One Moo'r Plow - Book 2: Chapter 41: The Vastlands II.

All throughout the journey, I could not shake the feeling that something stalked me. Eyes followed me from a distance as I journeyed alongside this monster towards the edge of these lands. My senses caught nothing else, no matter how often I checked. Poor eyesight did not complement a sense of smell reliant on the direction of the wind. It was instinct that told me there lurked something off in the distance.

They were wise not to approach, given the company I traveled in.

Valencia stalked ahead, unusually silent. The dreadknight had spoken little since the farm had been left behind, content to tread ground underfoot and keep her silence.

I wondered, then. What truly drove this woman? Her end goals remained a mystery to me, even after what she had proclaimed back on the farm.

It was better that way, I supposed. Dangerous company was not something I had ever shied away from, yet an aura of misfortune followed in her every footstep. Shunned by the very Gods Above, it seemed she was damned to dread and death wherever she trod.

The sum total of her choices, harsh though they were.

Yet it would be callous of me to dismiss her fate like that, and I had vowed not to be the monster she had become.

Instead, I felt..empathy, if such a thing were possible.

Not pity, nor sadness for her. Just the acknowledgment that she walked a hard, harsh path that fate had forced upon her. The evil she had become had been planted within her by others. That much I could relate to, on some level.

I knew what it was like to have a mind muddled by influences outside of my control. The remnants of who Garek had been still taunted me. Bloodlust and battle-thirst reared at the worst times, anger seeping into my veins. Influences that came from a shell inhabited by my spirit.

Her vessel was a demon contained within a human shell.

I wondered, then. How much did that truly influence her, even though she claimed to have crushed it?

These thoughts I kept to myself throughout the time we walked. The sun rose once more upon a vast, empty expanse as we continued along the winding road that led to Greysong Keep. Ever-present since I had begun to live here, the forests of the Redtip fell away behind me, replaced with rolling farmland, and the looming form of another range of mountains in the distance.

They loomed as we drew closer, the spine of some great behemoth that slumbered beneath the earth. This day too passed to noon and then evening as an unlikely duo traveled this winding road. I saw hamlets as we walked, emptied as their inhabitants were coaxed out by riders and ordered to move further in.

Preparations for if the fortress fell. Villages lay empty as we drew near the bleak keep nestled between two mountains. Half-harvested crops spoke of a hungry winter to come, should they not be able to return. A cool breeze heralded frost to come. Perhaps not tonight, but soon. It seemed as just yesterday when summer had been in full bloom. Now, winter crept ever-closer on the horizon.

Greysong Keep was larger than the name implied. A wide, sturdy fortress that bridged the span between two slopes of sheer rock. Pathways were carved into the stone to either side of it, ladders leading from the battlement to perches high above. Almost certainly carved out of the mountainsides by magic, they provided both lookout spots and sniper nestings.

They also meant the inhabitants of the fortress knew of our arrival long before we actually approached.

A single gate heaved itself open and riders galloped to meet us, dust kicked up in their wake as we climbed the slope towards them. The baron’s flag was carried in their midst, outstretched as armored cavaliers came to greet Valencia.

“Judicator.” Came the greeting as their captain slid from his horse, head inclined toward the Dreadknight. “We await your presence.”

The deference in his tone was not false. I could smell that. Unease stirred in the riders, inflicted on them by her presence.

They showed her respect all the same.

“Captain.” Was all she returned. “Any sightings?”

“Forward scouts have reported spotting other scouts in the distance. We have no idea how far ahead they are of the herd, but they herald its presence.” The wide, slightly rotund human spoke in a clear, concise tone.

“A return to old times, then.” She spoke, a murmur of agreement rising from the riders around us. “Escort us in.”

“Farmer Garek, I presume?” The man spoke from atop his steed as we marched towards the gate.

“The one and only.”

“Adric Galbe, commander of the Greysong Keep. By the baron’s orders, we are to provide you a place to stay. His lordship deems you to have a pivotal role in the siege to come.”

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Whether I liked it or not. But that was what I had signed up for, and I was not one to winge about such. The gates we passed through soon, and I glimpsed the core of this keep.

Everything within was structured in precise order. Blocky, thick, and unnaturally straight. Even the techniques and equipment available to me back in the other world would have labored to make buildings so ordered. Here, Magecraft made it trivial. Thick, sound walls loomed around me, staircases and ramparts hewn into the rock itself. Soldiers stood at stations high above, bored but watchful.

Even further up were the nests hewn into the mountain itself, and from here I could see pathways that stretched along the mountainside, down the gap, and towards the lands that lay on the other side.

“We have prepared as much as able, in the short time we were given notice.” By the looks of things, this was not an excuse, but a statement. Almost everyone we passed was armed and armored, busy with either transporting equipment or busy being bored.

“Gods Willing, it will be enough.” Adric continued.

“Barely.” the Dreadknight spoke. “We’ve done this before. The brats will not know of it, but you and the veterans realize how close it will come.”

“Aye.” Came the reply after moments of silence. “I thought we’d never be called to task on that again. Would have preferred it that way.”

It occurred to me that this man had likely served under Valencia before. Context pieced together implied this had been when she and the baron fought minotaurs. There was some relief in me then that at least some of those stationed here had experience fighting my kind.

“Show us to the valley wall.” Valencia commanded. “I want to see where the slaughter will happen.”

The looks I received as we headed there were mixed. Suspicion from those who were older, fear and some disdain from those who seemed fresh-faced. Wariness from all. A great host of minotaurs was soon to be on their doorstep, and now one wandered in their midst.

My task here was not to assuage their doubts and calm their fears, it was to save their lives. I said little and moved with the small group of guards that followed the commander.

The Bellower’s Valley stretched before me, soon. I looked upon it from on high, and felt small.

Massive was the one way to describe the trench of stone that stretched between two mountains. It looked as if a massive nail had scratched deep into the rock, parted the stone, and ripped free all else. Nothing grew in this corridor of rock, save for small, hardy blooms here and there. Nary a tree in sight, silent save for the whistling wind.

This was where battle would be given. Where men would die and blood would flow. Bodies would be broken, lives snuffed out, and corpses would litter the stones for ages to come.

Up here on the walls, I could not see the base of this fortress without leaning over the edge.

I elected not to.

“How sturdy is the gate?” Valencia demanded. “Is it mundane or reinforced by mages? How do you plan to harass them as they come through the valley? Who of note is among our forces?”

“The best metal in the land. Several handsbreadths of rolled steel. Made to stave off the best war machines of man. It will crumple under the minotaur siege engines. Reinforces though it is by magic, they will find a way to tear it down.”

“Mages.” Valencia demanded. “Are there any currently stationed here?’

“We have a pair of sibling war-weavers. The rest were withdrawn to the inner lands some time ago. Trouble on the baron’s borders?”

“Information for another time. Focus on the danger that is to come. Fetch them in a few moments. I wish to know their capabilities before we engage in battle.”

“They’ve not seen a minotaur force before, if that’s what you’re concerned with.”

I stood there and let the information flow around me. Soaked up the talk and responses being snapped back and forth. Valencia’s usual dread glee was gone, replaced by cold efficiency and stoicism. I learned that snipers wielding piercer bows were stationed in nests along the mountainside, ready to pepper and slow the host as it approached.

I learned and forgot the names of notable knights and champions, skilled warriors of different classes.

All this would only serve to slow the warherd’s advance. They would make it to the gates, would find their bloody way inside the fort.

That was where I would stand before them and do battle.

The sound of horns in the distance echoed through the valley, all conversation grinding to a halt as gazes turned toward the sounds.

Blurred as my eyesight was, I could still make out figures that moved at the valley’s mouth. Across the vast tunnel of stone, I saw my own kind. Minotaurs. These were not on foot, however. They road atop hulking, muscled beasts bred for war. Horned predators with gleaming eyes and sharp fangs.

Forward scouts of the horde, come to taunt the defenders with their presence.

“Well then,” Valencia spoke. “Let’s see what those prey-piercers of yours can actually do.”

Trepediaiton grew in my gut, hand clamped to the handle of my greatspear. Eyes locked on the blurred figures in the distance, I watched as Adric gestured to a sentinel high above. Whatever message he relayed was soon passed along to its recipient.

The snipers were so far down the valley that I could not see their nests, but I knew the minotaurs circled underneath, taunting them from atop their mounts. Why shouldn’t they, after all? I had seen what the best human bows did to the hides of minotaurs, and it was nothing.

I watched a figure stagger and nearly fall from its mount, heard bellows of pain echo along the valley. More came, and the message was delivered in volley. They were not invulnerable here. The small host wheeled and bounded away, followed by more arrows from on high.

There was some relief within me. They would not be able to just roll through the valley uncontested, able to shrug off human weaponry. These men and women had waged war against minotaurs before, seen their strenghts and weaknesses. They had adapted, learned, forged new tools to bridge the gap and better kill those they fought.

As humans did.

I just hoped it would be enough.