The next few days were long humid days that followed the dig at the ruins. Master kept the purple bow close at all times, the strange metal resting against his hip like a quiet promise of deeper study once we returned to Mire Point. The newly trained rabble drilled until their movements stopped looking completely hopeless. The eighteen catgirl guardsmen and the original goblins remained behind to hold the tower and the road. The rest of us boarded the royal Carrack that had finally arrived from Mire Point, a heavy, high sided vessel built for war rather than trade, its decks thick with men and its sides bristling with ship mounted siege engines.
The voyage up the coast was short and tense. I stayed pressed against Master on the main deck the entire time. My blonde tail coiled tight around his leg whenever the wind picked up. The newly trained army packed the lower decks and the waist in tight ranks, hardened leather and chainmail glinting under the tropical sun, short bows and short swords ready. They still smelled of fear and fresh discipline, but they followed orders without question.
We left the Carrack just out of sight around a headland and moved into the tropical treeline on foot, keeping low and silent until the Vanguard landing zone came into clear view through the leaves. It was exactly where the first landing had been, a stretch of pale beach and low cliffs with a small natural harbour. Three ships sat at anchor in the shallow water, two broad beamed cogs and a single more agile caravel, all flying the Vanguard colours. They looked almost peaceful in the afternoon light, crews moving about the decks without urgency. On the low rise above the beach stood the motte and bailey itself, a timber walled fort with a single sandstone keep, a handful of light ballistae on the walls, and maybe forty or fifty armed men visible on the fighting platforms. Mediocre for its size. Nowhere near enough for a proper defence against a proper warship.
The Carrack did not give them time to react.
It came around the headland at speed, the great lateen sails full, the ship mounted siege engines already wound and loaded. Heavy ballistae and a pair of small counterweight trebuchets lined the decks, their crews working with practised speed. The first volley of iron tipped bolts and heavy stones smashed into the nearest cog amidships. Timber cracked and splintered. The second cog tried to raise sail and died under the next flight of stones and fire pots, flaming pitch stuck to the dry wood and spread with terrifying speed. The caravel lasted longest, turning hard to present a narrower target, but the Carrack’s second and third volleys shredded its masts and left it listing hard to port, crew scrambling into the water or dying where they stood. Within minutes all three ships were either sinking or burning fiercely, black smoke rolling across the water.
The Carrack did not linger on the wrecks. It swung hard, engines elevating, and lined up on the motte and bailey.
The first round of stones and fire pots tore into the outer timber palisade and the gatehouse. Entire sections of wall simply vanished in sprays of splinters, dust and burning pitch. Fighting platforms collapsed. Men screamed as the timber gave way beneath them. The second round walked the fire across the inner bailey and the keep itself. Timbers exploded outward. The wooden walkways along the walls folded like wet paper. The stone of the keep cracked and partially caved on the seaward side under the repeated impact of heavy stones. By the time the Carrack ceased fire the fort was a ruin of smoking timber and broken stone.The defenders never had a proper chance to reply. Their lighter ballistae simply could not reach the Carrack with any accuracy at that range, and the suddenness of the attack left them scrambling.
We moved in while the dust and smoke were still settling. It was over far too quickly, as most actual fights are.
The newly trained army advanced in a loose line behind us, short bows ready, short swords drawn. I stayed at Master’s right side the entire way. My tail lashed once behind me as we stepped over the shattered remains of the outer gate. The smell of burnt wood and blood was thick enough to taste. Ninety percent of the defenders were already dead, crushed under collapsed walkways, buried in rubble, or torn apart by the heavy stones that had punched through the timber walls. The few who remained were broken. Morale had shattered the moment the second volley hit. They threw down their weapons the instant they saw us, hands raised, faces grey with shock and smoke. A handful tried to run for the treeline and were cut down by short bow fire from the hunters in our ranks. The rest simply dropped to their knees in the ash.
Master walked through the smoking ruin as the newly trained army began spreading out to secure the broken walls. I scanned every shadow for the last traces of resistance. There were none. The fort was ours in all but name, and even that was only a matter of time.
He stopped near the half collapsed keep and looked over the wreckage with a slow, measured glance. “A pity we don’t have anything to garrison but maybe we’ll find something useful in the ruins later. For the meantime let’s set up camp.”
“Camp it is, Master. We’ll pick through what’s left once the fires die down. Anything useful comes with us. Anything that isn’t… we leave for the jungle to take. The rabble can dig latrines and post watches. The catgirl squad can wait at the tower. Tonight we sleep under the wreckage of their walls and tomorrow we decide what this place is worth.”
The prisoners were dragged forward in the grey morning light. There were maybe eight or nine of them left, the ones who had dropped their weapons and fallen to their knees the day before. They knelt in a rough line on the ash stained ground in front of the half collapsed keep.
Master stepped forward. I felt the intent through the bond before the steel even moved, a clean, decisive cut aimed straight at the nearest man’s head. A quick end. No ceremony.
The sword came down.
It missed.
The blade bit deep into the man’s forearm instead, shearing through flesh and bone with a wet, heavy sound. The hand dropped into the dirt like a discarded glove. The prisoner screamed, high and raw, the sound cutting through the morning stillness. Blood sprayed across the ash. The man’s body jerked but stayed upright on his knees, staring at the stump in pure animal shock.
The crowd reacted first. A ripple of startled mutters ran through the ranks. A few of the newer recruits took an involuntary step back. One of the hunters made a low, disgusted noise in his throat. Even the dwarves shifted their weight.
I felt the miss through the bond like a jolt. My tail lashed hard behind me and a low, uncertain growl built in my chest, not quite disapproval, not quite approval. Just the raw, possessive reaction of watching him spill blood in front of everyone.
Master did not hesitate.
He raised the sword again. This time the blade came down on the neck.
It did not take the head cleanly. The steel bit deep but stopped short of severing the spine completely. The man made a wet, choking sound. Master pulled the blade free and brought it down a second time, slower, more deliberate, hacking through the remaining muscle and bone until the head finally rolled free and the body collapsed into the dirt. Blood pooled thick and dark around the knees of the remaining prisoners. The smell of it mixed with the lingering scent of burnt timber.
Silence held for a long second.
Then Master spoke, voice flat and cold. “If we leave them alive, they’ll hate us forever. Better to just end them all now.”
Our forces did not need telling twice.
The newly trained army moved in with short swords. It was quick, ugly work. No speeches. No last words. The remaining prisoners died where they knelt, some cleanly, some with more struggle than others. A few tried to scramble backward and were cut down mid crawl. Within a minute the line of bound men was nothing but bodies in the ash. The last sounds were the wet thuds of steel and the heavy breathing of the men who had done the killing.
Master then gave the order without raising his voice and the newly trained army spread out through the wreckage of the landing zone and the broken motte and bailey.
We sorted through everything that remained.
Most of it was worthless. The ship mounted engines had done their work thoroughly. The timber walls were shattered and still smoking in places. The keep had partially collapsed on the seaward side, burying rooms and stores under tons of broken stone and charred beams. Anything of real value, coin, weapons, armour, documents had either been destroyed in the bombardment or burned when the fire pots caught. We found twisted scraps of iron, a few scorched shields, and the remains of a small armoury that had taken a direct hit. Nothing usable.
The grain and supplies were the only things that had survived in any real quantity. A couple of half collapsed storehouses near the landward side of the bailey had been protected by the angle of the walls. Inside we found sacks of dry grain, barrels of salted meat, a few casks of watered wine and stacks of hardtack that had only suffered smoke damage. The hunters and labourers worked quickly, loading what could be salvaged onto makeshift litters and the backs of the stronger men. It was not a rich haul, but it was enough to feed the garrison at the northern tower for a while and take some pressure off our own stores.
Once the last of the usable supplies had been gathered we formed up and began the march back. The newly trained army moved in a loose column, the salvaged sacks and barrels distributed among them.
My ears stayed perked through the long, practical days that followed our return to the northern tower. The salvaged grain and supplies were stacked, the newly trained men were rested, and Master wasted no time setting the next piece of the board.
We began a new settlement at the purple bow ruins.
The former slave pens, those long, narrow chambers with the iron ring anchors still rusted into the walls were cleared out and converted into residential barracks. The dwarves and the skilled labourers worked quickly, patching what could be patched, reinforcing the roofs with timber from the surrounding jungle, and laying down clean straw and simple bedding. The tight, functional layout that had once been designed to control and breed labour now housed our own people. It was grim, but it was solid, and it kept the rain off.
Outside the main complex we set up a proper camp. Tents went up in orderly rows. Cooking fires were dug. Latrines were sunk well away from the water sources. The hunters and the unskilled rabble were put to work under the catgirl squad’s supervision, learning the rhythm of a permanent post rather than a temporary march.
Cattail was planted in the wetter ground near the old drainage channels. The plants took well in the tropical soil, and within days the first shoots were already showing. A small bread production area was established, simple clay ovens, grinding stones and a couple of the more capable labourers set to the task of turning out flatbread and hardtack for the garrison.
The army was split. Half remained at the northern tower under the original goblins and a core of the catgirl guardsmen. The other half, the newly trained hunters, the labourers, and a few of the more reliable men stayed at the ruins with us. It was not a large force, but it was enough to hold both points and keep the road between them watched.
The Goblin Cult Temple even established a small sermon from among The Goblins from Mirepoint. It was at this point, late one afternoon while the bread ovens were smoking and the new barracks were being filled with the first of the men, that a member of the Order of the Oak arrived.
The sentry’s shout came from the treeline first. A single figure on foot, no banner, no escort, walking openly along the edge of the cleared ground. White and green colours showed under a light travel cloak. The man carried no visible weapon larger than a short sword at his hip. He stopped at a respectful distance from the outer pickets and waited, hands open and empty at his sides.
I felt the shift in Master’s attention through the bond immediately. My ears pinned flat. My tail lashed once, hard, before coiling tight around his leg again. An Oak. Alone. Walking straight into a settlement.
