"Well," Alpheo muttered, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood atop the rampart, eyes scanning the northern horizon, "I didn't expect that to actually work."
The scout who had delivered the report gave a respectful nod before retreating, leaving Alpheo alone with Jarza, who still bore the hardened tension of a man expecting a sword to whistle past his head at any moment.
"Not that I'm complaining," Alpheo continued, casting a sidelong glance at his companion. "We've broken the Herculeians' only real hope of saving their capital—crushed it with a few piles of burning wood. It's almost... disappointing."
He exhaled, then chuckled without humor, gazing at the wall of timber they had built
"A princely legacy undone not with a siege or a sword, but with a torch and a trick."
