Rise of the Horde

The early morning before the storm was unlike any other.

The plains were hushed…no shouting, no brawling, no drunken roars. Only the low beat of drums, steady and rising, like the slow breathing of a monster before the charge. Fires flickered across the vast camp, casting long shadows over war banners and armored silhouettes.

In the center of it all stood the war pavilion, massive and dark, its canvas walls pulled tight against the wind. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and tension.

Khao'khen stood at the head of the war table.

Sakh'arran to his left.

Around them gathered the chieftains of every clan, the Warband Masters of the Yohan First Horde, the siege masters of the First Kani'karr Corps, the riders of the Rhakaddon Cavalry, the riders of the Warg Cavalry, some of the chieftains of the different clans, and the important figures in the Yohan Tribe. Even the goblin sappers, usually kept to the fringes, were granted a voice this night.

The map before them was a stitched leather sheet, marked in blood-ink and stone.

"This is the last breath," Khao'khen said. "Tomorrow, the earth breaks."

*****

Sakh'arran stepped forward and pointed to the map.

"The Threians hold their trench wall with five core units," he began. "Their center is still strong, despite the crater. They've rebuilt it using the wreckage of our last assault. They have less artillery, but more barricades."

He gestured to the right flank.

"This is where we hit."

"Why not the center?" growled a scarred chieftain from the River Bone Clan.

"Because they expect us there," said Sakh'arran. "We'll stretch them thin first."

Khao'khen nodded. "The Rhakaddon Cavalry will feint toward the center. Let them pull reinforcements from the flanks."

Dug'mhar nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Then," Sakh'arran continued, "the Warg Cavalry hits the west trench…fast, brutal, and loud. The goblins follow with fire."

Several goblins grinned.

"The First Kani'karr Corps begins bombardment at the same moment," he added. "Two volleys. Then silence. When they reload, we advance."

The Yohan First Warband Master, Arka'garr, asked, "And us?"

"You strike the very center once the drums signal the break," Khao'khen said. "Straight through. Hold nothing back."

*****

From the side of the tent, Dhug'mur stepped forward.

Following behind him was Vir'khan.

"My warriors are ready."

"The same with mine." Vir'khan followed.

"They will ride with the First Horde," Khao'khen said. "Their blades will lead the center advance."

Aro'shanna raised her axe. "Then who holds the rear?"

"You do," said Sakh'arran. "You, Galum'nor and Drae'ghanna along with the Verakhs who are with us. When the Threians counter, you hit them from behind."

Drae'ghanna said nothing, only bowed.

The room fell silent.

Then Khao'khen spoke once more.

"Some of you fought against each other before. Orc against orc. But tomorrow... all of you will fight together."

He stepped away from the table.

"No more tribes. No more blood feuds. No more waiting."

He looked at each of them.

"Tomorrow, we roar."

*****

That night, final preparations were made.

The Kani'karr trolls loaded the last of their stones and checked the tension on the ballista cords.

The Warg Cavalry oiled their saddles and fed raw meat to their beasts.

The goblins lined their firebombs with red paint…every one meant for a Threian trench.

The Rhakaddons were armored in metal plates, their riders whispering low chants to keep them calm.

And the Yohan First Horde stood in a line before the banner of Yohan.

*****

As dawn approached, the drums began to rise.

One beat.

Then another.

Then hundreds.

Across the plains, the sound swelled, until it became a heartbeat of iron and wrath.

Khao'khen stood atop his steed, a mighty Rhakaddon, sword in hand, armor gleaming with the first light of day.

He looked over his warriors…not as chieftain, but as a brother.

"FORWARD," he bellowed.

And the host moved.

Thousands of feet. Thousands of voices. Thousands of blades.

The plain thundered with war.

And the drums did not stop.

The first sound was not a war cry.

It was a thunderclap.

From the rear of the formation where the First Kani'karr Corps had established their siege line, the trolls roared as the massive catapults were unleashed. Each one hurled boulders the size of carts, trailing flame and smoke. The sky darkened with them, and the sound of their descent was like mountains groaning in fury.

They landed on the Threian lines like the wrath of a vengeful god.

Dirt, stone, and flesh exploded skyward.

Within the trenches, men screamed. Barricades of wood and canvas were shattered in an instant. Earthworks folded. The eastern flank buckled under the bombardment. The Thunder Makers, still wheeling into optimum firing position to return fire, were too slow. A boomstick crew died in a single blast, crushed by the collapse of their own gun platform.

Major Gresham stood near the central command trench, eyes narrow, unmoving despite the ground shaking under his boots. Smoke filled the air, but he could still hear the war drums behind the bombardment….slow, rhythmic, unending.

"They're not trying to kill us yet," he muttered.

Captain Braedon ducked into view, covered in dust. "Then what are they doing?"

"Preparing."

*****

On the far right flank, the Warg Cavalry emerged from the smoke.

Low to the ground, silent and fast, they charged through the burning trenches like wolves from the fog. Their riders leaned low, weapons ready, and they fell on the eastern trench like knives in the dark. The first line of Threian spearmen never even screamed…just crumpled as the beasts tore through them.

Lieutenant Deramis saw them first.

"Cavalry incoming! Right flank! Sound the horns!"

But the horns were already smashed. The forward trenches were chaos.

Boomsticks fired point blank. Bows snapped. Men fell back, trying to hold the line, but the Warg riders never stayed. They slashed, wheeled, and vanished into smoke again. Hit and vanish. Cut and run. The ground was littered with Threian dead and shattered shields.

*****

From the center line, Gresham watched as more banners rose in the orc host beyond the smoke.

The tribal units surged forward next.

These were no disciplined soldiers. These were blood-drunk, screaming brutes, many of them shirtless and armored only in tribal markings and stolen iron. They charged over the scorched plain, using the smog of the bombardment as cover. Behind them, Kani'karr ballistae continued to fire, their bolts skewering barricades and breaking earth.

Threian thunder-makers opened fire in return. A shell landed in the middle of a charging orc band, reducing them to blood mist.

Still they came.

The trenches turned into meat grinders.

Braedon's unit held the central ditch, using what few boomsticks remained to cut down the first wave. Spearmen braced for impact, while gunners and archers shot from the rear ranks. Screams and iron clashed in the suffocating dark.

"We can't hold this forever!" Braedon shouted.

"Hold it anyway!" Gresham roared back.

*****

The goblins appeared next.

Small. Nimble. Lethal.

They came not with blades, but fire.

Fire bombs. Smoke flares. Screaming powder barrels.

Wherever the Warg Cavalry had already hit, the goblins followed, tossing explosive charges into the breaches. Fires blossomed inside the Threian trenches…green flame, choking black smoke. Men ran blind and screaming, flinging themselves into walls.

*****

By midday, the field was choked in haze and blood.

The orcs had not broken the line. But they had tested it.

And now, the warhorns began again.

This time deeper.

Heavier.

The Yohan First Horde was moving.