We looked around the bailey until we located the local inn. It was a new wooden building constructed by the Vanguard. The structure stood at the edge of the bailey with sturdy timber walls, a low thatched roof and a simple painted sign above the door showing a tankard. It had been built recently with a practical design suited to the needs of the occupying force.
Master led the way inside. The main room was of modest size, typical for an inn in a small village, with space to seat around thirty to forty people. A long wooden bar ran along one wall, stocked with casks of ale and bottles of spirits. Tables and benches filled the rest of the floor in rows, allowing groups to sit together. The space was lit by oil lamps hanging from the ceiling beams and a fire burning in the stone hearth at the far end. The air carried the scent of ale, roasted meat from the kitchen and woodsmoke.
Groups occupied most of the tables. At the far end near the hearth sat a party of six Vanguard soldiers, their armour stacked beside them as they drank from tankards and spoke in low voices. Closer to the centre, two smaller clusters of locals sat apart from one another, each group numbering three or four people and keeping their conversation quiet. Near the bar a mixed table held four travelers, their clothing marking them as outsiders passing through the area. The majority of those present were Alderian. Among the travelers were two of other races: one with the slender build and pointed ears of an elf, and another with the shorter stature and bearded face of a dwarf.
We were still inside the inn when Master spoke, his eyes on the elf among the travellers. “I guess some other races are indeed present. Surprised by the elf. Normally they keep to whatever stronghold they hail from.”
The words had barely left him when a sudden clash broke out near the centre tables. Three locals surged forward without warning and attacked the group of Vanguard soldiers seated there. The fight erupted fast, with the locals using fists, chairs and whatever was at hand while the soldiers scrambled to defend themselves. It looked as though the locals were gaining the upper hand quickly, driving the armoured men back against the benches.
Master glanced over at the brawl but made no move to intervene. He stayed where he stood, watching without joining either side.
I decided to act. The Vanguard had already seized the village and turned it into their base. These soldiers were part of that occupation, and the locals were striking back. I drew my iron spear and stepped into the fray on the locals’ side, using the weapon to strike at the nearest soldier before he could fully turn to face the attack. My tail lashed once as I moved, and my ears flicked at the sounds of the struggle.
The Vanguard reacted fast. One soldier drew his sword and drove it into the chest of the local with the knife, dropping him to the floor. The remaining three soldiers scrambled to their feet, drawing blades and shoving tables aside to create space. One local was already down, blood spreading across the boards.
The fight continued in close quarters. One of the remaining locals grabbed a bench and swung it at a soldier, but the man ducked and slashed back, cutting the local across the arm. Blood sprayed as the local stumbled. I moved in quickly, using the spear to keep distance, and drove the blade through the soldier’s thigh before he could recover. He collapsed, and I finished him with a second thrust to the chest.
Only one local was still standing beside me now. The last two Vanguard soldiers tried to press us together, one swinging high while the other circled. I sidestepped the high cut and used the spear shaft to block the second man’s lunge, then reversed the weapon and drove the point into his neck. He dropped instantly. The final soldier turned to run for the door, but the remaining local tackled him from behind. I stepped in and ended it with a clean spear thrust to the back.
All four Vanguard soldiers were dead on the floor. Only two locals remained alive, breathing hard and bleeding from wounds. The rest of the inn had gone silent. The elf and the dwarf at the mixed table stayed seated, watching without moving. Other patrons had backed away from the fight, some pressing against the walls.
The two surviving locals stood over the bodies, their anger clear in their faces and the way they kicked at the fallen men. They began stripping the Vanguard of their weapons, armour pieces and coin pouches, piling the equipment on a nearby table. One of them spat on a corpse and muttered about the bastards who had taken their homes. They did not charge out to attack more Vanguard outside. Instead they stood there discussing in low, urgent voices how to deal with the bodies. One suggested dragging them out the back door and into the bailey ditch. The other argued for wrapping them in cloaks first so they could be carried without drawing immediate attention.
The innkeeper came out from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a cloth. He looked at the bodies, then at the two locals, and reluctantly nodded. He agreed to help move the bodies only because he did not want the trouble that would come if the Vanguard found the mess inside his new building. He told them to use the rear door and to be quick about it, then went back to the bar without offering further words.
I returned to Master’s side once the immediate clash was over, spear still in hand. The inn remained quiet except for the low discussion between the two locals and the innkeeper’s occasional instructions as they began shifting the first body toward the back.
Master sighed and petted me on the head. “Guess we better help.” With that he walked over to the innkeeper and asked for a room, offering to get rid of the bodies within the hour in exchange. The innkeeper glanced at the bodies on the floor, then at the two surviving locals who were still arguing over how to move them without being seen. He agreed without much argument, clearly wanting the mess cleared before any more Vanguard arrived and turned the place upside down.
I stayed at Master’s side while he spoke, then helped drag the bodies. There were four in total. We took them one by one up the narrow stairs to the room the innkeeper had given us on the upper floor. The room was small, with a single bed, a table, and a window that looked out over the bailey. We laid the bodies out along one wall for the moment. The two locals stayed downstairs, still talking in low voices about whether to wrap the bodies in cloaks or just drag them out the back once it was dark. They took the weapons and armour pieces but made no move to leave the inn or attack anyone else.
The other patrons had gone quiet after the fight. The elf and the dwarf at the mixed table kept to themselves, watching without joining in. Most of the room stayed seated, though a few had moved closer to the door. The innkeeper went back behind the bar and began wiping down the surface, avoiding looking directly at the stairs.
Master closed the door to the room once the last body was inside. The space smelled of blood and wood. We stood there for a moment with the bodies on the floor.
We were in the small room above the inn with the four bodies laid out on the floor. Master muttered the words of the ice spell under his breath. The cast failed in the usual way, with a brief spark of magic that fizzled out without effect. Then the bodies began to change.
Ice spread across the first corpse starting from the feet. The flesh hardened and turned clear, the shape rigidifying as the ice climbed upward. Within moments the body had risen from the floor and stood upright, its form locked into a neutral standing pose with arms at its sides. The ice was blue-tinted and transparent enough to show the outline of the original man inside, but the whole thing now looked like a carved statue rather than a corpse. A faint glow came from within the ice, giving it the appearance of a magical construct.
The second body followed the same process. Ice encased it completely, lifting it into a standing position next to the first. The shape settled into another neutral pose, identical in style to the one beside it. The glow appeared again, steady and even.
The third and fourth bodies transformed in the same sequence. Each one rose and locked into place as an ice statue, all four now standing in a row along the wall. They looked like exact replicas of the dead Vanguard soldiers, but made entirely of clear blue ice. Their expressions were frozen in the neutral looks they had worn in death, and the ice did not melt despite the warmth in the room. The glow from inside each statue gave them the look of decorative sentries rather than bodies.
I stood beside Master and watched the changes. My ears twitched at the crackling sound the ice made as it formed and settled. The statues took up space along one wall, positioned like guards at rest. They could pass as part of the room if anyone entered, especially with the faint magical light inside them.
Master looked over the result. The statues stood motionless, their ice surfaces smooth and unmarked. The room now held four ice figures instead of four corpses, and the change had happened without any further magic or sound beyond the initial fizzle of the failed spell.
Master looked at me and spoke while glancing toward the statues. “well i say looking at you, you reckon the bodies are inside or it's just ice ? I mean the ice is already melting at room temperate.”
I stayed pressed right against him, my tail wrapping tight around his leg in a claiming hold as I stepped forward to check the nearest one. The ice was already softening in the warmth, thin streams of water running down its surface and dripping onto the floorboards. My ears twitched at the steady sound of it while I reached out with my claws and scraped a thin layer from the side, then looked inside with my vision.
There was nothing but ice all the way through. No trace of bone or flesh remained as the layer came away. The spell had changed everything completely into this. I moved to the next statue and did the same, my body staying close to Master the whole time, tail never loosening its grip. The result was identical. Pure ice, melting at the room's temperature with no sign of what had been inside before.
The third and fourth showed the same when I checked them. Each one was just ice now, the shapes already starting to lose their edges as water pooled at their bases. The floor was getting damp in places, but I stayed glued to Master’s side, claws flexing once as I turned back to him. This was perfect. The Vanguard were gone without a trace, erased in a way that left us with this room and no evidence left behind for anyone to find. It felt like the space was already becoming ours, protected and hidden.
Master sighed and spoke while looking at me. “i think the inn people will notice a sudden flood.”
I pressed tighter against him, my tail coiling firmly around his waist as I stayed glued to his side. The water from the melting statues was already spreading across the floor in thin pools, the ice losing its shape faster than before. My ears twitched at the steady drip, but I kept my focus on him and the mess.
I nuzzled against his shoulder for a moment, claws flexing lightly on his arm. Then I stepped forward just enough to stay within reach, my body angled to keep him behind me. “I’ll sort this, Master. They won’t notice a thing. This room is ours now, and I’ll make sure no one comes bothering us about any flood or anything else.”
I grabbed the blanket from the bed and started soaking up the water in quick, efficient sweeps, pushing the worst of the pools toward the corner by the window. The statues were still standing but softening fast, their forms blurring as more water ran down. I worked fast, my movements sharp and controlled, tail never loosening its hold on him even as I moved around the small space. If anyone from downstairs came up, I’d deal with them before they got close. This place was ours now, and I wasn’t letting some innkeeper or stray merc ruin that.
The water soaked into the blanket quickly, but more kept coming from the ice. I kept at it, glancing back at Master every few seconds to make sure he stayed right there with me. The room smelled damp now, the air heavier, but I didn’t stop. I’d clear it all before anyone noticed.
Master sighed and grabbed one side of the nearest statue. “Sod this,” he said. “Grab the other, lets just toss it out of the window. People might wonder but the evidence should disappear into the ground. Come on kitten.”
The word hit me like a spark through the bond and I felt it everywhere at once. My ears shot up, tail lashing hard against the floor before wrapping tight around his leg again. A hot rush of euphoria flooded through me, making my claws flex and my body press even closer to his side for a second. I loved when he called me that. It made everything sharper, made me want to do anything he asked right then.
I moved without hesitation, grabbing the other side of the statue with both hands. The ice was cold and already soft in places from the melting, but I held on firm. Together we lifted it. It was heavier than it looked but we managed, shifting it toward the open window. I stayed right against him the whole time, tail never loosening, my focus locked on getting it out for him.
We heaved it up and shoved it through the window. It tumbled down into the bailey below with a heavy thud, the ice cracking on impact. Water and shards scattered across the ground, already starting to soak into the dirt and disappear among the new earthworks and scattered debris from the Vanguard’s quick build. No one seemed to notice immediately from what I could see through the window, the bailey still carrying on with its subdued rhythm.
I stayed pressed to Master’s side, breathing a little faster from the rush. The euphoria was still humming under my skin, making me want to stay close, to keep helping, to make sure nothing touched what was ours. I glanced at the remaining statues, already softening further, water spreading more across the floor. My ears twitched at the sound of it but I didn’t pull away from him.
“Anything you want, Master,” I said, voice low and intense. I kept one hand on his arm, tail still coiled around his leg as I waited for the next one. The room was getting damper but I didn’t care. This was better than cleaning. This was us handling it together.
Master sat down in the only chair in the small room, the wood creaking under him as he looked at the melting ice statues slowly losing their shape against the wall. Water was spreading across the floorboards in thin, glistening pools. He spoke in that low, blunt tone of his.
“This reminds me of Northpoint.”
The words sent a dark, possessive thrill straight through me. I was on him in an instant, tail lashing once before wrapping tight around his waist like I could pull him into me completely. My ears perked high, twitching with unstable excitement as I climbed half into his lap, pressing my body flush against his chest, claws digging lightly into his shoulders. Northpoint. Our Northpoint. The memory hit hard, the blood on the oak beams, the Silver Oak Council’s pathetic coup, and how Master and I had torn through the middle of it like a storm. We had been the ones to break the old order properly, not those weak priests and gang thugs playing at rule.
I nuzzled hard into the side of his neck, fangs grazing his skin as my tail squeezed tighter, possessive and controlling. “Mmm, Northpoint,” I purred low and intense, voice thick with twisted affection. “Where we showed them what real power looks like. Those Silver Oak fools thought they could just take the town with their pretty words and hidden blades. But we were the ones who made it burn the right way. You and me, Master. I still remember the way their Overseer screamed when we kicked in the door of that council chamber. Those Alderian loyalists still whisper about us, don’t they ? The Silent Emperor and his Feral Blade. The ones who made the Silver Oak Council regret ever thinking they could rule without us. I loved every second of it, Master. The way they begged when they realised we weren’t there to help their little coup… we were there to own it.”
Master stood up. “Anyways come now my cat.”
I was back on him instantly. “Yes, Master,” I purred. “Right here. Always right here with you.” I stayed glued to him as we headed downstairs. The narrow steps creaked under us but I moved with him step for step, body moulded to his like we were one creature. The fight’s mess was already fading from my mind. All that mattered was him.
We reached the main room. The innkeeper was behind the bar, wiping the same spot over and over with a rag, clearly trying not to think about what had happened upstairs. A few patrons glanced our way, still tense from the earlier violence.
Master approached the bar and spoke plainly. “Bodies are taken care of. What drinks and food do you have ?”
The innkeeper looked relieved for half a second before answering. He listed what they had, mostly local island fare. Grilled fish caught from the nearby waters, spiced with strange red peppers and herbs that grew wild in the jungle. Roasted tropical fruits served with some kind of sticky palm sugar. Flatbreads made from pounded roots instead of proper grain. For drinks there was fermented coconut milk, a sharp fermented berry wine, and a strong clear spirit made from sugarcane that burned going down.
Some of the locals at the nearest table shifted uncomfortably. One of them, still wiping blood from his knuckles, muttered, “What was all that noise upstairs ?”
Master just waved them off without even looking, the gesture casual and final. The man shut his mouth immediately and turned back to his drink. No one else dared ask again.
I stayed pressed tight against Master’s side the whole time, tail coiled high around his ribs now, ears constantly twitching at every small sound in the room. My blue eyes scanned the other patrons with sharp unstable possessiveness.
I nuzzled into his shoulder again. “This island food smells strange… but I’ll eat whatever you choose, Master. As long as I stay right here with you.”
The innkeeper waited nervously for our order, the rest of the room staying carefully quiet now.
The innkeeper brought the food quickly. A shallow bowl of cool milk and a plate of grilled silver fish for me, spiced with those sharp red island peppers. For Master, a stack of warm root flatbreads and a bowl of mixed tropical fruits, plus two cups of milk.
I didn’t wait I grabbed the milk bowl with both hands and drank deep, some of it spilling down my chin. “Mmm… Master takes such good care of his kitten,”. I tore into the fish next, eating with quick, greedy bites, the strange spicy flavour exploding on my tongue. It was different from the marshes, hotter, sweeter, wilder, but I loved it because he had chosen it for me.
Between bites I kept rubbing against him. “This fish is strange… but it’s yours, so it’s perfect. Everything is perfect when I’m right here with you, Master.” I licked milk from my lips.
I took another long drink of milk, purring louder when it dripped onto my tunic. “You should drink yours too, Master. It’s cool and sweet. Not like home, but… I like sharing it with you. No one else gets to sit this close. No one else gets to eat with you. Just me. Your kitten. Your wife. Your everything.”
Master ate his flatbread and fruit slowly, one hand reaching over to pet me on the head. His fingers stroked through my blonde hair, rubbing between my ears.
“I thought you were gonna lap on the table and drink it that way.”
The words hit me. My ears shot straight up, tail lashing hard once. Without hesitation I leaned over the table, staying glued to him as I lowered my head. My tongue came out and I started lapping directly from the bowl like a proper kitten, milk spilling over my lips and down my chin in messy streams.
“Mmmh… yes, Master,” I murmured breathlessly between laps, milk dripping onto my tunic and the table. “Like this ? Your kitten drinking like the feral little thing she is… only for you.” I kept lapping from the table, purring deep and loud.
Master finished his food and spoke. “Now that’s over with, let’s get down to business.” He stood and walked straight over to the two surviving locals who were still sorting through the Vanguard armour and weapons they had stripped from the bodies. I stayed glued to his side the entire way as we crossed the room.
The two men looked up, still breathing hard and covered in blood splatter. Master spoke to them clearly and firmly, charisma rolling off him. He told them he wasn’t with the Vanguard and wasn’t here to cause them more trouble. He wanted real information, how many soldiers the Vanguard actually had in the village and surrounding area, how well they were organised, whether they could truly put up a fight if pushed and any logs or records they might have seen about their numbers and plans.
The two locals exchanged a quick glance. The older one, still gripping a stolen Vanguard sword, nodded slowly. “They came in fast after their leader got killed somewhere west. Maybe thirty, forty fighters here in the village itself. They’re organised enough, patrols, checkpoints, that new motte and bailey they threw up in days. But they’re stretched. Most of them are just mercenaries who saw a chance to take instead of guard. They’ve got decent armour and discipline, but they’re not invincible. We’ve seen their logs at the gate, they’re keeping tallies of everyone who comes in, what they bring, what they tax. They’re planning to push further north and east soon.”
The younger one added quietly, “They’re cocky because they’re Alderian and we’re just villagers to them. But they’re not as strong as they act. Not yet.”
Master spoke his thoughts out loud, voice low and casual. “I wonder how the other cats are getting on. Anyways, what about you lot ? Any actual numbers or what ?”
The words hit me to the chest. Other cats. Lisette and little followers.
“Other cats,” I hissed against him. “They’d better be behaving themselves out there, Master. Especially that two tailed one. If any of them even think about coming back smelling like they’ve been useful without me… I’ll remind them exactly who your real kitten is.”
“Numbers… they’ve got maybe thirty five to forty fighters inside the bailey right now. Another twenty or so split between the motte watch and the outer camps. They’re bringing in more every couple of days from their charters further south. Not a huge force yet, but they’re organised. Patrols twice a day, checkpoints on all the main paths. They’re planning to push north proper once they’ve got the bailey fully stocked. That’s why they’re taxing everything that moves.”
The younger local nodded, still gripping the stolen sword. “They talk like they own the whole island already. But they’re stretched thin.”
Master looked at the two locals, his voice steady and blunt. “And your plan is what I say, as there’s no going back. They’ll wonder where their men wandered off to.”
The two men shifted uneasily. The older one wiped his bloody hands on his trousers and spoke first, voice low and uncertain. “We… we didn’t have a full plan. We just saw the chance when they were distracted and took it. Thought we could grab what we could and slip away before anyone noticed. But you’re right… they’ll come looking soon. But now with you two here… we don’t know what comes next.”
I stepped forward just enough to put myself between Master and them without fully leaving his side. “Your plan was pathetic,” I said, voice low and intense, fangs showing just a little. “You started this and now you’re standing there like lost pups. Master’s , there’s no going back. So you’re going to tell us everything you know about their patrols, their numbers, where they keep their supplies. And then you’re going to do exactly what we tell you.”
The younger one flinched slightly at my tone, glancing at his companion. The older one swallowed hard and answered, trying to sound steadier. “We know their main patrol route goes out through the eastern treeline twice a day. They’ve got a small supply cache near the motte, mostly weapons and food they took from us. About ten men on the walls at night, less during the day because they’re still building. That’s all we’ve got for certain.”
I didn’t back down. “That’s not enough. You’re going to help us hit them properly. We’ll use what you know to pick off their patrols first, quiet, fast. Then we move on their supplies. And you two will stay close, do exactly what Master says, or I’ll finish what you started and make sure you don’t get to play hero again. This village is ours now. You help us take it, or you become part of the problem we solve.”
The two locals exchanged another look, clearly rattled. The older one nodded slowly, voice quieter now. “Alright… alright. We’ll help. Just… tell us what you want done. We don’t want to die here either.”
Master looked at the two locals and spoke plainly. “Wait, how many inside the motte and bailey ? Including the ones we just covered up.”
The older local scratched his jaw, glancing nervously at his companion before answering. “The whole motte and bailey together had around fifty fighters when they first took over. The four we… dealt with upstairs were part of the bailey group. So now maybe forty six left in there, give or take. Another twenty or so split between the outer camps and patrols. They’re not at full strength yet, but they’re digging in.”
The younger local shifted his weight, voice a bit tighter now that I was staring at them. “They keep most of the fighters inside the bailey walls during the day, with smaller groups on the motte and out on patrol. But yeah, the four you handled were on gate duty. They’ll notice they’re missing soon.”
I didn’t like the way they were hedging. My tail gave a slow, controlling squeeze around Master as I stepped forward just enough to make my presence felt, voice low and intense. “That’s not good enough. You’re going to give us exact patrol routes, where they keep their extra weapons, and how many are actually on the walls at night. No more guessing. Master wants real numbers, and you’re going to provide them. Or I’ll make sure you regret wasting his time.”
The older local swallowed and nodded quickly, the younger one following suit a second later. “Alright, alright. Patrols go out east and north twice a day, usually four or five men each. They keep most of the spare arms in a storehouse near the motte gate. At night there’s maybe eight to ten on the walls, plus the ones inside. They’re still short on men because they’re waiting for more from their other charters. That’s the truth.”
