Chapter 145 Killzone
When the variant strode out of the northern treeline, the orcs still lingering near the trees drew back almost instinctively.
That change rippled forward like a living thing as the rest of the band looked back toward their leader, all thoughts of charging at the wall forgotten.
The beast that had emerged was not much taller than the two flanking it from behind. Yet Lucien could tell what it was from a single glance, its deep crimson skin standing in stark contrast among the sickly green hides around it.
Its tusks were larger as well, curving from its lower jaw like crude blades. The right one had been broken halfway down, leaving behind a jagged stump.
Lucien's eyes narrowed at it as he remembered the words from Lord Vaelric's letter.
'An orc with a broken right tusk.'
It stepped into the open with none of the restless hunger of its brethren, ignoring the wall and Gerald's large figure standing atop the palisade. With a boldness that bordered on arrogance, the variant turned toward the fire signal and gestured to one of the orcs flanking it.
At the gesture, one of its escorts broke away and moved to rein in the rest of the band that had drifted closer to the wall.
Halfway to the fire signal, the variant stopped in mid-step.
Lucien held his breath at the sudden change in the beast's movement.
Its head turned slowly toward the tower he was standing on, though from this distance, he couldn't tell what it was looking at.
Then something shifted beside him.
Lucien glanced at Sera, only to find her glaring back at the beast. He couldn't be certain, but the timing was too precise to dismiss.
'Could this be why Sera had been detected during her scouting attempts?'
Finally, the beast let out a loud snort and continued onward to the fire signal, as if dismissing whatever had caught its attention.
Lucien glanced at the hunter beside him. "Sera, do you think it could sense you somehow?"
Sera's brow furrowed as she considered his question for a brief moment. He exhaled faintly when she shrugged in answer.
Lucien turned back to the variant. "As long as it doesn't affect our plan, we will just have to investigate further later. Besides..."
When it reached the fire signal spot, Lucien's hands tightened around the railing.
"If it could sense you, then perhaps it was a stroke of luck that you're here instead."
A heavy crack split the battlefield.
For a heartbeat, the sound seemed to arrive before the bolt itself.
Then something massive tore over the river from the direction of the far bank, cutting through the space where no ordinary crossbow could have reached.
The variant turned.
Too late.
The scorpion bolt struck its upper thigh with a sound Lucien felt more than heard, punching through hide and muscle before the force of it wrenched the beast sideways. The calm it had shown until now shattered at once as a furious roar erupted from its throat.
Whatever strength the variant possessed, it could not simply shrug off the force of a scorpion's bolt, as one of its legs buckled beneath it.
Even then, the beast refused to collapse completely. It caught itself, one clawed hand digging into the dirt while its broken right tusk glinted in the daylight.
The orcs that had begun to gather under their leader froze. Those closer to the walls looked even more uncertain.
Their tendency to put the most inexperienced orcs at the front had come back to bite them when Marcus's riders began to aim their lever crossbows.
"Focus your shots this time! Take out the ones nearest to the walls!" the guard ordered even as he nocked a white-feathered arrow on his bow.
Another series of cracks sounded as a volley of bolts and a single arrow flew.
Several orcs staggered as the bolts struck, throwing the half-formed line into disorder. One collapsed to the ground, while another stumbled into the beast beside it, drawing a furious shove in return.
But Lucien's eyes remained on the wounded variant.
The beast had not moved from the fire signal spot. One hand pressed against the earth, its injured leg bent awkwardly beneath it as its chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
Then its head lifted, and like any cautious beast, it searched for the one thing that posed the greatest threat to it, ignoring Marcus's riders.
Lucien wasn't particularly surprised when the beast found what it was looking for.
Hidden within the golden wheat of the eastern fields, Ashridge guards moved forward, armor glinting in the sun. The scorpion followed in their wake, pushed into the open from where it had been carefully hidden.
The guards formed a line in front of the war machine, leaving a clear space for it to fire as the men assigned to it began the loading process.
Behind them, Dorian stood in his plate armor with his arms crossed, meeting the variant's gaze. Merek was farther back, issuing instructions to the guards as they adjusted their formation.
Lucien didn't know if orcs could recognize human faces, but the sight of Dorian's plate armor and the guards who had been drilling near the sawmill for weeks would likely be familiar enough.
Upon seeing that, the variant had only one choice left.
Retreating into the trees was no longer possible in its wounded state. Charging the walls would leave its band exposed to an unknown threat behind it.
And perhaps most importantly, its subordinates were watching their leader bleed.
Lucien could almost imagine the beast's thoughts snapping into place as it seized the nearest orc by the shoulder and forced itself upright.
Dark eyes burning even in the daylight, it pointed at the scorpion and roared.
The orcs began to pivot toward the river.
As though in answer, another massive bolt tore across the water. This time, it struck a large orc lingering near the variant in the chest, the force of the impact hurling the beast backward.
The orc was likely dead before it hit the ground.
It was as if all the frustration the band had suffered from Marcus's harrying attacks had finally found an outlet. Without thinking, the orcs began to charge toward the scorpion, crossing a river the beasts had tested again and again.
They would find it much harder to cross than their scouting had led them to believe.
Marcus punished them for having the nerve to ignore him.
"It's hunting season, boys! Use the black-feathered ones this time! Pick different targets and fire at will!"
Pain-filled roars and grunts filled the air as the larger orcs lingering near the back were forced to run from the riders behind them, straight toward the river ahead.
Even then, the variant remained cautious. It waited for the first few orcs to cross, only beginning to move once nearly half its band had entered the water.
Lucien's eyes narrowed at the sight.
It was time to give it another reason to commit.
Loading a bolt into his windlass crossbow, Lucien set it upon the railing. Beside him, Sera and the militia woman had already begun to aim.
The distance was too great for even the windlass crossbow to strike accurately, but accuracy wasn't what he needed anyway.
"Fire."
Three bolts flew from the tower, though Lucien could barely see his own before it vanished into the distance.
The wounded variant lifted its head toward the tower, regarding it for the briefest moment. Then, with a furious snort, it stepped into the river.
With threats from every angle, the beast didn't notice how the orcs in the foremost position were already struggling in water that should have been shallow.
Perhaps it would have noticed if given enough time.
All hope of that was lost when, some distance away from the scorpion, men who had been lying prone among the wheat fields sprang up as one and began running closer.
To the optimal range where their stirrup crossbows had the greatest accuracy.
Henric and Tomas were among them, each holding their own crossbow. Having practiced for the last weeks, the men moved like a well-oiled machine as they crouched down in a single line.
"Fire!" Henric ordered, his own finger pressing the trigger at the same time.
Forty bolts flew through the air, striking the beasts from the side, in a direction they had never expected.
With their footing already unstable, more than a few orcs lost their balance. The moment one stumbled, the current caught it, and the beasts behind only shoved forward harder.
More tellingly, the ones with black-feathered bolts sticking out of them struggled to move, the poison slowly coursing through their veins finally taking effect.
Combined with their exhaustion from chasing Marcus's riders, even a poison brewed by an alchemist apprentice was enough to rob them of the strength they needed to survive the crossing.
Any hesitation from the orcs lingering at the back vanished when another bolt from the scorpion fired, aiming at the largest congregation of beasts.
They began to rush through the river, trying to reach their foes as both militia and riders on the other side reloaded their crossbows to fire again.
The variant let loose another roar, only causing more panic as it shoved the largest orcs near it forward.
Beside him, a soft gasp escaped the militia woman.
"Mi-Milord...this is..."
Without looking away from the sight, Lucien inclined his head. "A slaughter. They have nowhere else to go but forward. Half of their band is likely dead by now, or will be soon once the poison begins to take effect."
Cheers began to rise along the wall as men with flushed faces celebrated the sight of the very beasts that had driven them from their homes breaking before them.
Gerald looked toward Lucien, who shook his head slowly.
The large guard returned the nod and allowed the men to cheer, though Lucien suspected his captain would likely have words for them later, given how loud they were being.
Besides, it was too early for them to celebrate.
After all, the closing piece of his trap had not appeared yet.
When a horn blasted from the west, the cheers were cut short. Several men cast worried looks in that direction.
The variant, which had finally realized the river was deeper than it had expected, turned as well.
Perhaps it had even been considering retreat.
That possibility was crushed at the sight of another group of riders appearing from the northwestern treeline, this time wearing the colors of House Vaelric. There were not many of them, fifteen at most, but all carried crossbows as they rode forth to join Marcus's riders.
The weapons might only be stirrup crossbows, and the riders would likely only be able to fire once, but to the eyes of an orc, all crossbows would signify the same threat regardless.
Lucien's brow rose when he spotted a familiar man among the Cragwatch riders.
"...And he calls me reckless."
At his words, Sera glanced at him, her head tilted. Though her attention soon drifted back to the variant, which had turned once more to continue crossing the river, its motions beginning to turn desperate.
Marcus lifted his hand. "Men, focus your fire on the variant!"
Having led his own group to join them, Lord Vaelric gestured at the orc. "Follow the orders of House Varentis's guard as though they were my own!"
Stuck in the river out in the open, the variant could only keep moving as bolts from behind began to converge on a single large target.
It died in the middle of the river without ceremony, an ignoble death brought down by bolts from men it had tried to ignore.
And that became the last straw for the rest of the band. The orcs still alive tried to organize themselves, only for another volley of bolts to strike them.
"Sera. How many orcs are left in the forest guarding their captives?"
The hunter was already writing on her parchment before he had even finished, turning it toward him.
Three.
Lucien looked to the northern treeline briefly before taking the parchment from her.
After writing down his instructions, he passed it back to Sera, who was already setting her crossbow down. It seemed she knew what he intended to do.
"Join the riders and let them know then. Not a single one of them will leave this place alive."