Roderick and Gorlana Pt. 02

He was pleased to hear no news from his guards as he finally got back to his tent. All the preparation had been done. Their strategic retreat was outlined starting in the morning; hopefully whittling down the Springsnake's army as they funnelled themselves into the higher mountain pass to make their stand. All that was left to do was wait. ...and sleep, if he could.

...

18 Hours later,

The late afternoon sun brushed the tips of the towering mountain peaks as Roderick reached the mouth of the pass, hoping his men were less exhausted than he felt. He spared only a momentary glance at the beautiful vista of the deep canyon as the wide road opened up along the cliff beside of it.

"This will be our stand! At the first curve of the canyon wall! Remember the plan! Remember your cues! If we hold with each other we have hope! If we break we die!" he shouted, dirt and sweat congealing on his face, though far less so than most of his harried men.

Everything had gone more or less to plan, yet the day had still felt like a hell. This Orthalian side of the Rampart mountains had more severe topography than the Andralian foothills he had grown up in. Fingers of ridges and cliffs jutting out for miles from the main mountain range peppered with buttes and boulders made for an almost maze-like set of passable routes, and his orcish allies were vital in their knowledge of them, but all eventually funnelled towards the Roancliff pass. The only one for weeks in either direction.

They had been gradually retreating Springsnake's maneuvers and advances on a wide rough plateau for the last several days, their army now too small to face them in a simple one-on-one conflict. When they broke camp that morning, most of their army moved southeast to keep themselves on the high ground against the steady oncoming army, who kept trying to outpace them southward to cut off their access to the pass. This made it seem like Roderick's army became spread out and vulnerable as they wound their way along the edge of the mountains towards it. Springsnake took the bait, and sent portions of the Orthalian army to try to cut into the presumably weaker trailing remnants. The Andralians were not nearly so spread out as they seemed however, still grouped numerous enough, and well organized, with the higher ground, and very much expecting such an attack. So it was, that over the day, Springsnake's forces had been whittled down significantly from these failed skirmishes until the Orcs finally seemed to give up that tactic. It took too much out of Roderick's soldiers though. They tried to cycle their legions in and out of the rear to keep them fresh, but this meant moving even faster to keep them from losing the race to the pass. Their casualties were growing as well, and they had far fewer to spare than the enemy.

The other reason to spread out along the range, was to stop any Orthalians from accessing the rocky slopes behind them where a third of Roderick's archers had gone to position themselves on the top of cliff overlooking the pass. There was no access back down to the pass road except for the most sure-footed of soldiers and therefore no reason for Springsnake to make an attempt for it, unless he had thought of the same idea. Every part of this plan was vital if they had any chance of holding their own.

Now, finally, here they were. They had won the race, but only by a slim margin, and they would have little time to recuperate before the clash. Roderick had wanted his army to APPEAR to be on the run, exhausted and scared, to keep the orcs on the chase, into the narrower, more treacherous ground, but the appearance was too genuine for his liking.

The plateau had narrowed into a massive rocky hallway which suddenly opened up to the river canyon. The road now had a sheer cliff dropping off on one side down to the roaring rapids, and a nearly sheer cliff up the other, on top of which his archers would soon stand poised, ...he hoped. The road of the pass was about 30 paces wide here. It got narrower further up into the snowy heights, but that would prove riskier, and they simply didn't have the time. They positioned themselves from rock-wall to drop-off in a straight line of shields, as usual, doubly reinforced to withstand the ever-increasing effectiveness of the Orc's onslaught. Convincing his Orcs to willingly 'hide' behind a shield to hold their battle-lines had felt like his life's greatest accomplishment. He hoped they could follow the procedures he needed them too, and resist going berserk against their foe for long enough.

Springsnake's army had paused at the opening to the canyon about 200 paces away. Seeing them set up for battle, he was struck, not for the first time, with a begrudging respect for the orcish general, also keeping their orcs from their own berserker thoughtlessness in order to organize for their own assault. And, to Roderick's dismay, organized they seemed to be. His heart sunk as he watched them line up in two rows and lift up their latest trick.

A battering ram.

It was narrower and lighter than a typical battering ram, but much longer, and he knew the length would be measured to out-reach his men's spears to smash through their shield-line. The now familiar low rumble of the war horn sounded and echoed through the canyon. With a chorus of terror-inducing roars, the orcs spilled forth on to the wide road and ran headlong toward them. Battering ram at the point.

Roderick cleared his throat, "READY!" he yelled. "On my mark!" His heart pounded along with the boots of their juggernaut charge as he waited. His lieutenants started to worry and looked at him expectantly.

"LEFT BACK! LEFT BACK!" He finally shouted, at the top of his lungs, and suddenly the left half of his shield-wall along the open edge of the cliff turned away in a retreat.

Come on! Roderick pleaded in his mind, hoping the orcs would take the bait.

The battering ram only slightly veered to the retreating side, then seemed to waver as the bearers couldn't decide where to aim. The orc's did roar louder though, and their momentum overall did change towards their left, like he needed it to. The Andralians suddenly halted their feigned retreat and lined up again. Their shield-wall now angled to direct the orcs away from the cliff-face and towards the ledge.

The battering ram still hit, only slightly left of center, and plowed through the shield-wall like a knife piercing through armour. The orcs behind spilled through, but Roderick had planned for such an outcome. The rows of shields that stood against them were all angled to drive the army's momentum towards the edge of the cliff. Except now, a wedge of his own men was caught in between. As the Orthalian orcs pushed forth, the screams of falling soldiers built like a crescendo chorus, many his own. He closed his eyes tightly and swore at the sacrifice the unfortunate few dozen soldiers paid, pushed over the edge by his own men's efforts, but finally the orcs followed as well. The battering ram was long since dropped. Swords cut, and lances stabbed, but the shield wall, broken in many places as it was, still did its job of angling the orcish momentum towards that long deadly fall from the edge. They kept a slow methodical retreat every few minutes, but it was starting to become less methodical. Men were tiring and falling injured behind the shields but far fewer than the orcs, either skewered or driven helplessly into the airy void to break on the rocks below and spilling enough collective blood to begin to stain the turquoise rushing river with red.

He had chosen this particular curve of the canyon road so that his army couldn't be seen except by the front portion of the Orthalian army. This way, the orc's rear forces couldn't volley arrows at them, but his own archers could still hit the front half of theirs, and hopefully the archers on the cliff above them would reach the rest. The consequence though, was that he could not see how large the rest of that army was. Had they whittled them down enough? How many did they have left to face? Could they endure?

He cursed again. Now for the poor men at the tip of his angled army, pressed against the cliff, with no comrades for support behind them, and being crushed against it in increasing number. His army was being stretched into a line on the right side, along the wall of the cliff, which helped to angle the orcs away, but left the men less reinforced. He watched a rock fall from the cliff and take out two soldiers, as if fate itself were conspiring against his best-laid plans once again.

No... not just fate. The sudden realization hit him and he jerked his head up to see no archers. They should have revealed themselves to volley arrows down on the approaching army minutes ago. He had thought they perhaps had found better position further away to hit their rearguard. Except, as he craned his head, he started to see... orcs. More and more of them, their heads sprouting over the edge above them, lifting rocks above their heads. They had somehow made it on to the higher slopes in time for the battle, despite his previous efforts. His archers were almost certainly dead. The rocks started to rain down on those of his men who stood with their backs to the cliff, and were helpless to retreat, set as they were. Sickening thuds of flesh meeting stone started to sound. Gravel rained down, and he shouted "BACK!" Once more.

They needed to retreat, but he needed them to keep form.

"Hold formations! Steady BACK!" he shouted, trying to keep any fear from touching his voice, feeling like he wanted to beg his men not to panic.

It was all too much. Dust of falling debris obscured much of it, almost as a mercy, but his army started to retreat in earnest, as more heads and shoulders were brutally crushed under the falling stones. Their angled shield line fell back and straightened out, but only half the men seemed to even try to hold their formations. The rocks rained down on the enemy orcs as much as their mixed soldiers now, but the rout was starting. Orcs and humans both were either crushed from falling rocks, or screamed as they fell off the other edge.

"BACK! STEADY BACK! HOLD THE SHIELD LINE!" Roderick bellowed.

They were almost out of range of the Orc's rocks from the cliff above, if they could only make it far enough without breaking completely.

"HOLD! IF WE C-...." Roderick's voice caught in his throat as he heard and saw the cliff above completely give way.

"RUN!" He suddenly bellowed. "BREAK AND RUN!"

Some of the men looked at him with wide-eyed disbelief that their stalwart general would ever yell such a thing, but others, even more wide-eyed, saw why, and ran with him.

The weight of the orcs on the precipice and their pilfering of rocks from it's edge had been too much, and now the entire cliff-side above the front lines of the two armies suddenly broke away. The deep rumbling mass shook the ground beneath them and echoed through Roderick's chest as it seemed to fall in slow motion, towards his retreating men and the pursuing orcs.

A grey monster of a cloud billowed towards Roderick, watching nearer to the rear, as the massive landslide annihilated the pass just where the two armies met. It seemed to mostly hit the orcish army but the mass of rubble was so large that it barely mattered. The world suddenly became a gritty choking hell of deafening sound. Gravel rained sideways on his face and he remembered spots of sharp thudding pain seeming to hit random parts of his body like a barrage of hammers before the roaring grey turned to quiet black, and he lost consciousness.

...

Gorlana watched as the reflected light finally slipped above and away from the tallest of the Rampart mountains' peaks as the sun set behind her. She turned around to look at the serene sunset fading over her Orthalian homeland, trying to focus her thoughts on that. THAT was what was important. Orthalia. Nothing else. However, as she walked back to her army's camp in the lower foothills, Gorlana couldn't help taking another glance over her shoulder at the darkening forests and rocky slopes, now miles away again, as she tried not to obsess about her naive hope that was fading fast, and what may have slipped away through the passes.

Maybe it wasn't even him. How many Roderick's could there be? Maybe it was like 'Grok' to them, and everyone knew someone with that name... How many Roderick's would be rumoured to have a hint of orcish blood though? How many described as tall, brown-haired, green-eyed, with a kind and just demeanour, with an unusual affinity for his orcish allies. She pictured his face once again and wondered how he might have changed. Would she still have recognized those beautiful, gentle, understanding eyes... or that devastatingly enticing scent.

She swore and kicked at a root as she walked alone, cursing herself for a swooning pasture-girl. She had forgotten. She had moved past it. She was free of that painful loss; coming to terms with never seeing or smelling him again. For years she thought she was over him but as soon as that name had been spoken for the first time, casually by their informants, her heart had torn in two.

She didn't even know what she would have done had she caught him. She perhaps had even held back a little in their army's pursuit, subconsciously, fearing that he would be killed before he could be taken captive. Orcs didn't usually take prisoners unless they were of particular importance, but she knew he was important enough. But, what would she have done? Kill him? Ransom him? Turn him? No. She was sure he would never. Would she beat him senseless for the orcish blood he and his forces had spilled? Pin him down and scream at him for the painful, torturous desire he had left her with? Kiss him, just to finally quench herself of that wonderful taste again? Rip his armour off and mate with him until dawn? Free him and save him like he had done to her, and this time take him up on his foolish offer to run away together into the hills...

She stopped in her tracks and screamed inside her mind gritting her teeth and closing her eyes, then let out a low growl, turned around and spat towards the mountains before trudging with determination back to her camp. He was gone. Probably dead. Good. Now she could focus on what really mattered.

"Springsnake," the wide set orcish guard greeted Gorlana with her war-name, and nodded with respect as she passed his post, and she nodded back without meeting his eyes. She was fairly sure her eyes were still dry and clear but was thankful for the dim light nevertheless. "Carthala awaits you in your tent, General."

"I will go straight there," Gorlana replied and let out a silent shuddering sigh to calm herself as she walked past the outer tents and into the camp.

"My honour to you Springsnake," Carthala said as Gorlana entered, with a respectful nod, then cocked her head to the side, "You stink of despair, but I still say to you we should rejoice in killing so many of those pale wretches."

Gorlana scowled at her, "The screams of the griefsongs for our fallen brothers and sisters are what we sing tonight, my third-hand, and that is all. They died with honour, no matter the tally."

"Of course General, I meant no dishonour," she replied deferentially.

Gorlana sighed reigning in her irritation, that was not Carthala's fault. "You are right however that it was not a total loss, despite not making it through the pass or destroying them outright. Though we do not know if any of them survived, unless a scout has finally returned since we talked?..."

Carthala shook her head solemnly, "The paths are treacherous, but it is still odd that none of our scout party returned, and leads me to suspect that more than a few humans survived and... prevented their return."

"In any case," Gorlana continued, "That pass was as much a vulnerability to us as it was to them, and now neither can use it. It solidifies our stance here, and stability is ultimately what our Queen desires."

"You mean we're not..."

"We are not heading south to the traitor provinces' borders. Even if we had the numbers left to make a difference there, we would not. Now that two of the human armies have been neutralized I believe the Queen will have a different plan in mind."

"We struggle to maintain our supplies and soldiers. This war drains too much from our nation and you know the whispers that it cannot continue much longer before the common clans finally start to go truly hungry. The need to accept help from the Rechlingers has been evidence enough. Should we not make a true thrust to regain our lost holds at least while we can? Take what advantage we can take, to finally win our victory?"

"Do not speak such things so loudly. That is talk for the high chiefs and our Queen alone," Gorlana bit back in a whisper. "Yes we struggle. And that's why... she will do what she does."

"I don't suppose you will tell me what your aunt has in mind?"

"She is Queen Malgora to you, and I am simply General Springsnake here on the battlefield, all ties and relations are given up on joining the war hoard."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a new recruit Gorlana," Carthala interrupted, making a point of enunciating her common name, "We've known each other for years before we enlisted, the guards are too far to hear over the noise outside. I am not just your third hand, I am your FRIEND. What bristles you tonight?"

"We lost hundreds..."

"No, it's more than that. The chiefs have accepted your tactics now. They celebrate your cunning and throw no more jests at your human style of battle, or references to your blood. You've proven yourself to be more than worthy of your noble house, not despite your impurity but perhaps because of it, many now say. If we return to Orthanhall you will be met with roars of honour. Many even suggest that when the sad day comes and our Queen d-"

"Stop it!" Gorlana pointed at her, "THAT I will not discuss even if we are alone."

"You should. She will not live forever, and some of your cousins already work to bolster their favour and loyalty of some chiefs."

"And they earn disrespect in the eyes of any honourable orc if they do."

"What makes you so irritated then? I have noticed it since we engaged with this army. I did not want to distract you from your work at the time, but something disturbs you."

"It's nothing,"

Carthala laughed, "Indeed... Was it their general? Are you jealous of not being the only mix-blood leader on the battlefield?"

"That's just a rumour. Their crown would never stand for a mixed one to rise so high in their ranks."

"If they knew. They say the traitor-orcs keep it a secret. As if they have an inside man. Such confused bastards, why do they fight and die for such fools."

Gorlana stared at the tent wall, trying to keep her emotions in check at Carthala's words approaching too close to the truth for her liking.

"You know as well as I. We took their sacrifices in the early war for granted, and they suffered too greatly. And, now that it's been years since they turned, they bask in their trade with Andralia, they live richer lives, in stronger homes, with fuller bellies."

Carthala spat, "And sold their honour for it."

"Unless Roderick did truly defeat their chief in honour-combat, and win their chiefdom." Gorlana replied quietly, feeling a tingling within herself at the thought, as she always did. "It would have split the obligations of any clan."

"Even so... In any case," Carthala continued trying to lighten the mood, "It might have been nice to meet this General Lightbrew, if nothing else to confirm the rumours. Perhaps he would have smelled interesting. We all know you prefer half-breeds..."

Gorlana gave her a vicious look, making her blush appear as simple red-faced anger.