B3 Chapter 1: Ready to Roll

Devin Redcliffe stood atop the tallest guard tower in Corwyn Pass, a letter in hand. The icy winds that hissed about the mountain peaks bit at his skin like a nest of angry vipers, seeking out any patches of skin that had been foolishly left exposed to their attacks. Yet at this point, the wind's assault hardly phased him anymore. After so long stationed in this gods-forsaken place, the cold had proven the least of his concerns.

He read over its contents again. His father's instructions to pull back and leave the pass behind had come as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Devin and his men had been protecting this pass ever since they'd left the duchy behind, which was far longer than he'd care to think about. And despite the fortified and advantageous position they found themselves in, defending it had proven to be anything but easy.

Corwyn Pass was supposed to be an assignment of much honor and glory. It should have been flush with men and support from the king, its men never wanting for fresh weapons, new armor, and the best choice of supplies. After all, this pass was the most straightforward way into Novara in the far west. It led directly onto the plains beyond and, from there, it was only a short march to the kingdom's capital. There were plenty of other places that one could try to attack and enter Novara. But if this pass fell…. Well, the rest of the warfront wouldn't matter.

Yet as Devin looked out over his men, who busied themselves with preparations for the retreat, he saw a different story entirely. Breastplates that bore more dents and scrapes than stretches of intact metal. Empty quivers hung alongside swords and spears that might as well have been serrated for all of the notches they bore. Even their hand wrappings had been cobbled together from the tattered remains of banners and even Novara's flag, as they'd worn holes in the last pairs of gloves among them.

This was no honor assignment. It was a punishment. At least, that was what their almighty king had decided. It was the only explanation for why every shipment of supplies had steadily dwindled until they'd ceased altogether a few months back. It was the reason why the only men before him were ones from his family's duchy, not from elsewhere in the kingdom. And it was the reason why Devin felt little regret about leaving it behind.

If he'd been feeling a bit more charitable, Devin might have been willing to entertain some alternative explanations. After all, despite the importance of holding this position, the odds of the orcs actually breaking through were incredibly slim.

The pass was nearly two dozen miles of narrow trail that wound through the mountains, cramped enough that no more than five men could march abreast—or four orcs. Walls ran up and down its entire length, the steep mountain making the task of reaching their base a fool's errand. And that was without the regularly spaced outposts. Each could stymie the opposition's advance up the pass with felled trees or rockfalls or frigid water that would turn the path to ice.

Given all of that, then perhaps the lack of supplies and men were a strategic tradeoff. Perhaps they were more desperately needed elsewhere along the warfront. But he doubted it. Not with this king.

Devin shook his head. Despite the absolute slaughter that this pass was, the endless tide of orcs never ceased making attempts. Every day they'd come screaming with the dawn to batter their way through. If rocks blocked their charge, they hauled them away. If bodies blocked the pass, they climbed over them. It was never-ending.

Occasionally, they would manage to make some real progress. Lately, they'd been managing to make their way a few miles into the pass with worrying consistency. But Devin would always be able to rally his troops and push them back, using their superior positioning to his massive advantage.

The onslaught was such that he'd managed to reach level 25 during his time here, an absolutely unheard-of accomplishment, with many of his men boasting impressive levels as well. Yet that was merely a side effect of the constant fighting they endured. Still, he wouldn't complain. Not when it had allowed them to stretch their food and rations much further and kept them from starving.

Devin sighed heavily. Novara truly had made efforts to ensure that they were not taken unawares by their longtime foes. Even in his current and unenviable position, he and his men were still able to push the orcs back day after day. Yet each time, they made it a little further. Each time, they had to be a little more conservative with the traps and roadblocks they set. Each day, the men were left a little more exhausted, their bellies a little more hollow as they went to do battle. And with the way things were… it was only a matter of time until something gave.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The clanking of metal drew Devin from his thoughts. One of his men approached, saluting as he came to a halt. "Sir. The men are ready."

Devin nodded. "Understood. We wait until the morning assault comes. Then, we give these orcs their parting gift."

"Yes, sir!"

Despite the man's seriousness, Devin couldn't help but note the faintest hint of relief on his face. And no wonder. He wasn't the only one eager to leave this place behind them.

Devin turned back to regard the pass. Even if his father really was really looking to rebel against the King—a course of action which Devon wholeheartedly agreed to at this point—he had no desire to leave the pass open as it was. The idea of retreating with no defensive measures made him feel a little sick to his stomach. To let their foes simply march unopposed straight to the capital? No. That was a step too far. Especially since such a move also risked him and his men being taken unawares during their retreat.

Luckily, there was one more defense that Corwyn pass boasted. A bit of a last resort.

All along the mountainside, a collection of [Mages] and [Miners] had long ago set enchanted spikes into strategic locations in the mountainside. When activated, they would bring several tons of rock down, filling the path and crushing anyone unlucky enough to be on it.

While he held no illusions that even this would dissuade the orcs and their assaults, he was certain that it would slow them down. Who knows? Maybe it would be enough that, if their coup was successful, they'd have a chance to return and reclaim the pass before the barbarians began to pour through in earnest.

The thought of the orcs running wild through the plains, burning and raiding as they went, was almost enough to make Devin hesitate. But he shook it off. If such a thing came to pass, then the blood was not on his hands. He'd done his duty. He'd manned his post for longer than any man before him—longer than any reasonable person could expect, given their situation.

But they had been abandoned. Their king and country had left them to die—a slow death, but a death nonetheless. That was not a fate that he would willingly consign his men to. It was time for them to go home. Though perhaps he could send out runners to warn the locals and ensure they had time to prepare and evacuate, should the worst come to pass.

With the final preparations in place, all that was left to do was wait. Luckily, the orcs didn't make them wait long.

As soon as the sun broke over the distant horizon, he heard it. The distant sound of war chants in a language foreign to his ears. They filled the air with a driving, steady rhythm, one as inexorable as a heartbeat. One that Devin had grown far, far too used to hearing.

The sound grew and grew until the orcs finally came into view. A long line of green-skinned barbarians, their bulging muscles wreathed in leathers and furs and bone from monsters and animals alike. Warpaint adorned their faces in shades of black and red, their eyes red with battle lust. Not a single one of them seemed affected by the cold—an effect of the chants or some skill, no doubt.

Devin waited for the column to make it further up the pass. Once he saw its end, he drew a horn from his belt. He set its wooden mouthpiece against his lips and blew, the sound reverberating through the mountains as he empowered it with [Voice of Command].

A sharp series of cracks echoed up and down the mountain range as his men activated the spikes. Then, a moment later, it began.

A low rumble filled the pass, growing in volume and intensity until it drowned out even the orcs' chants. The very cliffs themselves began to shift and move, crumbling down toward the trail. The process accelerated, and soon, boulders the size of houses rolled and tumbled down onto the approaching army's heads.

Despite the danger, the orcs did not flee. They faced the rocks head-on as though they were merely another opponent, charging forward and battering at them. As though stone were just another army to be felled before their axes and blades.

Yet their efforts came to naught. In the span of a few heartbeats, it was over. A hush fell over the mountains, its peaks silent but for the ever-hissing wind and the soft tinkle of a few small stones. Not even a single voice called out from beneath the rubble.

Devin looked at the results of the avalanche and grimaced. It would not hold for nearly as long as he'd hoped. He'd seen the orcs clear out rocks with enough efficiency that he held no illusions that this would be a permanent solution. But still, it would have to do.

He turned his back on Corwyn Pass and faced his men. "Our work is done here. Now… we march for home."

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