The gatehouse roof smelled like blood and smoke, and Harold sat on an upturned crate with his sword across his knees and watched the legion work.
They were good at this part. The dead went to one side, the wounded to the healers, and the ones still on their feet went straight back to the wall, the ditch, or the approaches without being told. The work rotation was already running. Harold could hear Parker somewhere on the north wall barking at someone about proper staking depth, the same flat voice he used for everything.
Carter was crouched next to him, running a cloth down his pauldron, working at a dent that wasn't going to come out in the field. Ren and Corwin stood to his left and right with the banner furled, both of them quiet, both of them scanning the wall. Corwin had needed a regeneration potion after that sword had run him through. The rest of the detail were sitting or standing in a loose cluster at the top of the gatehouse stairs, drinking water, not talking much.
Fitch got there first, coming up the stairs with his helmet off and his hair dark with sweat, a long shallow cut across his jaw starting to crust over. He dropped onto the parapet wall beside Harold without asking and looked out over the approaches.
"Hell of a morning," he said.
"That it was, Lord Fitch."
Caswell came up behind him thirty seconds later, limping slightly on the left leg but not favoring it badly enough to call it a real injury, and leaned against the battlement with his arms folded. He'd lost a pauldron somewhere. The buckle was just gone, the strap dangling.
"Troll's still in the ditch," he said. "Figured you'd want to know."
"Dead?" Harold asked.
"Very." Caswell prodded the dangling strap with one finger. "That mana pen potion was handy." He paused. "Briefly very exciting."
"I heard it scream from here," Harold said.
"Yeah. So did everyone." Caswell rolled his shoulder, testing it. "Fitch's bloke with the maul deserves something. He dropped it with one mighty swing. I want that man next to me any time there's a troll involved."
Henri appeared at the top of the stairs last, and he didn't take a seat. He stood near the stairs with his arms behind his back, rapier still sheathed, and said nothing.. There was blood on his left sleeve that Henri didn’t seem bothered by.
The first runner came up at a jog twelve minutes into the wait, a young legionary with the triangle flash of a message runner on his collar, and he came straight to Harold and snapped a fist to his chest.
"Report from Lord Brennig, my lord."
"What is it?"
"The tunnel's clear, sir. Lord Brennig reports — heavier resistance than anticipated. He pulled in the full century assigned to him to manage it. An estimated two to three hundred lizardmen in the tunnel system, plus a chamber he doesn't have words for, sir. A ritual chamber was his description. Some kind of altar setup." The runner's voice stayed professional but his jaw was tight. "There are bodies down there, my lord. Civilian. They'd been — Lord Brennig said butchered, sir. And eaten."
The gatehouse roof went quiet.
"He also reports a large chest in the chamber," the runner continued. "Silver, bronze, and gold. His assessment is that it's what they used to buy access to the town before they moved in."
Harold's thumb ran once along the flat of his sword blade. "Tell Lord Brennig I'll come down after the command debrief. Have him hold the chamber as-is."
"Sir." The runner turned and went down the stairs.
Fitch was looking out over the wall, jaw working. Caswell hadn't moved, but the fold of his arms had tightened slightly.
"They were here before we arrived. A couple of things don't add up in this scenario. Why assault us like this when you have a tunnel into the town?" Henri said quietly, from the stairs.
Harold glanced over at him, “Mm, a lot about this scenario is wrong.”
"The town was already compromised when the trial started." Henri's voice stayed even, thinking out loud rather than objecting. "The lizardmen have been within the walls for weeks."
“The ritual chamber worries me. I was hoping to get through this without having to fight their ritualist. We need to see what is inside that chamber.”
The second runner arrived six minutes later, breathing harder, and this one had road dust on his boots.
"From the knight century dispatched to the hills, my lord. The one sent to locate the Gemheart Hold."
Harold straightened slightly excited. "They found it?"
"Found it by accident, my Lord, and confirmed entry, sir. The hold itself is structurally intact — they're not sure what's inside yet. The knights are beginning the delve now. We found heavy resistance on the way there, but no losses yet."
"Tell him he must recover the Gemheart stone at all costs. We must have that stone.”
"Tell him to document everything and proceed with the full delve. I want a report when they're through."
The runner went.
Caswell glanced at Harold. "Dwarven hold. Any idea what's in there?"
“Dwarves are a strange people; each clan is famed for its namesake. The Gemheart clan’s legacy is for their ability to find gems hidden within the earth." Harold said. "But they are dwarves, and their crafting ability is above ours for now. They would be a massive boon to us. And would make any future negotiations with other dwarves easier. But those knights are in for a fight of their lives finding the stone.”
Hale came up the stairs ten minutes after that, and he looked rough. His pauldron was buckled wrong, his helmet had a dent across the crown that hadn't been there when the day started, and he was moving slowly. He stopped at the top of the stairs, pulled off his helmet, and held it by the strap while he looked at Harold.
"One hundred and eighty-seven," he said. "I'm calling it two hundred to be clean. Expect it to settle close to that as the healers clear the seriously wounded — we've got good stocks, another 400 wounded in some way, but we'll pull most of them back." He set his helmet down on the parapet. "Almost everyone who fought today is carrying something. Cuts, bruises, at least one broken something. It's the most expensive morning the Landing has had."
Harold sighed and nodded. "Go on."
"We killed close to three thousand of them. The rest scattered when their commander went down. They didn't have a clean withdrawal route, so they dispersed into the forest in pieces." Hale rubbed the back of his neck. "One thing worth noting. They got a force around the south side of the walls during the main push. A couple of hundred tried to get over the wall while we were busy at the front. Aldric caught it."
"Handled it himself?"
"Handled it completely with some of his people, aye. Pulled his detail, coordinated with a section of the militia, pushed them back before they could set up a real breach." Hale's expression stayed flat, but there was something behind it. "He's a solid knight. If you can recruit him, you should. He'd make a tribune worth having."
Harold filed that away. "The ditch."
"Already working on it. Cohort's out there deepening it and restaking. The Rampbacks — we weren't ready for them. They can force a breach wherever they want. Lay their head on the wall, and it becomes a road, and there's not much we can do about that. " Hale looked at him directly. "Lady Renna and Lady Maren are prioritizing the ballista towers. But if they come next wave with four or five of those beasts instead of three, I don't think we hold the walls. Not with what we have."
"I know," Harold said.
"I've got them on rotation. Half the men are sleeping right now, the other half working. We'll switch in three hours." Hale picked up his helmet again and turned it in his hands. "We probably have a day before the next wave. Maybe two."
Harold looked out over the approaches — the ditch crews moving out there in the morning light, the dead lizardmen stacked in rough rows, the three Rampbacks lying where they'd fallen like fallen hills, bone-grey and massive, already drawing flies. Three thousand lizardmen. Two hundred of his people. And the ritualist chamber underground, and whatever the Gemheart held.
"If you were the one hitting us," Harold said, "how long would you wait before you hit us again?"
Hale grunted. "As long as it took to get another force together. Which isn't long." He didn't look away. "I'd hit you again as fast as I could with as much as I could. Tired defenders, damaged walls, depleted spirits. You don't give that up."
Harold grimaced. "Yeah. That's what I'm worried about." He turned the sword over on his knee. "Rampbacks. Scaled trolls. The armor on these lizardmen — our people couldn't penetrate most of them without serious effort. The only reason we're having this conversation is because of mana arts training, healing potions, explosive bolts, and the mana pen coating. Strip any one of those out and the battle goes the other way." He shook his head. "This is too much, Hale. Less than a year into Gravesend, and they're throwing siege beasts at us. We should be overpowered for this trial. Someone or something is opposing us. Changing this trial."
"The ritualist chamber," Henri said.
Harold looked at him.
"Whatever is coordinating this force," Henri said, "it isn't just a nest making territorial decisions. There's intent behind it." He said it carefully, not overstepping. "It must have some kind of mechanism behind it — some way for something outside the trial to influence the interior. The ritualists have to be it."
Harold went completely still.
It wasn't long. Three seconds, maybe four, his eyes dropping to the middle distance and his hand stopping on the sword pommel. Hale noticed. Caswell noticed. Nobody said anything.
"That's it," Harold said.
Henri waited.
"We already know the rituals are doing things they shouldn't be able to do," Harold said, mostly to himself, working it out loud. "We saw that at the nest within the Basin. Then monsters that don't fit the parameters of the trial. A sealed system with something reaching in from outside." He looked at Henri directly. "Ritualists shouldn't be here at all. The trial is too difficult for any other Lord. " His jaw was set. "Which means someone put them here."
Harold stood, sheathed the sword in one motion, and looked at Hale. "Send knights into that forest. Enough to sweep it properly. I want the nest location, and I want every cave, hollow, and burrow they find searched. They're looking for ritualist sites. Any altar, any carved chamber, anything that looks like what Brennig found." He paused. "There's a bounty on ritualists. Five gold per kill, payable on confirmation. I want that spread to every soldier and knight on this detail before the hour's out."
Hale's expression shifted slightly, "I'll have teams moving within the hour."
"Take the fight to them before the next wave gets here," Harold said. "We sit here and wait; they come back with more Rampbacks, and we’ll lose this wall. We go find their command structure and wreck it, maybe the next wave doesn't happen." He turned for the stairs. "Rest the men as much as you can. One more thing — send Finn up to me."
Hale looked at him. "The alchemist."
"The alchemist."
"He's not going to like this, is he?"
Harold started down the stairs. "He's going to love it. That's what I'm worried about."
Caswell looked at Fitch. Fitch looked back.
"I'll get him," Fitch said, already moving.