Lost in Glory

The village of Blue was in turmoil. Peasants were running one way or the other, carrying things, dropping things, picking them up again, loading things onto donkeys, unloading things from donkeys, chasing the donkeys and swearing, chasing the sheep and swearing, chasing each other and swearing, or just swearing without doing anything in particular. It wasn't all that surprising that nobody paid any attention to Arthaxiom and his companions. Even if they arrived on deerback.

"Ho there, good man!" the paladin addressed the nearest peasant, who was attaching a table to a goat. "What is going on?"

"We're running away!" the peasant responded.

"Why?"

"Orcs are coming!"

"When? Where? How many?"

"Now, duh! They'll be here any day! They're coming from..." The peasant wasn't good with directions. He decide to get help. "Oi! Dag! Where da orcs come from?"

"Dataways!" Dag pointed with his hand.

"Aight! Dataways!"

"And how many?"

"Dunno. Oodles."

"Bajillion!" Dag helped.

"Weasely ermining lot!" an old peasant swore.

"So we run away."

"We'll never get save all our stuff!" the peasant complained. "Can't get this stupid goat to carry anything!" The goat didn't appreciate being called stupid and was rather annoyed with the attempts to attach a table to its back. It bit the peasant and started running away. The table fell down, but it was still attached to the goat by a length of rope, so it ended up being dragged after it. The peasant swore and ran after the animal.

"We'll never make it in time," the old peasant said gloomily. "And even if we do, they'll catch up with us."

"Maybe they'll go after some other village?" another peasant suggested.

"There's enough of them to go after all the villages around!"

"Maybe the Imperial Army will get here in time?"

"Maybe. Even if they do, can they beat oodles of orcs?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. That's a lot of oodles there, or so they say."

An invading army of orcs. The paladin saw it clearly. That was why the Oracle told him to go to this village. He had to stop this invasion! But how? He was just one, against oodles and oodles of orcs! Well, not one, there was also the dwarf. And the princess too. But that was not enough. He needed an army! And what he had were some deer and a lot of peasants... Peasants!

"No need to flee! We can fight them off!"

The peasants didn't seem to keen on that.

"You want us to get killed?" one asked.

"You are out of your mind!" another shouted.

"There's not enough of us!" yet another one complained.

"There are other villages! We can get people from there too!"

"Still, we'd need a miracle."

Alexander decided to help the paladin. "Hey, we're riding deer! Isn't it a miracle?"

The peasants were unconvinced. They whispered between themselves. "If these were talking deer..." one of them said, and the rest made some approving noises.

"Sup," the Deer Lord said, emerging from the nearby bushes. That aroused the peasants quite a bit.

"A talking deer!"

"He wants soup!"

"Bring out the soup!"

They scattered in search for soup.

"Hi there," Alexander said. "How did you know you were needed?"

"And why did you ask for soup?" Gaduria asked.

"I'm here because the Oracle sent me a cryptic message," Deer Lord replied.

"Oh, how quaint," Alexander said. "What was the message?"

"It was 'you'd better be in the village of Blue when that armoured dumbass gets there or I'll be very cross with you.'"

"Oooh, cryptic and threatening!"

"It was indeed. The word 'very' was written in italics. And the message was attached to a rock which hit me on the head." Deer Lord bowed a bit, displaying a bump on his head. "I hate the squirrel mail."

"I don't get it," Gaduria said. "What exactly is cryptic about this message?"

"I couldn't figure out who did she mean by 'armoured dumbass'."

"You're not very smart, are you?"

"Hey, I'm a deer. It's a miracle I even talk. And by the way, about the soup... Isn't that a traditional greeting of lower class humans?"

"No."

"Oh well. Still, can't say no to free soup," Deer Lord said, as two women with a steaming bowl approached him.

"Here's your soup, talking deer." They put the bowl in front of him.

"Thank you." Deer Lord tasted his meal. "That's quite good. What kind of soup this is?"

"It's a goat soup," the peasant woman replied.

"Yes, from that goat over there," the other woman added and pointed at a grazing goat with a chair tied to its back.

"Excuse me, but if you made soup from it, shouldn't it be dead?" Gaduria pointed out.

"If we killed a goat every time we wanted soup, we would run out of goats rather quickly, don't you think?"

"But if we put the goat in just for a little bit, it lasts for long."

"Oh. How silly of me. Enjoy your hot water with whatever was on the goat," Gaduria told Deer Lord.

"Thank you," Deer Lord replied. He didn't seem to mind and continued eating.

-I-I-I-I-

Vannard ran as fast as he could. Corridor, door, chamber, door, another chamber, a servant, a dagger in his throat, another corridor... He knew time was short. He had to get in position before the end of the duel. If he didn't, well, he would have to face the Archmage in fair combat, which seemed like a bad idea. Or he would have to face gloating Sally. He didn't come all the way up there and not be the one to kill the Archmage.

He made it just in time. Just in time to see Saalteinamariva fly backwards and upside-down through several walls. He had never seen anything like that. He might have disliked her, but he knew how strong her magic was. Seeing her being handled like that said something about the Archmage's power. One might have considered a tactical retreat. Vannard didn't. He threw two daggers in full run and charged at the Archmage.

Despite having his back turned to the assassin, and despite Vannard not making a slightest noise, the Archmage wasn't taken by surprise. The daggers simply stopped in mid-air. The Archmage threw a ball of fire over his shoulder. Vannard barely managed to stop in time and dodge it.

"You really expected this to work?" the Archmage asked mockingly.

"Couldn't hurt," Vannard replied.

"Oh yes, it could. And it will, I can promise you that." The Archmage turned around and advanced slowly. He had all the time in the world. The assassin didn't and they both knew it. No sort of door can stop a bunch of wizards for long. Not that the Archmage expected needing their help.

Vannard drew his sword and waited.

"Not running away, eh? How brave of you," the Archmage mocked him. "So, how do you wish to die? Ice? Fire? Lightning perhaps?"

"Lightning, please."

A bolt of lightning left the Archmage's hand just to be reflected back at him by the assassin's sword. The Archmage absorbed the lightning back into his palm. "Impressive. An interesting sword, but it won't save you." He raised his hand. Vannard prepared to deflect whatever might come his way, but nothing did. Instead, an invisible force hit his sword and made him fly backwards. He hit the wall with a grunt.

"A really remarkable toy you have there. It will be a fine addition to my collection. Without it, you would be quite dead, and in several pieces possibly. Still, there will be plenty time for that."

"True, no need to hurry. Why don't you take a nap, hug that cute little llama over there and dream about rainbows?"

"Oh how funny you are." Another invisible missile was aimed at the assassin. He had to guess where exactly it was going to strike by observing the Archmage's hands. This time he managed to dodge. He dropped to the floor and rolled away from the corridor entrance, out of sight of his opponent. He ducked behind a table and waited.

As soon as the Archmage emerged from the corridor, Vannard quickly got up and kicked the table at him, immediately following with two knives. The Archmage just laughed. The assassin barely managed to escape his own projectiles going the other way. The table crashed against the wall, demolishing a picture of a pink flamingo with a rainbow beak.

"You can't do this forever, you know," the Archmage said as Vannard somersaulted above yet another magical attack. The wall gained yet another hole, this time in the rearside of a dancing capricorn.

"I'm doing this just to ruin your place a bit," Vannard replied and ducked under another blast. He ceased trying to attack back, it was pointless. Yet he still hoped that his opponent would make some sort of a mistake. After all, everyone can be killed. It was one of Vannard's core beliefs. Then he heard people running and shouting. The wizards got through the door. Time to get out. He got up and raced into a corridor. The Archmage tried to blast him, but the assassin anticipated that and caught the beam on the sword he held behind his back. That propelled him forward, away from danger and a bit into a wall.

"Don't let him get away!" the Archmage shouted when other mages came in running. The first one to follow the assassin ended up with a dagger in his face.

"Watch out for his knives!" the Archmage warned. Another wizard fired a lightning bolt, which was promptly returned, frying the shooter. And one of his colleagues too. "Use force beams only!" The Archmage sighed. Amateurs. At least this pesky assassin would be help with natural selection. Many wizards were way too incompetent for the Archmage's taste.

Vannard ran without any idea where he was going. He always chose the path of least wizards. They were slower than him, but there was just too many of them. They also learned on their colleagues' mistakes: they shielded themselves and used those damned invisible force beams. He couldn't reflect them back. He had a hard time dodging them. Fortunately, these were much weaker than those that the Archmage had used. Still, being repeatedly thrown against the walls was unpleasant to say the least.

The assassin reached a chamber with a large window. It was the first window he had seen in the tower. He had just a moment to consider options it gave him. With the mages coming in from every direction, he decided to use it. He broke the glass with his sword and climbed on the windowsill. He looked down. It was a long, long way to the bottom. He'd never make it.

He thrust his sword into the stone above the window and pulled himself up. It was all he needed to get on the roof. It was steep and conical, with a heptagon on a stick at the very top. He briefly considered going back into the Tower, but it was hopeless. He already heard screams from below indicating that they knew he was on the roof. If there were any other windows, they would be guarded now. And even if he managed to get back inside, it would hardly improve his situation. He pulled out his sword and climbed up.

He reached the heptagon and held himself against it. He was on top of the world, this time for real. The Imperial Castle was way way below and looked ridiculously small from here. He briefly considered jumping down, but from this height he had no chance to aim for anything to cushion his fall. And even if he did, not even a nice fat merchant would be enough. Maybe if he fell on Duke Thinoak...

He noticed a head peeking over the edge. He threw a knife. The head wasn't there anymore and he heard a long scream, growing more and more distant. Yet another silly mage who didn't realise that seeing the assassin also meant that the assassin saw him too, and that the assassin could hit with a dagger pretty much everything in his sight. Too bad there were still lots to go.

Vannard didn't delude himself. Not every mage would be that stupid. Eventually, they would get to him. He didn't waste time wondering how. He would know soon enough and deal with it. Or not. Since he had a moment, he moved a few of his daggers from hard to reach pockets to more handy ones that were already emptied. Even with his talent to store knives on his person, his supply was starting to run dangerously low.

He didn't wait long. A mage was levitating up to him. He threw a knife at him, but it didn't do any good. He didn't expect it to, really. He drew his sword.

"Oh please," the mage said. "I understand persistence, but you're pushing it."

"Nobody ever won by giving up," Vannard said with a smile.

"True. You and your friend did a lot of damage, I give you that."

"She was not a friend. But she was good at putting things on fire."

"Details. Anyway, I'll let you know that I am Termisteriusus, the Second Mage. It is an informal title, but it means that I am second in power to the Archmage only. I am telling you that so that you realise that you have no chance with me. Whatever tricks you may have left simply won't work. Surrender."

"Surrender and what then?"

"I don't know. The Archmage will decide. But if you don't, you'll die here."

Vannard considered this. "Yes. Fair enough." He sheathed his sword.

"I'd really prefer if you put it down instead. And your knives too. I can sense them, you know. You have quite a number of them on you, I must say."

"Why thank you." Vannard crouched, pulled out two daggers, put them down and let them slide down, where they stopped on the edge of the roof. And another two. And two more. And then he himself started to slide down on the soles of his boots, while holding two more knives.

"What are...?" Termisteriusus asked, but he received an answer long before he finished the question. The assassin used every bit of momentum he had and launched himself from the roof, towards the mage.

He barely made it. His outstretched, knife-holding hand just barely managed to break through the distracted wizard's magic shield and stab him in the leg. Vannard tried to hang on to him. Not that it made any difference, because the wounded mage lost his concentration and now they were both falling down.

"Fly!" he shouted at the wizard. "Fly, you fool!"

The mage was waving his hands and screaming something incoherent. Vannard had no idea if he was trying to cast some spell, or if he was simply screaming because he was falling to his death. He fervently hoped it was the first option. It was indeed, but it wasn't exactly the spell he had imagined. Below them a dark red, swirling vortex had appeared. Some sort of a portal, probably. Not too inviting, but better than cold, hard ground. Not that they had anything to say in that matter.

-I-I-I-I-

The cavalry barely made it in time to witness the meeting of Arthaxiom's deersant army and the horde of orcs. The rest of Roseduck's army was proceeding on foot as fast as possible, but there was no way they could reach the battlefield soon enough.

The forces were placed behind a conveniently placed hill, so that they wouldn't be spotted. Fortunately, the other two armies weren't scouting. As far as the peasants were concerned, scouts were silly people asking silly questions. As far as the orcs were concerned, scouts were snacks.

The General wanted to see what was happening with his own eyes, so he positioned himself in a handy bunch of bushes overlooking the soon-to-be battlefield. It wasn't the best hideout ever, but with the two armies interested mainly in each other he decided it would be good enough. Along with him he took his only mage, who had a few spells handy for the occasion. A few messengers were waiting below, in case he needed to give orders to the troops quickly. The Marquis and the Baron came along too. Roseduck would have preferred to get rid of them, but they were High Lords, so he couldn't just order them to go away. At least he was able to leave his officers behind. Useless bunch, good only for relaying orders.

They saw the two armies. The orcs were numerous. Very numerous. They came in a variety of shapes and sizes, with ugliness being the common theme. Other themes were claws, fangs and drooling. Roseduck estimated twenty thousand of them, give or take a few thousands. The exact number didn't matter really, as they outnumbered the other army about ten to one. Would be five to one if Roseduck's cavalry was included. The orcs were armed with all sorts of weapons, from decent, steel stuff to crude wooden clubs and stone axes. Basically, whatever they had put their claws on. Same with armour: from good, blacksmith-made stuff, most likely looted from someone, to self-made clothing produced from some unlucky animals.

The peasant army looked like, well, peasants. Peasants armed with various farming implements or old and rusty weapons they had dug up in their attics or cellars. They had next to none armour. Even if the two forces were equal in number, Roseduck knew he'd put his money on the orcs. Deer, on the other hand, were a mystery. Why were they there? He had no idea if they were any good in a fight. Even if they were, the General didn't think that they would help the peasants' cause much. There just wasn't enough of them.

The Hero was another matter. No mistaking him. Tall, powerful figure in shining full plate armour, holding a gleaming silvery sword and a golden shield. Just one man, but his sheer presence could cause things to unfold in unexpected ways. Roseduck learned that from fairy tales. He was anxious to see if it would happen in the real world too.

The Hero stepped in front of his army and started walking towards the enemy. Behind him there was a much shorter person carrying a white flag. Parley? Is he crazy? Roseduck chided himself in his mind. Of course he is crazy. He's a Hero. "Magnify this," he said to the mage.

The mage murmured a spell and before the General appeared a magnification of the scene. It was a bit hazy, but clear enough to see what was happening. Still, he couldn't quite make out what kind of creature the other fellow was. It could be a very short human, but he doubted it. He decided to make some use of his companions.

"Do you know what is he?" he pointed at the flag bearer. The mage and Marquis just shook their heads.

"Some sort of a... gnome?" the Baron suggested.

"What sort of a gnome?" the General inquired.

The Baron shrugged. "A flag-bearing gnome, obviously."

Roseduck groaned. He didn't know what he had expected from Oxrabbit. The Baron was predictably unhelpful. He went back to observing Arthaxiom.

The orcs saw the two approaching. It was evident because of all the pointing and laughing and jeering. A group of twenty orcs rushed to meet them, and their hostile intent was rather obvious. The rest cheered them on. Roseduck wondered why only twenty. Well, it made a bit of sense, because it should be more than enough. On the other hand, why not more?

The horde of orcs reached the paladin. One of them was ahead of the others. It got promptly beheaded and then the fun began. The General didn't know as much about small encounters as about large scale battles, but he knew that multiple weaker fighters could easily succeed against a single strong one if they swarmed him. Orcs surely knew that too, it wasn't exactly trebuchet science. Yet they didn't do that. They encircled Arthaxiom, but didn't rush all at once for some reason. Instead they approached in smaller groups. Some also tried to get him from the rear, but the assumed gnome proved to be a trident-wielding one too and guarded the paladin's back well.

The two armies were cheering their sides. Roseduck and Shaggysheep were watching intently, in silence. Oxrabbit also was watching, but silence wasn't much of his thing. Fortunately nobody could hear him above all the uproar.

"Shield! Shield! Now stab him! Your left! The other left! Watch out for the ugly one! The other ugly one!"

Soon the fight was over. All orcs but one were dead and the two fighters weren't even scratched. The last orc was defeated, but it didn't seem like the paladin was going to finish it.

"Can you get the voices?" the General asked. The mage could.

"Go tell your chieftain I want to parley!" the paladin was saying. The orc just grunted and nodded and quickly ran back to his ranks. Soon some other orcs went to meet with the paladin. These ones were larger and looked much more dangerous. Only when they met, Roseduck was able to see just how big they are. The largest one, apparently the leader, was over a head taller than the paladin, and wider too. Its companions weren't much smaller. The General was sure that they could simply wipe the Hero and his little friend off this plane of existence, but he wasn't at all surprised that they didn't.

"Want to surrender?" the orc leader asked.

"No. As per ancient custom, I challenge you to a duel!" This didn't need to come through the spell. The paladin said it so loudly that everyone could hear. The orcs were laughing like mad. The peasants were cheering. Roseduck was shocked. There was no way that the big orc would agree. No way. He had nothing to gain. Anyone with half a brain could see that.

"Good thinking, that man!" Baron Oxrabbit shouted enthusiastically.

-I-I-I-I-

"He did WHAT?" Gaduria asked. She knew very well what he just did, but she asked anyway. She was watching the scene from afar, accompanied by Deer Lord and a few deer. Deer Lord brought the army of deer in return for Arthaxiom's Heroic getting rid of Valkyrie Wolf, but he wasn't going to fight himself, on account of being 'too old'. Gaduria wasn't participating either, on account of her being a woman and a princess, or the other way around. The paladin decided that the battlefield was no place for her, and for once she agreed. The orcs reminded her too much of her brothers, cousins, and wannabe boyfriends.

"He has just challenged the orc leader to a duel," Deer Lord explained patiently. "It's an ancient custom for the commanders to duel before the battle commences."

"I never heard about such custom."

"That's how ancient it is."

"Oh. Anyway, that ugly doesn't need to agree, does it?"

"Well, given that it probably doesn't know that custom, and that there's no one to enforce it, no. But it will agree anyway."

Gaduria gave Deer Lord a look. One of those reserved for people claiming that pigs can fly, and also for those trying to prove such claims with a catapult. "Why would it? With an army that big?"

"Because nobody refuses a duel against a Hero!"

"Even when it doesn't make any sense?"

"Especially then!"

-I-I-I-I-

Amusement among the orc group died down. Apart from one orc, who just couldn't stop laughing.

"Shut up!" the leader roared and hit the laughing orc in the face. The hit launched it in the air. It flew a small distance before falling to the ground, barely conscious. The General cringed. That big orc sure packed a punch. He definitely wouldn't like to fight him.

"I accept your custom," the orc spoke again. "You accept mine. Fight two on two." The orcs burst into laughter once again, pointing at the Hero's companion. He in turn was looking scared and uncertain. Roseduck was a bit surprised and a bit impressed. Even though the duel looked hard to win, it still gave better chances than a battle. Not that a victory would necessarily prevent the battle. A pity there was only one Hero. Alone against two enormous orcs. Neither this gnome, nor any of the peasants seemed up to the task. Maybe a deer would be a bit better, but only a bit. Wouldn't stand long without armour. Roseduck briefly regretted Vannard wasn't here. He'd send him down there without hesitation. Unfortunately, he had no homicidal assassins on hand.

"Baron, what are his chances?" he asked. After all, the Baron was interested in that sort of thing. Stupid as he might be, in this particular case he could be considered an expert. Yet the Baron did not answer. "Baron?" The General noticed that Oxrabbit was no longer with them. He was so focused on watching the paladin that he missed him leaving.

Then he saw him. He was riding his horse. Towards the battlefield.

"What is he doing?"

"Volunteering, I think," the Marquis replied.

"Is he mad?"

"You mean you didn't notice that before?"

As the Baron approached the battlefield, they could hear his shouts. "PICK ME, PICK ME!"

The paladin turned towards the approaching figure. And then back towards the orcs. "We accept."

-I-I-I-I-

Otto the peasant was watching his pear tree. It was a good tree and he liked watching it. He did it for an hour every day. It was common knowledge that a pear tree grows better when it is being watched. Otto in his watching career had seen many different things. He saw birds sit on it, sing, and defecate. He saw squirrels climb it, chirp and fornicate. He saw a goat trying to eat its bark and he chased it away with a rake. On the other hand, he had never seen a star fly over it. Until now.

A flaming star fell from the sky and crashed with a bang just over the nearest hill. Otto didn't ponder on that long. He had heard many stories about legendary Heroes having swords made from starmetal. Metal from a star. Or basically from a rock that fell down from heavens. The stories weren't clear on details, but Otto didn't really need details. Something flaming that fell from the sky meant material for an awesome sword, and material for an awesome sword meant a lot of gold. As simple as that. He hurried to get his most prized possession: a donkey and a cart. He threw a shovel, a pitchfork and a length of rope onto the cart. He had no idea how big that thing would be, and he wanted to be prepared.

As he neared the place of the crash, he saw a hole in the ground and smoke coming out of it. He looked around. Nobody else was there. Good. He was first. Now to get the starmetal and get out. He approached the hole. What he saw there made him stop. There was a dead woman inside. She was wearing something red, or at least what was left of it. It was smouldering. She was smouldering, too, but miraculously she wasn't charred at all. In fact, the only reason for Otto to assume that she was dead was that she just couldn't have survived falling down from the sky. Only when she moved he realised he was wrong.

"What are you staring at?" she said, weakly, but somehow in a threatening manner. Or maybe it only seemed threatening, because she was still alive and speaking while she should have been stone dead. Or even falling star dead.

"Urm," he said.

She stood up with effort and staggered a bit. She looked around.

"Where I am?"

"Uh... in the Empire?"

"Good." She regarded Otto and his donkey cart. "Take me to the capital."

"But it's at least a week of travel!"

A week! Skunking Archmage exploded her quite a bit. Annoying. Very, very annoying. She didn't like being annoyed. The fact that the Archmage proved to be much more powerful than she annoyed her even more. She was going to fry that old goat. Somehow. As soon as she gets back.

"Take me there," she repeated, "or I will put you on fire."

That was a proposal Otto simply couldn't refuse. He didn't say even a word of complaint when she climbed out of her landing site and lied down on his cart.

"Move."

Otto reluctantly propelled the donkey forward. It wasn't how he had imagined this day at all. Instead of returning home with a precious chunk of starmetal he was going to the capital with some sort of insane, dropping from the sky, burning woman. Some sort of sorceress, most likely. He would like nothing more than to get rid of her. Somehow.

"Do wish to go to a healer? Or to get some clothes?"

The sorceress examined herself. She was in a lot pain. Especially her left leg, probably broken. A few ribs, too. Apart from that, she was pretty much unharmed. Her magical shield withstood the impact. Quite remarkable. Her dress was in a somewhat worse shape, with quite a lot of it rather charred, but nothing of strategic value was uncovered. It would do for now.

"No. Straight to the capital. Try anything and I'll put you on fire."

-I-I-I-I-

"Here we stand, mighty warriors, ready to fight for our cause! I am paladin Arthaxiom the Great..."

During the paladin's introduction the orc leader was picking its nose, and the other orc was yawning. Presumably. This, or it wanted to swallow its opponents. In either case, the orc leader didn't pass up the opportunity to flick whatever it dug out into its companion's open mouth. It didn't seem to mind. Also, both orcs didn't seem to care much about the Rainbow Sturgeon and the Joyous Beige Dragon.

"...Turquoise Spearman of Heavens, Sword of Justice in the Gloom of Uncertainty!"

"I am Baron Regedulf Solthyron Asrius Oxrabbit, High Lord of the Empire!" Compared to Arthaxiom's titles, this seemed a bit underwhelming. The Baron decided to improvise a bit. "Beater of Sheep, Defeater of Bulls, Dreaded Beaver Hunter, Amazing Armsman of Ancient Antioch, Fearsome Fist Fighting Foreign Foes!"

Arthaxiom nodded with approval. "What are your names, worthy opponents?" he asked the orcs. In response, the orc leader got a violent attack of coughing, and the other orc burped.

"I asked..."

"That our names. We fight or what?" The orcs weren't ones for lengthy introductions. They seemed only interested in fighting and killing.

"Yes!" Arthaxiom shouted enthusiastically. "Now we shall have a glorious battle as champions of our respective peoples! Or orcs, in your case! Battle between Arthaxiom and Regedulf on one side, and Aghaghagh and Braaagh on the other! A battle that generations of bards will compose songs about! A battle so epic in its grandeur that the whole world will hold its breath! It will be the battle to end all battles! The battle of... where are we, exactly?" The paladin looked around, but got no answer. Oxrabbit just shrugged, so did Aghaghagh. Braaagh threw up a bit in his mouth and spat it out on the chief's shield.

"Boring Plains!" one of the peasants called out.

"The Battle of Boring Plains!" Arthaxiom exclaimed.

"Yes!" the Baron chimed in. "Here we are, like... horses in the... horsery, you know, like badgers in the... badgerery, like newts in... in... in the pond! Yes! Newts in the pond, you know! And now we shall see who is the bigger newt, the meaner newt, the newt with most spots on the back, the newt..."

The orcs suffered through the introductions and through the paladin's speech, but that exhausted their patience. Enough was enough. They weren't willing to hear out Oxrabbit and learn what kind of newts they could be if they win. Braaagh swung its club at the Baron. The double-duel had begun.

-I-I-I-I-

Roseduck didn't have much time to come up with a plan. And he needed two plans. One for a victory in the duel, and one for a defeat. The plan for defeat was easier to come up with. It contained two words: run away. A third one could be added as well: fast. The deer would run away too, if they know what's good for them. What were they doing on the battlefield in the first place, he had no idea. The peasants would get slaughtered. Not much he could do about that.

Now, what to do in case of victory? The rest of the orcs might attack anyway. On the other hand, they might not. Should their leader die... Roseduck had no idea how orc leadership worked. Would they get disorganised? They already were disorganised quite a bit, but it didn't make them any less dangerous. Would they fight or would they flee? Hard to say. He knew that the only thing he could do is to try to provide them some incentive to run away. Something scary. Like, an overwhelming force, for example. The problem was that he didn't have one. His cavalry was not enough. Not even close. A messenger was dispatched to tell them to prepare for an attack anyway. Two thousand horsemen and one mage would have to do. Somehow.

-I-I-I-I-

Braaagh aimed a powerful blow at the Baron's head with its giant two-handed club and let out a roar to intimidate its opponent. This would have worked against a lesser man. This would have also worked against a smarter man. After all, the orc was big and strong and ugly. Scary. But Baron Oxrabbit wasn't one to be intimidated easily. He didn't even know the meaning of that word. He caught the blow on his shield. It made him stagger, but he paid no heed. He roared back. He wasn't going to get outroared!

Meanwhile Arthaxiom engaged in swordfight against Aghaghagh, the orc chieftain. This fight was more symmetrical, with each combatant carrying a sword and a shield. The orc had the advantage of size and reach, while the paladin had the advantage of being a Hero and having all his Heroic gear. The fight was even so far. They evenly failed to cause harm to each other.

The orcs, instead of using the opportunity to do some slaughtering, were cheering for their leaders. Probably. The dreadful sounds they were producing could have been a great many thing. An invitation to dinner, maybe, or a promise of a painful death. Or perhaps a poem about a picturesque waterfall, unlikely as it would seem.

The peasants, instead of using the opportunity to do some running away, were cheering for their champions. The cheering consisted of shouting various phrases that might or might not had anything to do with the ongoing battle. It didn't matter. The main goal was to be louder than the orcs. Unfortunately they weren't doing well. No amount of effort could overcome superior numbers and natural talent.

The deer, instead of using the opportunity to do just about anything else, were grazing peacefully.

Baron Oxrabbit wasn't one to stay on the defensive. After blocking a few blows with his shield he charged at his opponent. Poor Braaagh never before had an opportunity to fight defensively. Usually whatever it hit with its club fell down and didn't get up again. This one refused to. Even worse, this one pressed on the attack and the orc suddenly realised that parrying sword strikes with a giant piece of wood wasn't a good idea. To make it even worse, the Baron also bashed it with his shield. And screamed "BAD DONKEY!" right in its face. Braaagh gave ground quickly.

Arthaxiom didn't fare all that well. He and Aghaghagh were evenly matched. They circled around each other trading blows, but so far they didn't even manage to draw blood. The paladin occasionally tried to attack with a Heroic speech, but his opponent countered with bloodcurdling screams.

-I-I-I-I-

"Yo, Hraaagr, wai dey fite?" an orc asked another orc.

"They orcs, duh!"

"Aye. But we orcs too, no? Wai we dun fite?"

"We, like... like..." Hraaagr was actually uncertain why, but it felt some strange need to explain. "We, like, wait for... them to end fite?"

"Trufax. But wai?"

"They do duel!" another orc shouted. "Duduel!"

"Quaduel," an educated orc corrected. "Tis thra-dush-uh-nhaaaal!"

One of the orcs was still unconvinced. "Dunno but thradushunhaaaal quaduel. Let's slaughter us some peasant! Wat ye say?"

They said nothing. Instead they beat up the overzealous orc and went back to screaming at the quaduelists.

-I-I-I-I-

As the fight went on, the Baron's advantage was getting more and more visible. His opponent was already bleeding from quite a few wounds. Nothing critical so far, but definitely unpleasant. Especially that the orc was more used to being the one inflicting the wounds.

"I'll beat you like a green-furred alpaca! You will be eating berries from below!"

Braaagh couldn't help but wonder what did the human mean. What exactly was a "green-furred alpaca" and how is one beaten? Of course, it was the least of its worries at the moment, with the biggest one being dangerously close to getting killed. Thinking about Oxrabbit's random gibberish was probably an unfortunate side effect of having its face bashed repeatedly with a steel shield.

The other half of the duel wasn't going that well for the human side. Arthaxiom had hoped to fight a Heroic duel all his life, or at least since he had been hit on the head, but now that he was fighting one, he didn't really know what to do. He expected that they would dramatically exchange blows for some time and then the orc would falter and die, and maybe do a defeated villain's speech too. It would be quite fitting. Too bad the villain was an orc, and not a very articulate one at that. Unlikely to do a decent speech. Unless... he had one prepared. Every major villain should have a speech prepared in case of meeting demise by the hands of a Hero!

The paladin got so engrossed in wondering whether the orc would make a speech or not that he somewhat forgot that he still had to win the duel. He continued to fight, but in his mind he was already victorious. He didn't consider that Aghaghagh could actually hurt him. Or that he could stumble on something. Like, for example, a small rock that had just appeared out of nowhere.

Arthaxiom fell on his back. Both crowds held their collective breaths and for a few seconds only the deer chewing grass could be heard. Then the orcish war-cries redoubled. Aghaghagh wasn't one to pass such a chance. After all, all the Hero could do was trying to hide behind his shield.

The orc leader threw away its shield, held its sword in both hands and tried to overwhelm the paladin's defences. It could have gone for the legs, in which case Arthaxiom would be unable to do anything. Apart from screaming and bleeding profusely. Instead, for no good reason, Aghaghagh started hacking at the paladin's shield. With each hit the shield was lower and lower, but it wasn't the best approach. It gave the Hero a moment to do something. Giving a Hero a moment to do something is always a bad idea. Very often the last idea ever.

Arthaxiom looked towards the Baron. He was winning, but not quickly enough to help. The paladin was on his own. The situation was desperate. He did the only thing he could. He prayed. He prayed to Rainbow Sturgeon and to the Joyous Beige Dragon and even to the Mythical Archpegasus, but it was neither of those that answered his plead for help.

"Look how useless you are!" a voice boomed in his head. It was somewhat... fishy. And somewhat irritated. "You were given the shield, you were given the armour, and now you lie in the dirt like a worm! Shame!"

"Please help me in this hour of trial," the paladin whispered.

"More like the minute of fail!"

"I am sorry!"

"You should be, not that it changes anything. Do I really need to perform an inexplicable act of higher power to save your sorry butt?"

"I would appreciate it very much," the Hero replied as yet another strike hit his shield.

"You are a disappointment, but unfortunately it is necessary for you to survive. I, Flaming Fish of Fury, will show you how it's done!"

Meanwhile Aghaghagh was being the angry orc of fury and kept trying to break through Arthaxiom's defence. It didn't even notice that the eyes of the fish sigil started glowing. On the other hand, it most certainly noticed when flames erupted from the fishes' mouth and hit it straight in its face. The orc leader dropped its sword and covered its eyes. It was a bit too late for that. It stumbled around, shouting and screaming in pain. Arthaxiom quickly got up and put it out of its misery. The orcs fell silent, the peasants started cheering again.

The Baron saw the orc leader fall. He thought that it would be rude to keep the Hero waiting, so he redoubled his efforts. The giant orc simply couldn't keep up parrying the sword strikes, while being bashed with the shield at the same time, not to mention being compared to a giant mouldy peach. Finally it fumbled and got killed without any further drama. Nobody was paying attention to this sideshow anyway.

-I-I-I-I-

The fight was over, the human side stood victorious. The peasants cheered. And sounded their horns, because for some inexplicable reason at least one in ten peasants had a horn with him. They also had pieces of paper to throw, funny hats and drums. Only the raisins were missing. Arthaxiom had always wanted to have raisins thrown at him, but no luck yet again.

The orcish horde on the other hand was in shock. Their leader had fallen. A great big orc like that wasn't supposed to die. Not in a fight against some puny human. A great big orc was only supposed to be killed by an even greater and bigger orc in a dispute about the leadership. Or by some sort of freak accident caused by doing something stupid. Stupidity was a common cause of death among the orcs since, like, forever. It was as if evolution had given up on them.

Faced with an unusual situation, the orcs didn't know what to do. Basic instincts took over. Fight or flee. So they fought or fled. The smaller orcs tried to flee. The bigger ones wanted to fight. At this point they didn't really mind who they were fighting, orcs or humans. Deer were fine too.

-I-I-I-I-

The General was pleased so far. The Hero proved to be Heroic indeed, almost dying before his shield breathed fire at the very last second. Just like in fairy tales. Still, two dead orcs didn't change matters much. Even if these were the biggest two of the bunch.

The horde split up. Some of the orcs were running away from the battlefield. Some were running towards the peasant army. Some weren't running anywhere, instead they remained in place and attempted to beat the carp out of each other. It wasn't exactly like in fairy tales. They were all supposed to run away. Maybe they only needed some encouragement?

"Forward!" he shouted. "Do your magic," he told the mage.

-I-I-I-I-

Rhugh the orc was having a bad day. And it had started so well. There was some slaughtering to be done. Slaughtering at that point was more of a long-term plan. They didn't expect to meet a lot of humans that early. But then again, they weren't doing much expecting. Go, slaughter, eat brains. Rhugh wasn't entirely sold on that brain-eating idea. Couldn't hurt to try, yes, but good old-fashioned slaughtering was more its thing. And then, suddenly, it appeared that there was an army in their way. A small one. Orcs weren't good at counting, but the difference between very many and not so very many was glaring. Hooray for unexpected slaughter! Or more like GHRRRAAAGH! for unexpected slaughter.

Then that idiotic duel happened. Rhugh had no idea why the leader had agreed to that. Just killing them would have been simpler. It didn't protest though, it didn't want to end up hit in the face like poor Groogl there, and like countless other orcs throughout the ages who had dared to disagree with a bigger orc. Anyway, two on one should have been easy. The small gnome thingie was just a snack. Then that screaming maniac appeared out of nowhere. And now both Aghaghagh and Braaagh were dead.

Now the humans were cheering. Infuriating. Stupid. Very many minus two is still very many! Stupid stupid humans not knowing their math. Rhugh wanted to point out the errors of their ways. By slaughtering them, of course. "KILL THEM ALL!" it roared. And got hit in the head.

"Run away! Dark magic!" the one who hit it shouted. It was Jhagh, the snivelling coward. It saw dark magic everywhere! Rhugh knew only one way of dealing with both snivelling cowards and dark magic. It hit Jhagh back.

-I-I-I-I-

Arthaxiom was elated. Defeating a great big orc in a single combat was the fulfilment of his dreams. Perhaps not all of them, but some at least. Pure Heroism. Maybe not including the part where he had been lying on his back requesting a divine intervention to save him, but still, challenging that orc was definitely Heroic. Now, there still was the rest of the orcs... The paladin didn't really think about them earlier. Somehow he had expected them to simply vanish as soon as the duel was over. That obviously didn't happen.

Well, if they didn't vanish... He knew only one way to deal with orcs that refused to vanish. "For glory of the Joyous Beige Dragon, forward!" And he ran towards the nearest orc.

The peasants stood still, not knowing what to do. Glory of the Joyous Beige Dragon didn't concern them much. On the other hand, it confused them quite a bit.

"CHAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!" the Baron screamed and ran after the Hero.

This was a much more reasonable battle cry. Quite an impressive one, too. Oxrabbit had a voice like a seven waterfalls, or possibly some other silly metaphor. Still, the peasants weren't really used to charging into battles. But then the bravest of the bunch, or maybe the stupidest, decided. "Huzzah!" he shouted, for no good reason, and rushed forward while waving his rake wildly. The others followed a bit behind, so that they wouldn't get raked in the face, shouting nonsenses of their own.

"Timber!"

"Banzai!"

"I have a flu!"

"Death to the stinkers!"

"I wish your cows stop giving milk and your sheep get bald and your asses bite you in the asses!"

Only one elderly peasant stayed behind. "Are you sure this is a good idea? There's an awful lot of them," he said to nobody in particular, because all the other peasants were way ahead of him. Realising that, he shrugged, grabbed his scythe and ran after them.

"It's harvest time!"

-I-I-I-I-

Alexander the dwarf felt a bit left out. With all of this fighting going around he wasn't really needed or useful. He just stood there. He saw Arthaxiom and his new friend going into the thick of it and slaughtering orcs, but they were big and strong, and, well, Heroic. He wasn't. Then he saw deer entering combat and it gave him an idea. He waved at them.

A moment later a squad of deer led by a dwarf on deerback started wreaking havoc among the orcs. That was more like it. Alexander felt tall now. The orcs were so short. And so impaled on his trident.

"Keep it up, gnomey!" the Baron cheered him on.

"I'm not a gnomey!" he shouted back, but unlike the Baron, he didn't have a powerful voice. He couldn't be heard over the sounds of dying orcs, so he just shrugged and returned to impaling. He also admired the various ways the deer had for killing orcs. Trampling, kicking in the face, stabbing with antlers... He decided that he should never ever annoy a deer.