Gathered Storms
Lansius
The day slipped into a gloomy morning, clouds hanging low and heavy, as if heralding the arrival of the mid-autumn rain season. After a hot bath, which surprised the castle staff as it was usually ordered at the end of the day, Lansius took his breakfast. Anyone who saw him could tell he struggled even to lift a spoon, and word spread that the Lord had endured yet another harsh session of what was assumed to be training, though no one knew with whom.
No sword masters had been seen entering the castle. Yet with senior staff such as Margo, Carla, and Sir Sterling remaining calm and unbothered, the matter never rose beyond quiet gossip.
Despite his condition, Lansius attended the morning council. After several rounds of back-and-forth discussion, his first decision of the day was to have his inner circle quietly prepare to pack the castle, under the guise of military training or a short journey.
A traveling court would buy him time and help him avoid Bengrieve’s envoy.
With the morning court concluded, Lansius, accompanied by Sir Omin, Dame Daniella, Sir Sterling, and Karl, headed to the Great Hall.
Inside, four guildsmen from two Crossbow Guilds had gathered, summoned at his request. Before them, with his retainers and officials in attendance, Lansius announced his intention to purchase crossbows to equip his growing force of ten thousand regulars and ten thousand levies.
The guild representatives were understandably surprised, then quietly delighted by the announcement. In the field of crossbow making, Lansius’ own Korelia stood as their foremost competitor, and a purchase order of this scale from his House was an unexpected windfall.
“My Lord intends to equip them all with crossbows?” one of the guildsmen asked, careful to keep his voice measured.
“At least more than half of them, yes,” Lansius confirmed.
The guildsmen turned to one another, exchanging murmurs touched with pleasant surprise. “So, half of ten thousand.”
“Pardon,” Lansius said, cutting in.
“My Lord?” the guildsman replied, blinking.
“It is not half of ten thousand,” Lansius said evenly. “It is closer to half of twenty thousand.”
A low gasp rippled through the group. A few jaws slackened as the realization set in that the Lord intended to arm even the levies with crossbows. They had heard he favored the use of crossbows in his army, but none of them had expected the idea to be pursued to this degree.
Watching their reaction, Lansius merely snorted in quiet amusement.
Sir Omin stepped forward and addressed the guildsmen. “My Lord Shogun has already raised seven thousand regulars and ten thousand levies. The final numbers are still under consideration, but you will have our written guarantee that we will order at least ten thousand crossbows. We will also pay for any you currently hold, upon delivery.”
The guildsmen exchanged stunned looks. One of them swallowed, then bowed slightly, excitement breaking through his attempt at composure.
“That said,” Sir Omin continued, his tone firm, “while we will purchase what you already have, all future production must follow the Shogunate’s standard. The weapons will need to use metal prods, built to specifications we will provide.”
“My Lord, Sir,” another guildsman spoke up, bowing slightly. “I can assure you that the wooden prods we produce have excellent qualities. Some crossbows you may have encountered might not have met your standards, but those were never intended for use against armor.”
One of his colleagues quickly added, “We have the skill to make heavy draw crossbows, and we are ready to demonstrate. We beg My Lord to reconsider.”
“Meisters, the Lord and the council understand your position,” Sir Omin replied evenly. “You can indeed produce heavy draw weapons from wood or composite, but our calculations show they would still be more costly than iron. More importantly, iron prods are simply more reliable and require far less maintenance. The Lord intends these weapons to be easy for the levies to handle, and many of them will be stored in castle armories for long periods. I am sure you are well aware that wooden prods, especially composite ones, are prone to warping and other issues over time.”
The guildsmen from one guild nodded in agreement. Making prods was a prized craft and a major source of profit, but for an order of this magnitude, they were willing to accept changes and adjustments.
The other guild, however, showed visible concern. One man cleared his throat before speaking. “My Lord, Sir, I must be honest. We are not experienced in metalwork. Producing good iron prods would require building separate workshops for forges and training new craftsmen. We fear we may not be able to meet the Shogunate’s expectations.”
“We have considered that,” Sir Omin replied calmly. “You will receive assistance from us, both in constructing the necessary facilities and in finding suitable craftsmen. If that still proves too troublesome, we can produce the prods ourselves and have you fit them to the crossbows. Naturally, the cost will be deducted, and the price adjusted accordingly.”
“That would be a fair compromise,” the guildsman said, relief evident in his voice.
With those concerns addressed, the meeting continued.
The discussion shifted to heavy crossbows such as arbalests and windlass types. As Lansius had yet to master their design or develop any meaningful innovations of his own, his House once again proposed purchasing them in bulk. The scale of the order already placed him in a strong position to bargain for favorable prices, but Sir Omin pressed further, offering a contract for regular yearly purchases to account for losses, damage, and long-term storage needs.
Faced with the weight of the offer, the two Crossbow Guilds asked for time to consider the terms. Naturally, Lansius agreed.
Before the meeting drew to a close, Lansius made it clear that he wished the guilds to continue innovating, not only to increase lethality but also to improve ease of use, ergonomics, and reload speed.
At his words, one of the representatives spoke up. “My Lord, we have heard of an unusual box-shaped design used by one of your men. Many say it was capable of loosing bolts at remarkable speed.”
“We believed it to be a Korelian design,” the other guildsman added.
Lansius offered only a faint smile.
This time, Dame Daniella answered on his behalf. “We neither confirm nor deny the existence of such a design. However, if it does exist, it belongs to the respective House.”
Seeing their disappointment, Lansius spoke. “Meisters, please—”
They straightened at once and listened.
“Consider what follows as information entrusted solely to you. If word of this reaches anyone else, my Umberlanders will find you,” Lansius warned.
Watching understanding settle over them, he calmly continued. “The crossbow you asked about is far too complicated to produce and maintain. Moreover, I cannot grant permission to sell such a weapon to any other party, so it would be poor business. That said, next year, if we are at peace, I will provide you with a simpler design. One with an internal magazine, allowing additional shots without reaching for the quiver. That will be enough to begin your own line of development. Bear in mind, however, that the Shogunate will be your sole customer.”
Despite the severity of the limitation, the curiosity of the two guilds was enough to bring their agreement.
With that promise of cooperation on the table, even if only a verbal one, Lansius was able to secure an even more favorable deal for his armament program.
...
With only a moment to rest, Lansius moved on to another meeting.
The Great Hall was now busy with preparation. Servants carried in long tables and set them in orderly rows, reshaping the space for council rather than for daily use. Ornate chairs followed, their polished wood and carved arms clearly distinct from those used for dining.
Still in the Great Hall, Lansius welcomed the members of the Shogunate. Lord Robert of White Lake was heralded first and took his seat across from Lansius and Audrey, who attended in her capacity as the Lady of Korimor. Next came a knight of Galdia, seated as representative of his father. A senior knight followed, attending on behalf of Lord Jorge's House. Lady Ella, the newest member, took her place as representative of House Dawn.
Also present was Sir Michael, administrator of Ornietia, who had arrived after receiving the summons two days earlier.
Not wishing to be seen as the one steering the decision, Sir Omin chose to withdraw and leave the proceedings to Dame Daniella.
Now, with all parties assembled, Lansius formally convened the Shogunate Council.
Dame Daniella, standing as the speaker, greeted each of the members and then proceeded to introduce the proposal for the construction of an officer academy in Korimor, intended to further raise military standards across the Shogunate. The training would run from spring through summer and conclude with a long riding circuit. The officers would ride to Three Hills, then South Hill, before returning to Korelia, and onward to Ordu Khan, before finally riding back to Midlandia for their graduation and return to active service.
The journey itself would serve as a reminder to towns, cities, and provinces alike that they were bound together under the Shogunate.
“Korimor was chosen for its remoteness and relative isolation compared to any city in Midlandia,” Dame Daniella explained. “This arrangement will ensure that only the most serious candidates apply.”
“Young riders tend to be rowdy,” Lord Robert remarked, speaking from experience.
“I do not mind,” Lansius replied plainly, drawing the attention of the hall, “as long as they are capable of leading men and can fight in the saddle. My bailiff can overlook some youthful brashness, so long as they keep clear of crime.”
Lord Robert smirked. That would be his chief concern.
Lansius had expected these young officers to be rowdy, prone to drinking and causing all kinds of trouble. Still, as long as their abilities justified it, he was willing to turn a blind eye. He needed bold riders for his light cavalry, dragoons, and the new lancer heavy cavalry.
He could not rely on knights alone to fill the ranks of his heavy cavalry. Moreover, his men would be loyal to him, not to the nobles. Upon the shoulders of these young men, Lansius would entrust much of the Shogunate’s future.
The other members raised no objections. Most showed their agreement with quiet nods and faint smiles. Since joining the Shogunate, they no longer enjoyed complete freedom in raising their own forces. As a result, many found themselves with young talent, relatives, and well-connected youths in need of an official post. For them, the Shogunate military was a welcome solution.
“However,” Lansius continued, “this opportunity will be open to all. Nobles will receive no special treatment. Selection will be based on merit alone. Any candidate must be able to work alongside, or take command from, esquires, common-born men, or even tribesmen. If they cannot accept that, then they are not a good fit.”
Again, there were no objections, aside from a few questions raised by Lord Robert regarding the nature of the training, the ranks the candidates would receive, and who would be entrusted with instructing them.
“For the lancer regiment,” Dame Daniella replied, “Sir Morton would be ideal. However, he is far too important for this post, and it would ask too much of him to handle another role. Thus, we will appoint one of his Black Knights’ lieutenants as a mentor, alongside a light cavalry master who once trained Captain Dietrich.”
“That covers cavalry,” the Knight of Galdia said. “But what of strategy and tactics?”
Lord Robert snorted in amusement. “Ideally, Lord Lansius himself would teach that subject.”
Soft chuckles spread around the table, Lansius included. His record in war was well known.
“I am honored,” Lansius replied, “but my obligations will prevent me from taking on that responsibility.”
Lord Robert answered with a wide smirk. It was clearly a praise, thinly veiled as humor.
Lansius then turned to Dame Daniella, signaling her to continue.
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“For leadership and strategy, we will rely on select senior knights, as well as veterans from past wars who have shown an aptitude for mentoring. There is also one other person we would like you to meet.”
At her words, a figure entered from the side of the hall. Everyone turned as a man stepped forward, his skin tanned and weathered like leather. He was well past forty, yet still athletic, his gait steady and assured. He wore layered leather and partial armor, practical and worn, deliberately draped in rich silk .Before he even came to a halt, he greeted them in a strong, spirited voice. “O My Khan, My Khatun, My Lords, and Ladies.”
Lansius rose from his seat, surprised, and the others followed. “Uncle, I did not know you were in Canardia.”
The old nomad laughed openly before bowing again to the assembled lords and ladies.
“I received the news a few days ago and thought it only proper to ride here and accept the appointment in person. This gracious Dame and Sir Omin welcomed me and treated my men to a banquet last night.”
Pleased by how his retinue had treated their close ally, Lansius felt his mood lift despite the stiff muscles and lingering bruises in his body and limbs. “My Lords and Ladies, this is Sir Belgutei, cousin to Batu Noyan, who led the nomad cavalry that won Midlandia for us.”
The title of Sir had been bestowed after the war. Audrey had named him an honorary knight. Belgutei had protested at first, wary that other tribesmen might compete for such an honor, but Lansius insisted it would be wrong to deny him rank after he had led the cavalry and secured victory in the night battle at Cascasonne.
Dame Daniella said to the council, “Sir Belgutei and his riders will be responsible for introducing the students to nomadic cavalry tactics.”
“I will teach the young ones the ways of the steppes,” Belgutei said with a grin. “So they do not die young.”
The one-eyed Sir Michael could not resist muttering to his old comrade, “You should also teach them the art of turning enemies into human candles.”
Sir Belgutei’s laughter echoed through the hall. “Well said, Sir Michael. We shall ride together again, whether in peace or in war.”
The old knight from Three Hills snorted and crossed his arms, muttering, “Is there truly anyone foolish enough to challenge the Shogunate?”
“The smugglers were,” Lady Ella pointed out, despite her youth.
“Well then, little Lady,” Lord Robert replied with a warm smile, his tone almost fatherly, “I believe they will regret it for a very long time.”
As procedure dictated, Dame Daniella then asked each member whether they could grant official approval or required more time to consider. Since the proposal was straightforward and clear, and did not demand resources from any House, no objections were raised. With that, the measure was approved, with the understanding that it could be reconsidered should any member later raise a formal concern.
That concluded the Shogunate meeting.
What Lansius sought to build, a strong military tradition to support his standing army, was now well underway.
...
After the meeting, Lansius and Audrey walked with Belgutei through the garden, asking about Ordu Khan and the state of the tribes. The old nomad seemed almost radiant as he spoke, pointing out that everyone had food, salt, proper clothing, and furs for the coming winter. He spoke fondly of the guild’s offer to build a bathhouse there, a proposal Batu Noyan had approved without hesitation.
“Uncle, you should think about it carefully,” Audrey said. “Guilds always seek profit. You might be giving them too much.”
“We are making sure it is a fair bargain. We have beastwomen, my wife among them, to deal with them,” he said proudly.
“Ah, right,” Lansius muttered, recalling his uncle’s half-kin wife. The year before, several of the half kin who had traveled to Korelia had grown curious about the steppe folk, accepted their invitation, and even married among them. As Umberlanders were raised with scripture education, they were well educated.
“She is very sharp,” Belgutei continued, smiling. “Our child will be remarkable, like her.”
“She is with child?” Audrey asked, openly surprised.
Belgutei laughed. “Yes, My Khatun. That is why she does not ride with me. She says the birth will likely come in winter.”
Their discussion remained light, and as midday approached, they allowed Uncle to return to his men, as Lord Robert and Sir Michael had arranged another banquet in their honor.
Lansius himself chose a private lunch.
Still struggling even to lift a spoon or cup to his mouth, he ate with Audrey, Mother, Tanya, and Gilly. The baby was fussy and difficult to please, as usual, finding comfort only with Mother and Tanya. The older nannies and ladies in waiting were introduced one by one to help distract him, but with little success. As a result, the echoes of crying frequently carried through the Grand Hall where the family dined.
After a short rest, Lansius retired to the study chamber.
Before long, Francisca arrived with fresh reports from the Orange Skalds.
With the addition of a half-kin from a particular tribe, they had begun to pick up faint traces of the mage assassin still hiding within the city. It would take time, and the hunt might stretch on for days, but there was a growing chance of capture should the assassin make a mistake. For now, there was nothing for Lansius to do but allow them to continue their work.
As for the matter of Bengrieve’s spies, he chose not to take action.
It was not due to doubt. Even under close scrutiny, everything fit too neatly. Commoners of this age rarely sent letters, especially with such regularity, unless they were major traders with branches in other towns. Yet these people were neither merchants of note nor guildsmen. Moreover, though they used different individuals to carry their messages, each of them sent letters out of the city without fail.
Quiet investigation showed that the letters were most likely bound for Cascasonne, or perhaps even Elandia proper.
More telling still, one of the skalds had managed to rob a messenger resting at a tavern. His belongings held little of value. The letter itself read like a simple family message, asking after health and daily matters, yet upon closer inspection, it was strange for someone to send so many letters concerned only with such trivialities. The message was clearly coded. While they could not yet decipher its meaning, the numbers and listed items were likely tied to Lansius’ movements.
Even so, Lansius decided to let them be.
Rather than seize them now and be forced to begin again from nothing, he chose to let them operate, allowing their letters to pass without interruption. It was better for the three spies to believe themselves unseen. After all, Bengrieve would certainly replace them if they vanished, and the next group would be more careful, making fewer mistakes and far harder to uncover.
By allowing the network to continue, he could keep it under watch. It would also open the opportunity to control the flow of information and feed false details through it.
And when the moment came, he could take them all at once and blind Bengrieve at the most crucial hour.
***
Central Nicopola, Kapua
It was exactly two weeks after the fateful day when the castle burned, the king’s death became beyond doubt, and the kingdom’s army abandoned the city, fleeing back toward their homeland. Now, the Dawn’s men, the returning citizens, and refugees from the surrounding lands were at work, rebuilding whatever they could.
Roads were cleared, sewers put back into use, markets reopened, and traders once again set up shops and services. Barbers with their sharp knives were in high demand, as was the apothecary for common medicines and salves.
Grains and fresh food, mostly from Dawn barony, had returned to the market, with peddlers selling what they could, yet few people had money. The war and occupation had stripped them clean, again and again.
In that predicament, Lord Avery gathered the goods and trinkets confiscated from the dead king’s men and had them piled into several mounds in the city plaza. He allowed each person in the city a single chance to take whatever items they could carry.
There were cauldrons, knives, shoes, woolen blankets, rolls of linen, tunics, candelabras, and even bronze basins.
Aside from iron tools for work and wool for the coming winter, knives were the most sought-after. They were light, easy to carry in numbers, and could be sold or bartered for food without difficulty.
At the Dawn’s invitation, guilds from the west arrived to assist with masonry work. Granaries were repaired, and many damaged buildings were set right again. Repairs to the city’s defenses were also underway.
In this regard, the castle, once the heart of the defensive structure, was gone, but Lord Avery was not eager to rebuild it. He was content to sleep in the eastern gatehouse, which had suffered the least damage in the past conflicts. He ordered a few alterations to make it more comfortable, enough to serve both him and the staff who worked there.
As for formal supper, the meals once held in the Great Hall were moved to the nearest surviving building with a usable hall. Lord Avery used that same place for many of his official functions. As he had done with the gatehouse, he made only a few modest alterations. This time, a wooden platform was erected to give a clear view should trouble arise, and sentries were posted among the nearby buildings, which now served as warehouses, kitchens, and quarters for the men.
Amid the constant work of rebuilding Kapua and preparing his people for the coming winter, Lord Avery visited a different place after his morning court session. It was an abandoned complex with sturdy walls. He had been told it was once a brothel, left to rot more than a generation ago. Now it served as a place of confinement for special cases.
“My Lord,” the men greeted as Lord Avery arrived with his guards.
Inside a small corner chamber, where light spilled through a narrow opening, he saw a woman lying on a bed of hay, dressed in drab linen. Her stare was weak and empty, her head and limbs still wrapped in bandages. Burned and cut short, her hair lay uneven against her scalp. Meanwhile, dark scorch scars marked patches of her skin.
“Is that her?” Lord Avery asked.
The officer in charge nodded quietly.
Lord Avery’s gaze returned to the woman. From the bandages and the crude wooden splints, he could tell that her limbs had been broken in several places. The injury to her head was likely severe as well. The woman was known as the Red Woman, named for the clothes she had worn when she was found unconscious in the castle garden, covered in ash yet still alive.
She was likely the woman who had spoken with Lord Avery on the day the castle burned, the one who had thwarted his men and seen them cut down. She had also been the first to use the heirloom earring, meaning she recognized the dwarven artifact, which marked her as a mage. That explained how she had survived the fall from the tower.
“Is the heirloom with her?” Lord Avery asked, not wishing to enter the chamber.
“We did not find it. We searched the place where she fell and even offered a reward to anyone who might have found an earring, but nothing ever came of it.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Unfortunately, she could not remember anything. She did not react to anything either. No hatred toward anyone. No concern. Not even nightmares.”
The old lord furrowed his sharp brows. “Yet she has that kind of stare.”
“She says she feels as though something is missing, but she cannot name it.”
Lord Avery let out a sharp breath before asking, “Is she with child?”
The officer met his gaze. “The physician found no sign of it. The fall likely ended any such chance. Still, it may be too soon to know for certain.”
“What do you mean by that?” one of Avery’s guards asked.
“We have reports, scant ones, but they are all we have. A group of guests arrived in the city not long ago. Among them was a woman of notable beauty.”
“That could very well be her,” Lord Avery remarked. “She may be a Mountain Clan seductress, sent to beg for help."
While concrete evidence was lacking, he had been made aware of the smugglers’ connection to the attack on Kapua. With everyone in the castle dead, however, there was no one left to corroborate it.
As they discussed matters outside the chamber, the woman stirred. Something from the street seemed to reach her ears. She propped herself up with one hand against the bed, her breath uneven. Her lips began to move in a low murmur, and without warning, she started to sing.
“From the palaces of Montezuma
To the coasts of Tripoli;
We wage our banners battles
In the wind, on the ground, and over seas;
First to fight for our home and our families
And to keep our homeland free;
They are proud to claim the title
Of the Dawn’s Elite Marines.”
Her tone was merry and innocent.
The officer explained, “She likes our hymn and sings it often. She says it's catchy.”
Lord Avery let out a sigh before turning his gaze to the officer. “Remain alert and keep this under wraps. Make sure the door stays locked and maintain a watch. I know you assume that since she did not try to escape before, she will not now, but she may recover. And if she is Mountain Clan, then expect an intrusion.”
“Is she even aware that she is a mage?” the guard asked.
“Nothing indicates that,” the officer replied, “but we will remain vigilant.”
“Do not hesitate to kill her if she assaults the guard. She is not vital.” The old Lord's command was clear and firm, leaving no room for doubt.
The officer dipped his head in acknowledgment, and the Lord of Dawn left the premises.
To Lord Avery, she was worth only as a witness to what had truly happened in the tower before he burned it from the sky.
Even after an extensive search, King Nico’s body had not been found. The fire had been so intense that only charred bones remained. The great keep itself had collapsed and was now sealed, as melted gold and silver were discovered among the rubble, likely fused remnants of the king’s hoard. There, the king, his closest officers and staff, and much of his court perished in a single night of fire.
Not even one hundred days into his reign, the traitorous king was dead.
The incident spread terror across northern Nicopola. It humbled the warlords and reminded them that justice still existed, even with the Imperium in ruins.
If the Red Woman were ever able to remember, her account would not only corroborate the other witnesses but also shed light on how it truly ended. Of the six Dawn infiltrators who had hidden inside the modified wine barrel, one died when he tried to assassinate the king directly. Another was captured alongside him and summarily executed. A third gave his life holding a chokepoint with a crossbow. He perished in the ensuing fire, but his sacrifice bought the others time to escape.
The remaining three survived the inferno by breaking out through a kitchen window fitted with iron bars. That window had been chosen well before the siege, and the bars there had been carefully worked thin to weaken them, the marks hidden beneath layers of old corrosion. When the moment came, the tools they carried were enough. The iron yielded without much resistance.
As intended, that breach opened a way out for more than three dozen kitchen hands, maids, and servants whose sleeping quarters lay nearby, allowing them to flee the fire. Now, they worked for Lord Avery.
Lord Avery stepped out of the complex as armored guards saluted him. This site also held several captured Centurians, mostly junior officers who had proven willing to talk. They still had their uses. The highest ranking among them, a Royal Guard captain, had already been executed and left hanging from the northern gate, facing the direction where the enemy had fled. It was a warning to the Nicopolan warlords and their mercenaries.
The Dawn did not entertain hostage taking or ransom for traitors and mercenaries.
Now, despite having accounted for all those responsible, whether confirmed dead or left in far worse states, there was no satisfaction on Lord Avery's face.
War was cruel.
War was just.
As he rode back toward the eastern gatehouse where he held court and meetings, a commotion rose from the streets and drew his attention. His guards tightened around him as people halted mid-step, looking up and pointing skyward.
While his escort scanned the surroundings, Lord Avery followed the crowd’s gaze and saw it. A colossal airship loomed overhead. Its hull was black, and a brass figure of a beast adorned its forward keel. To the people below, the sight was both terrible and awe-inspiring.
To Lord Avery, it was his flagship.
“I think it is time for me to head back and set out,” he said to his men.
A tall, stout officer from his entourage, wearing an olive colored surcoat over his armor, stepped forward. “You can trust Kapua to us, the Eleventh.”
“Yes,” Lord Avery replied. “That is why I am putting you in charge. Last time, I underestimated my opponent. Not anymore.”
***
Mountainous Region, West of Three Hills
The cave lay dark and quiet, the air heavy and nearly still. Only the faint sound of water could be heard, droplets falling from a rain that had passed hours earlier. The floor near the entrance was uneven and slick with moss. At this hour, all the craftsmen slept outside in their wooden cabins, their tools left behind in the cave. They had been worn down by long days of chiseling stone and sharpening tools.
Then, without warning, the massive stone gate inside the cave moved. It was the very gate they had labored to break.
Its construction was sound, the hinges fitted with care. There was no sharp cry of grinding rock, only a low, patient murmur, soft enough to wake no one.
No alarm was raised. The cave remained dark and still, broken only by the slow dripping of water from cracks in the ceiling.
From within the blackened corridor beyond the stone gate, tall figures emerged, their gray fur and leather armor swallowed by the dark.
They moved without sound, despite their massive frames. Claws suddenly slid free, long and curved.
Outside, a lantern glowed faintly near the cave mouth. Two drowsy men sat nearby, wrapped in thick wool, heavy hats pulled low. They spoke of small things, of bird eggs that would taste good with goat butter, of how the newly arrived battalion might replace them, and of the older man’s hope to see his first grandchild before winter.
Two vast shadows rose behind them.
They never sensed it.
There was no cry. No struggle. Claws sharp as blades tore through throats and bone, hurling broken bodies across the wet rocky ground.
The attack had begun.
***
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