Rise of the Horde - Chapter 550 - 550

The banners of House Winters fluttered weakly in the late afternoon wind, their azure silk stained with soot and blood. All around the temporary camp, soldiers worked in grim silence … hammering stakes, tending wounds, or burning the carcasses of the fallen. The mountain pass had taken its toll on them. Three thousand gone… and the narrow cliffs still echoed with the dying screams of men crushed beneath falling boulders or hacked apart by orcish blades.

Countess Aliyah Winters rode through the lines in silence, her clear-blue eyes scanning the weary faces of her troops. Her armor … a gleaming suit of frostforged plate etched with runes … still bore a splatter of orcish ichor that no servant had yet dared to clean. Behind her trailed Rhaegar Vance, the knight who had stood by her side since her first battle. His greatsword hung across his back, chipped and darkened from the previous day’s fighting.

They had passed through the ambush site hours ago … a cursed stretch of narrow path where the cliffs still reeked of blood and smoke. The army now camped on a clearing some distance away, ringed by mages who had erected wards and frost-anchors that shimmered faintly in the air, turning away beasts and unseen eyes.

A horn sounded from the northern watch. Not the alarm … just the changing of the guard.

Aliyah exhaled and turned her steed toward the command tent that stood at the center of camp. The blue silks that draped its poles were torn and hastily mended, but her sigil… still gleamed proudly at its peak.

*****

Inside, a map of the orcish lands was spread across a war table.

Sir Loric Avelle stood there, his long white hair bound by a silver clasp. His robes of deep cerulean shimmered with runic frostlight, and frost clung to his beard as if his very breath chilled the air.

Beside him was Rhaegar, grim and armored, and Sir Helwain, the cavalry commander, his weathered face drawn tight from sleeplessness. At the far end stood Sir Ferin Luthen, the archer captain … lean, sharp-eyed, and perpetually frowning.

As Aliyah entered, all four men bowed their heads slightly. The Countess unfastened her cloak and laid it aside, revealing the froststeel pauldron bearing the Winters’ crest.

“Report,” she commanded softly.

Rhaegar was first to speak. “The wounded number five thousand, as you said, my lady. Most are able to march or fight within the next day. We’ve set the healers and mages to their tasks … we lost far more to the rockslide than to blades. The orcs smartly made use of the surrounding terrain to their advantage.”

Loric’s tone was colder, analytical. “The orcs really used the terrain well this time. I sensed not much sorcery, nor shamanic presence. They fight with instinct and brute cunning, which is… troubling. It means they have a commander with wits enough to match savagery. That might be why their previous attack seemed to be very effective against us.”

Helwain crossed his arms. “We scouted the surrounding ridges. No sign of large movement. Only small groups … skirmishers, watchers, maybe hunting parties. I’d wager they’re testing how fast we recover. And keeping an eye for our movements.”

Aliyah frowned. “And what of their numbers?”

Ferin’s voice was low. “Too many to count. The wilds hides them well. But their drums echoed through the pass last night … thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, we are yet to ascertain their exact numbers.”

A silence followed. Outside, the wind whistled across the tents, carrying the faint scent of blood and steel.

Finally, Aliyah spoke. “They think us broken. Good.” Her gaze hardened, and the blue light from the mage lamps caught the silver in her eyes. “Then we shall show them what frost can really do.”

She turned to Loric. “Erect the wards along the western edge. I want every approach covered in ice runes. If they send scouts, I want their corpses frozen before they reach our sentries.”

Loric inclined his head. “It shall be done, my Countess.”

“And Helwain,” she continued, “keep the cavalry saddled. If the orcs test us, I want your riders to sweep around their flanks and cut them down before they retreat.”

“As you command,” the cavalry master replied, thumping a fist to his chestplate.

“Ferin … have your archers stand ready through the night. Rotate their ranks. I want volleys loosed at the first sign of movement. And Rhaegar,” she turned lastly to her knight, “double the watch. We will not be taken unawares again.”

He nodded grimly. “They won’t surprise us twice.”

*****

Night descended like a heavy shroud. The camp’s fires burned within circles of frostlight, each ward humming faintly with blue luminescence. The night wind began to drift down from the peaks, blowing the tents and armor with coldness.

Aliyah stood upon a rise overlooking the perimeter. The soldiers below murmured softly, eating what passed for supper … dried meat, hard bread, and a swallow of mulled wine. The wounded were laid out under mage tents where the air shimmered faintly with healing glyphs.

Then came the first sign.

A flare of orange light burst in the distance … a ball of fire arching over the ridge and crashing into the ground beyond the outer patrols. The explosion echoed like thunder, followed by a roar that shook the valley.

“Contact!” came the shout from the western flank. “Orcs!”

Aliyah was already in motion. Her steed, Frostmane, whinnied as she swung into the saddle. Rhaegar followed close behind, sword drawn, his armor gleaming under the moonlight. Across the camp, horns blared as soldiers scrambled to positions.

From the darkness beyond the ridgeline came the guttural cries of orcs … deep, thunderous, and full of rage. Figures poured out of the shadows, massive silhouettes wielding crude axes and jagged spears. But they were not charging recklessly; they advanced in staggered waves, using the terrain for cover.

“Archers, nock!” shouted Ferin from his line atop the ridge. Thousands of bowstrings drew taut, shimmering with runic frostlight.

“Loose!”

The night erupted in blue fire. Frost-enchanted arrows streaked across the darkness, leaving trails of glittering light. The first volley tore through the orcish front ranks, impaling flesh and freezing it solid. Shards of ice exploded from every impact, spreading cold death in every direction.

The orcs roared and pressed on. But before they could close the distance, a surge of frost energy exploded among them … a wave of blue-white magic cast by Loric’s mages. The snow erupted into spears of ice, impaling dozens in an instant. The ground itself froze solid, trapping feet and legs in crystal prisons.

Aliyah raised her staff, runes glowing along her arm. “For House Winters!” she cried.

A brilliant circle of sigils flared around her. She thrust her staff forward, and a torrent of icy wind blasted from her staff … a storm that howled across the field, freezing blood in veins and turning the ground into a slick sheet of frost. The front ranks of the orcs slipped and fell, shattering like brittle glass.

Rhaegar’s voice roared over the din. “Infantry … advance! Push them back!”

Iron clashed as the Winters infantry surged forward, shields locking, spears thrusting into the wounded orcs. The air rang with the clang of metal and the bellow of dying beasts.

But the orcs didn’t flee. Instead, from behind their front lines came a thunderous bellow … and a massive figure stepped into view. A hulking warrior clad in crude iron, wielding a club the size of a tree trunk. His skin was marked with crimson warpaint, and his breath steamed in the cold.

“By the Light…” muttered Rhaegar. “They’ve sent a champion to the frontline.”

Aliyah narrowed her eyes. “Hold the line. Loric … bring them down.”

The old mage raised his staff high. The sapphire at its tip flared like a miniature sun. He uttered words of power in the old tongue … “Glacius Invictum!” … and from the heavens, a storm descended. Shards of ice rained down in torrents, smashing into the battlefield with explosive force. The giant orc warrior roared, lifting his club to shield himself … but the ice shards struck true, driving him to one knee.

Aliyah spurred Frostmane forward. “Rhaegar, with me!”

They plunged into the fray … her staff wreathed in frostfire, his in crimson light. Every swing left trails of glittering mist as orcs fell around them. Frost crackled underfoot. Her magic pulsed with the beat of her heart.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the enemy retreated. The remaining orcs dragged their wounded and disappeared into the darkness, leaving the battlefield littered with bodies and black blood.

The horns of House Winters sounded the victory call.

But Aliyah didn’t cheer.

She stared into the darkness where the orcs had gone, her breath clouding the air. “That wasn’t their real attack,” she said quietly. “They were measuring us.”

Rhaegar wiped his blade clean, glancing at her. “Then what are they waiting for?”

The Countess turned her gaze toward the mountains, where faint drumbeats echoed once more through the night … slow, steady, ominous.

“Something worse,” she whispered.

*****

The drums did not stop.

They began faint and distant, echoing through the mountain walls beyond the ridge. But as the hours passed, they multiplied … a deep, rhythmic thunder that rolled across the night like the heartbeat of a monstrous beast. Every soldier in the Winters’ camp felt it reverberate through the ground, through the iron of their armor, through the marrow of their bones.

Aliyah stood on the northern rise once more, her cloak snapping in the wind. The night wind had turned colder, swirling across the camp. The moon had vanished behind clouds, leaving only the pale blue glow of wardlights and magefire to illuminate the night.

Sir Rhaegar approached, helm under his arm, his face grim. “They’re closing in from three sides now …west, north, and the lower pass to the east. Scouts report heavy movement.”

“Numbers?” Aliyah asked, her voice level.

“More than before. Twice, maybe thrice their earlier force. And…” He hesitated. “Something else with them. Bigger.”

Sir Loric entered then, leaning slightly on his staff. Frost clung to his hair and beard like white ash. “Their shamans are with tne,” he said. “I can feel the taint in the air … elemental magic, crude but powerful. They’ve broken the balance of the mountain’s chill.”

Ferin Luthen pushed through the tent flap next, his leather cloak streaked with sleet. “Archers are in position. We’ve layered the ridgeline with frost traps. If they push hard, they’ll bleed for every step.”

“And the cavalry?” Aliyah asked.

“Ready,” came Helwain’s voice from the rear. The grizzled knight strode forward, frost coating his pauldrons. “My riders are armored and mounted. If you give the word, we’ll ride through the flanks.”

Aliyah looked at each of them in turn …her commanders, her pillars of war. “Then we hold. No retreats. No gaps. The orcs think to bury us under their numbers…” She knocked her staff on the ground, Winter’s Might, the runes along its length pulsing with blue light. “…but this is our ground now. Let them come.”

****

The storm hit without warning.

A dozen flaming projectiles arced through the blizzard … crude jars packed with pitch and burning oil along with some boulders mixed. They crashed into the ground before the trenches, exploding in fountains of molten flame. The sudden heat withered the grasses, turning the front line scorching hot.

Then came the roar.

Hundreds of orcs surged through the smoke, their armor blackened, their eyes burning with hate. They slammed into the Winters’ shield wall like a living avalanche.

“Brace!” Rhaegar shouted, shoving forward with his greatshield. The front rank held firm, the line trembling but unbroken. Spears thrust out between shields, stabbing at exposed flesh. Orcs howled and hacked back with crude cleavers, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the night.

Above them, Ferin’s archers loosed another volley. Arrows streaked down in waves, their frost enchantments exploding on impact, freezing limbs and shattering bones. The sky glittered with icy blue fire … but still the orcs came.

Aliyah raised her staff. “Loric … now!”

The old mage lifted his staff skyward, his voice rising in an ancient chant. Sigils flared beneath the snow, encircling the entire forward line. In an instant, walls of crystal ice erupted from the ground, forming jagged barriers that split the orc charge in half. Dozens of orcs impaled themselves on the frozen spires.

Aliyah rode forward through the opening, Frostmane’s hooves kicking up sprays of frost. She pointed her staff toward the densest cluster of enemies, runes burning along its length. “Cryoventus!”

A hurricane of glacial wind burst from her weapon. The storm swept across the battlefield, freezing orcs mid-charge, coating the ground in a slick sheet of ice. When she swung again, the frozen line shattered, fragments of flesh and frost scattering like shattered glass.

Rhaegar saw the breach and seized the moment. “Push forward! Drive them back!”

The Winters infantry surged ahead, boots crunching over frozen corpses. Iron rang, blood sprayed, and the air filled with the screams of dying orcs.

But the victory was short-lived.

From the western ridge came a new sound … a bellow deeper and louder than any before. The darkness parted as a massive shadows moved through it: warbeasts, ogres, armored in plates of fine iron. In their hands they carried huge warhammers.

Sir Helwain’s voice thundered across the camp. “Cavalry! With me!”

The riders surged from behind the command tents … a thousand strong, lances lowered, banners whipping in the blizzard. Their hooves thundered over the frozen earth as they charged straight toward the beasts.

Aliyah watched, breathless, as Helwain led the charge. His lance glowed with azure fire, his steed’s barding glittering with frost. “For the Countess!” he roared.

The cavalry struck the massive creatures’ escort like a blade through water … hundreds of orcs crushed under hoof and iron. But when Helwain’s line reached the monsters, they swung.

Their weapons came down like a falling tower. Dozens of riders were smashed aside in a single blow, their horses screaming. Helwain veered hard, circling a creature and striking from the side. His lance pierced its shoulder, freezing the wound solid … but the beast only howled louder.

It reached down, grabbed a rider and his horse in one hand, and hurled them bodily into the ranks of the infantry.

Aliyah’s knuckles whitened on her sword hilt. “Loric! Stop that thing!”

“I need time!” the old mage shouted back, his hands glowing with runic frost. “Keep it distracted!”

Rhaegar didn’t hesitate. “With me!” he bellowed, rallying a detachment of Winters knights. They charged forward, their weapons blazing with light. The warbeast swung again, crushing two men … but Rhaegar ducked under the blow and leapt, his sword flashing. The blade bit deep into the beast’s knee, cutting through tendons and black ichor. It howled and staggered.

That was the moment Loric needed.

He slammed his staff into the ground, shouting, “Frostnova Invictus!”

A dome of blinding blue light exploded outward. The ground froze solid for hundreds of paces. The creature’s legs locked in place mid-stride, ice crawling up its body. Its roar turned to a gurgling scream as frost engulfed its chest, its neck, its skull … and then, with a sound like breaking mountains, it shattered into a thousand glittering shards.

A stunned silence followed. Then, from every side, the orcs roared again … angrier, louder, unbroken.

Ferin’s voice cut through the cold. “They’re regrouping! More coming from the south … by the Light, there’s hundreds!”

Aliyah’s pulse hammered. “They’re testing every flank. They want to wear us down.”

Loric sagged against his staff, frost dripping from his sleeves. “They’ll keep coming until dawn.”

Rhaegar turned toward the Countess, his armor spattered with black blood. “Then we hold until dawn.”

*****

Hours bled together in a blur of fire and ice.

The orcs attacked in waves … sometimes hundreds, sometimes thousands … crashing against the Winters’ defenses like tides against stone.

Archers fired until their fingers bled. Mages weaved wall after wall of frost. The cavalry charged again and again, carving through flanks only to circle back and defend the lines.

Aliyah fought until her arms ached. Every spell drained her mana, every command carried the weight of lives. But she never faltered … not while her men still stood.

At one point, Rhaegar caught her between fights, his armor dented, his face streaked with ash. “You need rest,” he said roughly.

She shook her head. “Later.” Thıs text ıs hosted at NoveI★Fire.net

“You’ll collapse.”

“Then I’ll do it standing.”

He stared at her for a long moment … then simply nodded. “As you say, my lady.”

*****

By the time the horizon began to pale, the battlefield was black with bodies. Steam rose from the heaps of the fallen. The once-clean ground was now crimson and charred. The air reeked of smoke, blood, and burned flesh.

The drums had finally stopped.

Aliyah stood amidst the wreckage, her staff planted in the frozen ground. Her armor was cracked, her gauntlet scorched, her hair matted with blood. Around her, the survivors gathered … exhausted, trembling, but alive.

Sir Ferin limped toward her, bow slung across his back. “We’ve driven them off. For now.”

Helwain approached next, his face pale beneath his helm. “Almost half the cavalry lost… but the lines held.”

Loric’s voice was barely a whisper. “The wards are fading. We must move before they regroup.”

Rhaegar came last, bloodied but unbowed. “We’ve won the night, my lady. But the war is far from over.”

Aliyah looked out over the battlefield … the mountains looming silent, the cold wind still blowing gently over the corpses of thousands. Her breath came in shallow clouds.

Then she said quietly, “Let them come again. We are the Winters. We do not break.”

The wind rose behind her, carrying her words across the field. Soldiers lifted their weapons weakly but proudly. A thousand voices rose in a hoarse, ragged cheer.

The storm had come and gone … but the frost still held.

And in the heart of it stood the Blue Countess, her eyes cold as the dawn, her will unyielding as ice.