Tavak scrutinized the roughly drawn map in front of him. The defenses that he could see were not as substantial as he had thought. Despite this, the arrangement of the barricades and blockades further strengthened his belief that the Silver Moon was where the criminal hid.

The defenses formed part of an arc. The arc in question faced towards the direction of Oslem, leaving the southern side undefended. His scouts reports making him inwardly gleeful that he had pushed his unit at such speed. According to his scout, the edges of the arc showed that they were in construction, not enough time or materials to finish. Tavak grinned savagely. Perhaps a completed defense would be as troublesome as harming a tortoise, but this horseshoe shaped construction was not.

The heavens are helping me.

The battle plan would be simple, mobilise their forces to the south and lead a thunderous charge to break the enemy's ranks and to slaughter them. Their own defenses would serve to pen them in, like lambs to the slaughter. Such a battle didn't need the arduous planning of the previous two, where magefire, flanking units and sentry units had to be utilized to prevent the mercenaries escape.

Tavak immediately gave the order to mobilize to the south of their target, leaving a few units to watch the walls, in case some tried to escape their assualt.

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Dike hurried through the camp towards the central tent, along the way making sure to kick away all the sleeping men in his path.

“Wake them all up. Get into gear we’re under attack!”

They may be laidback, sly and lazy, but these men who lived on the edge of a blade knew when to play around and when to be serious.

The path that Dike took to the central tent was punctuated by outcries of pain and spreading fear, the men waking quickly. It didn't take long for streams of men to rush to their predetermined positions, fully armed. For men who lived and died by the blade, to have their equipment out of reach was a sin that spelt death.

After making rounds to the tents housing important central members, Dike led them to the central tent.

“Dike? Whats going on? For you to raise the entire camp up, could it be a Beast Tide?”

The question led to sharp inhalations as the fear in the surrounding men's eyes deepened. They who lived in the outskirts of human civilization were aware of what it meant to be caught outside Oslem in such times. Save the nomadic tribes who hid these methods fanatically, anyone else caught in a Tide would die without a doubt.

The fearful eyes bored into Dike, begging him to refute the possibility.

“No. But there is a troop of human soldiers to the north.”

The reason was met with sighs of relief. Unknown to their compatriots, three men among them showed a shocked expression, clearly contrasting.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“What. It's just this? Was it really necessary to wake us up?”

Grumbles filled the tent. At first they were forced to quick march deep into the Desolate, then made to set up defenses, a practice they had never before carried out. Now their well earned sleep had been disturbed? They were lawless men that lived by their own whims and were prone to take extreme actions for their displeasure. What came next, however, stopped the dissenters in their tracks an anxiety filled tension palpable in the air.

“They killed Jared. I sent him to find their intentions...and I hope the few of you know what that meant.” Dikes voice was grim, lying so smoothly that even he was surprised. He didn't think he would be found out, Jared having left with Graveths group anyway.

“What are the bastards numbers?” The man who spoke was named Keith, one of the three who had remained behind.

Dike silently praised his friend, his question masterfully moved attention from the lie as well as possibilities of negotiation and focused on the mystery troop - painting them as the enemy.

“A few hundred, should be a match for our own. They seem to be cavalry.”

The answer brought surprise. Such a large troop appeared from nowhere to attack them?

“Could they be here to subjugate the tribes? It's possible that they mistook us as nomads.” This time the second man, Roff spoke out.

“I thought so too, but Jared was clearly in mercenary garb, flying our colours.”

Though they didn't want to accept the grim reality, the men sobered up as they stared at Dike for orders. Now was not the time to question the opponent's motives, they had to take defensive action in case of an attack.

“The defenses have been partially built. We can use them to protect our backs.” Dike immediately proposed a plan. “The caltrops that we made originally for the Desolate Beasts will be effective against their cavalry. Their only option will be to attack from the south.”

The surrounding men nodded.

Dike continued, “We need to hold out as long as possible. If we send a messenger to Graveth, hopefully he can persuade the nomads to ambush them from behind.”

“They would never move without benefits.” Olin said skeptically.

“They have no choice. If we tell them that the troop is here to subjugate them, they will jump at the opportunity - after all their wives and children are in danger. If their warriors combine with us, the end result is set in stone.”

When the surrounding men were in agreement, Dike put forward his nomination, “I think Serg should be the messenger. He is after all the fastest.”

No one objected, after all, Dike, Keith, Roff and Serg were old hands. There from the beginning.