Rise of the Horde-Chapter 515

The night burned.

Flames danced across the trench walls as the first wave of orc fire charges struck. Bundles of soft, black, and very flameable Bufas fruits were hurled from beyond the fog. Some struck dirt and fizzled. Others burst into sheets of flame, igniting crates, tents, and unfortunate soldiers alike.

Captain Braedon swore as he sprinted along the northern causeway, ducking falling embers. The entire trench line glowed orange, casting twisted shadows that writhed like demons. Screams echoed through the smoke…men screaming not from wounds, but from confusion, fire, and fear.

"They're trying to set the whole line ablaze!" Lieutenant Marcus yelled from the nearest fire post. "We've got barrels popping…our powder's next!"

Braedon didn't hesitate. "Flood the munitions cache! Pull water from the latrines if you have to! Just get it done!"

Runners vanished into the haze, shouting orders as chaos spread.

Then came the second horror.

A section of the trench wall to the east suddenly buckled, wood cracking with the sound of bone breaking. The dirt collapsed inward, forming a hole…then from the dark emerged shapes.

Goblins.

Not charging. Not roaring. Crawling.

They came through a tunnel, emerging like vermin into the trench. Their eyes gleamed in the firelight, and in their hands were short-swords and pickaxes.

"TUNNELERS!" someone screamed.

Sergeant Odric was already there.

He drove his shoulder into the first goblin out of the breach and fired point-blank into its chest. The creature dropped with a shriek, but others followed. Agis appeared behind him, blade in hand, and buried it into a throat.

The tunnel breach widened.

"Reinforcements to trench section twelve!" Braedon bellowed. "All reserves to the lower pit! Move with haste!"

He jumped down into the trench himself, sword drawn, leading the charge. The fighting was brutal and immediate. There was no formation…just mud, smoke, and death.

A goblin grappled with a Threian soldier, biting his shoulder. Odric kicked the beast off and ended it with a crushing strike from the butt of his gun. Another lunged at Agis, only for the scout to roll behind a support post and stab up into the goblin's spine.

The air grew hotter by the second.

Multiple fires had taken root across the trenches. Smoke stung the eyes. Men fought blind, their blades guided by instinct and training alone.

Above them, a small team of archers fired down into the breach, arrows hissing past Braedon's ears. One found a throat. Another lodged in a goblin's eye. It slowed them…but didn't stop them from coming.

The goblins pressed.

Braedon rammed his sword through the gut of a shrieking goblin, then used the body as a shield against another attacker's axe. With a grunt, he pushed the corpse into the fire pit and turned back to the breach.

"They're digging under us," Odric said, breathing heavily. "Tunnels like rats. If they breach from beneath our cannon lines…"

He didn't have to explain any further, the others already got what he meant by his words.

"They won't," Braedon growled. "We're holding this breach. We have to."

But they all knew there could be more tunnels. Any trench could be next.

"Agis!" Braedon shouted. "Get two scouts. Start mapping underground tremors. Any signs of fresh collapse, I want them marked!"

Agis vanished into the smoke.

The battle continued.

Two more tunnel mouths burst open, one closer to the western side of the defenses. The defenders barely had time to react. Lieutenant Deramis, still limping from his wounds, led a unit into that breach with a snarl, his sword glowing red in the firelight.

The fighting was unlike anything they had seen.

Not formation versus formation.

Not siege.

Just men and goblins…a mass of goblins, inches apart, trading blows in a fiery pit.

Braedon found himself alone for a moment, blood dripping from his gauntlet. In front of him, a goblin charged with a pickaxe. The sharp end missed his neck by inches. Braedon brought his knee up into the goblin's gut, then stabbed under its ribs.

Another came from the left. He turned too late…

…but Odric's boomstick flared again, dropping the creature in a heap.

"You owe me," the sergeant muttered.

"I owe you a drink," Braedon coughed.

"If we survive."

They fought until the trench grew quiet again…until the last goblin was cut down or dragged into the dark.

*****

Dawn came without warning.

There was no horn. No announcement.

Only light breaking through the smoke.

The fires still smoldered, and ash drifted like snow.

Braedon stood near the breach, boots deep in blood and mud.

Corpses littered the trench. Some men sat slumped against the walls, too exhausted to move. Others sobbed quietly, clutching wounds or fallen friends.

Major Gresham arrived just after sunrise.

He looked at the carnage in silence, his face expressionless.

Braedon didn't speak. There was nothing to say.

Gresham nodded once. Then returned to his tent.

And began to write.

" Countess,

Last night, they came beneath the earth.

They set our defenses on fire and struck from tunnels like vermin. We held. But the cost was men we did not have to spare.

Our dead no longer fit in the wagons. We use the bodies of our enemies for barricades. Our water is tainted. Our wounded dig their own graves.

You send no word. No troops. No light. You are not a leader. You are an observer.

Sooner or later, this front may fall. If it does, I hope you remember that it was your hand that held the door shut while we burned behind it."

He did not sign the letter this time.

Only sealed it.

Outside, a scout stumbled in, pale-faced.

"They're moving again," he whispered. "Another force. Bigger. Marching towards both the eastern and western side of the defenses."

Braedon picked up his sword.

No one said a word.

The firelight still flickered. The blades would soon rise again.

Every single one of the Threians was too exhausted to stand properly, but they have too. They squeezed every bit of ounce of strength that they have in their bodies and manned their posts.