They had found a well and were taking the time to water their horses and let them rest. Although the danger was likely to be greater once they passed into Gotland, as the Witch Queen had made it the heart of her empire, at least in their homeland they would not be seen as outsiders to be held in suspicion and remembered in the event the Witch Queen's minions would come inquiring. Still, that was no reason to drive their mounts too hard. The road ahead would be longer yet if any horses were lamed by riders who did not know their limits.

A saddlesore Kolman attempted to walk about stiffly, bowlegged and holding his lower back. He was not the only one who seemed to struggle with riding these distances, but he made the biggest display of his suffering for anyone willing to pay to him mind.

Before Kolman could say anything, be it apology or complaint, Gudrun's head snapped toward the way they had come. Anyone who knew her knew that she did not move like that unless she had been spurred by a vision.

By this time, the enemy formation could be seen cresting a hill in the distance. Four files with a quartet of riders: the commander presumably along with his second, the standard-bearer and the corneter. Sir Eckhardt and Bishop Friedman positioned the men-at-arms so that they could come together quickly while still looking innocuous. Those who were not equipped to fight were made to hang back around the baggage cart, which could be used for cover if needed. Once everyone was in position, Sir Eckhardt and Bishop Friedman joined Kolman and Gudrun at Prince Wilfried's side.

Prince Wilfried sighed. If there was anyone who could change Gudrun's mind when she was set to do something, he was most certainly not it.

Gudrun gave the sorcerer a look but had the grace to say nothing. Prince Wilfried took that to mean that there was no such hope of them being overlooked. He steeled himself for the worst while considering the possibilities. It would be a poor thing for their journey to end here.

Bishop Friedman could be heard muttering a psalm in prayer, echoed by his attendants. Those who could take up arms positioned themselves in front of those who could not. It did not look like a formation to a passing glance, but they could quickly form a line if the situation called for it. Hopefully it would not come to that, though. They were outnumbered a good two to one, and that was giving more weight than they should to men who were ill-suited to combat.

As the enemy drew closer, Prince Wilfried had to force himself not to curl his nose at the Kobold stink. He acted as if he was checking his saddlebags, using his palfrey as a shield. He felt sorry for the poor beast, but if things took an ill turn, its chances for survival were not great anyway.

The apparent commander of the enemy formation, a heavyset Ork with green skin so dark that it nearly appeared black, called his men to halt. When he spoke, his deep voice sounded like a bullfrog croaking.

Prince Wilfried took a step forward and said, "I am called Wilbrandt, sir, a humble merchant in search of markets in the east."

Without having the protection of someone like Prince Rickardt, it seemed exceedingly ill-advised for Prince Wilfried to declare himself as hailing from Lothria or even one of the western domains of Bergeny. He did not think he could pass for Milonese, but it would all depend on how perceptive this Ork was. Though Orks were not said to be possessed of any great intelligence, something told him that underestimating this creature would be most unwise. It was no less dangerous to be careless in his lies than if he were facing a human opponent.

The Ork frowned, which seemed especially pronounced with his wide mouth. Even most natives of this land could not be expected to know much beyond the neighboring domains. It was a bit of deliberate obfuscation on the Prince's part. He was hoping the Ork would not pry any further, but unfortunately for him, this particular Ork was not so incurious.

Still pointing his sword at Prince Wilfried, the Ork said, "We come from Milon seeking a party a of rebels. A young witch, a jackass knight, a priest with flaming eyes..." He pointed to baggage wagon. "I see jackasses..." Then to Sir Eckhardt. "And I see a knight..."

For the latter, the Ork looked back to Prince Wilfried. The Prince did not want to believe the Ork was so perceptive, but he had trained enough under seasoned warriors to know that surviving the flames of battle had a way of honing a man's instincts, or an Ork's in this case.

Although the odds of talking his way out of this situation were looking quite bleak, Prince Wilfried knew that the odds of besting this entire company in open combat were bleaker still.

Looking to Gudrun, the Prince said, "I know not what stories you follow, sir, but this young woman here is no witch, the sellsword is no knight, and though he may look fierce, you can hardly say the eyes of the priest over yonder are flaming."

The Ork tilted his head as he mulled over the Prince's defense.

This was the moment of truth. Either the Prince would surrender himself and his entourage in a bid to keep the bluff going or he would risk everything in this very moment in a clash with the enemy. Perhaps it would have been better to remain with Prince Rickardt if this was the doom they faced. At least with him, there would have been another twenty good fighting men join them.

This was perhaps the most crucial decision Prince Wilfried would make since he committed to setting out on this venture, but in the end, the opportunity to decide for himself was denied to him.

Gudrun pressed close to him and whispered in his ear, "Go for the forelegs. It will thwart their sorcerer."

The Prince had scarcely taken in her words when an arrow struck the Ork in his neck. Time slowed, giving him the leisure to recognize the arrow from its fletching as coming from Sir Hengist. Clearly the Horseman saw that the situation could not be saved and he would not allow the Prince to surrender himself in a bid to save the lives of the people in his entourage. Whether Sir Hengist deserved to be commended or reprimanded would depend on how the next few moments played out.

It felt like his body was moving of its own accord. He sprang toward the horse of the Orkish sorcerer, cleaving through one of its forelegs on the draw of his sword, just as Gudrun directed. Unbalanced as his horse was toppling over, the Orkish sorcerer's incantation was interrupted, and before he could even hit the ground, Prince Wilfried redirected his sword to drive the point into the sorcerer's chest. He was aiming for the heart, but he did not think he quite hit his mark. He was pulled by the sorcerer's body as it fell and had to twist the blade to wrest it free. He struck at the sorcerer's neck, but Ork hide was thicker that the hogs he had practiced on, so he was not able to strike off the head cleanly. Still, it was enough to ensure that they would not have to worry about any spells from this creature.

While the Prince was doing all this, the corneter tried rushing at him, but he was felled by another one of Sir Hengist's arrows just as Prince Wilfried was looking up. At the same time, Bishop Friedman brought his hammer down on the horse of the standard-bearer, squarely between the eyes of the unfortunate beast, killing it outright, and Kolman unleashed a fireball into the ranks of the Kobold spearmen. Perhaps if there were not Orkish leaders for each file, the Kobolds would have scattered. However, the surviving Orks rallied the Kobolds to form a shield wall. Meanwhile, anyone in the Prince's entourage fit to bear arms arrayed themselves with spears and the like kept hidden in the wagon. They were sorely outmatched, however, and would not last long in a direct clash. This was, of course, ample reason not to engage in a direct clash. Already Sir Hengist was circling around the shield wall, taking shots as he galloped along. To the enemy's credit, being harried so was not enough to make them break ranks, but Kolman was already working on a solution.

Sir Eckhardt looked to the Prince before going to Kolman to protect him with his shield while the sorcerer began an incantation. The men-at-arms rushed forward to form a line to protect Prince Wilfried and Gudrun and not a moment too soon, as several of the Kobolds traded their spears for slings and began to pelt them with stones. Even with the footmen to aid them, the men-at-arms were too few to risk a charge, but likewise the Orks and Kobolds were forced to hold their ground and close into a defensive circle to fend off not only Sir Hengist's arrows but also those of the two archers who accompanied Sir Eckhardt. It was enough for both sides to be held in a deadlock, but with the enemy standing together in one place, it played right into Kolman's hands.

Sir Eckhardt had managed to guard the sorcerer long enough for him to finish his incantation. The ground at the enemy's feet glowed red-orange, and just as a few of them we looking down to see the light, the ground erupted in a pillar of swirling flame over twenty feet high. Some were consumed where they stood, others were set alight to run away in a frenzy, leaving only a handful not seriously hurt.

With the enemy scattered, now was the time to press their advantage. The Prince shouted to the men-at-arms, "Forward! No quarter!"

They could not afford to leave any of the enemy alive, and so the men-at-arms and the footmen charged forward to spear any survivors. However, as they were advancing, the Orkish leader of the enemy company sprang up bellowing like a beast. The arrow in his neck was apparently not enough to kill him. He brought his sword down on one of the men-at-arms and laid him low. Before the Ork could lift his sword again, he was skewered by nearly a dozen spears, but even this was not enough to stop him. Between his mail shirt, thick hide and whatever layers were in between, the points did not penetrate deeply enough deal a clean deathblow. The spearmen's efforts were not in vain, though, as the Ork's movements were slowed as he raised his sword to attack again.

The spearmen withdrew as ordered before the Ork could claim another victim. The Ork made a wide swing that warded off the spearmen for a moment but with his movement slowed, he could not swing again before the spearmen moved in for another thrust. They had gotten too confident in the slowness of the wounded Ork's movements and were caught off guard when the Ork make a quick chop that clove into the skull of a footman.

The footmen were not battle-hardened like the men-at-arms, so the gory sight of one of their fellows cut down beside them caused them to lose their nerve. They did not withdraw in an orderly fashion and so they tripped up the men-at-arms in front of them when they tried to fall back. The men-at-arms had no patience for the footmen, angrily shoving, pulling and striking them to get them out of the way. One panicked footman was thrown to the ground by a man-at-arms to make way for Sir Eckhardt, who charged in and thrust his sword up under the Ork's chin into his brain to finish him off. The Ork's body jerked about in his death throes and Sir Eckhardt pushed him back, toppling him like a tree. The Ork hit the ground with a thud. Sir Eckhardt only paid a moment to ensure he was actually dead this time before turning his attention back to the men.

He waved his sword to rally the men, shouting, "Onward! Let none escape!"

While they had been contending with the Ork, Bishop Friedman had been leading his men to pick off the stragglers to one side of the pillar of fire, so Sir Eckhardt guided his men around the other side. There were a few Kobolds who had abandoned their weapons to simply flee as fast as their short legs could carry them, but they were easily run down by Sir Hengist and between Sir Eckhardt and Bishop Friedman's two groups, the others who were left were dispatched in short order as well. The pillar of fire disappeared with a wave of Kolman's staff and all that remained was the scene of carnage.

Prince Wilfried looked around him and saw the dead footman, the man-at-arms who was not long for this world, and several others nursing wounds from the Kobold slingstones. Yes, they had the advantage of surprise and magic, but it was still remarkable that their losses were so few outnumbered as they were.

Gudrun drew closer to him. You could have been fooled into believing nothing had happened based on how little her expression had changed. Her reserve was impressive. Truly this was not her first time witnessing Hell.

How like her to give him an answer that told him nothing. Still, she spoke rightly. There was nothing gain by speculating on what might have been. They needed to move forward and do so quickly. Even if reinforcements were not close at hand, they would at best have a day or two before this company was missed. Judging from what the Orkish leader had said, they were already in search of someone and they were surely not the only such company roving about.

Prince Wilfried did not intend to press her further. As he turned to go to Sir Eckhardt and Bishop Friedman, Gudrun put herself in front of him and placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

The Prince looked over to the mulecart that carried the enemy's baggage and saw Sir Eckhardt and Bishop Friedman striking down two men in rude tunics with bronze collars around their necks. They had not been among the Orks and Kobolds the Prince's retinue had fought, and indeed had escaped the Prince's notice until now. One thing that he was quite certain of, though, was that they were not fighting men.

He gently pushed Gudrun aside as he called out to the two, "What's the meaning of this!?"

As Prince Wilfried approached them, he saw that there were two more who had already been dispatched. Sir Eckhardt had beheaded his two as if they were nothing more than common criminals, while Bishop Friedman's hammer struck them dead like cattle at the slaughter. From the looks on their faces, it would appear that they had done just that.

Had he been a more thoughtless man, Prince Wilfried might have challenged the knight on his bearing before his future king, but the Prince knew that what a good king needed was not blind obedience but discerning retainers who would do what was best, even if it did not always align with their sovereign's will.

Sir Eckhardt did not stop there and continued, "Do you think that every man you meet on the battlefield is there because he wants to be there? Very few are, and fewer still do so out of any great loyalty. Think of the peasant levies. If you would hesitate to kill them on the battlefield out of some misplaced concern for their situation, it would not stop them from killing you. How different are they from these men?"

Prince Wilfried did not have any argument against him.

Sir Eckhardt bowed.

Gudrun drew closer to the Prince. He glanced at her.

One of the men-at-arms went to give report to Sir Eckhardt, who then went to the Prince and said, "One of Kolman's footmen is dead and one of my men, Falk, is not long for this world. Five others were wounded but to no great hurt."

Again, the Prince looked out on the scene that had unfolded around him. This was but a taste of what was to come. They had gotten lucky this time to get off so lightly, but there was no promise they would fare so well a second time. What was more, these were far from the strongest of the Witch Queen's servants. Any future battles would be even more daunting. They could ill afford another one before they found their true battlefield in the hall of the Witch Queen herself.