Rise of the Horde

Chapter 220: Chapter 22

The sun was shining brightly over the horizon as rows of human soldiers made their way out of the Fortress of Vir, quickly followed by rows upon rows of orcs. They were all armed for battle, and the sound of each of their synchronized steps was enough to frighten those who dared to stand in their way.

The rustling of leaves and grass blades sounded in the wilds as their peace was disturbed by the swift movements of those who made their way along their paths. They were moving alongside, behind, and ahead of the army, which was heading south to find their enemies and deliver a mighty blow that would make them think a thousand times before returning for redemption and vengeance.

A group of human riders atop their mounts stood in front of the massive army. Adhalia quickly put the camels she stole from the Ereians to good use by forming a small cavalry. Although her cavalry numbers were low, she didn’t mind because they wouldn’t be participating in the upcoming battles because their role was to uphold the prestige of a noble family and serve as an escort to her.

Despite the fact that the banners were dancing with the winds, as if to proclaim their pride in what they represented. The warriors’ crestfallen expressions would lead one to believe that they had just been dealt a heavy blow in a previous battle.

“Tss...” Sakh’arran snorted angrily as he turned his gaze to the soldiers he was commanding. He would gladly give them a piece of his mind and make them remember that they are with their chieftain through pain, sweat, and exhaustion if they weren’t on the move.

“You can’t do anything about it; let’s just hope our foes are more durable than we expect them to be,” Gur’kan said as he turned his gaze to the front and watched the happy Skallsers.

“From the reports we’ve received from raids on their camp, I’m sure it won’t even take a full battle to break their spirits and make them flee,” Trot’thar said as he adjusted his seat on the back of his rhakaddon.

.....

A long line of thyrians trailed the First Yohan Horde, pulling carts of food, water, equipment, and other necessities required by the entire army. Khao’khen slept peacefully on one of the carts, his back against the side of the cart and his eyes closed. Draegh’ana and Aro’shanna were in front of him on the other end of the cart, while Grogus was on his left, his full attention on the books he had given him.

By no means was Khao’khen a chef or even a cook, but he did have some knowledge of the kitchen that he used to reward Grogus and keep him from adding extra ingredients to the food that they ate. Even though he appears to be calm right now, unless you have the ability to read minds, you will never know what is going on inside his head.

Unbeknownst to Khao’khen, Grogus already looked up to him as if he were a god because he had introduced to him recipes that he had never seen before and that, in his opinion, were out of this world. The little goblin regards him as a god who has descended to teach those who wish to learn how to cook. The chieftain was a being of infinite wisdom in his own goblin mind, and he will gladly be his subordinate to be imparted more knowledge so that he can perfect his craft.

The trolls, like the warriors in front of them, had crestfallen expressions on their faces. They dragged their feet behind the logistics unit, which was being assisted by the ogres and humans who had not completed the arduous training under Sakh’arran.

The Rhakaddon and Warg Cavalry were serving as rearguards for the marching army, ensuring that no one was left behind and that their supplies were safe. Their chieftain gave a heavy emphasis that the supplies must be protected at all times or else they will all be screwed meaning they will be without food and water and other necessities.

*****

Inside the Ereian Camp, Baron Masud was suffering from the worst headache he had ever had. After the rebellion, his supplies were nearly depleted, the number of his soldiers was reduced once more, and morale in his army was low. He was cursing the two rebel leaders all the way back to their ancestors while breaking everything inside his tent. The sentries stationed outside his tent exchanged glances as they listened to their commander’s outburst.

While he was cursing them, Badz and Shiroh were happily munching on bread and drinking wine as they rested a quarter of a day’s march north of their initial camp. They were feasting and having a good time while Baron Masud was suffering as a result of what they had just done.

“I don’t see why you should be celebrating right now; we’re still in enemy territory and have a half-worth week of supplies; if we can’t forage from the surroundings, we’ll die of starvation,” Baron Husani said as he took the cup of wine offered to him and took a sip, a worried expression on his face.

“Surely you had things planned out before deciding to split from the main camp?” he questioned as he chewed on the dry bread before forcing it down his throat with the help of the wine. The two exchanged glances, then shook their heads in response before returning their attention to the food and wine in front of them.

The two’s response caused Baron Husani to cough violently and spit out the piece of dry bread he was chewing. To relieve his coughing, he quickly reached for the jar of wine and chugged its contents.

Baron Masud can’t help but be concerned about what will happen to them. Looking at Badz and Shiroh’s worried expressions made him even more concerned. He turned his gaze to the sky and prayed to all the gods he knew, praying with all his heart for the first time in his life.

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