Arthur stood at the edge of the towering rock cliff, looking down into the steep valley below.
Down in the shadows, the camp of five hundred Orcs lay in chaotic, filthy disarray.
Wild campfires flickered in uneven patches, wafting the foul stench of charred meat, sweat, and churned dirt upward into the night air.
The crude beasts showed no concern for vigilance; they roared with coarse laughter, gulped foul drink from wooden skulls, and brawled among themselves, utterly unaware that death was watching them from the rim above.
Along the rim surrounding the valley, fifty archers crouched silently behind thick brush and jagged rocks.
Each held a heavy arrow wrapped in cloth that had been thoroughly soaked in pitch and incendiary oil from Thargrim’s forge.
At a key point on Arthur’s left, two timber catapults built by Elaroin stood ready, loaded with massive boulders carved directly from the cliffside.
Meanwhile, at the narrow ravine that served as the valley’s sole exit, Arandhir waited in silence with one hundred and fifty heavy infantry.
Clad in shiny new armor, they formed an unyielding wall of shields, ready to greet any creature fortunate enough to flee the gorge.
“All positions are set, my Lord,” whispered Elmir, appearing at Arthur’s side like a shadow, his bow already partially drawn.
Arthur looked down at the dark, chaotic pit.
His eyes were cold, filled with unwavering focus.
“Unleash them,” he commanded softly.
Elmir raised a hand and signaled the crews.
*CRACK!
CRACK!*
The sudden, thundering groan of wood echoed as Elaroin’s catapults fired together.
Massive stones arced across the moonless sky before smashing directly into the heart of the Orc camp with a sickening thud!
Leather tents collapsed like paper, and the frantic screams of crushed Orcs shattered the quiet night.
Before the panic could settle, Elmir raised his voice above the noise.
“Fire arrows!
Loose!”
Dozens of small flames ignited along the cliff’s rim.
A rain of burning shafts streaked down like falling stars, sinking deep into the dry leather and canvas tents below.
*FWOOSH!*
In mere seconds, the pitch caught fire.
Flames roared to life, unleashing thick clouds of black smoke and a bright red blaze that swept across the floor of the valley.
A sea of fire consumed the camp.
Hundreds of Orcs scrambled blindly, trampling one another and howling in agony as the heat cooked them alive.
“Attack from the cliffs!
Enemies above!” roared a massive Orc chieftain, swinging a rusted greataxe as he tried to rally his panicked horde. New chapters come out on g.com first.
Before the brute could bark another command, a dark-feathered arrow hissed through the smoke from Elmir’s bow.
*THWACK!*
The shaft buried itself straight through the chieftain’s throat.
The monster gasped, clutching his neck as black blood spurted between his claws, before crashing face-first into the burning dirt.
“The chief is dead!
Run!
To the pass!” shrieked another terrified beast.
The remaining horde surged like terrified cattle toward the narrow outlet—the single choke point where Arandhir waited.
As the frantic Orcs burst through the billowing smoke at the mouth of the pass, they found no path to freedom.
Waiting for them was a wall of cold steel—one hundred and fifty heavy infantrymen, their iron shields locked tight and long spears bristling outward.
“Hold the line!
Let none pass!” shouted Arandhir, his longsword raised high.
*CRASH!*
The panicked wave of Orcs slammed into the shield wall.
Yet, reinforced by Thargrim’s sturdy armor and heavy shields, Arandhir’s line did not give an inch.
Spears thrust forward from behind the shields with brutal efficiency, piercing chests and throats one after another.
From the high cliffs, Elmir stood firm against the cold night wind, his royal cloak snapping as his hands moved with incredible speed.
With every draw and release—*TWANG!
TWANG!
TWANG!*—three arrows flew in rapid succession, striking down any Orc that attempted to organize a counterattack from below.
“Archers!
Target the shield-bearers and pikemen!” Elmir ordered, his sharp eyes cutting through the thick smoke.
“Do not let them form ranks!”
The fifty archers hidden among the rocks loosed volley after volley.
Every black-feathered arrow found its mark with deadly precision.
When a massive Orc captain tried to assemble a vanguard near the burning ruins of a supply wagon, Elmir drew an iron-tipped heavy shaft.
With a single release, the arrow punched clean through the captain’s iron breastplate, dropping him backward into the flames.
While the skies above were ruled by Elmir’s archers, true hell awaited the Orcs at the choke point below.
His polished steel armor reflected the roaring fire, and in his grip, his lsword gleamed with cold lethality.
“Brace!
Hold the line!” Arandhir’s voice boomed above the din as a fresh horde threw themselves against the pass.
*CRASH!*
Dozens of Orcs hit the steel wall.
But Arandhir’s line remained immovable.
Then, with fluid speed that surpassed ordinary swordsmanship, Arandhir stepped through a gap in the shield wall.
His blade whirled in deadfall arcs.
*SWISH!
STAB!*
Two Orcs were decapitated in a single horizontal sweep, followed by a swift thrust that pierced the throat of a third.
His movements were a blend of grace and lethal precision—parrying heavy axe strikes with his hilt, pivoting into opening gaps, and severing arteries before the beasts could even react.
“Support Lord Arandhir!
Push them back!” shouted his men, inspired by their commander’s daring skill.
Noticing a group of heavily armored Orcs attempting to overwhelm Arandhir’s left flank, Elmir shouted down from the clifftop:
“Arandhir, duck!”
Trusting his companion’s instincts without hesitation, Arandhir dropped low.
*FWOOSH!
FWOOSH!*
Four flaming arrows whistled inches over Arandhir’s head, slamming directly into the faces and chests of the armored Orcs behind him.
The beasts screamed as flames consumed them, losing their footing in the narrow pass.
Seizing the moment, Arandhir sprang up like lightning.
With a thrust to the front and a spinning slash to the rear, he dispatched the remaining armored beasts without mercy.
“Fine timing, Elmir!” Arandhir called out, flicking black blood from his blade as he glanced up toward the ridge.
Elmir offered a brief nod of respect from afar before turning his attention back to his bow, picking off any surviving Orcs that tried to scale the steep canyon walls.
The combination of Elmir’s ranged precision and Arandhir’s unyielding line turned the battle into an absolute rout.
The five hundred Orcs that had once threatened the region were destroyed in the burning valley below—a resounding first victory for Arthur’s forces at Amon Sûl.