Richard Knaak: The Black Talon

All through his army, trumpeters raised great curled goat horns, blaring out harsh notes. From the opposing side came similar calls. Drummers in both forces began beating louder, faster, stirring up the warriors. Mastarks took up the calls, their own roars echoing like thunder. Meredrakes struggled to plunge forward.

Then the Grand Lord Golgren raised his lone hand, bringing it down in a swift chopping motion.

With a unified roar, the armored ogres stepped forward-

And almost immediately ground to a halt.

It was clearly an incredible effort to restrain themselves like that, but they knew full well the punishment for failure. Meredrakes had to be quelled, and at least one mastark broke through the front, running several yards before its handler could calm it.

But the horde facing them from across a small distance did not notice those small disorders … for the moment that the grand lord had given his signal, even before his army had begun to advance, they, in turn, charged forward at their enemies.

Horns belatedly cheered their charge, with the three chieftains no longer able to hold their warriors back. With animal howls, the ogres from the southwest tore across the landscape. Behind them rushed bellowing mastarks and meredrakes eager for the kill. The sound of the horde’s approach filled the ears of their waiting adversaries.

Golgren-sitting astride his horse, watching patiently, almost peacefully-gestured … and the sky filled with thunder and black lightning. His own followers gave a start at his sudden demonstration of magic, his command of the elements, even though they had been reassured that it would not be directed against them. The wicked, unnatural streaks shot down among the onrushing warriors, churning up ground and slaughtering scores. Some of those just beyond the reach of the terrible lightning strikes faltered, but the rest continued on, for it had to be a momentary quirk of nature. Their enemy’s master surely could not call down the sky upon them …

The hint of a smile momentarily crossed the grand lord’s face. He made another cutting gesture.

The lightning storm paused; then the very land beneath the horde’s feet ripped open.

An entire advancing row of the ogre horde tumbled into a rapidly widening crevasse stretching across the plain. Behind it, the ground ruptured in a hundred places. Warriors sank out of sight. Others were tossed high into the air.

Several mastarks, frightened by the unnatural events, balked at the orders of their riders. Some tried to turn around. They wheeled and stumbled among those they served, trampling many ogres who could not get out of their way in time. One beast lowered his tusks as he sought escape from the terror, using them to barrel through the small figures in front of him.

And as the huge beasts ran amok in the horde, many of the handlers lost their grips on the meredrakes’ leashes. Already driven mad by the destruction and scent of blood, the reptiles eagerly snapped at anything and anyone in reach. Two of the larger creatures brought down one screaming ogre, ripping apart his chest. Another swiped a warrior across the back, tearing away flesh and part of his spine. One meredrake, its senses overwhelmed, bit into the heavy, cylindrical leg of a mastark. The tusked mammal reared up-shaking its foolhardy attacker off-then stomped the lizard to a pulp.

“Hasala … ” Golgren repeated. “Now it is time … ” he added to himself in the Common tongue.

Three more bolts battered the quaking ground not far in front of his warriors, yet neither the lightning nor the tremors touched the grand lord and his followers. Golgren nodded with satisfaction. The sorcerers had obeyed the letter of his commands … so far.

He looked to the nearest trumpeter, who immediately blew another harsh note.

No more lightning fell. The monstrous quake stilled instantly.

Golgren pointed at the enemy, milling about in utter disarray, its beasts stampeding, some of the soldiers attacking each other.

His followers threw themselves forward. Even as the first ranks moved in formation, a row of archers in the rear opened fire. Ogres were not known for their proficiency with the bow, but they sent a hail of arrows that flew above their comrades and landed expertly among their targets. Screams rose anew and many of the enemy-some struck several times-dropped dead.

The archers repeated their effort, adding to the grisly pile of corpses already littering the ruined landscape. They began aiming at specific targets, such as the mastark riders and their guards. The archers were more cautious now; the Grand Lord Golgren wanted none of his own warriors to be slain from behind.

At last, the armored ogres reached the motley enemy horde, tearing into them with fierce, monstrous howls. Heavy clubs shattered skulls with single blows. Keen-edged swords cut through thick, furred hides. Spears lifted impaled bodies into the air.

Ogre fought against ogre, and no ogre fought with as much fury and pleasure as the Grand Lord Golgren. Despite his slighter stature, despite lacking one hand, he had ridden at the head of his army, and although the first kill was not his, he was not far behind. With the reins still bound to his maimed limb, Golgren urged his horse deeper into the melee. His sword flashed left and right, cutting through the throat of one foe and leaving a ribbon of blood across the chest of another.

His face was frightening to behold; all vestiges of his possible elfblood gave way to something that, in its uniqueness, was even more terrible than the sight of an ogre. His emerald eyes gleamed brighter with each death. Golgren, baring his teeth, was a predator stirred by blood.

Senior warriors in the rear of the horde tried to beat those ahead of them into some semblance of order. The chieftains pushed their three bands into the fray. Although many of the mastarks had fled, a few still remained under control, and they were hurried to the center of the struggle, where the grand lord’s adversaries would make their stand.

But Golgren’s own great beasts, numbering twice that of the other side by that time, maneuvered toward the remaining creatures controlled by the enemy. Trumpeting roars accompanied the booming crash of giant bodies. Whipped on by their handlers, the mastarks grappled with one another using their tusks.

The grand lord, intent upon a shaggy warrior coming up on his right, suddenly found his horse twisting violently. With a helpless shriek, the animal fell, his rider barely managing to throw himself to the side before the bulky equine crashed to the ground.

Scrambling for his sword, Golgren saw out of the corner of his eye that two meredrakes had swarmed his mount. The animal was still struggling, but one of the huge lizards already had a mouthful of flesh and intestines, while the second struggled to remove a back leg.

The warrior attacking the Grand Lord from the right swung at him with a large club. Golgren stumbled back. The club raised a cloud of dirt as it struck the parched soil.

Before his foe could raise his weapon again, Golgren put a foot on the head of the club and used it to propel himself upward. As the other ogre gaped, the grand lord leaped up and slashed with his metallic talons at the enemy’s flat face.

Blood splattered Golgren’s immaculate breastplate. His adversary screamed. Dropping his club, the larger ogre clutched at his ruined face, which included one eye completely torn out.

Seizing his sword, Golgren ran the warrior through.

One of the meredrakes sensed the fresh bloodletting. It shoved past the still-shaking corpse of the horse to investigate. Unfortunately, that put Golgren in its path.

Brandishing his weapon, the ogre hissed at the huge lizard. Massive tail sweeping back and forth, the meredrake hissed in return. Blade before him, the grand lord took a confident step toward the beast, hissing again. At the same time, he weaved first left, then right, then left again.