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.