The Colors of Magic Anthology

The Crucible of the Orcs

The mage Elkan stood beside his field commander, General Groth Jonar in the small sitting room off the library. His red robes flowed around him in garish expanse. He was a young man with a shock of blond hair and his cowl hung back on his red robes.

It had been a hundred years since the ice had receded from the lands of Dominaria, and for thousands of years before that, ice had ruled. The Kjeldorans had been formed from survivors of the advancing glacier wall, but they had fled to the east to find a better homeland-one that would last until the world could find warmth again.

Those first Kjeldorans had settled in a land previously claimed by the Balduvians. For nearly four centuries now, the Kjeldorans and the Balduvians had been at war. The Balduvians had faired worse than the well-organized, well-trained armies of Kjeldor, but Elkan was going to change all of that.

Elkan had ambition. He had always sensed that the age-old problem with Balduvian strategy was that no general could risk an army, since a force was far too important to their survival. An army that does not take risks is an army that always loses. True, the Balduvians won many battles, but they never won a campaign. That was why its people were living high in the mountains instead of on the fertile plains now claimed by Kjeldor.

Turning the failing axiom on its head, Elkan came up with the perfect solution. An army of expendable troops could win and keep winning, but at a terrible cost. He needed troops he could throw away and yet have more, and more after that. The orcs, he found, were his willing pawns, delivered by their most famous general, Jonar.

General Jonar was a tall orc warrior. He always wore his armor, his baton always by his side. The story of his rise to clans master and general of the orc armies was a long one, and he told it at every battle victory feast. He had a reputation for victory, although that had failed him in his last attempt. He had been disgraced by his defeat at the battle of Balesh Pass, his orcs running before the might of massed piked infantry. Jonar needed another victory to regain his standing within Balduvia and within the clans of the orcs. It was the only reason he listened to the young mage.

Elkan maintained a small suite of rooms in the secondary keep of the Balduvian stronghold. He was a junior mage and young even for that. Most mages did not qualify for such a position or such rooms until at least mid-life. He had gained advancement quickly.

Balduvia was under attack by General Varchild and the Kjeldoran Knights. Varchild was a new general who was gaining a reputation that was great for the Kjeldorans but was sapping the morale of the Balduvians. It was a time of severe strife for Balduvia, but it was a clear opportunity for an ambitious young wizard.

The mage and the general looked over the map for the battle that Elkan had planned. Jonar leaned forward and traced an area far south of the Balduvian stronghold near the approaches to Kjeldoran lands. The area circled in red was to be the most likely place to stop the army as it crossed from the plains and foothills below to the high ground of the mountain passes beyond.

"They will attack us here. I have no doubt. They must press the pass before we have forces available to stop them, " Jonar said, stabbing a finger at the map.

Elkan snorted arrogantly at the remark. "Why would they attack us here? Kjeldor does not have stupid generals, and I hear this Varchild is smarter than most. Why attack us while we still have complete access to the powers of the mountains? They will lure us first into the plains and use their knights to fight us. "

The point was a valid one and had been proven in several battles before. Both Kjeldoran and Balduvian mages had shown that they could draw mana from foothills, but the closer a Balduvian mage came to the plains, the more danger he was in.

"You do not understand, " the general retorted. "If we know that they will attempt to lure us, then we will not bite at the lure. Instead, we will feast later on the entrails of their mounts."

"You see my point precisely," Elkan replied, undeterred. "If we stay in the mountain passes, they will know where we are. They will devise ways to kill us. General Varchild is no idiot. We must take the fight to the enemy on her ground. She won't be ready for us, and we'll have the advantage."

"You cannot walk onto flat ground and pretend to have an advantage," Jonar barked. "You have not seen the White Knights and their thundering charges. They are a terrible sight to behold."

Elkan raised an eyebrow. "A little timid are we? I see that Balesh Pass is getting to you. Let me worry about the strategic, General. You worry about the tactical. After all, it is the strategic that cost you your position with the Balduvian Guard. I think the gold I am paying you should easily compensate you for your risk."

Jonar nearly ended it right there. It would have been simple to draw his dirk and slam it into the mage's chest. The blood would have matched the color of the robes so well, he thought to himself.

After several moments of silent struggle he was able to regain control over his emotions and let his reason carry the day. He still needed all the things that the mage promised. He could not go on without a victory, and no one else could provide the funding or the support necessary to provide for an army.

He shook his head, clearing it. "Very well. Show me your plan again."

It was easily the worst plan he'd seen in several years, but it had a glimmer of hope. He thought back to the Battle of Balesh Pass. That too had been a good plan, but it had failed utterly while worse plans had succeeded.

"If we can surprise them here on the approach to Mount Delapre," he said, "we can fight and retreat into the mountain passes above. They won't be able to chase us. You will have stronger magic in the higher ground. You should wait for us here-" he pointed to the mountain pass-"and prepare some surprises for those who chase us."

The mage nodded in thoughtful agreement.

"I see your thinking, General. Very well. Now, who do you have at your disposal?"

The general hesitated. His position within the orc hierarchy had been weakened. "I can only count on two clans."

The mage shook his head. "I am not surprised, General. In fact, I have foreseen this and have arranged for you to augment your force with the goblins of the Flarg mountains."

Jonar stood aghast. "Goblins? Goblins? I will not work with goblins. It is out of the question."

Elkan shook his head. "Get used to the idea, General. You will meet your new allies at Balesh Pass in two weeks. They will ensure that I have my victory."

Soon after his meeting with Elkan, Jonar found himself at the head of a large column of soldiers. They had collected at Lake Balduvia before beginning the march. Two regiments of orcs followed the general.

After two days' march through the passes leading south, they came to a large glade on the opposite side of Mount Kireshal from Balesh Pass. Jonar ordered camp set, though it was only mid-afternoon.

"We camp here. I want Clan Leaders Lavash and Jel to meet me here as soon as they can."

Ten minutes later, the two clan chiefs stood before him.

"Get your climbing gear. We're going to Balesh Pass."

The two chieftains looked at each other. Both shrugged, turned, and were back in another ten minutes, ready to go. Neither dared ask why they were going. It was too delicate a topic to breach with the general, who had been defeated only months ago just a few miles away.

Through the rest of the afternoon the three climbed Mount Kireshal, keeping to the south side for more sunlight. They wound along the upper trail leading down to Balesh Pass just as darkness fell. Throughout the long climb, not a word had been spoken.

Jonar stopped just as the sun dipped behind the mountain range. The party had come to a small crater dug into the side of the rock face. Pieces of metal and debris scattered the area, but they were ancient. The head of a venerable clockwork avian was slumped beside the path. The charring on its skull-now almost completely corroded-had been replaced by a strange stonelike substance. Almost three thousand years after the Brothers' War, Dominaria still suffered the effects of that conflict.

The shattered ancient mechanical bird was a silent reminder of that war.

Darkness fell rapidly in the mountains. The three set up their small tent and built a cooking fire on the rocky slope. There were no trees for cover from the wind, so they built a small wall out of rocks that they piled up to the windward side. It kept the fire from going out and stopped the wind from gusting too strongly through the tent.

It had been pleasant climbing weather while the sun was up, but now, in the darkness, the temperature began to plummet.

Jonar pulled three dead chickens from his pack, and he handed one to each of the clan chiefs.

"Where did you get these?" Jel asked, awestruck.

Lavash held his with a reverence usually reserved for holy artifacts. Chickens were rarely if ever seen in the mountainous regions of Balduvia. The air was too thin for them to thrive. Kjeldor had no shortage of chickens, and before the hostilities there had been a brisk trade for the tasty birds. After the war broke out, chickens were valued as precious commodities. For some in Balduvia, the lack of chickens was not terribly dire. To the orcs, it was the loss of their most revered food.

Jonar smiled and leaned back against a rock. "I have spies where no one would think to look. It is not easy, but I can get a few of these from time to time. Privilege of rank and all that."

The air temperature dropped. As they cooked the birds over their fire, Jonar leaned forward, as if to tell them a secret.

"In the valley below, we will find the key to our victory. Tomorrow, we meet our allies, the Flarg goblins. They have sent-

Lavash nearly dropped his chicken into the fire, he was so startled.

"Goblins?" he barked out. "What the hell are we going to do with them? We orcs have been much maligned in the past, but that's nothing compared to the goblins!"

Jonar held up a hand, silencing the chieftain.

"Balesh Pass holds many horrors for me, as you well know. I would not brave the elements, the mountain, and the sights I must bear tomorrow were I not absolutely convinced of this fact-we need the goblins. Without them we will be ridden down and slaughtered by the knights from the plains. "

The other two stared at him with disbelief, their prejudices showing on their faces.

"We won't fight with goblins, " Jel said flatly. Lavash nodded solemnly beside him.

Jonar sat silently for a few moments without movement. Finally, he leaned forward toward his two chieftains. He spoke in a calm, even tone that frightened the two orcs far more than any yelling ever could.

"You will fight with the goblins. Not only that, you will convince your warriors that the goblins are our salvation. Do I make myself clear?" Jonar did not mention that it was the mage who insisted that the Flarg goblins were to be their allies.

It was Jel and Lavash's turn to sit in silence for a few moments. Finally, Jel looked over at Lavash. Their general was clearly not in the mood for discussion.

"As always, we will do as you command," Lavash said, looking down.

"That is not good enough," Jonar returned, his eyes gleaming with the passion of his words. "You must believe it. Trust me-with the help of these goblins I will deliver a victory that we could not achieve otherwise."

The fabulous chicken feast finished silently. Each orc reflected on the others' words. Finally, they retreated to the tent to await the morning.

A mild snow fell in the early hours before sunrise, but it only covered the tent with a light dusting. It took mere minutes to pack up and begin the descent into Balesh Pass.

Two hours later, the three orcs came to the site of the battle. Even after three months the area looked haunted and forsaken. Broken spears stuck out of the fresh snow at odd angles. Boulders were scarred by blasts from the magic unleashed at the battle.

Jonar walked along a low ridge that had served as his last stand as his routed forces had rushed past him, out over the pass and back to Balduvia. His thoughts turned back to the battle, and for a moment his eyes were there, watching.

He could see the long lines of orcs, standing in ranks six deep, swords, spears, and shields ready for the oncoming Kjeldoran infantry. On the enemy came. The Kjeldoran regiment closed to within a hundred yards, and then suddenly it changed formation. From the rear, pikes were brought forward, and the line shifted from a square with the flat facing the orcs to a diamond with the point threatening them. The point advanced.

Jonar did not know what to do. He knew the pointed formation had a far greater reach with pikes, and that it would split his line in two like a knife through butter. He watched in horror as his prediction came true. Jonar tried to plug the line with his own bodyguard of fifty warriors, but they could not hold long. Their fight gave the rest of the line enough time to retreat, however.

Over and over he replayed the moment in his mind. Should he have pulled back? Should he have enveloped? He ran the battle through his mind.

Without warning, an animal-skin-covered green goblin rose from the snow not ten yards in front of Jonar. His reverie ended in a flash. Without thinking, he drew his sword, an instinctive reaction from too many years in the martial profession.

The goblin eyed him warily. "You big general boss man?"

Jonar calmed himself and re-sheathed his weapon. He turned and the other two orcs did the same.

"You speak Orcish very well for a goblin. I am General Jonar. Who are you?"

"Me Tramas, Clan Champion for goblins of the Flarg mountains. Your mage promise us much to fight with you. We much need this victory, but we much need payment as promised." The goblin's eyes shrank to slits. "You bring?"

Jonar reached inside his jerkin and brought forth a small leather pouch. He tossed it to the goblin. It hit the ground and sank slightly in the snow. Tramas picked up the pouch, dusted it off, and looked inside. His eyes went wide. He pulled a diamond the size of his little fist from the pouch.

With a practiced eye, he turned it over and over, inspecting every facet. Finally, he put the diamond back in the pouch and dropped it in his own pocket.

Jonar took a step forward.

"Let me introduce my field commanders. This is Lavash and Jel, my brave and faithful associates."

The two stepped forward, bowed slightly. Jonar was impressed with the level of respect they showed.

Tramas nodded in acknowledgement and motioned with his right arm. Around the orcs, hundreds of goblins rose from the snow where before there had been none. The three orcs stood in awe. None had seen any hint of an entire unit of goblins, let alone right at their feet.

"I am impressed, Tramas," Jonar said. "Very impressed. I have never seen goblins that could… well, er, you see… I hope I'm not rude in saying…"

Tramas lifted his hand to stop the general. "You never seen goblins looked like they could fight. Me right, General?"

Again, Jonar was impressed. "Right," he answered.

"Goblin King know this. Goblins sent to fight so far just buy time. Many other goblins, many train for war. We now ready for war. What you think? Goblins only play Cricket?"

"No, no," Jonar backpedaled. "I think you'll do just fine." He swallowed his pride. "You will meet us at Mount Delapre four days hence. Will you be there?" Jonar's eyes bore into the goblin champion.

The goblin returned a bow just as the orcs had done. "We be there. You remember rest of payment," he said.

Jonar nodded, turned and walked back the way he had come. Jel and Lavash followed.

The march to Mount Delapre took another two days after Jonar and the two chieftains returned to camp. The orcs moved slowly through the freshly fallen snow in the high pass, pulling their carts full of provisions along after them. The line stretched out for nearly a mile as the four thousand orc warriors and attendant families trodded on.

Jonar went to each of the clans to tour the troops, show them that their leader was ready to fight. He found soldiers tired from the march but otherwise in good spirits. They needed to win, to show that they were not disgraced as they had been at Balesh Pass. They needed to prove themselves. Jonar could understand their feelings.

The disfavor shown to orcs in Balduvia had been a great blow to orc forces everywhere. The clans had fallen in stature and were falling on hard times as the war went on. They could use a victory.

Jonar was surprised to hear the soldiers talk of the goblins. A few hardened veterans sneered at the thought of fighting with the diminutive grunts, but many had heard the story that their clan chieftains had brought back. Clearly several were in awe at the way the goblins could sneak up on an army and ambush it. A few even boasted that they had seen the goblin king at the battle of Narmund Forest and that he was a sight to behold.

Still, the veterans sneered until they saw their general. Jonar made a point of telling all who would listen that the goblins were the key to victory. Several of the veterans argued-a bad sign indeed-but all had come around after seeing the general's eyes. Each veteran smiled, as if a great secret had just been shared with them. Their general had a plan, and that was good enough for them. Once the veterans agreed, the younger orcs all jumped on the cause with great fervor, to prove that they were just as tough.

The next day Jonar rose early. He couldn't sleep; he could never sleep when a battle was coming. The night before, a messenger had brought news that the Kjeldoran force was only fifteen miles away, camped for the night. Through the night, the Flarg goblins were to have harassed the knights, ensuring that they were not well rested for the battle.

Almost as if by magic, two goblins rounded a tent and came toward Jonar. He started but composed himself quickly.

"I am truly impressed with your stealth, " the general greeted them.

They bowed slightly. The one on the right stepped forward. "The knights are coming this way, " he said. "They know you here. They ready for battle. Tramas says tell you we destroyed several supply wagons. Kill many in last night raid. Much death. Still, they ride. Will come here mid-day. "

Jonar nodded, more to himself than to the goblins, as he thought through his preparations.

"Good. You tell Tramas to be here, with your clan, ready to fight, as we agreed. Tell Tramas there is a bonus for good fighting, too. "

The forward goblin smiled a big toothy grin. "Me get food before go back?"

Jonar smiled and waved him on. "Yes, but hurry."

The two trotted away, much more interested in food than their message. Still, Jonar thought, the message would get through. Tramas seemed to have his troops whipped into shape.

At an hour before mid-day, Jonar summoned an all-officers conference at his tent. The officers from both orc clans, chieftains, sub-chieftains, battle standard bearers, and family champions all stood in a loose semi-circle around the general.

"Today we fight the dreaded White Knights of Kjeldor. The last time we battled them, we did not fare well. We had the advantage in terrain then, so they couldn't mount, and they still came on. All of us bear the shame of that battle with us-I more than anyone."

Jonar paused to let his words sink in. A murmur went through the assembled officers.

"Today, however, will be different. Today, we fight to regain our honor and glory, and today we take the spoils of war from the damned knights!"

Jonar manipulated the mood of the gathering like a master. He could see the orcs' eyes go from flat gray to sparkling blue. He could smell their hunger for victory.

He reined them in. "We will gain no victory from brash actions, nor from foolish bravado. We will not win by rushing into waves of charging knights.

"I have a plan for this battle, and you must trust me, your general."

Heads nodded. They remembered the ill-fated battle and how it had gone.

"When I give an order today, you must follow it. Cut down any orc who disobeys. My orders must be carried out exactly and precisely. Any failure will mean our failure. Do as I order, and victory will be ours."

A loud cheer went up from the assembled officers, the two chieftains leading their orcs.

"Cheers for General Jonar!" one yelled.

Jonar cut him off.

"Not yet, my brethren. We have won nothing yet. Obey my orders, and fight like warriors. We will win this day!"

Another general cheer went up.

After the clans had eaten a light meal, they formed battle lines. Each clan stretched for a thousand yards, four ranks deep. The losses from Balesh Pass had cut the clans' numbers severely. The breeze rose from the lower ground ahead of them. Fur cloaks and tassels fluttered off every warrior's armor.

Each warrior bore his own personal weapon. All, however, carried spears and a shield, bearing the emblems of clans. The sun was bright in the clear blue sky, but there was little heat.

Between the two clan regiments stood Jonar. He had a small bodyguard of twenty orcs, the largest orcs in any clan. One carried the battle standard of Balduvia. It was a tattered old flag, and officially they were no longer allowed to carry it, but no one would stop them this day.

The orcs in charge of the baggage train packed up all that they could, prepared to move at a moment's notice. They were ready to run in case the enemy began to win the fight. If their army won, however, they would provide all the services necessary to an army-food, medical attention, ale-and lots of it. They trod a fine line. Too cautious and it would look as if they lacked confidence in their own army. Too cavalier and the enemy could ride them down in a minor breakthrough. The carts weighed in excess of two tons each and could only move at a slow walk, especially up a snowy mountain pass. The furs covering the stores looked inviting and warm, but they offered no shelter if the enemy broke through.

Jonar waited for the white horde to come over the low rise to their front and begin their descent into battle.

"No surprises, not today," he whispered to himself.

Nonetheless the arrival of Elkan startled him. The mage rode from the rear, down the mountain approach and through the lines of the baggage train. He dismounted and strode up to Jonar's command.

"What are you doing here? You are supposed to be ready to aid us up in the mountain pass some ten miles from here." Jonar's face flushed with anger.

"I am your commander, and you will address me with the respect I am due," Elkan stated with a haughty air. "I am here because this is my army and my battle. I do not think you understand the whole reason for this excursion."

The mage continued, "I have prepared some very unpleasant surprises for anyone who breaks through to the pass, whether Kjeldoran knight or running orc. I felt I would be of better use here."

Jonar, disgusted, turned back to watch for the enemy to the front.

The Kjeldoran knights came over the low ridge and trotted to a halt. Jonar felt a sinking feeling in his gut. Two regiments of heavily armored soldiers stretched across the horizon. Each mount wore the livery of its knight, each knight bore the mark of Kjeldor on his shield, and from each lance a small banner or favor fluttered in the wind.

The blue-and-white checkerboard pattern on the shields and banners was striking in the midday sun. Plate armor shone with an unearthly glow as the sunlight glinted off every facet.

Jonar looked nervously across his line, far shorter than the cavalry line, but much more densely packed. His soldiers stood four deep, while the cavalry were one or two rows deep. The numbers looked roughly equivalent which still gave the knights a huge advantage.

A faint whisper grew among the ranks of the orcs as they absorbed the sight before them. Soldiers readjusted equipment out of nervousness. Eyes shifted around, looking for support in their fear.

The knights waited until their command group joined the two regiments. The commander, a mage in white robes, sat next to an armored officer who was mounted on a fantastic black charger. The giant standard of Kjeldor fluttered in the wind from the standard bearer directly to the officer's rear. The command group trotted out ahead of the knights, turned, and the mage addressed the white army.

Elkan snickered beside Jonar and began to cast a spell. A second later, lightning flew from his fingers and arced across the field to the enemy command group. Two of the bodyguard knights were thrown from their mounts, and two more were shaken, but the standard fluttered high and the rest were untouched.

The white robed mage turned. He faced his enemy across the field. His hands flew up into the air just as his words broke into a shout. Energy shot between his hands, and electrical tendrils shot out at the snow around him.

Jonar looked over at Elkan. A look of stunned horror was on the wizard's face. He shuddered, then uncontrollably convulsed. Suddenly, the shaking stopped, and a look of triumph spread across the mage's face. Elkan threw off the magical attack. He rose to his full height and launched a bolt of fire that arced unerringly across the field toward the other mage. An explosion of fire engulfed the spellcaster, who crumpled in the flames as his mount screamed and bolted from the field.

The orc command staff and bodyguard had all backed away from the mage. They were trained soldiers, but they did not understand, nor would they interfere, in the ways of mighty wizards. Their problems were their own.

Jonar had stepped back too, impressed.

Jel trotted up to Jonar.

"What is it? What has happened?" He sounded panicked. Evidently he had seen the magical exchange between the mages, but did not know the outcome.

Jonar kicked at the snow. "Our mage is better than I had envisioned. It may be…"

"Damn!" Jonar heard from behind him. Elkan looked down at his shaking hands.

"What? What is it?" Jonar asked, noting the fear in the mage's voice.

Elkan shook his head bitterly. "I may have destroyed that damned mage, but he drained the very mana from beneath me. I won't be able to cast another spell for at least an hour. In that time…"

Jel looked frightened. Jonar lifted his hand. "We had not expected you at all at this battle, mage-" he began, but Elkan cut him off.

"Just do your duty, and die like a good orc!" he raged. "Win me this battle! Hold them off for an hour. They will be spent, and I will rain death down upon them!"

Jonar stared at him contemptuously. So the orcs were to be sacrificed for the mage's greater glory. He turned back to the chieftain. "Get back to your clan, and don't do a damned thing until I say…"

At that moment, the murmuring in the ranks rose to a cacophony. Both orc officers turned to see what had happened.

Across the field, attention centered on the enemy command group. The Flarg goblins, nearly forgotten by everyone, had mysteriously risen from the snow around the enemy group. They had pulled down the standard and hauled the bodyguards from their mounts, but the enemy commander fought valiantly, trying to break free.

Just as suddenly as they had appeared, the goblins broke from the fight and ran. They ran straight for the orc lines.

The distance between the opposing forces was nearly a mile. Jonar saw his chance. With his loudest drill voice, he gave the order.

"Advance!"

The ten assembled drummers behind him relayed the order in a flourish of pounding drum notes, then settled into a deep cadence, slow but threatening.

The orcs around him lurched forward. They had not expected the order to advance, but they quickly recovered, and the ranks straightened.

Across the field, the knights had rallied once the goblins broke off. The knight commander bellowed an order, and trumpets carried the notes across the field. They too began to advance.

Jonar shouted orders to both left and right to straighten the line, to tighten up. Both Jel and Lavash were yelling too, maintaining the cohesion of their ranks. It was a practiced maneuver, but not all the orcs remembered what to do. The sound of steel clinking over stretched leather and the sound of four thousand pairs of boots clumping into fresh snow brought back memories for Jonar-of Balesh Pass.

The Flarg goblins sprinted across the field slightly faster than their pursuers. The two lines had closed to half a mile, and the goblins were only five hundred yards out.

When the goblins had closed to one hundred yards, Jonar ordered a halt. The soldiers brought their shields up and straightened their lines as best they could, trying to catch their breath. They closed together and locked shields.

When the first goblins were twenty yards from the orc line, Jonar yelled, "Spears!"

Nearly in unison, the entire line thrust spears forward and planted them in the snow against their back foot. The goblins saw only spears and shields.

The goblins slowed, then stopped, unsure of what to do. They faced a half-mile-long porcupine. Spear points protruded at all angles, making it impossible to retreat through the lines.

Jonar grasped the moment.

"Cheer for the goblins!"

A hearty cheer ripped from the orcs right across the line. It started slowly but built in intensity. No orc had ever seen goblins who could fight like these Flargs had. The cheer was genuine, but the orcs weren't about to let the goblins off the hook.

Elkan appeared from the rear.

"What is it? What are you doing?" he gasped, out of breath from the run.

Jonar smiled as the roar continued from his lines.

"Goblins, or most of them, don't speak orc!" he said with a broad smile.

Elkan didn't seem to understand.

The knights, seeing the goblins bottled by their own allies, broke into a charge. Horns rang out perfect notes, announcing the charge.

Snow flew up over the charging riders, kicked up by the thundering mounts.

The goblins panicked. They turned, saw the cavalry, turned again, saw the spears, and turned once more. Their only hope lay through the cavalry-or so they thought.

The goblins ran forward toward the cavalry in small groups, keeping as low as they could. The knights' charge hit the forward edge of the goblins and tore them apart. The goblins tried to fight, but they were too short to effectively engage the knights without the element of surprise. Many turned to run back to the orcs once more but were skewered in the back as they tried to run.

Elkan began to yell. "What have you done?" he screamed. "Why have you sacrificed them? You heartless bastard…"

"It was you who were going to sacrifice us, wasn't it, mage?" the general yelled back at Elkan. Jonar shoved him off to the side. The general ran out in front of his line. In his best parade voice, he yelled. "Are we going to take this slaughter? Are we going to allow this to go unanswered?"

The hearty yell was nearly drowned out by the fighting not a hundred yards to their front.

"Then charge!"

The drummers had been waiting for the command. In unison, they began to beat the quick staccato of the attack order. The orc line leaped forward.

The cavalry had broken down into small fighting groups, each chasing goblins in one direction or another. Their commander yelled to them to pull together but he could not be heard. A handful of knights readied themselves to receive the orcs.

Two thousand orcs came on.

They had to cover only a hundred yards to close with their enemy. The knights who had not rallied were caught off-guard. Orcs sprang on their backs, pulling them from their mounts. They speared others, both beast and rider falling in unison in death.

The battle flowed around the two hundred remaining knights in the center. They formed a tight circle, lances pointing out, defensively, just as the orcs had done previously. Their commander, now holding the Kjeldoran standard, stood in the middle.

Jonar waited. The battle lasted only a few minutes. A hundred knights fell. No more than twenty orcs met the same fate.

The remaining knights broke off contact with the orcs and retreated five hundred yards before they turned and faced their enemy. The blue-and-white checkerboard livery was spattered with blood and grime. Even the army standard was ripped in two. The survivors, numbering fewer than one hundred, formed a battle line again.

Jonar and his standard bearer walked across the intervening five hundred yards, right up to the lance point of the first knight, and stopped. The knight had murder in his eyes, but discipline kept him in check. The commander rode forward.

"I am Sir Michand, knight commander of the Orders of the Griffin and Phoenix. " He saluted solemnly.

Jonar removed his battle helmet and bowed low. "I am Jonar, general of Balduvia and commander of the Orc Clans. I am willing to offer terms of surrender. "

Elkan was only a step behind. "What? You can't be serious? I am in command here! I…"

The mage never finished his sentence. Jonar turned and slammed his sword into the mage's gut, thrusting upward. The blood did not show on the mage's ruby robes as he fell forward.

Jonar pulled the weapon free. He wiped his weapon in the snow, then on the mage's robes, before returning it to the scabbard.

"Why?" Elkan gasped.

Jonar shook his head in disgust. "You were going to sacrifice us to win this battle. Instead we sacrificed the goblins to save ourselves. Now I am sacrificing you to this knight as a gesture, and as a warning. No one sacrifices the pride of the orcs-not at Balesh Pass and certainly not here."

The light that flickered in the mage's eyes went out. He slumped over, face first into the snow.

Jonar turned back to the astonished knights. "As I was saying, I am ready to offer terms."

The knight commander was visibly shaken. "I will not surrender my command to be slaughtered by you brutes. We would rather die with honor."

The knights immediately around their commander tightened their grips on shields, weapons and reins. Their mounts shifted under them.

Jonar nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough. I then offer you this-you may take your command, or what is left of it, and return home. All I ask is that you surrender your battle standard."

Sir Michand sat with his mouth slightly open in surprise. He quickly caught himself and straightened his posture.

"Very well, General. You have beaten us in fair combat. My honor demands that I do no less. I accept your terms."