The Orc War: A Summoner Fiction

The Beginning

James was packing his bag in the dark, the sun just starting to rise above the thick green canopy of bordering jungle. The last thing he grabs is his bow, the longbow was the only weapon he knew well, and considering he was going alone, he wanted to be prepared. As he climbed the gate, not even alerting his own people of his absence, he was stopped.
"Leaving without a goodbye?" It was Arya, in travel gear.
"I'm guessing you mean to the rest of the village."
She climbed the gate to equal height with James. "Of course I did. Besides how would they feel if you never came back?" She had a point, he was the lifeline of this small quaint village, he knew information that could be bought, had skills in the jungle that few in the kingdom possessed, but that is why the Sargent wanted him.
"I already told you I'm declining his offer."
"You know that's not what I meant."
"I'm not going to die." he said swinging his legs over the top of the gate. "There is nothing I can't take on." And with that he dropped, landing in a three point stance, and immediately searching the jungles border for in wanting eyes. Arya followed suit, much to his displeasure, he wanted to make sure she was safe and stayed within the thin walls of the village. He knew it was useless to confront her, she had a thicker skull than an Orc, and the fiery grace of an elf that makes her a force to be reckoned with in a verbal assault.
He ran towards the road, consistently looking over his shoulder into the jungle. He saw a pair of red eyes, and then they were gone. He made sure Arya was within range as his worry increased. He knew of no Orc not animal that had red eyes that glowed with that intensity. As she broke the cover of the trees he could breath a little easier.
He slowed down the city within view. He saw an encampment of soldiers, everyone in the camp was rushing about, sharpening swords, repairing armor. They were preparing for war. As he walked into the city with Arya at his side, he went to the tower, the center of command of the First Legion. The Sargent should be inside. As he walked through the streets he saw that the many of the locals were much better off than his own, however he saw no kindness in their eyes.
Canston was in view. Folcan waved him down, "Ah, Commander Folcan. How are you?"
"I'm here to decline your offer. I refuse to command any army."
A frown crossed Canston's face. "You don't understand. It was not a request." he pulled out a form. "You are to be drafted, by order of the King."
The piece if paper held the king's seal. He snatched the paper out of Canstons hands, quickly skimming the page. It was indeed a draft order, it stated that James Folcan was to command the First Legion. He turned to Arya, "Go back to the village, you have to take care of the people, don't let anyone near the jungle, and if possible tell them to go south, into the mountains."
"No I'm not going to leave you here."
"Please you need to keep them safe, I'll be fine, as soon as this war is over I will get you. Okay?" He could feel his heart sink, as her face showed defeat, she knew the horrors of war, she had comforted him through the dwarf war almost ten years ago. He knew what she was afraid of, it wasn't death, of killing, it was him, taking his own life. He handed her his knife, that had taken the lives of many animals, and drawn blood, of his own. "Take this, and know I will be safe."
She looked up, tears in her eyes. "You will come back." and with that she turned, heading back to the town as night fell in the west.
Canston stepped next to James, "what are your orders, sir?"
James said nothing. Watching Arya dash into the distance, both of his safety nets leaving him behind. "Show me my men." With that Canston lead him into the camp, into the center, there was a ring set up, with two soldiers inside. Folcan stopped and watched. There was a boy, he was using two daggers, and there was a middle aged man, with a scar on his face, he wielded a spear. The man lunged at the boy. The child took a simple side step and brought both of his daggers down onto the spear, cutting it in two. The man was now angry, he took several swings at the boy, but to no prevail. The child was fast, and quick minded. He dodged the mans attacks, and observed the mans movements searching for an opening. Folcan had already found it, when the man attacks he takes a step forward, setting himself off balance, just for a moment. The boy saw the motions as well. On the next strike the boy ducked and swung his legs underneath the man. Knocking the soldier on his arse. The was a cheering from the crowd gathered around as bets were exchanged.
"Who is that boy?" James asked Canston.
"I haven't the slightest."
"You there, victor. Come here."
The boy obeyed.
"What is your name?"
"Captain Rastor, sir."
"A captain. Impressive, and tell me who is that." Motioning to the man on the ground.
"That's Horace, he's very strong, and the second highest kill count."
"Horace!" James shouted, "Form up!"
He obeyed. "Yes sir?"
"How many orcs have you slain?"
"17 Sir," James was caught a bit off guard by that.
"That's impressive. Tell me, what rank are you?"
"Captain, sir," The man slowly realizing who he was talking to, "Are you James Folcan?"
"Yes, I am."
"Is it true you fended off an entire Legion of Dwarves in the war, with only two squadrons?"
Folcan turned away at that and closed his eyes as horrid memories of blood and death flooded back into his mind. "Yes, it is. But I am not proud of it, so please, in the future do not bring the matter up."
Rastor looked at Folcan, "So you are the Iron Bow."
That was a name Folcan hadn't heard in a decade. "Yes. But I retired that bow, and that title."
People now gathered around the group. Folcan got an idea, the fight had reminded him of the strategies he had used in the Dwarf War. "Everyone listen up." The crowd hushed, he had forgotten how much influence he had had on others, "I'm going to be splitting you into teams, squadrons if you will." This brought some smiles onto some of the younger faces. "Each squadron must consist of two swordsmen, two archers, two spearmen, and two light soldiers. Do you understand?" There was a mumble of agreement, though many looked disappointed. "This is the tactic I used in the Dwarf war, and because of it, my soldiers never had a single casualty. Report to Sargent Canston with your groups by tomorrow morning, if you don't have a group you will be put into my own personal guard." At this many smirked. Folcan used this to his advantage as the two he noticed were the two in the fight. "Being in my guard is the most difficult position in this Legion. You will be leading the assault beside me. Not cowering back in the tent. Rastor and Horace will be the heads of my guard." At this they grew serious. No one wanted to lead the battles, charging head on into the Orc armies. "Seeing that they are the only ones qualified to do so. Dismissed!" At this the soldiers muttered amongst themselves, whispering, glaring, isolating. Horace and Rastor were left alone on their field of battle.