Rain slicked the southern quarter, turning mud into thick, sucking mire. Fifty men stacked timber; a dozen hauled stones. I watched them for a moment before speaking."Shift twenty of you to the storehouses at dusk," I said. "The grain won't move itself." No cheers, no hesitation—just nods. Good.
Around fifty to sixty villagers were building more houses, gathering clay, stone, iron, lime; tending animals, repairing tools and weapons, cleaning barns, maintaining fields, or organizing storage. In the middle of it all, my cabinet and I faced a single problem: finishing an order of crossbows in seven days. Orshek's population had swelled to nearly two thousand. More mouths to feed, more hands to watch. That was Orshek now.
We were still at the table—maps, ledgers, mugs of cold beer—when the door banged open. A scout staggered in, cloak torn, face pale."My lord. Bandits south of town. Seventy or more. Wagons, steel. They're watching."I set down my mug. "Confirmed?""Two patrols. Same report."
Silence. Now it was here."Send word to the village headmen," I said. "Get everyone inside. Elias, alert the militia. Stop the drills—bandits think they can surprise us, we'll use that against them.""They think we're soft," Elias muttered."They're wrong," I replied. He suggested sealing the gates. I shook my head. "No. We'll let them in. But we pick the ground."
The girl trembled, hands bound, mud streaked across her face. One of the bandits, wiry and scarred, leaned close. Voice rough."You see that one?" he spat toward the firelight. "That's Scarechest. Name carved in terror across the south. He doesn't just kill—he rips chests open with his bare hands. Men, women… doesn't matter. Every corpse tells a story."The girl swallowed hard. And saw some girls she knew getting raped by bandits turn by turn, unconscious and naked nearly loss all their sanity.He grinned. "Stories don't do him justice. He's coming tonight. He likes to fuck after victory, And he eats what he fucks."
Boots hit mud behind them. Heavy. Steady. Even in shadow, the air seemed to tighten. The girl flinched. Some whispered prayers; others laughed nervously. Chaos had a name: Scarechest.
Scarechest murmured about the ambush to his men: "Seventy men, wagons, steel—everything paid for. Hit barns, smiths, granaries. Burn, take, vanish. kill men and take women.""He supplied us maps, patrol schedules, granary layouts, gold, weapons, wagons." He wanted the prince humiliated. I thought I could buy a town with silver and terror. I underestimated him.
The twenty "traders" were trained. They must survive long enough to open barns and signal the main force. Jealousy fuels him—he envies Orshek, the prince's control, his growth. He wanted ruin; I wanted victory.
Dusk settles, and dark covers Orshek: "There time has come, Be ready men signal can come any time positioned yourself." After an hour a bandit shouted, "Boss I see fire and smoke in the middle of town, that must be their signal.""ALL MEN CHARGE." Everyone without charge to take the best spoils from town—women, gold, grains."Spikes." All bandits slow down their charge as they approach. Then archers fire arrows in disciplined volleys, rotating lines. Mud and blood mix. "How can they expected us? Do those fools get caught in town?" Then I shouted, "men don't fear push harder, Once close they can't do anything." The left and right column collapse into spikes.
I roar, hacking through men. Then both parties collide into each other; though many men die I know they don't have any man left for fighting in close. We have better armour and weapons and these bandits are hard fighters. Many enemy soldiers pour in ground cutting bandits. Then one old knight engaged, skilled — you must be the royal knight of the prince. Something moves, hands rising from nowhere, veins and spikes wrapping, slowing me. That old knight presses forward, blade precise. I try to break free, but the earth constricts. The prince had planned every inch. (A blade swings).
Leonard raises his hand: "ALL bandits surrender or die." Then Elias and other knights tied the bandits. Elias and the militia sweep through, finishing the rest. Thirty bandits surrender, the rest are dead. Orshek soaked in blood but intact.
Gerreth brings the Bandit boss to me. "I am Scarechest." Name carved in fear. And now I lie bound, chest bleeding, veins holding me. He knew. Traders? Dead. Maps, gold, envy—all worthless. I was meant to humiliate a prince; instead, I die under steel and subtle magic.
IN FLASHBACK~
"Elias," I said, "set the south quarter to look empty but kept lit. Rotate the roof lines; make the archers comfortable where they can fire and fall back. Natalia, only threads tonight—enough to slow, not to show. Men, clear the circle at the old market. No one by the stones after dusk."He moved with the ease of a man who'd practiced politeness and violence in the same breath. "As you say, my lord."
We had barely finished when the first group appeared: twenty figures, faces tidy, crates on carts, a small parade of commerce. Traders by dress, fearful by habit. They lingered at the town's mouth—too patient, too well-drilled. A noble's money could teach a man to look the part. I watched them as Elias stepped forward, a bright false smile on his face.
"Welcome to Orshek," Elias said loud enough for them to hear. "The circle's open for trade tonight. Keep to the road and choose your stall. We make room for honest men."Their leader's smile was flat and sharp. "Easy trade then," he returned, and his men relaxed like a coiled rope unclenching.
Elias gestured them in—slow, polite, guiding them toward the market circle. The circle itself had been cleared hours before; archers crouched on every rooftop lip, crossbow bolts already cradled. The "militia" milling about the outer ring were nothing of the sort: a handful of our best, in civilian cloaks, holding children and carrying baskets. Their calm was a mask.
The moment the wagons creaked into the stone ring I gave the signal—barely a lift of my chin. Elias' smile stayed fixed as he stepped aside, letting the men think they had been permitted. They walked right into the trap.
A wheeze of twanged string, a whoosh of iron. Bolts found throats, shoulders, thighs. Men who'd expected coin and grain doubled, hands tearing at leather and flesh. Six of them went down but not dead—our men moved like harvesters, quick and precise, seizing, binding. Screams and the smell of wet wool and blood filled the market like rain.
"Thought you could hide your teeth," Gerreth said low, standing over the nearest bound man. He slapped the bandit's cheek, hard enough to jar his head. "If use planning they must have plan to attack tonight."The bandit's jaw worked. He said nothing.
I had one of the pits dug by the timber yard earlier—deeper than usual, the earth trembling with a freshly turned mound. I shoved one of the lesser men toward it, thrusting him down until his shoulders hit the wet earth. The bindings bit into his wrists. Then the shovel fell.
His scream when the first handful of mud thudded onto his chest was a raw, animal thing—sharp, high, and immediate. It split the night. Heads turned. The leader's jaw dropped; something broke in the bandits' stubbornness. Silence cracked and spilled into words.
They talked then—hurried, ragged, the way a trapped animal rattles its cage. Names, routes, contact villages, the rogue noble who bought their blades and the schedules of the patrols. What they'd meant for secrecy bled out in panic.
Elias — take the south quarter: keep it lit, dress your men as traders and villagers, and steer any suspicious groups into the circle.Oswin — move the civilians north at once, keep the lights burning there, and clear a safe path for evacuation.Gerreth — post the rooftop archers and schedule their rotations, station your spear men behind the spikes and be ready to crush any breakthrough.Natalia — when dark came, grow spikes south of town for defense.
I was prepared for this moment.