Situated in a dense forest was a wide clearing, an island in the middle of a forest of green. If one could fly, they would see and endless see of trees in all directions, each tree towering into the air reaching on average around fifty or sixty feet in height. The deeper one went into the forest the larger the trees, and more dangerous the wildlife would become. Standing in the center of this clearing was a mound of dirt, around which was a circular ditch with ran all the way around the central mound. Built atop this mound was a stronghold, more of an outpost, its walls and watchtowers constructed of stout logs, secured one next to the other.

There were four watchtowers, one in each corner and the fortress was built like a square, with a central drilling field, large enough to house an obstacle course, training field, and stable. Along the inner walls were longhouses, their thick walls pressed up against the walls of the fortress along the eastern and western approaches. These sections of the wall had no entrance or exit, no gates that troops could pass through, and could be used as additional fortifications in the event of a breach.

The southern approach was the one with the gentlest slope up the mound, it also had the gatehouse and drawbridge across the ditch which was filled with seven-foot-long wooden spikes. Any supply convoys, or a new batch of border guards would use this gate as the main entryway, as the northern entrance, was just a hidden door meant for emergency escape or if needed to perform a surprise attack on a besieging enemy force. Either way that was where the command tower was located, its uppermost platform towering above the rest of the fortress, providing a shooting platform which was around ten feet higher than the existing walls.

A white flag flew at this uppermost point, emblazoned with the crimson flower in the center, and silver embroidery decorating the outermost borders. The heraldry of house Amyntas, lords of the frontier, ruling from their seat of power in Temrenos. This small fortress, existed as an outpost in the farthest flung reaches of the Scholar’s control, the Jormani forest. Even though the forest was all part of Caedyrn’s domain on paper, he exuded very little control, these scattered outposts themselves were an engineering marvel, built in what was undoubtedly hostile territory. These isolated fortresses acting as the first sign of the coming winter, an indication of what they would be facing in the weeks and months to come.

A hooded soldier rushed up the stairs and towards uppermost room within the command tower, his cloak was tattered, and he was caked in days’ worth of filth from his journey. As he forced himself into the commander’s office he dropped to one knee, his hands shaking as he struggled to catch his breath, ignoring the look of disgust on the commander’s face. “I hope this is something very important, because you smell like an unwashed stable and the stink is not pleasant in the slightest.” The border commander tried to tamp down on his disgust, but it was clear to anyone in the room that he wanted the scout out as soon as the report was delivered, and not a second more.

“Commander, I have just returned from the scouting mission. I was unable to find any members of the hunting teams we dispatched last week, my team members and I were beset by beasts, and I barely managed to make it back. This is all we could find.” The scout delivered his message with the emotion of a corpse, the inferred meaning that the rest of his team perished and yet he did not shed a tear. “We have completed our mission, and hope that you can grant clemency to those in my squad who perished in the line of duty.” After speaking his piece, the man removed the burlap sack strapped across his back and dumped the assortment of weapons, armor, and accessories onto the floor. However, the last item was handled with care, a rolled-up piece of parchment, its corners soaked in red; it was this item that was handed over with the utmost care.

In response the commander said nothing, taking hold of the parchment, glancing over the shattered swords, pierced armor, and crushed accessories before turning back to the parchment. He took a second or two, absorbing the contents, his jaw clenching with each line followed by his eyes drifting over to the map hanging upon his wall. “You and your team members shall have their rewards; your names shall be stricken from the records. The second Latrian regiment is no longer your home, your citizenship will be reinstated, and your sins considered paid in full… As soon as you deliver this letter to the colonel Ordric of the first Kourgosian battalion. We will see that those traitors and murderers are put to good use. Congratulations on regaining your citizenship Rigonds, hopefully you stay out of trouble, I do not wish to see you here again.”

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The commander handed a new scroll to Rigonds, tasking him with delivering it to the Ordric, a foreign-born mercenary. A veteran with the scars to prove it, he was a hard man, and it made sense why he oversaw the Kourgosian’s, a penal force made up of the worst criminals in the domain. These men and women were expected to fight to the death, to die in service of house Amyntas and serve as fodder in the front lines, the promise of clemency granted based on years served or meritorious deeds. None ever survived these tours, with casualty rates at almost a hundred percent over a five-year period, Ordric being one of the few to serve out a full ten-year term.

Unlike the Kourgosian division, the Latrian ones which Rigonds was a part of consisted of small-time criminals, those guilty of petty crimes. They mainly served in a logistical capacity, with the majority serving in the city as free labor for the city, either cleaning the streets, mining, farming, and any other number of menial tasks. Sometimes, but very rarely, there are those like Rigonds who volunteer to be sent into the most dangerous areas, in a bid to earn greater merits and therefore a significantly reduced sentence. More than often putting their lives on the line.

“Colonel, I bring word from the Commander.” Luckily Ordric was currently drilling his soldiers, providing adequate incentive for the unruly under his command to continue their lap around the training field, ten-pound stone in hand. Ordric gave Rigonds a quick look over, shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the scroll from his hands. As soon as he got about halfway through the message his eyes sharpened, a steely determination set within his expression.

“You should go, wash yourself at the well, put on a new pair of traveling leathers and prepare a horse, some traveling rations and whatever else you may need for a weeklong trek in the forest. Don’t ask any questions, just do it, time will be tight. Now go!” Ordric turned to his soldiers, ordering them to cease their training. With a collective sigh of relief, they dropped their stone and were just about to flop to the ground when Ordric informed them of their task. Their entire battalion, all one thousand soldiers would be on night watch, they would act as the first line of defense and were expected to hold the line against whatever comes.

Rigonds departed before he would have to hear the murmurings of complaints, complaints that were quickly beaten out of Ordric’s criminal soldiers. It was understandable because unlike the Latrian’s who may be put into scout positions, or forced to engage in difficult manual labor, the Kourgosian’s were numbers. Their names stripped away, their bodies branded with their number, and often thrown into the thickest fighting or most unpleasant battles with little more than a padded shirt and rusty spear. They would be lucky to be granted a wooden board for a shield, those under Ordric often failed better and had some better equipment, but the casualty rates were still exceptionally high.

An hour or two later Rigonds was ready, having prepared everything Ordric had requested of him. Upon his return, Rigonds met with Ordric and was handed another scroll, this one tightly secured, with explicit orders that it be delivered directly into the hands of Lord Amyntas. However, just as the two were getting into the details, the ground beneath them began to rumble. An hour ago, the sun had gone down, and the only illumination was that from the many braziers placed atop the walls and watchtowers.

Then there was a loud sound of something being flung through the air, this was followed a second later by a loud crash in the distance. “Enemy attack! To arms! To arms!” The soldiers atop the command tower yelled out, the bronze bell ringing as the fortress awoke like an angry ant’s nest. Soldiers strapping on their armor, grabbing their weapons, and rushing to join the fight, while the catapult unleashed another volley of stones.

“Better get going boy, Temrenos is a long way away and the road will be perilous. I hope you can reach them in time… they will need to know what is coming. Good luck.” With that final farewell, Ordric donned his armor and rushed to the walls to take command of his troops. Rigonds, turned his back to the northern gate, shutting out the noise and focusing entirely on the path ahead.