Jobb dug his heel on the flanks of his horse, sending it into a gallop up the Old Hill, or as best a horse could gallop on the treacherous rocky road.
Jobb followed the bundle of lights up the hill, like fireflies bunched up in the dark. Even without the light, Jobb figured the sound of hammers banging and orders being barked would've led them right to the militia anyway.
When he arrived, he was delighted at the sight. The militia had dug in well. The stakes were bristling and lined properly, like a line of fast spearmen that won't tire and lower their spears.
The unit took rest behind the safety of the stakes, catching their well deserved breaths after the slow slog up the rocky hill and the face off with Magebane. Above them, the hunters have a good vantage point up their elevated platforms and steady lights.
Captain Horndall rode from one end of the barricade to the other, hand flashing here and there, pointing, gesticulating, never resting in coordinating the unit.
Jobb raced towards him. "Captain, did we get him?"
Horndall whipped his head around and stared at Jobb with wide eyes. He looked him up and down, but whatever surprise he wanted to say was lost.
"Yes, we got him. He's up there, and he won't get down the hill from our side. I also just received word that the south and eastern corridors are solidly barricaded, even sooner than us. I reckon they didn't have a Magebane to slow them down!"
"Were there any Incidents?"
"Some of our men broke off the unit and gave chase. Horses and hunters couldn't get to them. Poor souls never stood a chance."
"Damn. I should've been there to hold them in place."
Horndall cocked his brow. "Don't blame yourself, Jobb. You were no better than the dead last I left you"
"With all due respect, Captain, I survived worse."
Horndall let a short snort of amusement show in his usually flat face. "That's a fact. You're still in the fight, then?"
"I can lead."
"That's all I need. You ride. Keep an eye on the left flank. I'm short of eyes I could trust, so I need yours there. Watch for the men most of all—they deserve the rest, but kick them awake if they're too relaxed!"
"Right away, captain."
Jobb rode his horse to the left flank and kept a close watch of things.
The barricade was nearing perfection. Afterwards, their part in this battle ends, and Thorne's would begin.
Jobb watched the peak of the Old Hill. It was pitch black, far from the safety and light of the barricade.
Magebane now dwells there, and so would Thorn.
It was now all up to her. All up on his daughter.
The thought of Thorn facing Magebane alone terrified him. His wounds felt like they disappeared at that thought. He wanted to leap from the barricade and help her daughter.
But he disciplined himself, forcing his muscles to stay still.
What would his men think if they saw their squad leader breaking off the unit, betraying any form of cohesion and discipline? Some would share his bloodlust and follow, while the rest would be unsure and wait.
Chaos would ensue.
He had to stay calm. He made himself calm.
Magebane was injured. Jobb kept telling himself that. He replayed their battle, trying to convince himself Magebane took a dozen good hits from him, and that he was a breath away from toppling down dead onto the earth.
This entire mission was Thorne's plan. The captain trusted her plan. The whole of Shepeste did. As her father, he has the greatest responsibility to trust her.
She was no longer the girl he remembered. Gone was Thorn the frail, the hesitant, the crybaby. She was now her own woman. She was now a sorcerer of the Consortium. A respectable Blue Mage.
Thorn would win. Thorn would be unharmed. She had to.