Ara Than's Story
Ara's mighty composite longbow thrummed happily in her hands as her squadron continued to pour fire into the unfortunate monsters that had tried to protect the impostor, Udon. What had the Ghostwalker - the Danisil - called them? Orcs? Apparently they were very strong, vicious creatures - strong but stupid, like the Dorns, only moreso. It was not wise to get too close. Lt Ara Zanir Than of the Sarcosan Imperial Guard grinned happily as seventy yards away her arrow took an orc through the throat. It leapt into the air, clutching amusingly at its fatal wound, then twisted and hit the dirt. The orcs were still moving forward, throwing their little javelins. The plain behind them was black now with orc corpses, more than two dozen and further off the pincushioned bodies of their human masters, the Legates, heavy-armoured men lying next to their slain mounts.
What the enemy lacked in ability, they certainly made up for in enthusiasm. Their javelins appeared to have an effective range of about fifty yards. Several were getting close again. Ara trotted Star back sixty feet, in line with her squadron, and loosed another arrow. The orc ranks were thinning now, more than half the creatures dead. The survivors were scuttling around, taking javelins from their fallen comrades, flinging them angrily at the Sarcosan Guardsmen who remained so tantalisingly out of reach. It was a good thing Ara had ordered the extra quivers before they passed through the Gate, though, or they 'd have been out of ammunition before the last orc fell.
Ara glanced to her new companions, Pallas, who had been of the Court Guard at A'Hamra, and the Ghostwalker, now Danisil, Apari by name. They were following her lead, apparently surprised by the ease with which the enemy had fallen before her. It was certainly better than chasing elves in the forest… Another orc fell, four arrows sprouting from his chest, three more in his shield. Ara wondered idly how such pathetic creatures could ever have conquered the world. Clearly they had not had true Sarcosans to contend with. Ara noticed that the fallen orc was getting up again, apparently undiscouraged by the arrow through its throat. Sergeant Jaru muttered a curse - Ara frowned; Apari and Pallas had warned her about this, how fallen enemies and friends would arise as flesh-hungry Fell. Ara was relieved to see two of the orc-Fell's former comrades fall upon it, Vardatches hacking angrily at the walking corpse. An arm went off, then half a leg. Ara fancied she could see an aggrieved expression on its bestial face as it went down again, this time for good.
Starry Mother, don't let me end up like that…
"Aah!"
Ara glanced to the side, down the line, and was surprised to see young Private Aren, newest man in the squadron, clutching a javelin protruding from his chain-armoured side. Somehow an orc had run forward and thrown the shaft more than sixty yards…
Even these creatures should not be underestimated.
She could see the culprit - a huge, coal-black orc with spiked shoulder-guards - well ahead of its companions, yelling joyously as it realised it had wounded one of its hated tormentors. It seemed oblivious to the two Sarcosan arrows protruded from the heavy scale armour it wore.
"That one! Drop it now!" Sergeant Jaru was yelling angrily.
A dozen battle-bows thrummed, and six more arrows thudded into the orc. It was still grinning as it died. Aren grunted in pain as he pulled the the javelin out from his armoured flank - flung at extreme range, it hadn't gone too far in. Just a flesh wound.
The remaining dozen orcs were coming up, howling words of defiance in their guttural tongue. The Sarcosans fell back again, still firing. Fire and maneuver, fire and maneuver. The orcs were doomed, and they knew it. Yet they didn't give in.
There is a lesson for us all…
Ara smirked.
In a minute the last orc would be dead and her squadron could start to gather up the spent arrows. Then she'd have a little time to catch her breath.
* * *
It had been an eventful two days. The vine-wrapped ruins where she'd first met Pallas and the Ghostwalker seemed far away now, as they were, in time if not in space…
Ara and a squad of soldiers had been searching for an elven spy in the old ruins, just east of Erethor. Something had washed over her, she felt, when the two strangers-not-strangers appeared just as she caught the spy. She'd felt it again today, at the Gate…
Ara had exchanged brief words with Pallas and the Ghostwalker as she tied the wounded elf to her horse. The spy was trying to return to Erethor. She had just mounted up when elven arrows started to rain down around her. An ambush - luckily she'd been able to withdraw, get back to al'Hamra minus three men, already murdered by the elves. Her search party that evening had found two bodies, the last man doubtless gone forever. In al'Hamra she'd received word from Uncle Arrenu her crazy old cousin Virrinu was coming from the seminary to be the Princess' Tale-Reader. Only the man with the wolf hadn't been Virrinu after all, but an impostor working for an evil force Pallas called the Whisperer. He'd tried to murder the real Virrinu, but her cousin had survived -mistaken for an assassin himself - and luckily Ara had been able to free him from the prison cells before it was too late. Virrinu seemed to know much that Ara didn't understand. The impostor's name was Udon. He'd murdered young Prince Daghu's tutor, wounded the Prince with his evil touch, and even tried to murder the Princess. Sabba the Cook had given her life as a decoy. Fortunately Prince Jaradin had arrived back at the fort, in time to set everything straight. Pallas had revealed himself as a skilled Healer, and had tended to young Daghu's sorcerous wound, inflicted as part of a plan to gain control of the young prince. Ara had commended the boy on his bravery.
The evil plot was now uncovered - in some part thanks to Ara herself - and the assassin exposed before he could strike again. He and his whisper-voiced demon that possessed Virrinu's wolf had been cornered in the al-Kallar crypt, but had somehow escaped, fled through a black crystal obelisk into another world, another time, to a city of the dead - the crystal showed a path there, as well as one to a forest that the Ghostwalker and Pallas said was their home. Udon had taken the al-Kallar Cup with him. Ara wanted to follow him immediately, but Pallas advised against it. Apparently Pallas and the Ghostwalker were familiar with this other time, a hellish future where evil ruled the Aryth. Virrinu had given Ara an amulet that let her pass through the gate - Pallas and Apari had them too. After discussion, Ara had realised that her horse could also pass through - and so could her men, if she linked them to her! So she'd volunteered to take her squadron through, kill the assassin and get the Cup back. The Prince was pleased, and Ara' heart swelled with pride as he commended her on her bravery and handed her his ring. So they'd entered the Gate - only fifteen of her men had made it through with her. Ara hoped the other nine had been left safely behind in her time, not sent somewhere else.
The city of the dead was al'Hamra - lying in ruins, thousands of years in the future. Luckily it was a bright sunny day, and apparently the dead were resting… the Ghostwalker, Apari, had changed then, into a little brown man with pointed ears. He looked a lot like an elf, in some ways. Apparently he was a Danisil - Ara made sure her men knew the difference before anyone shot him. Though Apari said that in this age the elves were on Humanity's side against the evil ones.
We shall see.
After an hour's trek through the ruins, Pallas telling her a little of this new world - he seemed strangely unfamiliar with the Sarcosan Empire, apparently A'Hamra lay beyond its current-time frontier - they came out onto the plains, and saw Udon some distance off, escorted by more than two-score of the ugly creatures called orcs and a dozen of the armoured wizards Pallas called Legates. A large force - odds more than three to one - but they were poorly equipped, without bows.
Ara had not hesitated to attack.
* * *
"Cease fire!"
The last orc had fallen, and showed no signing of re-animating. The tired Sarcosans holstered their bows, drawing their Dornblades as they moved back in to dispatch any wounded. Lt Ara patted the well-wrapped cup, tied behind her saddle. That was what they'd came here for.
How long before we get back, though?
Pallas and Apari seemed happy, perhaps a little stupefied by the ease with which sixteen Sarcosan cavalry had annihilated this apparently much-feared foe. Ara grinned impishly as she spurred Star over to Pallas. She wasn't going to let him know that the Imperial Guards Cavalry Division of the Sarcosan Emperor was accounted the most feared fighting force on all Aryth, or that all their quivers were now more than half empty. The Guards' battle-manual said that after softening the enemy up with bow-fire, the Guards were to draw their Dornblades and charge - Imperial Guards traditionally spent far more time drilling with this difficult, straight-edged sword than they did with their longbows. But the orcs were fanatical, savage, and immensely strong. In truth, Ara had feared to commit her men in melee against even a single one of the creatures. But no need to mention that.
"So you see, easy enough. Perhaps you could attend to Private Aren there? He was careless, and has received a slight injury from an 'orc'. I thank you."
Ara flashed Pallas a smile, and turned quickly away.
Ara's mighty composite longbow thrummed happily in her hands as her squadron continued to pour fire into the unfortunate monsters that had tried to protect the impostor, Udon. What had the Ghostwalker - the Danisil - called them? Orcs? Apparently they were very strong, vicious creatures - strong but stupid, like the Dorns, only moreso. It was not wise to get too close. Lt Ara Zanir Than of the Sarcosan Imperial Guard grinned happily as seventy yards away her arrow took an orc through the throat. It leapt into the air, clutching amusingly at its fatal wound, then twisted and hit the dirt. The orcs were still moving forward, throwing their little javelins. The plain behind them was black now with orc corpses, more than two dozen and further off the pincushioned bodies of their human masters, the Legates, heavy-armoured men lying next to their slain mounts.
What the enemy lacked in ability, they certainly made up for in enthusiasm. Their javelins appeared to have an effective range of about fifty yards. Several were getting close again. Ara trotted Star back sixty feet, in line with her squadron, and loosed another arrow. The orc ranks were thinning now, more than half the creatures dead. The survivors were scuttling around, taking javelins from their fallen comrades, flinging them angrily at the Sarcosan Guardsmen who remained so tantalisingly out of reach. It was a good thing Ara had ordered the extra quivers before they passed through the Gate, though, or they 'd have been out of ammunition before the last orc fell.
Ara glanced to her new companions, Pallas, who had been of the Court Guard at A'Hamra, and the Ghostwalker, now Danisil, Apari by name. They were following her lead, apparently surprised by the ease with which the enemy had fallen before her. It was certainly better than chasing elves in the forest… Another orc fell, four arrows sprouting from his chest, three more in his shield. Ara wondered idly how such pathetic creatures could ever have conquered the world. Clearly they had not had true Sarcosans to contend with. Ara noticed that the fallen orc was getting up again, apparently undiscouraged by the arrow through its throat. Sergeant Jaru muttered a curse - Ara frowned; Apari and Pallas had warned her about this, how fallen enemies and friends would arise as flesh-hungry Fell. Ara was relieved to see two of the orc-Fell's former comrades fall upon it, Vardatches hacking angrily at the walking corpse. An arm went off, then half a leg. Ara fancied she could see an aggrieved expression on its bestial face as it went down again, this time for good.
Starry Mother, don't let me end up like that…
"Aah!"
Ara glanced to the side, down the line, and was surprised to see young Private Aren, newest man in the squadron, clutching a javelin protruding from his chain-armoured side. Somehow an orc had run forward and thrown the shaft more than sixty yards…
Even these creatures should not be underestimated.
She could see the culprit - a huge, coal-black orc with spiked shoulder-guards - well ahead of its companions, yelling joyously as it realised it had wounded one of its hated tormentors. It seemed oblivious to the two Sarcosan arrows protruded from the heavy scale armour it wore.
"That one! Drop it now!" Sergeant Jaru was yelling angrily.
A dozen battle-bows thrummed, and six more arrows thudded into the orc. It was still grinning as it died. Aren grunted in pain as he pulled the the javelin out from his armoured flank - flung at extreme range, it hadn't gone too far in. Just a flesh wound.
The remaining dozen orcs were coming up, howling words of defiance in their guttural tongue. The Sarcosans fell back again, still firing. Fire and maneuver, fire and maneuver. The orcs were doomed, and they knew it. Yet they didn't give in.
There is a lesson for us all…
Ara smirked.
In a minute the last orc would be dead and her squadron could start to gather up the spent arrows. Then she'd have a little time to catch her breath.
* * *
It had been an eventful two days. The vine-wrapped ruins where she'd first met Pallas and the Ghostwalker seemed far away now, as they were, in time if not in space…
Ara and a squad of soldiers had been searching for an elven spy in the old ruins, just east of Erethor. Something had washed over her, she felt, when the two strangers-not-strangers appeared just as she caught the spy. She'd felt it again today, at the Gate…
Ara had exchanged brief words with Pallas and the Ghostwalker as she tied the wounded elf to her horse. The spy was trying to return to Erethor. She had just mounted up when elven arrows started to rain down around her. An ambush - luckily she'd been able to withdraw, get back to al'Hamra minus three men, already murdered by the elves. Her search party that evening had found two bodies, the last man doubtless gone forever. In al'Hamra she'd received word from Uncle Arrenu her crazy old cousin Virrinu was coming from the seminary to be the Princess' Tale-Reader. Only the man with the wolf hadn't been Virrinu after all, but an impostor working for an evil force Pallas called the Whisperer. He'd tried to murder the real Virrinu, but her cousin had survived -mistaken for an assassin himself - and luckily Ara had been able to free him from the prison cells before it was too late. Virrinu seemed to know much that Ara didn't understand. The impostor's name was Udon. He'd murdered young Prince Daghu's tutor, wounded the Prince with his evil touch, and even tried to murder the Princess. Sabba the Cook had given her life as a decoy. Fortunately Prince Jaradin had arrived back at the fort, in time to set everything straight. Pallas had revealed himself as a skilled Healer, and had tended to young Daghu's sorcerous wound, inflicted as part of a plan to gain control of the young prince. Ara had commended the boy on his bravery.
The evil plot was now uncovered - in some part thanks to Ara herself - and the assassin exposed before he could strike again. He and his whisper-voiced demon that possessed Virrinu's wolf had been cornered in the al-Kallar crypt, but had somehow escaped, fled through a black crystal obelisk into another world, another time, to a city of the dead - the crystal showed a path there, as well as one to a forest that the Ghostwalker and Pallas said was their home. Udon had taken the al-Kallar Cup with him. Ara wanted to follow him immediately, but Pallas advised against it. Apparently Pallas and the Ghostwalker were familiar with this other time, a hellish future where evil ruled the Aryth. Virrinu had given Ara an amulet that let her pass through the gate - Pallas and Apari had them too. After discussion, Ara had realised that her horse could also pass through - and so could her men, if she linked them to her! So she'd volunteered to take her squadron through, kill the assassin and get the Cup back. The Prince was pleased, and Ara' heart swelled with pride as he commended her on her bravery and handed her his ring. So they'd entered the Gate - only fifteen of her men had made it through with her. Ara hoped the other nine had been left safely behind in her time, not sent somewhere else.
The city of the dead was al'Hamra - lying in ruins, thousands of years in the future. Luckily it was a bright sunny day, and apparently the dead were resting… the Ghostwalker, Apari, had changed then, into a little brown man with pointed ears. He looked a lot like an elf, in some ways. Apparently he was a Danisil - Ara made sure her men knew the difference before anyone shot him. Though Apari said that in this age the elves were on Humanity's side against the evil ones.
We shall see.
After an hour's trek through the ruins, Pallas telling her a little of this new world - he seemed strangely unfamiliar with the Sarcosan Empire, apparently A'Hamra lay beyond its current-time frontier - they came out onto the plains, and saw Udon some distance off, escorted by more than two-score of the ugly creatures called orcs and a dozen of the armoured wizards Pallas called Legates. A large force - odds more than three to one - but they were poorly equipped, without bows.
Ara had not hesitated to attack.
* * *
"Cease fire!"
The last orc had fallen, and showed no signing of re-animating. The tired Sarcosans holstered their bows, drawing their Dornblades as they moved back in to dispatch any wounded. Lt Ara patted the well-wrapped cup, tied behind her saddle. That was what they'd came here for.
How long before we get back, though?
Pallas and Apari seemed happy, perhaps a little stupefied by the ease with which sixteen Sarcosan cavalry had annihilated this apparently much-feared foe. Ara grinned impishly as she spurred Star over to Pallas. She wasn't going to let him know that the Imperial Guards Cavalry Division of the Sarcosan Emperor was accounted the most feared fighting force on all Aryth, or that all their quivers were now more than half empty. The Guards' battle-manual said that after softening the enemy up with bow-fire, the Guards were to draw their Dornblades and charge - Imperial Guards traditionally spent far more time drilling with this difficult, straight-edged sword than they did with their longbows. But the orcs were fanatical, savage, and immensely strong. In truth, Ara had feared to commit her men in melee against even a single one of the creatures. But no need to mention that.
"So you see, easy enough. Perhaps you could attend to Private Aren there? He was careless, and has received a slight injury from an 'orc'. I thank you."
Ara flashed Pallas a smile, and turned quickly away.