The night air was cold, the sky a vast sea of stars as Alexander stood atop one of Emberhold's newly built watchtowers. The wooden structure still smelled of fresh-cut timber, a testament to the work they had accomplished in just a few weeks. Below him, the village bustled even after dark—watch rotations switched out, the forge still glowed where Gareth and his apprentices worked, and men gathered around fires, sharpening weapons and whispering of the inevitable battle.
Emberhold had changed.
Three weeks ago, they were fifty strong, a mixture of freed slaves, former peasants, and hardened survivors. Now, their numbers had swelled to nearly seventy-five. People had come in small groups—runaways from the Baron's lands, displaced families, even a few former soldiers who had abandoned their posts to join something greater.
But growth came with its own dangers.
Scouting the Baron's Forces
Silas crouched low in the underbrush, his breath slow and measured. The Baron's encampment lay ahead, a sprawling sea of tents and torches, larger than he had hoped but not yet overwhelming. Beside him, two scouts lay flat against the damp earth, their eyes trained on the activity within.
They had been watching for hours, taking note of everything—the supply wagons arriving, new mercenaries donning armor, blacksmiths reforging weapons for what was clearly an upcoming assault.
Silas narrowed his eyes. The Baron wasn't waiting anymore. He was preparing.
A messenger left the command tent, heading toward the horse pens at the far end of the camp. An order was being sent out.
Silas turned to one of the scouts, a wiry young man named Owen. "Follow him. I want to know who he's delivering to."
Owen gave a sharp nod before vanishing into the trees.
Silas glanced at the second scout. "We have what we need. We return to Emberhold now."
A Captured Spy
Back at Emberhold, the night had been uneventful—until a sentry's sharp cry cut through the quiet.
"Caught someone sneaking near the perimeter!"
Alexander arrived moments later, flanked by Elias and Marcus. Two guards dragged a struggling man forward, his cloak torn, dirt smeared across his face.
They threw him to the ground before Alexander.
The man spat, glaring up defiantly.
Alexander crouched beside him, studying him in the flickering firelight. "Who sent you?"
Silence.
Tyrell stepped forward, arms crossed. "We can do this the hard way, or the easy way."
The man's lip curled. "You think you're winning? The Baron—"
Alexander grabbed him by the collar, dragging him forward. "The Baron is gathering his army. I already know that. What I don't know is when he plans to march."
The spy's eyes flickered. Fear.
That was the opening Alexander needed.
He leaned in. "Tell me, and I might let you walk out of here alive."
The man hesitated. Then, with a trembling breath, he spoke.
"The Baron's moving sooner than you think. A week, maybe less. He's bringing more than just soldiers—he's hiring mercenaries, calling on vassals. He wants to crush you in one blow."
Alexander exchanged a glance with Elias and Tyrell. This was worse than they had expected.
The spy licked his lips. "Now… let me go."
Tyrell exhaled sharply. "I say we kill him."
Elias drew his dagger. "Agreed. He'd have done worse to us."
Alexander stood, his expression unreadable. He turned away as Elias ended the man's life with a swift motion.
The lesson was clear—there was no room for mercy anymore.
The Traitor in Emberhold
As dawn broke, Alexander called a meeting with his closest men. The spy had been dealt with, but there was another problem.
Silas returned from his scouting mission with grave news—the Baron had too much information about Emberhold. More than he should have.
Which meant one thing.
"There's a traitor among us," Alexander said, his voice low. "Someone is feeding information to the Baron."
Silence fell over the room. Then Tyrell, always blunt, growled, "Then we find them."
Over the next day, Marcus and Elias began quietly questioning the newest arrivals, looking for inconsistencies in their stories. Names were cross-checked, and a careful eye was kept on anyone acting strangely.
By nightfall, the truth was revealed.
A former bandit, one of the men who had joined recently, had been slipping away under cover of darkness. He had been trying to signal the Baron's scouts.
They caught him before he could do any more damage.
The execution was swift. No trial. No hesitation.
Emberhold had no room for spies.
Preparing for War
With the traitor dead and the Baron's plans exposed, Alexander knew what had to be done.
"We have a choice," he told his gathered men. "We can wait for the Baron's attack and fight on his terms. Or we can strike first."
Silas nodded. "Hit him before he's ready."
Gareth exhaled. "That's risky."
Elias grinned. "So is sitting here waiting to die."
Alexander's eyes burned with resolve. "We raid his supply lines again. This time, we hit harder."
The war had begun.
And Emberhold would not fall.