Beymor paced back and forth in his home, trying to tug on a beard that was nothing more than stubble. He had hated it—sending word to Sahn-Raidar to ask for aid—but now it was done. And, of course, Graiden had responded immediately. So here he was. Pacing, and waiting, and thinking.

Killing the orc chieftain had only brought them a tiny reprieve. He had hoped that killing their leader would have told the orcs to leave Aughk'tor well enough alone. But it seemed his hopes had been dashed.

He cursed, spitting as he did so. He never wanted to lead. Never wanted to be this. It had never been his place. All he wanted was to keep his friends—no, now they were his clan—alive and fighting. And fight they did. The orcs had not ceased their attacks in the last tenday. Not one night of peace.

And no longer were they small groups of a dozen. There had been fifty, last night. The wounded were piling up. The orcs had used a new tactic. Some kind of creature had tunneled under the walls, and orcs had swarmed them from the sides, and only retreated after they had done considerable damage.

Thorbalt was still in the infirmary, fighting for his life.

Beymor had yet to see any more giants or any siege weaponry though that seemed redundant as they could just tunnel underneath the walls or use magic to split them like a ripe tomato, in far less time. His wall was becoming less and less of an advantage as the days passed, and that sparked a deep fear. He wanted to kill them before they got a chance to spill blood at his gates, but he would never have enough men for that. He barely had enough to hold his own. Now the watches were split between the walls, and another group guarded the inhabitants of the city near its center.

So he had forsaken his pride, and called upon his allies. Sahn-Raidar had answered without hesitation. So short lived were his original ideals that he was too angry to feel the exhaustion that had seeped into him. But with Sahn-Raidar they would have enough men to go out, and push back. That has to be the next step, doesn't it?

Without Sahn-Raidar here he could only pace with an angry sort of hope in his heart. A hope that maybe one day life could be peaceful, prosperous, something to be proud of. He hoped that one day the nightmare of killing, and fighting, and scraping by could be long behind him.

He would not lose another home to orcs. Or to anyone, for that matter. History would not repeat itself under his watch. He had lost enough, already, and he was done with the cruel games life so enjoyed playing.

But here he had to be careful, because hundreds of lives were in his hands now.

His pacing was interrupted by a heavy knock at his door frame. The door had been kicked down earlier in the tenday, and he had not cared to put it back up. "What?" he called, tempering the anger in his voice.

"They're on the hills, attacking again," Veit said, anting from what must have been quite a run.

"Again?" Beymor barked, his eyes widening.

"Aye."

"Get ta the gates, and make sure we have a strong guard watching the walls. Make sure everyone on the wall has got a bow, and get em all inside!"

Veit nodded, and ran back into the night, his footsteps heavy on the stone. Beymor grabbed his axe, and followed after him.

As he jogged down the street, he saw a pair of young dwarves. One male, and one female, both still bandaged from some previous fight as they headed towards the wall.

"What are ya doing?" he asked, pausing to glare at them.

"We'll be on the wall. Fighting alongside you," the woman said with a small smile pulling at her lips.

"No. No yer not," Beymor said, crossing his arms.

"But—" the man began.

"No. Get yerself back to the healers, and don't come out til' I here from them yer good enough to fight." He shook his head. "It's honorable! I understand. But ya will end up dead and I need ya alive. Every one of ya."

The woman smiled sadly, but nodded her head, and the dwarf beside her wrinkled his nose in frustration before nodding and grumbling his way back towards the healers.

Beymor sighed, watching them for some distance. Now was not a time for finding glory. He heard a horn note from atop the wall, and began his jog over again. Anyone searching for glory out here is more likely to find their death, he thought, as he ran to fight for his gates a second time this night.

Beymor dropped the last orcish body onto the fire with a curse. He had so many injured men, and even he had gotten a few new wounds.

He was so tired.

Between fighting, organizing the defenses, and the various other things he had on his agenda someone could have knocked him over with a feather.

He heard a single horn note hang in the air, and anger peaked through his exhaustion. Not another fight, he thought. Not another one now. He waited with bated breath for a second note.

After what felt like an eternity it rang out, followed by a third. He sighed heavily, forcing his eyes back open.

Sahn-Raidar had arrived in excellent time, of course. He wiped the blood and dirt from his hands and looked down to his dirty armor, and vigoursly stained shirt. Not a formal greeting, he decided. No time for that. He hefted his weapon and jogged for the tunnel entrance, making sure his steps did not falter.

Both relief and sadness swept through him at the sight of black and teal uniforms. He was glad to see more people. People he knew could watch his back, and would fight back with vigor. But it saddened him to see all the faces of men and women whose lives might be lost. Of those who he might not greet again one day when this place was a true city. A true stronghold.

Four faces stood out to Beymor. Immediately recognizable. A squarely built human man, who looked around with an unreadable expression. A youthful looking half-elf, his spiky blond hair sticking up above his head, and his small hand crossbows hanging at his sides. A tall green haired elf, looking around as if silently judging every living thing. Beside him stood a tall human man, with nothing but a leather strap across his chest to hold the weapon across his back. Beside this man was a large bear that everyone gave a girth to.

Lugaria stepped forward from Agrata's side and shook Beymor's hand.

"It's been too long," Beymor joked, looking to the men and women not far behind the small group. A full company of Sahn-Raidar. Mages, skirmishers, healers, and archers within in. It seemed Graiden had taken him seriously.

"Not nearly."

"Come and get acquainted," Beymor said, waving an arm down the wide half cobbled road. "We've got space inside the walls to house you all, though some will still need tents."

Lugaria nodded and issued a marching command as Beymor turned and made his way down the steep, wide road. It was only half cobbled, but for now it served its purpose.

As the march sounded behind them Lugaria leaned toward Beymor. "What are the attacks like?"

"Small, but brutal. They hit us three times last night."

Lugaria nodded. "How many?"

"About a hundred by my count last night."

"And your men?"

Beymor's face scrunched. "I've got about sixty able fighters, fer now. There's still two many wounded... my healers are tired."

"Where are they coming from?"

"Same place as before, best we can tell. I don't have a scout I trust to make it back, with so few fighters. We're doing our best just to hold." Beymor's voice held a dark tone of anger.

"Katerin did a number to that place... it was more ash than structure, last I saw it."

"Well maybe ash is just as good as a building, ta their kind," Beymor replied, ignoring the wave of dizziness that made his vision swim as he walked. "I thought for sure they'd leave."

"So did I," Lugaria admitted, shaking his head. "But they'll learn."

"Aye," Beymor watched the men as they set up their camps, and soldiers ran back and forth between the four buildings and open space near the gates. Watched as Vauldra and an injured Thorbalt kept the process running smoothly.

Lugaria watched for only a moment, "I'll go and see what I can find from their camp."

Beymor regarded him with narrowed eyes. "It's understandable if you need to rest, first. Must've been a hard march, with how quickly you made it."

"I'll be back before I need to sleep. We need information." Lugaria scowled and looked to the men behind him. "They are yours to command." As he stepped away, he paused, and pointed toward a particular man in new armor, who was setting up a tent. "He's a new captain. Good fighter, but he'll get himself killed if you let him. Doesn't know any better."

Beymor nodded. "I'll do my best to keep him from that opportunity." He watched in a dreary daze as Lugaria hefted his pack, and spoke to Agrata before jogging out the gates.

Vauldra placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

"You are not taking very good care of yourself," she said.

"I've got things to do," he said, trying to sound awake and alert. Five days without a lick of sleep was taking its toll.

"Go and sleep. Thorbalt and I have them."

He narrowed his eyes to her calm and soft smile.

"'ll wake you at the first sign of trouble, Beymor. Go to sleep." Her last words were tense and left no room for him to argue.

Lugaria walked through the sparse trees making no sound, and leaving no tracks. His eyes scanned everything they found, and he only moved when he was sure he could move without being seen. That morning he had found tracks of earlier raiding parties, and now he stayed well away from them.

This was nothing. He had done this same thing a hundred times or more, yet still he had to work to keep his breathing calm. He was close now, and knew it. He could smell them before he could see them. Wood-smoke, and charred meat made him want to wrinkle his nose. He could only hope it was game. A rabbit, or some other beast. He skirted around it here. Not daring to creep through the grass hills. He kept just outside the guards view.

Only eight of them, but eight that he did not feel like alerting for the time being. He found an old fallen log, thick enough he could easily hide beside it. He crouched and he waited for the sky to darken, listening to the orcs as they talked. It had always amazed him how rash and idiotic people would act when they thought no one was listening.

He watched from behind a fallen log until the guards switched. While they were distracted talking of their victories against the dwarves he crept away to a tree he had spotted a ways back.

Within a minute he was crouched silently in its branches, and had found a perfect view of this side of the once destroyed camp. The giants were not difficult to see, nor was the siege machinery--half assembled on the hill outside the fresh wooden palisades. They had metal spikes in place for defense. From here he could see the outline of the cut grass, where they had hollowed the land underneath it. A trap hard to discover, unless you could get above it.

He heard a noise behind him, and froze, not even daring to breathe. Outward sentry, he thought, as two orcs walked below him. He slid a dagger free of its sheath without a sound and clutched it close, ready to spring should they see him. They passed under and away from him in the next second or so, and he waited nearly a full minute before he dared to move at all.

Then he studied the camp, mentally noting and filing away every detail he found. The camp was still operational, and fuller than it had been before. But its buildings were still in shambles nothing more than blackened charcoal stick huts. Magic, he thought, with a shake of his head. He tracked the timing of every guard, every outpost, and their rounds until he was certain he could move closer.

Besides the giants, there were at least another hundred orcs, maybe one-hundred-fifty.

The siege machinery was not fully put together, but it was too well guarded for him to sabotage here, and he knew better than to try.

If not for the giants and their hilltop position it would be rather easy to storm this place with nothing more than a few men. But they did not have any lives to spare for the time being. As it was they had a good advantage. Beymor had been smart to wait. He had patience, and that had saved a number of lives already.

Lugaria circled the outskirts of the camp and climbed every tree he could to carefully study the watch of orcs. He found a number of weaknesses. Blind spots in their watch routes, stretches of the camp that were only loosely watched, places where the baricades were lacking, and he put them all away in his mind for later.

As he studied her formulated a plan of attack. He pinpointed what would need to happen where, who was the most important to kill quickly, and where to position forces or groups for the smoothest outcome. He was already thinking of where he could push to break this place apart.

It would never show, but he hated being this close to the place alone. His heart raced, and cold sweat covered him despite his years of experience, and the reality that he had been in far worse places.

They could see him at any second. He could trip or fumble while he climbed a tree. If they saw him they would chase him, and they would likely catch him even if they could not shoot him. And no one liked spies. Even the kindest people in the world would likely slit his throat if he was discovered.

He knew what he was capable of, of course. Thus the reason his hesitation would never show. He hid it behind a calm focused mask whose eyes were ever scanning for any sign he had missed. He understood fully that if he let his worries show, it would spell his death. So he pushed it away, and worked to make no mistakes.

Just before the sun would dip below the horizon, a group of orcs one hundred strong left the camp, heading out through the grassy hills to avoid the constraints of traveling through the forest.

Lugaria hesitated a second, watching as they departed. He would not make it back to Aughk'tor before them, unless he cut through the forest at a full run. He could follow them, but he risked being cut off from the city if he did that. Or he could stay, though he had garnered all he dared already.

He sighed to himself, and jogged quietly into the forest, keeping his eyes on the trees around him and his path parallel to the orcs.

The raid came late into the night, and it was bloody. But for the first time in months Aughk'tor could consider itself the victor. There were injured, of course, but not nearly as many as there had been on similar nights. Sahn-Raidar's mages had dealt quickly with the orcish witches, and there had been no fighting inside the walls, this night. They had gotten a ladder up the walls, and did a number to the archers, but Agrata had been quick to act, and with Beymor's axe they had re-secured the walls.

That night, not a single orc lived to flee the fighting, and the bodies were dealt with quickly, for once. A pride and relief surrounded the dwarves. A small thing, this victory. But a victory nonetheless. And it was good to see relief on their tired faces.

Agrata kept mostly to himself, keeping a watch near the outpost torches. He could see quite far here, even outside the range of the torches with his goggles, and he waited anxiously for Lugaria. Agrata knew that he would be returning soon. He should have returned already, his thoughts told him when he let them wander. He would not have stayed if he saw a raiding party leaving. Despite how dangerous following them would be, he would want to be here for the fighting. He was never one to be late when he was needed.

Luckily Agrata's watch companions were not the biggest conversationalists. He could not deny he was content with the silence. In the way they looked at him he could see that that wanted to ask him a dozen questions he had heard before, but he knew they would refrain.

The rumors about him were wild, and their nature tended to leave even the bravest of souls cautious of him. They were still kind to him, but the lingering questions in their eyes held fear. A fear that worked well for him. He had no desire to dwell on the answers to their questions, after all. He had thought that his age would have dissuaded any of the fear they held. He was so young to be so good at killing, he had heard them whisper as he walked past.

For quite some time all he saw were owls, bats, and other nocturnal predators and scavengers, until a shape crested a far hill walking quickly, but in such a way it was hard to distinguish from the grass moving in the breeze. The tension left Agrata's chest as Lugaria jogged into the light of the torches.

He jumped from the podium he stood upon, and tossed Lugaria a water skin. "Good news or bad?"

"Both, as always. Beymor still awake?"

"I'm sure." He caught his water skin and made for the gates, keeping easy pace with Lugaria. They walked through the gates, and through the veritable city of tents and small cook fires. They both received several greetings and offers to share a fire or a game. It was not an uncommon thing for them to move through camp at odd hours, and most of the soldiers were kind in their curiosity.

They came to a small, simple house in the second tier of the settlement. Lugaria arched one eyebrow, as if questioning if he was sure it was the right place. Agrata nodded to him with a grin.

Lugaria knocked once on the door frame, giving the thing a strange look.

Agrata was curious about the door, as well. Not that it could do much for security. But it seemed odd not to have one when the building was obviously made for one. He put it out of his mind, assuming it was some strange custom.

Beymor looked around a corner at them. "Come in, already. Doors open."

Agrata chose to lean on the door frame, looking around the small space.

Beymor poured them both a mug of ale from a large pitcher, and took a seat before he spoke. "What'd you find?"

Lugaria sighed and sipped his drink. "It's the same camp. They haven't rebuilt, exactly. Still working on their defenses, it seems. There's five giants there. A bit of siege weaponry. Shouldn't be too difficult to take if we wanted." He continued giving out details bit by bit, and Beymor sat listening quietly, marking some things down on a sheet of parchment, and only asking for clarification on occasion.

"You think there's more somewhere else," Beymor mused.

"Has to be. I just don't know where. I had planned on following them back to fight when they hit. But a few strayed from the group, and I had to throw them off my trail."

"They can't be too far from that camp if they've already moved siege, giants or not." They would be within a certain number of miles to the outpost, Agrata knew.  "It only makes sense to use that camp if they really don't want you to know where they're hiding the rest of their fighters."

Beymor frowned. "This seem strange to either of you?"

Agrata nodded, and Lugaria's eye twitched.

"It seems too..." Beymor hesitated, lost for words.

"Intelligent," Lugaria said. "It seems to intelligent. They have plans, and they don't want us to know what they are. From what I saw, they don't care if we see inside that outpost. There were watches, but... too few. As if they were not worried that we would retaliate."