The town of Il’Aicharen burned.

Rhisart stood atop the wall and surveyed the valley filled with smoldering ruins. Smoke hung heavy in the air, concealing the lower town in a shifting haze. Makrasha moved amid the rubble, but the shadeleeches were nowhere to be seen. Other than the fifty or so beasts posted at the foot of the road leading to the keep, none of the attackers paid them any mind.

That worried him the most.

Why didn’t they attack? With their numbers, they might still be able to overrun the keep. He had expected them to attack during the night, so he’d maintained a careful vigil until dawn. When no assault came, he finally risked getting some sleep.

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Still they did not come. The sun had already slipped behind the western spur of the mountain with no movement from the enemy. Were they planning on attacking during the night? It seemed likely. But why wait the extra day and give the defenders time to organize?

He was overlooking something. The enemy must have known that every hour they waited only increased the chances that aid would come.

Above the keep, heavy clouds piled atop each other, brewing a storm like Rhisart had not seen for decades. He wondered if the shadeleeches were tampering with the weather.

Such spells were very tricky and required vast amounts of energy. Working with the weather was difficult at the best of times, and one could never be sure of the result. Why risk it? A heavy downpour would make the keep harder to defend, but it would also hamper efforts to scale the wall.

He needed to figure out the mystery. He feared what would happen if the enemy attacked before he could.