The second floor of the massive stone watchtower.
Windows opened in all four directions: east, west, south, and north.
Narrow, elongated slits embedded in each wall allowed only thin shafts of light to pierce the room, leaving the interior shrouded in gloom. The ceiling soared high, crossed by thick wooden beams that supported the stone floor of the level above. Light leaked through gaps between the beams—unfinished sections.
The floor was planked with heavy oak boards, nailed down in places but loose in others, creaking underfoot.
A large table dominated the center of the room.
Rectangular and roughly hewn, its surface bore the marks of hasty craftsmanship. Spread across it was a map—of Damu and its surroundings: Tharn Forest, the badlands, Monos quarry. Black ink lines traced the terrain, with stones weighing down each corner to keep it flat.
Several figures stood around the table.
Gardon positioned himself on the western side.
He wore plate armor, his helm set aside on the table's edge. Sweat dampened his brown fur. His face remained impassive, eyes fixed downward on the map, hands braced against the table's rim.
To his right stood Rilbeur.
Gray feathers tinged with blue. A long cloak draped from his back. Wings folded neatly, eyes sharp. His beak parted slightly as he caught his breath.
To Gardon's left was Banda.
A Dawi warchief, broad and imposing—smaller than Gardon but larger than most Dawi. Black fur covered him down to the neck. His armor was straightforward: leather reinforced with a few iron plates, devoid of excess ornament.
A double-headed axe hung at his waist, its haft short.
Across the table stood several other warchiefs.
Duraha, a Dawi warchief, with reddish-brown fur and a long scar marring his face—from right eyebrow to left jaw, a relic of an old battle. He stood with arms crossed.
Nerum was there, adjutant to Salma and leader of the Mosrow Clan's winged soldiers in his stead. Gray feathers cloaked in a red mantle embroidered with a sun emblem. He perched on the table's edge, talons hooked over it.
Korr, another Dawi warchief, advanced in years. Gray fur streaked with white, face deeply wrinkled. He leaned on a staff of sturdy oak, its iron top worn smooth from long use, but his gaze never strayed from the table.
Orden, a young Dawi warchief. Dark, glossy fur neatly groomed, catching a subtle sheen with every movement.
His armor was ornate: plate mail accented with gold filigree, shoulder guards carved in the shape of bear heads.
A longsword hung at his hip—expensive, yet understated in decoration. He stood with one hand on his waist, body angled openly toward the table.
Rangpur, a Muwa warchief. Brown feathers speckled with white. Short, thick beak; broad wings. He stood with wings half-spread, talons tapping the floor rhythmically.
And at the table's end was Keuraber.
The human known to Damu's Dawi and Muwa as Sarun-Ke. He wore a worn leather coat, its sleeves frayed at the ends.
White beard cascaded to his chest, hair equally silvered. Deep wrinkles etched his face, veins bulging on the backs of his hands. Arms crossed, he stared at the map.
His gaze lingered on one spot.
Gardon spoke first.
"Faster than expected..."
His voice was low and heavy.
"Indeed."
Duraha replied.
"Damn it, I thought we'd have at least three more days."
Banda added.
"Probably a forced march that left the weaklings collapsing in their tracks."
Nerum remarked.
"There must be a reason they're rushing."
Rilbeur said.
Gardon nodded. He pointed to a spot on the map.
"They're setting up camp four tita from the walls, you said?"
"Yes, sir."
A soldier answered—the one who'd brought the report from the ramparts.
"Four tita..."
Gardon murmured.
"Not too close, not too far..."
"Too far to set up siege engines."
Korr observed.
"But close enough to muster troops."
Orden added.
"Aye."
Gardon fell silent for a moment. His finger traced slowly back and forth between the walls and the camp on the map.
"Building their camp from trees felled in Tharn Forest..."
He said lowly.
"Out of range for Damu's catapults or arrows, but not so distant as to be irrelevant."
Nerum nodded.
"Even if the gates open, they won't be caught off guard by a sudden raid."
"But if we make a move..."
Banda trailed off.
Nerum picked up the thread.
"They can respond immediately. Ambush or retreat."
Gardon withdrew his hand, bracing it on the table.
"It's a position that gives them time to prepare for siege while keeping pressure on the city."
A brief silence settled.
Korr tapped his staff lightly on the floor.
"They're planning to stay awhile."
Gardon's gaze fixed again on the camp marker.
He turned to Keuraber.
"Sarun-Ke Keuraber. How complete are the walls?"
Keuraber looked up, meeting Gardon's eyes.
"They look rough, but they function fully as stone barriers. Height and thickness are sufficient."
His voice was raspy but clear.
"What remains unfinished?"
Gardon asked.
"The great watchtowers and some wall sections are unpolished. But that's cosmetic. They won't hinder defense."
Keuraber explained.
"Good to hear."
Gardon nodded.
Keuraber paused, then continued.
"But there's one thing I'd like to mention."
"Speak."
"In case the walls take damage during battle, we must prepare."
Keuraber said.
"There's wartime masonry. Building while fighting."
He gestured in the air, drawing lines.
"Reinforcement walls. Behind a breach, we pile stones, timber, and earth to shore it up immediately. There's also rubble packing—gathering broken stones to fill gaps."
"Impressive techniques."
Gardon said with admiration.
"They exist. Masons can raise walls even on the battlefield."
Keuraber stated firmly.
"But there's one issue."
"What?"
"Stones are in short supply."
Keuraber pointed to the map.
"If the enemy hurls boulders from catapults, we could reuse those... but it won't be enough. We'd benefit from reserves."
Gardon stroked his chin.
"We'll have to fetch them from Monos quarry."
He said.
The warchiefs around the table nodded.
"I'll go."
Gurga stepped forward.
A Dawi warchief, small in stature—smaller than most Dawi, but agile. Light armor: leather with sparse iron plates. Three daggers hung at his waist.
"I'll take soldiers to Monos quarry and bring back stones."
Gurga said.
Keuraber shook his head.
"Quarrying requires masons."
He said.
"You can't just grab any rocks. They must be selected for size and shape to fit the walls."
"Then..."
Gurga hesitated.
"I'll go."
Keuraber said.
"You, Sarun-Ke Keuraber?"
Gurga looked surprised.
"Aye. I'll select the stones myself."
Keuraber nodded.
A voice came from the side of the room.
"No."
All eyes turned that way.
It was Vargo.
Damu's master builder. Brown fur streaked with gray. His face brimmed with displeasure. He approached the table, saying,
"A Mason of Laboreus must stay here. Isn't that what you said—building while fighting?"
Vargo continued, his expression hardening.
"Wartime masonry? Only a Mason of Laboreus can do that. If Sarun-Ke Keuraber goes to the quarry, who'll reinforce the walls?"
Keuraber was silent for a moment.
Vargo pressed on.
"I'll go quarry the stones. I've spent my life as a stonecutter in these lands—think I can't spot usable rock?"
"But..."
Keuraber began, but Vargo raised a hand to stop him.
"You stay and guard the walls, Mason of Laboreus. I'll handle bringing the stones."
Vargo's voice carried conviction.
Gardon interjected.
"Vargo's right. Keuraber, you remain here. Reinforcing mid-battle is your expertise alone."
Keuraber hesitated briefly, then nodded.
"Understood."
"Vargo, go with Gurga. Take soldiers to Monos quarry and haul back stones."
Gardon ordered.
"Yes, Grand Warlord."
"As you command, Grand Warlord."
Vargo and Gurga replied in unison.
Gardon looked down at the map again. His finger pointed to Damu's northern wall.
"I'll assign the star side(North) wall to Duraha, Nerum, and Korr."
The three nodded.
"I'll command the moon side(West) wall myself."
Gardon said.
"And Rilbeur and Banda will join me there."
Rilbeur and Banda bowed their heads.
"The enemy's assault will likely focus on the moon side."
Banda noted.
"Aye."
Gardon replied.
He shifted his finger southward.
"The land side(South) wall goes to Orden and Rangpur."
Orden straightened his chest.
"Leave it to us, Grand Warlord."
His voice brimmed with confidence.
"The land side will face fewer foes relatively. But no complacency."
Gardon warned.
"Of course."
Orden answered.
"And on the land side, we'll station the elves who volunteered to aid us, along with the Sarun-Ke."
Gardon added.
"The ones who came for the Dook-Dook Pioran-o festival?"
Rangpur asked.
"Aye. Festival visitors, but they've graciously offered to help defend Damu. Orden and Rangpur, you'll command them too."
"An honor."
Orden bowed.
Yet his voice held a mix of pride and subtle discontent. He knew the land side was the safest—hard to claim glory in battle there. But he voiced no complaint. Orders were orders.
Gardon read Orden's expression. He spoke up.
"Orden. Think the land side's too safe?"
"Ah... no, Grand Warlord."
Orden replied, flustered.
"It's vital too. A lapse there, and we could be breached. I entrust it to you because you're reliable."
Gardon said, withdrawing his hand from the map.
Orden bowed.
"Thank you, Grand Warlord. I'll give my all."
Gardon scanned the table, meeting each warchief's eyes.
"And... our enemies aren't just orcs and minotaurs, as you've all heard?"
He said.
The room grew quiet.
"The ones Salma encountered. Wyvern riders. Unknown forces."
Gardon's voice lowered.
"They haven't shown themselves yet. Not even in the camp beyond the walls."
"Where could they be?"
Rangpur asked.
"Unknown. Hidden for now. But they'll appear when the time comes."
Gardon answered.
"We must be vigilant."
Nerum said.
"All of you, stay alert. Warchiefs, instruct your winged soldiers to watch the skies more closely."
The warchiefs nodded at Gardon's command.
"And one more thing."
Gardon added.
"Their numbers far exceed ours. This fight is against the odds."
"Orcs alone number seventy thousand, they say."
Duraha said.
"Thirty thousand minotaurs."
Nerum added.
"A hundred thousand..."
Gardon uttered the figure.
"How many in Damu total?"
"Twenty-five thousand."
Korr replied.
"Confirmed forces alone make us a quarter. Add their hidden strength, and the gap widens."
Gardon gave a bitter smile.
"Can we fight them?"
Orden asked.
Gardon looked at him.
"We must. No choice."
"But the numbers..."
"Numbers aren't everything."
Gardon cut in.
"We have the walls. They must scale them; we meet them from above. The disparity doesn't translate directly to disadvantage."
His voice held firm conviction.
"Defending from within the walls is our best strategy."
Keuraber said.
"Clashing outside, we'd be overwhelmed by sheer volume. But inside, it's different. No matter their multitude, only so many can engage at once."
"Exactly."
Gardon nodded.
"We hold the walls!"
He slammed his fist on the table. A dull thud echoed. The stones pinning the map's edges shifted.
"One more thing I'd like to say."
Rilbeur spoke.
"Go ahead, Rilbeur."
Gardon turned.
"Does Damu have ample food and water?"
Rilbeur asked.
"Enough for at least half a year."
Korr answered.
"Thanks to the stockpiles in the granaries."
"Half a year should suffice."
Gardon said.
"They won't last that long outside the walls."
"We can only hope."
Rilbeur said quietly.
Gardon gazed at the map once more. His eyes swept the western wall, the southern, the northern, finally settling on central Damu.
"We won't yield these walls to the orc and minotaur scum."
The warchiefs nodded as one.
Gardon donned his helm, iron enclosing his head, his breaths rough within.
"Now, let's go face the invaders!"
Gardon shouted.
The warchiefs rose in unison. Chairs scraped, armor clanked, wings fluttered.
As Gardon strode toward the door, the warchiefs followed.
Keuraber remained. He stared at the map: Damu, the walls, and the western Tharn Forest where the enemy lurked.
He drew a deep breath.
"Laboreus, grant us strength."
He murmured lowly.
Sunlight streamed through the window—warm light. Yet battle loomed. Blood would flow. Screams would rise.
"It's beginning."
He whispered.
A wind blew in through the window, chill air stirring. Keuraber's white beard swayed in the breeze.
The war for Damu was about to begin.