Red Sky at Dawn by D. A. Adams Page B

dwarves lay just as still as Roskin, and the orcs had not noticed them. Each dwarf was caked in sludge from their heads down to their legs, and their weapons were muddied to keep them from glittering. Even someone who knew where to look would have had difficulty seeing them against the bank.
    When the rear lines of the orcs moved beyond the lower base of the bluff, Leinjar signaled for the dwarves to creep from the bank onto the field. Now, the orcs were trapped, and unless they could punch through one of the two lines, their only escape would be the river. Silently, the dwarves crawled behind them and formed a line three deep at a narrow point between the bluff and the river. They remained flat against the ground for several minutes, for they were not to make themselves known until the archers attacked.
    Roskin scanned the bluff for motion, but he could not see a single person. Suddenly, the archers rose from the brush and unleashed a volley on the orcs. With arrows raining down, chaos rippled through the orc lines as they tried to maneuver to escape the archers. The leaders along the rear shouted at the soldiers, and they turned to retreat from the trap, but as they did, Leinjar ordered the dwarves to stand and hold the line.
    Roskin scrambled to his feet and readied his sword in middle guard. The line rushed towards him, and he charged into it with a torrent of slashes. He killed more than he could count in the initial surge, and after a few minutes of furious fighting, each line fell back a few feet to regroup. On either side of him, dwarves were calling out encouragement to each other, for while dozens of orcs had been killed, their lines were barely bloodied mostly because they had caught the enemy without their weapons drawn.
    Instead of waiting passively for the orcs to prepare, Leinjar ordered the dwarves forward, and they rushed the orcs before they were organized. Again, Roskin drove into their line with all his fury, and again orcs fell all around him. This time, however, the other dwarves made little impact on the line. As Roskin hacked his way ahead, he soon found himself cut off from his own group, surrounded with no retreat.
    ***
    When the archers ambushed them, Toulesche steadied his platoon and maneuvered them into a defensive posture that would minimize their exposed flesh. He knew the best way to counter archers was to charge them and get within pike distance, but with the bluff, that was impossible. Unable to rush straight at them, his platoon hunkered down to withstand the onslaught. Arrows thwucked into soldiers all around them – including two of his platoon – and orcs screamed in agony as they fell to the ground.
    Fear consumed the ranks, breaking down discipline and causing many to flee their positions. In the confusion, scores of orcs stumbled into the crude ditches in the open, and their screams and moans joined the others. Even with the chaos, Toulesche remained calm and kept his platoon together. His training taught him to ignore the upheaval and focus on what he could control, so he ordered his soldiers to move towards the front line. To him, their best hope was to break through the freed slaves and engulf a flank. That would allow enough orcs to charge the bluff and dispose of the archers.
    Since he was already near the river, he led his troops toward that flank, and they weaved through the swarming mass of terrified orcs. As they neared the vanguard, he saw Suvene’s phantom, and the creature was just as his friend had described. It towered above the rock- and wood-brains, and its very essence emanated a gray shroud. Toulesche froze for a moment, terrified of the evil that held the flank, and considered driving for the other side. Realizing that he could never maneuver his platoon through the swarm again, he collected his courage and called for them to charge.
    The words had barely escaped his lips when a blinding pain ripped into his left shoulder. He dropped his weapon and slumped to his