The tremors began before the horns.
At first, it felt like aftershocks from the night before…small vibrations running through the trench floors, shaking pebbles and sloshing water barrels. But then the tremors deepened. Grew heavier. Rhythmic. As if the ground itself had joined the orcs in their endless war-song.
Captain Braedon stood atop a forward fortification, hand gripping a spear like it was the only thing keeping him upright. A murmur passed through the lines as soldiers turned toward the horizon.
What emerged from the fog was not an army.
It was a line of metal-covered behemoths.
A group of Thyrians were headed towards the Threian lines and alongside them was the Rhakaddon Cavalry.
"Damn it," Braedon whispered. "By the light, Goddess help us."
The Thyrians already gave the Threians enough trouble before, and adding the Rhakaddons into the mix, it's a recipe for destruction.
