The Last Satyr: The Two Paths Part 2
Man-orcs

A battle to the death had begun for which only one side could win.

A rain of darts descended upon the man-orcs. With so many targets, few missed. Still, raising the alarm was slow. Every half orc hit remained still standing, though he felt, and saw, the dart in himself. But there was no sound from them, for pain is nothing to a man-orc. They can laugh at it.

Shinayne now ordered a second volley of darts. Being still beyond the eyesight of the man-orcs, they came down again, with another two hundred man-orcs hit. And while still not a single one had fallen, with the poison not yet taking effect, the alarm was now given. Shields were raised against the incoming darts, rendering them useless.

Nonetheless, nearly four hundred plus man-orcs were growing dizzy, sleepy, and about to fall dead.

The man-orc archers, unable to see their enemy, blindly returned fire to their front.

A hail of arrows descended upon the Black Dragons, but none found its mark. With their superior vision, they saw the man-orc arrows being launched and, with their superior armor, deflected all that might have found their mark. But, with the man-orcs now having their shields up, further dart attacks were pointless. Any second now, the man-orcs would charge out against their unseen attackers like an angry nest of bees, outnumbering them by so much as they did. When that happened, the end for the Black Dragons would come soon.

Approaching from the south edge of the pass entrance, Graybeard heard the man-orcs giving orders, a sharp woman’s voice amongst them. They were responding to something, though he knew not what. He held out his staff in the direction of the voices and it gave off a brilliant light, lighting up the entire floor and both sides of Thera Pass as bright as day but avoiding illuminating the Black Dragons.

Before the man-orcs line, Shinayne’s Black Dragons backed up. Being forewarned the bright light was coming, they kept their shields up and trying to maintain an orderly retreat. By the blast of light, the man-orcs now saw them and unleashed another volley of arrows, this time with much more accuracy.

"Shields up!" cried Shinayne.

In a single movement, the order was obeyed. Two hundred Black Dragons took a knee while raising their shields up and back. With practiced coordination, they formed a perfect protective wall, their shields interlocking to shield themselves from the impending barrage of arrows. Like a tortoise-shell, it stood between them and their attackers.

Although the man-orcs did not like the light and it startled them some—especially to see it unexpectedly come from their south, they launched their arrows on an enemy they could now see. Yet they scored no hits except upon upturned adamantine armor, though these were as plentiful as rain.

From their hiding places in the north rocks, the satyrs now descended upon the man-orcs. The enemy faced west, and their shields, swords, and heavy bows also, and were so closely packed together that any satyr throwing his first spear could not miss. They now hurled some two thousand spears at their mark from above.

The dwarves to the rear at Mills Breath could now see by Graybeard’s light. Ahead of them stood a mass of man-orcs; shields and weapons raised, and yet, incredibly, all of them with their backs to the dwarves. The dwarves raised their axes, closed the distance at their best (meaning slowest possible) speed, and swung at the backsides of the enemy's exposed legs, with swings so practiced they could break rocks or cut down trees or, in this case, cut off a man-orcs legs.

The front ranks of the man-orcs were waiting for their orders from the rear to charge the Black Dragons before them. Yet their officers to the rear were themselves now under attack by the dwarves, and no such order came. Instead, a calamity of spears from their right sounded and axes from their rear arose behind them. Some had turned furiously to face the light on their left, while others turned right to face the spears of the satyr’s flank attack. Yet to their rear, sudden confusion broke out as unseen axes found their mark and their hidden generals died. Yet that distinct woman’s voice, horrid to hear, still remained amongst them. With the Black Dragons retreating before them, the man-orcs temporarily turned to change targets to deal with the enemy within.

Meanwhile, on the south bank, young Joe cried out, "I've got three!"

He, Graybeard, Amien, and Marroh found themselves unexpectedly in heavy fighting. There were far more man-orcs here than they had realized and they were far more aggressive. This was a new type of orc—bigger and stronger and better organized.

"And three is all you'll get!" Marroh shouted back, killing his second, knowing young Joe could count no higher.

They were greatly outnumbered by the man-orcs and would have been orc food already, except the man-orcs had no hooves to climb up the south cliffs to reach them. Those few who made it to the top found their position awkward and clumsy. Many fell to the swords of Amien and young Joe, and some to Marroh’s axe, but most simply fell due to the bright light of Graybeard’s staff in their eyes or due to the steepness of the rocky cliffs. These man-orcs then had to start their climb all over again. Many archers below tried to bring the four down, but the light of Graybeard’s staff was too bright to aim by.

The man-orcs that faced the satyrs to their north when the two forces collided did so on what seemed, at first, to be superior terms. They had shields and swords and greater numbers. Yet they found the short spears of the satyrs outreached their swords and with each satyr thrust a man-orc died.

With every swing of the dwarf axes from their rear, entire ranks of man-orcs would disappear, rapidly eliminating the advantage of their greater numbers. Already, one of every four man-orcs had fallen without the cost of a single attacker.

But now that shrill woman's voice took charge and shouted her orders and they formed a circle to face down their attackers from all sides, including confronting the dwarves. Yet most of the orcs inside the center of the circle could not strike back, having to wait their turn to fight those on the outside edge, a turn that required the man-orc in front of them to die. Thus, very few man-orcs were actually fighting with swords, just those on the outside circle. Still, whenever a man-orc died on the outer edge of the circle, another from the middle took his place. Unlike pure blooded orcs, when they found a situation not to their liking, they did not run. They stood and fought with their screaming woman general’s whip flogging at their very backs.

“Fight!” The woman shrieked. “Stand and fight! Death to them all!”

“You know of a cure?” blurted the boy. “And you haven’t told me?!”

He and Leradien were still back at Ched Nasad and well behind the battle. Yet Ronthiel's life hung between them.

Leradien paid no attention to the boy’s astonishment. She lifted Ronthiel’s hand and quickly pierced the tip of his index finger with her fangs, a great droplet of red blood forming there. Then she pierced her own finger, only this time she drew black, bubbling, demon’s blood instead. Before the boy could understand what she was doing, she pressed the black blood of her finger to Ronthiel’s red.

“No!” shouted the boy and tried to grab and pull her finger away. “Don’t do that!”

But Leradien’s other free hand merely shoved him away; the demon possessed madwoman’s single-arm possessing more strength than his entire body. He was helpless to stop her as her blood hissed and mixed with the elf’s.

“What are you doing?!” the boy helplessly exclaimed. “What madness is this? Are you insane?!”

She held her bleeding finger to Ronthiel’s until the hissing and bubbling stopped. When she took back her finger, it had completely healed and without even a scar or a scab on it. Yet smoke still rose from Ronthiel’s finger where her blood had touched his.

The boy jumped back from her, his wide eyes to hers.

“How could you do that?” he gasped in horror and then demanded. “What could possibly possess you to do such a thing?!”

As the fierce battle raged on, the Black Dragons were still unable to participate in the fight, being kept at bay by the man-orc arrows. Because of this, they retreated further still, waiting to be slain by an inevitable massive charge at the enemy’s leisure.

Yet the onslaught of charging man-orcs Shinayne had expected had failed yet to materialize. Certainly, the man-orcs’ arrows had done so but fewer and fewer were coming in. In fact, for a battle, only a few minutes old, surprisingly few arrows now came their way. Shinayne took advantage of it to order an advance. If the enemy would not come to them, they would come to the enemy. Their poisoned darts were, once again, soon on their way.

The man-orcs within the center of the circle were first used as archers against the Black Dragons, targeting them. Yet unable to pierce their armor and the distance growing, they had switched their aim instead for Graybeard’s blinding light and for the satyrs attacking their flank.

On the north flank, Sar’s satyrs were taking the worst of it. The man-orcs, unable to replace their marks first with their swords against the longer satyr spears, had shifted to their bows. Most in the orc circle had their aim spoiled by another orc in front of them, but those with clear shots did not miss. Satyrs fell, some with three arrows in them. But most of the man-orc archers were in the rear and had problems of their own, for even as they took aim at the satyrs, they were being axed to pieces by dwarves behind them who had broken through their ranks from the very beginning. Chopping at the backside of their knees, they often cut clean through them with a single blow, leaving but a still standing stump behind and a legless man-orc. It became bloody awful for both sides.

As the fierce some man-orc straightened up on the south slope, weapon in hand, he haughtily faced Amien, one-on-one, with a testy grin. Let the better warrior win.

Amien's shield blocked the man-orc's blow, then countered with his own. As fast as lightning, it not only took off the man-orc's head but that of the one behind him.

He, young Joe, and Marroh were decapitating man-orcs with every swing, for the enemy was an easy target while struggling for their footing on the steep south cliff face even just to reach them. Graybeard did his best to dazzle their archers trying to hit them, but these man-orcs were not so easily blinded. First Marroh went down to an arrow and then young Joe.

There were simply too many of the enemy, too well organized, and too brave. The idea that the words “brave” and “orc” could occur in the same sentence was incomprehensible until now. Yet these were no ordinary orcs. They died hard and fought fiercely.

The battle was suddenly in doubt. The man-orcs were holding their ground on their front and both flanks.

Then they even began to advance on the Black Dragons, a shrill woman's voice ordering them on. “Kill them all!”