Stone shook, dust rained down on us, and faintly I could hear cries of pain as another volley of trebuchet stones impacted the fort. One must have landed remarkably close for us to feel it this distinctly. Not that it interrupted the card game we had going. Mika suggested another round of Jackal three hours ago, which turned into another, and then another.

  I couldn’t fault anyone for wanting to play so much. It was hard to think of anything but the storm of stones going on outside. For ten days, the goblins hadn’t stopped once. They’d started slower, but I guess that much repetition is a pretty great way to advance the people launching the stones and now we barely had five minutes of peace before death rained down around us again.

  That wasn’t to say that the goblins could batter us with impunity. During the same time span, the spiress used the fault in Mika’s rune series to turn the forward wall into little more than a waist high pile of rubble. Four of the seven trebuchets were now either destroyed or damaged enough to be out of commission. However, another two trebuchets freshly built by the goblins supplemented their numbers.

  Our game continued under the constant rhythm of trebuchet stones. I watched with a small smile and Mika, Maggie, and Ellen came up with a punishment for Nora – who was miserable at jackal – so she could chew off her hand. I couldn’t help but wonder at how normal living under the constant barrage was.

  During the first couple of days, every time I heard that earth shattering impact I’d jumped, my hands coming up to protect the back of my neck on reflex. Yet now, as the days gone by, the sounds of the siege faded to the background like the roar of a nearby waterfall. It couldn’t vanish from my mind, but I’d grown used to it now. Unafraid in a distant, accepting kind of way.

  I let out a small laugh in chorus with Mika and Ellen as they cackled at Nora. Her punishment was to do a handstand for a minute, but she’d crumpled to the floor in seconds. My laugh died in my throat as I looked at her twisted form and images of bodies, aranae and goblin flashed through my mind.

  On top of all the deaths during the assaults, twenty-five people died that first day of bombardment. Their forms reduced to mush. That first day was a shock, but since then paths had developed around the fort.

  You could tell based on the indents in the gravel where stones landed and where they hadn’t. People started following those untouched paths on day two, and now, as they shrunk, all of us moved about like ants on the trail. Desperately hoping that we weren’t the unlucky ones to find out the safe path wasn’t so safe after all.

  The image of the massive insectoid aranae following so closely to the ‘ant paths’ almost made me laugh but instead brought to the forefront the consequences of not doing so. Images of red and black smears, dotted with metallic glimmers, flashed rapidly through my brain. Interposed with the images were the hoarse, tortured cries people let out as half their body vanished in a spray of red. Memories of holes drilled through limbs and bodies by shattered fragments of stone.

  Suddenly, I was no longer in the mood to play jackal.

  Politely as I could, I returned my cards to the bottom of the pile, while Nora argued that doing a handstand against the wall wasn’t cheating, and excused myself to sit on the bed. As soon as I was comfortable, I activated one of my skills. The Trainer who greeted me in the paragon forest of my soul space had four arms.

  Each of its hand held seven crystal fingers, carved to be perfect mimicries of human fingers. The rest of the Trainer’s body was blocky, like a statue someone abandoned after carving the rough shape of a man. Behind the Trainer, like every other time I’d cast Basic Stone Carving, were two wooden workstations. Each with roughhewn and natural looking blocks of soapstone.

  When I’d activated Basic Stone Carving on the second day of the siege, needing to relax, the Trainer had me watch as it carved a small statuette of an owl. Why an owl? I had no idea. I’d asked if that was what it wanted me to carve as well, but it’d shaken its head in reply. I asked further if it wanted me to carve anything specific, but it shook its head no again. Which I took to mean I had free rein to carve whatever I wanted for the last level of the skill.

  A task easier said than done. While I watched the Trainer work, I noticed it used every beginner’s technique Dale taught me when I’d first learned how to carve with a mastery that was almost divine. I assumed the Trainer had me watch not only to show what it expected of me but also to showcase the heights that even the basic techniques can reach.

  Carving something up to the standards of the Trainer was harder than I’d expected. Over seven skill uses and five statuettes, I’d yet to carve something the Trainer deemed worthy. Today, as I sat down at the workstation, I decided to carve a deck of cards. With the top of the deck splayed out to showcase the emperor in every suite, for no reason other than it was on the brain. For the next hour all thoughts of war vanished from my mind, aided by the peace of the forest I so missed, and my world filled with the gentle tapping of mallet against chisel.

  Every once in a while, the Trainer stopped me to direct my attention over to its workstation. Where, through some magic of the System, an exact replica of my stone block waited. The Trainer walked me through what I was doing wrong by first displaying what I’d done, then the block of stone would flash and reset to where it’d been at the start of the demonstration. Then the Trainer would show me how to actually perform the technique I was trying. Often it was as simple as me hitting the chisel too hard or too soft. Other times it was a major mistake, like hitting the stone in a way that spider-webbed cracks across the surface.

  The skill’s hourglass timer ran out before I finished the carving, only with the basic shape of what would eventually be a deck of cards. I wasn’t worried about losing progress, however. On other attempts where I hadn’t finished in time, the System somehow knew I wasn’t done and had my in-progress attempt waiting for me when I returned.

  When I came back to myself, the rest of my party was still playing cards, though they’d shifted games to one native to Teles called Four Pint. Still not in the mood to play cards, and not wanting to bother them, I finally made the prayer I’d been so reluctant to face.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Grace Mother, hear my voice so I may confess my faults and face just retribution.

  In an act of cowardice, I assaulted allies, potentially injuring them in a time of crisis, to grant myself a better chance at survival. I have faced no secular punishment for my actions, yet I acted with instinct and savagery in a time that required Grace and control.

  I grant you access to my memories of the moment so that I may be properly judged.

  May your mercy and Grace lead me from the folly of savagery.

  As soon as the prayer closed, I felt Ylena turn her attention from elsewhere onto me. Like an ant watching the boot fall, her attention was the totality of my awareness for a moment while she sifted through my memories.

  The sensation of attention gradually shifted as she focused into one of gentle rebuke. It wasn’t the harsh rebuke my actions deserved, but the chiding of a mentor to their pupil. A tugging sensation at my soul followed the rebuke, and I allowed it to pull my awareness inward.

  Ylena pulled me back into the memory. Her presence filled the mental space around me. Rather than show me my actions in attacking and tripping the aranae to escape, she showed me draping my shield around Ellen’s back as the stones landed around us. She showed me memories of dragging a shocked Ellen through the crowd of aranae, ignoring my own injuries to do so.

  When she finished showing me what she wanted me to see, she pulled back from my memories and brought me with her.

  Bran, my son. You are a [Grove Guard]. There is not a doubt in my mind that you will one day grow strong enough to guard the entire Weeping Forest. For now, however, do not lose sight of your grove. It is within its bounds that you owe your protection, not the entire forest.

  With that, Ylena faded from me and I was back in our room, surrounded by the laughter of my friends.

  “I’m going to step out for a bit. Clear my head.” I said, breaking into the group’s conversation.

  “Be safe.” Maggie replied as I stepped out into the hallway.

  The main courtyard was no longer the mess I expected it to be. Instead, small islands of unnaturally smooth stone dotted the gravel yard. Trebuchet stones used to fill in the gaps they’d created. The process was incredibly labor intensive because every time Mika came back from dismantling the runes series that made the stone mana resistant, he complained about ‘useless over engineering’.

  I followed the ‘ant path’ up onto the wall where dozens of similar patches of too-smooth stone were. At this point in the siege, the top of the wall was more replaced stone than original. That presented a problem for the defense, as the runes inlaid into these new stones were fresh and didn’t have time to merge with the stone properly. Still, any repair was better than none.

  The top of the wall was sparse, with barely anyone watching for goblins. Part of that was for safety reasons as the spiress didn’t want to present too tempting a target for the goblin [Engineers] to aim at. Another part of that was that as the days passed and the goblins remained content to lob stones at us, the need for constant guard waned.

  I spent the next hour on the wall, protected in the shadow of my shield arm and the central spire. I tried as best I could to ignore the boulders that grew in size as they got launched towards me by focusing on the entry to the goblin cavern. Focused on the blurs that passed in front of the opening.

  My self-imposed ignorance of the trebuchets is probably what led me to being one of, if not the first to notice when three siege towers entered the tunnel from the goblin cavern, rumbling towards the fort

  I took the steps two at a time and charged up the central spire towards the war room. I had no idea if the spiress would be there when I got up. But over the past week and a half, the spiress and her minders spent significant portions of each day in the windowless room discussing strategies. I almost charged right through the door, used to the Cult’s protocol for reporting enemy movements and the privileges granted me as Ylena’s chosen, but I pulled up short. Giving the door several firm knocks before I stepped back and waited to be addressed.

  In the native language of the aranae, I heard the imperious voice of the spiress call out to me. I had no idea what she said. She could have told me not to bother her, but I figured this was important enough for me to risk irritating my employer and stepped into the room. Sylvi, Saga, Gunilla, and Senna were dining together, a glowing beetle species I’d never seen before steamed on each of their plates

  “What is it you need adventurer?” The spiress asked in her harsh accent, now speaking the Trade Tongue.

  “The goblins have started to move their siege towers towards the fort spiress.” I reported.

  The spiress didn’t speak for a long moment, neither did her mentors. The trio instead shared a quiet look, something passing unspoken in their glances.

  “Thank you adventurer. Return to your quarters and gear up. I will have a [Messenger] deliver you orders shortly.”

  ~~~***~~~

  I flung the door open as I entered the room and rushed to my chest, tore it open, and removed all my armor.

  “Get dressed! The goblins are coming!” As I moved, the room around me became a whirlwind as everyone threw down their cards and rushed to put their own gear on.

  Most of my armor was lightly damaged, and some pieces damaged enough that Maggie had to help me convince the fort’s [Quartermaster] to let me use their forges. Even with the rough repair work I did, several sections needed a professional’s touch to be sound again. Several spots on my scale mail were missing the scales, leaving only the vest and gambeson to protect me. The hole above my hip where a spear of stone launched into my hip was bad enough that only an [Armorer] could fix it. Even the hanging plates I’d commissioned to protect the weakened spots on my armor were scratched and dented.

  My helmet, which was once a finely carved masterwork fit for any number of religious ceremonies, was now marred with scratches and small dents. Marks of wear and tear covered the pristine armor I left the forest in. Something I was both proud of, and something that had me worried. After all, sometimes wearing damaged or defective armor is worse than wearing none at all.

  I changed quickly. Ten minutes passing since I alerted the spiress to the impending assault. I figured I had some time left before the [Messenger] would arrive with our orders, so I sat at the foot of my bed. I laid my well-maintained hammer across my knees and bent to rest my forehead against the rim of my shield; the metal chiming off my helmet.

  Like my armor, my shield was scored and damaged. The boss, dented in the previous assault by a rock fragment and although I’d been able to buff most of it out, there was still a slight indent. A small gap in the wood just to the left of the boss from a spear worried me. The once pristine wood now had dozens of cuts across the face, a deep slash spilt the tear drop sigil of the Grace Mother’s favor in two.

  Iona, Sacred Child and Lady of the Howling Winds, hear my voice so I may implore your wisdom for aid.

  Battle draws near once more; I beseech you to bless my arms with guidance and my back with strength.

  I beg that you take my suffering and sap it of its heat. Let this battle’s pain fuel the hate of the Winter Maelstrom.

  Grace Mother, hear my voice, so I may implore you for aid.

  The goblins approach for another assault. I beg you, bless me with the bravery to stand when I must, and the wisdom to sway when I can.

  Above that, I ask that you kiss Helena for me and tell her that her father loves her.

  ~~~***~~~

  When our orders came, they arrived in the hands of a large laborer whose only words were that they expected us by the gates.

  The gate on this side of the fort consisted of several layered defenses. Three sets of portcullises, each with metal bars inches in diameter, blocked the way before a set of large stone doors. I had no idea of what to think of the gate, while I was glad it was defended so, it seemed overkill. I doubted this would fall anytime soon, and it made no sense to me that the spiress would send us here.

  A force of nearly two hundred aranae warriors beat us to the gate. Clusters of twenty huddled around larger officers I recognized from the first assault. Faces I recognized from the defense of the forward wall were scattered through the crowd. Chief among them was Helle.

  She was the one to call us over and we joined a force of sixteen warriors gathered around her. A couple of the sixteen were women I’d fought in the gap with. One of them was a shock. Last I’d seen of her, she was being dragged from the fighting with a spear point lodged in the side of her throat. I’d thought she was as good as dead, but aside from a fresh scar that spanned from her shoulder to chin, she looked no worse than any of the others.

  “Nice to see you again!” Nora said cheerily as we got closer.

  “A pleasure.” Helle said with what I assumed to be an aranae smile, where they pulled their pseudo-mandibles as far away from their mouths as possible. “We have been assigned to the defense of the left side of the gate. Take your time to prepare. The assault will not begin for some time yet.”