The Last Satyr: The Two Paths Part 2

The three of them raced up the road, Leradien carrying Ronthiel much faster than the orc army could pursue while boy kept up from behind. Meanwhile, Shinayne personally conducted the retreat to make sure the Black Dragons’ withdrawal was orderly.

But in fact, they were fighting a running battle. Eight lines of Black Dragons blocked the road, each line fifty paces behind the other, with twenty-five Black Dragons per line, standing shoulder to shoulder. The first line would launch their crossbows into the charging enemy, then turn and run up the road to pass through the next seven lines of Black Dragons behind them to form a new eighth line fifty paces behind the last. Here, they rested until they became the first line again.

Each line fired only once before retreating, usually dropping twenty of the enemy whose own fallen bodies slowed down those behind. They could not catch up with the retreating first line before being hit by the second for another twenty or so to fall.

This went on and on, and the man-orcs did not deal with this shoot and retreat tactic well at all. For a man-orc to survive just the distance of all eight lines, he had to avoid two hundred well-aimed, poisoned darts, all of which would drop him before he reached the line that fired it. Sometimes his armor protected him, and sometimes not--and the Black Dragons consistently aimed for their unprotected areas. As a result, they paid dearly for the distances gained and with no loss to the Black Dragons at all, who had both excellent adamantine armor and could see twice as far in the dark as a man-orc.

It became a contest of which would happen first—the enemy running out of man-orcs or the Black Dragons either running out of poisoned darts or out of road to retreat up.

Yet it didn’t stop the enemy, even though those in the front seldom lasted more than their first line. Though the slaughter was great, the man-orcs behind always replaced those who fell in front of them, even stumbling over their fallen comrades to do so.

The man-orcs finally ceased the attack. Not because it was called off (although eventually, it was) but because the charging man-orcs had simply become too exhausted from constantly running uphill against a retreating yet always-rested next line of defense. Unlike the waiting lines of Black Dragons, the man-orcs never got to rest before they dropped dead in their charge. So great amongst the man-orcs was the carnage that the entire front ranks of them had, at most, eight seconds to live before falling and being replaced by the next row of orcs behind them, who now found they too had but eight seconds to live as well.

The boy had been watching this because, on the steep slopes above the road, two elf lights were flashing and illuminating the scene below on the road. Young Joe and Amien held the two lanterns, each with a company of satyrs who guarded the bank above to make sure the orcs did not try to outflank the Black Dragons on the high side of the road.

And, indeed, the enemy now changed to this tactic, slow going that it was. They no longer came up the road but tried to bypass it, either from above it or below it. It worked in that they suffered far fewer casualties and, as the enemy advanced off the road, the nearest line of Black Dragons now became obligated to retreat and become the new eighth line, sometimes without killing any man-orcs at all. So Sar led a company of satyrs down to root them out on the slope below the road. And, though greatly outnumbered by the man-orcs, the satyrs were very sure-footed on the rocks, easily killing the man-orcs who weren’t.

Yet the main battle was now being fought on the slopes above the road by young Joe and Amien, who took on the man-orcs, hand to hand. The boy cracked his own lantern light on and hurried to join them, leading his own company of satyrs to their aid.

When he reached them, he killed his first orc by casting one of his two spears through its throat. He then engaged his next with his remaining spear, using short, jabbing thrusts. The boy quickly found he had a huge advantage over the man-orcs. With his hoofed feet, he could nimbly jump back and forth upon the steep rocks with no problem, while the orcs found it difficult to even stand at all and keep their balance. They invariably fell down trying to maneuver while not seeing where they stepped. Indeed! The boy killed far more orcs lying flat on their backs or faces than he killed standing up. His tally of orcs probably doubled that of Amien’s and young Joe’s combined, for those two without hooves also found the rocky slopes difficult to fight on. For once, the boy was a real hero. Of course, there were many other satyrs there doing the same thing, and they became real heroes as well.

And the enemy seemed to sense it, too. They hit him with many arrows but failed to realize he was wearing mithril chain mail under his clothes and hood, and they simply bounced off the boy. Still, the other satyrs, like the Black Dragons, had to move back to avoid the arrows.

Things were also going wrong for the Black Dragons. Just when it seemed they could keep this up all day against the man-orcs, darts began raining down on them from above. The source—riding lizards!

A riding lizard was just that—a lizard big enough to ride. By themselves they weren’t dangerous, having no teeth, but their feet could cling to walls, even upside down on ceilings, and this was how their drow riders used them, attacking from the cavern ceiling above. They were dozens of these lizards, crawling and slithering along the roof of the cavern, each with a saddle and a drow rider armed with a crossbow too high up to be within the Black Dragon crossbow range, let alone satyr spear range. Graybeard was called upon to bring them down by dazzling them, but this meant also dazzling the Black Dragons, and so a signal had to be arranged by which to protect their eyes before Graybeard blinded the riding lizards and their drow riders and valuable time was lost.

Amien, young Joe, and the boy were now all alone. Unfortunately, Amien and young Joe found retreat difficult in their boots and the man-orcs were soon passing them and threatening to cut them off from the others. They had to give up fighting altogether in order to flee back and the boy, being the only one in mithril armor, covered their retreat as best he could.

It seemed possible that, with luck, the three of them might still rejoin their comrades. Only then the boy sensed something awful, something dreadful, a thing he had not sensed since being in the drider tunnel.

Wings!

Something swooped down upon them from the air. He could smell the rancid stench of it, its wings beating its foul odor at them. Three elf lights turned up simultaneously to reveal the horrible thing with its huge, hoary, leathery batwings spread.

It was a dire bat and its rider!

The rider unleashed a poisoned dart, hitting Amien while the clutching talons of the giant bat found young Joe, grasping him around both arms so that he could not strike back at it with his sword. Then the dreadful wings beat harder and that carrion beast and its hated rider lifted young Joe off the ground to carry him away to who knows what horrifying doom.

In rage and desperation, the boy let fly his remaining spear, hurling it at the monstrous bat, not even knowing where it went.

There was an animal’s screech and then the bat banked and, flapping its great wings, turned away with its rider and carrying a still struggling Joe with it.

A great flash of light illuminated the cavern, filling it bright as day. Graybeard had finally dazzled the riding lizards. By the light, the boy could see Amien had dropped to his knees. Yet he now drew his dagger, took aim and threw it after the retreating bat and rider, now both illuminated. Another cry sounded; short, sharp, and of pain. It was not the cry of an animal.

Amien remained on his knees and shook his head as Graybeard's cavern light faded.

“I have been hit,” he said, sagging.

The boy reached him. Amien had already pulled out the dart and was holding it in his hand, looking at it almost as in curious wonder.

“Lolth’s Kiss?” he asked.

He had better hope not.

The boy helped him up.

“Come on!” he said. “We have to get back to the others!”

But it was already too late. The man-orcs, unblinded by the light, continued up the road, no longer under any fire from above. Indeed, there was a pitter-patter sound like rain hitting the ground as, being dazzled, the riding lizards lost their ceiling grips and fell, carrying them and their screaming drow riders to their deaths.

With the attack from above now eliminated, the Black Dragons called an end to their speedy retreat and resumed their organized lines of slaughter of the man-orcs on the road and the satyrs from above and below.

But although order had been restored to the defense, they had left both the boy and Amien behind. There was nothing but orcs between them and their own forces, and Amien was about to pass out.

The boy reversed direction. Without his spear, he could not fight his way through the orcs to reach their own forces. Instead, he pulled Amien back higher up the slope above the roadway and away from both sides. His hoofed feet and strong muscles made the climb, supporting the man who grew heavier by the moment as the poison took effect.

The boy struggled to get higher. The only way he knew to get out of reach of the man-orcs was to climb up higher on the slope above the road. No man-orc could climb a cliff like a satyr. Indeed! They did not even try as they continued on past and up the road.

The boy found a cleft in the rocks and dragged Amien into it, and then collapsed, exhausted, their lantern crystals fading and going out to leave them in the darkness. Amien had long since ceased to move.

The boy realized their plight. They were not only cut off from the others but the distance between them was constantly increasing as the Black Dragons retreated.

There was no joining them now.