Fog.
Standing on the north battlements of Damu, the first thing you noticed was the mist. It clung low to the ground, drifting slowly in a pale white haze. The moat below the wall had vanished. So had the land beyond it, and the forest past that.
All that showed in the distance, rising faintly above the fog, was the Nauulaat River. Its current ran slow, the water gleaming a deep, metallic gray that caught the dawn light and turned the surface the color of lead. Part of that river fed down through channels to fill the moat along the north wall.
The battlements were quiet.
It was the hush that came before any fighting had started.
Barkh stood with his elbows planted on the parapet. His shoulders were broad, his plate armor heavy across them. A massive axe hung down his back—long haft, wide blade.
He was staring downward. Beyond the parapet there was nothing but mist.
Beside him stood Mau.
He was a little smaller than his brother, his armor lighter—leather reinforced with two iron plates. The fit still looked strange on him; one buckle at the chest hadn't quite caught, leaving the front slightly open.
Mau set both hands on the parapet and leaned out, trying to see below. Mist, only mist. Faint sounds drifted upward instead. The wind rising from below was cold and damp; it stung the tip of his nose.
From the far western wall came a sound.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
A low, heavy drumbeat, steady and rhythmic.
It was distant from the north wall, but the two Dawi heard it clearly. They closed their eyes and let their ear tips twitch, listening hard.
Beneath the drum came another noise—orc voices. Thick, rough shouts blending together into one rolling roar. No single words could be made out, just raw sound. Loud. Many orcs. The cry rolled through the air and reached all the way north.
"Hear that?" Barkh asked.
"Yeah." Mau answered shortly.
The brothers listened a moment longer.
At the western end of the wall, inside the big stone tower wrapped by two enormous trees, a voice shouted.
The thick trunks pressed against the stone, branches tangled with the masonry; smaller limbs roofed the tower. From inside it a Dawi soldier bellowed down the wall.
"Orcs!"
The cry spread along the battlements. A moment later a Muwa winged soldier in a red cloak launched into the air. The cloak snapped behind him like wings as he flew north along the wall, shouting.
"Siege towers! Orc siege towers approaching the moon-side wall!"
His voice faded as he flew westward and vanished into the mist.
Mau tracked the winged soldier with his eyes until the red cloak disappeared above the fog.
"Barkh."
"Hm?"
"You ever seen an orc?"
Barkh turned from the parapet and looked at him.
"Nope."
"Wait—really?"
"Really."
Mau's eyebrows rose. He hadn't expected that answer. The captain of Damu's gate garrison had never seen an orc…
Barkh folded his arms and stepped back from the parapet.
"A few years back I was supposed to join a punitive expedition, but right then I messed up this shoulder."
He slapped his right shoulder; the plate rang dully.
"So I stayed behind."
"How'd you hurt it?"
"Training. Or maybe I just tripped? As if I'd remember.."
Barkh shrugged it off.
Mau stayed quiet. He didn't say he was glad. Barkh would have hated hearing it.
A splash came from the moat below.
Barkh leaned out again. Directly beneath the parapet the wall dropped straight down into the mist, its stones dark with dawn damp and speckled with moss. Where the moat began was impossible to tell.
"Something down there?" Mau asked.
"Ugh… just mist. Can't see a damn thing."
They looked out again. North of the wall the moat lay hidden. Beyond it stretched the forest between the Nauulaat and the battlements.
But the forest was gone too. Only the very tops of the trees showed above the fog—black, jagged outlines that blurred and faded. The trunks and branches were swallowed completely. The woods looked like one solid black wall, its edges ragged and uncertain. Between the wall and that dark mass lay nothing but white mist. The moat, the ground on the far side, any orcs that might be moving there—all of it invisible.
Yet the sounds carried.
Branches snapped in the trees. Heavy feet tramped the earth. Low, thick voices—speech or shouts, impossible to tell—drifted through the fog.
The noise wasn't coming from one spot. It rose from the entire stretch of forest along the north wall.
"I've never seen fog this thick, Barkh." Mau said.
"Me neither."
"It's so bad you wouldn't even know if a few orcs were walking right under the wall. Tch."
Barkh clicked his tongue.
Splash.
The sound came again, this time from the left. Then another, and another—heavy things hitting water in quick succession.
"Dallen's gone to the land-side wall, right?" Barkh asked.
"Yeah. Bouma's with him."
"Bouma? The guy with the fishing shop?"
"That's him. Sells rods, bait, fixes lines."
"I stop by sometimes. Isn't his place the one with the little warehouse next door?"
"Yeah, that's the house."
Barkh gave a small nod.
"The land-side wall should stay quiet. Don't worry too much."
Mau pictured Dallen's face for a moment. He'd be standing on the south battlements right now, staring into the same white nothing.
"Barkh… you scared?"
Barkh turned to him.
"Of what?"
"Orcs. Minotaurs."
Barkh opened his mouth and let out a low, rumbling laugh.
"Ha! Not even a little."
"But you've never seen either of them."
"Doesn't matter. I'm about to."
Barkh reached back, unslung the axe, and lifted it with both hands before resting the haft on his shoulder. The broad, heavy blade caught the weak dawn light.
"Might as well show them what this Dawi can do, now that they've come all this way."
He grinned, sharp fangs flashing.
Mau watched that grin.
Barkh had always been like this.
Every time their father Gardon marched off on a wasteland expedition, Barkh would sneak after the column. He'd wedge himself between supply crates on the wagons; Mau had followed a few times too. He couldn't remember now whether he'd done it because his brother was going or because he refused to be left behind. Some days he couldn't even hide properly and simply ran after their father on shorter legs. Gardon would catch both boys by the scruffs of their necks and haul them back to Damu. Even then Barkh had been laughing.
The memory loosened the tightness in Mau's shoulders and legs just a little.
And here was that same brother, axe on his shoulder, grinning again.
Mau let out a short breath.
"Hah…"
Another splash from the moat.
Splash. Splash.
Not from one place this time—several points along the north wall, staggered. Mau turned toward the sound, but saw only mist. The noises kept coming: heavy, solid things striking water.
His fingertips inside the light gauntlets stiffened. He curled them, then stretched them again.
"Barkh. You hear that?"
"Yeah. I hear it."
Barkh lowered the axe and leaned toward the parapet. His eyes sharpened; the smile vanished.
"They're moving down there… under the fog."
His voice was low.
Splash. Splash.
Closer now.
Then a voice came from behind them.
"So maybe we rest our eyes for a while and trust our ears instead?"
Barkh and Mau turned together.
It was Korr.
He came walking along the wall walkway, gray fur streaked with white, deep wrinkles carved across his face. In his right hand he carried a wooden staff; the iron ornament at its head clinked with every step. His pace was unhurried, yet his gaze moved ahead of him—sweeping the mist below the wall, checking the placement of every squad.
"Warchief Korr!"
"Warchief Korr!"
Barkh and Mau spoke at the same time, straightening.
Korr stopped in front of them and looked out past the parapet.
"The sounds are muffled, Warchief." Mau said. "But it feels like the orcs are doing something down there."
Korr studied the fog a moment, then the corner of his mouth lifted.
"Then we wait for the next sound, eh? Or we clear the mist away."
"The fog is lower than yesterday, at least… But it doesn't look like it's going to lift."
Korr nodded and took one step closer to the parapet. He planted his staff and leaned out, peering down. After a long look he straightened again.
That was when the moat erupted.
Splash. Splash. Splash.
Not scattered this time. All along the north wall, almost at once—water slapping, heavy objects striking the surface. Every soldier on the battlements leaned forward.
Nothing to see. Only mist.
Korr turned his head toward the sound. His expression never changed. Then he noticed a Muwa descending.
Nerum. Gray feathers, red cloak, the sun emblem on the fabric catching the pale dawn light. He landed neatly on the wall and folded his wings, talons clicking on stone.
"Warchief Korr."
"Nerum."
"Warchief Duraha has finished preparations."
Korr said nothing for a moment.
Then a quiet chuckle rolled out of him.
"Heh heh heh. Always so quick."
He turned back to Barkh and Mau, smiling at them both.
"Truth is, I've never been very good at waiting either."
He looked at Nerum again.
"Tell Warchief Duraha to begin, Nerum."
"Yes, Warchief."