The chieftain walked among the units, speaking in a resounding voice.

  "The Circle of Shamans uses the clans to gain power over lands, resources, and kinsmen—power that they neither have a right to nor deserve!"

  A murmur of anger rippled here and there, and Urg’hur continued.

  "They lack the courage to defend anything with their own blood like proper orcs, or even the decency to work hard for it like proper goblins. Instead, they deceive both with cheap tricks and stories so that everyone acts at their dictation!"

  Angry shouts and calls spread among the units, and the chieftain waited a moment before resuming.

  "In Wolf Rock, each and every one of you is always rewarded by the clan according to your merits. The goblins lead peaceful and safe lives, dedicating themselves to work and craft, and my warriors ensure that no one and nothing threatens that." He took a deep breath and called out even louder, "I stand here today with them, and I tell you that on our rock, these jackals will break their fangs, and the massive shadow it casts will be nothing compared to the shadow cast by the cloud of dust from our enemies' funeral pyre! Death to the shaman spawn!"

  He shouted and shook his spear in the air, and cries of "Death!" echoed him long afterward, so loudly that he was certain the approaching enemy had to hear these calls.

  When the opponents were about three arrow ranges away, Gra’sha spotted the shaman. He didn't cut an impressive figure, but he stood out because he was the only one not wearing armor, and his long robe was suitable neither for fighting nor for hard labor. She couldn't know for sure, but she was convinced he was one of them. Before, others had shielded him, but now he stood alone on a small hillock. Still guarded, but left with enough space to act freely.

  The attackers were getting closer, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that they had no siege engines with them, nor heavy supply wagons for a long siege. They weren't even particularly slowing their pace, which seemed strange to the young warrior and her companions.

  She didn't wait long for the riddle to be solved. The shaman was making some gestures, and even from where she stood, she noticed how spiritual energy from the earth, the goblins passing him, the orcs, and the ogres was gathering before him in thin ribbons into complex geometric shapes. There wasn't much of it at first, but it grew quickly. This was the first time she had seen a shamanic spell. If she greedily drank the spilling juice of life from those departing this world, he apparently borrowed the small available surpluses from nature and everything surrounding him. It reminded her of the energy the old prayer oak bestowed upon her when she spent time near it. Nothing ever happened to the tree, yet she always returned full of strength; she must have been drawing just such available excess strength from the reservoir of energy that the oak was.

  No one but her possessed the gift of sight; her companions paid no attention to any of this. They were more occupied with the enemy warriors running toward them. Suddenly, the sound of a horn rang out, and the attackers made a corridor from the shaman to the palisade. The shape, swollen with power, plunged underground, which instantly trembled, and green shoots as thick as logs shot toward the stronghold like a snake tearing through a swamp. Gra’sha only managed to shout a warning and reflexively pointed her spear in the direction of the oncoming threat. The shoots crossed the moat effortlessly, creating a broad bridge for the attackers, and slammed into the gate with a sound like a thunderclap, tearing it wide open amidst the crack of breaking wood and metal and the screams of defenders now falling from the shattered section of the fortifications.

  The shaman himself didn't even wait to admire the result of his spell, and before it reached the gate, he had already retreated to the rear, somewhat exhausted. His abilities to foretell the future were, as he reluctantly admitted to himself, poor, but of the great vine spell, he was as certain as of few others. Even his nickname—Boulder—he owed to it. At the end of his novitiate, it was with its help that he had split a giant erratic boulder in half, thus sealing his entry into the circle and giving rise to such a name.

  In the breach created in the gate, the attackers appeared immediately, without slowing their pace. The defenders were stunned. Two ogres burst inside, trampling fallen defenders, and right behind them pressed orcs from the north and a mass of bone-clad goblins, just finishing off the wounded. By the time Urg’hur managed to scream, "To the gate!", Gra’sha was already in the air.

  Without waiting for orders, when she saw the first of the ogres, she simply took a short run-up and threw herself toward the gate, torn open by the solidified vines still holding the remnants of the doors, where he appeared. It was a long jump, but she pushed off hard enough, and when, due to some instinct, he glanced up, she landed with both feet on his torso, first burying the head of her spear between his neck and collarbone, where he had no armor.

  The ogre roared long and loud, falling onto his back and making a terrible racket; she had to let go of the shaft to keep her balance. He reached for her with his free hand, still holding an axe in the other. But she, standing defiantly on his chest, quickly drew her sword, relieving him of three fingers with a nimble cut. He pulled his hand back, and as he glared at her hatefully, she spun her sword and, with a swing, slashed his throat.

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  The fall and such a swift death of the lead ogre confused and slowed the enemy's advance somewhat, giving the nearest unit time to rush to what was left of the gate and engage in combat. Gra’sha, however, not only didn't slow down, but after choking on the spiritual energy of the dying ogre, immediately set upon his companion. Armed with shield and sword, she fought her way through to him with deadly efficiency, taking advantage of the confusion created. The giant ogre armed with a club clearly intended to avenge his kinsman, for regardless of whether he knocked aside enemies or allies, he also moved toward her.

  She avoided his attack from above, which seemed slow in her eyes, with a nimble pirouette, letting herself be carried by the elation of the energy just consumed. On the way, she hamstrung a northern orc; arterial blood gushed profusely, but she was already three steps away. By the left side of the ogre, who had only raised his weapon halfway. When he had it at shoulder height, she stabbed three times and withdrew the point of her sword from between his ribs, and before he could grimace and drop his weapon, twice more. She ducked under the swing of his arm; he held the other to his profusely bleeding side. She straightened up right in front of him and, with a powerful thrust up through the chin, pierced his skull and quickly withdrew the weapon, careful not to lose it like the spear.

  Two ogre carcasses and fallen orcs on both sides of the barricade created an obstacle and prevented the opponents from a straightforward advance. The attackers now had to climb over the bodies of the dead, which couldn't be easily removed, especially when Gra’sha, now in the company of her entire unit which had come down to her, hunted them without mercy. Those who tried quickly became another brick in the macabre construction.

  After a few minutes of slaughter in the breach, the assault definitely slowed. Another ogre fell in it, and with him, or not much further, a good five dozen orcs. And the Bone Goblins didn't even try to get close anymore. The defense, after the initial shock, also got itself in order, and units of archers supported repelling the attack.

  The invaders, however, could not retreat; their entire attack plan apparently relied on capturing this bridgehead, and their numerical superiority allowed them to throw further ranks of warriors forward, one after another, right into the middle of this cauldron. So they flooded the defenders wave after wave with new assaults, which, even if they somehow broke through deeper, could not hold the position before support joined them. The defense effectively smashed them and thwarted attempts to capture the bridgehead.

  After a quarter of an hour of this slaughter, corpses were piled thick all around the gate area. Of course, the defenders also suffered losses, but in this thicket, Gra’sha was hellishly effective. She didn't count the defeated, but despite her speed and agility, she was practically covered in blood. Her sword was chipped and at the limit of its endurance. Her shield was battered from countless blows against the skulls and torsos of enemies.

  It was hard for her to keep a sober mind. Never before had so much spiritual energy surrounded her. Even when she wasn't actively trying, willy-nilly she reached here and there, unconsciously, for more and more. Orc warriors are not fearful, but the next row, when they climbed over the carcasses of their comrades only to see Gra’sha decapitating the penultimate orc from the previous rank of attackers, and then crushing the face of the last one, kneeling and shielding himself with the stumps of his arms, with the rim of her shield—they faltered. Shielding themselves from the defenders' arrows, they hesitated before the next step, and when she turned her face to them and laughed loudly, pleased at the sight of them as if they had brought her great joy with their arrival, everyone collectively took a step back. And when she moved toward them with that macabre smile, they simply started pushing back with all their might, blocking the rest.

  Urg’hur then gave the signal, and taking advantage of this moment of pause, some of the warriors, shielded by shield-bearers, rushed with sharpened stakes to the breach. Mal’gor pulled Gra’sha away at the last moment to make room for them. So they were able to effectively block it with these structures, barricading and bracing it with logs. And the archers came closer and watched to ensure no one tried to climb over them. At least for the moment, the breach was secured.

  After a few moments, two horns sounded, and the assault was broken off; the enemy retreated just beyond the line of fire. Wolf Rock had survived this first attack and emerged victorious. Shouts of triumph rang out, and immediately after, orders to tend to the wounded.

  In this tumult, Mal’gor and Sha’dru pulled the young warrior slightly away from the gate, into the shadow of a nearby platform, and with equally worried faces, asked alternately if she was alright, trying to wash her a little with water from their waterskins. She looked terrible, and only after their intervention did it begin to dawn on her that in the heat of battle, carried by the devoured energy, she might have ignored a few blows in that haze that she would have been able to parry or avoid. This caused her minor dissatisfaction; she had hoped she was past that stage and able to maintain focus, but the sheer volume of energy she had the opportunity to experience for the first time in her life had befuddled her a little. Her head was still buzzing.

  She had no idea when she had lost her helmet; there was no trace of the mail collar, and the leather gambeson was in tatters. However, the blood, at least most of it, was not hers, and the few still-open wounds were practically healing before their eyes like on some troll. To the astonishment of Mal’gor, who nevertheless decided that this was not the time or place to discuss it, and after a superficial washing of his younger companion, he wrapped her in a cloak used by archers, several of which hung on a hook by a barrel of arrows. They helped her take off the shield and let go of the sword, which she held in a vise-like grip; it took them a long moment to massage her hand until she finally let go, laughing quietly and nervously as she did.

  "I'm in one piece, Mal, easy," Gra’sha said with a more sober gaze, gripping his arm gently after seeing the look on his face. "Thank you, both of you," she added, looking from him to Sha’dru.

  "We have a moment of peace, but we don't know how long. Let's rest," Sha’dru suggested and pulled them both aside, where they could sit in a dry place, and the three of them finished off what was left in their waterskins, gathering their thoughts and strength in silence for what was yet to come.