Rise of the Horde-Chapter 511

Fog blanketed the battlefield like a burial shroud.

Thick and damp, it rolled across the plain in slow tendrils, seeping into every crack and crevice of the Threian fortifications. It dulled the sharp edges of dawn, cloaked the movement of men and monsters alike, and drowned out even the clamor of iron with its choking silence. To the defenders along the western flank, it was as though the world had vanished beyond five feet.

Captain Braedon stared out into the fog with a clenched jaw and white-knuckled grip on his sword.

"This is worse than the dark," he muttered. "At least the stars don't move."

Lieutenant Deramis, helmet tucked under one arm, stepped beside him with a cocky smirk. "They're not coming this way. Not yet. They always test the eastern trench when the sun rises."

Braedon didn't answer. His eyes never left the mist.

Major Gresham had warned them that orc tactics were evolving. What once had been reckless charges and blind fury were now replaced with coordinated strikes, feints, and siege escalation. But there was no telling how far that cunning extended. The enemy might easily use the fog as cover for a massed assault…or worse.

A low horn echoed from somewhere in the mist.

The sound was distant, distorted by the fog. For a heartbeat, it could have been nothing more than the wind.

Then came the scream.

A Threian sentry's cry rang out, sharp and sudden, followed by the clash of weapons. From the trenches below, shouts erupted.

"Contact on the wall! They're here!"

"Left! They're on the left!"

Deramis's smirk vanished. He jammed on his helmet and drew his sword in the same motion. "We've got orcs on the walls!"

Braedon cursed under his breath and turned to the runner. "Sound the alarm! Get reinforcements to the western wall now!"

Even as the signal horn blared across the camp, the first orcs burst from the fog like ghosts of war. They climbed over the outer barricades in silence, jaws clenched, blades raised. No howls. No chants. Only the sound of slaughter.

The defenders had no time to form ranks.

Threian soldiers were cut down at their posts, their bodies tumbling from walls or slumped over pike lines. One young recruit barely screamed before his skull split under a rusted axe.

"Form up! Shields! Shields!" Deramis bellowed, rallying the scattered troops.

His voice carried through the chaos like an anchor, pulling panicked men toward him. He formed a wedge of infantry on the upper ramp, swords and spears gleaming in the morning mist, and led a charge down the walkway to intercept the breach.

Braedon sprinted to the lower trench, where a fresh line of spearmen had formed.

"Hold this line," he growled. "If Deramis fails up there, this is where they'll flood through."

The clang of combat grew louder. Deramis's wedge smashed into the invading orcs along the upper battlements. The young lieutenant fought like a man possessed…sword flashing, shield smashing faces, boot driving enemies from the wall, his entire person was covered in his battle energy.

His gamble worked…for a time.

The initial orc advance was pushed back. Bodies tumbled into the trench below. Deramis raised his blade in triumph.

"We drive them back here and now!" he roared.

But from the fog came a soft grunt…a real one this time. Not a horn. Not a rallying cry. A grunt that split the air and made the blood freeze in every man's veins.

Something massive charged through the mist, trampling over orc corpses and broken barricades.

A beast. A brute four times the size of any warrior. Some sort of warbeast with iron plates lashed to its shoulders and head like that of a traditional battering ram.

It barreled into Deramis's wedge and smashed it like dry kindling.

Half the line was thrown into the air. Screams rang out as men were crushed underfoot. Deramis himself was sent flying, crashing into a timber beam and slumping to the floor, motionless.

From the rear, Braedon saw the collapse and swore.

"Get those boomsticks up here! Focus fire on the beast!"

The trench gunners scrambled. Sergeant Odric led the charge, positioning three teams along the rear slope of the wall. As the beast turned to charge down the trench, they opened fire.

Boomsticks roared in unison. Smoke and flame licked the fog. Rounds slammed into the creature's hide, bursting armor plates and tearing flesh.

It screamed…a horrible, rattling sound…but kept coming.

"Again!" Odric shouted.

A second volley fired. One shot pierced its eye. The beast stumbled. A brave spearman thrust his weapon up into its throat as it collapsed, dead at last, its bulk quaking the ground.

The orcs hesitated.

Braedon didn't.

"Countercharge!"

The spearmen surged over the makeshift defenses, joined by the battered remnants of Deramis's wedge. They drove the remaining orcs back, cutting down the wounded and dragging their comrades to safety.

Minutes later, the fog finally began to lift.

The western flank was covered in blood.

Deramis lay unconscious, breathing shallow. Agis had found him under a collapsed timber. His arm was broken, two ribs shattered, but he would live. Barely.

Braedon stood over the wreckage and spat blood.

"Bravery and foolishness aren't so different when you're dead."

*****

That night, Major Gresham sat in his tent beneath a flickering lantern. The report lay open beside him, stained with ash.

He dipped his quill and began another letter.

"Countess,

Today, we lost another eighty-seven men on the western wall. Lieutenant Deramis, General Snowe's grandson, nearly died in driving back the brutes.

I know that you wouldn't care if he lived or died, but I highly doubt that the General would let you or your family be left unscathed upon hearing the news of his descendant's death, which could have been avoided if you would just lend us some help.

If you continue to deny me what is needed to hold this front, then I will not be the only one writing you in fury. And you would be the one dealing with this headache next.

You play a dangerous game away from the frontlines."

He signed it, sealed it, and handed it to his courier.

Outside, the fog had returned.