As evening fell and dusk began to settle, they arrived at a roadside two-story garrison, built in a rectangular shape with an adjoining oval tower constructed from sturdy stone blocks that continued into a wall surrounding the entire area. Vigilant guards rode out to meet them, seven riders strong, and after a brief identification process—supported by Moira presenting her medallion as proof of their mandate from the Kardum overseer—they were invited inside the main building. On their way, they passed a wooden stable where they left their horses in the care of stablehands, as well as barracks. Drawing closer, they also noticed a well and several small outbuildings meant for storage and other domestic needs.
On the ground floor of the garrison central structure, they found a dining hall where they were sited and an armory.
As they sat comfortably at the tables, shedding their outerwear, the local sergeant, who introduced himself as Pern, began inquiring about the situation up south.
“Any news from the city? Is the army recruitment progressing well?” he asked, looking directly at the group.
“Yes, the barracks grow day by day. When we left, more units were joining the assembly point,” Otan replied matter-of-factly.
“Furthermore, banners from Kardum itself should soon start arriving. When we departed from there, the decision had already been made, so it’s only a matter of time,” Tex added.
“Excellent!” Pern exclaimed, visibly pleased. “You see, we’re practically the last fortification before the Hooren district. I won’t lie—my crew and I are hopeful that soon the rightful owners will reclaim not just the city but this whole territory,” he said, gesturing vaguely northward.
The rest of the guards, feigning tasks in the same room, lingered to eavesdrop and observe. Moira noticed two things. First, nearly half the garrison’s personnel were women. Second, many were stealing glances at her, which was both slightly awkward and did not escape Pern’s notice. Scratching his head, he quickly shooed them back to their duties and, in a slightly apologetic tone, explained:
“I must confess, Miss Moira, you’ve been quite the talk of late. A few days ago, word reached us that the Beast-Slayer of Iskev would be our ally in the upcoming campaign. Please forgive my crew’s curiosity.”
“Beast-Slayer?” Moira asked, a half-smile playing on her lips.
“People love simple stories,” Pern replied, smiling with a shrug. “From the official note, I know you’re a respected mage with numerous merits for the entire Northern Cities' Union.” He inclined his head politely in acknowledgment. “But to the average soldier’s ear, what sticks is the tale that you, with a mighty spell, obliterated half of a sea monster in the blink of an eye.” He spread his arms wide, as if to say, what can you do?
Moira chuckled lightly. “Well, yes, I can see why that part might stick in the memory,” she nodded, a glint of humor in her eyes. After a pause, she added, “I just hope I live up to your and your crew’s expectations, Sergeant.”
“That was one terrifying spell, I’ll tell you that much, Sergeant,” Otan chimed in, pointing at him with a finger for emphasis.
“All the better that its caster is on our side. And Miss Moira,” the sergeant inclined his head toward her once more, a warm yet resolute smile on his face, “I’m certain we won’t be disappointed.”
The sergeant clapped his hands together. “Now then, you must be hungry. Share supper with us and stay the night. The dining benches will be at your disposal, though, unfortunately, we’ve no empty beds to offer.”
Ashan rose from the table and replied with a nod, “The benches will do just fine. We’ll bring our things down here then.”
Some of the group joined him, and before long, their gear was neatly stowed in the dining hall.
Dinner followed shortly after, served in two shifts since the hall wasn’t large enough to accommodate everyone at once. The entire garrison, about forty people took turns dining with them, eagerly engaging in conversation. They peppered the party with questions about the situation in other regions, swapping bits of news and stories as they ate, the hum of voices and clinking of dishes filling the room with a lively camaraderie.
After everything, Moira and Ashan walked with the sergeant at his request to the top of the tower, where, by windows adapted for shooting positions, they could speak privately. "While you were eating, I received a report from central command about your discovery. Nasty business—we haven’t seen such transformed creatures in this region before, but I’ll warn my people about them," the concerned commander said while looking into the night sky.
“Three-quarters of this crew are green recruits, both men and women. You know how it is—'all hands-on deck,' and so on,” he sighed heavily. “They’re not ready for serious combat with seasoned soldiers, let alone any monsters.”
“The cultists of the Last Tribe aren’t seasoned veterans. You’ve got brave people here, willing to defend the peace we’ve managed to maintain for so many years—and you know, it wasn’t always like this between the gray nomads,” Ashan said with great conviction, though the sergeant couldn’t know how recent those times felt for him.
“I can’t track down every monstrosity the Elder creates in his experiments, but I’ll be here in the hour of need, alongside the entire army,” Moira assured him in a solemn tone.
The sergeant exhaled, visibly easing. “You’re both right—risking life of the young is always a tragedy, but it’s a cause worth the fight.” He leaned against the stone wall by the window. “I’ll stay up here a little longer. Thank you for your time. Good night,” the sergeant said.
They both bade him farewell and began descending the stairs. Moira leaned on Ashan’s arm as they navigated the spiral steps. “Commanders like him know all too well that sacrifices are unavoidable, especially those who will stand with their people in the field,” she said softly, her voice tinged with sympathy.
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“Either that or living at the mercy—or lack thereof—of the cultists. Not much of a choice,” Ashan replied.
“The consequences, though, are heavy. But you’re right.” She squeezed his arm gently. “We’ll do whatever it takes to end this conflict as quickly as possible. No matter what!”
He paused, turning his head toward her. She stood a step higher, so their eyes were level. Covering her hand on his arm with his own, he said, “Just don’t take too many risks with your own life along the way, all right?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied with a faint smile. After a moment of holding his gaze, she was the first to look away, slightly flustered. “Besides, you’ll be nearby to make sure of that, won’t you?” she added softly.
At her words, he stiffened slightly, clearing his throat before replying, “Always, Moira.” Then he turned and continued descending, ensuring he moved slowly enough for her to lean on him for support. Before they reached the last half-landing where they could be seen from below, she wordlessly hugged him tightly and pressed herself against his back, burying her face in his neck. He reached back, tenderly stroking her hair and a bit of her cheek.
“Can we talk about this after everything?” she asked, half-questioning, half-suggesting.
He simply nodded, and they lingered in that moment for a while before she released him and patted him gently on the shoulder to indicate he should lead the way. Together, they returned to the group, their hearts swelling with feelings.
She fell asleep amidst a whirlwind of thoughts about the impending war, the feelings she was beginning to understand now, and the realization that there was little opportunity to examine them closely amid all that was happening. She shifted restlessly on the hard bench. The sergeant had long since left the building replaced by the watchmen who went all the way up, and she thought she might finally drift off when one of her ravens flew silently through the ground-level window, landing almost soundlessly on her legs and cawing softly to wake her up. She jolted upright, startled, and so did most of her squad.
“What’s going on?” Tex asked, scrunching her face in a displeased grimace and squinting her sleepy eyes.
“A raven with a report,” Moira replied curtly, before pulling the creature closer and reading what it wanted to show her. A troop of infantry was approaching from the north; from what she could gather, it looked like around two hundred people were marching in their direction. She sent the raven back outside to join the other two, instructing them to continue monitoring the situation and assist her if needed. After that, she briefed the rest of the group, and one of them immediately ran upstairs to warn the lookout stationed at the top of the tower, while others started getting up, lighting up lamps and picking up their gear.
The alarm was sounded, bell echoed from above as the entire outpost sprang to life. The sergeant burst inside and received a report on the situation from the lookout. “If you want to escape, now’s your chance,” he said hastily to Moira’s group. “If not, then help on the walls and at the firing positions.”
They exchanged quick glances and unanimously decided to stay. The sergeant didn’t have time for pleasantries, quickly assigning them where they could join the defense forces. He dashed upstairs, with Moira and Ashan following him. Thanks to the time they gained from the early warning, the entire garrison was illuminated, and the walls and windows were manned. However, it was still not a large fortification. The walls held maybe twenty archers on one side and another ten in the windows, assuming two shooters per point. The wall was solid but barely seven or eight elbows high. With the unexpected support, there were about fifty of them there.
The enemy unit stopped roughly at the edge of the defenders' archers' range. The night was clear, so they were somewhat visible. They carried ropes and ladders, lightly armed, evenly divided between archers and shield bearers. Their weapons varied; evidently, each took whatever they wielded best or had on hand, and there were no uniforms.
They had barely a dozen cavalrymen at the back, and one of the riders surged to the front to make himself heard more clearly.
“I see you’ve had a light sleep, Pern! It doesn’t matter. Surrender the outpost, sergeant, and I promise to take you and your men as prisoners. No one will be harmed,” he shouted loudly.
Moira and Ashan stood beside him at the window and saw the tension in his jaw as he clenched his teeth in anger. In light of what they had learned in pine wood near Riverside, this promise sounded rather empty, but that wasn’t the reason for the sergeant’s reaction.
“You traitor!” he shouted back. “You’re just a common deserter, and now you come here with these cultists!”
The figure below laughed unpleasantly. “Well, it was getting too stuffy for us so close to Kaarv. I couldn’t stay among you any longer, but my offer is fair. You will be prisoners; you’ll work in the mines up north. You’ll see that we were right, not the southerners’ lovers, and in time, you’ll earn your freedom!” he shouted again, so all could hear him.
“I have a counteroffer. Leave now, and none of you will die, at least not tonight and not here,” the sergeant shouted at his evidently former subordinate and his troops.
“You don’t have to die for Pern’s stubbornness,” he turned to the men on the walls. “Drop your weapons, open the gate. The first two who do and run to me will be accepted into my company as free grey nomads.”
The youngest among the crew, uncertain and frightened, looked at each other and their companions. Pern had no intention of surrendering the outpost. “I count on your support! Good luck!” he called to Moira and her companion, grabbed his bow, and shot from the window. It was on the edge of range, but he hit a horse, which neighed and threw off its rider, who swore under his breath, quickly got up, and returned to his comrades, apparently issuing the order to attack, because the first line began to rush towards the walls.
“Help me get up to the walls!” she called to Ashan and began to descend the stairs, he followed her, grabbing a shield along the way and holding it over her, helping her to the flanks where she began to draw from the waves of magic and construct a larger spell; he could see it forming in her hands. Berk rushed over to them to provide cover as well. The rest of their companions and defenders fired at the attackers, who were already perhaps a minute from the walls. No shot was spared, but the enemy had their own archers, and some of the defenders were already wounded. They hadn’t diminished the cultists by even a fifty when the first wave reached the walls, and a dozen hooks with ropes and half a dozen ladders struck against the stone.
But the spell was already complete. Moira combined the aspect of a thick, viscous black fog, much heavier than air, that she had once summoned upon the bandits, with the element of a plague wind. The tar-black smoke quickly seeped from her outstretched hands beyond the wall and began to pour down upon the attackers. The effect was much slower than the gust she had once defended herself with, but just as deadly. The mist poured down and spread like ink across the open ground, seeping inward and sideways. Before the attackers realized what was happening, the cultists were piling up, dying silently, wrinkled and desiccated.
Panic erupted among the attackers, and they began to retreat, but the black mist reaped a macabre harvest. Not even half escaped with their lives. Some fell under the defenders’ arrows, those were the lucky ones, while the majority found themselves in the viscous fog, that accelerated the entropy of everything it touched. About three dozen cultists led by the remaining riders, retreated completely beyond the reach of both arrows and mist, desperate to flee up north.
Perhaps a victory achieved by such means will go down differently in the annals of history than one won by force of arms alone, but on this night, it didn't matter to the defenders. Moira was exhausted, but Ashan helped her up as she broke the spell, and the mist simply dissipated into nothing, revealing over a hundred wrinkled bodies lying in the dead meadow. Shouts and curses echoed along the wall. No one questioned the method; all rejoiced in the result.