Using a move he'd practiced thousands of times while training for the Order of the Wheel, Morris deflected the orc's axe to the side with his shield and then stepped forward to drive his short sword into his opponents chest. The orc managed to lean back in time to avoid a lethal blow, but still suffered a deep gash across his right shoulder which caused his arm to droop noticeably once the two fighters had regained their spacing.
Normally, Morris would have jumped back into the fray to keep his enemy off balance, but he'd been fighting nonstop for close to twenty minutes at this point, and it was all he could do to avoid collapsing under the weight of his armor.
[This is what I get for slacking on my morning routine. If I end up surviving this, I swear I'm going to take martial training seriously from now on.]
He fought to catch his breath while doing his best to avoid looking too worn. Appearing vulnerable in any capacity would invite an attack, and it would be difficult for him to defend himself for more than a few seconds without exhausting himself. Luckily, he'd so far managed to avoided any injury, thanks in large part to the expensive plate armor he was wearing, but at this rate it would only be a matter of time before that changed.
He'd lost his horse somewhere during the chaos of the initial clash, and was now fighting on foot, taking his place alongside Talgratha's subordinates and a few members of his escort team. The Ashborn managed to put together a tough defensive formation, which had so far resisted the enemy's assault. In response though, the hostile orcs simply surrounded them and maintained a constant offensive in order to let their numbers gradually wear the Ashborn down. It was neither the most efficient or effective method given the circumstances, but Morris guessed that the enemy leaders probably weren't well versed in large scale tactics.
Since then, the fighting had eventually broken down into a swirl of individual brawls, as orcish discipline reached its limit. Even Talgratha couldn't keep her forces in line, and was only able to watch as they gave up any attempt at fighting as a unit. Morris would have worried about the possibility of friendly fire once General Holmes had arrived, since the orcs were now intermingled in a manner that made it difficult to tell who was who, but he had more pressing concerns. Such as killing the frenzied orcs who kept attacking him for reasons he didn't fully understand.
[Maybe they think I'm important since I'm wearing heavy armor? I suppose I do stand out a bit like this.]
His thoughts were interrupted when the orc he'd been fighting roared a bloodthirsty battle cry and threw himself forward, axe swinging furiously. Judging from the way he moved, he was no longer feeling the pain of his injuries, and indeed seemed be getting faster.
Morris had been in enough fights with orcs during his time at the Order of the Wheel and seen this very scenario often enough to know that his opponent probably had some kind of berserker class with a rage skill.
He knew he would have to be careful not to get overwhelmed by the assault, since the orc had gained strength, speed, and endurance by falling into a rage in this manner. It would only take a few good hits from that axe to take him out of the fight for good. However, he also knew that berserker abilities, while powerful, had very exploitable weaknesses.
Slipping the shield off his left arm, Morris held it at the ready until is opponent was nearly upon him. Moving quickly, he threw his shield towards the orc, but at a slight angle. His opponent batted it down with his axe, bloodshot eyes focused on the spot he expected Morris to be occupying once the obstruction was out of the way. However, a flash of confusion passed over the orc's face as he found himself staring at empty space. He'd just started sweeping his gaze to the left, when Morris's sword struck home, punching through the orc's side, plunging towards his heart, and killing him almost instantly.
Once his enemy had fallen, Morris went over to reclaim his battered shield, feeling exhausted as he did so. Using it as a decoy was dangerous, since it could leave him open to counterattacks if it failed. So, he normally would never use such a tactic in a fight. However, berserkers were highly vulnerable to misdirection when in their rage state. Even something as simple as pulling their gaze to one side while you attack the other, was highly effective.
"Not bad, although I can see why you had so much trouble against my follower last time. Your style of fighting is too reliant on using both of your hands simultaneously. It makes you vulnerable should someone cripple one of them again." Talgratha commented from his left in an off-handed fashion. Her usual angry tone had softened somewhat, and she almost sounded happy.
[So she's only content on the battlefield? That's a disturbing trait to find in the leader of her people.]
She was standing with spear at the ready, but was curiously free of attackers. Judging from the pile of bodies around her, this was probably because she'd killed enough of the enemy to discourage them from coming after her. Morris found it a little disheartening that he hadn't accomplished the same.
He wanted to fire back with a snappy comeback, but honestly, he didn't have the energy, and instead merely grunted to acknowledge her statement.
The half-orc surveyed the battlefield before turning back towards him. "It looks like your men have yet to arrive. How much longer will it be?"
[As if I'd know. I've been a little too busy fighting for my life, if you hadn't noticed.] He thought to himself, before forming a more diplomatic reply. "They should be here soon. We just have to wait for them to sound their horn-"
A wave of noise crashed over the battle, as nearly a dozen war horns sounded almost simultaneously. They were accompanied by a low rumble resembling the distant crash of thunder, but continuous and growing louder. Morris felt the hairs raise up on the back of his neck as he realized that his reinforcements had finally arrived.
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The orcs of the Ash Mountains had a reputation for viciousness and brutality which stemmed from a long history of raids launched against the humans of the central continent. Several times every year small bands of warriors would descend on the plains, looking for loot and slaves. While they had mixed success, these raids nevertheless had a great importance on the makeup of orc society. It was during the raids, that young orcs could make a name for themselves and prove their courage to the tribe. Where established warriors would seek the wealth necessary to pursue their chosen spouses. And where chiefs would demonstrate their skill and worthiness for leadership.
Indeed, so central was the concept of raiding to their culture, that most orcs of the Ash Mountain could only conceive of combat in terms of raiding warbands. A fact which made it difficult for powerful orc leaders to form a stable army that could act in a cohesive manner. The few historical examples of such a thing, when a charismatic chieftain united enough of the disparate tribes to create a force capable of threatening the human nations, usually ended in a crushing defeat on the field of battle.
For all their ferocity and individual combat prowess, the orcs lacked a tradition of military discipline and large unit tactics, and that would prove to be their downfall. Without the unity of purpose such discipline provides, it was incredibly difficult for a lightly armored force composed entirely of infantry to withstand a massed cavalry charge.
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The Almiran cavalry hit the enemy orcs with a terrifying crash, the shock of which was felt throughout the battlefield. Morris could actually see a wave of motion pass through the massed troops in front of him as the unstoppable onslaught shattered any hint of a formation the enemy might of held. Faced with the devastating charge, it didn't take long for the first orcs to start running.
In a matter of minutes, the enemies were swept away by a tide of Almiran horsemen. General Holmes, likely understanding the situation with a glance, apparently separated his troops into two wedges, which he then directed in curving paths around the surrounded Ashborn, neatly scything away the rest of the orcs and scattering them out into the plain.
[I'd forgotten how overwhelming those can be when your right in the middle of them.] Morris thought as he watched the carnage while feeling a little queasy. Even though he knew it was necessary, it was hard for him to feel comfortable with that amount of death.
"I think I'll avoid fighting you humans on the open plain in the future." Talgratha commented mildly as she moved over to stand next to him. While she was still as calm as before, he thought her voice sounded a little subdued. Not that he could blame her, considering the circumstances.
"Hopefully, there won't be any fighting between us in the future." He replied absently, before shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts. "Anyway, General Holmes should be chasing down the scattered remnants of the enemy army, we should take this opportunity to move your troops to a safer location and let them rest."
Talgratha glanced at him and laughed. "And let you Almirans take all the spoils? I think not. If it hadn't been for us..."
She trailed off while staring up at something behind him.
"What? What is..." Morris started to say while turning, but stopped when he caught sight of the creature hovering in the air over the battlefield. "Is...is that a drag-"
A thunderous roar split the sky with its fury, causing the air to tremble and buzz with its ferocity. The whole world seemed to vibrate, and even covering his ears did little to lessen the sheer magnitude of the creature's voice.
The sound went on for several seconds before gradually trailing off. In its place only silence followed, as every living thing on the plain, even the Almirans' horses, stood stock still, too terrified to even move.
It was at this time that Morris, who for some reason felt no danger from the crimson dragon, noticed a barely perceptible figure on the creature's back. One that seemed to be sitting on its back.
[This must be the Dragonknight that was mentioned in the reports from Almirn. I can see why he made such an impact on the defense of the city.]
The figure straightened, and a youthful, male, and magically augmented voice rolled out across the battlefield. "Cease this conflict at once! You are playing into the hands of the real enemy."
Their was a pause as the speaker jerked suddenly. Morris thought he saw another humanoid figure pulling on the first, as if to stop him from speaking.
After a few moments, the Dragonknight continued. "I will be descending soon. Bring me the leaders of your respective armies so that I can explain the situation."
With that, the dragon began a slow descent, giving the soldiers and orcs underneath it sufficient time to get out of the way. Whatever effect that had locked them into place had evidently faded, as that entire region of the battlefield quickly descended into chaos with troops from both sides fleeing in every direction.
Morris straightened and glanced over at Talgratha. "Come on, let's go meet him."
She stared at him like he was crazy. "Do you really want to get closer to that beast? What if it decides to turn on us?"
"Its rider won't let that happen." He replied with a smile. "At least, I think so. I'm assuming he hasn't changed too much since the last time I saw him."
"What? You know the master of that monster?"
Morris laughed. "Of course, don't you recognize the voice? You know him too. Now, come on."