Orcs saw by night. Not as well as the knife-ears, but much better than humans. Sleep by day, raid by night was the conventional wisdom, and Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi didn't necessarily discard conventional orc wisdom. It merely used the best methods it could find, rather than rest on tradition mindlessly.
That's why companies of orcs were moving in disciplined formation through the night, the vanguard of Prince Adalwin's war to wrest his crown from his half-brother.
***
When Radush Eyedrinker, Warlord of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi spoke of his suggestion on how to strike the first blow, the humans didn't want to listen. That was a typical situation for him -- they hired the Company, but expected unthinking brutes to soak up the casualties. And as Radush liked to say, you didn't win battles by dying-- you won them by killing. He wasn't about to let his men become arrow-stoppers for a bunch of shoddy-quality mercenaries and arrogant knights with their conscripted peasants.
He gave his advice in a taciturn manner, having little taste for the contempt of the current company, as they lounged in their silks, feasted, drank too much wine and and fondled wenches. They were hoping for easy plunder and would probably peel off when the fighting got rough -- many sellswords didn't stick around if a fight went sour. And so they argued as to why they should stay on the border of Vendia and raid towns, rather than make a meaningful strike into the heartland.
This was the chance for the company; glory, plunder and wealth. The enemy was encamped on Langshul, an ancient ring-fort ruin that occupied a strong hill position over the crossroads of the Kingdom's most important trade routes, a place that Adalwin could occupy and hold against his half-brother, Gerhnod. But Adalwin's captains, human followers, some nobles and not a few mercenaries, were wringing their hands over how to assault the position. Radush rolled the dice in the command tent, speaking up when others required his silence and expected the greenskinned brute to have nothing to add to a strategy discussion.
Adalwin was not the most virtuous of men, but ambition burned brightly in his black heart and he had a certain ability to see something if plainly put before him, and so he listened when his adviser, his castellan Cenric, whispered something to the man. The other captains, nobles with their retinues and mercenary companies, hired cheaply, had men, true, but not truly hardened soldiers. Not like the orcs, who came cheaply only because they were desperate for work. Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi were high quality troops -- all the more surprising for a bunch of orcs, who common wisdom held to be incapable of it. Cenric had watched them march, reviewed the company in ranks -- in ranks! -- as the green-skinned brutes stood there in heavy, spiked armor, wearing fur and skulls as gruesome decorations, seeming to harken to the savage reputation of their kind, but silent and brooding.
They were brutes, certainly, but they were of a different character.
"Eyedrinker," the would-be King intoned, "Cenric says your...men...can march, is that correct?"
"Yes, your Majesty," the Old Eye-Drinker grunted; he was a massive old tusker wearing plate armor heavier than any of the knights in the room would dare, with a saw-backed falchion on his belt; the engravings on his armor were typical orcish fare, but well done -- leering gargoyle-esque skulls, angles and heavy mail. His hair was worn loose, gray and thick from the sides of his head, though the top was bald. The warlord of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi wore his plunder openly, in the form of jewels on a scabbard or the hilt of his sword, and on the belt that held them up, the clasps of his white bearskin cloak, "My tuskers can march forty miles," this claim brought a hiss of disbelief from other men in the tent that was quickly silenced with a glare from Adalwin, "and they can see in the night."
Then, he continued, after a moment's silence, "We can take Langshul from the bunnies," he gave a tusked grin, directed at the other captains. It was Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi's bit of bleak gallows humor to refer to humans as such -- they died like rabbits, in the eyes of the orcs.
"Then the honor is yours, Lord Eye-drinker." Adalwin was not in love with the orcs, his nose wrinkled and he seemed loathe to rest easily in such an alliance with the orcish mercenaries, but Cenric was sharp, and he said that these orcs weren't merely fierce and brutal, but they had a reputation for discipline as well. And they were desperate for work, cheaply had.
***
The company could march fast, and that was the work of the drillmasters of the Pikes, where every recruit of the Company learned to march in formation with their unit, to advance as one in a battle, and to care for their equipment properly so as to maintain it. Things that no tribal orc would never consider, like how to care for feet, how to pack a bag, how to cook scanty rations and divvy them. They drank a mixture of honeyed vinegar, sour wine and herbs that, so the herbalists claimed, kept them healthy. The carried their rations in sacks; grains, mushrooms, wheels of hard cheese in rinds and salted meat, usually pork or beef, but horse if they'd just fought some humans, on a march, often cooked into a stew. The orcs spent these marches grumbling and hating every step of the discipline until one day it became a point of pride to grumble less than the weakling in the other section and to show some pride and act like an Orc, damnit. They were supposed to be able to take it more than some bunny, and particularly some knife-ear.
The discipline paid off here; three days of marching by night, camping by day in hiding, a thousand and two hundred orcs moving quickly on foot, with a lucky number on wargback or in the wagons. The warg riders ranged the flanks, cutting down any observers they happened upon, chasing the riders, killing their horses and bringing the meat back to the company cooks; that at least raised morale – the taste of horse was a delicacy to orcs.
The scouts ranged ahead, finding the best way to Langshul, on foot or wargback, trying to keep the whole thing going. At times, the work involved killing human sentries or village watchmen, lest they report back. The march itself was typical ugly work – Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi considered all humans that didn't hide from them as they passed to be hostile, and that was usually true. Brutally pragmatic, they made sure the message was clear – don't leave your homes. Don't try to come out. And certainly don't carry warnings.
So morale was not so bad by the time they made the final leg to Langshul, near the point where everything but weapons and armor and what was needed to fight was left with the Company's wagons, and where ballistae and catapults were unlimbered, to provide support for the attack if it were necessary, if stealth didn't work.
Gerhnod's men supplemented the ruins of the ringfort with a series of palisades and ditches – a lot of men were working on building a keep of timber, but it was only half-finished, though the walls and towers were already done. There was a gate, but it was strongly held; a gatehouse all of its own controlled the access, and a small number of men could force an attacker to fight a few at a time; it had a stout gate, towers overhead for archers, walls nearby that would need to be stormed. Battering ram, siege towers or ladders, it was designed to allow a force of a few to fight against a much larger force by bottlenecking.
But they didn't count on the toughest champions of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi as the assault force.
That's why companies of orcs were moving in disciplined formation through the night, the vanguard of Prince Adalwin's war to wrest his crown from his half-brother.
***
When Radush Eyedrinker, Warlord of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi spoke of his suggestion on how to strike the first blow, the humans didn't want to listen. That was a typical situation for him -- they hired the Company, but expected unthinking brutes to soak up the casualties. And as Radush liked to say, you didn't win battles by dying-- you won them by killing. He wasn't about to let his men become arrow-stoppers for a bunch of shoddy-quality mercenaries and arrogant knights with their conscripted peasants.
He gave his advice in a taciturn manner, having little taste for the contempt of the current company, as they lounged in their silks, feasted, drank too much wine and and fondled wenches. They were hoping for easy plunder and would probably peel off when the fighting got rough -- many sellswords didn't stick around if a fight went sour. And so they argued as to why they should stay on the border of Vendia and raid towns, rather than make a meaningful strike into the heartland.
This was the chance for the company; glory, plunder and wealth. The enemy was encamped on Langshul, an ancient ring-fort ruin that occupied a strong hill position over the crossroads of the Kingdom's most important trade routes, a place that Adalwin could occupy and hold against his half-brother, Gerhnod. But Adalwin's captains, human followers, some nobles and not a few mercenaries, were wringing their hands over how to assault the position. Radush rolled the dice in the command tent, speaking up when others required his silence and expected the greenskinned brute to have nothing to add to a strategy discussion.
Adalwin was not the most virtuous of men, but ambition burned brightly in his black heart and he had a certain ability to see something if plainly put before him, and so he listened when his adviser, his castellan Cenric, whispered something to the man. The other captains, nobles with their retinues and mercenary companies, hired cheaply, had men, true, but not truly hardened soldiers. Not like the orcs, who came cheaply only because they were desperate for work. Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi were high quality troops -- all the more surprising for a bunch of orcs, who common wisdom held to be incapable of it. Cenric had watched them march, reviewed the company in ranks -- in ranks! -- as the green-skinned brutes stood there in heavy, spiked armor, wearing fur and skulls as gruesome decorations, seeming to harken to the savage reputation of their kind, but silent and brooding.
They were brutes, certainly, but they were of a different character.
"Eyedrinker," the would-be King intoned, "Cenric says your...men...can march, is that correct?"
"Yes, your Majesty," the Old Eye-Drinker grunted; he was a massive old tusker wearing plate armor heavier than any of the knights in the room would dare, with a saw-backed falchion on his belt; the engravings on his armor were typical orcish fare, but well done -- leering gargoyle-esque skulls, angles and heavy mail. His hair was worn loose, gray and thick from the sides of his head, though the top was bald. The warlord of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi wore his plunder openly, in the form of jewels on a scabbard or the hilt of his sword, and on the belt that held them up, the clasps of his white bearskin cloak, "My tuskers can march forty miles," this claim brought a hiss of disbelief from other men in the tent that was quickly silenced with a glare from Adalwin, "and they can see in the night."
Then, he continued, after a moment's silence, "We can take Langshul from the bunnies," he gave a tusked grin, directed at the other captains. It was Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi's bit of bleak gallows humor to refer to humans as such -- they died like rabbits, in the eyes of the orcs.
"Then the honor is yours, Lord Eye-drinker." Adalwin was not in love with the orcs, his nose wrinkled and he seemed loathe to rest easily in such an alliance with the orcish mercenaries, but Cenric was sharp, and he said that these orcs weren't merely fierce and brutal, but they had a reputation for discipline as well. And they were desperate for work, cheaply had.
***
The company could march fast, and that was the work of the drillmasters of the Pikes, where every recruit of the Company learned to march in formation with their unit, to advance as one in a battle, and to care for their equipment properly so as to maintain it. Things that no tribal orc would never consider, like how to care for feet, how to pack a bag, how to cook scanty rations and divvy them. They drank a mixture of honeyed vinegar, sour wine and herbs that, so the herbalists claimed, kept them healthy. The carried their rations in sacks; grains, mushrooms, wheels of hard cheese in rinds and salted meat, usually pork or beef, but horse if they'd just fought some humans, on a march, often cooked into a stew. The orcs spent these marches grumbling and hating every step of the discipline until one day it became a point of pride to grumble less than the weakling in the other section and to show some pride and act like an Orc, damnit. They were supposed to be able to take it more than some bunny, and particularly some knife-ear.
The discipline paid off here; three days of marching by night, camping by day in hiding, a thousand and two hundred orcs moving quickly on foot, with a lucky number on wargback or in the wagons. The warg riders ranged the flanks, cutting down any observers they happened upon, chasing the riders, killing their horses and bringing the meat back to the company cooks; that at least raised morale – the taste of horse was a delicacy to orcs.
The scouts ranged ahead, finding the best way to Langshul, on foot or wargback, trying to keep the whole thing going. At times, the work involved killing human sentries or village watchmen, lest they report back. The march itself was typical ugly work – Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi considered all humans that didn't hide from them as they passed to be hostile, and that was usually true. Brutally pragmatic, they made sure the message was clear – don't leave your homes. Don't try to come out. And certainly don't carry warnings.
So morale was not so bad by the time they made the final leg to Langshul, near the point where everything but weapons and armor and what was needed to fight was left with the Company's wagons, and where ballistae and catapults were unlimbered, to provide support for the attack if it were necessary, if stealth didn't work.
Gerhnod's men supplemented the ruins of the ringfort with a series of palisades and ditches – a lot of men were working on building a keep of timber, but it was only half-finished, though the walls and towers were already done. There was a gate, but it was strongly held; a gatehouse all of its own controlled the access, and a small number of men could force an attacker to fight a few at a time; it had a stout gate, towers overhead for archers, walls nearby that would need to be stormed. Battering ram, siege towers or ladders, it was designed to allow a force of a few to fight against a much larger force by bottlenecking.
But they didn't count on the toughest champions of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi as the assault force.
