by shavixmir
Grensvelt junior stared out over the plains. The sun was sinking slowly into the horizon, casting an eerie orange glow over the grass fields before him. Somehow it all looked cosy and warm. He tilted his steel coloured helmet back and wiped his forehead. It may well be evening, but the heat of the day could still be felt; he was sweaty and bothered under his armour.
Michael trotted up beside him: “What do you reckon?”
Grensvelt untied the leather of his helmet, removed it and balanced it on his saddle, between his thighs: “…can’t see where they could have gone.” He slowly waved his hands over the fields in front of them.
“It’s getting dark.” Michael looked as uneasy as he felt.
“There’s hardly any left! They must be hiding, they can’t have disappeared this fast.”
“It’s getting dark.” Repeated Michael. “We may be faster, but the night is their domain out here.”
”What are you suggesting?”
”Let us return William. Most of them were slain, there’s no sense in running the risk of losing more men.”
William Grensvelt the III licked his lips then pursed them.
“Come sire. We’ve done all we can.”
William strained to see that which was beyond his reach. It was wrong of the orcs to attack the village. It was wrong that women had to be slaughtered like wild animals. It just wasn’t right. They didn’t have the right!
“Another mile or two Michael. Who knows what’s behind the next hill?”
“That’s what I fear. They have learned their lesson, we should return.”
William shook his head slowly. “No. We go on!” He turned around to face his men.
Twelve young men on horses sat facing William, the son of the baron and Michael, his bodyguard. Not only his bodyguard, but at 32 the oldest of the assembled.
“We will ride another two miles. If we do not catch them by then, we will return. Let us ride!” William forced the horse to turn and shot off in a gallop. Michael sped after him and the men followed shouting: “Ride!”
A hawk hung in the air, suspended on winds, which did not blow on the fields of southern Gatas that day. It searched the plains for signs of life, its focussed eyes picking up any sight of movement, from the smallest of rabbits to the horses in full gallop. Battle is not the business of hawks, but if it were, it would have noticed the trap being set.
There is many a man who dreams of a hawk-eye’s view of the world. A mountainous panorama; wherever, whenever, even in absence of hills and peaks. None more so than young William Grenvelt as he and his men dashed ever forward into the sunset and the hiding goblins.
“There they are!” Shouted William as he drew one of his pistols. “Forward, kill! Let us ride!”
The men returned the cry of “ride” and the horses were forced to make even more haste.
The goblins were stood still, facing the oncoming horde of horsemen with grim determination. Their faces set as rock; their spears at the ready. ‘Too determined for such a small group of green skins’ Michael thought to himself. ‘Too determined by far.’
The pistoliers were bearing down on the goblins with such speed the grimaced enemy had but seconds to live. They knew it. The horsemen knew it. And in that split second Michael doubted. He braved a look over his shoulder and saw the wolf riders chasing them down.
Most men would have wondered where they had come from, some men would have panicked, but Michael was not of ordinary stock. He wasn’t the baron’s son’s bodyguard for nothing! Refocusing he shouted: “With me!” And he peeled off to the right, swerving around the small group of goblinoids. Four men followed him. The rest charged into the goblins, shouting and shooting.
Michael led the smaller group in a circle around the battle. The men’s dreaming of a great rear charge came to a cold awakening as they banked around the enemy only to find a counter-charge of wolf riders smacking into their own comrades’ rear.
William kicked out at a goblin spear, shooting his pistol into the goblin’s face. The face exploded in a mass of blood and bone, showering the goblin behind him.
The man to Grensvelt’s left shot two pistols together, blowing a goblin's guts out. The screams of the green skins pierced the early evening air as guts, brains and blood sprayed the orange gleam of the grass a darker, more sinister colour.
Grensvelt’s horse reared and kicked at a goblin, crashing down hard on one that had already fallen, its hoof crushing through the body. The man to William’s right shouted out in pain and terror as a spear sent him sprawling to the ground, a wolf tearing at his face; the only piece of flesh available. William saw the spear’s point sticking out Karl’s stomach; he’d been pierced from the rear!
William fought to turn his steed, only half succeeding as the leg of his beast was caught in the goblin’s corpse. He strained his head and saw the wolves jumping at him. He raised an arm in defence and pulled out a gun with his other. Another shot rang out and the wolf with rider plunged to the ground.
Another wolf dived at his horse, panicking the steed and throwing William off. The young man’s helmet flew from his head as he himself had flown from his ride. He sprawled out in the blood, the guts and the torsos.
Michael fired a pistol as he and his men charged into the melee. A wolf rider was trying to prod William with a twisted spear of sorts; grunting in the effort. William rolled from side to side attempting to avoid the spear and the wolf’s jaws. With a shriek the wolf tumbled forwards and the goblin thumped down in the ground beside the young baron to be.
The goblin growled like a caged troll as he tried to bite William. Grensvelt rolled over avoiding the snap, then rolled over again to face the goblin.
Small though the goblin was, it latched onto William’s ear with a pounce even a mountain cat would have been proud of. William yelped as he felt the pointed, rotten, teeth sink into his skin. With an almighty strain, and all his strength, the young man jumped up onto his feet, grappling for a gun. To his utter dismay the goblin was just too heavy for his hearing flesh and he nearly fainted from pain as his ear was ripped from his head.
It was the last taste of human flesh the goblin would know; a pistol shot blew away his head; disintegrating nose, eyes, mouth and all three ears.
The remaining goblins fled in panic, young horsemen chasing them down, cutting and shooting them to pieces as they fled.
Michael hastened from his horse to William who was stood weeping over his lost ear. The bodyguard ripped a strand of clothing from under his armour and set about bandaging the ear.
“You’ll need that seen to.” Michael stated.
“Can you see my ear anywhere?”
“No sire. It is nowhere to be found.”
“Damn.”
“It is no great loss. There are plenty of one eared soldiers.”
William looked up at the large bodyguard. “Damn.”
It was dark as nine riders approached the wooden wall of the village. A contingency of troops and the priest had arrived. The villagers would be safe for the time being. Safe to bury the dead, heal the wounded and comfort those that were heartbroken.