Morning found me sitting in front of a fire, eating some bread and apples for breakfast. Not the most inspiring breakfast, but it would have to do since we did not include one of the squads from the logistics platoon, and we had not begun cross training just yet. There were five others sitting at the fire with me, sharing the same sad breakfast. Nathalie, Gudrun, Linus, Kiril and Hrothgar.

“What’s the plan, Milord? Just wait for the harpies to attack?” Hrothgar asked, a little put out that I had not told him much about what was going on.

“Until we find their camp, we’re going to be training, Hrothgar,” I said with a smile.

“Why go all the way up here, Milord? We could be training back at the Hall or at the site for the new fort.”

“Because we need mountains to climb.”

“Climb?” he asked confused.

“Yeah, you know we’re heading to the Bastion. I figured it would be a good idea to have someone familiar with climbing when we get there,” I said. With a grin, I added, “At the same time, it’ll make it easier to reach those fucking raiders.”

“Milord, it’ll not be easy to climb with muskets, bows, and spears,” Kiril said.

“I know, it’s why while we practice climbing, they’ll only be carrying daggers and their shortswords,” I said. “The musket platoon will be on guard duty, ready to take out any harpies that come along. The other six platoons will be divided into teams of two platoons. One team will be resting at base camp, ready to back up the guards on duty. They’ll also be responsible for food and so on.

“The second team will be patrolling the surrounding area while foraging. Don’t get separated, and if you can take down some game, even better. Hrothgar you’re in charge of that team and you’ll take Ilmadia with you. She’s learned a bit of our language, she’ll be showing you how to move quietly and which plants you should be gathering.”

Hrothgar did not look happy about his assignment, but he complied. “As you command, Milord. What about the third team?”

“Well, they’ll be climbing with me, my bodyguards, Linus, and both the air and stone mages,” I said with a wide grin, making both Gudrun and Linus look gloomy. “Oh, and Nathalie. You’re coming with us as well.”

“Yes Milord,” she said with a pout.

“Milord, may I ask a question?” Gudrun asked.

“You just did, but yes, you may ask that question and another. Or even more, if you have them,” I replied.

“Why do you want the lapomancers to climb with you, Milord?” she asked.

“Because you’re going to help make the climb easier,” I answered her question, then took a bite of my apple, before expanding on my answer. “By making handholds, enlarging ledges, and so on. But more importantly, I need you to be able to quickly create combat platforms, and make cover while we’re climbing.”

“That sounds dangerous, Milord,” she said carefully.

“Unfortunately it is, but it’s why it’s important that we start training now, and not when we get to the Bastion, where the climb will be even more perilous,” I stated grimly.

“Milord, why do you wish me to endanger myself thus?” Linus asked finally. He had been looking irritated that a serf had asked before he could.

“You and the other air mages will be in charge of creating protective walls of wind, to protect our climbers against arrows, and buffet harpies away if they come harrying us,” I replied. It was not a reply he seemed happy to get.

“The two aeromancers you got are barely capable of such a deed,” he said with a frown.

“On their own, no. Working together, maybe. Working together with you, definitely,” I said with a cold stare, which told him that I was not happy about his protest.

He quickly said, “Of course, Milord.”

With the planning out of the way, I divided the platoons into their groups. Except for the musket platoon, these platoons were all men, while the musket platoon was a mixed platoon. I had done that for several reasons. While I was not happy about enrolling women to fight in close quarter combats, it had to be done, at least for now. Hopefully, I would be able to replace them in the future.

Not because I did not want women to fight, but simply because men were generally better suited for it. Which was doubly true for climbing with heavy bags and equipment. Most of the soldiers slated for going to the Bastion with me, were also mostly men, simply because I did not think it would be a good idea to have too many women in a siege with over twenty-five thousand men.

I was looking forward to climbing the mountain around us. It had been a while since it had happened.

The next few days went by, without any major accidents. Lots of smaller ones, but none that could not be alleviated by my healers. The teams got used to climbing, somewhat, and I had two of them through the wringer twice. After every team had been through the wringer once, we had moved basecamp, so as not to grow too complacent.

They had learned to be sneakier too with the help of Ilmadia, and our food staples had grown steadily better. Instead of old bread and apples, we now had at least one hot meal each day, and meat. We would be carrying a lot of pelts back to the Hold when the little boot camp was over.

The mancers were probably not happy about me, since they, together with my bodyguards, were climbing every single day. Except for the day when we moved basecamp. However, their training had paid off. Gudrun especially took to climbing like she was born to do it. Together with me, she took the lead and made sure that the climbing pitons were fused into the mountain. We had two stone mancers of lower rating climb last and remove the pitons as they went.

It still took them five minutes to create a combat platform and make small alcoves for cover. However, it was a huge improvement from when we started where it took twenty minutes. The majority of the improvement came from them learning to work together. A combat platform was basically a magically grown ledge with room for five archers, while the alcoves could cover upwards of ten people. It was not perfect, but if we could see the harpies coming, we could prepare for them.

Our second camp was on a small hill in a clearing close to where we were climbing. The forage teams had widened the clearing a bit, by felling trees for several reasons. Firewood, defensive structure and more importantly, something to sit on around the campfires.

It was the morning of the third team’s second try when the platoon on guard duty raised the alarm. Getting armed, while the guards retreated, we were ready behind our defences. The stone mages had raised stone walls for us to take cover behind. They were not tall, only waist height, but it was better than nothing.

“Report,” I demanded of the senior squad leader, who came in with one of the squads.

“Milord, I don’t know, the alarm was raised by the other squad,” he said after snapping off a salute, the first to the heart thing. Looking out on the clearing, I saw the other squad running quickly towards camp.

“You think it was wise to divide the platoon in two?” I asked, seeing as there was no one with a control bracer to keep them in check.

“Milord, we were not that separated, and you yourself have said we should show them some trust,” he said. He was right, I had said that, however, I was still a bit leery about having armed serfs running around unsupervised. Not because I would mind if they rebelled, but because of the trouble it would lead to for me.

As he was running up the hill, the squad leader shouted, “Orc warband.”

“Shit,” Hrothgar cursed. “Not good Milord. If it’s a warband we don’t stand a chance.”

“How far?” I demanded from the huffing squad leader.

“Right behind us,” he gasped. “Milord.”

“Drop the Milord, it gets in the way,” I snapped. “Form up, defensive positions.”

We were still moving into position when the orcs appeared from the trees. They were large. No doubt about it, I think all of them were at least around my height, and some of them even reached two and a half metres. And there were many of them.

I quickly noticed that they were not green-skinned, in fact they seemed to be large tanned humans, if not for their large underbite and tusks. And of course their size. Fairly standard for the fantasy genre.

They were carrying an assortment of weapons, but it seemed largely individual. One was carrying two large steel shields, while another was wielding a large flail with spiked metal skulls. What I did notice was that they seemed guarded, but still relaxed. They were ready to fight if needed, but not in attack mode.

As they moved closer to the hill, I noticed that some were staying behind and they were dressed in a minimal of clothing. Mostly just loincloths and straps across their breasts, if they had them. They had some large horses with them, laden with packs. So maybe not a warband, but a trading party. We were after all close to the path to Outpost 9.

I also noticed that the orc that appeared to be the leader, or at least he was walking like it, had a chain tied to his belt. At the end of that chain, a naked human male was scrambling to keep up. At least I think it was a man, he was dirty, unkempt, and if it was a man, he had lost his best friend.

The orcs stopped halfway to the hill, and the skull-flail wielding leader of the orcs stepped forward, shouting, almost roaring something, in the language of the orcs. As soon as I saw him start to speak, I prepared myself to get the ringing in the ear, which I immediately got.

“—to an Honour Fight or Bakra will take what we like,” the orc roared in a harsh loud language. He then tugged at the chain. The human stepped forward.

“The Mighty Bakra, the Sub-chieftain of the Yellow Tusk Gore Tribe, the Slayer of Humans, the Defiler of Women, the Breaker of Priests, the Skull Taker, challenges you to an Honour Fight,” the man called out in an emotionless voice. “Refuse and the Mighty Bakra will take what he wants while drinking ale from your skull.”

“Well, it’s not a warband,” Hrothgar said, sounding a little relieved.

Looking out at the roughly hundred orcs in front of us, I could not help but say, “Really, what would you call that?”

“A trade caravan,” Hrothgar said. “Which is probably why he challenges you to an Honour Fight.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s taking so long?” the Mighty Bakra loudly demanded of his translator.

In orcish I called out, “Hold your horses, give me a moment and I’ll give you a reply.”

“You speak orcish?” Linus asked incredulously.

“Seems that whatever the Gods did to teach me your language still works. Every time I read or hear a new language, I learn it,” I said with a shrug. “Now what’s an Honour Fight?”

They did not get to answer, because Bakra roared, “Who dares insult Bakra’s honour? Show yourself.”

“Fuck it, shout instructions to me,” I said and jumped over the wall. I left my musket behind but was carrying all my other weapons.

Bakra looked at me like I was an insignificant little person, the way I sometimes stare at people. It was a little disconcerting to be on the receiving end, it was not often that I happened to run into people taller than me. Especially not in this world. He was at least a head and a half taller than me.

His nostrils on his flat pig-like nose flared. “You’re the maggot who called Bakra a servant? A beast handler?”

“No, I was asking for you to give me a moment,” I said calmly, my hand on the hilt of my sabre. “I was trying to find out what an Honour Fight is.”

“Your cowardly words insults and you insulted Bakra’s Honour,” Bakra roared.

“Honestly, I apologize for that. I’m new to this world, summoned around a moon ago,” I said with a shrug.

“Honour Fight or we do battle, what will it be?” the brute growled. Clearly not going to let this go.

“Honour Fight I guess. Whatever the hell that is?” I said. Over my shoulders, I shouted, “Tell me what the hell an Honour Fight is.”

“Fight to submission, with some kind of wager.” It was Kiril who shouted an answer.

To the orc, I asked, “So what do you want to wager?”

“The Farseer saw that you had many slaves. Mighty Bakra needs new broodmares to grow the tribe’s workers.”

“How would you do that? They can’t leave my Hold,” I asked curiously.

Bakra gave me a toothier smile than he had given so far. Shaking the chain, he said, “Bakra broke a little human priest. His mind broke after a few days on the Altar of Defilement.”

That made a lot of the nearby orcs laugh loudly. Cocking my head, I looked at the priest. “So you fucked him into submission?”

“Yes, like Bakra will do with the new broodmares.”

“Aren’t you afraid he’s going to communicate his location to other priests?”

“You insult Bakra’s honour again?” Bakra growled. “Priest can’t tell where he is if he cannot see.”

Bakra dragged the priest forth and I got a closer look at him. I had not even seen his eyes were missing because of the long hair that hit it. So not only had they cut off his dick, but they had also taken his eyes.

“I’m suitably impressed, I can think of a priest or two I’d like to do the same with,” I said with a grin. “Can he remove the collars then?”

“No, but Bakra has a slave stone. Broken priest bind collars to slave stone.”

“I don’t see a bracer,” I observed.

“Only weak people need instruments to enforce their will on those submissive to them,” Bakra grumbled. “Now, what do you wish to wager?”

“Do I say what I want, or what I’ll give?”

“What you want, then Bakra will determine what he can ask for.”

“That’s a tough one,” I said. “Not because I want to insult you or anything, I really don’t know a lot. What would you suggest?”

“Bakra never had that before. Farseer told of weak humans climbing mountains, I’ve two offspring with a broodmare that hunts in the mountain, you can have them if you win,” he said.

“Are they here with you?” I asked.

“Of course, otherwise Bakra would not suggest such a wager,” he said and called out two names. The orcs that stepped up were shorter than me. By a finger’s width or two.

They were both bald, with scars that reminded of tribal tattoos all over their face and scalp. In fact, most of their body was covered in them and since they were only wearing a loincloth, that was most of their bodies. Another thing that separated them was the fact that they had what appeared to be goat horns and their feet had been replaced by hooves.

“The broodmare that birthed them is a beastman,” Bakra said as if that explained everything. And it probably did.

“You are aware that they’ll be serfs if you lose?” I asked.

“Bah, they’re workers to be traded and discarded,” Bakra snorted.

“Okay, so what do you want me to put up as a wager?”

“Her,” he said and pointed to Gudrun. “Farseer tells that she has rock magic.”

“She does,” I said with squinted eyes. “Hardly seems fair that I get two workers without magic for one with magic.”

“That’s the wager,” Bakra said gruffly.

“Well, let’s call the whole thing off then, you go on your way, and we’ll stay right here, deal?” I asked, hoping that he would accept.

“Dishonourable cur, you agreed to Honour Fight, Bakra will slay you here and then take all of your slaves,” the orc roared. The other orcs readied their weapons.

“Fine, we’ll fight!” I shouted.

“Take the priest and deafen him after the fight is done, until next time we need him,” Bakra said to one of his sons while he untied the chain.

“What’s the rules?” I asked taking a few steps back.

The sons had taken the priest back to the ranks, when Bakra exploded into action swinging the flail at me trying to uppercut me while shouting, “No rules, fight until submission or death!”

Swearing to myself, I managed to back off. He had the reach advantage at me, and those metal skulls looked like they would hurt. My hand whipped down and grabbed my dagger which I hurled at his face, with an underhanded throw, while I drew my sabre.

He must have seen the dagger coming because he moved his head out of the way in the last second. The most damage it might have managed to do was cut a few hairs of his long hair that almost reached the middle of his back.

The flail which had swung up earlier now came swinging down again, and I had no way of blocking or deflecting all seven of the chains and skulls of the flail. So I did the next best thing, jumping backwards, which meant I landed on the slope of the hill.

Even with the little boost in elevation, the bastard was still taller than me. I swung my sabre at his throat, but he leisurely leaned back while swinging the flail at my midsection.

With little choice I jumped forward and to his left, going into a roll as I hit the ground. However, I was rewarded with a kick that hit me in the thigh and sent me sprawling flat on the ground, the sabre flying from my hand. Instinct made me roll away from where the impact had hit me, and a second later I heard the dull thumps from the skull hitting the ground next to me.

Not wasting any time I scrambled to my feet and ran away from Bakra. Which made him roar, “Stay and fight, honourless cur!”

As I ran away, I drew my two axes. I heard the heavy footsteps of him following behind. There was jeering from the orcs, but I paid them no heed. When I felt he had built up some momentum, I slid to a halt and turned at the same time. I saw he was coming rushing towards me, a few metres away.

When I suddenly turned around his eyes went wide, as did his smile. With a roaring laugh, he swung the flail at me, I stepped back and brought my axes into the mess of chains that was the flail. As I had hoped the chains got caught on the axes’ beards. The action almost ripped me off balance, so I went with the momentum and made it work for me.

When the flail’s momentum slowed down, I accelerated it and continued the spin it was forcing me into. Since he had swung while moving, he was off-balance and the sudden jerk sent him stumbling forward.

I let go off the axes and reached up for the first thing I could grab onto with both my hands as he stumbled past me: His hair. With a vicious yank, I sent him sprawling to his back, with him howling in rage, and hopefully a little pain.

I followed up with a stomp to his face, or at least that was the plan, but his hand deflected my descending ankle. He followed up with a punch towards my groin. I managed to pull my pelvis back, so I instead took the punch in the stomach, which knocked the wind out of me. Falling to my knees, gasping for breath, he rolled away and got two his feet with an agility that belied his size.

He had lost hold of his flail, so he sent a fur wrapped foot towards my head. Grasping the dagger in my boot, I slashed at his approaching foot, while rolling out of its path. I scored a hit, at least that was what I believed from the pain-filled roar of the orc.

I did not pull my arm away quickly enough, because it was grabbed by a large crushing hand. I felt my bones groan and contract at the sheer force of the grip, which forced me to drop my dagger. Which was followed by a punch right in the face. I felt my nose break, and I tasted a mix of iron and copper in my mouth. A few teeth ached.

The hand that had just punched me, grabbed the front of my jacket, and hurled me to my feet, and then into the air. The orc was staring into my eyes. “Concede or Bakra will make it hurt.”

He still had a hold on my right arm, but my left hand snuck around my back and grabbed my second to last weapon. The dagger that was in the same back holster as my axes.

“Never,” I spat, sending blood into Bakra’s face and eyes, as I stabbed forward with the dagger. Lodging just beside a very important place and I twisted the knife. Bakra howled in pain and headbutted me, before dropping me.

The headbutt led to me losing grip of the dagger, as I sank to my knees. Everything was spinning. Pretty sure I had a concussion. The headbutt must have opened a cut above my eyebrow because I felt something wet running down my face, and I could not open my left eye.

Still dazed I fumbled a bit as I drew my last weapon, my shortsword. Blindly I swung at the location I had seen Bakra. I hit nothing. I looked around trying to see if I could see any movement, but everything was hazy. To be sure I kept swinging around me, just to keep the bastard a bay.

“Concede,” he grumbled weakly from somewhere nearby.

“Never!” I tried to roar defiantly, but it was more like a weak cough with blood bubbling out of my mouth. A yelp of pain followed when my sword suddenly hit something.

“Draw?” Bakra suggested. Things were finally started to clear up, and I spotted him sitting not too far away.

“No losers?” I asked, spitting away the blood that had accumulated in my mouth.

“Yes, a draw,” he said, clutching his right thigh. I saw his headbutt must have been badly executed because his face was covered in blood as well.

“Draw,” I said, letting my shortsword drop. It had started to feel heavy. Sitting there on my knees I started to take stock. At least a few cracked ribs, if not broken. A broken nose. My mouth was bleeding, and I could still not see straight.

I heard the priest call out in his emotionless voice, “There’s a draw. Come collect your champion.”

Bakra groaned. “You fight dirty.”

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked. Also with a groan.

“No, you fight with Honour. You fight with everything you got to win and survive. You honour Bakra, as Bakra honours you,” the orc grunted.

“Great,” I groaned as I tried to get to my feet. A feat I did not accomplish, before a couple of hands, grabbed me by my arms and lifted me to my feet.

“We got you, Milord,” Kiril said as he placed my arm over his shoulder, and someone did the same with my other arm.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“Bakra wishes to know the name of the one who fought with Honour,” the orc said as he was helped to his feet by his two goat horned sons.

“Karth, Lord of Wolf Ridge Hold,” I said.

“Honour indeed. Not many of your leaders have the Honour to dare a Honour Fight. Bakra is pleased with this meeting, even if it hurt.”

I started laughing at that, but my ribs informed me that that was a bad idea. With a groan, I said, “That was an interesting exchange of greetings.”

That made the orc laugh. “Bakra will tell the tribes that raiding beyond this pass is fraught with danger.”

“I would appreciate that,” I said. “If they want to trade, I welcome everyone. Though maybe just send a message to the fort I’m building before arriving.”

“A human would trade with the tribes?” Bakra said confused.

“I’ll trade with anyone, as long as they don’t try to kill me,” I said. “Outside of an Honour Fight of course.”

“Bakra will spread the word.”

“If I’m not there, my wife will speak in my stead, though only I speak your language,” I said.

“Worry not, all trade caravans have servants that speaks other languages,” Bakra said and lumbered away. Hitting one of his sons when he tried to support him.

“Get me back to Nathalie, before I pass out, please,” I whispered to Kiril.

“Of course, Milord.”

A couple of painful minutes later, I might have passed out for a second or two, I had two nervous serfs hovering above me. Nathalie said, “Milord, please stop getting hurt so much.”

“I wish that was possible,” I sighed in relief as the magic washed over me, removing my pain.

“That’s easy, stop getting into fights,” she harrumphed.

Feeling a bit cocky, I said with a wink, “I need a reason for beautiful women to undress me and touch me.”

She laughed a little at that. “Even though we remove your pain, this is going to hurt. Two of your ribs are broken.”

“Do your worst, oh angel of pain and mercy,” I replied.

Hrothgar said, “That was fundamentally stupid. Milord.”

“Oh?”

“Been a long time since someone bested an orc in one on one combat,” he said.

“Didn’t best him, it was a draw,” I countered after a gasp of pain as one rib moved back in place.

“Still, you didn’t lose.”

“Why didn’t you stop me then?” I asked.

“We don’t understand orcish, how were we supposed to know what you decided until the fight started?” he said, clearly irritated.

“What if he didn’t like what I had to say and then attacked?” I asked.

“Even if you had insulted his ancestor’s honour, he would still have let you go, before attacking together with the rest of his men,” Hrothgar said as if that explained everything.

“Okay, so no climbing today. Double up on the foraging though,” I said.

“Yes, Milord,” he said and left me alone with Kiril and the two healers.

“I need more weapons,” I said to no in particular.

“Maybe if you didn’t throw them all away so fast, you know, try and keep hold of them. Then you would not find yourself without weapons so often, Milord,” Kiril said with a laugh.

“I guess you’re right,” I said with a gasp as another rib moved back into place.

“It was a good fight though. The new recruits are awed that you blooded an orcish Sub-chieftain,” Kiril said.

“He fought well,” I replied with a shrug.

“Milord, that he’s a Sub-chieftain means that he’s the second-best fighter in the whole tribe. He has most likely bested hundreds of other orcs in one on one combat to get his title,” Kiril explained when I seemingly did not get what he was trying to convey. “If not for all the in-fighting for power, the orcs could very well defeat any other race in combat.”

“Okay,” was all I could say to that. “Now shut up, and let me rest. It was freaking exhausting. Did someone gather all my weapons?”

“They’re right over there,” Kiril said and pointed to a pile somewhere I could not see. I was too tired to look. While they were still healing me, I fell into a well-deserved nap.