His arrow was the first to soar high over the heads of the orcs that had galloped down the hill, but it was soon joined by many others. He watched it arc through the air and sink deep into the shoulder of the figure he had aimed for—he could see the orc jerk back in pain, his mouth open in a shout, but lost sight of him in the chaos as many more arrows rained down over the group.
The sounds of fighting erupted from the bottom of the hill as Zorvut and his warriors met the invading orcs, the clashing of swords ringing out over shouts and screams. Where was Zorvut? Already it was harder to tell which were allies and which were enemies—and then there was a flash of light, a flaming sword to find him by.
“Don’t lose sight of our allies!” he called out. “Zorvut bears the flaming sword! Whoever he attacks is an enemy!”
All he could feel from the bond was a steady rush of adrenaline, drowning out everything else. Or maybe it was his own? It was hard to tell, impossible to separate their feelings when they were both in such a heightened state. His heart was hammering in his chest, of that he was certain. But the exhilaration flooding him now had very little fear; in the rush of the moment it almost seemed silly that he had ever been afraid. If they were careful, if they played it smart, surely they would easily be victorious.
There was a second horn call then, from behind them, but it cut off abruptly. With a frown Taegan looked back, just in time to see a guard tumbling from the wall to the earth below. He winced at the sight, and glancing up at the top of the wall he could see the guard had been shoved by another orc. Panic spiked in him as he thought it might be Gorza, but then he saw her on the wall, drawing her weapon and pointing not at the assailant but down at the ground beneath the wall.
From the gates a small group were riding out on horseback too, weapons drawn, heading right for them.
“We’re being attacked from behind,” he called out, and he could hear the captain shouting something out next to him but already he was acting on instinct, drawing an arrow. The group that charged them was small, no more than ten—if they could take them out quickly, before they even could reach the elves, they would pose no threat. It looked like only the one was up on the wall, turning away from Gorza and the other guards to presumably flee and join the charge. He was far and the angle would be tricky, but Taegan was a good shot. He took in a long, steadying breath, and released the bowstring.
His arrow found the throat of the orc on the wall, and his whole body jerked in pained shock, reaching instinctively for the arrow before collapsing out of sight. One problem taken care of, at least.
Taegan drew another, but a volley was already following, raining down on the newcomers. They were closer, easier to spot, and the shower of arrows struck true. Several of the orcs were hit, some falling to the ground and some clinging, wounded, to their horses though they turned away—and some horses cried out in fear and pain as they were caught up in the volley, too. The few that remained uninjured—now only three—slowed and hesitated.
No mercy, Taegan remembered, Zorvut’s words echoing in his head. Gritting his teeth, he drew another arrow.
“Take all of them out!” he commanded, and released the arrow. It whistled through the air and sunk deep into the chest of one of the three orcs; the figure froze, his horse still running forward, but the reins slipped from his hands as he reached up to grasp the bolt uselessly and slipped out of the saddle. He watched as more arrows struck the remaining two and their lifeless bodies slumped over their horses that dashed away in fear.
Taegan’s eyes lingered on the bodies of the orcs for a moment, then he looked back toward the wall, toward the guard who had sounded the alarm before being pushed from the wall. If the guard had not made the horn call, cut off as it was, that could have gone much differently. He wasn’t sure what exactly the orc custom might be for a burial with honors, but he made a mental note to ask later, if they made it.
Ifthey made it. That shook him from his thoughts, and he turned away from the wall to look back down to where Zorvut and the others were fighting.
The other elves had wasted no time in turning their attention back to the fight as another volley of arrows soared down from atop the hill, showering the skirmish with deadly bolts once again. A few orcs fell, but as he scanned the battlefield he was growing less and less sure of which were his allies and which were enemy orcs.
“Let’s draw closer,” he said to Captain Kyrenic next to him; the other elf nodded in agreement though his eyes remained trained on the battlefield. “Archers, stay with me!” he shouted out, and with a nudge of his heels his gelding trotted down the hill. He didn’t want to get too near to the fighting, so he moved at a cautious pace, pulling back on the reins the moment they seemed right on the cusp of being too close.
From his new vantage point it was easier to see the battle; still he could not make out exactly where Zesh was, but it seemed his force had been pushed back considerably. Zorvut was easy to pick out with his flaming sword—although it made him a target for the enemy orcs as well, he seemed to be holding his own and even from a distance Taegan could tell the orcs around him were trying to protect him. A few dead orcs and horses were already on the ground, and none of them were immediately recognizable to Taegan. So far, everything was going about as well as he could hope for, and he drew another arrow.
“Zorvut!”
A roar broke through the noise of battle, drawing every eye—and the moment Taegan saw the new orc approaching at a gallop on his own horse he knew it was Zesh. The massive figure held a huge battle axe in one hand much like the one Hrul had carried, a furious snarl on his face that was painted with blood-red symbols that extended all the way around his shaved skull and down his neck to disappear under the armor he wore. Ten more orcs followed him, all of them painted as well. Zesh shouted out something in orcish that Taegan did not understand, but the activity on the battlefield seemed to pause, everyone hesitating and watching as the force approached. A hot tendril of fear came through the bond, quickly followed by that familiar grim determination he had felt from Zorvut so often in the past day.
“He’s challenged Zorvut to single combat,” Taegan said softly, understanding dawning on him. “They know they’re outnumbered. It’s the only way he’d be able to win.”
He hesitated, wanting to draw closer, but he could see Zorvut look back toward him from below. Their eyes met, and from the bond he could hear clearly—Remember. Promise.
Guilt panged his chest and, for a moment, so did fear, sparking anew. But he bit his lip and nodded once, sharply, and after a moment Zorvut nodded in response and turned away to face Zesh. They had slowed to a careful walk, and the crowd parted around them as Zesh leapt from his horse and took a few steps toward Zorvut.
The flames around his sword flickered and died, and with a response that Taegan could not quite make out, he too dismounted from Graksh’t. One of the orcs that had been behind Zorvut took the reins and pulled the horse away, and the entire group spread out to create a loose circle around the two brothers.
Half-brothers, Taegan reminded himself, though that did not make the situation feel any less bleak to him. Though he had no siblings of his own, it still seemed a terrible prospect to have to face a brother in battle. The sentiment seemed mirrored in the bond—clearly Zorvut did not want to fight him either, but more than that he did not want Drol Kuggradh to come under Zesh’s rule, and he did not want the peace treaty to be struck down yet again.
“Captain,” Taegan said, barely above a whisper, as they watched the orcs circle each other, speaking to each other in voices too low to carry up the hill. “If things go poorly, if… If Zorvut should fall, I want you to give the command for all elves to retreat.”
He could practically feel Kyrenic hesitating next to him, but he could not tear his eyes away from Zorvut.
“Yes, my prince,” the strained reply finally came, and Taegan nodded. The thought made him feel just as wretched, but he had given Zorvut his word.
From below, the tension broke as a shout erupted from the crowd and Zesh lunged, his great axe whistling through the air.
16
Zorvut
Zorvut did his best to push every thought from his head as Zesh lunged at him, acting on instinct as he leapt backward away from the axe screaming through the air toward him. Zesh was strong and bulky even by orc standards, and he relied on that to win. If he could just keep dodging and outsmarting him, he could keep the upper hand.
