C&C on an original first draft please.

[Lurker]

Something I've written in the past couple of weeks. It's only a first draft and shorter than my usual fare, so I'd appreciate some C&C. I've deliberately left the main character unnamed partly because I'm taking my time to decide on an appropriate name and partly because I like the concept of the nameless hero, the one who does the right thing, even if his intentions at the start aren't entirely noble, then wanders off into the sunset. It's always been intriguing why these people would spurn the comforts of a 'normal' life for what is essentially a lonely existence.

There's no particular setting for this other than a proto-typical high fantasy world, though one grounded a little more in the realities of medieval life than most.

So on with it and hope you enjoy. I only wish the forum software allowed for proper formatting.
***
The trail ended at a small, fast flowing river.
The Warrior reined his horse in and dismounted. The animal snorted and pawed at the ground, his nostrils flaring as he sensed something on the wind. The Warrior stood still, his eyes sweeping along the river banks and the thick undergrowth that grew beneath the canopy of the forests unyielding boles all around for miles, his ears alert for any sound. There was no movement in sight other than the rhythmic swaying of the vegetation in the breeze and no sound bar the gentle rustle of the leaves, the steady breathing of his horse and the gurgle of the river. The Warrior took a step forward and examined the softer soil by the water. Stones of various sizes littered the exposed earth, interspersed with the holes made by small burrowing insects, but amongst it all The Warrior found what he was after; a pair of hoof prints.
There was no sign of weathering, meaning they had been made after the last rain fall. The Warrior took up the reins again. His quarry could be no more than a day ahead of him. If he rode through the night, there was a good chance he might catch up to him.
He put one foot in the stirrup and paused. After a moment the sound came again, carried on the breeze, a whimper and a gentle sob. In one swift movement, The Warrior was back on the horse and pushing him forward into the forest.

***

The Warrior followed the sound of the sobbing.
Drawing closer, the sounds became more distinct and The Warrior was able to place them as a child crying. Dismounting, he tied the reins to a branch and drew his sword. Pushing his way through the undergrowth, he followed the sound, hacking through it when it threatened to bar him passage.
Suddenly the undergrowth disappeared and he found himself in a clearing. A small boy of about four sat in the middle, sobbing into his balled fists. He was dressed in rough homespun peasant's garb and was covered in dirt and grime from head to toe. The boy looked up as The Warrior entered and shrunk away at the sight of his sword.
Sheathing the weapon, the Warrior knelt down beside the boy.
"Fear not, I'll not hurt you. What's your name?"
"Gavin." Said the boy with a sniffle.
"Well Gavin, what would you be doing out here all alone? Where are your parents?"
"Dunno. You a knight, sir?" the boy asked, his tears forgotten and eyes now wide with wonder as he eyed the Warrior's weapons and armour.
"I used to be, but that was long ago and a long story. Where do you live?"
"In the village." Came the reply
"Do you know its name?"
"Her'fud'pon-Tin." the boy mumbled.
"Hereford-upon-Tyn? That's not far from here. Come, I'll take you home." The Warrior said, gripping Gavin and lifting him into the air as he stood. "We can't have you wandering the woods alone. You could get eaten by a wolf or a goblin." He walked back through the undergrowth, carrying the boy over the worst of it.
"Have you ever ridden a horse before?" The Warrior asked Gavin as they returned to his mount.
"No sir."
The Warrior placed him on the horse, in front the saddle, then climbed up after him.
"Hold on tight then. It's not far, but it's a long way for you to fall." He said as he spurred the horse on.
"Wot's 'is name?" asked Gavin.
"Deo."
"Is 'e your horse?"
"He is indeed, though sometimes he likes to think he owns me." The Warrior said in a light voice. Deo snorted at that point, as though he disagreed and Gavin laughed.
"Tell me Gavin, how did you come to be lost in the woods?"
"I's playin' with Ginny when 'e ran 'to the woods chasin' a rabbit. I tried t' catch 'im but got lost."
"Who's Ginny?"
"Me Da's dog."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" The Warrior said to himself.

***

They followed an old hunter's track through the woods.
Before too long the trees began to thin and the outside world leaked into the forest. Gavin dozed quietly, rocked to sleep by Deo's gentle rhythm. The Warrior was considering his next course of action when a faint odour reached his nostrils which gave him pause.
Smoke, and something else, something instantly recognizable.
Gripping Gavin tight, he kicked Deo into a gallop and the horse leapt forward at a blinding speed, waking the boy with a start. The trees flashed past, a blur of green and brown. Gavin wailed at the frightening speed, but could do little other than hang on in terror.
Suddenly they emerged from the trees and The Warrior reined Deo to a stop.
The hunting trail emerged atop a ridgeline where it joined with a narrow road. Above them a thick bank of clouds hung low in the sky, casting a dispiriting gloom on the countryside. To their left the ground slopped steeply down to a wide fast flowing river while to the right was a broad, shallow valley, empty save for a few small stands of trees and some fields of crops. Ahead of them billows of smoke rose from a burning village and small figures could be seen moving amongst the buildings. Even from this distance The Warrior could recognize their misshapen, inhuman appearance.
Orcs.
Dumping Gavin on the ground, he fixed him with a steely gaze that held the four year old transfixed. "Stay here and stay out of sight." Gavin nodded dumbly and The Warrior kicked Deo into a gallop again.
Directing him down the ridge into the valley, he approached the village from its blind side, getting as close as he dared to on horseback before dismounting and continuing on foot.
At the top of the ridge he found an Orc that had been posted as picket, but who was more interested in amusing himself by toying with a terrified farmer. As the farmer quailed before the creature, the Orc clasped a meaty hand around his throat and raised him up to his mouth. As the creature opened his maw to take a bite from the farmers shoulder, The Warrior darted forward as silently as he could, levelling his blade for a thrust and took the Orc in the back, his blade slicing through the creatures leather cuirass with more ease than a normal sword would have had. The Orc let out a howl of pain and tried to turn around, but the action caused the blade to slice further through its body and it crumpled to the ground in a quivering bloody mess.
Pausing just long enough to set the farmer off in the direction of the woods, The Warrior moved cautiously into the village. From all parts came the sounds of fighting; the clash of steel and the grunts and snarled war cries of the Orcs mixed with the screams of the terrified peasants. The Warrior judged the number of Orcs at about a hundred, probably a raiding band that had descended from their subterranean lairs in the mountains to pillage the lands about before winter fell.
He moved towards a building on his left, surprising a group of Orcs that were just emerging from inside, their arms laded with stocks of food and anything else of worth. The Warrior moved through them at blinding speed, his sword flashing faster than their eye could follow and four of the Orcs fell before they realized they were attacked, their heads falling a short distance from their bodies. The final two dropped their loot and attempted to draw their swords. The Warrior felled the first with a two handed diagonal cut that sliced the Orc in two from its left shoulder to its right hip. Sensing motion behind him, he spun around as the final Orc attempted a thrust at his back. The Warrior's blade clashed against the Orc's, fouling his thrust and forcing it to the side. The Warrior counterthrusted, punching his sword through the Orc's rusting chainmail. It fell, leaving The Warrior standing alone.
The sudden clash of steel on steel and Orc war cries drew The Warrior toward the river. There he found a dozen villagers defending a large barn from the Orcs. Most were armed with simple farm implements but one, a larger man with considerable girth, was armed with an old longsword which he swung with some skill. Despite the man's stoic efforts, it was clear the Orcs numbers gave them the upper hand.
Gripping his sword tight, The Warrior gave a shout and charged the Orcs. The Orcs, somewhat surprised that a single man would challenge a host of them set on him with a savage sense of entertainment, as if such a diversion were amusing to them.
The first of them brought his heavy two handed sword downward towards The Warrior's head. The Warrior raised his blade to a hanging guard, sword held horizontal above his head with the point hanging in the air, and effortlessly parried the blow as the edge of his sword sliced through the poor quality steel of the Orc's weapon. Before the tip of the Orc's sword, suddenly freed from the rest of the blade, could strike the ground, The Warrior reversed his guard and brought his blade down on the beast's helm, cleaving it and the head underneath in two.
Seeing how easily the first Orc was dispatched, the remaining Orcs rushed The Warrior together, seeking to overwhelm him through numbers. The Warrior danced around their blades, always moving and never allowing them to surround him. Every time one tried to strike at him, The Warrior would parry and the Orc's blade would be cut in two, then, one by one, they would fall to his sword.
When finally the last Orc fell and no more stepped forward to take his place, dozens of bodies lay about the ground and The Warrior turned towards the peasants who were emerging almost sheepishly from the building. The large man with the sword approached and The Warrior put up his sword to show he had no hostile intent towards them, and the large man did the same.
The large man looked about at the bodies. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have called any man who told me of this a liar. This must be at least half their force."
"A good portion of it at least. Orc raiding parties normally number a hundred."
The large man sighed. "It never is easy with these ungodly beasts, is it? Well, we've more work to do." He put his hand out. "I'm William, the local miller. We could sure use your help. We'll pay you whatever we can for your trouble."
The Warrior took his hand and they shook. He looked at the motley collection of farmers and peasants armed with their improvised weapons and knew that, even with their numbers drastically reduced, the Orc's could still decimate the village.
"I'll aid you as much as I can, but I can not stay long. I'm tracking a dangerous man and can not tarry here long."
Inclining his head toward the dead Orc's, William said "I doubt it will take long. Come." He led them away from the river and towards the fields in the valley below. "They've held most of their force back, instead sending a small contingent to raid us for our food supplies. That's what was in that building back there. Now that we, or rather you, have blunted their raid, they'll likely attack with the rest of their force.”
They came to the edge of the village and The Warrior gazed out over the valley. On the other side he saw a number of Orcs milling about. His sharp eyesight picked out one, larger than the others, that was moving amongst them, seemingly trying to force the rabid mob into some sort of order. He estimated they would attack within the hour.
Casting his gaze further about, he inspected the lay of the land. The slope along the valley was gentle but to the east it dropped off sharply as the river curved to the south, making a natural barrier to any attack. A road ran directly south out of the village and across the valley to climb to the Orc’s position on the other side and to the west the ridgeline continued to the forest where The Warrior had found Gavin.
“They’ll likely send a feint along the roadway and then attack with their main force across the valley.” He said, then turned to the road that ran along the ridge. “Or they might circle around and attack along the ridgeline, which will be harder to defend against. How many men do you have that are fit to fight?”
“Maybe four or five dozen.” William said. “Nothing better than farmers armed with hoes and pitchforks, I’m afraid.”
The Warrior contemplated how the battle would probably play out. “To have any chance of success, we’ll have to concentrate our forces and keep the Orc’s from spreading us out. If they draw us too thin, we’ll be butchered, likewise if they attack on more than one front.”
William scratched at his beard. “Not sure how you’ll do that. You can’t exactly politely ask an Orc to play fair.”
The Warrior walked back into the village until he had a clear view of the road that ran along the ridge. “We need to build a barricade along that side of the village. Use anything you can find, but make it so big that they won't be able to climb over it and sturdy enough they can’t just push it over. Get everybody in the village working on it, then afterwards give everybody a weapon. Women and children as well."
William looked at him as if he had just sprouted a second head. "Let them fight? They'll be slaughtered."
"We'll all be slaughtered if we don't increase our numbers. Now give me a hand here." He said as he walked to an overturned wagon. He let out a loud whistle, and a moment later Deo cantered into the village. He muzzled The Warrior's hand as he gently rubbed his nose. "He's a warhorse, but he'll still pull as much as any draught horse."
They righted the wagon and William and his men began loading everything they could into the back of it while The Warrior hitched Deo to it. Within minutes people who had earlier been hidden inside and outside the village returned and began pitching in as word of the Knight, who fought with the fury of a demon, spread like wildfire.
Before long their barricade began to take shape. Built across the western edge of the village, it resembled not so much a properly built wooden stockade as an upturned pile of junk and there were still large gaps in it, but The Warrior judged that once complete it would be enough to slow an attack enough so they could reorganize and redeploy.
Suddenly the air was filled with the discordant sounds of an Orc war horn, followed by a fearsome war cry that cast fear into the hearts of the villagers.
The villager, whom The Warrior had designated as a lookout, ran back into the village, pointing across the valley. "They come! The Orcs are coming up the road." He cried.
The Warrior leapt upon Deo's back, slashing the leather harness that pulled another wagon load of goods behind him with his sword, and raced for the road across the valley.
He stopped at the crest of the road and looked out over the valley. Down below he could see several dozen Orcs charging across the valley floor, their passage raising a mighty cloud of dust into the air. William came up to join him, sword in hand.
"How many do you count?"
"At least thirty."
"You're right. This is a feint and the rest of them will hit us somewhere else."
"For a farmer you seem to have some knowledge of the art of war." The Warrior pointed out.
William grinned. "Miller." He corrected. "I don't scrabble about in the dirt for a living. And you're a very astute one. I was a mercenary until I took a wife and had children. Now I grind corn into flour. But once you take up the sword, very few can ever put it down again."
William's words struck a cord within The Warrior, but he pushed them aside. The charging Orcs presented a far more immediate threat than personal problems.
"Get back to the barricade and prepare for an attack along there."
William looked at him. "You can't seriously be planning on holding all of them off on your own? I'll send some men back to aide you."
"Just send me half a dozen archers, and don't worry about me. I've no intention of dying at the hands of some Orc."
William trudged away, muttering under his breath at the lack of sanity in some people.
The Warrior watched the Orcs as they came, judging the best line of attack and marking the one's whose deaths would have the greatest impact on the rest. Moment's later six villagers in possession of bows and some arrows arrived and took up a position behind The Warrior. The Warrior held his hand up, indicating the villagers should wait until he gave the order to fire.
He waited, silently counting down the distance till they crossed the invisible line that marked the range of their arrows. All too soon the first Orc placed his foot across that line and The Warrior dropped his hand. Six arrows arced high into the air before falling to the ground. Two struck their targets, killing one Orc and wounding the other.
They released another volley and this time two Orcs died and another two were wounded.
"Until I give the signal, keep shooting no matter what." The Warrior instructed before kicking Deo into a gallop and, with sword raised, he charged the Orcs.
The Orcs slowed, then stopped. With some what bemused expressions, they formed ranks and prepared to meet his charge. Another volley of arrows flew over The Warrior's head, one of them striking an Orc in the neck. He fell, opening a hole in their line through which The Warrior angled Deo. The Orcs moved to close it, but The Warrior moved faster and was through their line, his sword slashing left then right, taking the heads off the Orcs on either side.
Another volley of arrows rained down and more Orcs died. The Warrior leapt from Deo's back, landing atop an Orc and bearing him to the ground and driving his sword into his gut.
Instinct made him turn and roll away just in time as an Orc axe split the air where his head had been. He came up to find himself surrounded on all sides. He raised his sword and waved, the signal for the archers to cease fire and return to the barricade.
An Orc attacked him from the side and at the same time The Warrior felt more than sensed movement behind him. Rather than standing to meet the Orcs attack, The Warrior threw his weight forward into the Orc, driving his sword upwards, the tip piercing the Orcs throat, and evaded a sword thrust aimed at his heart. The Warrior withdrew his sword, spun, batting away the sword that would have skewered him, then reversed his blade and drew across the Orcs body, slicing through his leather jerkin as if it were mere cloth. The Orcs hesitated realizing that they faced a formidable enemy, then charged him together.
The Warrior ducked and weaved, evading every blow with eerie foresight while every strike of his felled an Orc with uncanny precision. Finally the last Orc fell and he looked about. Deo stood off to the side, an Orc with a crushed skull at his feet. Blood on Deo's hooves told that the horse was more than capable of defending himself. From the west, sounds of battle announced that the Orcs had launched an attack on the barricade.
The Warrior remounted Deo and spurred him through the village. As the barricade came into sight, he saw that the villagers were in dire straits. They were outnumbered at least two to one and whilst many of them were making valiant stands defending the gaps in the incomplete wall, The Warrior could see that they were near breaking point. Another moment and they would route, leaving the Orcs free to massacre them all.
The Warrior dug his heels into Deo's flanks and urged the horse forwards just as the first of the villagers turned and started to run.
"Stand your ground! Hold the line!" The Warrior cried as he leapt into the fray. Wherever his sword struck, an Orc died. Suddenly inspired, the villagers set upon the Orcs with renewed vigour. Several fell to the Orcs swords, but several more Orcs fell to their hoes and pitchforks.
An Orc raised its arm to bring its heavy club down on The Warrior head, but was felled by a thrust to its exposed armpit, severing several major arteries. The Warrior looked about, he stood alone in a lull as the battle raged around him. He looked left and saw William grappling with an Orc, both trying to fend the other off with his free hand whilst looking for an opening to strike with his sword. So engrossed was William that he failed to notice the Orc behind him, poised to deliver a death blow with his sword.
The Warrior acted without hesitation. Hefting his sword, he threw it at the Orc. The blade spun as it flew through the air. The hilt struck the Orc on its helmet and bounced off harmlessly, but it was enough to distract it from killing William. It turned to find out where that blow had come from and found The Warrior bearing down on it, dagger in hand.
The Orc bellowed in rage and struck out with its sword and it was only The Warrior's natural reflexes that saved him. He lashed out with his dagger, cutting the Orc on the arm, and only just managed to avoid its return strike. He struck downwards, but the Orc blocked his blow and The Warrior had to kick out with his foot to distance himself in time.
The Warrior looked about for his sword. He needed to find it quickly, for without it he lost the ability to predict his opponents moves. He dodged another blow from the Orc and spotted his sword lying on the ground. He dove for it as the Orc swung again, the blade narrowly missing his neck, instead nicking his right ear. The Warrior felt blood flow down the side of his head as his hand closed around the hilt of his sword.
Suddenly the pain was gone and the blood stopped flowing as the power of the sword returned to him, and with it the foresight it granted him. He rolled and brought his blade up, blocking the Orc's sword. His sword sliced cleanly through the Orcs blade and The Warrior riposted, taking the Orcs arm off at its elbow. It bellowed in rage, then suddenly fell to its knees and The Warrior saw William standing beside it, his sword thrust into the Orc's body. The Orc bellowed again and grabbed at Williams sword with its remaining hand, but there was little it could do.
The Warrior stood and looked about. Everywhere he saw dead Orcs and those that remained alive were retreating through the barricade and a cheer went up from the villagers as they realized they had been victorious. The Warrior and William looked at each other and grinned as the same thought passed between them.
William withdrew his sword and stepped away from the Orc as The Warrior raised his sword to strike at its neck. He brought it across his body, expecting it to slice cleanly through when suddenly it met resistance and stopped. The Warrior blinked and then looked again, not trusting his eyes.
Where a moment before the Orc had been kneeling, awaiting the death blow, there now stood a massive oak, the trunk of which The Warrior's blade had almost cleanly cut through, stopping only when it had been trapped by the weight of the tree.
The Warrior released his grip on his sword and looked about. He still stood atop the ridge where the village had stood, but now it was bare save for the charred foundations of a few buildings, and a wooden hovel built at the cross roads.
With no way to extract his sword, The Warrior left it wedged in the tree and made his way towards it when a lanky man wearing clay spattered clothing emerged. He regarded The Warrior for a moment before speaking.
"Now where dun you come from?" he said with a strong slur. "Normally I can see anybody coming from clear across the valley, but you've just gone and snuck on me."
"Where did the village go? And the people?"
"Village?" the man looked at The Warrior oddly. "Ain't been a village here for nigh on fifty years."
"What?"
"Destroyed by Orcs, it was. 'Bout fifty years to the day. They just came charging through here like they was straight outta hell. Burned all the buildings, killed every man, woman and child. Would'a killed my da' too 'cept he got lost in the woods up the road there." The man pointed along the ridgeline. "When he comes back, finds the entire village in flames and everyone dead."
"But, they were just here." The Warrior looked around. "We fought them just over there." He said, pointing to where the barricade had been.
"Ain't been nobody here for the last twenty years, 'cept me. Occasionally I gets a traveller coming through, but thems few and far between. I tries to sell them some of me pottery, saves me having to carry it all the way into town. Matter of fact, you're the second one I've had through today."
"What do you mean?"
"Had a man come through here this morning. In a right rush, he was. Stopped just long enough for a bite to eat and a chat. I told him what happened here fifty years ago, and then he runs off without so much as even looking at some my pottery."
"This man, was he tall with dark hair and wore a black robe?"
"That's him. Spoke like a scholar or a priest or some such. Real man of learning he was."
"Which way did he go?"
"That way, not more than four hours ago." He said, pointing across the bridge.
"Thank you." The Warrior said and was about to mount Deo again when he remembered his sword. "You wouldn't have an axe I could borrow?"
"I might do, if you buys some of my pottery."
Some time later, The Warrior remounted Deo, his sword safely in its scabbard, several new clay plates and bowls in his pack and some idea of what had happened. The mage he was tracking had passed through that morning and learned what had happened to the village of Hereford-upon-Tyn. He had then used that knowledge to create an elaborate illusion to distract and delay The Warrior down, giving the mage valuable time get away. It was difficult to believe that something that had felt so real was only an illusion, but The Warrior had experienced enough magic to know that it was the only explanation.
"By the way," The Warrior said to the potter as he prepared to depart. "What's your name?"
"Deo Gavinsson." He replied before disappearing back into his hut, leaving a dumbstruck former knight to continue his pursuit.