"Advance!"
The ten assembled drummers behind him relayed the order in a flourish of pounding drum notes, then settled into a deep cadence, slow but threatening.
The orcs around him lurched forward. They had not expected the order to advance, but they quickly recovered, and the ranks straightened.
Across the field, the knights had rallied once the goblins broke off. The knight commander bellowed an order, and trumpets carried the notes across the field. They too began to advance.
Jonar shouted orders to both left and right to straighten the line, to tighten up. Both Jel and Lavash were yelling too, maintaining the cohesion of their ranks. It was a practiced maneuver, but not all the orcs remembered what to do. The sound of steel clinking over stretched leather and the sound of four thousand pairs of boots clumping into fresh snow brought back memories for Jonar-of Balesh Pass.
The Flarg goblins sprinted across the field slightly faster than their pursuers. The two lines had closed to half a mile, and the goblins were only five hundred yards out.
When the goblins had closed to one hundred yards, Jonar ordered a halt. The soldiers brought their shields up and straightened their lines as best they could, trying to catch their breath. They closed together and locked shields.
When the first goblins were twenty yards from the orc line, Jonar yelled, "Spears!"
Nearly in unison, the entire line thrust spears forward and planted them in the snow against their back foot. The goblins saw only spears and shields.
The goblins slowed, then stopped, unsure of what to do. They faced a half-mile-long porcupine. Spear points protruded at all angles, making it impossible to retreat through the lines.
Jonar grasped the moment.
"Cheer for the goblins!"
A hearty cheer ripped from the orcs right across the line. It started slowly but built in intensity. No orc had ever seen goblins who could fight like these Flargs had. The cheer was genuine, but the orcs weren't about to let the goblins off the hook.
Elkan appeared from the rear.
"What is it? What are you doing?" he gasped, out of breath from the run.
Jonar smiled as the roar continued from his lines.
"Goblins, or most of them, don't speak orc!" he said with a broad smile.
Elkan didn't seem to understand.
The knights, seeing the goblins bottled by their own allies, broke into a charge. Horns rang out perfect notes, announcing the charge.
Snow flew up over the charging riders, kicked up by the thundering mounts.
The goblins panicked. They turned, saw the cavalry, turned again, saw the spears, and turned once more. Their only hope lay through the cavalry-or so they thought.
The goblins ran forward toward the cavalry in small groups, keeping as low as they could. The knights' charge hit the forward edge of the goblins and tore them apart. The goblins tried to fight, but they were too short to effectively engage the knights without the element of surprise. Many turned to run back to the orcs once more but were skewered in the back as they tried to run.
Elkan began to yell. "What have you done?" he screamed. "Why have you sacrificed them? You heartless bastard…"
"It was you who were going to sacrifice us, wasn't it, mage?" the general yelled back at Elkan. Jonar shoved him off to the side. The general ran out in front of his line. In his best parade voice, he yelled. "Are we going to take this slaughter? Are we going to allow this to go unanswered?"
The hearty yell was nearly drowned out by the fighting not a hundred yards to their front.
"Then charge!"
The drummers had been waiting for the command. In unison, they began to beat the quick staccato of the attack order. The orc line leaped forward.
The cavalry had broken down into small fighting groups, each chasing goblins in one direction or another. Their commander yelled to them to pull together but he could not be heard. A handful of knights readied themselves to receive the orcs.
Two thousand orcs came on.
They had to cover only a hundred yards to close with their enemy. The knights who had not rallied were caught off-guard. Orcs sprang on their backs, pulling them from their mounts. They speared others, both beast and rider falling in unison in death.
The battle flowed around the two hundred remaining knights in the center. They formed a tight circle, lances pointing out, defensively, just as the orcs had done previously. Their commander, now holding the Kjeldoran standard, stood in the middle.
Jonar waited. The battle lasted only a few minutes. A hundred knights fell. No more than twenty orcs met the same fate.
The remaining knights broke off contact with the orcs and retreated five hundred yards before they turned and faced their enemy. The blue-and-white checkerboard livery was spattered with blood and grime. Even the army standard was ripped in two. The survivors, numbering fewer than one hundred, formed a battle line again.
Jonar and his standard bearer walked across the intervening five hundred yards, right up to the lance point of the first knight, and stopped. The knight had murder in his eyes, but discipline kept him in check. The commander rode forward.
"I am Sir Michand, knight commander of the Orders of the Griffin and Phoenix. " He saluted solemnly.
Jonar removed his battle helmet and bowed low. "I am Jonar, general of Balduvia and commander of the Orc Clans. I am willing to offer terms of surrender. "
Elkan was only a step behind. "What? You can't be serious? I am in command here! I…"
The mage never finished his sentence. Jonar turned and slammed his sword into the mage's gut, thrusting upward. The blood did not show on the mage's ruby robes as he fell forward.
Jonar pulled the weapon free. He wiped his weapon in the snow, then on the mage's robes, before returning it to the scabbard.
"Why?" Elkan gasped.
Jonar shook his head in disgust. "You were going to sacrifice us to win this battle. Instead we sacrificed the goblins to save ourselves. Now I am sacrificing you to this knight as a gesture, and as a warning. No one sacrifices the pride of the orcs-not at Balesh Pass and certainly not here."
The light that flickered in the mage's eyes went out. He slumped over, face first into the snow.
Jonar turned back to the astonished knights. "As I was saying, I am ready to offer terms."
The knight commander was visibly shaken. "I will not surrender my command to be slaughtered by you brutes. We would rather die with honor."
The knights immediately around their commander tightened their grips on shields, weapons and reins. Their mounts shifted under them.
Jonar nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough. I then offer you this-you may take your command, or what is left of it, and return home. All I ask is that you surrender your battle standard."
Sir Michand sat with his mouth slightly open in surprise. He quickly caught himself and straightened his posture.
"Very well, General. You have beaten us in fair combat. My honor demands that I do no less. I accept your terms."
Black
Black, the symbol of death and despair, can be characterized as morbid, impatient, incorporeal, and stagnant. It is the color of pollution and pestilent, festering swamps. Those who show fondness for this color are not the type to show off. They will impress those worthy of their time by their real substance and weight. Black leans on the side of mystery and darkness but can be mighty and dignified. Black is a stark color, the beacon of nothingness, but those who favor this color abhor inevitability. They would hold to the present forever if they could and they will probably try. Black is for those who hide their darker sides behind an air of sophistication, for those who lurk in alleyways and dark corners, and for those willing to pay the price of greatness.