Bar’nar had a bad feeling about the morning assault. They had slept peacefully through the night, and at the morning briefing no one even whispered about the losses. He suspected they were greater than the command was willing to admit. Instead, a vision was laid out of how the shaman would create two bridges across both the moat and the palisade, through which they would force their way inside. As one of the captains declared, “Effortlessly!”

  The veteran was convinced that the original plan had been sound. The element of surprise had been undeniable, yet it had failed. In his opinion, attempting the same thing again, only on a larger scale, was doomed to fail as well. Whatever the Wolf Rock warriors had improvised to stop the assault through a breach led by ogres, he assumed they would be able to repeat it at two breaches after an entire night of preparation. He consoled himself with the thought that he was assigned to a unit securing the archers against a possible sortie. If nothing changed, he would not be taking a direct part in storming the palisade. At least it was windy, he thought, which should make the work of the stronghold’s archers a little more difficult.

  Bar’nar watched as the shaman, now shielded by even more bearers than the previous day, performed his magic. With concentration and a certain solemnity, the shaman waved his hands before him. It was by no means impressive to look at, but Bar’nar knew the effects could be. The ritual lasted nearly an hour and bored him enough that he only glanced over occasionally. Finally, orders were issued, and everyone stepped aside to clear the designated routes for the vines. Bar’nar did not have to move, as he was not standing in their path. He watched with a degree of admiration as vines even wider and thicker than those from the previous day writhed and surged toward the stronghold beneath the surface, churning the earth like a herd of giant boars.

  From atop the palisade, the blare of a horn rang out, and he saw the enemy archers hurriedly descending from their platforms. Apparently, yesterday’s breach and the fall of their defenders had taught them something. Nothing Bar’nar had not expected. The vines crossed the moat as if it were a puddle, leaving two wide bridges behind, then surged upward toward the palisade. As the command had promised, they flowed over it, forming two small but broad mounds that allowed passage to the other side. From his vantage point, it seemed the defenders of Wolf Rock had barely escaped being crushed between vine and wall.

  Running parallel to the advancing vines, the last of the ogres charged. This time, each carried a massive two-part wooden pavise. Beneath their cover, a swarm of goblins and orcs crowded forward. When the vines spilled over the far side of the palisade and stilled, the head of the assault was already nearing the newly formed bridges. Bar’nar assumed that the chaos and the strong wind allowed them to approach with minimal enemy fire. The few arrows that did reach them lodged harmlessly in the pavises.

  On both sides of the gate, each led by three ogres, the assault units reached the crest almost simultaneously. The vines sagged slightly beneath their weight but held firm. The slope was shallow, slowing the attackers only marginally. The ogres were already disappearing on the far side. Shouts from attackers and defenders alike carried on the wind, and Bar’nar muttered under his breath, “Good luck, boys.” He shifted his weight and watched as row upon row of his kin poured across both crossings.

  * * *

  Gra’sha’s unit was shielding the spearmen and archers deployed to the left of the gate, tasked with repelling the assault over the vines. During the night, the command had rearmed many units with ranged weapons and prepared a warning system to detect the shamanic vines. Thanks to this, they avoided losses when the spell struck the palisade. Gra’sha was in excellent condition. She had managed a bit of sleep, and by morning she was fully armed again. The forge and workshops had not fallen silent for a moment, and even during the attack she could hear them at work as she ran to her position.

  She took her place at the front, crouched on bent knees, shield forward and spear leveled. Ranks of shooters quickly formed behind her unit.

  “Hoooold!” the captain called, spear raised high. He stood slightly apart so all could see and hear him.

  The first ogres crested the top. Gra’sha saw the same unfolding on the other side of the gate. She harbored dark thoughts about the enemy shaman, yet she could not deny the sheer impressiveness of his work. The vines had not only formed bridges but had dug deep into the defenders’ side, knocking obstacles aside. She had never imagined such magic was possible.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Hoooold!” came the command again. The ogres advanced three abreast, their massive pavises shielding nearly the entire assault. Once they reached the midpoint of the descent, however, those behind them were no longer protected by the giants’ bulk.

  The captain waited until the crowd thickened, then shouted, “Now! At the peak!”

  A storm of arrows and javelins flew over Gra’sha’s head, casting shadows before slamming into the rear of the assault and tearing gaps through it. Then came the order to advance. Her entire unit surged forward, engaging those who reached level ground, while the shooters cut down enemies still struggling down the incline.

  The leading ogre split his pavise wide, and masses of Bone Goblins spilled forth, accompanied by heavily armed Crescent Moon orcs. They did not get far. The defenders met them head-on, with Gra’sha at the fore.

  Mindful of the previous day, she fought to keep control and not surrender to battle rage, even as energy surged through her once more. She meant to use her abilities to the fullest. They were fighting for survival. For every step her comrades took, she took two. She surged ahead of the line, scattering goblins like a she-wolf disciplining unruly pups. Warriors behind her finished them off.

  She feinted low, drawing an orc’s shield down, then drove her spear through his throat, nearly decapitating him. Without slowing, she vaulted forward. As the ogre continued releasing minions from beneath his pavise, she stunned another enemy with her shield and landed beside the giant.

  The stunned warrior fell backward, blocking his fellows. The ogre stared at her in fury and surprise. He raised the pavise, massive as a house wall, to crush her and ignored the goblins below. In doing so, he exposed himself. Gra’sha drove her spear between his ribs three times, aiming for the heart, as arrows and a javelin struck him as well. Even so, he managed one devastating swing that crushed goblins, but not her. She was already gone.

  As life drained from him, he leaned against the shattered pavise, unable to lift it again. In his fading vision, he saw her with eyes alight and small fangs bared as his life essence flowed into her instead of returning to the earth. The thought that this small warrior was devouring him in her own way made his heart quake for the first and last time.

  The surge of spiritual energy made Gra’sha scream in guttural ecstasy as she hurled enemies aside. The ogre’s body toppled, dragging the broken pavise with it and crushing several unlucky goblins beneath. Her comrades roared in triumph. The remaining two ogres exchanged a glance and charged her in rage, dropping their cover to draw massive cleavers.

  On the other side, Urg’hur’s veterans held firm through disciplined maneuvers and tight spear work. Breakthroughs were contained, and reinforcements reached the front only in a thin, battered stream under relentless fire. For the moment, the defense held.

  The first ogre swung his cleaver and crushed goblins instead of Gra’sha. Forced to raise his pavise against incoming missiles, he failed to see her strike his thigh and sever an artery. As he staggered, the second ogre’s blow smashed into the ground where she had been. She slipped beneath his arm and drove repeated strikes into his exposed armpit. His arm went limp. He roared and dropped the weapon. Arrows followed.

  The wounded ogre hurled his pavise aside and staggered upward, hoping to reach safety beyond the palisade. Blood loss and embedded missiles ended that hope. He collapsed dead on the far side.

  The last ogre fought on, slower now but still lethal, except against Gra’sha. She taunted him into smashing his own allies as she danced among them and drew cheers from the defenders. When his strength finally failed, he abandoned his pavise and struggled to lift his cleaver with both hands. Missiles struck his face and neck. He dropped the weapon and fell where he stood, dying slowly.

  The attackers’ morale broke. Though they still held a broad strip over the palisade, reinforcements advanced only to die under relentless fire. All three ogres lay dead, and the attackers began to retreat.

  Sha’dru called to Gra’sha repeatedly before she heard her and withdrew to the second line. She checked the younger warrior quickly, then said, “You’re doing great. Keep it up. The commander’s dead. Let’s take part of the unit and help the right side.” She pointed to the second breach, where three ogres still fought.

  Gra’sha nodded eagerly. Together they gathered two dozen warriors and struck the flank, breaking through to the most isolated ogre. Veterans pressed from the front. After a quarter hour of brutal fighting, with significant help from the young warrior, the right side was cleared as well.

  The situation stabilized, but the Crescent Moon clan continued to send wave after wave. Losses mounted on both sides. Some shooters were ordered to take up spears and shields to reinforce the front. The second day of the siege proved even more bloody than the first.