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The men watched in silence as the enemy wave advanced. Now it would begin. . . .
Three soldiers came forward out of the ranks of the enemy. The one in the middle was carrying a white flag, the one on the left was blowing a bugle in an appeal for negotiations.
“Since when do orcs come to negotiations with bugles instead of drums?” Hargan muttered as he drew on his armored gloves.
“Strange . . . ,” said the soldier standing beside him, screwing up his eyes to peer at the strangers. “They’re . . . not orcs . . . they’re men! Yes, they are! They’re men!”
The whispers ran along the ranks of the defenders:
“Men? Where from? The entire army fell back ages ago! Are they ours? Reinforcements? But why from the south?”
Meanwhile the trio of negotiators walked up to the edge of the ravine and halted.
They really were men.
“Hey, you! Can you hear me?” shouted the one standing on the right, a tall, solidly built soldier with a full, thick beard.
“We hear you! We’re not deaf!” Wencher answered from somewhere over on the right flank of the fortifications. The harsh voices dispelled the charm of the summer morning.
“We are the valiant Sixth Southern Army of Valiostr, now the First Human Assault Force! Formed on the orders of the orcs from valiant warriors who desire the well-being and happiness of all humankind.”
“Hang on there, hang on! What’s this First Human Assault Force? And you’re lying about the Sixth Southern, none of them survived, they were caught in the thick of it at Boltnik!”
“Ah, come on, lads, don’t you get it?” shouted a voice from the ranks of the bowmen. “They’re turncoats! Traitors! Renegade scum! They do the orcs’ work now!”
“Fighting their own kind?”
“Bastards!”
“Don’t they realize that afterward the orcs will cut them to shreds?”
“The glorious army of the Firstborn, worthy of ruling the whole of Siala, offers you the chance to lay down your arms and join the First Human Assault Force. Resistance is useless; there are far more of us than there are of you. In a few hours the main orc forces will arrive, and we will crush you! Why simply throw your lives away? The war is lost, even a Doralissian can see that! Join with us and you will stay alive and perhaps even make good pay! The orcs are just.”
“Our reply is no!” said Hargan.
“Fools!” the bearded man roared. “How many of you are there behind those flimsy sticks of wood? Two hundred at most. And there are almost a thousand of us! We’ll wash our hands in your blood!”
“Come and take it!” yelled Wencher, incensed. “We’ve enough arrows for the lot of you!”
Hargan had total confidence in the loyalty of his men and he was not afraid of being stabbed in the back, but it was time to put an end to the conversation with this vociferous traitor.
“And now you listen to me, peace envoy! I’ll give you just one chance, too! You are a coward who had betrayed his own people! I hope you’re a fast ru
As he turned away, he saw the standard bearer toss aside his useless white flag and go ru
“Soldiers!” Hargan barked. “We’re about to fight a battle with our own kind, not orcs! With men! With traitors who have forgotten the taste of their own mothers’ milk and gone over to the enemy! Do not let your hands falter! Kill the turncoats, show no mercy!”
And the phrase rang along the ranks of men, determined to fight to the death before they let the enemy pass:
“NO MERCY!”
Bugles sounded on both sides. The attackers bolstered their spirits by shouting and brandishing their weapons as they ran. A thousand of them. A thousand men who would stop at nothing, since they had already gone over to the side of the orcs. There was no way back for them now, so they would fight to the last man. But Hargan had no doubt that his lads would hold out. After all, these were not orcs who were attacking them. . . . And the Dog Swallows also had the slight advantage of the ravine and the wall above it.
The first wave of the enemy came rolling on, getting closer and closer. The soldiers ran, hoping to get through the danger zone exposed to arrows as quickly as possible and leave their comrades—the men ru
“What kind of idiot is commanding them?” Hargan muttered.
Ru
“Arc five fingers upward! Together, fire!” Blidkhard commanded, shouting above the howls of the attackers.
The bowmen raised their bows, there was a sharp crack, and the arrows went whistling up into the leaden sky.
“Arc seven fingers upward. Correct for wind half a finger left! Together, fire!”
The new swarm of deadly bees took to the air at the very moment when the first wave of arrows came crashing down on the attackers’ heads. Some managed to hold their shields up to ward off this deadly rain; some were simply fortunate enough to escape being hit. But the greater part of the first wave knew the bitter taste of death. His scythe sliced through the ranks of traitors as arrows fell on heads and shoulders. Their impetus drove them straight through cuirasses and chain mail, deep into men’s chests, finishing off the wounded who had already fallen.
More than eighty bodies were left lying on the ground, and the survivors ran on doggedly in an attempt to dive into the fog of the ravine as quickly as possible and conceal themselves from the eyes of the bowmen.
The second swarm of arrows had been launched along a steeper arc and it fell on the men almost vertically. Screams . . . Now there were only thirty men left in the first wave—all the rest had met their death on the other side of the ravine. And they still had about fifty yards to run to safety.
“Number twos! Three paces back! Arc six fingers upward! Number ones! At the survivors! Choose your target! Fire!”
The line of bowmen trembled and split into two halves. The second line fired along an arc, sending death to the new wave that was already advancing. The first line fired directly, picking off the remaining soldiers of the first wave.