Orc Lord

Meanwhile, across the swamp.

“Shields up!” the boat-leader shouted with urgency.

All men on that particular vessel gathered quickly at the front of the boat and formed a wall of shields. A hail of arrows rained down on them not a moment later. As soon as the Claymore archers stopped to change positions, the Andorin soldiers dropped their guard and rowed after them.

Andorin was separated from Claymore by a vast plain and this murky swamp, and to avoid fighting archers and harpies under open skies, they had pushed ahead to meet them here. But the complex terrain here naturally led to guerilla warfare, in which the archers still held an advantage: they were used to flooded land and much more mobile in the marsh as a result, and their propensity for ranged attacks enabled them to stay out of sight until the last moment, waiting in ambush. Whereas the Andorin forces weren’t entirely comfortable in their boats yet.

Periodically, a horn would sound, and the soldiers would have to keep a wary eye on the sky. Claymore’s archers liked to shoot at them from the tree cover while their attention was split.

The sound of bow strings twanging cut the air, and while most of the distracted men got their shields up in time, one took an unfortunate arrow to the leg.

“Shields up! Shields up!” the boat leader shouted frantically and ordered a retreat when the ambush was over.

Meanwhile, Prince Verde was at a relatively safe position: a base camp they had established at the edge of the swamp, inside General Hoffman’s tent.

“Report!” A soldier called from outside, “Six more men have returned with arrow wounds. One with leeches. Two had their heads fatally crushed by falling rocks from harpies.”

Verde hid his grimace: those were the first fatalities of this war.

The General frowned and called back, “I’m beginning to notice a pattern, lieutenant. Our men are getting shot by archers around the same time we spot harpy activity.”

“Yes sir!” the lieutenant said.

Prince Verde looked up from the rough map they were gradually assembling, “Are they synchronizing with the harpies? Can’t we predict their attacks with that?”

“Synchronizing?” General Hoffman shook his head. “Claymore’s forces are split up into small groups and isolated. If they’re able to synchronize regardless, they’re using our own horns to do it.”

Verde’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “Can’t we use that? Use the horns to set up a reverse ambush?”

“Not quite. It’s more likely that the archers are just shooting opportunistically: when our men focus on the skies, they see an opening and take it.” The General called out, “Soldier, inform the men. When they hear a horn sound, they’re to have no more than one man watch the skies and the rest continue as usual.

“Yes General!” the lieutenant trotted away through the squelching mud to deliver his orders.

Prince Verde waited until he was alone with the General to express his opinion. “We need a way to break out of this rut. Despite being constantly on the defensive, our men are accumulating injuries, and we haven’t been able to land a single solid blow in return.”

“A shaky start was unavoidable,” General Hoffman said. “We’re fighting on unfamiliar terrain here. Most strategies we can dream up won’t work until our men gain sufficient experience. They need to survive until then.”

“Are you saying you’ll just leave things like this?!”

“We had no choice but to march out with the minimum preparations to avoid being caught on the open plains. Right now we’re in a state where we don’t even have enough boats for all our men. The soldiers who succeed out there will learn valuable lessons that they’ll pass on to the new soldiers who rotate in for the injured. We’re only receiving a small number of casualties in exchange for precious information and experience.”

“You’re culling our men,” Verde growled.

“Did you expect all of our men to come out of this war unscathed, prince?”

Verde pounded the table with his fist, “We should at least fight back!”

General Hoffman pounded his fist in return, even harder and louder, “Then quit complaining and come up with an idea! We can’t hear or see those Claymore bastards until they shoot, and they escape too fast for our men to retaliate with swords or spears!”

Verde forced himself to take a deep breath and held his chin. “… They must be using magic somehow,” he said. “Claymore’s archers are skilled at wind and fire magic. What if the reason we can’t hear them and they move so quickly is because of their wind magic?”

The General visibly regained most of his cool. “Yes, I had the same thought. We have various soldiers who can use a bit of magic, but none are as specialized or skilled as Claymore’s; they focus more on their martial combat skills.”

“But they aren’t using their fire magic at all,” Verde said.

“Presumably because it’s much too damp here for fire to be effective,” Hoffman nodded.

“So why don’t we light up some fires then?”

“What are you…” the derisive look on the General’s face faded and he sunk into thoughts. “No, I see…”

“Because we’re on the water, the danger of carrying fire on a small boat is mitigated. And we can use the smoke to read the wind patterns. If it swirls around one place, there’s an ambush. If it blows in a line, the opposite way is the direction our enemy fled.”

“Not bad, let’s do that.”

***

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the swamp, a similar base camp existed. Inside of that commander tent, King Claymore was enjoying wearing his ceremonial armor and sitting on a simple wooden throne. He felt like a warlord from a fable.

“Some wine and cheese would be perfect right about now. If only my country wasn’t in the middle of a terrible flood, debt, and famine, huh?”

King Claudius Claymore’s faithful advisor, Mercator, a man who served his father before him, chastised him in a gentle, grandfatherly tone. “It isn’t couth to jest about such plights, my King.”

“Well we have to have a sense of humor in these dire times, old friend,” the king shrugged.

He grabbed a handful of figurines—meant to be placed upon the map before him to denote the current war situation—and started stacking them into an amusing tower. “Let’s quit it with the ambushes for now,” he said casually. “Call all the men back and let them have a good rest.”

“My King, is that wise?” Mercator asked even as he passed along the orders to a runner.

“We’re winning too much too easily,” Claudius said, carefully placing the topmost figurine and leaning back to admire his work. “If we keep going like this, those other guys will figure out a countermeasure and strike us back. I like having the momentum on our side.” The human king propped his cheek on his fist and smiled faintly. “Let Andorin’s forces wander around, fearing an ambush that isn’t coming, until they return to base exhausted. We’ll have another bout with them tomorrow.”

“As you wish, my liege. I’ll fetch your meal for you.”

Later that night, dressed comfortably now in footie pajamas that kept most of the swamp bugs away, King Claymore received word from a scout that Andorin’s forces were still clumsily rowing around, bearing torches to presumably see better in the fading light—which made them easy to discover.

“Torches? And they’re scouting this far ahead?” Claudius grinned like a kid in a candy shop. “Wake up the men and raid the provisions—I’ve an idea.”

***

The boats full of Andorin soldiers were silent as the dead, each ear and eye straining for any sign of danger. They hadn’t been attacked since lunchtime, which had allowed them to scout much deeper into the swamp and map more territory. But now that night was falling, they had to turn around no matter how smooth the sailing had been.

“Sir?” one soldier whispered to the boat leader, “doesn’t the water look strange?”

“It’s a filthy swamp, what do you expect?” another soldier replied.

The boat leader looked at the surface of the water and saw a faint colorful sheen reflecting in the torchlight. “Just scum on the surface of the water,” he said. “But keep your eyes open.”

However, it wasn’t long until the sounds of arrows being launched filled the air.

“Shields up!” the boat leader cried.

One man was quickly injured, and a second volley immediately followed, then a third.

“We’re sitting ducks here! Smother the torches!”

In the dark, with only them holding lights, it was easy for them to be shot at and impossible to spot their attackers hiding in darkness. So the men with torches plunged them over the sides of the boat and into the water, but then the whole surface of the swamp blazed to life. A fast and hot fire burned the very water itself.

“O-oil…” the boat leader realized too late.

Their boat soon caught fire as well. Some men stood fast, others tried to escape into the water. All burned, drowned, or both.

The same scene was repeating itself for all the other scout boats that were still out this late as well. Some of the leaders realized the danger and ordered to keep the torches away from the water; others didn’t want to give up their light source in the first place; all burned regardless when flaming arrows lit the swamp ablaze.

***

Even sooner than King Claymore, sleeping soundly in his tent, Vyra heard what had happened from her personal spy, Yui Inari, whose announcement got her to even set aside her evening tea which she enjoyed so much.

“The entire forward sailing force was annihilated? Burned to death on the water?” she repeated the key points back just to be sure.

“Yes, my Lord,” Inari said, kneeling in deference. “The Andorin side was already behind on ship production. They just lost almost all the boats they had, along with most of the men who had somewhat learned to operate them.”

The Orc Lord felt herself trembling in anticipation—no, delight—her pupils wide in the dark of night. “King Claudius Claymore… I’d heard he was incompetent and foolish, but he’s a proper warlord, isn’t he?” She wrapped her arms around herself tightly and dug her nails into her arms as the war spirit inside her seemed to boil the edges of her soul. “I want to fight him.”