03 - Call to Arms (30 page)

Seeing us as we charged towards them, they did not for a moment falter. The
boar riders simply turned and charged towards us, eager to meet our knights
head-on in battle.

Sigmar was with us, however. Although they fought with tenacious strength, we
managed to defeat the boat riders. Adopting a wedge formation, we sliced through
them like an arrow through flesh. Meanwhile, seeing the toll we had taken on the
best of their warriors, the other orcs and goblins of Ironfang’s army began to
flee.

Earlier, I spoke of the battle being won in a single moment. Equally, in the
moment in question, it could have been lost. I was driving through the enemy
hordes, laying about me with the sword the Count had gifted me, when I saw a
huge and battle-scarred orc riding on top of an equally impressive beast.

A pair of metal tusks jutted from the orc’s lower jaw, apparently serving as
over-sized replacements for two teeth that had been lost—though whether this
oral disfigurement was as a result of some earlier wound sustained in battle, or
some excess of orc dentistry, I could not comment.

Realising this could only be the much-famed orc general, Ironfang, I
immediately spurred my horse towards him. Smiling in a way that was made more
sinister by his iron teeth, the orc likewise spurred his boar and charged
towards me.

We met with the ringing of clashing steel as we each struck at the other
simultaneously. My sword tore through his armour and inflicted a grievous wound
to his chest, while his axe struck my head.

The blow glanced off my helmet and smashed away my visor. For a moment, I was
blinded as blood ran freely down from my scalp into my eyes. Ironfang could have
finished me then, but Count Aldebrand had seen my distress. Sending his hunting
hawk to harry and distract Ironfang, he charged forward with his bodyguard to
save me.

By the time I cleaned the blood from my eyes, I was surrounded by friendly
faces. Ironfang was gone, however—disappeared amid the shifting tides of
battle.

As short as it was, that brief and bloody meeting between Ironfang and myself
turned out to be the climactic moment of the battle. If Ironfang’s axe had
struck a finger’s-width lower, it would have taken my head from my shoulders -
perhaps dealing a deadly blow to the army’s morale. As it was, I was fortunate -
both in terms of the placement of Ironfang’s blow and the Count’s quick
thinking. Otherwise, I would be in my grave.

Such, therefore, was the way by which the battle was decided. Wounded,
Ironfang fled—though, sadly, I have to accept the wound he sustained is
unlikely to prove fatal. In his absence, his army’s morale collapsed. The enemy
were routed.

For myself, I have a new scar to add to my collection. When I removed my
helmet after the battle, we found that Ironfang’s blow had added a thin new
crease to my scalp. The surgeons tell me I am lucky. Head wounds are notoriously
difficult to treat, but I have suffered no more adverse effect than a few
headaches. And what are headaches when there is a war to fight!

Grateful for my service, the Count has made me commander of all his armies. I
have been given carte blanche to take the war to the orcs and drive them from
Hochland—perhaps to even follow them to their haunts in the Middle Mountains
and remove their scourge from the face of the world forever. I warn the Count
such lofty ambitions do not come to reality without paying a hard price in blood
and sweat, not to mention gold, but he seems ready to meet the cost.

Tonight, there will be a celebration. The army will rejoice in its victory.
The men will drink, and laugh, and jest, and dream of days of peace.

Come tomorrow, the war goes on.

Mitchel Scanlon
is a full-time novelist and comics writer. His
previous credits for the Black Library include the novel
Fifteen Hours,
the background book
The Loathsome Ratmen,
and the comics series
Tales
of Hellbrandt Grimm.
He lives in Derbyshire, in the UK.

Scanning and basic
proofing by Red Dwarf,
formatting and additional
proofing by Undead.