Visibly relieved to get out of the besieged settlement, Orthaug spurred on his beast of war when Koloch’s command came. They leapt across the walls once more, taking advantage of the superior agility of the wargs. Their task was done: the rotten egg had been put in the basket.

Though he did not exactly hate humans, those bunnies were experts in making themselves be hated. Orcs had been cast out of human society many times in the past –a thing he came to know after he had turned his back on the feral clans in that far off desolate valley- and were generally looked down on. He honestly knew only one thing in life: fighting. And so with Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi there was a genuine chance of him making a difference concerning the way the world thought and dealt with when it came to Orc-kind.

When they rejoined their kin, Orthaug noted the peculiar battle array. Apparently the Old Boy Eyedrinker wanted the flanks protected over anything. That only made sense, when you were about to fight an enemy whose strength was their mounted men.

The tiniest feeling of dread tickled Red Orthaug’s spine. Radush had spat out the next series of orders pointing them toward a new objective. This fight was far from over. Instead of mumbling an incredulous ‘wizard’, the brawler tried to recall what he knew about those magic wielding cunts. Apparently not a lot. There had been that one witch who had tried to put him under a mind trap, attempting to make him her slave to whatever purposes. But he had seen a few mages been taken down when he had served in the pikes. To his mind, they were dangerous tricksters, cowards shielding behind their spells and curses, but they die as well as the next man or woman. Sometimes even better! He had heard of a mage being caught by a javelin while he had been chanting an invocation to summon fire or some such. The mage in question had burned with the heat of a crucible when he botched up the spell due to a sudden onset of javelinitis.

Koloch got them back in formation quickly enough, leading the Chosen away from the main body of the company. There had been some casualties among their merry band, and most of them were left with Radush and the warg reserve. Wounded wargs were switched for unscathed ones. They weren’t protecting now… they were hunting.

Until their prey found them. A low fog had crept across the land like a pale blanket, making it harder to see. However, the Orcs and their mounts had a key sense of smell and hearing. Nonetheless, they were unprepared to face the threat emerging from the mist. How do you smell approaching rock?

He steered his warg to the left, out of the golem’s path. It was immense and robust, animated by magical powers.

Koloch took the first hit, the rock on armour making a dull sound as he flew away like a discarded toy. The golem, moving lumberingly, closed the distance between itself and the downed Drillmaster. Orthaug was not close enough to really do something, nor could he get to Koloch in time to whisk him up on his warg. Fortunately for the halfbreed, Ushgar manifested beside him holding a massive shield with both hands.

It was only due to Ushgar’s massive size that they stood a fighting chance, Orthaug thought later. A duel ensued, while two tuckers went to Koloch’s aid to pull him away from the confrontation between Ushgar and the mage’s automaton. Muscle against rock proved to be an interesting struggle, as he saw the golem taking hits that would have broken entire bodies. Yet it was relentless, taking the pummelling of Ushgar’s battle maul. Blades were useless here, but a blunt tool like that maul just might smash that stony face in.

Then the golem, seemingly having had enough, lifted the large orc over his head with little trouble. But just when he was about to break Ushgar across his knee, it stopped and clawed at its head. It clawed at its face more precisely, where Ushgar’s merciless heels had cracked one of its eyes.

“The eyes!” Orthaug growled, “The eyes are its weakness!” That posed another problem though. The eyes were high up.

In a split second he had named the warg Zasha and kicked her in the flanks. They made a circling movement around the lumbering stone automaton whose legs were being harried by the blows of an Orc maul.

“This is it, girl” Orthaug said as he urged Zasha to charge. They were behind the golem now and he hoped to hit the thing high enough in the back so it would stagger and trip, half blind as it was. “Or do you like it when I call you bitch?”

Warg and rider snarled as they leapt, Orthaug making himself as small as possible to maximise the force of impact. Ushgar would have to clear out fast enough or be crushed. Then again, not really his problem, was it? Certainly not if he’d be squashed like an over-ripe berry.