She could almost feel the ground moving, and then small sprouts erupted from the dirt. They grew quickly, the branches intertwining as thorns sprouted, completing the effect. Gahruhl kept up her concentration until the wall of thorns was taller than an Orc.
Rising, she listened for the enemy's response, for their army was now hidden from sight. Hearing arrows strike the hedge, she knew it was time to leave. She turned her back on the thorns and began moving south to rejoin the other members of her tribe.
Father General Hargild sat on his horse watching the Temple Knights ride by. They were a formidable force, the largest concentration of such troops in years, and he took pride in knowing they were the finest soldiers on the Continent. His moment of reflection was interrupted by the arrival of Captain Hadmar. The father general struggled to hide his irritation.
"Yes, Captain?" he said.
"We are under attack, Your Grace."
Hargild looked east and west. The column spread in both directions, but where the road was curved, the trees hid much of his troops. "Where?" he demanded.
"To the rear, Your Grace. It appears the enemy has employed mercenaries. Greenskins, to be exact."
"Orcs? Here? Are you sure?"
"There is no doubt, Lord. They struck at the wagons, then fled south, back into the woods."
"Casualties?"
"Light, Your Grace, but panic is spreading amongst the supply lines. I fear there are not enough troops to keep them secure."
"Tell the Duke of Erlingen to send more troops to the rear. That ought to keep the Orcs at bay."
"Do you think they mean to attack in force, Your Grace?"
"I doubt it," said Hargild. "They are skirmishers. Orcs don't fight using traditional tactics; they mainly play at hit and run. They are a nuisance, to be sure, but pose little real threat to us if we keep our heads."
Captain Hadmar turned his horse around, eager to ride off.
"Captain?" called out the father general.
Hadmar snapped his head around. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"You are a Temple Knight of Saint Cunar. As such, I expect you to act the part. There will be no rushing this day. To do so gives the impression of fear. Is that clear?"
Hadmar, duly chastised, nodded his head. "Yes, Your Grace." He rode off at a very slow trot.
Hargild returned his attention to the Temple Knights. They were five hundred strong, the best of the Holy Army. A group of them turned their heads towards him, raising their swords in salute. He acknowledged their attention with a wave of his hand, pride swelling in his chest.
A call from his left drew his attention, and he looked to see Brother Lungren, commander of the initiates, approaching on foot. The man wore the same light-grey tabard as his charges, but the edges of his were trimmed in white. Easy to spot amongst the darker grey of the full-fledged knights of the order.
"Something troubling you, Brother?" asked the father general.
"The front of the column is under attack, Your Grace."
"Let me guess. Orcs?"
The commander's startled look betrayed his surprise. "Yes, my lord, how did you know?"
"They have also been harrying the rear of the column. Do not fear, they will do little damage."
"Yes, sir." The commander stood, waiting.
"Is there something else?"
"Yes, Your Grace," admitted Lungren. "Allow me the honour of sending the initiates into battle. Let us drive the enemy from their place of concealment."
Father General Hargild thought it over. They were all knights, trained before entering the order, but each must serve for one year as an initiate, little more than armoured footmen, before they were allowed to wear the full trappings of the order. As such, they were all eager to show their devotion.
"Very well," he finally said. "You may take the initiates and push into the woods. Do not stray too far, however. We must not be distracted by these greenskins. It is the Human death worshippers we are after."
"Yes, Your Grace." Brother Lungren turned, making his way back to his men.
Hargild looked eastward once more. How much longer would it be until they found their objective?
Athgar glanced left and right, noting how straight the line of warriors was. He had taken a hundred of the youngest, fittest members of the Therengian fyrd and arrayed them across a small clearing as if they were intent on making a stand. They were positioned with spears and shields but little else in the way of protection, something that troubled him deeply. The enemy, he knew, had armour, even the newest recruits, and he wondered, not for the first time, if making this stand was sheer folly.
The woods to his front erupted with activity as Orcs streamed back towards his lines. As they drew closer, they took up positions on either flank, swelling their numbers.
Gahruhl was the last to emerge, sprinting across the field to halt before him, barely out of breath. "They are coming," she said, using the Orcish tongue. "My magic has slowed them, but there is no mistaking the noise of their approach."
"Any idea of numbers?" Athgar asked.
"The archers are in the hundreds, but I fear it is the footmen who are coming through the woods. I can not say for certain how many."
"Then we shall just have to wait and see."
"I will take up my position on the flank."
"Very well," the Fire Mage said, "but remember, our only purpose here is to draw them south, not engage in a melee."
"Understood," said Gahruhl. She ran off to Athgar's right, squeezing into the line beside Karag.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" asked Raleth.
"It's a bit late asking now, isn't it?" Athgar replied. "In any event, we have little choice. Here they come."
Athgar was expecting the
