Kieran observed the reconstruction of the palisades. Three days passed since their failed ambush. Although they took down the majority of attackers, a few managed to flee into the woods, and Green Cloak, their leader, shut off their means of entry into the fortress. Teal had sensed a few scouts from the enemy, but since then they had been left alone.
Though he was thankful for the time to rest and recover, every day wasted was another that the enemy had to bolster their defenses. Right now, reinforcements could be marching their way to the fortress and Kieran and his people wouldn’t even know. If that happened, he could kiss his first mission goodbye.
Teal brought up the idea of clearing out the rubble in the collapsed cave but Belen shot it down. Their guards would be up and that meant having watches at the area where outsiders could enter when the water retreated, especially at the one they knew of.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” He muttered as the soldiers dropped the lumber meant to rebuild the defenses.
Fulmer and a couple of other scouts went off earlier in the day to look for other entrances. They had done so before but were met with water filled caverns time and time again, whose waters stirred as if they were connected to the ocean. Swimming was an option, however, the tides were difficult to predict and would drown the unlucky.
The soldiers of the outpost didn’t seem too bothered by the current situation. They offered their services as cooks and lookouts and were the bulk of the rebuilding team. Not having to worry about when the next attack would come seemed to stir up a good mood in them. Me’dun’s men on the other hand, trudged around like zombies.
I’m the same. A simple supply run turns into an impossible fortress assault. Why does this world hate me?
Teal walked by with a basin filled with water. “Young Master, do you need me to wash any of your clothes?”
He waved her away, “They’re in my room.”
She set it down and moved closer to him, “Are you feeling alright? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. Go and do your job,” he snapped. Teal flinched and hurried off. “What is it?” he asked, already feeling the Middle Demon’s gaze.
“Nothing, Your Highness.”
A few men and women walked past, carrying the large barreled drums he’d seen on the carts. They moved them near the front of the outpost, under a tent where armaments were being prepared.
“What are those?” he asked Me’dun. “War drums?”
“Yes, the former leader of this outpost was from the Maidah territory. Their tradition before a battle is to beat on their langqart skin drums. The sound is rather low.”
“So we’re going to give them a heads up before we attack?” It sounded stupid. They were already at a disadvantage. They didn’t need their element of surprise to be ruined. Not that they had any surprises people on the fortress walls couldn’t spot.
“No, Belen has a plan. Apparently your northern-blood attendant contributed the idea in the first place.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t know if I trust this plan.”
Me’dun smiled, “Unfortunately there isn’t much else we can do other than wait for reinforcements. So, what will it be, Your Highness?”
Kieran shrugged and listened to the plan. “Huh, that’s not too bad. I don’t know if it’ll actually work but we’ll need more if we want it to work.”
“We can have a rotating group man the drums and position.”
“No, everyone’s still tired. If we’re gonna go with that plan then we need to take a little lesson from history,” It was, specifically, history from his previous world but it was history nonetheless. Kieran pointed to the training area. “We have some spare armor for those dummies right?”
*Boom*
*Boom*
*Boom*
Even inside the barracks Arono heard the incessant beating of drums. It had been going on for three straight nights, from dusk until dawn. During the first night, they all jumped at the sound and ran to their battlestations. Arono, holding the second highest rank in the fortress, commanded the archers at the walls. From his position he saw five big war drums, each half the size of a full grown man.
He remembered how the demons stayed out of their range. Arono’s black bow would have reached and easily torn through their drums and poor armor but they didn’t need to know. Hubris was a luxury and a vice the demons had not yet learned to live without. One that unfortunately seeped into his own actions.
Just a few days prior, the demons set up their own ambush and killed the majority of his scouts. He still felt the aching pain in his side. Had his superior officer not dangled his conscription paper in front of him, he wouldn’t have made such a mistake. The thought of his daughter waiting for him at home while he still had unresolved troubles with Hincyth Town’s underground drove him to recklessness.
Arono drove his fist into the stone wall. Unlike the demon’s shoddy palisades, their walls would not falter under less than exceptional firepower. Archers he trained himself manned the embrasures. They were ready at a moment’s notice to unleash a rain of arrows upon the enemy and alert the rest of the fortress to suspicious movement.
Climbing the stairs was a man clad in scale armor picked off the flesh of defeated demons. His polished helmet reflected the waxing moon’s light and on its side was the mark of the Faulke House. Famed for their valor in battle, the Faulke Household had been granted seats in the Emperor’s Council and maintained various large counties at the edges of the empire.
Rith Faulke was the commander of the fortress and the fourth son of the Faulk Household. He was in his mid twenties and held little other positions of note. His older brothers had far outpaced him in rank and skill according to the rumors that reached Arono’s ears. Still, Rith was among the more competent officers he had served under.
“Are they not attacking?” Rith asked. He carried a fine steel sword strapped to his waist protected by a leather sheath lined with silver.
“No, Sir,” Arono peered at the silhouettes. “It doesn’t appear so. This is likely a distraction.”
“And what will they do? We blocked off the previous cave system, didn’t we?”
Arono nodded. It was his arrow that brought the entrance low. When he returned, it was at his insistence that the rest be caved in as well. “Yes, Sir. The other entrances are being patrolled as we speak.”
“Good.”
Together, they monitored the situation from atop the wall. The drumming never seemed to stop and throughout that first night, almost none of the men got any sleep. The next night, the drummers reappeared but behind them were more people. Arono’s eyes were used to the darkness and with the moon growing larger in the sky and brighter too, he could make out the hard and sharp edges of their silhouettes.
These weren’t the normal riffraff of demons. They had iron or possibly steel armor. For a kingdom and race of people that valued martial prowess above most else, their religious piety perhaps more important, armor was not their specialty. Good iron and steel resided on the human’s half of the mountains as one of their god’s, Rithorn’s, last acts.
Arono kept more than half the foretress’s men awake that night.
The following night, there were more of them. Mixed into the constant drumbeat was the dull pounding of their weapons as they slammed the butt of their spears into the ground. By now Arono was beginning to tire of their charade.
Survivors of the failed attack volunteered to venture out and keep eye on the roads that led to the demons’ outpost. None reported any reinforcements. Whatever troops he counted during the last attack were all they had.
The demons’ resupplying group had a few strong and influential individuals, like the woman in the cloak and the young demon she protected. Arono became sure of it on the third night on top of the walls. The young demon was a high ranking noble who brought along some powerful guards but that was it. The appearance of well armored demons had made him fear for the fortress but their posturing cleared any misconceptions he may have had.
Seeing as how his one attendant caught the arrows but never gave chase, she was, at most, an Upper Demon with the subtitle of scar bearer. Scar bearers were demons who had survived many battles and killed just as much. Their scales were harder, claws sharper, and horns more fiendish than the average demon.
If she were a scar bearer, the responsibility of killing her lay either in his hands or Rith’s. Though Arono could not stand up to a knight of even the lowest rank in hand to hand combat, he would surely win if there were distance between them. Rith on the other hand, was rumored to be as skilled as a upper mid-ranked knight.
Knighthood was a title granted to distinguished warriors and officers. The lowest rank knight, the Bronze Knights, matched the demons’ Middle Demons.
For the fourth night, Arono retired to his quarters in the barracks. His second in command took the reins of nightwatch and paid close attention to the demons’ incessant and childish banging. His black bow, handed down through his family and given to him by his father, rested at his bedside.
As a vaear weapon, it needed no restringing and was always ready. When he looked at it, he could see the Essence of his father and his father’s father before him. Soon, maybe when this war was over, it would be imbued with his Essence and guide his daughter’s hand.
He laid on the bed and closed his eyes. Arono wouldn’t let his sleep be disturbed by the demons any more. Perhaps it was payback for all his night raids and ambushes but at least his actions did more than simply annoy the enemy.
He drifted further and further to sleep with the beat of the drums.
Then, he heard screaming.
He rolled out of bed, putting on his green cloak and grabbing his bow and quiver as he ran out of the barracks. Dozens of soldiers sat up in their beds, confused and dazed by the sudden outcries. Running through the long and cold stone hallways he burst through the door and out into a sea of fire.
The wooden buildings nearest to the north mountain were fuel for a blaze. It was on a scale that far outclassed what a fire arrow could do. It burned fast and strong, a mix of authentic fire and Essence.
How did they manage to do something like this? There was no alert of a siege or boulders to indicate catapults or trebuchets.
Was there a person among the demons with wings?
He shook his head. That wasn’t possible. The evil blessings of the demons had been dwindling ever since the Great Crusade and their wings had become the stuff of myth. The only demon he knew with wings, The Demon of Bones, was fighting in the north.
Arono slung his bow over his shoulder and grabbed a bucket of water. One of the three wells drawing from Tidal Valley’s water was by the barracks. He dashed toward the fire and threw the water over it to no avail. His Essence was air and he knew no spell powerful enough to smother the blaze.
Water and earth bolts shot from the more magic inclined soldiers as the rest refilled their buckets. A group of five men ran away from the scene and toward the gate. Arono called after them, “Stop! Where are you going?”
They didn’t respond and kept moving. Another soldier yelled, “Bring more water!”
Arono felt a pit form in his stomach as he caught a glimpse of the mens’ hands. Their nails were unusually sharp.
He threw the bucket to someone else running up to help and chased after them. Arono nocked an arrow and shouted an order, “Stop!”
They turned and they looked normal, they looked human. He didn’t budge. His eyes were sharp, trained in the Malberry forests to hunt the stealthiest and most cunning of prey. No demons would slip under his nose.
“W-What’s wrong, captain,” one of the men said.
“Drop your weapons,” he ordered.
The five men let go of their spears and he sent an arrow through one of their chests. Their eyes were filled with shock as their friend screamed in agony, his death throes echoing through the night. He quickly nocked more arrows and downed three more. The last man threw away his helmet, revealing pink skin across the top of his head where hair should have been.
The demon picked up one of his comrades and used their body as a shield. Arono tried to maintain distance but his backfooting was slow. He was a hunter, never the prey.
Two arrows punched through the meat shield. A pained groan alerted him that one of his arrows had managed to at least cut the demon’s skin. The body was thrown and him. He rolled to the side and was beset by the vicious claws. His bow protected his arm from being torn apart but not his skin.
Arono punched the demon and pulled out his dagger. It was a tool used to end the suffering of his prey and it would be perfect here. He dug the dagger into the demon’s arm, the scales changed the direction of the blade and it was shallower than he intended.
The demon’s claws ripped apart the muscles in his left shoulder. He kicked the demon away and drew back the bow. The vaear weapon responded to his Essence and leveled itself, allowing the string to be pulled back with minimal effort. It had happened a few times before and he didn’t know how to replicate it, but it would save his life.
He shot an arrow. The demon tried to dodge but it pierced his shoulder. He snarled, “You think it was only us?” he mocked as he disappeared behind a building. Arono was about to give chase when he heard the sound of the gate opening.
The demons had broken through.
