Dawn had not yet broken when a thick mantle of grey fog settled over the deep ravines of the Trollshaws.
The air was bone-chillingly cold, carrying the putrid stench of rotting flesh and thin wisps of black smoke rising from the jagged fissures of the rock face ahead.
King Arthur led the strike force himself, accompanied by Arandhir, Elmir, and a company of a knights and archers.
Kaelan had been left behind to hold the high ground around Amon Sûl, securing their retreat should the darkness prove too vast.
Before them lay the Cave of *Zhar-Gij*—a gaping chasm at the base of a sheer cliff, resembling the maw of a stone beast waiting to swallow any who dared draw near.
True to his blood-oath, Chieftain Boran walked at the fore.
Wearing no iron mail, clad only in his weathered bear-pelt mantle with a carved wooden staff in hand and a hunting knife at his belt, the old chieftain stepped firmly along a narrow, treacherous path hidden among the crags.
Behind him walked Arthur with quiet grace, followed by Arandhir, Elmir, and their silent warriors.
“Twenty paces ahead,” Boran whispered, raising a bandaged hand stained with dried blood.
“Poisoned stake-traps covered in rot-leaves.
The Orcs copied the snares of my folk.”
With the tip of his staff, Boran nudged a heavy boulder at the trail’s edge, exposing a trench lined with blackened, venom-tipped wooden spikes hidden directly beneath the main path.
Arandhir swallowed hard, gazing grimly at the trap.
Had it not been for the chieftain’s guidance, their vanguard would have walked blindly into slaughter.
“They guard the inner maw with two Cave-trolls and scores of Gundabad Orcs,” Boran continued softly, peering into the pitch-black cavern.
“The main passage is too narrow for a shield-wall.
But there is a wind-fissure high upon the cliff face—a secret route our children once used to flee.”
“Elmir,” Arthur commanded softly.
“Take half the archers and scale the cliff.
Secure the high gap and rain death upon them from above the moment we breach the entrance.”
“It shall be done, My Lord” Elmir replied, vanishing into the shadows of the rock with his archers close behind.
Arthur turned to the old hill-man.
“You have proven your map true, Chieftain.
Now, step behind our shields.”
Boran shook his head firmly, his dark eyes gleaming in the twilight.
“My blood-oath is not yet fulfilled, My Lord.
I opened this path, and I shall see this foul darkness shattered with my own eyes.”
Before Arthur could answer, a thunderous roar tore through the silence of the canyon!
*GROAAARGH!*
Heavy footsteps shook the loose gravel beneath their feet.
The air turned foul with the reek of brimstone and decay as two massive, slate-skinned Cave-trolls lumbered out from the cavern mouth.
The first beast wielded an uprooted tree trunk as a crude club; the second dragged a heavy iron chain anchored to a spiked iron ball.
Behind the monsters poured dozens of pale-skinned Gundabad Orcs, clad in jagged black iron armor, their crimson eyes burning with mindless malice.
“Kill them!
Feast on the flesh of Men!” shrieked the Orc-Captain—a gnarled creature with a face crisscrossed by jagged scars—snarl in the Black Speech.
“Form wall!
Hold the line!” Arandhir barked, slamming his tall shield into the frozen earth.
*BAM!*
The Orc vanguard slammed into the shield-wall like a dark tidal wave.
The ring of steel, harsh curses, and the splintering crash of iron echoed wildly off the canyon walls.
Long spears thrust out from the gaps in the shields, piercing throat and breastplate alike.
Foul black blood sprayed across the muddy ground.
Then, the first Cave-troll swung its massive wooden club in a sweeping horizontal arc!
*CRASH!*
The crushing blow struck the outer flank.
Three knights were hurled against the stone wall, their shields cracked, threatening to shatter the formation.
Yet, though bruised and bloodied, they stood their ground.
The Gundabad Orcs surged into the narrow opening, wildly hacking with their jagged scimitars.
In the midst of the chaos, Boran moved like a ghost.
Unburdened by heavy armor, his nimbleness was his greatest weapon.
He ducked beneath a sweeping blade, sliced the hamstrings of an attacking Orc with his hunting knife, and snatched a burning torch from a sconce at the cave entrance.
“This is our land, filth Monster!” Boran roared.
Leaping boldly from a high rock, the old chieftain flew through the air and thrust the flaming torch directly into the left eye of the first Cave-troll!
The stench of burning flesh filled the air.
The giant beast shrieked in agony, clutching its ruined face and swinging its massive tree-club in a blind, frantic frenzy.
The wild blows cleaved through its own ranks—crushing at least eight Gundabad Orcs beneath the shattered timber and breaking the momentum of the horde!
At that moment, cries of terror erupted from the high cliffs.
Elmir and his archers had reached the wind-fissure.
Unseen from below, they unleashed a relentless hail of arrows with lethal precision.
Shafts pierced the eyes, throat-slits, and helmet gaps of the Orc snipers perched in the high niches.
*Shat-shat-shat!*
Orc after Orc tumbled from the high ledges, dead before their bodies hit the stone floor.
“Boran, fall back!” Arthur shouted.
The King stepped forward, drawing his ice sword.
A radiant, frost-blue aura burst from the steel, washing over the canyon in a wave of ancient power.
The damp earth froze instantly into a crust of glittering ice, and the foul stench of the cave was banished by a crisp, biting mountain wind.
The second Cave-troll swung its spiked iron ball in a murderous sweep aimed at Arthur’s neck.
Arthur leaped, stepping lightly onto the flying iron ball mid-air, using its momentum to propel himself high above the beast’s arc.
As he descended, he drove his blade deep into the earth at the center of the Orc horde.
*GAAARRRSH!*
A wave of bitter frost rippled outward in a flash.
Jagged pillars of ice erupted from beneath the gravel, flash-freezing the feet of score of Gundabad Orcs.
The creatures shrieked in terror as their flesh adhered to the frozen stone, shattering under the sudden, absolute cold.
Ducking beneath a clumsy swipe, Arthur swept his blade across both of the monster’s ankles.
Frost coated the deep wounds instantly, freezing blood and locking joints in a heartbeat.
The giant collapsed to its knees with a deafening thud.
Arthur leaped onto its broad, stony shoulders and drove his glowing blade straight down through the crown of its head.
*CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!*
The Cave-troll’s massive body turned a pale, translucent blue as the absolute cold consumed every fiber of its form.
Arthur landed lightly on the ground and delivered a sharp kick to the monster’s leg.
The frozen statue of the Cave-troll shattered into a million glittering shards of icy dust that sparkled in the morning light!
Seeing their greatest brute turned to dust, the Orc-Captain panicked and turned to flee into the deep darkness of the cavern with his surviving warriors.
“Leave none alive!
Clear the tunnels!” Arandhir ordered, leading the shield-wall forward to press the retreating enemy.
Arthur plunged into the darkness like a storm of ice.
The desperate Orc-Captain turned and swung his jagged sword in a wild frenzy.
Arthur parried the strike effortlessly—the frost from his blade instantly crawling across the enemy’s weapon, causing the black iron to crack and shatter like thin glass.
With one swift riposte, Arthur disarmed the captain and drove his blade deep into the creature’s chest.
The bitter cold seized the Orc’s heart, stopping its beat instantly before the corpse slumped lifelessly to the stone.
Beside him, Boran fought with the fury of a mountain wolf, sinking his blade into the throats of enemies trapped or faltering in the freezing mist.
The knights of Arandhir and the archers of Elmir systematically cleared the remaining tunnels until no foe remained standing.
Within the hour, the din of battle inside *Zhar-Gij* fell silent.
The cavern floor lay littered with frozen Orc armor, shattered stone, and glittering dust.
Not a single man under Arthur’s command had fallen; only minor wounds were sustained.
Boran stood panting in the center of the main hall, looking around in disbelief.
The place that had been a symbol of fear, suffering, and exile for the *Gargor-Dun* for decades was now utterly cleansed.
Arthur sheathed his blade, allowing the icy radiance in the room to fade into a gentle warmth.
He stepped toward the exhausted chieftain.
Boran looked up at Arthur and sank to one knee upon the cold stone floor—this time with a look of profound relief upon his weathered face.
“The trial is over, Chieftain Boran,” Arthur said softly, reaching down to lift the old leader to his feet.
“The blood spilled here today belonged only to our foes.
From this day forth, the *Gargor-Dun* are no longer the forgotten ghosts of the Trollshaws…
you are the guardians of the realm’s eastern frontier.”
With tears welling in his eyes, Boran pressed his fist to his heart.
“In the name of my people…
we serve you, King Arthur.”
Outside, the morning sun finally broke through the high cliffs of the Trollshaws, burning away the remaining fog and cleansing the air over the valley of *Zhar-Gij*.