The war drums intensified, a steady, oppressive beat that echoed through the hills and valleys surrounding the stronghold. Each pulse felt like a reminder of the inevitability of conflict, a countdown to the moment steel would clash against steel.
Ashar stood before the assembled fighters in the courtyard. Their faces were grim but resolute, their bodies bearing the marks of weeks of grueling training and battle. Despite the odds, there was no fear in their eyes—only determination.
"Today, we face Gorrok's wrath," Ashar began, his voice carrying over the crowd. "He comes with an army more than four times our size, siege engines, and the arrogance of a conqueror who believes this stronghold will fall like all the others. But he underestimates us."
A murmur ran through the ranks, growing into a low roar of agreement.
"Look around you," Ashar continued, gesturing to the walls, the sharpened stakes, the trenches filled with oil. "Every inch of this place has been fortified by your hands. Every trap, every barrier, is a testament to our resolve. Gorrok may have numbers, but we have something far more powerful—we have unity. We have purpose."
Kael stepped forward, raising his blade. "And we have Ashar!"
The roar became a cheer, echoing off the walls and into the surrounding forest.
Gorrok's Advance
Far from the stronghold, Gorrok's army moved with ruthless precision. The massive Orc warlord marched at the head of his forces, his towering figure a symbol of power and brutality.
"Status?" he barked, his voice sharp and commanding.
One of his lieutenants—a scarred Orc named Varl—stepped forward. "The main force is two days from the stronghold, my lord. The eastern detachment reports progress through the pass, but resistance is heavier than expected."
Gorrok's eyes narrowed. "Resistance?"
"Humans," Varl spat. "Small groups, harassing the flanks. They strike and disappear before we can pin them down."
Gorrok growled, his massive hands clenching into fists. "Cowards. Send word to the eastern detachment: double their patrols and push through. I want that pass secured."
"What of the main assault, my lord?" Varl asked.
Gorrok's tusks gleamed in the dim light. "We crush them. Burn the stronghold to ash and make an example of their leader."
The Scouting Party
In the dense forest east of the stronghold, Rylah and her team crouched in the shadows, watching the Orc detachment march below. The group was smaller than the main force—about three hundred strong—but their numbers still dwarfed the handful of scouts hiding in the trees.
Rylah signaled silently, and her team moved into position. Their task was simple: delay the Orcs and buy the stronghold precious time.
"Set the traps," she whispered to Sorin, who carried a satchel of explosive charges. "We'll hit them hard and draw them deeper into the forest."
As the scouts worked, Rylah's thoughts drifted to Ashar. She trusted him to lead the stronghold, but the weight of their situation gnawed at her. How long could they hold out against an enemy of this size?
The First Strike
By nightfall, Gorrok's vanguard reached the base of the hill leading to the stronghold. They were met not by defenders, but by silence—a deliberate ploy orchestrated by Ashar and Sorin.
"Cowards," growled one of the Orc commanders. "They hide behind their walls like prey."
But as the Orcs moved closer, the silence was broken by a thunderous explosion. Flames erupted from a hidden trench, consuming the front line and throwing the rest into chaos.
"Archers, fire!" Ashar shouted from the walls.
A volley of arrows rained down on the disoriented Orcs, striking with deadly precision. Some carried flaming tips, igniting oil-soaked patches of ground. The battlefield became a hellscape of fire and screams.
Inside the Stronghold
Leona worked tirelessly in the infirmary, her hands stained with blood as she treated the wounded from the earlier skirmishes. Her focus was unshakable, but the tension in the air was palpable.
A young boy, barely sixteen, groaned as she stitched a gash on his arm. "Will we win, Miss Leona?" he asked, his voice trembling.
She paused, meeting his eyes. "We will," she said firmly. "Because we have no other choice."
The boy nodded, though fear lingered in his gaze.
Gorrok's Fury
The Orc warlord watched the chaos from a ridge, his expression a mask of fury. "They think they can stop me with fire and arrows?" he snarled.
Varl stepped forward hesitantly. "Their defenses are stronger than anticipated, my lord. Perhaps—"
"Silence!" Gorrok roared, his voice cutting through the night. "No more delays. Bring up the siege engines. If they want fire, we'll give them fire."
Ashar's Resolve
As the battle raged, Ashar stood at the forefront, directing his forces with precision. Every move was calculated, every order issued with purpose.
Kael joined him on the wall, panting from the exertion of the fight. "They're bringing up siege engines," he warned.
"I expected as much," Ashar replied. "Have the ballistae ready. Aim for the engines and their crews."
Kael nodded, but his expression was grim. "And when they breach the walls?"
Ashar's jaw tightened. "Then we fight them in the streets. We've planned for this, Kael. We hold them here, no matter the cost."
As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, the battlefield revealed the devastation of the night's skirmish. The Orcs had suffered heavy losses, but their numbers still loomed large.
Ashar looked to the sky, his heart heavy but resolute. The war was far from over, but he would see it through to the end.
"We will not falter," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of a promise. "Not today. Not ever."