"Fire oil, ready!"
As Locran raised his hand, the Warriors stationed every few dozen meters along the edge of the Camp lifted barrels of oil.
"Rangers, ready!"
The Rangers beside them lit their Arrows.
"Throw!"
Dozens of barrels tumbled down the slope into the Ratfolk. The moment they struck and burst, flaming arrows shot into them.
The Ratfolk's thick, coarse fur caught fire. They rolled and darted through the Rat Tide, spreading the flames to more of their kind.
A terrifying wave of heat licked at the Camp, carrying the stench of charred meat on the wind.
Everyone had breathed it in all day and was nearly used to it. If they had had more barrels, they would gladly have endured the smell all day long.
The burning front line briefly eased the pressure on the Camp, but only for a dozen minutes or so.
The Musketeers seized the chance to roll their shoulders and loosen their joints, working the numbness out of their legs.
Fortunately, Deepwinter was still months away. Otherwise, even here in the Graypeak Mountains, between the Northern Frontier and Middle Earth, Rimewind would have made their lives miserable.
"Enjoy the barbecue feast we prepared for you!" Nina shouted, wearing a vest with one foot planted on the wall.
Locran walked over to Femi. The grim look on Locran's face made Femi's expression harden. "Bad news?"
He had noticed that only the oil barrels were burning. The Mage Corps' Fire Wall had not followed.
"Yeah..."
"Tell me. Have the Ratfolk made another move, or are we running out of supplies?" Femi's voice held little emotion. Anyone who fought for two days straight without sleep would go numb.
"Wait. Lord Annan should be sending supplies about now."
Locran let out a heavy breath. "That's the problem... Lord Annan