“Archers, mages, to the walls!” Quinea shouted, her voice booming across the camp.

  Rowan’s eyes narrowed as the goblin army grew closer, their war drums now audible in the distance, a maddening rhythm that pounded in time with his heart.

  “Form up!” she commanded, her voice unyielding.

  The Silver-ranks moved first, forming a tight line at the front, their weapons drawn. Nemir was among them, his greatsword glowing faintly as he drew upon his Aura. Laith took his place next to them, his massive frame radiating strength and confidence.

  “This is it, boys and girls,” he bellowed. “Let’s give them hell!”

  Rowan glanced towards the Iron-ranks behind them, no longer looking like a ragged band of adventurers, but an army. Outfitted in gleaming armor, holding weapons suitable for the task at hand.

  The five mages that had the Earth affinity—Huon and Tion among them—stood equally spread out across the wall. So if the shamans tried to tear it down, they could counteract their workings.

  The opening they made in the makeshift barricade was wide enough for ten grown men to stand shoulder to shoulder. It would funnel the goblins towards them, hopefully dealing with their overwhelming numbers.

  Velora stood next to him, watching the encroaching horde with a determined expression. “Thank you,” she spoke softly, his earlier arrogance gone. “What is our plan?”

  Tremil was still unconscious, lying in the warchief's tent with Zoe looking over him, and without him here, it seemed the mages had turned towards Rowan to lead them.

  “When they get in range, shower them with spells. Kill as many as you can. We have to thin the herd before they reach the walls,” Rowan answered. “And when they do, we switch to support. Keep them from hitting the walls. We want them funneled to the opening for as long as possible.”

  Velora nodded firmly, “As you say.”

  Rowan’s eyes found Quinea at the front of the formation, standing tall despite her missing arm. Her fight against the Warchief had exhausted her, her Aura all but spent.

  They were lucky that the tribe had sent out all their heavy hitters in the first wave. The bulk of the approaching force were hobgoblins and regular warriors. There were bound to be a few shamans among their number, yet they dealt with all the Gold-ranked threats.

  We can do this, Rowan told himself. We’re outnumbered five to one, but we can do this.

  “Archers, set range!” a Silver-rank bellowed, drawing his bow and firing an arrow.

  It shot through the air, glowing a radiant gold from the enchantment on the bow, landing halfway between their position and the approaching horde. More arrows followed it, some landing closer, while some landed further away.

  “Around eight hundred yards,” Velora muttered. “Twenty archers, shooting every five or so seconds,” she tapped his chin. “That’s thirty volleys. If all of them land, that’s a hundred goblins taken care of.”

  Rowan nodded. “I want mages with fire spells to focus on offense as well. That should take care of another hundred, easily.”

  Velora, surprisingly, didn’t hesitate. She marched along the walls, coordinating their mages into position.

  Even with all of that, it would leave more than three-hundred goblins for the warriors to deal with. After the battle they just fought that should have been too much for them, but equipped as they were, Rowan thought they were up to the task.

  “Do not falter!” Quinea shouted, her voice firm and commanding, raising her spear as she addressed them. “We are adventurers, sworn to shield humanity and its lands from foes that threaten to destroy us!”

  She gestured at the approaching goblins. “There they are! Marching and hoping to take all you hold dear! We are the last line of defense, the last hope for a city full of innocents. If they reach Litwick, nothing but death and sorrow awaits our charges,” her gaze swept across the assembled adventurers. “Will we let them do as they will?” she bellowed. “Will we let them murder our loved ones?”

  “NO!” a hundred voices answered in unison.

  “WILL WE FIGHT?” Quinea asked, her voice booming across the camp.

  “YES!” the adventures answered.

  “WILL WE WIN?”

  “YES!” Rowan shouted with the rest of them, their expressions filled with determination.

  “Good.” Quinea nodded, taking them all in, her posture radiating confidence. “Prepare for battle,” she finished, turning to face the encroaching horde.

  Rowan felt his heartbeat quicken, the thrill of the upcoming battle almost overwhelming. When the scout had raised the alarm, fear and panic had gripped them. But now, with their forces ready and willing, the atmosphere was excited—almost elated.

  This wasn’t going to be a battle. It was going to be a slaughter.

  The approaching goblins rapidly closed the distance, their forms now clear. Warriors riding wargs, hobgoblins behind them, shamans at their flanks.

  “Steady,” Rowan whispered. “...steady.”

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  “Archers!” the same Silver-rank from earlier shouted. “Fire at will!”

  The adventurers manning the walls released their arrows. They flew through the air in an arc, shining with an inner light, the enchantments on their bows strengthening their shots. Some glowed with a fiery yellow, while others raced through the air on currents of Wind.

  It seemed like such a small thing. Twenty arrows against a tide of enemies. But then the archers fired again, and again, and again.

  The crack of bowstrings echoed loudly through the camp, their arms moving at a furious pace. Arrows were knocked and released at a rapid pace, the archers performing with practiced ease.

  Rowan followed their path, gripping the makeshift railing.

  The goblins were close enough that he could almost smell them. The scent of sweat, worked leather, and blood mingling with the fresh air.

  Then the first volley hit, and all hell broke loose.

  Against so many, the archers didn’t have to worry about precision. No matter where their arrows landed, an enemy fell.

  The first one hit a warg in the neck. Easily piercing through skin, muscle, and bone. It let out a strangled snarl, muffled by the blood that now filled its throat. The beast fell, digging a furrow in the ground, launching the rider off its back.

  The one directly behind it didn’t have time to dodge, the sudden stop causing a collision. It wasn’t enough to kill it, yet it did result in another rider being lost.

  Others dodged the fallen beasts, leaping over or rushing around them.

  “Mages, get ready!” Rowan shouted. “When they get close, light them up!”

  The three fire mages by his side nodded, the others spread across the wall, knowing what they needed to do. Their job was to hold the wall and trust in the warriors to take care of the rest.

  “Focus on where they’re clustered! Take out as many as you can before the shamans reach us!”

  Rowan raised his hand high in the sky, calling on his mana. It answered, coursing through his channels like a raging river, a [Fireball] rapidly forming in the palm of his hand.

  The fierce red glow seemed to spur the others on, their own spells soon joining his. A cheer went up from behind them at the sight, the assembled adventurers letting out a loud warcry. Their voices mingled into a single entity, filled with a promise of violence and triumph.

  “NOW!” Rowan roared, letting his spell fly.

  His [Fireball] was joined by a [Flame Lance] from Velora, quickly followed by two [Firebolt]’s.

  They soared through the air, falling down onto the advancing goblins like judgment from a vengeful deity. His [Fireball] landed first, taking out more than a dozen of them in a fiery explosion. The [Flame Lance] pierced through their ranks soon after, killing another dozen as it detonated.

  The [Firebolt]’s did less damage. They were Murmurs compared to the Chant’s Rowan and Velora sent out, but even still, each one took out a handful of their number.

  More arrows followed, and more spells too, raining death from above.

  The goblins, seeing their numbers rapidly depleting, sprung into action. Their shamans responded by erecting domes of Wind and Water, shielding their allies. Yet it didn’t do much.

  Rowan, the mages, and the archers, focused their fire on their unshielded compatriots. Cutting down their numbers even further. So by the time they finally reached the walls, more than two-hundred lay dead.

  Quinea let out a defiant shout, her spear covered in a faint golden glow as she rushed them. The rest of the adventurers followed after her, returning her cry.

  “Keep their shamans occupied!” Rowan screamed, trying to be heard over the battle. “Force them to shield!”

  The cohort of mages responded immediately, sending out a flurry of spells, all of them focused on the two dozen shamans among their number.

  Laith and Quinea stood shoulder to shoulder, butchering any opponent that appeared in front of them. Their weapons sang as they carved through the air. Each strike taking off a head.

  The rest of the adventurers formed a wall behind them, joining in the slaughter. They rotated skillfully, sending out their strongest skills only to be exchanged for a fresh pair of hands when they grew tired.

  Rowan’s grin widened at the sight. Without a Warchief or Warlock to lead them, the goblins acted without thought. Rushing in without hesitation, throwing themselves at their defenses head first.

  He threw another [Fireball] at a group of shamans, forcing them to erect a shield of Earth around themselves. It didn’t end the threat, but it did subdue it, if only for a moment.

  Rowan glanced at his reserves and couldn’t help but frown.

  Already down a third, he thought, shaking his head. I need to conserve my strength a bit. I won’t be much use if I drain myself too quickly.

  Switching tactics, he started casting [Firebolt]’s instead. They might have been weaker, but if he filled them with a bit more mana, they still exploded.

  The adventures were mowing through the goblins' charge. There were still injuries, and Rowan saw more than one person fall before they could be pulled back, but they were winning. They were pushing them back.

  The shamans had clustered together, forcing a few of their number to focus on shielding while the rest cast offensive spells.

  Glancing at Velora, he got an idea. They’d never manage to deal with them from range. They either needed to push through the tide of bodies to reach them, or close the range some other way. The shamans were the greatest threat by far. If a few spells managed to land, it could spell disaster.

  We kill them, and we win, Rowan told himself, firming his resolve.

  Who knew how many more adventures would die before that happened—how many more lives lost? They needed to end this, and Rowan had a plan on how to make that happen.

  At the moment, they had the advantage, but that was only because the adventurers were using their skills very liberally. And not to mention it was only a matter of time before the goblins started rushing around the walls. If they wanted the greatest chance of winning, their casters needed to be taken out.

  “Velora,” he said, gripping the mage by the shoulder. “I need you to throw me. Aim for the shamans.”

  The woman’s eyes widened in alarm, a bewildered expression on her face. “Are you mad!?” she shook his head firmly. “No. I refuse. I will not be the cause of your death.”

  Rowan’s grip tightened, his face a mask of confidence. “Trust me, please. I know what I’m asking, and I wouldn’t have done so if I didn’t believe I could win.”

  He could see the conflict in her eyes. “I…”

  “Please,” Rowan said. “We don’t have time. Each second we waste is another soul lost to Morrigan's grasp. I need you to trust me.”

  He held Velora's gaze, willing her to see his conviction, his resolve.

  Slowly, she nodded. “Alright,” she said, her voice still hesitant. “Tell me what you need.”

  Grinning, Rowan clapped her on the back. “Give me a second, I’ll be right back.”

  Not wasting any time, he rushed towards the edge of the wall, looking down where the adventurer’s held the line.

  “QUINEA!” he shouted as loud as he could, hoping she would hear him over the din of battle.

  The Guildmistress glanced up for barely a second, but it was all he needed to know she was listening.

  “ON MY SIGNAL, RUSH THEM!”

  Even from this far away, he could see her confusion, yet she didn’t hesitate. A firm nod was the only response he got before she returned to the slaughter.

  Running back towards Velora, Rowan stepped up onto the ledge of the wall, glancing back at her. Her arrogant expression had long since dissipated, replaced by one of faith and hope.

  “As high as you can,” Rowan said, turning his back to her.

  His heart beat rapidly, threatening to jump out of his chest. He knew that what he was about to do was beyond dangerous, yet it could end the fight in one fell swoop.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, he relaxed his shoulders, feeling the tension drain from his muscles. “Ready.”

  "May Eldric guide you," Velora whispered.

  And then, a moment later, a strong [Gust] hit him from behind, sending him into the air, away from the wall and the safety it offered.