Chapter 10 The Storm

The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light spilling over the dense forest. Xenric crouched behind a boulder, his sharp eyes fixed on the slavers' encampment ahead. The rear entrance to the hideout was concealed by a thicket of brambles and twisted vines, masking the iron door embedded in the rocky hillside. Beside him, Simon and Lyra knelt silently, their faces grim with determination.

"This is where it starts," Simon whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. "The traps here aren't just for show. They're deadly."

Lyra nodded, her fingers tracing the edge of a small blade. "We'll disarm what we can. Stay sharp and stay close."

Xenric glanced at them both, his heart pounding. "Let's move."

The trio crept forward, every step measured and deliberate, while the others waited outside ready to engage if anything went wrong. Simon knelt before the first obstacle a tripwire stretched taut across the ground. With deft fingers, he clipped the wire and guided it down gently to avoid triggering the hidden mechanism.

"One down," Simon murmured, sweat glistening on his brow.

As they ventured deeper, the traps grew more intricate. Pressure plates hidden beneath loose soil, spikes coated in venom, and even a concealed crossbow rigged to fire at the slightest disturbance. Lyra proved invaluable, her keen eyes spotting the subtle signs of danger.

"There's a plate just ahead," she whispered, gesturing with her dagger. "Step here and here."

They followed her lead, their movements careful and precise. The tension was palpable, every creak of a branch or whisper of wind setting their nerves on edge. Finally, they reached the iron door.

Simon examined the lock, his expression hardening. "This is no ordinary lock. It's reinforced."

"Can you handle it?" Xenric asked.

Simon smirked, producing a set of finely crafted lockpicks. "Give me a moment."

The picks worked in silence, the faint sound of tumblers clicking under Simon's practiced hand. Finally, the lock yielded with a satisfying snap. He pushed the door open, revealing a narrow corridor dimly lit by flickering torches.

The air inside was damp and stifling, carrying the stench of sweat and decay. Xenric led the way, his sword drawn, as they descended further into the hideout. The faint murmur of voices echoed through the halls, growing louder with each step.

They passed through a series of chambers filled with crates and weapons. The deeper they went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. Finally, they reached a large central chamber where several slaves were shackled to the walls, their faces hollow with despair.

Lyra's sharp intake of breath drew attention. "There are so many," she whispered.

Xenric's heart clenched at the sight. "We'll come back for them once we find Darion."

A low growl from behind made them freeze. Several slaves, their faces twisted with fear and rage, had noticed the intruders. They scrambled to their feet, some wielding improvised weapons.

"They think we're slavers!" Lyra exclaimed, raising her blade defensively.

"We don't have time for this!" Xenric shouted, parrying a wild swing from one of the captives. "We're here to help you!"

The slaves didn't listen, their desperation driving them to attack. Chaos erupted as the trio struggled to defend themselves without causing harm. A sharp cry from Simon drew Xenric's attention.

A burly man wielding a broken chain had stabbed Simon in the side, blood staining his tunic. Simon, unable to fight back hesitating to hurt the man. Lyra screamed and rushed to his side, slashing at their assailant and forcing him back. This is the first time she witnessed Simon struggling.

"Simon!" she cried, catching him as he stumbled. "Stay with me!"

Simon grimaced, his face pale. "I'll be fine. Just… get us out of here."

Lyra threw an arm around his shoulder, supporting his weight. "We have to retreat!"

"Go," Xenric urged, his voice firm. "I'll find Darion."

"Not alone!" Lyra protested, but Simon's worsening condition left her no choice.

"Get him to safety," Xenric said, stepping back into the shadows. "I'll catch up. Just go!"

With a reluctant nod, Lyra began to retreat, half-carrying Simon. Xenric watched them disappear into the corridor before turning toward the heart of the hideout.

The underground passageways grew narrower and darker, the air thick with tension. Xenric moved silently, his sword ready, as he pressed forward. He passed more chambers filled with cages and shackles, his anger mounting with every step.

A faint noise a muffled cry caught his attention. He followed the sound, his heart pounding in his chest. Darion was close. The thought gave him strength as he navigated the labyrinth hideout.

Finally, he reached a locked door. Pressing his ear to the wood, he heard voices on the other side. Slavers, and likely Darion. His grip tightened on his sword as he prepared for the next phase of the rescue.

He wouldn't leave without his friend.

No matter the cost.

Simon clutched his side, his face pale and slick with sweat. Lyra helped him along, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as they trudged through the dense underbrush. Each step was a struggle, Simon's labored breathing, a reminder of the wound he had sustained.

"We're almost there," Lyra whispered, her voice both a comfort and a plea. Behind them, the others waited in a makeshift camp just beyond Aeronberg's outskirts.

When they finally reached the clearing, the bandits gathered around them. Grim faces greeted their return, though their relief was short-lived. The moment Simon was lowered onto a patch of soft grass, one of the bandits, a burly man stepped forward.

"What happened?" the man demanded, his eyes darting between Simon and Lyra.

"It… went wrong," Lyra admitted. "The slaves turned on us. Simon got stabbed. We had no choice but to retreat."

Before anyone could respond, a low, distant rumble rolled through the air. All heads turned toward the kingdom. The horizon glowed faintly, a menacing crimson hue that painted the evening sky. As the rumble grew louder, the bandits scrambled to a vantage point atop a nearby hill, their eyes widening in horror at the scene before them.

The plains outside Aeronberg's grand gates were teeming with movement. Rows upon rows of orcs, their hulking forms glistening with war paint and crude armor, stood in disciplined ranks. Massive banners, emblazoned with Warlord Kargrosh's sigil, fluttered in the wind. The ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble as spellcasters which are a mix of shamans and dark mages chanted incantations, their hands weaving glowing sigils into the air.

At the forefront of the horde were monstrous beasts, their massive, grotesque forms straining against thick iron chains held by their handlers. These creatures some resembling wolves with spikes along their backs, others like mutated bears with eyes glowing an unnatural green, snarled and clawed at the ground, eager for the battle to begin.

Kargrosh himself stood atop a ridge, his imposing figure wrapped in a black cloak adorned with the bones of his fallen enemies. His warhammer, a massive, rune-inscribed weapon, rested in his hands. He raised it high, and a guttural roar erupted from the orcish ranks.

"They're… going to attack the kingdom," Simon murmured, his voice weak but laced with dread.

"We have to warn someone," Lyra said, her hand tightening on Simon's arm. But as she spoke, the orc army began to march.

The ground shook with every step the orcs took, their heavy boots and beastly mounts forming a deafening rhythm. The air filled with the hum of dark energy as the spellcasters released bursts of magic toward the kingdom walls. Explosions echoed in the distance, stone and dust erupting into the sky.

From the bandits' vantage point, they saw the chaos unfold. The gates of Aeronberg remained closed, but the guards atop the walls had taken notice. The city's alarm bells began to toll, their clanging urgency echoing across the rooftops. Citizens poured into the streets, their faces etched with confusion and growing fear.

"What's going on?" a merchant asked, pulling his young daughter closer.

"Is it… an attack?" another voice murmured, panic creeping into their tone.

"What was that explosion? What happened?" Another citizen shouted.

As the crowd grew near the gates, straining to see what was happening, a monstrous roar silenced them all. One of the beasts a massive, spiked creature with glowing red eyes had scaled the wall with terrifying agility. It leapt onto a guard stationed on the upper battlements, its massive jaws snapping down on him. The man screamed, blood spraying the stones, before the creature flung his limp body over the side.

The citizens froze, their shock palpable. Then the panic erupted.

"Run!" someone screamed, and the crowd surged back into the city. Mothers clutched their children, vendors abandoned their stalls, and people shoved past each other in a desperate attempt to flee.

The bandits watched in grim silence, their hiding spot far enough from the chaos to remain unnoticed.

"We can't stay here," Garret said, his voice barely audible over the din. "If they spot us…"

Lyra nodded, her gaze locked on the marching army. "We need to get out of sight. Now."

As the bandits retreated into the forest, the sounds of Aeronberg's alarm faded into the distance. Lyra glanced back once, the glowing fires of the approaching orcs burning into her memory. She could still see the citizens scattering like ants, their panic feeding the growing chaos.

Simon groaned, his injury slowing their pace. "This… this isn't a normal army," he rasped.

"No," Lyra agreed, her voice tight. "This is something far worse."

Above the kingdom, dark clouds began to gather, swirling ominously as if summoned by the malevolent will of Warlord Kargrosh himself. Aeronberg was about to face a storm unlike any it had ever known.