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Early the next morning, Reynold led the Knights across the Swift River in small groups. With the aid of Mage Ladir's earth magic, they constructed a rugged but sturdy outpost. The outpost consisted of a 100-meter perimeter of square stone walls, each 3 meters thick and 6 meters high. Within these walls, they erected a wooden shelter to serve as a stable, and a 15-meter tower for both lookout and living quarters. At the top of the tower, they built a beacon to warn Rapid City across the river. However, the effort took its toll on Ladir, who became weak from overexerting his magic.
"Carlos, you stay here. I'll take a group to scout along the riverbank," Reynold ordered.
"Be careful. Don't engage if you encounter any resistance. We can always retreat to defend the city," Carlos cautioned, concerned that Reynold might be drawn into a trap. He was acutely aware of the Knights' fatigue and the potential danger they faced.
Reynold grimaced at the thought of the city's inadequate defenses but didn't voice his concerns. "We'll be back soon," he reassured Carlos, who then slapped the flank of Reynold's horse, sending it galloping off with the rest of the Knights.
As Reynold and his men rode away, Carlos mounted his dragon and took to the sky, flying toward the dense forest to gather more intelligence.
---
Meanwhile, in a crumbling fortress, Azog, the ferocious orc leader, snarled at a cowering subordinate. "What did you find?" he demanded.
"N-nothing yet, my lord. That army seems to have appeared out of nowhere," the orc stammered.
In a fit of rage, Azog drove the iron claw on his left arm into the orc's neck, lifting him off the ground before hurling him into a pack of ravenous wolves. As the wolves tore the orc apart, Azog sneered, "Useless scum. Find them! I want to know where they came from!" His roar echoed through the ruins, sending shivers through the ranks of orcs beneath him.
---
By midday, Reynold and his Knights had reached the Long Lake Road. The sight of the familiar landscape filled Reynold with a sense of nostalgia. The road had once been traversed by a grand infantry, marching north to the Battle of Lonely Mountain. Now, only a handful of weary knights returned, the memories of their fallen comrades heavy on their minds.
"Split into groups of ten and scout the area," Reynold instructed, his voice weary but firm.
The Knights fanned out, cautiously moving through the forest. But the orcs, with their keen senses, had already spotted them and lay in wait, hidden in the shadows.
"Why does it feel so eerie?" one of the Knights muttered, gripping his lance tightly.
"Stay alert!" another warned, just as a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. An orc had dropped from a tree, plunging a dagger into the back of an unsuspecting knight. The ambush had begun.
"Orcs!" a Knight shouted as the group came under attack. The orcs, led by a cunning leader, launched themselves at the Knights with savage fury.
"For the glory of Lagrand!" Reynold roared, rallying his men. Despite being outnumbered, the Knights fought valiantly, their swords gleaming with divine energy as they cut through the orcs' ranks. However, the skirmish was brief and brutal. The Knights managed to break through the ambush, but one of their own had been grievously wounded.
"Hold on, Lek! Don't fall asleep!" a Knight urged, keeping the injured man conscious as they raced back to the river.
Reynold met them at the water's edge, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the wounded Knight. "Divine Inspiration! Divine Healing!" he invoked, sending a soft golden light over the injured man. The wound began to close, but the Knight still grimaced in pain as he pulled the dagger from his shoulder.
"You're brave, lad," Reynold said, his voice low but steady as he patted the Knight on the back. The young man, though weakened by blood loss, managed a grim smile.
Reynold dismounted, drawing his knight's sword. Unlike the cumbersome lance, his 1.5-meter blade was perfect for close combat. Channeling his combat aura, he slashed through the remaining orcs with a single, powerful sweep. The orcs, sliced in half, writhed in agony as their lifeblood stained the earth.
Examining the totems on the fallen orcs, Reynold's expression darkened. "These orcs are from the same clan as those we encountered near the Lonely Mountain. The threat is closer than we thought."
A murmur of unease spread among the Knights. "We can't fight on two fronts," one of them muttered.
Reynold sighed deeply, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "It seems we don't have a choice."
---
Back at the camp, Roland listened intently as Reynold reported the skirmish. "Azog's forces in the south are growing restless," Roland remarked, pacing inside the warm tent.
"We're facing a significant threat," Ladir, still recovering from his exertions, added as he gently cradled a griffin egg.
Roland nodded, deep in thought. "If they attack, we'll be the first to fall. River Valley City and Ilubo can offer little support; they have their own problems with the orcs from the north. The elves could intervene, but we can't rely on them." He sighed, frustration evident in his voice.
Carlos scoffed, "Great. Our so-called allies are practically useless."
"Instead of hoping for help from Thranduil, we should count on Ironfoot Dain's army," Ladir suggested, raising an eyebrow.
Before Roland could respond, a Batanian scout burst into the tent, breathless. "Your Highness! There's movement across the river!"
Roland's heart sank as he realized that the battle for survival was about to begin.