When Wolves March

The morning light broke over the valley like spilled gold, striking steel and leather with soft gleam. In the distance, the dust plume rose behind a long black line of riders and footmen winding from the north.

Rell rode at the front.

The men behind him wore the colors of Harkoraal. Four thousand strong. Riders, archers, shield bearers, and axemen. Veterans of Skeldrhall. Of the forest. Now reforged.

At his side rode Olvar, a one eyed clansman once thought too old for war. Behind him, twins from the outer highlands beat small war drums, their rhythm low and constant.

They approached Tathar's Cross in measured formation, and by the time they reached the outer gate, Senjar stood waiting with one thousand cavalry laced with spears.

He was armored. Black leather vest. A red thread bound at the wrist. Kaelric flanked him. Behind them stood the four mages Kirel, Rasa, Aelynne, and Gavren all in travel gear, cloaks snapped to their shoulders.

Rell dismounted with little fanfare.

"They're ready," he said. "Every blade we could spare. I left four thousand to hold the camp."

Senjar nodded once. "You did good, and we are leaving one thousand in the town."

"Tell Radan, Mara is in her care. If anything happens to her. I will take his head." Senjar told the guard standing next to him.

"And we ride before dawn."

Kaelric glanced up at the sky. "You really mean to bring the mages to a field battle?"

Senjar turned. "Baron Renault is bringing his."

No one argued.

By nightfall, the army of Harkoraal was on the move again.

The march was swift, disciplined.

The forest was behind them. The fields opened wide.

Senjar led from the front on horseback beside the forward line. The ground thudded with the rhythm of movement. Banners fluttered high. The black wolf against the white.

On the fourth night, just as campfires began to smolder, a rider arrived from the west, dust caked and wild eyed.

He dismounted before Kaelric and handed him a sealed letter.

From Varrik.

Senjar took it.

He read it silently, jaw tightening.

Then, aloud: "The Baron approaches the Watch. He marches with four thousand foot, one thousand horse and mages. Not one. Not two. But Five."

Rell whistled low.

Kaelric's eyes narrowed. "Trained ones?"

Senjar passed him the letter. "Do you think he will bring amateurs mages in a battle? "

Rell, who had just entered, asked, "And Varrik?"

"Holding the outer ridge. He's begun a loose siege. But he'll be overrun if we don't strike the Baron before he joins with the keep."

Kaelric stepped toward the map at the center of the command tent. "If we hit from the east, Varrik can't see it. But if we come from the rear…"

Senjar nodded slowly.

"We strike from behind. Pin the Baron between Harkoraal steel and his own pride."

"And if his mages scatter us?"

Senjar turned to Corien.

"Then our mages scatter them first."

Rasa gave a wry grin.

"At last."

Smoke curled above Valmere's Watch.

The fortress stood grim and battered at the crown of the hill, its stone scorched, its gates dented but unbroken. At its base, Empire banners snapped in the wind and a tide of Varkaan soldiers pressed toward the wall with spears lifted and siege towers crawling.

Behind them, command tents bristled with urgency. Dust flew. Horns cried. The Baron rode near the center, his golden helm turned toward the fortress as if willing it to fall.

But the gates held.

Inside the walls, Varrik watched from the upper parapet, helmet under one arm. His face was dirt-streaked, but his eyes sharp.

"They're committing to a final charge," he muttered.

Corien stood beside him, hair windswept, a half smile playing on his lips.

"Finally," the wind mage said. "I was beginning to think they'd wait us out."

Varrik raised a hand. A horn sounded from within the keep. Archers retreated. Boiling oil lines were readied. Below, in trenches disguised as broken earth, rows of tar-soaked spikes waited beneath netting.

"You remember what to do?" Varrik asked him.

Corien's eyes sparkled.

"Oh, I remember."

The moment came as the Baron's battering ram hit the gate one final time.

Varrik dropped his hand.

Corien stepped forward, eyes glowing pale.

The wind rose with a howl not from the north, nor the hills but from the keep itself. A spiral of force crashed outward, ripping through siege towers, toppling ladders, sending men tumbling like leaves.

Then, from the trenches, flame arrows struck.

The false earth lit in a curtain of fire. Men screamed. Horses scattered.

Chaos surged through the Baron's ranks and that was when the hidden gates at the lower east wall of the keep opened, and two hundred of Varrik's best stormed out in a wedge formation, slicing through disoriented lines.

Varrik joined them with a roar, his hammer raised.

"Cut through their heart!"

Across the ridge to the east, atop a long winding trail, dust shimmered in the rising sun.

The Baron's rear guard turned too late.

The black wolf had come.

Senjar rode at the front, surrounded by horsemen in black and crimson. Kaelric was on his right. Rell on his left. Gavren rode further back, already chanting. Kirel's hands were aflame. Aelynne sat astride a grey mare, eyes half-closed in deadly focus.

"Now," Senjar called, and the horn blew.

Two thousand Harkoraal horsemen surged down the slope.

They struck like a blade into the Baron's rear. Infantry collapsed in seconds. Mages tried to rally spells but arrows fell like rain from behind them, and the forest line exploded with another two hundred Harkoraal soldiers emerging on foot.

Caught between Varrik's furious defenders and Senjar's hammer blow from the rear, the Baron's forces shattered.

Kirel ignited a line of fleeing cavalry with a sweep of his hand. Aelynne froze the forward trench with a hiss, locking horses mid stride. But it was a scene to watch Rasa, she was freezing enemy soldiers with smile on her face.

The Baron himself tried to rally a sword raised, but before he could reach the back ranks, Kaelric was there.

Steel met steel.

Behind them, Senjar stood silent atop a ridge with his remaining soldiers, watching his enemy break like a tide against black rock.

The wolves had closed.

The cries of dying men still echoed across the plain, faint now, swallowed by wind and crows.

The fires had dimmed. Blood slicked the grass. Crushed banners fluttered in broken silence.

Senjar stood on a rise overlooking the wreckage. His cloak was singed at the edges. His blade still unsheathed. Around him, his command circle gathered Kaelric, Rell, Varrik, the mages all marked with ash, sweat, and blood.

Baron Renault had been taken alive.

He now knelt in the field below, stripped of helm and sword, flanked by Harkoraal guards. His armor was scorched, his brow split. His eyes were open. Defiant, but dimmer now. The arrogance of empire faded under dirt and defeat.

Before him stood a line of prisoners. hundreds of men those who surrendered or were captured in the rout. Many wounded.

Senjar descended from the ridge.

He walked slowly, every step deliberate, until he stood before the Baron.

"You thought the Watch would fall in a day," Senjar said quietly.

Renault said nothing.

"You brought mages. Steel. Banners. Five thousand men."

Still, no answer.

Senjar looked past him at the captured soldiers.

"You followed a man who thought Harkoraal could be caged. You followed him to ruin."

A moment passed.

Then the Baron spat at the ground near Senjar's boots.

"I followed my Empire."

Senjar's voice did not rise.

"Your Empire is far from here. And it did not ride with you today."

He looked to Kaelric.

"How many prisoners?"

Kaelric scanned the ranks. "Several hundreds."

"Any officers?"

"Four."

"Bring them forward."

The officers were dragged into the center. Two had wounds still bandaged. One was barely able to stand.

Senjar stepped before them. He unsheathed his blade not slowly, not dramatically, just with finality.

"You came to kill mine. To burn the Watch. You were not conscripts. You were commanders."

The first tried to speak. A denial. A plea. Senjar didn't let it finish.

The sword flashed once.

A clean cut.

The body dropped.

He turned to the next.

"You held the line when your Baron charged. You knew you were outflanked. You fought anyway."

A pause.

He gave that man a nod. Then drove the sword through his chest.

The third begged. The fourth was silent.

Both were executed.

Senjar turned back to the Baron.

"I could hang you," he said. "I could send your head to the Empire."

Renault met his gaze. "You'll make me a martyr."

"No," Senjar said.

"I'll make you a message."

He turned away.

"Take him to the Wall," he said to Rell. "Iron cage. Let the sun and wind decide his end."

Kaelric asked, "And the rest?"

Senjar looked once more at the prisoners.

"Break them. Feed them. Brand them. And let them dig graves for the ones they marched beside."

Then he looked to the field to the dying banners of Varkaan, trampled into the soil.

"Burn the rest."