The sky above Skull Valley grew darker by the hour.
Beneath the steep, towering cliffs, three hundred Orcs of Gundabad had gathered alongside a pack of ferocious Wargs and a dozen savage trackers.
Fires burned dirty and hot across the camp, roasting raw meat and filling the night air with the stench of charred flesh and damp earth.
High above the valley floor, hidden within the narrow passages of the ancient *Nogrod-dûm*, fifty elite warriors prepared their final stand under the command of King Arthur.
The faint light of a *Glow-stone* reflected off the intricate Mithril patterns carved into their armor.
“We will not attack from a single side,” Arthur whispered, driving his dagger into the makeshift map drawn upon the dirt.
“The enemy has the numbers, but chaos in a tight space will be our greatest ally.
Elmir, secure the northern ridge.
Boran, sweep their rear alongside your hunters.
Arandhir and Kael, hold the western flank.”
Arthur looked around the circle of warriors, his eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of his hood.
“Execute this with absolute precision.
Give them no time to form a battle line.”
*Sssssht—*
A single white-feathered arrow shot silently through the dark.
*THWACK!*
Elmir’s first shot struck an Orc scout square in the throat before the creature could blow its warning horn.
Before the corpse hit the stone ledge, Elmir had already drawn three more arrows onto his bowstring.
*TWANG!*
The arrows flew in a high arc, piercing the chests of three Warg riders in the center of the camp.
All along the northern ridge, his archers released a heavy volley.
A rain of steel-tipped arrows whistled down, striking cheap iron armor with a terrifying chorus of clattering metal.
Panic erupted across the camp.
Dozens of Orcs fell before they could even reach for their weapons.
“Ambush!
They’re on the cliffs!” roared the Warg Chieftain.
He swung his massive double-headed axe to deflect an incoming arrow, then kicked a nearby campfire, scattering hot embers to kill the light.
“For Lord Arthur and Gargor-Dun!” Arandhir’s battle cry echoed off the valley walls.
He leaped down thirteen meters from the mouth of the ancient tunnel, plunging through the darkness before landing with a bone-jarring thud.
The moment his boots touched the ground, he slammed the hilt of his runic sword into the earth.
*GAAARRRSH!*
A wave of intense frost exploded outward in a wide circle.
Deep blue light swept across the ground, instantly freezing the mud, the scattered campfires, and the legs of fifty Orcs caught in the center.
Screams broke out as ice crept rapidly up flesh and bone.
“Charge!” Boran bellowed from the rear brush.
Boran and the hunters of *Gargor-Dun* burst from the thickets, cutting off the enemy’s retreat.
Boran fought like a force of nature, swinging his newly forged broadsword in wide horizontal arcs that cleaved through Orc armor and flesh.
Beside him, Kael moved like a walking fortress.
A towering Orc tried to smash him with a spiked mace, but Kael caught the blow cleanly on his heavy iron shield.
*BANG!*
With a sudden burst of strength, Kael thrust his shield forward, breaking the Orc’s face, then drove his blade upward into the creature’s belly.
“Keep the line tight!
Do not let them break through!” Arandhir shouted on the flank.
Arandhir moved with disciplined grace.
As a seasoned veteran, he wasted no energy.
Every strike aimed for a joint—knees, wrists, and necks.
When three Orcs tried to surround him, Arandhir stepped back, letting their wild swings hit one another’s weapons before finishing all three with swift, decisive thrusts.
The young soldiers of *Gargor-Dun* followed his lead, holding their shield wall firm.
Their long spears thrust forward in deadly rhythm at Arandhir’s command: *”Thrust!
Pull back!
Form up!”*
Seeing his main force trapped between magic ice and solid infantry, the Warg Chieftain flew into a rage.
He whirled his heavy axe over his head, shouting orders in the harsh tongue of Gundabad.
“Kill those hunters!
Rip their throats out!”
Eight giant Wargs—beasts six feet tall with venomous fangs—charged forward alongside their riders.
They tried to break through the flank held by Kael and Arandhir, toxic saliva dripping from their jaws onto the frozen mud.
“Hold the line!
Plant your spears!” Arandhir’s voice cut through the chaos.
The front rank slammed the butts of their spears deep into the rocky ground, angling the steel tips upward to form a wall of pikes.
*CRUNCH!*
The first two Wargs impaled themselves on the spearheads, their momentum carrying them straight onto the steel.
The Orc riders were thrown clear, only to be cut down by the second line of swordsmen.
However, two more Wargs cleared the pike wall entirely.
One monster landed heavily on a young warrior’s shield, knocking him to the ground.
Its massive jaws snapped open, inches from the soldier’s neck.
*Sssssht—THWACK!
THWACK!*
From hundreds of paces away atop the dark cliff, two arrows flew in rapid succession.
The first pierced the Warg’s left eye; the second struck the right, driving straight into its brain.
The giant beast collapsed instantly, pinning its rider beneath its dead weight.
Seeing his army broken, the Warg Chieftain realized his only chance was to slay the King.
He spurred his personal mount—a massive gray wolf with burning red eyes—straight toward Arthur, who stood calmly in the middle of the ice field.
“Human King!
My beast will feed on your flesh tonight!” the Chieftain screamed, bringing his double-headed axe down with blinding speed.
Arthur did not move a muscle.
The air around him turned bitterly cold, his breath pluming into thick white vapor.
Just as the beast’s jaws reached for him, Arthur ducked under the attack with incredible swiftness.
*SWOOSH!*
Arthur swung his runic sword in a sweeping arc at the Warg’s hind legs.
Frost magic burst from the blade, freezing the beast’s muscles and tendons in a fraction of a second.
*CRACK!*
The frozen legs snapped under the beast’s own weight.
The Warg tumbled violently through the mud, throwing the Chieftain rolling across the ground.
The gray monster tried to rise, howling in agony, but Arthur stepped up gracefully.
He leaped onto the beast’s chest and drove his blade deep into its heart.
Frost swept through the creature’s veins, turning the giant carcass into solid ice in seconds.
The Warg Chieftain scrambled to his feet, struggling to lift his heavy, frost-covered axe.
He looked around in terror.
The valley that had been filled with three hundred Gundabad warriors was now dead silent.
Hundreds of Orcs lay frozen, speared, or struck down by arrows in the dark.
The few who had tried to flee eastward had been hunted down by Boran’s men.
Arthur pulled his sword from the frozen beast and walked slowly toward the Chieftain.
With every step, frost crystals bloomed beneath his boots.
*Slink.*
The cold tip of Arthur’s blade settled beneath the Chieftain’s chin.
The extreme frost instantly numbed the injuries on the Orc’s face, locking his neck in place.
“Who…
who are you?” the Chieftain whispered, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Arthur looked down at him, his eyes glowing brightly in the dark.
“Tell the masters of Gundabad,” Arthur said softly, his voice echoing off the stone walls, “that the borders of the Trollshaws are no longer their hunting grounds.
This place is a graveyard for anyone who brings darkness to our land.”
With one swift, precise stroke, Arthur ended the battle of Skull Valley.
Moonlight finally broke through the heavy clouds, illuminating the quiet valley.
The warriors of *Gargor-Dun* stood among the ruins of the enemy camp.
They looked down at their Mithril-decorated armor, stained with Orc blood, yet not a single one of their own had fallen.
A few suffered minor cuts and bruises from the force of the Warg charges, but all fifty men had survived and would return to the Fortress of Zhar-Gij.
Elmir leaped down lightly from the high cliff, sheathing his bow, while Arandhir and Kael completed a final sweep of the valley floor.
Arthur offered a faint smile and clapped the heavy shoulder of the *Gargor-Dun* chieftain.
“Our journey is far from over, Boran,” Arthur said, turning his gaze toward the eastern horizon where the first light of dawn was beginning to break.
“But from this day forth…
the Trollshaws belong to us.”