Ashar awoke to the sound of pounding drums. The unmistakable sound of war drums echoing from the Orc camps hit him like a cold slap to the face. His eyes snapped open in the darkness, and his heart raced. The Orcs had not taken kindly to their attack. They were coming—faster than he had anticipated. They would strike back with a vengeance.
He rolled out of bed, his mind already racing through the tactical possibilities. The camp had been eerily quiet up until this point. It had been a few days since the raid, and they had hoped that the Orcs would be slow to retaliate. But they had underestimated them.
Rylah was already up, her eyes sharp with the same realization. "They've gathered their forces," she said grimly, her voice tight with urgency. "We need to prepare for the worst."
Ashar nodded. "Get the men ready. We don't know how many they have, but it doesn't matter. We'll hold the stronghold no matter what."
He strode toward the command tent, where Garik and the other commanders were already gathering. The air inside was thick with tension, and every eye was on him as he entered.
"We've received reports," Garik began without preamble. "The Orcs have mobilized an army. We estimate at least three thousand Orcs, and that's just the initial wave. They'll be on us in a matter of hours."
Ashar's mind worked quickly, weighing their options. His forces were nowhere near that number. They had only about seven hundred soldiers, and most of them were not battle-hardened warriors. They were survivors—former slaves, farmers, and craftsmen—turned into soldiers out of necessity. Ashar had trained them well, but they were outmatched in terms of raw numbers and Orcish brute strength.
He met Garik's gaze, his eyes hardening with resolve. "We can't outrun them. We can't hide. Our best chance is to make them bleed for every inch of ground."
Rylah stepped forward, a map in hand. "The stronghold is fortified, but we need to buy ourselves time. We can't afford to let them break through the outer defenses. If we can hold them off long enough, we might stand a chance."
Ashar's mind raced as he took in the map. The Orcs would likely attack from multiple directions, using their superior numbers to overwhelm them. The stronghold's outer walls were sturdy, but they could only withstand so much before the Orcs would break through.
"Divide the men into two groups," Ashar said decisively. "We'll hold the outer gates with the bulk of our forces. The rest will fortify the inner defenses, prepare traps, and get the underground refuge ready. If the outer defenses fall, we retreat into the heart of the stronghold and make our last stand there."
Rylah's eyes narrowed as she studied him. "We'll be outnumbered. But if we can use the terrain to our advantage, we might be able to hold them off long enough to exhaust them."
Ashar nodded. "Exactly. We've trained our men in guerrilla tactics. We'll strike when they least expect it. We'll create chaos, hit their flank, and make them waste their resources and manpower. They'll realize too late that we're not just a ragtag band of rebels. We're a threat."
Garik grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I'll take my men to the eastern wall. We'll set up the traps and ambushes along the perimeter."
Ashar's gaze shifted to the western wall. "I'll lead the defense there. The Orcs will want to break through the main gates. If we can hold them off long enough, we'll be able to turn the tide."
The tension in the room was palpable as they all began to prepare for the coming battle. They knew it wouldn't be easy. They knew it might be a fight to the death. But Ashar wasn't ready to give up. Not when they had come so far.
***
The first signs of the Orcs' approach came with the ground shaking beneath their feet. The war drums grew louder, and the air filled with the stench of Orcs. Ashar stood at the western wall, his sword drawn and ready, his mind focused on the task at hand.
Through the trees, he saw the flickering light of torches. The Orcs were coming—fast, and with all the fury of a wounded animal.
"They're here," Rylah said from his side, her voice calm despite the chaos that was about to unfold.
"Hold your ground," Ashar commanded, his voice low but firm. "Remember your training. We fight on our terms, not theirs."
The first wave of Orcs slammed into the outer defenses with a deafening roar. Ashar's heart hammered in his chest as the battle began. The men at the gates held their ground, but the Orcs were relentless. Their massive, brutish forms surged forward, battering the gates with huge war hammers and axes.
Ashar raised his sword and issued the signal. A volley of arrows streaked from the towers above, striking Orcs with deadly precision. The humans fired from behind the walls, doing their best to create a choke point at the gates, but the Orcs kept coming.
For every Orc that fell, two more took its place.
Garik's voice crackled through the communicator. "We're holding the eastern perimeter, but we can't keep them back much longer. We need more time!"
Ashar clenched his jaw. They couldn't afford to fail. He could feel the tension in his muscles, his body on high alert as he fought alongside his men. The Orcs were relentless, their numbers overwhelming, but they had the advantage of the stronghold's walls.
They fought hard, using every tactic they had learned. The Orcs were slow to adapt to the guerrilla warfare methods the humans employed. Small, quick strikes from the shadows, cutting off supply lines, and using the terrain to their advantage were all key to stalling the Orcs' advance.
But Ashar knew they couldn't keep this up forever.
The ground beneath their feet began to tremble again, but this time, it was different. It wasn't the sound of Orcs charging—they were retreating.
A sudden roar echoed through the air, and Ashar turned to see a massive Orc warlord leading a new wave of attackers. This was no ordinary Orc. His armor gleamed with the blood of many enemies, and his eyes burned with fury.
Ashar swallowed hard. This was it. The Orcs had sent their strongest warrior to break their lines.
"We can't let him through," Ashar growled.
Rylah gripped her sword tighter. "We won't."
But the Orc warlord's forces were too much. They broke through the outer defenses, and Ashar's heart sank. He had prepared for this. But still, seeing the Orcs push forward like a relentless tide made the reality of their situation sink in.
***
As the battle raged on, Ashar felt the sting of loss. His people fought bravely, but it seemed like no matter how hard they fought, the Orcs were always one step ahead. He knew that the fate of the stronghold—and possibly the entire rebellion—rested on this moment. The stakes were higher than ever before.
The Orcs were not just attacking; they were hunting them down, determined to wipe them out. The humans, though fierce, were slowly being overwhelmed by the sheer power of the Orcs.
"We can still win this," Ashar thought to himself, trying to rally his dwindling forces. "We can still win."
But the battle was far from over.