Ogre, Just You Wait! (2)
Upon arriving at Wolf Tail Hill, Roy and his party moved with brisk purpose.
Sleeping inside the forest beyond the hill was out of the question because of the monsters. The only place near enough that allowed for a safe camp was the crest of this very hill.
The mercenaries already dug in here came forward first to pay their respects at the appearance of their lord. A situation report followed immediately. That duty, of course, fell to Branch Leader Padec.
"…and that is the situation. The ogre has not shown itself in this vicinity since then. It does not yet seem inclined to climb up onto the hill."
"What about the orcs?"
"Small groups have been making their way toward the hill now and then. Whether they have simply begun their usual seasonal movements or are fleeing the ogre, I cannot say for certain. The ones carrying worked weapons, however, looked as though they belonged to a larger force."
While delivering the report, Padec kept stealing glances in their direction. Of course he was distracted. A handful of children no older than seven or eight had just walked into the middle of a battlefield. And that was not even the whole of it. Geren—the man known to him as the maker of the enchanted weapons—had arrived in person. Padec burned to rush over and strike up a conversation on the spot. But he stood before the lord of the territory; for now he could show nothing of it.
"We came with the purpose of hunting the ogre," the Baron said, "but we have no intention of simply killing it and vanishing. Having left our posts, we mean to overturn the entire situation before we return. It has weighed on me that we could not reinforce you sooner."
"We are grateful for your concern, my lord. The weapons we received this time are more precious than any number of additional troops."
"You should thank Geren for that, not me. Geren—come over a moment and exchange greetings."
The Baron deliberately introduced the two men so that everyone would understand it was Geren who had enchanted the weapons. Word of the enchanted arms would soon spread not only through Greenhilt territory but to other domains as well, and the Sword Mercenary Group was the likeliest party to carry that rumor farthest and fastest. They were already putting the weapons to the most active use, and they maintained solid lines of contact with every other branch of the company across the various territories. To a mercenary, few things mattered more than information that made money—or information that kept him alive. So the Baron wanted to impress upon Padec, the branch leader, that Geren was the craftsman behind the blades.
"So it really was you who made the weapons…"
"Ahem."
"Ah—forgive me."
From Padec’s point of view there was nothing to dislike. He had wanted to deepen his acquaintance with Geren, and this chance was more than welcome. The only one who truly resented the situation was Geren himself.
Damn it all. Why do I have to put up with this nonsense?
He could not show a scrap of it on his face, and the strain was killing him. Worse still, the real business had not even properly begun. Enchanted weapons were no ordinary merchandise. Put only a few on display in a weapon shop and they would sell out in a heartbeat. The enterprise would flourish, and then he would be dragged here and there exactly as he was now, forced into awkward greetings with strangers he had never met. The shape of his future was already becoming clear, and he wanted nothing more than to run for the hills.
"Hwaaaaaah…"
Meanwhile Roy watched the whole performance and let out a long, luxurious yawn. The change of bed had kept him from sleeping properly, and ever since they left the city the roads had grown so rough he never wanted to sit in a carriage again. His hips and back felt as though they might shatter. Riding a horse was no better. No one was about to let a seven-year-old ride alone, so he had spent the journey perched in front of someone else. Whether the man behind him was Geren or the Baron, the constant breath against his hair and the rock-hard saddle that threatened to crush his tender parts made for pure misery. And a boy’s inner thighs were far too soft for long hours in the saddle.
If I had known it would be like this, I never would have come.
That night the boy had secretly cast holy magic on his own groin and wept.
While the adults busied themselves raising tents, Roy could no longer fight his exhaustion. He stretched out in a corner of a newly erected tent, meaning only to take a short nap. When he finally woke from a deep sleep, it was already the next day.
What, they couldn’t even wake me for dinner?
He felt as though he had slept far better here than in any inn or village headman’s house along the road. Yet the surroundings were somehow unfamiliar.
Did they move me somewhere else while I slept?
Unlike when he had first lain down, Aena and Anna were now sleeping right beside him. Light filtered through the seams of the tent cloth, so the sun had risen, but it was still early morning. Sounds from outside suggested breakfast was being prepared. He stepped out into the open and saw people moving about with busy energy. A few of the wolves came forward first to greet him; he returned their attention in a casual way, then walked straight to a vantage point that overlooked the Wolf Forest.
Wolves here, wolves there—confusing as hell.
Below him the forest stretched without end. How many monsters lived inside it? Roy’s mouth watered. To the boy they were not monsters at all, but raw materials for enchantment. The stronger the creature, the finer the materials that could be harvested after the hunt. Of everyone encamped on that hill, only Roy looked at terrifying monsters in quite that light.
Right on cue his stomach gave a loud, demanding gurgle. Skipping a meal at his age was simply unacceptable for a noble.
Right. First eat, then watch how they hunt for a while.
If he was going to carry out the plan he had in mind, he needed to grasp the situation for himself. Reading a report was one thing, overhearing it another, and seeing it with his own eyes something else entirely.
As if on a schedule, the moment they finished eating a clamor of metal rang out. Someone was hammering a steel pot—the signal for an emergency.
"About twenty orcs have appeared at the foot of the hill. They look ready to climb. Two giants among them as well."
The man who brought the news was a hunter who had spent months on this hill alongside the mercenaries. The Baron asked,
"Larger than usual?"
"No, my lord. Since the ogre appeared, something of this size happens almost every day."
"Then we can leave it to the mercenaries?"
"Yes. I simply thought you should know."
"Thank you. We’ll watch from the rear and see how the mercenaries handle the orcs. Tell Padec as much."
"Understood."
They claimed they would only watch, yet tension was plain on every face. Weapons and armor were being readied at once, as if against the chance that something might go wrong. In truth the preparations had been nearly finished even before the hunter arrived. The only ones who failed to keep pace with the flow were Roy and Anna.
"Geren, Aena—look after the children."
"I want to watch too."
"I am not forbidding you to watch. The top of this hill is relatively safe. But you are not to leave Aena’s and Geren’s sides for even a moment."
"Yes, Father."
The Baron knew Roy’s true ability, yet he was not about to treat the boy as an adult on the spot. Anna, of course, went without saying. The two of them were precious charges to be protected at all costs; they did not figure in the Baron’s calculation of fighting strength. Only a madman would have included them. Roy understood that perfectly well. Simply bringing him this far had already been a considerable risk. Knowing it, however, did not mean he intended to do nothing.
Watching once will be enough.
Dressing without a maid felt like something he had not done in a very long time. He had heard that nobles usually took their attendants even to war, yet the Greenhilt household seemed to do otherwise.
Maybe because the trip is short? I should have brought Marek at least. Or Misha…
Marek had been left behind because of the business preparations.
"Arms up."
Only after Aena had helped him into armor and helmet was Roy finally free to go watch the battle. The clash of weapons already rang loudly outside; he fretted at the delay, but there was nothing to be done.
"Ohh…"
The reason this place was called Wolf Tail Hill was plain enough: it sat hard against the Wolf Forest. Too low to be called a mountain, yet still a considerable rise. Sheer cliffs and towering peaks flanked both sides, so that without crossing this hill there was no passage between the Wolf Forest and the wheat fields and villages on the far side.
"Those are the orc giants."
Orcs the size of two-meter brutes and orc giants that looked three or even four meters tall climbed the slope, breathing hard. The mercenaries waiting above neither cast magic nor loosed arrows; they simply stood and waited.
"What are they doing? Why aren’t they moving?"
"There must be a reason. Let’s just watch."
The Soaring Wolves, observing from the crest, assumed that men who had held this hill for more than a year must have some purpose in their choice. They watched with interest. In truth there was no deep strategy. Arrows were precious, and they had no mage powerful enough to drop an orc in a single strike. One more reason, if any were needed: they wanted the carcasses easy to butcher and carry.
"Now! Loose!"
Besides the flat summit where the tents stood, the hill offered several other level shelves. The mercenaries had scattered across them in groups of five or six and waited. The moment the orcs drew near, the first arrows flew. Their purpose seemed to be to split and lure the enemy.
"Giants coming up behind—watch yourselves!"
The dull-witted orcs divided along the three paths of the arrows and charged three separate clusters of mercenaries. Then an astonishing spectacle unfolded.
One clean cut.
A single swing of a mercenary’s sword sheared off arms, legs, necks, even whole torsos of the orcs as neatly as if they had been sliced by a razor. Even against goblin runts, hunting should never have been this easy.
Watching, the Soaring Wolves realized the true reason had nothing to do with clever tactics.
Those weapons!
It was precisely those weapons that had turned the entire war against the orcs one hundred and eighty degrees.
