The knock came at dawn, sharp and frantic.
Adrian Blackthorn stirred in his chamber within the great fortress of Northwatch, the sound cutting through the early morning quiet like a blade. At twelve years old, he had grown accustomed to the constant activity of the massive border fortress—the changing of guards, the arrival of supply caravans, the daily rhythm of military life. But this was different.
He padded quickly to his window, bare feet silent on the cold stone. From his vantage point high in the Blackthorn tower, he could see across the vast courtyard of Northwatch—a space large enough to hold a small city. Below, a figure stumbled through the main gates, his horse collapsing behind him in a lather of sweat and foam. Even at this distance, Adrian could see the man's torn cloak, his face streaked with soot and blood.
Adrian dressed quickly and made his way through the corridors of the family wing toward the great hall. Northwatch was a city unto itself, its massive walls containing not just the Blackthorn family quarters but barracks for thousands of soldiers, armories, stables, workshops, and everything needed to sustain the kingdom's greatest fortress. The Blackthorns ruled here not as simple border lords, but as the guardians of Arathor's most vital stronghold.
The great hall of Blackthorn Manor buzzed with urgent activity when Adrian arrived. Though it was their family's private hall within the fortress, it served as the command center for Northwatch's operations. Guards, captains, and messengers filled the space, their voices creating a controlled chaos of military efficiency.
"My lord!" the messenger gasped, falling to his knees before Baron Dorian. Blood flecked his lips as he struggled for breath. "Demons... hundreds of them! They've fallen on Harrowick Fief like a plague. The settlements outside their walls are burning. Lord Harrick begs for aid—without Northwatch steel, his lands will be ash by nightfall!"
The implications hit Adrian immediately. Harrowick Fief lay southeast of Northwatch, one of the smaller holdings that depended on the great fortress for protection. If demons were striking there in such numbers, it meant they had found a way around Northwatch's primary defensive lines.
Baron Dorian strode forward, his scarred face set in grim lines. As both the lord of Blackthorn and the commander of Northwatch, he bore responsibility not just for his family's honor but for the security of the entire northern border.
"How did so many demons bypass our outer patrols?" Dorian's voice carried the sharp edge of command.
"They came from the eastern passes, my lord," the messenger wheezed. "Through the Thornwood valleys. Our scouts never saw them—they moved at night, stayed hidden during the day. By the time Harrowick's watchers spotted them, they were already at the walls."
Dorian turned to his assembled captains, military minds already calculating the threat. "If they've found a route through the eastern approaches, every fief in that region is vulnerable. How many men can we spare?"
Captain Gareth, commander of Northwatch's cavalry, stepped forward. "Two hundred mounted knights, my lord. Fast response, hit them hard before they can entrench around Harrowick's walls."
"And leave Northwatch undermanned?" another captain protested. "We don't know if this is the only demon force. This could be a feint to draw our strength away from the fortress."
Lady Elara entered the hall at that moment, her green eyes immediately finding the blood-stained messenger. "How bad is it, Dorian?"
"Bad enough," he replied grimly. "Hundreds of demons have struck Harrowick. We have to respond, but..." He gestured at the fortress around them. "Northwatch cannot be left defenseless."
Adrian watched the debate unfold, his young mind already grasping the strategic dilemma. Northwatch was the linchpin of Arathor's northern defenses—if it fell, the entire border would collapse. But if they allowed the demons to ravage the surrounding fiefs unopposed, the fortress would become an isolated island in hostile territory.
"I'll take a hundred and fifty knights," Dorian decided. "Fast strike, relieve Harrowick, then fall back to support their defense. Captain Marsh will hold Northwatch with the remaining garrison."
"Father," Adrian said quietly, stepping closer. "What if the demons are testing our response time? What if they want to see how quickly we react to threats?"
Dorian's eyes sharpened as he looked at his son. At twelve, Adrian often displayed an understanding of tactics that seemed beyond his years. "What do you mean?"
"If I were planning an attack on Northwatch," Adrian said carefully, "I might start by hitting the outer settlements. See how many troops you send out, how long it takes them to respond. Learn your patterns before the real assault."
The hall fell quiet as the adults absorbed the boy's words. The tactical insight was sound—perhaps too sound for a twelve-year-old to have conceived independently.
"You think too much like a strategist," Dorian murmured, a note of concern in his voice. Then, louder: "But you're not wrong. This could be reconnaissance in force."
He turned back to his captains. "One hundred knights only. We move fast, strike hard, and return quickly. Northwatch remains our priority."
The preparations began immediately. Within the vast courtyards of Northwatch, knights donned armor and saddled horses. The fortress's war-horns echoed off the massive walls, calling men to their posts. Adrian watched from the family tower as a hundred of Arathor's finest cavalry formed up beneath the Blackthorn banner.
His father found him there as the sun climbed higher.
"You want to come," Dorian said. It wasn't a question.
"I could help," Adrian replied. "You said yourself I think like a strategist."
"Thinking like one and being one are different things," Dorian said firmly. "You're twelve years old, Adrian. Your place is here, in Northwatch, where it's safe."
Adrian wanted to argue, but something in his father's tone warned him against it. Instead, he nodded obediently. "How long will you be gone?"
"Three days at most. Captain Marsh knows to keep you close—no wandering the fortress alone while I'm away."
The horns sounded again. Time to depart.
Adrian watched from the highest tower as the gates of Northwatch opened and a hundred knights rode out across the northern plains. The fortress seemed to hold its breath as they disappeared toward the horizon, leaving behind walls that had never fallen but suddenly felt more vulnerable than ever.
For the first time in his twelve years, Adrian was truly alone with his thoughts within the greatest fortress in the kingdom. And deep inside, ancient memories whispered of other sieges, other battles, other times when walls alone had not been enough.