Raleth stood ready, his men lined up behind him. The assault on the Volstrum’s front door would commence with an initial charge that would encounter the same issue as those facing the stables: a shadowbark door, the hardest wood in all of Eiddenwerthe. The Thane Guard couldn’t cut their way through even if they wanted. To that end, they intended to win through by using magic, the same way the gate had been overcome in the rear.
Gahruhl stood waiting, ready to rush to the door once she received the signal all was safe. To keep her alive, Raleth’s men would use their shields, protecting her while she moved up. They need not fear arrows, for there were no windows, save for those adorning the six towers atop the Volstrum, but magic was an unknown variable.
Natalia had informed them that no Water Magic spell could target the master of earth if she couldn’t be seen, yet Raleth wasn’t willing to take any chances. Should Gahruhl fall, his only recourse would be to retreat.
He took one more look at the Thane Guard, men and women from all across Therengia, united in their desire to keep the land safe. The High Thane himself requested only volunteers come to Ruzhina, but as soon as Raleth asked, they all stepped forward.
As far as the Petty Kingdoms were concerned, they were not the best-armoured warriors, wearing coats of mail rather than plate armour, but what they lacked in equipment, they more than made up for with their ferocity. These men and women could be counted on to do their part regardless of cost.
For some, it was fulfilling their oath to serve their High Thane, while for others, it was payback for the attack on Runewald two years ago, when two mages had attempted to kidnap Oswyn. The time had come to take revenge and punish the family for their insolence.
Athgar appeared out of the dark, pausing before Raleth and putting his hand on the fellow’s shoulder. “Ready?” he asked.
“We will not fail you, Lord.”
“You face a tough foe, my friend. They will do anything and everything in their power to stop you.”
“My people will not waver.”
“I’m sure they won’t. Begin the assault when you are ready. Good luck, and may the Gods be with you.” With that, Athgar departed, vanishing into the dark of the night.
Raleth regarded the Volstrum. It was little more than a gigantic shadow, yet he knew what he faced. They must advance up a set of steps, then assault a door that couldn’t be opened until the master of earth finished her work.
The thought made him turn to Gahruhl. “Ready?” he called out, using the Orcish tongue.
She nodded in reply.
“Forward!” he shouted, his voice calm despite his fears. As he advanced, he heard the footfalls of the men and women following him. He kept up a moderate pace, staring at the ground, waiting for the steps to appear lest he stumble in the dark. The torchlight from behind flickered on the first step, and he began the climb towards the front door.
Something whizzed past his ear, and a grunt came from behind him. Another two steps and something flickered as it flew through the air. Raleth focused on the door until he drew close enough to see movement amongst the shadows. Someone held up a crossbow, and then a bolt flew forth, narrowly missing him.
He gave the order to charge, breaking into a run. The defenders melted into the shadows, and then the door slammed shut.
The Thane Guard reached the door and began chopping, but their efforts could neither penetrate the wood nor mar it. However, their assault prevented defenders from opening the door to loose additional bolts.
Gahruhl advanced, then shifted to the left, placing herself against the outside wall of the Volstrum: her objective, the hinges, which were protected by stone. She motioned over a Thane Guard, who held a torch, illuminating the area. Based on her earlier observations, she knelt, counting stones to estimate where the bottom hinge should be found. Then she cast, the magic pouring out, her hands glowing with yellow light as she plunged them into stone that parted as if it were no more than clay.
Raleth moved up to her left, his axe ready should it prove necessary. “Any luck?” he asked.
She worked silently for a count of ten, then smiled, her ivory teeth glowing in the torchlight. “I found the hinge.” She drew back her hands, pulling loose a handful of stone. Two further scoops exposed the hinge anchored into a wooden beam.
“Tell your men to be careful,” she warned. “Shadowbark is a dense wood. Once we pry the hinges loose, its own weight may bring it crashing down.” She adjusted her position, reaching higher to plunge her hands back into the stone for the upper hinge.
“I have it,” she said, then pulled more stone away from the doorway. She jumped back. “It is up to you now.”
Two of Raleth’s warriors moved in, jamming spears into the hinges, attempting to wrest them loose from the timber. The door groaned as the metal snapped, dropping slightly, no more than a finger's width. They shifted their spears higher, working on the second hinge. As they struck wood, the bolts holding the hinge to the beam popped loose, and the door fell outward.
The Thane Guard stepped back, desperate to avoid being crushed. The heavy door struck the ground, and they surged forward, yelling as their axes reached out.
The doorway led to a small entrance hall where the defenders had set up a barricade, using tables, barrels, and even a few chairs to block the way. Crossbow bolts flew, taking down two of Raleth’s warriors, and then the Thane Guard was atop the barricade screaming as they lashed out with axes and spears.
Garag waved his Orcs forward to the stable doors. The massive things swung out on either side under normal conditions, yet today, they were barred shut, the Volstrum’s defenders taking refuge inside. Unlike the door out front, these were built into a shadowbark wooden frame, making Urumar’s spell of shaping stone useless. He needed to use a different approach.
The Orcs of Ard-Gurslag reached their target and began hitting the door. This was not an attempt to destroy it but to cover the noise of Urumar’s casting.
Garag was soon amongst them, Urumar just behind. “You know what to do?” he asked.
“I do,” replied the master of earth. “But I need some space to operate.”
Garag barked out a command. “Fall back, but continue making as much noise as possible, and pay close attention to the door. It will crush the life out of you if you are in its way when it falls.”
Urumar cast his spell, calling on his inner magic to do his bidding. The air buzzed, small lights circling the master of earth as if a swarm of fireflies had been summoned. He pointed, and the lights floated forward, disappearing into the ground just before the door.
The ground shook ever so slightly as slender tendrils protruded through the dirt. Urumar concentrated, and they thickened into vines that crawled up the doorway, curling around the steel bars that held the wooden planks together.
Thicker and thicker, they grew, the door groaning with the strain of their weight. The shadowbark planks remained in place, but the steel bars holding them were crushed under the onslaught. A stray bolt popped, flying over Urumar’s head, but his gaze stayed fixed on the door. “Get ready,” he warned. “It will not be long.”
“Back! Back!” shouted Garag. He formed his glaives into a double line, their weapons held before them, ready to charge.
A metal strip suddenly broke free, the vines clutching at it in vain as it fell to the cobblestones. The groaning grew louder as the rest of the metal strips were ripped free, no longer securing the shadowbark planks.
Urumar waved his hands, dismissing the spell, and the vines suddenly went limp, releasing their grip. The planks fell with a heavy crash, and then Garag ordered his glaives forward, the Orcs letting out a war cry not heard in over two thousand years.
“We are in!” shouted Garag, chasing after his warriors.
Rugg placed his hand against the outside wall of the Volstrum. “I am about to begin, but there is no telling what lies on the other side.”
“My bows stand ready,” said Kragor. A distant roar echoed through the night air. “The assault has begun,” he added. “Let us hope it is enough to mask our own attack.”
The master of earth cast his spell. Like Gahruhl, he would use his magic to soften the stone, but instead of exposing hinges, he would attempt to create a hole for the Orcs of the Red Hand to enter the Volstrum. It was a gamble, for they knew not where such an opening would lead.
His hands glowed as he plunged them into the stone. It was a quick action, designed to create an arrow slit rather than a door, the better to protect him as he worked on a larger opening.
Kragor moved up, pressing his eye to the newly made hole. “I see light beyond,” he said, “but no movement.”
Rugg repeated the action, creating another hole four paces to his right. He waited as Grundak pressed his eye to it, then moved between the two holes to work on a larger opening.
The process was slow, for only the master of earth could scoop out the stone; to everyone else, it was cold, unyielding rock.
“It remains quiet,” said Grundak, “but you must hurry before the enemy discovers what we are about.”
Rugg, working at a feverish pace, was not amused. “It is no simple task to make an opening fit for an Orc, let alone dozens of them. This would be faster if you were not so large.”
“Me? Large?” said Grundak. “I will have you know I was the smallest in my family.”
“Shhh. Someone is coming,” whispered Kragor. He nocked an arrow, lining it up with the hole before him, then let fly, to be rewarded by a gasp and then a thud as a body fell to the floor.
“You got them,” said Grundak.
“Let us hope it was a mage. It means one less for us to face.”
Urumar stumbled forward as a large section of the wall collapsed. “It is done,” he announced.
“That was faster than I expected,” said Kragor.
“Rather than creating a hole, I dug around in a circle, the middle of which has fallen into the room beyond.”
“Attack!” shouted Grundak, charging through the opening, bow in hand. The rest of the hunters followed, the majority carrying axes.
They entered a room with desks lined up facing one end. The sole occupant was a man lying in the doorway, Kragor’s arrow protruding from his chest.
“Secure the door,” said Kragor, “then, when we have gathered enough hunters, we shall push farther into the building.”
Grundak stood in the doorway, peering out. “The corridor heads left and right,” he said. “Which direction do we go?”
“Any sign of defenders?”
“No.”
“Then left, which takes us towards the front of the building.” He faced the hunters piling into the room behind him. “You six remain here, along with Master Rugg. We shall send for you if we require his magic. The rest follow me.”
With that, Kragor moved into the hallway, his axe replacing his bow. He set two hunters to watch the corridor to the right, then led his Orcs farther into the Volstrum.
The corridor continued straight but presented Kragor with a problem, for doors were on either side, likely leading to other classrooms. He selected the one to his left, opened the door a crack and peered within. “Empty.”
Grundak, meanwhile, positioned himself across the hall. At Kragor’s nod, he opened the other door to a class of young men, their attention focused on someone at the front of the room. He closed the door as quietly as possible, then turned to his comrade. “This is full of students.”
“How many?”
“Eight, and presumably an instructor, although I could not see him directly. What do you want us to do—charge in and kill them all?”
“No,” said Kragor. “We must give them the option to surrender peacefully. Open the door and stand with weapons ready. I shall speak to them.”
“Are you certain that is wise?”
“If we are forced to fight every single student within these walls, we shall soon find ourselves bogged down. However, if we convince them to surrender peacefully, we may succeed.” He opened the door, stepping into the room.
Those within were focused on the man at the front, but one student noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see an Orc standing in the doorway. The surprise on his face was quite evident, and he almost fell out of his chair.
“W-w-who are you?” he stammered.
His remarks drew everyone’s attention, and they turned, staring at Kragor.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the man at the front.
“I am Kragor of the Red Hand,” the Orc replied in the common tongue. “Surrender, and we will spare your lives.”
The fellow’s eyes darted around, though whether that was to check on his students or seek a means of escape was unknown. “Close your books, students. It seems we are to be escorted from the building.”
“Out in the hallway are Orcs who will escort you to the breach. You will be safe amongst them.”
The students lined up, their instructor moving in front to lead them. “Thank you,” he said, though he did not appear very pleased.
Kragor went farther into the room, allowing everyone else to exit. He intended to follow along behind the Humans, ensuring none remained, but no sooner had they left than the air turned frigid, and an Orc cried out.
Kragor rushed from the room, axe in hand, to find the instructor in the midst of casting a spell. His students, obviously more experienced than the Orcs suspected, had let loose with a barrage of ice shards. Three of his hunters were down, their black blood splattering the walls.
Kragor struck out, feeling the axe bite into the instructor’s back. With his concentration broken, the fellow could only turn in shock, his features paling as he collapsed. The Orc polished him off with an efficient strike to the throat.
Grundak, lying on the floor, raised his arm in a vain attempt to protect himself. Ice shards dug into him, shattering his arm and sending bits of bone flying. A sigh escaped him as he went limp.
Fury built within Kragor, and he leaped to the attack, his axe swinging out, seeking revenge. A shard of ice clipped his arm, drawing blood, and then he was amongst them, his blade digging deep. It all became a blur, a tightly packed corridor where the smell of blood and death mingled as if this were the Underworld.
Swing after swing, blow after blow, he attacked until his muscles ached with the strain. As the last student fell under his onslaught, Kragor collapsed to his knees. Eight Humans lay dead, nine if you included their instructor, but he felt no sorrow. He’d offered these people an escape from the family's control, and instead, they had turned on him, slaughtering his fellow Orcs with their magic.
Additional hunters arrived, drawn by the sound of battle. They picked their way through the dead, and then Durgash was there, lifting him to his feet. “You are injured,” he said. “Let us get you to a shaman.” He passed him into the care of a pair of hunters.
“His wounds will heal,” said Urag.
“His physical injuries will,” replied Durgash, “but his soul is another matter.”