Rise of the Horde - Chapter 556 - 556
The Orcish Plains screamed.
Not metaphorically. Not poetically.
The land itself screamed beneath the colossal weight of war.
The thunder of Rhakaddon hooves shook the ground so violently that cracks spiderwebbed across thirsty ground, splitting through dew-slick grass and swallowing broken weapons whole. Every step of those massive beasts sent shockwaves rolling outward, toppling men, knocking shields from hands, rattling teeth in skulls already ringing from battle cries and spell detonations.
Aliyah Winters felt the tremors through her boots, through her horse’s trembling legs, through her spine.
This was not a skirmish.
This was annihilation attempting to happen…and she intended to stop it.
“STEADY THE CENTER!” she commanded, voice cutting through the din like a blade through silk.
“MAGES!!! SECOND CIRCLE, SEAL PREPARATION!”
“INFANTRY!!!ADVANCE AND LOCK!”
Her voice never cracked.
It could not.
Horns repeated her orders. Blue banners snapped violently in the wind, their bearers bracing as if holding the army together by sheer will. Runners sprinted, dodging projectiles and trampling hooves, relaying commands through screams and gestures.
The Threian Infantry advanced.
They moved not as individuals but as a single organism…shield walls slamming together with bone-jarring force, spearpoints angling upward in disciplined unison, boots crunching over dew-coated ground that had already begun to run red with blood.
Ahead of them came the Rumbling Clan.
They were no formation.
They were a catastrophe given flesh.
Rhakaddons thundered forward in a brutal, unstoppable surge…massive four-legged titans with hammerhead skulls that smashed aside small trees, men, and magic alike. Their thick hides bore arrows, their armor plates rang like anvils under enchanted steel.
At their head rode Dhug’mhar.
The chieftain of the Rumbling Clan stood tall atop his mount, armor dented and slick with blood, muscles bulging obscenely as if carved from living stone. Arrows protruded from his chest and shoulder, shafts snapping as he flexed, laughing through tusked jaws.
“LOOK AT YOU!” he roared, voice booming louder than drums. “SO SMALL! SO FRAGILE!”
His Rhakaddon slammed forward, hammerhead skull crushing a Winters cavalry horse beneath it. The animal screamed once before bones collapsed entirely, rider thrown screaming into the chaos, trampled before he hit the ground.
Blood sprayed across dying grass.
Aliyah did not look away.
She raised her hand.
“Now,” she said softly.
*****
Sir Loric Avelle slammed his staff into the ground.
The impact sent a ripple through the earth…felt by every mage in the second circle as a sharp spike of resonance that demanded obedience.
“BY THE OLD WORDS,” Loric thundered, voice amplified by magic and age. “BY THE WINTER THAT REMEMBERS….ANSWER ME!”
The land answered.
The Orcish Plains convulsed.
Jagged walls of ice exploded upward with cataclysmic force, throwing men and orcs alike into the air. Frost surged outward like a living thing, racing across the ground, locking hooves mid-stride, crawling up legs, encasing joints in biting crystal.
Entire sections of the battlefield transformed in seconds.
Grass vanished beneath thick frost.
Soil hardened into glacial stone.
Air turned sharp and painful to breathe.
Rhakaddons screamed…deep, thunderous bellows of pain and rage…as their momentum carried them straight into newly formed barriers. Massive skulls slammed against ice walls that did not give, cracks spreading but holding…for now.
Orcs were hurled from saddles.
One rider flew twenty paces before landing headfirst against frozen earth, neck snapping with an audible crack.
Another was crushed beneath his own mount as frost seized its legs and sent it collapsing sideways, pinning the rider screaming beneath thousands of pounds of flesh and armor.
“INFANTRY…INTO THE GAPS!” Aliyah shouted.
The Threians surged.
They poured into the narrowing corridors between ice walls, shields locking into place, spears stabbing upward with lethal precision. Enchanted tips punched through thick hide beneath iron plates, drawing steaming blood that hissed as it splashed onto frozen ground.
Above them…
“ARCHERS!” Sir Ferin Luthen roared from his hilltop, eyes bloodshot with intensity. “MARK THE RIDERS! KILL THE LEADERS!”
The sky darkened.
Thousands of arrows screamed downward, their heads glowing blue, white, and violet with stored magic. They struck with terrifying force…punching through armor, detonating on impact, freezing flesh solid or blasting bodies apart in showers of ice and gore.
Orcs fell screaming.
Rhakaddons staggered, blood pouring from deep wounds.
For the first time since the battle began, the Rumbling Clan slowed.
They were trapped.
*****
Inside the ice jaws, chaos reigned.
Rhakaddons thrashed, hammerhead skulls slamming repeatedly into frozen walls, each impact sending fractures spiderwebbing through thick ice. Some walls held. Others groaned ominously, shedding shards the size of shields.
Orc riders hacked desperately at infantry lines, blades cleaving through shields, swords biting deep into armor. The Threians paid for every inch…men crushed, impaled, torn apart…but the line held.
A Rhakaddon’s leg came down like a falling tower, crushing three soldiers instantly. Armor folded inward. Bones shattered. Blood sprayed across ice in a red mist.
Another beast reared, screaming as frost finally seized its joints. It collapsed with an earth-shaking crash, throwing its rider clear…only for three spears to punch through his chest before he could rise.
Dhug’mhar leapt.
He launched himself from his Rhakaddon into the heart of the infantry formation, landing with explosive force that sent men flying like broken dolls.
“I AM PERFECTION!” he roared.
He grabbed a shield, ripped it from its bearer’s hands, and used it to cave in another man’s skull with a wet, crunching sound. Spears stabbed into him…one, two, three…biting deep into muscle.
Dhug’mhar laughed.
He flexed.
The spear shafts snapped like twigs.
Arrows struck him…thudding, embedding, glancing…but he kept moving, unstoppable, a living idol of arrogance and brutality.
Aliyah watched through the chaos, eyes cold, calculating.
“They’re breaking,” Rhaegar shouted, hacking down a warg that had slipped through earlier confusion. “But not fast enough!”
“Hold them,” Aliyah replied. “We only need minutes.”
“Mages…TIGHTEN THE FROST!” Sir Loric commanded, blood streaming from his nose and ears as he forced more power into the spell.
Ice thickened.
Walls grew higher.
Frost bit deeper.
Rhakaddons screamed.
For a fleeting, fragile moment…the Rumbling Clan teetered on the edge of obliteration.
*****
Far to the west, on a low command rise, Sakh’arran watched everything.
He saw Dhug’mhar swallowed by infantry and ice.
He saw Rhakaddons slowed, bleeding, trapped.
He saw human archers repositioning for kill volleys.
He saw the trap working.
This was the moment that separated commanders from chieftains.
Trot’thar’s voice was tight with tension. “If we wait longer…”
“We won’t,” Sakh’arran said calmly.
He gave his command.
The blast tore through the battlefield like a war cry made of iron and fury.
****
From the flanks, the Warg Cavalry erupted.
They did not charge in neat lines.
They flooded the battlefield.
Wargs vaulted over shield walls, jaws snapping shut on exposed throats and arms, ripping men apart before riders even struck. Orc riders hacked downward with brutal efficiency, strikes splitting helms, blades sliding between plates.
The rear of the Threian formation collapsed into panic.
“REAR ENGAGEMENT!” someone screamed.
Aliyah spun, cloak snapping.
“CAVALRY…INTERCEPT!” she ordered. “DO NOT LET THEM ROLL US!”
Winters cavalry surged…but space was gone. Frost-slick ground, shattered ice, and packed infantry slowed them. Wargs slammed into horses’ legs, dragging mounts down screaming.
A Winters knight was pulled from his saddle, torn apart before he hit the ground.
Ice walls began to fail.
Rhakaddons, freed from pressure, smashed into them with renewed fury. Hammerhead skulls struck again and again.
Cracks spread.
Then… A wall shattered.
Tons of ice collapsed inward, crushing men beneath frozen stone.
The snare unraveled.
*****
Dhug’mhar roared in savage triumph.
“YES! YES!”
He ripped an arrow from his shoulder, snapped it in his fist, blood spraying as he surged forward again.
“RUN THEM DOWN!”
The Rumbling Clan exploded outward, Rhakaddons trampling shattered ice and broken bodies alike.
Aliyah felt the battlefield tilt violently.
“WITHDRAW!” she commanded. “CONTROLLED FALLBACK! DO NOT LET THEM ENCIRCLE YOU!”
The Threians fought their way back step by bloody step, dragging wounded, reforming lines amid carnage.
Sir Rhaegar cut down a warg rider mid-leap, frost magic flashing along his blade, but another slammed into him moments later, knocking him from his horse.
Aliyah did not falter.
The Rumbling Clan was free.
Alive.
Furious.
*****
Then…. A horn sounded.
Long. Sharp. Absolute.
Sakh’arran’s horn.
Dhug’mhar froze mid-swing.
“What?” he snarled. “We crush them now!”
Another blast.
Retreat.
Dhug’mhar’s muscles bulged, veins standing out as if he might tear the world apart through sheer will.
Then he laughed.
“FINE!” he bellowed. “LET THEM LIVE!”
Reluctantly…but in perfect order…the Rumbling Clan withdrew. Rhakaddons turned. Warg Riders snapped at pursuing humans. Black Tree warriors harried archers.
Aliyah stared.
“They’re disengaging,” she said.
Sir Loric spat blood. “That’s not fear. That’s discipline.”
****
The ground trembled again.
But this time, it was measured.
From the west, the First Horde advanced.
Thousands upon thousands of orcs marched in grim formation…shields locked, banners raised, war drums beating slow and relentless.
This was not chaos.
This was war.
Aliyah raised her banner.
“REFORM ALL LINES!” she commanded. “THIS IS THE MAIN ENGAGEMENT!”
Across the blood-soaked plains, two true armies faced one another.
The time of probing was over.
The time of annihilation had begun.
