"What happened?" Dragunov asked Fridlund, the man in-charge in the wooden watchtower, as soon as he was out of his cabin.
The sound of a tower bell rang in his ears repeatedly. Thrice. An indication of a threat.
Everything was in chaos—children and mothers scrambling to get to safety, soldiers lining up in front of the camp and him, hurriedly taking on his leather armor after he heard the upsurge.
"The Aleshkovskys, sir, they are here," Fridlund replied.
"How many of them have you sighted?"
"A hundred foot soldiers and a few archers on the trees."
"Go back to the watchtower and keep cover. You will be my eyes and ears," he said and dismissed the man with a wave.
