Rise of the Horde - Chapter 510 - 510
The dawn did not come with light.
Only smoke and the dull orange glow of embers on the horizon signaled the start of the new day. The wind carried the stench of burning oil, black powder, and blood thick enough to make even veteran soldiers gag. From the stronghold, Captain Braedon watched the low mist swirl across the plains, crawling through the no-man’s-land like a living thing.
They all knew the next attack was coming.
He tightened the straps on his chest plate, his fingers pausing only when a low thrum of drums echoed faintly in the distance.
Then a second beat joined it.
Then more.
Within moments, the entire expanse beyond the barricades thundered with the cadence of war. The orcs were coming once again.
“Positions!” Braedon’s voice rang out, followed by horns up and down the line.
Footsteps thudded in the trenches behind him as squads scrambled into place. Spear formations bristled atop the edges. Archers nocked arrows. Boomstick gunners laid out fresh ammunition beside stacked sandbags. Thunder Makers were dragged up newly built platforms, manned by sweating engineers with soot-darkened faces.
Major Gresham stood near the center platform, arms folded behind his back, watching the curtain of smoke in silence. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, but his voice, when he spoke, was steady.
“Be ready for feints. They’ve hit hard on the right these past two days. Odds are they’ll switch it up.”
“Left flank’s fresh,” Lieutenant Deramis offered. “They haven’t tested us there since the beginning. Might be due.”
Odric and Agis, standing beside the northern scout post, shared a brief look. “Saw movement in the eastern marsh at night,” Odric said. “Could be a diversion. Could be worse.”
Gresham said nothing more. He didn’t have to.
The drums ceased.
For a moment, all was still.
Then came the roar.
It rolled over the plains like thunder, thousands of voices bellowing in unison, a sound primal and maddening. The ground trembled. Out of the haze emerged dark shapes…hundreds of orcs in roaring loudly, wielding axes, spears, spiked clubs, and makeshift shields. They charged in ragged lines but with unwavering ferocity.
“Archers!” Braedon shouted. “Fire!”
The Threian arrows soared into the mist. The first volley struck with deadly precision, cutting down a few of the front line. But the orcs did not falter, some orcs were riddled with arrows but were still lively as ever. They rushed ahead, some throwing crude javelins or firebombs, others swinging blades as they sprinted.
“Volley two!”
Another wave of arrows. A few more of the orcs dropped.
Still they came.
Catapults launched boulders and flaming Bufas fruits from deep within the orc lines. The fruits exploded on impact, covering the Threian barricades in sticky fire. Screams erupted along the eastern trench as flames engulfed a squad caught off guard.
“Get water down there!” Marcus shouted, leaning over the command post wall. “And someone drag those men out!”
Suddenly, a deafening blast from the orc siege line announced a new threat. Ballistae loosed massive iron bolts, each as long as a pike, which tore through the upper fortifications. One bolt smashed through a wall, impaling two soldiers who were reloading their bows.
Braedon ducked instinctively. “They’re adjusting their range! Someone silence those damn siege crews!”
“Thunder Makers, prepare!” barked Faris, already directing artillery crews toward the distant targets.
With a rumble, the Threian cannons returned fire. The recoil shook the earth as iron balls screamed across the battlefield, smashing into the rear lines of the orc assault. One ball hit true, obliterating a catapult in a burst of shattered timber and troll flesh.
It wasn’t enough.
The first wave hit the wall.
The sound of bodies colliding with timber, the wet crunch of flesh meeting sharpened stakes, and the metallic symphony of blade against blade filled the air.
Braedon was the first into the fray atop the left flank. An orc leapt over the barricade, swinging a rusted axe. Braedon sidestepped, letting the blow graze his shoulder guard, then drove his sword into the creature’s throat. Another came, and another.
He fought like a man possessed, not with finesse but with grit. The narrow walkways became a slaughterhouse. Blood ran freely down the walls. Orcs screamed and roared, climbing over the bodies of their kin to reach the defenders.
Deramis’s section was nearly overrun before reinforcements arrived. The young officer fought ferociously, but his lines had buckled under the sheer weight of the assault. It was only the arrival of Odric’s trench gunners that saved the flank, boomsticks flaring in rapid succession to tear through the orc advance.
Agis darted through the fire and smoke like a shadow, relaying commands and dragging wounded back to cover. Once, a spear nearly skewered him. Only a lucky stumble saved his life.
“More siege gear moving up,” Marcus reported from the tower. “They’re dragging something bigger. Could be a new engine!”
Gresham’s face hardened. “Brace all flanks. This is just the start.”
*****
That night, long after the fires had died and the screams had faded, Major Gresham sat alone in the command tent. His hands were blackened with soot and dried blood. A quill rested between his fingers.
He began to write.
“To the Blue Countess,
I no longer have the time nor patience for your games.
Your inaction has cost me another five hundred men today…fine soldiers, not political pawns. They died holding a line that should have been reinforced three days ago. Reinforcements you were well capable of sending.
I do not ask. I demand.
Send us the additional regiments you’re hoarding in the north.
Send powder. Send iron. Send anything, or we will break…and when we do, your name will be spoken with fury in every hall left standing in Threia.”
He sealed the letter with shaking hands and handed it off to the runner that was waiting for him outside his tent without ceremony.
The wind blew cold across the corpses littering the field.
Tomorrow, it would begin again.
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