“What are the numbers, feral born?” Said a hunched-over, white-haired man as two armored cultists entered the hide tent he sat in.

“Five hundred and sixty dead–eighty-seven injured, High Priest,” the dirty man fell to a knee.

“Bah!” The High Priest shot up from his chair and swung around, throwing a fist through the air, almost causing himself to fall over as he stammered to find his footing.

“Be careful, High Priest,” a nearby cultist said. “Ye still recovering.”

“Unacceptable,” he coughed, falling back into the log chair and patting his chest as his cough persisted. “In one day, you’ve lost more men than our enemy's entire army!”

“Sir,” one of the crook-nosed cultists said, raising stained fingers.

“Away from me,” the High Priest waved. “I’ll be fi–” cough cough

A young man with a sharp jaw and plaited blonde braids dipped through the tent’s opening.

“Listen to them, Uncle. It’s clear your exchange with the Imperator exhausted you. Take it easy fo–”

“The failure son returns,” the High Priest spat. “Why have you come to remind me of your existence, Mohan? Not just to pay me false concern, I hope.”

Mohan bit down, attempting to hide his scowl. “No. Give me my father’s command. I'll take the enemy's heads for you.”

“You? The little cub thinks he can accomplish what men cannot. And why should I trust you?” The High Priest hissed.

“I am one of the Seven-Headed Wolf God’s chosen, as was my father. I may not have gifts such as yourself, but I’m powerful. I’ll prove it to you. Just give me the power to show you.”

“Will you now?” the High Priest’s purple lips curled into a smile. “Alright then, I’ll give you a chance, cub. You may lead the wart-ridden into combat.”

“Dartem!”

The High Priest’s weary, bloodshot eyes widened in fury. “I am your High Priest, or had you forgotten?” He shouted, bounding to his feet.

The other cultists in the tent turned to Mohan, hands falling to the swords and hatchets at their sides.

Mohan’s gaze scanned the room and fell to one knee, “My apologies, High Priest.”

“Good, don't forget your place again, rotten cub. Now get out of my sight, failure son,” the High Priest waved. “And be thankful I gave ye the command of anything.”

With a bent brow, Mohan turned and pushed through the tent flaps, muttering under his breath as he stepped out into the blizzarding weather.

Old fool is going to send all his men to their deaths. How dare he dishonor me by making me the leader of those foul outcasts?

The wart-ridden was the disfigured children of wargs and their virgin concubines that were refused the Seven-Headed Wolf God’s gift and instead made crippled and disfigured. They were seen as abominations and outcasts; the only good served was as slaves and meatshields in battle.

How dare he keep me from what I’m owed. It is my birthright to take over my father’s place, damn him. The old fool wastes the gifts given by our god. If only I could show the other priests.

**Trayox**

Working fast, the large barbarian Trayox, his men, and many volunteers pulled corpses from the wire. Their enemies could attack at any moment, but if they were hasty, they could clear enough bodies that follow-up attacks wouldn’t get an easy path up to the walls.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have an easy means of getting to the second row of wire and didn’t want to get caught themselves, but that wasn’t the most significant concern. As long as they moved most of the bodies, they would increase the danger to their attackers enough.

Once they pulled the bodies free, they piled them up against the walls. Luckily, diseases wouldn’t be too much to worry about. The bodies were already covered in ice and freezing with every passing minute.

The fire had burned several stakes, and fresh ones were inserted into the trench where they could be. But the fire had also burned back much of the relentless snowfall, creating more ice for their enemy to contend with.

They collected more than bodies. The team also collected any arrows it could reach and looted valuable items from the corpses.

The fort still had resources to continue making fuel for the flamethrowers and arrows for the archers, but anything extra would be of massive assistance. Many of the daggers, axes, and swords used by the cultists were of better quality than what the commoners of Fort Winterclaw used, and they happily switched when given the option. Unfortunately, a lot of greed came from the looters, and many took as much as they could for themselves and sold it on within the fort or hoarded it away for a later date. Apparently, even the fear of the cultists wasn’t enough to totally overcome greed, or perhaps that had changed in the face of their recent victories.

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Any undamaged armor was particularly valuable. Metal armor, for the most part, survived the attacker's deaths and was promptly given to the response groups. The commoners had started the battle with hides, spears, and wooden shields, and after looting, many had chain shirts, swords at their sides, and even metal caps on their heads.

Some of the cultists had even carried heavier weapons. They had likely been captains or other important people. After all, a two-handed sword was prohibitively expensive within the Frontier, and the few that managed to loot one carried it around as more a treasure than anything else.

One of these great weapons was snatched up by Trayox himself. He carried the massive two-handed axe over his back, its head the size of a large man's torso.

**Imperator**

Once the excitement of their victory faded, the people of Fort Winterclaw returned to work. The threat of invasion pushed them harder, and whittling arrows and smithing arrowheads were honed down to a fine art, allowing them to pump out the supplies at ever-increasing speeds.

Mark had resisted any temptation to worry about food production for now. If the enemy decided to siege and stop their attacks, he would consider using the throne ship to bring stock into the fort, although that would depend on the situation with whoever it was that had shot at him. After all, he wasn’t about to leave his people to fend against that person and the army alone. Mark wasn’t sure how powerful those blasts had been, but he didn’t want to test them against the wooden palisades of the Fort. If they managed to bust even one hole through the wall, then their defense might falter.

Besides watching their stocks, Mark spent most of his time on the wall watching their enemy. The throne ship had recovered its energy reserves now, and he was tempted to take it back into the sky and observe their enemy from above, but he hesitated for now. He needed to learn more about this enemy's leader and the power available to him. Not just for his own safety, but now the lives of everyone rested on his shoulders. He couldn't risk getting himself killed.

***

Two days had passed, and there hadn't been a lot of movement in the enemy camp. Along the tree line, they were mostly still. Beyond it, he could see them building temporary tents and fires. They were prepared to stay longer, but Mark wasn't convinced they were settling in for a long siege just yet.

They were downing trees and building things, but what exactly, he wasn't sure. Large siege engines would take some time, and if he was right about his enemy, they would attempt faster solutions before succumbing to that line of thought.

What are you thinking? Could they have really given up on the impatience they showed in their first attacks?

Mark spotted a warg walking along the tree line's edge, sniffing at the cool air and eyeing his fort. Unfortunately, he hadn't spotted the wargs clumped together again since the battle started. If he had, he would have taken the chance to thin their numbers while he could.

Frustration was starting to build, and while taking potshots from the wall was unlikely to achieve anything of value, he wanted to urge his enemy on.

It doesn’t look like anybody is going to attack right now… screw it. Let's have some fun.

Mark raised his hand and aimed at the warg, and a burst of light flashed forth. The lightning instantly sparked across the considerable distance between them, blasting into the warg and sending it toppling backward. In seconds, both the men and wargs alike that stood at the edge of the forest scattered into the trees.

Clearly, the long-distance shot lost some of its power over the distance it traveled, and while the warg fell, it wasn’t thrown. Mark had seen the arcing energy slapping against the ground as the bolt traveled further.

Still, the warg was burned to a crisp lying in the snow now. It wouldn't have any major effect on the battle, and his enemy would be more careful about showing themselves, but Mark didn't care. The battle had lulled, and anything was better than nothing. Waiting wasn't to their advantage. He needed his enemy to be reckless, and thinning their numbers seemed like the only means to achieve this.

Come on. Don't you want to avenge your fallen? Mark's thoughts were hopeful, to say the least. If his enemy had any military intelligence, they would ensure they were as prepared as possible before attempting to face his defenses again.

Even if they don't attack, at least I know I can kill the bastards. Mark smiled. He didn't expect the wargs to be able to survive blasts of lightning from his mage heart, but it was reassuring to have it confirmed.

A few men cheered from the wall as they watched the warg lying dead, and Mark realized it was much more than just reassuring himself. He had just shown his people that he couldn’t just beat the cultists, but he could kill a warg with the flick of a wrist from so far away, and the morale of his people was lifted once again.

Look on the bright side. Morale is high, and our enemy fears attacking us... it could be worse. Still, their numbers are too high. If they start using their brains, this could turn out terribly.

***

Mark was awoken early by banging at his door and bounced to his feet without a second lost. He wore his suit to bed now, not wanting to waste any time in case of attack.

Charging up to the wall, he watched as his people took their positions. It was the cultists. They gathered at the tree line, hiding behind giant wooden shields on wheels. Protection against the arrows, but it was more than that, he realized. The shield would give them the time to work their way through the trenches slowly rather than in a hurry because of the threat of arrows.

Behind the shield, he also spotted lines of men carrying ladders. In total, there had to be a thousand men involved in this attack, with more waiting by the trees.

"They've finally committed to another attack," Mark mumbled to himself as Henric barked orders and people ran across the fort to take their positions. And it wasn't just warriors. Women and even children had come out. They carried boiling pots and helped the commoner men haul them up to the walls and platforms.

Mark hadn't expected everyone to get involved in their defense and hadn't wanted to force his civilian population, but he was beyond pleased to see their involvement. Every hand counted.

Don't think we're going to make this easy for you. Mark smirked as the cultist army prepared their attack and raised his palm toward one of the giant wooden shields. But just as the sparks of energy began to crackle around his hand, a beam of light flashed out from the trees, slamming into the wall with a burst of flames.

Swinging toward the attack, Mark surveyed the damage as debris cleared. Shattered wood hung from the busted section of the palisade, but the wall had held for the most part. Several small flames danced across it, and two of his people had been caught in the destruction, their bodies unmoving.

"Response group," Mark shouted, but Henric was already ordering a nearby squad to make their way toward the damaged wall.

Mark's eyes widened, and he gritted his teeth as another blast flashed forth, slamming against the wall and sending flames swirling.

"Damn you!" Mark swung toward the shields and shot forth a blast of lightning that exploded into the timber with a thunderous roar and sent several cultists flying back.

He didn't know how many times that bastard could fire upon his walls, but he couldn't let it continue unpunished.

Leaping from the wall, Mark jumped into a roll and sprinted for the throne ship. It was time to finish that bastard and win this battle.