Elves Versus Orcs: The Saga Of Ravic

Elves versus Orcs: The Saga of Ravic

by Alfred Bekker

The size of this book corresponds to 500 paperback pages.

Ravic is the son of an Orc father and an Elf mother. In Orkland he is therefore mocked as the son of an Elf, but among Elves he is despised as an Orc. A deep rage therefore fills Ravic - a rage that makes him a berserk as a warrior. A bloody raid leads him into the heart of the Elf Kingdom...

Alfred Bekker is the author of numerous novels and short stories with a total circulation of over 4.5 million copies. His fantasy novels about elves, orcs, dwarves, dragons and the magician Gorian made him known to a large audience.

Alfred Bekker also wrote under the pseudonyms Jonas Herlin, Henry Rohmer, John Devlin, Neal Chadwick.

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Ein CassiopeiaPress Buch CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker präsentiert, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Sonder-Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks und BEKKERpublishing sind Imprints von

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author /COVER WERNER ÖCKL

© of this issue 2019 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia in arrangement with Edition Bärenklau, edited by Jörg Martin Munsonius.

The imaginary persons have nothing to do with actually living persons. Identical names are random and not intended.

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prologue

It was the day the flying dragons headed south. The sky was darkened by thousands and thousands of fire-breathing monsters with leather-skinned wings. Her hissing hiss was deafening. These dragons lived wild and free in the mountains, but every winter they went south in great swarms. To the distant land of Neilati and beyond.

The dragons had gone on a fish hunt at the near, rugged coast of the Orkland before their departure. The orcs told each other that the dragons were doing their worst when they flew over the land of the elves and laughed at the thought of the torments the sharp smell of the dragon excrement meant for the fine senses of the elves.

Ravic had also heard these stories and laughed as well.

You are the son of an elf and an orc, his mother said to him that day.

So then I'm both an orc and an elf, Ravic returned.

No, said his mother. You're neither of them. That's why the orcs call you Elfling, because you're the son of an elf.

What if I went to the land of the elves?

You'd be an orc because your father's an orc and they'd despise you for it.

Ravic felt an irrepressible rage rising inside him.

An anger he would often feel.

His elfishly pale complexion turned greenish muddy with anger. The pointed ears were put on. He blecked his fangs.

That means I'll be despised everywhere, he said in the dark.

You'll have to be stronger and braver than others, his mother said. No matter where you are, Ravic.

Chapter 1

Many years later.. .

Orcs screamed through the shimmering air.

Valo! Ravic! My sons!

Remirg Elfenstirnspalter Schreckenssohn's mighty paws lay on the shoulders of the two young orcs at the bow of the slender sea barque. Ravic and Valo were about the same size. And their features were so similar to those of their father that one could not doubt for a moment from whom they were descended. And yet there was a big, at first glance visible difference between them: Valo's skin was greenish muddy, as one was used to from orcs. Ravic, on the other hand, was pale. Bleached like his mother, who had been an elf.

Ravic was a changeling.

Elfling, that's what some orcs called him contemptuous.

Or elf son.

But anyone who dared to say that, Ravic had so far smashed the skull.

Ravic was as strong as any orc. But he also had the speed and special sensitivity of the elves.

Whether he also inherited the longevity of the elf people from his mother, he would have to wait and see.

The main reason against this was his pronounced anger, which probably led to his death sometime in an unnecessary fight.

Today you can gain glory, my sons! There's rich booty waiting for us in the land of the elves! As much booty as I've never seen in a heap...

We'll get them, Valo said. By the name of Roht, god of thunder, we will take them! He grinned. As long as the king's sons of Elven Land prefer to tear each other apart, they invite us to take the gold from their shamanic monasteries and cities!

Valo showed his fangs.

Yes, but let this be a warning to you, Remirg said now in a much more serious tone that reminded of the deep rumbling of the thunder. A light wind blew towards him. He rippled the water of the wide stream on which her sea barque was rowed upstream along with dozens of other ships. The sails had been caught. The rudder blades plunged evenly into the water.

With almost a hundred ships and several thousand orcs on board, they had sailed up the Great River. The barren coastal land wasn't even worth plundering.

The narrow, agile sea bark formed the vanguard. Later, bulbous big barques followed, on which even dragon animals were transported for riding. The wide river was full of ships. With such a large fleet even Remirg had not yet gone on the road. However, most of these ships were not under his command, but under the command of von Kirie 'Axtschlächter' Störenfried. His long barge, manned by more than a hundred Orc warriors, was the largest ship in the fleet. Together they had started their journey from Orkland, drove along the coast of the Anfurten and then landed in Ynsulania.

But they had not stayed there for long, but had sought the way to the mouth of the river.

They had crossed the swampy, troll-contaminated coastal wilderness unhindered to advance into the heart of the elf kingdom on the Great River. An empire in which the grandchildren of Lerak the Great are currently waging a fierce war over their heritage. They had heard of it from dwarven merchants who regularly sailed across the sea with their clumsy ships, reminiscent of a wooden shoe, to trade in the land of the island elves. And some trapped trolls who had contact with their relatives in the Elven Empire on the Great River confirmed these stories of the conflicting heirs to the throne. When the orcs learned that the black leaves were raging among the trolls, Kirie Axtschlächter had decided to leave the coast of the island elves almost in a hurry. Remirg had no choice but to follow his mighty ally, for his orcs would never have been numerous enough to stand on their own against the trolls. Of course, the prospect of easy prey in Elves' Land on the River had facilitated the decision to leave the coast of the island elves of Ynsulania to one side.

Glory to the name of our clan, my sons! Remirg said booming with a broad smile, revealing the imposing fangs.

We will, Valo said.

Even you, Ravic, although you're an Elfling!

Certainly, Ravic said.

Remirg burped.

It shall not be said that we wrongly bear the name Elfenstirnspalter. Roht and Nido may bring us happiness. Elfenstirnspalter was Orkish. And it meant 'to split the forehead of an Elf'.

So be it! Valo said while his hand lay around the handle of the sword. In his eyes it flashed when he looked at his brother. Although I'm not sure if my brother is secretly praying to his elven mother's elf god!

Ravic's posture was involuntarily tense.

The pointed ears lay backwards.

For a moment his fangs were visible - but his mother's ivory legacy wanted them to be much less pronounced than his father's and half-brother's, despite their similarity. Ravic's hand now embraced the handle of the sword at his side - but with such a strong grip that the ankles turned white.

And the elfish white face got a light green to muddy colour in anger.

Ravic's pointed ears now moved slightly forward.

What are you saying, Valo?

Nothing I hadn't said, Ravic!

Oh, yeah?

Isn't it true that you secretly pray to the elf god of the elf slave who bore you?

You're looking for a fight?

I'm just asking a question.

Ravic cooked inside. You could tell he was struggling to control his anger. But that's what he wants! Ravic thought. That you go out of your skin and say things that make you look like an angry booby.

But before Ravic could reply, Remirg took the floor. Our gods are not jealous, he said. Praying to many gods may also help a lot. And neither Roht, nor Nido, nor Dröjn would be foolish enough to refuse additional help.

Valo grinned and exposed the impressive orcish fangs.

Yes, only the elf god is so stupid and weak, Valo said. What can one expect from such a weakling other than that he curses all those who do not pray to him alone? Maybe he cursed you too, Ravic!

HEH, REMIRG, CALLED Enraib the helmsman, a tree-length orc - and a dwarf bastard, whose white-blond beard was braided into plaits, while the hair on his head had retreated noticeably over the years and made room for a bald head. The fact that his orc mother had obviously got involved with a dwarf had earned him a lot of ridicule in the past. In this respect, he had had a similar experience to Ravic.

Probably even more than in Ravic's case.

Orcs and elves were relatives after all.

Dwarves, on the other hand, were dirty spawn of the earth.

Full of greed and without honor.

At least that was the view of most orcs.

Enraib stretched out his arm. There's riders on the shore!

Dragon riders, to be exact.

In fact, some running dragon riders on the riverbank now stood out as dark silhouettes against the low morning sun. They had emerged like ghosts from the dense fog banks that surrounded the river banks. Proud, well armed elf knights on barrel dragon animals.

Look, your relatives! Valo teased Ravic. Won't you say hello?"

Shut your troll mouth! growled Ravic, teeth-licking.

They're far away, Remirg said. He laughed rough. And above all, they are on the wrong side of the river. They won't be dangerous to us.

The current was currently the border, so the trolls had told them on the coast of the island elves. The border between the middle part of the elven land that Emperor Rahtol ruled and the eastern part of the empire. East of the river, Giwdul ruled, while Lerak controlled the far west of the vast empire, which his grandfather and namesake had once given shape and greatness to.

The mighty, united empire of the elven emperor existed only in tradition.

The fact that the elf kings Giwdul and Lerak had formally declared their allegiance to the elf emperor Rahtol was probably nothing more than a joke.

In fact, all three elven rulers ruled their empires independently of each other and waged war against each other in changing coalitions.

But that's exactly what made the elf kingdom a potential prey right now.

To the prey of predatory orcs, who otherwise would never have dared to venture into the interior of the elf kingdom at the Great Stream, because under normal circumstances this would have been far too dangerous.

They'll be Giwdul's men, Remirg shouted. There's no reason you should lift a finger when we plunder Xalanor!

Would you bet on it? old Dhalmi asked Orkfresse. No one knew exactly how old Dhalmi was. His leathery, wrinkled skin made him look like his face was carved out of stone. One of his fangs was broken off. They said he had ripped a dragon's neck open with it. No one had experienced more than Dhalmi. No one fought more battles, more dwarves, trolls and elves killed, more foreign lands seen and more often shipwrecked than this lean orc, which still had the springy, safe gait of a much younger one. Only his furrowed face gave an idea of the number of years that lay behind him. And the frayed pointed ear on the left, into which a very passionate troll woman had allegedly bitten him.

And since, on the other hand, he was too old to dispute Remirg's leadership over his orcs, he trusted no one else as much as Dhalmi. Not even his sons.

Because Dhalmi was loyal.

And because of his age, he was simply too clever to get involved in any short-term dealings and intrigues.

Remirg pointed over to the elf knights on the other side of the river, whom he considered to be followers of King Giwdul. They won't lift a finger for their elf brothers on the other side of the river because they're at war!

If the tales are true, Dhalmi said.

And even if it weren't, the elves would have to cross the river first. Without ships this is almost impossible, and there are no bridges here far and wide!

Maybe they can walk across the water - by magic, Valo said sarcastically. You hear a lot about what's possible in this realm.

I've never heard of that, Dhalmi said. And since the island elves couldn't walk across the water, I don't suppose that's possible for the elves in the REich am Großen Strom.

Like I said, you hear a lot of things, Valo said. I would be careful what I believe.

In order to cross the river, the elves would have to pray to the God of the river to have his elemental spirits serve him, Dhalmi said. That's what I heard.

Then why don't they? Valo asked.

Because their faith forbids it. The elf god is jealous, as you know. He does not allow his followers to accept additional help from other gods.

A stupid god, Valo said.

Dhalmi grimaced the wrinkled orc face.

Who are you telling?

Valo turned to his brother. You haven't answered my question yet, Ravic: Are you secretly praying to the God of your elven mother - as she taught you when you were little?

In Valo's eyes, it flashed aggressively.

Ravic's eyes, on the other hand, narrowed.

The elfin ears lay back.

I am sure that our father had much more joy with my mother than with yours, Valo - from the sight of which he cannot even flee to distant shores since you have been sailing on his ships. Because you look far too much like this sneaky, wrinkled snake from Igarb's clan, Valo.

Valo took a moment to cut. His smile became disgusting.

Predatory.

Well roared, Elfling! I didn't think you could do that.

Oh, no?

I had thought your berserk rage would go through with you and you would throw yourself at me so that I could let you run right into my knife. But I'm sure there's another chance...

Won't you kill a few more elves first? Or don't you have the courage, Valo? Ravic made a sweeping gesture. The land here is flat, you'll have to fight hard, because it's almost impossible to ambush here.

That's enough! Remirg intervened. If you two insult your mothers, I don't mind, because they're not there!

Nothing like a tolerant father, young men! Dhalmi commented and laughed.

Remirg went on to say to Ravic and Valo, But you are both my sons. And I want peace to reign among you!

Valo pulled the orc-mouth and rumbled dull.

Ravic's face color had now adapted so strongly to his brother's with rage that one could hardly see a difference.

The elfin slanting eyes became very narrow.

Kill elves - but not each other one day, Remirg said.

Valo snarled the orc-mouth.

Slaying elves or slaying my brother - that's the same in this case, Valo growled.

Remirg then punched Valo right in the face. Valo swayed dazed, but didn't fall.

Remirg growled.

Pull yourself together, son!

A WILD WAR CRY NOW arose as the outlines of walls and buildings appeared in the mists of the eastern shore. It had to be Xalanor. Wooden palisades surrounded the place. But there also seemed to be buildings made of stone. At least one temple tower towered over the fortifications. There were dozens of ships and boats by the river. Some fishermen were busy unloading last night's catch. But when they now noticed the fleet of orcs approaching the place, they left the nets and the catch behind and fled instantly. Their cries go as far as the sea barks of the orcs.

Row faster, Remirg shouted and waved his battle axe. I can't wait to kill elves!

At least there's a temple tower, Valo said. Then we can hope there's a shaman monastery and some treasures to capture!

The first sea barkers reached the fords on the banks of the river. Remirg and Ravic were among the first to climb ashore. They stormed up the embankment.

Valo, on the other hand, held back.

The luck of war was not with the foolhardy Berserker, but with the one who fought only when he knew that he would also win. A quick attack from ambush or with superior powers - that was what the gods in this world rewarded, even though they may have promised something else for the hereafter. And so Valo only went ashore when most of the other orcs had long since stormed the palisades of Xalanor and the first of them had already been killed by arrows.

Come on, Valo, your father shouldn't say that you've been overtaken by an old orc, Dhalmi Orkfresse shouted to him.

I'll set an example for you, Dhalmi! Valo shouted.

So?

To become an old orc yourself!

By the god of thunder, raw!

You can pass me all you want, old Orc!

Apparently, you're more to watch than I thought, Valo!

Yes, one should! By our gods, one should! And after he had said this, Valo ripped open his orc mouth and gave an animal-like scream that shuddered for a moment even the old Dhalmi who had been washed with all kinds of water.

Everyone's gonna hear from me, Valo took care of him. Everyone who underestimates me right now!

LIKE SHOOTING STARS, fire arrows soaked in pitch whistled through the air and descended in their hundreds inside the perimeter wall. Especially the orcs of Igarb's clan were considered good archers. These orcs have followed Remirg for many years. And the fact that Remirg had taken a woman from this clan was a sign of how close the connection with the clan of Remirg Elfenstirnspalter was.

From Igarb's clan came the best archers Remirg had ever heard of, and so to a certain extent he was dependent on the help of this orc clan. There were many Orc warriors who could smash the skull of their enemies with a long-stemmed dwarf axe. But good archers were rare.

Very rare.

And for the offspring, not everyone was talented.

Only some of the archers fired arrows. The others were after the guards behind the palisades erected on an embankment. These were not very numerous. There were also archers among them who fired arrow by arrow. But the orcs of Igarb's clan decimated them quickly.

The gate facing the river was closed long ago. But in the accompanying watchtowers there were already several fire arrows and since these towers were made of wood, there was a high probability that they would catch fire sooner or later.

Most of the orcs just stormed the ramparts. Arrows were already stuck in the shields of most of them. And some of them had already been fatally wounded. But the casualties were limited. The shooters from Igarb's clan also made sure of this in the first place. Several archers among the defenders were hit. One fell screaming over the balustrade. He was still alive when the first orcs stormed up the embankment.

It was Remirg himself who knocked his head off with his sword before the elf could possibly save himself with a healing spell. The elven's severed head rolled into the damp, slippery grass as the blood splashed out of the stump of the neck.

In the meantime Ravic had reached the palisades together with some other warriors. One and a half man heights they towered up and were sharpened at the top. But such ramparts were no obstacle for the orcs. One of the orcs made a kick with his hands. Ravic put the sword in his hand and threw his shield to the side, in which half a dozen arrows were stuck. An elven archer put his finger on him from above. But even before he could release the bowstring, a warrior from Igarb's clan had killed him with a safe shot.

The name of this orc warrior was Neruq Sharpy Eye. He was a brother of Remirg's wife. Neruq's helmet caught his eye with a clearly visible bump that he had received from fighting an island elf on an earlier trip. Come on, over the wall with you, Neruq shouted, while he was still running and sending another arrow along the way, killing another guard behind the chest guard.

Ravic's foot was held by the hands of a fellow combatant. He swung on his shoulders, placed a foot between the sharpened logs from which the perimeter had been made, and then daringly swung over the balustrade.

He had so much momentum that he couldn't have stayed on the battlements. He staggered to the ground, held one defender at a distance with a deserted kick and dragged a second one down with him. Ravic landed on him and then slipped with him down the inside of the embankment for the rampart and palisades. Ravic was the first to get back on his feet. He tore a short-stemmed, light throwing axe from his belt and hurled it with an almost casual movement against a defender who stormed him with a long elf sword in his hands. The elf dodged the axe. Ravic pulled out his own sword and swung the blade through the air at lightning speed. Just in time to fend off the attack of another fast approaching attacker. Steel clashed against steel. Ravic fended off the blow to the side, then let his long, slender blade go back with a powerful blow and hit an attacker's leg.

A scream shrieked as the bone broke.

Ravic's sword severed his opponent's leg just below the kneecap. The elven warrior fell and rowed with his sword arm through the air. Ravic rolled to the side to avoid the falling man and then pushed the sword into his body. With one jump Ravic got back on his feet. His left shoulder was bloody. But that was not his own blood, but the blood of the elf he had just slain.

He made a hissing sound.

His cheeks were bloated into an orc-mouth.

The fangs became visible.

Calls to his ear.

Fire! It burns! shouted a hoarse woman's voice, which sounded as if of senses. That it burned was unmissable, for dark, almost pitch-black columns of smoke rose up to the hazy sky, through which the morning sun could hardly penetrate. The sound of these words reminded Ravic of his childhood. To his mother, a stolen elf slave at the court of Remirg Elfenstirnspalter. She had taught Ravic the first words and they had been from the language of the elves. The elf had died of demon fever before Ravic had turned ten. But he still had the sound of their language in his ear - good enough to communicate in it. The differences to the language of the orcs were not very big anyway, because both peoples were related, even if the common origins were long, long ago.

In a distant past and another world...

It was a strange feeling for Ravic now to invade the land his mother came from as a robber and looter. A country that seemed strangely familiar to him through the stories of his mother, even though he had never entered it before.

Ravic grasped the sword handle with both hands and whirled around as he perceived a movement from the corners of his eye. Hoarse screams were heard. Cries of death and harsh orders mingled. Within moments, Ravic was surrounded by at least a dozen elves. Elves who constantly mumbled magic spells to increase their fighting power and speed. Or to awaken a deadly demon in the enemy's soul. Like the one whose fever killed his mother, for example.

But Ravic was fearless in that regard.

A spear was pushed in his direction. Ravic pulled over. By a massive blow he made sure that his opponents kept more distance.

With a crazy scream one of the elves finally stormed Ravic. Ravic parried the first, massive sword blow and had to take a step back before the second. Since he was surrounded, he had no choice but to launch a blind raging counterattack. With all his might, he fought for himself. The double-edged blade whirled through the air and came clinking against the steel of the opponent. The blow was so violent that his blade broke. The very next moment, Ravic's quick sting had killed the elves. He whirled around, separated the sword hand and weapon from another attacker's body, avoided a spear that passed him by a hair's breadth, and then attacked again.

There was a scream. A second orc had managed to climb over the palisades and now jumped foolhardy among the elves. That was Denumorh the Rough - one of the few orcs from Igarb's clan who were bad at archery. Denumorh had other qualities for that. He was a giant even by the standards of the orcs. Ravic - although tall and broad-shouldered - though elf-like as his mother - seemed to be almost weak compared to this colossus. The muscles of Denumorh's arms that were visible under his doublet were so thick that many others would have liked to have them as thighs. In battle, he always wore a bearskin around his shoulders because he believed that the powers of the bear passed to him. And he ate an essence of certain magical mushrooms, which made him furious and made him feel no fear and no pain. Wildly screaming, he immediately jumped at his opponents. One of them had already been knocked out with a fist. One-handed he carried an especially long dwarf axe, whose blade was larger than that of his comrades. A blow drove the next best elf through the helmet and split his skull up to the base of his neck. Blood and brain matter spurted up. The elf was still rowing with a sword arm, while Denumorh gave him a kick to be able to loosen the axe blade better from the dead. He swung the terrible weapon around and smacked down two opponents with one blow.

At last! Ravic shouted. I thought you'd leave me alone!

Denumorh only answered with a growl. His eyes were bloodshot and dilated. In this state it was better not to address him. And even his comrades avoided this, because when he was in Berserker rage, it could well be that his wild rage accidentally hit an ally.

Denumorh wasn't a pussy.

The fungus then controlled him.

Terms like friend or foe could be confused.

Then there was only irrepressible rage left in him.

The rage of a Berserker orc!

A rage that knew no retreat, no caution, no self-protection, no allies, and no hesitation.

On the whole, however, one could be glad to have this berserker on one's side and not have to fight against him.

Because that could be really awkward.

An orc like a storm wind.

And Denumorh had a few comrades-in-arms who were hardly inferior to him in terms of madness.

For example an orc called Mroo, which was not called the 'mad' Mroo for nothing...

MORE ORC WARRIORS HAVE now crossed the palisades. The mad Mroo grabbed an opponent with his bare hands and rammed him onto the sharpened logs that made up the palisades. The elf's cry mixed with the noise of battle.

Crazy Mroo was a younger brother of Remirg Elfenstirnspalter. Twenty years separated the two. He belonged more to Ravics and Valo's generation than to his brother Remirg.

Ravic's grandfather - Remirg Elfenstirnspalter the Elder - had fathered this son with his second, much younger Ork woman. Mroo had been given the nickname 'the maniac' ever since Denumorh began to show him how to prepare the magical mushroom extracts, which made those concerned forget that they were not gods but mortals. Mroo jumped at another guard with a wild scream, pushed two daggers into his body and at the same time gave him a headbutt with his forehead.

The elf warrior fell from the battlements behind the palisades.

In close combat, the mad Mroo often used a pair of daggers because they were more agile towards the opponent than with the sword, which always needed a certain freedom of movement to use it effectively. The crazy Mroo carried his sword girdled over his back and was proud to hardly use it. Because no one got closer to the enemy than Mroo.

The extract of the mushrooms, it was said, made immune to any influence or weakening by elf magic.

Ravic would have found it beneath his dignity to fight this way. The weapon of a real warrior was the sword or the axe. At best still the bow, if one knew how to lead it with the skill, like many of the orcs from Igarbs clan.

But crazy Mroo had his own opinion about it.

Allegedly, during an earlier trip to the coast of Dalirland, he had ripped a troll's neck open with his fangs, so close had Mroo come to the enemy.

With one jump the crazy Mroo threw himself from the battlements onto one of the elf warriors who was about to throw a spear in Ravic's direction.

Mroo caught the elf from behind, rammed one of his daggers into his side with the full force of his jump and slit his neck open with the other, so that the blood splashed high while the elf was still staggering to the ground.

Meanwhile, Denumorh's axe blade hooked itself into the hollow of an elven's knee, causing the elven to lose its balance. A blow with the dwarf axe smashed his skull.

Several dozen orcs had meanwhile passed through the palisades. At the same time another volley of fire arrows flew into the city. Houses were already on fire. It was hopeless to try to extinguish the fires now. Ever denser columns of smoke rose to the sky.

To the gate! Ravic shouted. That was the most important thing: If the invaders were able to open the gate, several hundred orcs could enter the city. So the fight would have been decided and there was no stopping for the defenders anymore.

But even if that didn't happen, it was only a matter of time before the place could be taken by the orcs.

Ravic kept making his sword swirl through the air. He had performed these movements so often that they had become his flesh and blood. He didn't have to think about what he was doing. A point of the sword hit him on the upper part of his body and penetrated the leather cover of his waistcoat, but remained stuck in the layers of densely woven fabrics underneath. The thrust did not throw powerfully enough had been guided. Ravic fended off the blade before it could actually injure him, and in the next moment he pushed himself with his blade. The elf sank to the ground groaning as blood dyed his clothes. He mumbled another healing spell. The wounds were already closed. But Ravic struck again. For the eleven, that was the end. Blood also came out of his mouth and nose. He ruffled and twitched like a slaughtered chicken when he was already lying on the ground.

Ravic gave a growl like the orc battle cries.

Crazy Mroo was now next to him, screaming and jumping at an elf who retreated before this berserk with his eyes widened in fear.

Denumorh was now also in Ravics' immediate vicinity. And with these two berserk cores at his side, the young orc stormed towards the main gate on the river side of the city. The cries of Denumorh the Rauen and the mad Mroo alone caused horror among the elven guards.

The gate hadn't been very busy anyway - just as the whole fortification for Ravic had made the impression at first glance that it wasn't manned in great numbers. Perhaps this had something to do with the War of the Kings, which was currently raging in the elf kingdom. A circumstance that played into the hands of everyone who now had the courage to take what was not sufficiently protected.

The gate was quickly cleared. An elf limped bleeding from it. A healing spell helped him at short notice and prevented him from collapsing. Two other elves lay beaten to death on the ground moments later. And the others fled.

They were just trying to save their lives.

Ravic took the sword. Together with Denumorh, he pushed the large beams, which served as bars, to the side. And then it was done. The gate could be opened. The wild horde of orcs stormed in. Even the great Denumorh was almost knocked down when one of the warriors bumped into him with his shield.

Remirg Elfenstirnspalter Schreckenssohn and Kirie Störenfried were among the first attackers. A little later Valo and the old Dhalmi followed.

Meanwhile, the archers fired another volley of fire. Probably the last one. Because even for the shooters there was no stopping now. No one wanted to be the last one to get a turn at the looting. And even if the booty was later distributed fairly and according to the rules of the orc clan, there was still one or the other thing that could be taken under the nail. A good sword, a golden magic Elfengott-Runenkreuz or a bag of silver coins that a merchant might have hidden under his bed.

Well done, Ravic! Remirg called out Elfenstirnspalter and the pride in his son was clear to hear.

Too clear, because Valo, who was only a few steps away, had heard that and his gaze darkened. The helmet with the deep nose protection did not show this immediately for everyone. But Ravic had noticed that. He finally knew his brother from Kleinauf. You were the same age. Their mothers - Remirgs Ork-wife and the slave, who had simply been called 'the elf' - had given birth on the same day. To this day, no one knew for sure whose cry they heard first. And the only one who could have known this was the healing Audhild. But she had been very old then. Older than anyone Ravic had ever met. It was said that she too had elf blood in her veins. Ravic remembered well how he had gone to her at the age of five, when she sat alone and slumped down by her fire - she had seemed quite calm. It was only later that he realized that she was no longer alive. Her secret had taken her with her to the realm of the dead, and it would probably remain there, unless one of the two half-brothers set out there at some point to snatch it from the old Audhild.

You're gonna be a good leader, Remirg said as he patted his son on the back. Then he went on and shouted: "Catch all elf shamans and novices!