Chapter 45

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Slinger guided Earp into a secluded grove of trees, the thick canopy overhead providing a sense of shelter and security. The trees stood tall and ancient, their branches interwoven like a natural fortress. The air here was cooler, carrying the earthy scent of moss and fallen leaves.

Slinger dismounted, patting Earp's neck reassuringly. "This'll do, boy. Time to settle in for the night."

He led Earp to a nearby stream, allowing the horse to drink while he began setting up camp. Slinger's movements were methodical, born of years spent in the wilderness. He cleared a small area of debris, creating a circle of stones to contain the campfire. Gathering kindling and larger pieces of wood, he built a neat teepee structure within the ring of stones.

With a practiced hand, Slinger struck flint against steel, sending sparks onto the dry tinder. The kindling caught, and soon a small fire crackled to life, casting flickering shadows among the trees. The warmth and light were a welcome comfort after the long day's ride.

"Let's see what we got for supper," Slinger muttered, rummaging through his saddlebags. He pulled out a small pot and a few provisions: dried beans, a strip of salted pork, and a handful of wild herbs he'd gathered earlier. He filled the pot with water from the stream and set it over the fire, adding the beans and pork.

As the meal simmered, Slinger spoke to Earp, his voice low and calm. "It's been a long day, hasn't it, boy? But we made good progress. That beast can't keep running forever."

Earp flicked his ears, seeming to listen to his master's words. Slinger continued, his tone reflective. "You know, this life ain't easy. Chasin' down monsters, sleepin' under the stars. But it's what we do. It's who we are."

He stirred the pot, the savory aroma of the cooking meal mingling with the scent of the campfire. "And we've seen some things, haven't we? Things most folks wouldn't believe. But out here, it's just you and me, facing whatever comes our way."

Earp nickered softly, his eyes reflecting the firelight. Slinger smiled, a rare expression of warmth crossing his weathered face. "Yeah, I know. Sometimes it feels like we're the only ones standing between the world and the darkness."

The beans and pork were done. Slinger dished up a portion into a tin bowl, the simple fare steaming in the cool night air. He took a seat on a fallen log, eating slowly, savoring the warmth and sustenance. "We'll get some rest tonight, and come morning, we'll be back on the trail."

Earp stood nearby, contentedly munching on some oats Slinger had set out for him. The horse's presence was a steadying influence, a reminder of the partnership that had seen them through countless trials.

Slinger sat on the fallen log, the warmth of the fire seeping into his bones. The bowl of beans and pork rested in his hands, the steam curling up and mingling with the cool night air. He ate slowly, each bite a welcome reprieve from the day's exertions. The crackling of the fire was a comforting sound, but his senses remained alert, honed by years of survival in the wilderness.

The grove of trees around him formed a protective circle, their shadows deep and long in the flickering firelight. The thick canopy above allowed only slivers of starlight to penetrate, creating an almost otherworldly atmosphere. The quiet rustle of leaves and the distant call of a night bird added to the tranquility of the scene. Yet, beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of tension, a vague ominous sense that gnawed at the edges of his awareness.

As he took another bite, his eyes scanned the darkness beyond the fire’s reach. The forest was a living entity, full of secrets and hidden dangers. Slinger had learned to trust his instincts, and now, those instincts were whispering that something wasn't quite right. He paused, the bowl halfway to his lips, and peered into the gloom.

There. A flicker of movement, so slight it could have been his imagination. Among the trees, just at the edge of the firelight’s reach. His hand moved slowly, setting the bowl down beside him. His eyes narrowed, trying to pierce the shadows. The forest had a way of playing tricks on the eyes, but Slinger’s instincts had saved him too many times to be ignored.

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Chapter 46

Arcstone's suit didn't even strain as he wheeled the cannon across the battlements, his mind far away, consumed with thoughts of Brightforge. His fear for his friend's life gnawed at him. The priests had assured him that Brightforge would be alright as they put him into the pod, but Arcstone wasn’t sure. The best-case scenario seemed grim; Cincinnati's Sword would be out of action for a long time. Fearful thoughts crowded his mind: the sight of so much blood, Brightforge's pale face. What if he died?

As Nicolas and Bryan approached, Arcstone snapped back to the present. He saw them and saluted as he slid the cannon into place. Nicolas, attempting to be formal, said, "Lord Arcstone, what news of Lord Brightforge?"

Arcstone’s voice was curt. "Oracle's mercy, don't folk know I don't ken with the Lord shit? Call me Arcstone, I thought you'd know better."

Nicolas, sheepish and retreating slightly, stammered, "Sorry, Arcstone. How is Brightforge?"

Arcstone’s voice was laced with frustration and worry. "The priests say he'll be okay, but who fuckin' trusts those robed fuckers? I never know what to think when they start yapping." Bryan and Nicolas continued to stare at his visored face, unsure. Arcstone continued, "They say he'll be alright, but you saw what Jadeslash did to him. For fuck's sake, his blood painted the road through town when I took him to the tower. How the fuck is anyone supposed to be okay after that?"

A moment of heavy silence passed. Nicolas spoke up. "Haldor said you would be commanding the defense while Brightforge recovers."

Arcstone shrugged. "The Castellan'll be doing that, really. He knows what's what in that regard, but I guess I'm officially in charge for now. You want something?"

Nicolas straightened. "Just instructions. Castellan Brown is occupied elsewhere, the 3rd is recuperating, and we just want to do something useful. We thought you might have instructions for us."

Arcstone looked at them thoughtfully. "If I remember right, you're pretty hot shit with blade and gun, that right?"

Nicolas shifted uncomfortably. "I know my way around."

Arcstone nodded. "Your daddy was the Shield before me, wasn't he? He was Nicolas too. That fucker knew his way around a fight as well."

Nicolas resisted the urge to mention how his father hadn’t known enough to keep his legs attached from the knees down. Arcstone turned to Bryan. "And you're that axe maniac, aren't ya? They didn't know what to do with you, but they had to do something, so they made you a sergeant."

Arcstone sighed. "You lads'll be wasted during the siege. There's no maneuvers to be commanded, just fight and die and hold the wall if it comes to that. Fuckers out there'll probably just stay where they are and try to starve us out. Fat fucking chance of that."

Nicolas and Bryan's heads turned in unison, their eyes widening. Arcstone followed their gaze and saw Hunter approaching, his Griid suit plastered in blood. Arcstone walked over, clasping armored hands with him. "Fuckin' good to see you. I was afraid they'd get you cornered."

Hunter's voice was weary but resolute. "It came close a couple of times. I think I've brought back as many as I can. There are suits everywhere; every Griidlord in the Empire must be out there."

Arcstone nodded. "They can't keep 'em there forever. They'll need 'em for trains. They'll have to move some out before long."

Arcstone seemed to take notice of Hunter's posture, his keen eyes narrowing. "The fuck is up?"

Hunter, his voice tight with unease, replied, "I saw something on my way back..."

Arcstone's frustration boiled over. "What? Come on, out with it!"

Hunter hesitated, then spoke quickly. "They're building something out there, miles out, way outside of cannon range, and down in a depression where we couldn't hit them anyway."

Arcstone, feeling an urgent knot of fear tightening in his gut, pressed, "What the fuck are they building? What's got you so shook up?"

Hunter's face was pale as he continued. "It looked like a trebuchet. Well, no, it didn't. Not at first. At first, I thought it was a ferris wheel or something, like the traveling carnivals might have. But when I looked closer... fuck, Arcstone, the thing is huge. I don't mean huge like I've never seen the likes before. I mean fucking huge like it doesn't even seem possible."

Arcstone stared at him, trying to comprehend. His attention shifted to Nicolas, who was breathing heavily. "Shit," Nic muttered.

"What?" Arcstone demanded.

Nicolas swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "That... it can't be, but it sounds like... but it's just a story..."

"Out with it, man!" Arcstone snapped.

Nicolas's face was ashen as he said, "That sounds like they're putting the Warwolf together."

The name struck a chord, a chill running down Arcstone's spine. He looked out to the horizon as though he might be able to see it. "No..."

Nicolas continued, his voice trembling. "If the thing still exists, then this would be the time to use it."

Arcstone stared at the horizon, the weight of the realization settling over him like a dark cloud. "Fuck, we mightn't have as much time as we thought we did."