bulldozed over every objection without stopping to listen.
Eventually, the chief’s questions slowed. He turned to face the camp, pausing on each face as he spoke.
“The greatest issue here is not tactics. It’s honor.”
With his eyes, the chief singled out an orc in the crowd, a younger warrior known for his pride.
“You. Is an orc weaker than a human?”
“No, Chief! An orc is the match of 20 men.”
He found another.
“You. Does an orc feel fear, as a human does?”
“No! An orc is braver.”
The chief looked over the camp.
“An orc is strong. To bring orcs in a cluster against humans, to try to outnumber them, is to say orcs are weak. An orc charges, and humans scatter before him. In this,” the chief spat. “In these… tactics, there no honor. Honor comes from running the humans down, from sending them scattering with your strength, from defeating dozens of humans alone. Not from this trickery.”
The chief paused for a moment, looked at Adam, and walked away. Some orcs in the audience looked sympathetic, but one by one they filtered away until Adam and his friends were left alone.
—
“If you think about it,” Sam said, “It’s not like we’ve lost anything. Our formation yesterday worked, right?”
Sam had been talking for four or five minutes, trying to draw Adam out of his shell. Adam nodded, and tried to speak, but he did not trust his voice not to quaver. The twins hadn’t been able to handle the silence and retreated away from the tension of Adam’s shattered hopes. Luke sat, silent as always.
“It's not like we didn't win. Our first formation worked...” Sam continued.
Adam looked up suddenly.
“No. We almost died. When the humans split up, they cornered us. The main army had me. The split group surrounded you. They needed just a few more seconds and I would have died. And maybe you too, or Luke, or Max.”
It was a fluke that we lived, Adam thought. And now I have to lead them again, needing another fluke. I shouldn’t be doing this.
“It's ok,” Luke whispered.
“But I don't know if I can find another formation. I don't know if we can win again. I don't know what will work,” Adam choked. “Things are changing. Some of us might die. Now, I don't know how to lead.”
The words hung in the air. Luke and Sam's silence were like a damp cloth pressed against Adam.
“We trust you,” Sam finally spoke up.
“If you can't find a formation, we'll just use our strength. If that doesn't work, you'll find something else. You always do,” Luke smiled.
It isn’t that simple, Adam thought.
“I'm not brave. Luke isn't stupid. But we trust you. Shouldn't you trust yourself a bit?” Sam's voice started finding a note of confidence.
—
Adam was the last one to leave the fire. He crushed the orange embers under his foot, feeling the last of the fire heat up his leg.
When the morning came, the camp found the chief sitting over the fire. With a stick, the chief taught the flames to dance. Not even the barest hint of emotion was on his face.
The camp avoided the fire like a school of fish splitting a rock. Adam made to do the same before he was stopped.
“Adam,” the chief said as he stood up. “Bring your team.”
Adam gulped. He ran to collect Sam, the brothers, and Luke. When the group returned, the chief gestured at the weapon racks.
“Arm yourselves. We are going to have a little spar.”
An orc was about double the size of a human. But the chief was an ancient orc - he had gone through his changing and become stronger. He was a head taller than the tallest normal orc in the camp. It wasn't just height and strength, ancient orcs also possessed a familiarity with weapons that normal orcs couldn't hope to match.
Adam’s group stood stunned in front of the silent chief until Adam snapped out of it and sent them scrambling for their weapons. They returned, gripping their armaments with nervous, sweaty hands.
“All right,” the chief said. “Let’s see what that formation of yours can actually do.”
—
The war camp wasn't known for its facilities. The outhouse was merely a tent with a hole in the ground. So there wasn't a fighting arena that larger villages often had. Instead, the camp had a field to its side that could double as an area.
On the far end, panic flared among Adam's group.
“Sam, I don't even want you to aim. Keep the arrows coming. As many as you can,” said Adam.
Sam gulped and nodded.
“Max, there's no way that I can stop him with shield. You need to move with me. Do whatever I do.”
Max grunted back.
“Dax and Luke. Pick your shots wisely. Don't put yourself in danger. React to opportunities but don't force them. Make the chief pay for every step he advances.”
Across the field, the chief started taking wide, powerful practice swings with his axe. As the axehead swooshed through the air, everyone froze. This was new. The chief loosened up before real battle, but he never practiced for simple spars. He didn’t need to.
Sam spoke again with a quiver in his voice.
“Adam… Remember when I said we all trusted you not to get us killed?”
“Yeah?”
”I take it back.”