The Kjeldoran knights came over the low ridge and trotted to a halt. Jonar felt a sinking feeling in his gut. Two regiments of heavily armored soldiers stretched across the horizon. Each mount wore the livery of its knight, each knight bore the mark of Kjeldor on his shield, and from each lance a small banner or favor fluttered in the wind.
The blue-and-white checkerboard pattern on the shields and banners was striking in the midday sun. Plate armor shone with an unearthly glow as the sunlight glinted off every facet.
Jonar looked nervously across his line, far shorter than the cavalry line, but much more densely packed. His soldiers stood four deep, while the cavalry were one or two rows deep. The numbers looked roughly equivalent which still gave the knights a huge advantage.
A faint whisper grew among the ranks of the orcs as they absorbed the sight before them. Soldiers readjusted equipment out of nervousness. Eyes shifted around, looking for support in their fear.
The knights waited until their command group joined the two regiments. The commander, a mage in white robes, sat next to an armored officer who was mounted on a fantastic black charger. The giant standard of Kjeldor fluttered in the wind from the standard bearer directly to the officer's rear. The command group trotted out ahead of the knights, turned, and the mage addressed the white army.
Elkan snickered beside Jonar and began to cast a spell. A second later, lightning flew from his fingers and arced across the field to the enemy command group. Two of the bodyguard knights were thrown from their mounts, and two more were shaken, but the standard fluttered high and the rest were untouched.
The white robed mage turned. He faced his enemy across the field. His hands flew up into the air just as his words broke into a shout. Energy shot between his hands, and electrical tendrils shot out at the snow around him.
Jonar looked over at Elkan. A look of stunned horror was on the wizard's face. He shuddered, then uncontrollably convulsed. Suddenly, the shaking stopped, and a look of triumph spread across the mage's face. Elkan threw off the magical attack. He rose to his full height and launched a bolt of fire that arced unerringly across the field toward the other mage. An explosion of fire engulfed the spellcaster, who crumpled in the flames as his mount screamed and bolted from the field.
The orc command staff and bodyguard had all backed away from the mage. They were trained soldiers, but they did not understand, nor would they interfere, in the ways of mighty wizards. Their problems were their own.
Jonar had stepped back too, impressed.
Jel trotted up to Jonar.
"What is it? What has happened?" He sounded panicked. Evidently he had seen the magical exchange between the mages, but did not know the outcome.
Jonar kicked at the snow. "Our mage is better than I had envisioned. It may be…"
"Damn!" Jonar heard from behind him. Elkan looked down at his shaking hands.
"What? What is it?" Jonar asked, noting the fear in the mage's voice.
Elkan shook his head bitterly. "I may have destroyed that damned mage, but he drained the very mana from beneath me. I won't be able to cast another spell for at least an hour. In that time…"
Jel looked frightened. Jonar lifted his hand. "We had not expected you at all at this battle, mage-" he began, but Elkan cut him off.
"Just do your duty, and die like a good orc!" he raged. "Win me this battle! Hold them off for an hour. They will be spent, and I will rain death down upon them!"
Jonar stared at him contemptuously. So the orcs were to be sacrificed for the mage's greater glory. He turned back to the chieftain. "Get back to your clan, and don't do a damned thing until I say…"
At that moment, the murmuring in the ranks rose to a cacophony. Both orc officers turned to see what had happened.
Across the field, attention centered on the enemy command group. The Flarg goblins, nearly forgotten by everyone, had mysteriously risen from the snow around the enemy group. They had pulled down the standard and hauled the bodyguards from their mounts, but the enemy commander fought valiantly, trying to break free.
Just as suddenly as they had appeared, the goblins broke from the fight and ran. They ran straight for the orc lines.
The distance between the opposing forces was nearly a mile. Jonar saw his chance. With his loudest drill voice, he gave the order.
"Advance!"
The ten assembled drummers behind him relayed the order in a flourish of pounding drum notes, then settled into a deep cadence, slow but threatening.
The orcs around him lurched forward. They had not expected the order to advance, but they quickly recovered, and the ranks straightened.
Across the field, the knights had rallied once the goblins broke off. The knight commander bellowed an order, and trumpets carried the notes across the field. They too began to advance.
Jonar shouted orders to both left and right to straighten the line, to tighten up. Both Jel and Lavash were yelling too, maintaining the cohesion of their ranks. It was a practiced maneuver, but not all the orcs remembered what to do. The sound of steel clinking over stretched leather and the sound of four thousand pairs of boots clumping into fresh snow brought back memories for Jonar-of Balesh Pass.
The Flarg goblins sprinted across the field slightly faster than their pursuers. The two lines had closed to half a mile, and the goblins were only five hundred yards out.
When the goblins had closed to one hundred yards, Jonar ordered a halt. The soldiers brought their shields up and straightened their lines as best they could, trying to catch their breath. They closed together and locked shields.
When the first goblins were twenty yards from the orc line, Jonar yelled, "Spears!"
Nearly in unison, the entire line thrust spears forward and planted them in the snow against their back foot. The goblins saw only spears and shields.
The goblins slowed, then stopped, unsure of what to do. They faced a half-mile-long porcupine. Spear points protruded at all angles, making it impossible to retreat through the lines.
Jonar grasped the moment.
"Cheer for the goblins!"
A hearty cheer ripped from the orcs right across the line. It started slowly but built in intensity. No orc had ever seen goblins who could fight like these Flargs had. The cheer was genuine, but the orcs weren't about to let the goblins off the hook.
Elkan appeared from the rear.
"What is it? What are you doing?" he gasped, out of breath from the run.
Jonar smiled as the roar continued from his lines.
"Goblins, or most of them, don't speak orc!" he said with a broad smile.
Elkan didn't seem to understand.
The knights, seeing the goblins bottled by their own allies, broke into a charge. Horns rang out perfect notes, announcing the charge.
Snow flew up over the charging riders, kicked up by the thundering mounts.
The goblins panicked. They turned, saw the cavalry, turned again, saw the spears, and turned once more. Their only hope lay through the cavalry-or so they thought.
The goblins ran forward toward the cavalry in small groups, keeping as low as they could. The knights' charge hit the forward edge of the goblins and tore them apart. The goblins tried to fight, but they were too short to effectively engage the knights without the element of surprise. Many turned to run back to the orcs once more but were skewered in the back as they tried to run.
Elkan began to yell. "What have you done?" he screamed. "Why have you sacrificed them? You heartless bastard…"
"It was you who were going to sacrifice us, wasn't it, mage?" the general yelled back at Elkan. Jonar shoved him off to the side. The general ran out in front of his line. In his best parade voice, he yelled. "Are we going to take this slaughter? Are we going to allow this to go unanswered?"
The hearty yell was nearly drowned out by the fighting not a hundred yards to their front.
"Then charge!"