Rise of the Horde

473  Chapter 473

The sun shone down on the parched earth of the Burning Sands. Dust clouds danced in the distance, mirroring the restless energy of the assembled army. Six thousand strong, a coalition of Ereia's New Royal Army and the brutal efficiency of Khao'khen's Yohan First Horde remnants, prepared for the assault.

Dhug'mhar, his playful gaze grim under the harsh sunlight, adjusted the straps of his helmet. Beside him, Haguk, his warg growling low, mirrored the orcish chieftain's intensity.

"The scouts report minimal resistance," Haguk rumbled, his voice a low growl. His warg shifted restlessly, muscles rippling beneath its thick hide.

"Minimal resistance does not mean no resistance at all," Dhug'mhar countered, his voice sharp. "These bandits are desperate. They will fight like cornered animals."

General Kaphir of the New Royal Army, a man whose weariness was etched into every line of his face, approached. "We have intelligence, thanks to the Eye and the Watchers, that confirms their numbers are dwindling. Still, caution is key."

"Caution is for those who fear death," Dhug'mhar retorted, his eyes glinting. "We are warriors of the Rumbling Clan. We do not fear death. We embrace it."

"And we," Haguk added, his voice a guttural rumble, "ride into it upon the backs of our wargs."

Kaphir nodded, acknowledging the implacable nature of the orcish warriors. "We appreciate your ferocity, Chieftains. But a swift, decisive victory is preferable to a prolonged bloodbath. Our objective is to dismantle the bandit network, not to obliterate every last rebel."

"Your words are wise, General," Faynah, the leader of the Eye in the Shadows, spoke, her voice calm but carrying authority. She stood a little apart, observing the scene with an almost clinical detachment. "But some are beyond redemption." Her gaze swept over the assembled forces, a hint of coldness in her eyes.

"The Dark Elven Watchers have confirmed the presence of several known war criminals within this camp," added Lorien, a Dark Elf whose quiet demeanor hid a ruthless efficiency. "Their deaths will serve as a warning to others."

"And what of the civilians?" Kaphir asked, his concern evident.

"There are few," Faynah replied. "Most have already fled, driven out by the violence of these bandits."

"There are always exceptions," Lorien added. "We must be prepared to separate the innocent from the guilty."

Dhug'mhar snorted. "Innocent? They shelter the criminals, they aid them, they profit from their crimes. They are all guilty, by their silence alone."

"Our orders are to minimize civilian casualties," Kaphir reiterated firmly. "We are the New Royal Army, not a band of brutal raiders."

"We understand the rules of war, General," Haguk growled, but there was a clear undercurrent of impatience in his tone. "We will be as swift and brutal as necessary."

"Very well," Kaphir conceded, knowing he could not sway the orcs from their ingrained savagery. "Let us proceed with the assault. The Fourth Camp falls today."

The advance began with a disciplined precision that belied the savage nature of the attacking force. The Ereian soldiers formed a tight formation, advancing slowly but surely, their shields raised high. Behind them, the orcish cavalry waited, a tide of wargs and Rhakaddon steeds, their riders a living tempest of muscle and steel.

The bandit camp, a collection of ramshackle huts and hastily constructed defenses, was met with a relentless assault. The Ereian soldiers overwhelmed the defenses at the front, while the orcish riders crashed through the weaker points in the camp's perimeter. The scene became one of controlled chaos: the clash of steel, the roar of wargs, the screams of the dying. Nôv(el)B\\jnn

The battle was short, brutal, and effective. The bandits, disorganized and outnumbered, offered little resistance. The combined strength of the Ereian army and the orcish cavalry proved too much.

Dhug'mhar and Haguk, at the heart of the fighting, cut a bloody swathe through the enemy ranks. The remaining bandits scattered, trying desperately to escape, but few succeeded.

By nightfall, the Fourth Camp was reduced to smoldering ruins. The surviving bandits, the wounded, were rounded up and dealt with according to the orders of the New Royal Army. The few civilians found in the camp were separated, their accounts taken.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of blood orange and bruised purple, the combined forces prepared to march on. Their success, however brutal, had been complete.

One more thorn had been pulled from the side of the newly reformed Ereia. But the Burning Sands held many more secrets, and the campaign was far from over. The work of stabilization, fueled by the combined efforts of the Ereian Army, the Eye in the Shadows, the Dark Elven Watchers, and the formidable orcish cavalry, was ongoing, relentless, and grimly necessary. The peace they sought was bought with blood, and the price, it seemed, would continue to be paid for some time yet.

*****

The Tortuga Fortress, perched precariously on territory clearly within Lazican control, offered little in the way of comfort. Yet, inside its thick walls, Adhalia, the shrewd merchant-queen of Ereia, reclined on a worn tapestry, the scent of salt and distant smoke clinging to the air.

She had just concluded another profitable transaction with the northern barbarians, a transaction that had significantly bolstered her coffers and, perhaps more importantly, weakened Lazica's grip on its newly acquired territories.

A Lazican messenger, his face etched with the weariness of a long journey and the simmering anger of a frustrated diplomat, stood before her. He carried himself with a stiffness that betrayed his unease, his gaze fixed on the intricately carved floor.

"Lady Adhalia," he began, his voice low and strained, "The King of Lazica sends his regards, and… a complaint."

Adhalia raised an eyebrow, a subtle gesture that betrayed none of the amusement she felt at the messenger's obvious discomfort. She gestured to a nearby chair. "Please, sit. State your king's complaint."

The messenger hesitated before seating himself, his posture still rigid. "Your continued trade with the barbarians north of our newly claimed lands is causing… concern. It is seen as an act of… support, an undermining of our efforts to establish peace and order."

Adhalia sighed, a barely perceptible sound. She reached for a rolled parchment, unfurling it slowly. "I believe you will find your concerns unfounded," she said, her tone measured and calm. "Please examine the stipulations of the peace treaty between Ereia and Lazica."

The messenger took the parchment, his eyes scanning the carefully worded clauses. He frowned, his brow furrowing as he read through the details concerning the free passage of goods and the absence of any taxes levied on Ereian merchants trading within Lazican territories.

"This… this clearly states the freedom of trade," he muttered, his voice lacking its earlier accusatory tone.

"Indeed," Adhalia confirmed, her voice taking on a sharper edge. "The treaty grants Ereian merchants unfettered access to Lazican markets, and vice-versa. My trade with the northern barbarians occurs outside of Lazican territory. Therefore, it is entirely within the bounds of our agreement."

The messenger shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between the parchment and Adhalia's unwavering gaze. "But… the barbarians are actively resisting the king's forces. Your trade bolsters their capabilities, giving them an advantage."

"An advantage they are entitled to," Adhalia countered, her voice laced with steel. "They are a sovereign people, free to trade with whomever they choose. My involvement is purely mercantile. I am not providing them with military aid or strategic advice." She paused, allowing her words to sink in. "Besides," she added, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, "Lazica is not exactly in a position to dictate terms. Their position remains precarious. The barbarians in the north, the Federation and the Union to the east – they all eye Lazica with considerable interest."

The messenger's face paled. He knew the truth of her words. Lazica, despite its recent territorial gains, was teetering on the brink.

"My king fears that your actions will be misconstrued," the messenger argued weakly, clinging to the last vestiges of his official mandate. "He fears Ereia's… implicit support for the barbarians."

"I have other more important concerns that require my urgent attention." Adhalia said, her words dripping with implied meaning, though not going so far as to be accusatory, she carefully chose each word to avoid giving the messenger an excuse to justify what his king felt.

Adhalia leaned back, her gaze settling on the turbulent sea. "Fear is a poor foundation for foreign policy, messenger. Ereia adheres to the treaty. If your king seeks further assurances, he is welcome to send another representative to review the details and the relevant invoices." A pause hung heavy in the air. "But perhaps he should consider consolidating his new lands before embarking on new conquests." She gestured to the parchment. "Perhaps another review of the treaty might benefit him as well. After all, what happens when Ereia finds itself in a position to demand adjustments to our agreement?"

The messenger, his argument utterly deflated, stared at the parchment in his hands, the words blurring into meaningless symbols. The weight of his king's concerns and the cold reality of Lazica's precarious situation pressed down on him. He had nothing left to say, no counter-argument to offer. He rose, his face flushed with a mixture of anger and defeat.

"I… I will convey your words to the king," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. He bowed stiffly and departed, leaving Adhalia alone in the fortress, the sound of his hurried footsteps a counterpoint to the silent calculations swirling in her mind. The game, she knew, was far from over.