Herb Quest Pt. 01: Prisoner of War

Prologue:

The human kingdoms of the south had been invaded.

For generations those that dwelt in the cold mountainous north, orcs and goblins for the most part, had been at odds with the richer kingdoms south of them.

Raids had been a constant threat for those living in what was known as the borderlands. War parties of goblins or orcs would swarm across the border striking at isolated homesteads, lumber camps, trade caravans and the occasional small village.

These raiders sought gold, food, weapons, slaves. Whatever of worth that they could carry easily enough to disappear back to their holds in the north. For the most part caravan guards, brave homesteaders, the occasional local militia or even a roving patrol of regular cavalry from one of the kingdom's standing armies were enough to combat these raids. The raiders were normally only interested in easy prey and a stiff defence could discourage large scale bloodshed. There were occasions when an actual war party would venture south, young warriors seeking to blood themselves and earn glory and status. These were infrequent however but might involve a number of weeks of terror as the warriors carved a bloody path through the countryside. Only ending when they returned sated from their excesses or were driven back bloody and beaten.

Then, four years ago everything changed.

Some said it was down to one harsh winter too many, others that raids were no longer enough to quench the creatures' thirst for death and still others speculated that something far worse that the fell races of orcs and goblins had stirred and were driving them south.

Whatever the reason, in the spring of the Year of the Sparrowhawk, thousands of slavering orcs and goblins had exploded from the mountains of the north all along the borders of the three human kingdoms of the south, pushing south at an alarming rate. For a month it was mayhem- bloody mayhem.

King Patric of the Eastern Realm first brought them to battle, his heavy lancers driving the rude hedgehog defensive formations of the goblin foot soldiers into ruin. The warhorses trampling over the creatures time and again as their riders turned from one charge into another until the few remaining goblin troops from that particular host broke and ran.

Queen Bea of the Western Realm also led her army against the invaders. Her disciplined troops, supremely trained and in solid shield walls, allowed the orc troops to batter themselves against their iron shields hopelessly. Short swords flickered in the light as they stabbed out from the human lines, each unfailingly finding a target amongst the packed flesh of the orcs pressing against the shields. Over and over the swords sought out the orcs' lives until, defeated, the orcs reformed and retreated.

Finally, King Tonar of the Middle Realm met the invaders with his forces. Skirmishers from his army slowed the goblin forces long enough for the King's army to deploy. War engines shot rocks, javelins and pitch at the mass of goblins, tearing and rending gory holes in the creature's lines. Light cavalry with infantry then charged forward, outnumbered, but advancing under cover of withering sheets of arrows from the royal archers they hit the depleted front ranks with a crash of thunder. The sight of so many of their kin dead before the human army had even reached them was enough for the goblins. They fled.

Three battles, three victories. All said it was over and for that year at least, it was.

The next spring they returned. This time there was no howling advance with scant regard for strategy and tactics. This time they advanced slowly, securing whatever territory they seized. Rough palisades were thrown up around camps and occupied villages, something approaching discipline taking hold of the invaders. The discipline wasn't the only difference.

Instead of separate hosts comprising of orcs or goblins, now the invaders joined forces. Tribes, clans and septs that were once as much against as each other as they were humankind now worked in concert. The reason for this became obvious soon enough.

Giants had taken over leadership of the invaders. Not the giants of tales told by mothers to children half asleep in their beds. These giants were not 30 feet tall with booming voices, bearing trees as clubs. They stood between nine and ten feet tall for the most part, grey of skin with eyes and hair of the deepest black. Clad in piecemeal armour, a mix of both leather and iron, they carried large double-bladed axes or huge iron capped war hammers. These new 'officers' were responsible for the new army.

The goblins, small and scrawny, topping at just five feet on average, but possessed of a wiry strength and surprising turn of speed became the new skirmishers and light infantry. Their brown mottled skin an added bonus when operating in the dense woodlands that covered much of the borderlands.

Orcs became the heavy infantry, six to seven feet in height, broad muscular warriors. Their black skin and hairless pates, often decorated in red paint, had inspired terror in their foes when they were raiders. Now standing in disciplined ranks, working as a collective, that terror had magnified in line with their new efficiency in battle.

Along with these changes the giants had brought one new element to the invading force. Cavalry.

Dire wolves, twice the size of their forest cousins, possessed of human intelligence and cunning they answered the giants' commands in battle.

This new force had met King Patric's first. The eastern generals had not recognised the danger when they had seen the invading army forming up in an efficient manner never seen before. The generals had opted to deal with the enemy in the time-honoured fashion with a massed charge by the heavy horse.

Before the human cavalry had crossed half the distance between the opposing sides the dire wolves had streamed out from either end of the enemy's ranks, curling in towards the charge on an intercept course. The horses were terrified by the tide of white furred death pouring across the field towards them and they began to rear and baulk against their rider's commands.

This confusion brought the charge into a tangled whinnying mess two hundred feet short of the enemy's lines. Soon the wolves were among them, horses lamed through bites, disembowelled by sweeping strikes from razor sharp paws, their riders toppling to the ground either thrown by a panicking steed or pulled from the saddle by a leaping wolf.

And then the orc charge hit them.

By the time the Eastern Realm's force could disengage two in five of the total number of soldiers were dead with the cavalry having the worst of it, losing four in five of their men.

Neither the Middle nor Western Realms armies fared any better, suffering huge losses in their opening battles.

Over the next three years the human troops continued to fare badly against the northern alliance, though never again suffering the disastrous losses of the first battles in the second year. Steadily through defeats, bloody stalemates and rare victories the human realms lost men, material and land.

Near the end of the third year of war a number of decisions were made by all three kingdoms. Firstly what strength remained of the regular armies would be husbanded against a time when victory could be assured. Secondly, militias would be formed, given some training and experienced officers or sergeants and used to stem the tide of invasion where possible. Operating as mobile reserves for towns and villages that had now become walled strongholds dotted throughout the borderlands. Thirdly, to offset the loss of men, women would be called up in armed service in these militias.

Chapter 1:

Alice chewed thoughtfully on a blade of grass as she marched along the rough logger's trail. The leather strap from her crossbow was digging into the flesh of her shoulder, she took it off, swinging it over to the other shoulder to get some relief. She wouldn't normally have done that; Sergeant Mill's would normally have bawled at her for 'playing' with her weapon but right now the sergeant had something else on his mind.

The something was Lieutenant Alwin. A replacement from the capital, he had only taken command of the militia troop a week before and he was keen to prove himself as a warrior supreme. The flying column had been dispatched as support to the town of Elmstore, a logging community two days hard march from the Militias base of operations. Elmstore had used a carrier pigeon to deliver news of goblin scouts spotted in the woods nearby.

That report had led to a hundred cavalry and two hundred light infantry been dispatched to Elmstore to bolster the town's forces of just one hundred men.

Sergeant Mill's concerns, along with Alice's, had begun when instead of riding up to and into the palisaded town, the column had instead proceeded right past the walls and headed towards the woods.

The town was a half mile distant now, the defenders on the walls now indistinguishable. Alice had remembered the looks of incredulity on their faces as Alwin had pranced by on his stallion, it had mirrored the one on her own face.

"Column halt. Break ranks, five minutes rest" Mill's voice bellowed out, his stocky frame jogging along the line of march as he hurried forward to confer with the lieutenant.

Alice sank to the ground with a grateful groan. She was the fourth child and second daughter of her parents. Her father a thatcher in the Middle realm's capital city, her mother a seamstress. Her two older brothers had already been called up for service, both perishing the year before. Her older sister and two younger brothers remained at home, helping her parents at their work.

In truth she'd almost been glad of being called up to the militia. She had hated the thatching work and had despised the skills of a seamstress. Her mother had despaired of her daughter who had put pin in flesh more often than cloth.

So now, at twenty years old, she had left the city behind to see the world and kill some orcs. Well so far she'd seen nothing of interest beyond her comrades backs as she marched and the only thing dying was her sense of humour from the ineptitude of officers like Alwin. Still when battle did come she knew she was likely to make a good account of herself. The sergeant was miserly with praise but even he had remarked that her skill with a crossbow wasn't terrible. She knew herself to be the best in the company. With sword she was less skilled but she could hold her own.

At her age she could have expected to be married by now. However the war had reduced the numbers of eligible men drastically and anyway she hadn't felt the need to see a matchmaker, she'd prefer to make her own decision when it came to choosing a husband.

Not that she was ignorant of men, she'd lost her virginity a few years before to a handsome troubadour who had been working in an inn adjacent to their home. Since then she'd fumbled and tumbled with a few other men. None since joining up though, she hadn't wanted a reputation among her comrades and besides sex might lead to ill feelings and in battle she didn't want anyone beside her who wasn't a friend.

Not that some among the ranks, officers too including Alwin, hadn't made it clear that should she change her stance that they'd be only to happy to be with her. At 5'7 she was among the taller of the women in the troop. Her long light blonde hair, tied into a club now with a leather cord, pale blue eyes and good looks turned many heads. Her soft body had taken on a hardness now, muscles becoming more defined from drilling, marching and training. Her large bust had proved a problem, she tended to tie a strip of cloth tightly around it as the ill-fitting leather breastplate caused chaffing on her chest otherwise.

She looked up to see Sergeant Mill's throwing up his hands in frustration. Alwin, chin raised like the stuck up noble he was, was swinging back into the saddle and signalling the advance.

"Bollocks" Alice cursed, spitting out the blade of grass.

Mill's made his way back along the column, his features clouded by worry and anger. He stopped every so often offering words of advice to different section leaders. As he passed Alice he paused.

"Trouble Sergeant?" Alice ventured.

He grunted, a small smile of his craggy face.

"You are a shit soldier, but I don't like losing any of my men, even the shit ones" he said, a soldier's dark humour tripping from his lips.

"Get the crossbow loaded, we are gonna see action today no matter what that jumped up excuse of a shit says" he added beginning to move on towards the rear of the column.

"And Alice"

"Yes Sarge?"

"Stay alive" he said before clapping his hand on another soldier's shoulder as he moved along the line of his charges, checking readiness with an experienced eye.

Alice swallowed nervously and slung her crossbow down. It was only a light one, not requiring a winch to arm it, just a metal foot stirrup at the front. She placed the stirrup on the ground, slipped her foot inside and with both hands hauled the string back until it locked in place against the trigger nut. Alice opted not to load it for fear of accidentally shooting someone in front of her.

As the column moved off again, she checked the quiver at her waist holding her bolts, it had a light draw string holding it closed and she ensured it wasn't knotted so that she could get at the bolts quickly.

Another half mile along the trail and the woods were much closer now. Slight movement at the edge of the tree's drew her attention along with everyone else in the column. Ten, twenty, no, forty goblins spilled from the treeline. They seemed to be armed with short bows and they staggered out into a rough line before advancing towards them.

She could picture the look on the Lieutenant's face as he gave a whoop of joy at seeing the enemy. Certainly Alice also felt a spike of adrenaline at the sight of them, a glimmer of hope that she might slay some of those monsters that had killed her brothers and invaded her country. At the same time she was wondering why forty goblins were advancing on three hundred human militia.

The sergeant obviously had the same thoughts, calling out a caution to the Lieutenant that was promptly ignored. Alice knew the sergeant was rattled because even from thirty feet away she could hear him cursing the fool which the sergeant might normally do but not in front of the men.

Alwin signalled the infantry to form into line as well, Pikes and Halberds to the front, crossbows to the rear. He led the cavalry element to the left flank himself; Alice could see him hopping with excitement in the saddle as he passed her.

A hundred feet from the woods the goblins halted and released a volley of arrows. These hissed into the ground far from the first ranks of the humans. Alwin ordered the advance, slowly the lines shuffled forwards. For every three steps forward the humans took the goblins retreated one, the distance between them shrinking rapidly.

With their backs just fifty feet from the forest the goblins released a second volley and then broke and ran for cover. As the arrows slashed down, two or three cries of pain rising from the ranks of pikemen, Alwin gave a shout of command and the light cavalry charged at the goblins in a futile attempt to reach them before they reached the cover of the trees.

The goblins slipped between the tree trunks moments before the first horsemen reached them. Alwin spurred on into the forest, the majority of his command following him, just a handful of cavalry men pulling up at the forest edge. Alice held her breath along with all her comrades, straining to hear what was happening.

A shrill shriek split the air, human and yet inhuman in its suffering.

"Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks" she muttered, pulling out a bolt and putting it on the bow. The horsemen who had hung back now galloped to the relative safety of the infantry, wheeling the horses behind the lines and converging on Sergeant Mill's. Alice risked a glance behind her. She could see Mill's shaking his head, barely she heard him say "stupid noble bastard has gone and gotten us all fucked."

She looked back to her front. The goblins were once again emerging from the trees but they weren't alone. There were at least two hundred orc's, fifty giants and, most terrifyingly, a hundred or so dire wolves. The wolves meant there was no running, they could never hope to reach the town before being overtaken.

Again, Alice had guessed her sergeant's thoughts.

"No point you dying as well, get back to Elmstore and report what's happened. We'll hold them here as best we can."

With this command from the sergeant the five remaining cavalries turned their mounts and headed at speed back up the lumber trail to the town.

"Right boys and girls. We are fucked and no mistake. So we are going to make sure that each of us kills at least two of these donkey fuckers before we go down. You hear me?"

"Yes Sergeant!" Alice yelled the response with her comrades, the familiarity of her Sergeant's colorful commands giving her a sense of comfort.

"Pikes back ten paces, then archers. We'll leapfrog as much as we can, give ourselves some chance if we need to cut and run. If they advance, then every second archer fires on my command. Try keep a rolling fire going. Understand?"

Again they yelled their acknowledgment, then it was on, the pikemen shuffling back on command, twenty seconds later the crossbow men repeating the manoeuvre.

The enemy watched them as they continued this process, calling out taunts towards the humans as they sauntered closer as if fascinated by the strange antics.

After almost two hundred paces were covered in this fashion, Alice had a faint hope begin to blossom that that they might actually manage to retreat right back to the town. Then disaster.

One of the crossbow men, through fear or clumsiness, triggered his bow. The bolt shot out crossing the distance between the forces in a heartbeat before it thudded into the shoulder of one of the giants. A hush gathered over the fell creatures and in the silence all that could be heard was Sergeant Mill's voice.

"Shit, that's the duck fucked now for sure."

The enemy host, without a clear signal, leapt towards them, a bestial war cry assaulting the human soldiers before a weapon touched them.

"Loose, Archers, loose" Mill's shouted.

Alice took a bead on one of the grey skinned giants charging towards her, she pulled the trigger and then stooped to reload, not bothering to see if she'd done any damage. A second bolt ready, she drew aim again. A giant was closing on the lines, a bolt protruding from his stomach. Alice shot again, her second bolt released, true to her aim it took the same giant in the throat. He clutched at the wound, stumbling, his large frame rolled to the ground tripping up a brace of orc's following close behind.

With no time to reload, Alice drew her sword and placed a small buckler shield on her arm. The enemy hit her troop like an avalanche of brown, black, grey and white furred flesh. She swung at a goblin in front of her, a meaty resistance to her attack giving her a surge of pleasure. The goblin was replaced by an orc, his sword blow ripping her blade from her hand as she desperately blocked against it.

Alice backed away, trying to keep herself alive for a moment longer. She fended off one, then two attacks with her buckler before a crossbow bolt from one of her comrades hit the orc square in the chest, blowing him off his feet. She glanced over to see who had rescued her but couldn't see anyone clearly, the combat swarming all around her.