“Damn it! Get out of here!” A cavalryman from Los Saint-Neil shouted, raising his spear in desperation. Behind him, a faint but menacing roar echoed through the dense forest. The orcs were on their tail, and they weren’t far.

“The orcs are definitely pushing north faster than we thought!” spat the cavalry captain, riding hard through the woods. His face was set in a grim expression.

“Stick together! If we scatter, they’ll pick us off one by one!” The captain knew his men weren’t seasoned warriors, just simple cavalry. On their own, they stood no chance against the disciplined orc scouts hidden in the trees.

“The north is already fighting! I knew there’d be no peace in the south either!” one of the men shouted angrily. The frustration was palpable.

The orcs from Dogordo had successfully deceived them. Hiding deep in the woods by day, they made it look like their forces were still heading north. If it hadn’t been for King James and King Novia sending out this scouting cavalry, the orcs might have pulled off the ruse entirely.

“We are the light cavalry of the Cardan tribe! Don’t give up hope! Stay loyal to the king!” The leaders shouted, trying to rally the scattered troops. Gradually, the cavalrymen regrouped, their heavy breaths visible in the cold winter air.

“Keep moving! Don’t let them separate us—” A sudden scream cut off as a throwing axe embedded itself in a rider’s chest.

“Damn it! They’re in the trees!” shouted another rider, spotting an orc scout high in the evergreen canopy.

“Kill them!” roared the lead cavalryman, hurling his short spear toward the trees. A sharp, high-pitched hiss followed as the orc deflected the spear with its steel blade, snarling viciously.

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“Orc scouts—" The warning was cut short as an orc leapt from the branches, ripping a cavalryman from his horse. His death was enough to wake the others to the danger.

“Go! Use your horses!” Another cavalryman urged, opting to let his warhorse do the fighting. With a powerful charge, the horse crashed into an orc, the satisfying crunch of breaking bones ringing out through the forest.

“Don’t be alone! There are more in the trees!” someone called out, and the cavalrymen began firing arrows into the canopy, picking off any orcs hiding there.

Anger and frustration mounted as they saw their comrades falling. Bloodied hands gripped reins, and jaws clenched with determination. “The king needs us! Our families are waiting!” one of the captains shouted, pushing them on.

Suddenly, a distant howl pierced the air.

“Wargs! They’ve sent the wolf riders after us!”

The wolf cavalry appeared from behind the trees, leaping out with deadly speed. These orcs were determined to wipe them out before they could escape.

“Form a spear line!” ordered the cavalry captain. The men reacted quickly, raising their spears just in time. The Wargs, snarling and frothing, crashed into the spear wall. Several fell, impaled by the sharp points, but not all.

“Keep moving forward! We’re almost out of the forest!” The city of Los Saint-Neil loomed just a few miles ahead, its walls barely visible through the trees.

A mace swung down suddenly, crushing a rider’s armor and body in one brutal blow. The clang of steel and the crunch of bone were sickening.

“Push through!” shouted another cavalryman, thrusting his spear into an orc and sending it crashing to the ground. But the battle was growing more chaotic, with Wargs attacking from all sides.

“No!” A rider screamed as a Warg took down his horse, throwing him hard to the ground. His bloodied dagger plunged into the eye socket of an orc just before his vision faded to black.

The wolf riders were relentless, their howls mixing with the desperate cries of the remaining cavalry.

“Charge through!” The survivors broke through the treeline at last, the sun blinding them momentarily as they galloped into the open. There it was—the city of Los Saint-Neil, their salvation.

“Home! We’re almost home!” cried the cavalry captain, clutching a wound at his side. His vision blurred as he fell forward onto his horse's neck, blood soaking his clothes.

“Roar! Kill them all!” The wolf riders hadn’t given up. Their leader, a hulking figure, raised his blood-soaked sword and roared orders.

Arrows whistled through the air as the orcs fired crude hunting bows. “Dodge the arrows!” the cavalrymen shouted. Most arrows missed, but a few struck true, felling more riders.

“The gates are open!” someone yelled.

Out of the city, a flood of knights in plate armor poured forth, their polished helmets glinting in the sunlight.

“Kill every last one of them!” King James bellowed from atop the city walls, watching as the knights charged toward the remaining wolf riders.

The battle wasn’t over yet, but the cavalrymen knew one thing for sure—they had made it home.