A bolt of phlegmatic, unerring sorcery was launched into the sky. Its target - a gruesome abomination toting a great spear in both hands - attempted to outmanoeuvre the attack by flapping its featherless wings, but only succeeded in exhausting itself before the bolt carved a searing hole into its pallid flesh.

Sokalar observed the wicked angel’s fall from a distance. Hundreds of the beasts were circling Tonberg’s castle like vultures on the lookout for easy prey.

An hour had passed. Sokalar’s army had yet to make its move.

Lüngen observed the Lich’s moment of contemplation with endless patience. Lifting a hand to his breast pocket, he pulled out a pocket watch by its silver chain and squeezed his thumb against a button on the side, causing the embossed face to crack open.

It was twenty minutes past two in the morning - or sometime thereabouts. It would be a handful of hours yet before the sun could even dream of peeking over the horizon. Lüngen stuffed the watch back into his pocket when Sokalar’s immaculate posture stirred.

“Their numbers have been thinned thoroughly enough.” He said, “We will begin our attack within the next half-hour. Mingle the Rot Behemoths with Horrors and Dark Casters to draw attention, and keep our reserves of Briarknights inconspicuous within lesser hordes of Gravewalkers. Sacrifices will need to be made to ensure victory.”

“At this rate, it’ll only be a matter of time before we exterminate these angels.” Lüngen replied, “If they were to approach us, the battle would be in our favour, and vice-versa. However, with the addition of Dark Casters to our ranks, we can pick them off safely from a distance without having to risk an engagement.”

“You explain the obvious, Lüngen.” Sokalar did not deign to face the portly lieutenant, instead focusing his gaze on the murder of abominations circling the castle, “If you have something to say, then be frank about it.”

“We could just as easily wait Alistair out, is what I mean.” He replied, “The man has to eat, and if need be, we can block his means of escape. But a man of your strategic talents must already know this, Master Sokalar. So why is it necessary that we waste thralls to assault the castle instead of besieging it in a more realistic manner?”

“The Deathguards you dispatched to eliminate the remnants of Lieze’s followers…” The Lich paused, “They have not returned.”

“Hm.” Lüngen frowned, “No… they haven’t.”

A twinge of fear tickled the scholar’s heart. He had been given a task to accomplish before dawn - eliminate Drayya and the rest of Lieze’s fledgling cult. He had thought that two of the Order’s finest Deathguards would prove more than capable of wiping such an inconsequential threat from the game board, but just as Sokalar said, neither of them had returned.

“They are almost certainly dead.” The Lich continued, “As I expected, the legacy of Lieze’s stubborn rebellion has proven to be quite troublesome. With our and Alistair’s forces on equal footing, a third party has the potential to turn this war on its head, and as a result, we are now forced to make the first move.”

This was all a part of Sokalar’s long and elaborate tirade of disappointment. Every problem he posed was the result of Lüngen’s folly. This was the manner in which the Order’s leader disciplined those who failed him - relating their failures to the cult’s ideals as a whole, and using the resultant guilt to exercise supreme authority over their future actions, usually wrapped in a looming threat of instant death.

“I do not wish to kill you, Lüngen.” Sokalar tried his best to sound empathetic - a feat of impossible scope for one whose emotions had been magically suppressed, “But fail me once more, and I will not hesitate to cull your weakness from our ranks. This task is below you, and yet you allowed your lingering emotions to affect your judgement.”

“Yes.” Lüngen lowered his head, “I apologise for my incompetence.”

“Drayya and her ilk will appear to contest our claim.” He said, “As for when, I cannot possibly say, and as this enigmatic factor is a result of your foolishness, I expect you to make amends for it. When Drayya appears, she will be your responsibility to deal with.”

“Of course.” Lüngen replied, “I will not disappoint you.”

----------------------------------------

“Hm.” Drayya covered her mouth with one hand, “...What do you make of this?”

“How do you expect me to answer that?” Lieze blinked, “It’s a wall.”

A great, big wall of cut stone. Unremarkable, apart from the fact that it was impeding the cult’s progress.

After an exhausting hike on a seemingly endless incline, Lieze and her allies arrived at the cavern’s end, only to find an unfeeling wall of granite where she had expected to see a door or gate leading straight into Tonberg’s castle.

“You don’t think they might have sealed this passageway up at some point or another?” Drayya wondered, “-Perhaps to stop any ne’er-do-wells from using it to sneak in?”

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“If they did, then it must have been years ago. This isn’t the kind of fortification one can simply erect overnight.” Lieze replied, “A shame. I thought we would have the opportunity to enter the castle quietly, at the very least.”

Waving her hand in the air, Lieze summoned Marché from the back lines, who emerged from the clogging tide of rotten flesh like a stillborn seconds later.

“What is this?” He looked the blockade up and down, “A wall?”

“That’s what I said.” Drayya chirped.

“Could we please refrain from stating the obvious?” Lieze furrowed her brow, “The Manticore can make short work of it. In the meantime, I want the two of you to organise this mess into something resembling an army.”

She held out an arm to denote the unorganised horde of thralls struggling to keep themselves upright on the cavern incline.

“The Manticore?” Marché repeated, “That’s going to be rather loud, isn’t it?”

“I’m well aware.” Lieze replied, “If you have a better idea, I’d like to hear it.”

“Why not scout out the dangers ahead before bringing down any walls?” Drayya popped her head between the two of them, “I could take a peek.”

For an instant, Lieze was transported back to the day of the siege. She’d taken on a ridiculous suicide mission with the intent of proving herself as worthy of the Deathguard title. Drayya, who at that time was still very much her enemy, gifted her with the power to pass through solid stone in the hope that she’d get to watch Lieze die a horrible death at the hands of the royalists.

How the dynamic between them had shifted since then. In the past, Drayya would have rather died than seek Lieze’s permission for anything, but in that moment, she awaited Lieze’s answer with baited breath like an excitable pup.

“...That’s not a bad idea.” She said, “We need to know where this cavern leads out before we can plan our next move.”

“I won’t be two ticks.” Placing a hand on her chest, Drayya closed her eyes and bathed in forbidden communion with the God of Many Faces.

When she opened them, there was no perceivable difference in her physiology. But when she placed her hand against the carved wall blocking the cult’s progress, her flesh melded with the stone as if she was entering a body of murky water. A second later, she was gone - consumed by the wall, leaving Lieze and Marché to await her return.

“I didn’t think the Order would allow its members to practise other schools of magic.” Marché said.

“It doesn’t.” Lieze replied, “But Drayya has always been the rebellious sort. And it’s not as if the Order’s rules matter much to her now that we’ve defied Sokalar.”

The girl in question poked her head out of the wall, giving the impression that she’d been decapitated and mounted like some macabre decoration.

“It’s safe.” She declared, “Just a bedroom.”

“What sort of bedroom?” Lieze asked.

“Well… a big one.” It wasn’t obvious from that angle, but Drayya shrugged her shoulders.

“Ricta’s, perhaps.” She said, “This cavern must have been intended to serve as an escape route for the kingdom’s heirs in the event of an attack.”

“-And at one point or another, they realised that having an unguarded entrance into the largest fortress in Fanrae was ever-so-slightly risky.” Marché scratched his head, “Hence the massive stone wall.”

“Stand out of the way, Drayya.” Lieze commanded, “I’m going to send the Manticore in.”

If the wall was on the other side of Ricta’s bedchambers, that would place Lieze’s cult on the balcony above the throne room when they left. The noise wouldn’t be possible to conceal, meaning she had one last opportunity to plan some kind of strategy before charging headfirst into what was most likely going to be her final encounter with Alistair.

“Marché - you and your followers will be in charge of manoeuvring our Dark Casters.” She turned to face the red-headed lad, “We will use the Manticore to break down the wall separating Ricta’s bedchambers from the throne room. Alistair will be there, so fan out and secure the high ground to prevent his escape.

She spun around to face Drayya, who remained with her head poking out from the wall, “Drayya - the Rot Behemoths and Horrors are yours to command. Use them to draw attention away from our weaker troops.”

“That leaves you with… the Manticore, the Briarknight, and the Gravewalkers?” She replied.

Lieze nodded, “Is there a problem with that?”

“Not a problem, no. I’m just wondering what your entrance is going to look like.”

Lieze smirked and raised a hand into the air. Responding to the esoteric command, the Manticore trundled its way through a veritable ocean of thralls before lowering its head to the ground. Locks of rusty hair curled down from the creature’s head, serving as convenient ropes for Lieze to cling to as she attempted (poorly) to clamber atop the Manticore’s back. Marché observed her climb with folded arms, stepping aside as the Briarknight moved forward to join the beast’s side.

“Is that safe?” He asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Lieze shrugged, “It’s like riding a horse.”

“Oh, pardon me. I didn’t know there were any horses in the Deadlands - nevermind horses the size of Drakes.”

“It follows my commands. That’s all that matters.” She said, “Speaking of, you have orders of your own to be following. Once we break this wall down, there will be no turning back. Gather up your forces and prepare for a fight. Alistair will not offer up his throne willingly.”

“As you wish…” Marché resigned his argument, marching back to the hooded silhouettes of his followers corralling the army of thralls, “Alright, you lot! Get yourselves into formation!”

Drayya was coy enough to leap out from the wall and place herself squarely behind the Manticore, enforcing her authority over the shambling Rot Behemoths and Horrors to gather at her flank.

“It’s about time we finally took this fight to Alistair.” Entwining her fingers, she stretched her arms behind her back, “-Of course, he won’t the last of our problems…”

She spoke without apprehension, but Sokalar’s name eluded her vocabulary like a curse. It was obvious that she considered the Lich to be the far greater threat - a truth that even Lieze didn’t want to admit.

At her command, the Manticore lowered itself in preparation for a vicious charge. Once she gave the order, there would be no more time for careful planning. From that moment until the war’s gruesome end, there would be nothing but blood and fury.

Allowing all reservations to vanish on her breath, Lieze furrowed her brow and prepared for battle.