Warband

By Snekguy

After failing to defend a village from a band of roving Orcs, a young Paladin named Bevan finds himself the only survivor of the battle. Their capricious leader takes him as her prisoner, but she seems more interested in getting to know him than in selling him into slavery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Snekguy
• Release date: Jun 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463391907

Snekguy

My name is Snekguy and I like to write, primarily science fiction and urban fantasy with erotic elements.By supporting me, you can help me raise money for more art and book covers, and you can help me work towards my goal of writing for a living.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: CLASHING STEEL

Shields at the ready men! Hold the line!

The standard-bearer galloped down the row of Paladins, their white armor reflecting the full moon as it bathed them in its pale glow. His spear held aloft and the flag of their noble company flying proudly, he rallied the villagers behind them, the heavy hooves of his steed sinking into the wet mud. They were a disorganized rabble, impoverished farmers and woodsmen, their clothing ragged and their weapons merely repurposed farm tools. Axes, hoes, and scythes coated in rust and too blunt to pierce anything but a sack of grain. The Paladins were here to defend these people and their remote village from a band of roving Orcs who had been sighted nearby. Orcs did not congregate near human settlements without good reason, and as they had suspected, the warband had moved into position and was preparing to launch an assault.

Orcs were savage, evil creatures, hulking masses of brawn and violence who preyed on the helpless and raided defenseless towns on the outskirts of the kingdom for plunder and slaves. Paladins were sworn to protect the weak, to counter the forces of evil wherever they might be found, and so the two dozen knights steeled themselves for battle.

The rain began to pour, fat, heavy droplets clattering on their winged helmets and steel pauldrons. Bevan peered through the slot in his visor, his eyes straining to make out shapes through the darkness and the storm. He clutched at his spear, keeping it level over his heavy shield, interlocking with those of his brothers to his left and right. Together they formed an impenetrable wall, ready to skewer anything that dared to attack them from the front. Behind him, he could hear the horse snorting and its heavy footfalls as it stamped impatiently, along with the apprehensive murmuring of the villagers. They were reluctant, some far too old to fight and others too young, but those that fell on the battlefield in defense of their loved ones would be looked upon favorably by the Divines. Bevan was certain of it.

A flash of lightning illuminated the field before them, and for a moment Bevan could see the silhouetted shapes of the Orcs, lining up on the hill to meet their challenge. They were taller and wider than a man, hulking beasts, their features obscured beneath a layer of crudely hammered iron and animal pelts. There were dozens of them, a hundred maybe, too many. Bevan felt a twinge of fear rise in his belly, but he quickly banished it, murmuring a prayer of purity under his breath as the standard-bearer marshaled the troops.

Stand your ground, give them no quarter! Auxiliaries, hold back unless the line is broken!

T-This is folly! We're done for! one of the villagers cried as he dropped his rusted scythe in the mud, turning to run back towards the wooden shacks.

There is no place in heaven for cowards! the standard-bearer called after him as he fled into the night.

The other villagers muttered, a low chorus of frightened voices. Bevan worried that more of them might flee, not that they would have been of much use in battle anyway.

The piercing call of a horn carried over the field, loud and clear against the rain and the thunder. The Orcs were declaring a charge. The Paladins braced, driving their metal boots into the mud for leverage and calling their readiness down the line. Lightning flashed again, and the horde of Orcs rolled down the hill like a tide, a mass of tainted metal and cruel, hooked weapons. Their roar conveyed a lust for battle that shook Bevan to his bones, but he stood ready to meet them, confident in his blessed armor and his righteous purpose.

We will hold this village, the standard-bearer called, his voice rising over the storm. Or we will meet on the shores of Paradise!

The knights yelled their approval, their voices echoing