BOOK 2

  CHAPTER 9

  Battle Plans

  The training yard emptied as the sun began to touch the mountains. Bash left Luis with the Beastmasters and made his way back to the Village Hall.

  People came running in and out, ferrying messages. Beastmasters reported in, received orders, disappeared again.

  Walking in, Bash made his way over to Jack, who sat bent over a table covered in maps. He was adding marks to them. Troop movements. Enemy positions.

  Bash noticed Jack’s skin had grown pale, sweat beading at his temples. He looked like he might collapse at any moment. “Jack. You need to lie down.”

  Jack looked up. It took a moment for his eyes to focus. “I’ll rest when my lord does.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You were stabbed two days ago.”

  “And you got fire blasted by magic.” Jack’s voice was firm despite his pallor. “Yet here you are. If you’re going to run yourself into the ground, the least I can do is keep pace.”

  Lilly flew in through an open window and landed on a wooden perch. Someone had built it while Bash wasn’t looking. A small kindness in the middle of chaos.

  “What do you have, Lilly?” Jack asked.

  “They stopped marching.” She ruffled her feathers. “Fires and cooking.”

  Thank the Shard, Bash thought. He had been afraid they would keep going through the night. Push hard while the defenders were still reeling from the first attack. But Patrick and Jack had been right. They were scripted to act like people.

  A wolf trotted into the open doorway. No. Not a wolf. A werewolf. Bash still wasn’t used to that.

  Jack looked up and held out his hand.

  The werewolf approached and pressed his muzzle against Jack’s palm. Almost reverently. A greeting between werewolf and Beastmaster. Bash had seen it before. What he had thought was petting was actually a formal greeting. Respect given and received.

  The werewolf sat back on his haunches and began to speak. His voice came out strange, shaped by a canine throat, but the words were clear enough. “Rockslides are prepared. We can trigger them now and block the pass, or wait to use them as a weapon.”

  Jack looked towards Bash. “What do you think?”

  Bash sat at an open chair and considered. Using them as a weapon seemed like a good idea. Take out a few dozen soldiers. But it might also enrage the army, right? It might turn a measured advance into a furious charge.

  So it was a question. Buy time, or take a cheap shot. Bash was tempted. God, he was tempted. He wanted to extract bloody vengeance. Wanted to watch rocks crush the soldiers who served the man responsible for Patrick’s death. Wanted to hurt them the way he was hurting. But he had to stay calm. Think like Patrick.

  “Trigger the smaller one now,” Bash finally said. “Keep the biggest in reserve. We split the odds.”

  Jack nodded in agreement, and the werewolf trotted back out the door.

  Bash checked his interface.

  Bash pulled up his character menu and set his spawn point to Village Hall. No more nightmare scenarios of Remorting back to Noob Town on the other side of the continent. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

  Stone walls were next on the list. Wood wouldn’t hold against eight hundred soldiers. But stone would take two days, even with every available resource assigned.

  Two days meant delaying farming. Delaying farming meant fewer crops. Fewer crops meant one or two starving children come winter. Did he delay death now or later? But what were two lives weighed against the whole camp? And would it matter if they all died anyway?

  God damnit. Leadership sucked. Bash straightened. They needed the walls. He would make up for it by doing supply runs from the Londonland Resistance if he had to. Carry food by hand every single day, running back and forth.

  Too many decisions. Planning for the immediate future. Balancing that against what would be needed long-term. All of these things he would have subconsciously put off in the past, let others deal with. Now he knew why. This sucks.

  Jack forced himself to stand, quivering with the effort. Bash was going to protest, but the seriousness in Jack’s eyes kept him quiet. The older man faced him directly. “I surrender to you, Bash.” The words were a binding. Jack’s contract transferred instantly, the number in Bash’s interface ticking up from 51 to 52. Filling the spot that Patrick had left.

  “Uhh...” Bash stumbled over the question, humbled. “Why now?”

  "Because you didn't stop." Jack met his eyes. "Patrick died, and you kept moving. You trained harder, you made decisions.” He paused, “You held it together when most would have fallen apart."

  Bash’s head dropped. Had he really? Or was he just putting on a brave face?

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Jack continued. “I can’t replace your friend. No one can. I’m not trying to do that.” His voice was firm. “I will never be your silent companion. Or really your companion at all. I will stay here with my people, always. Even when you’re off adventuring to save the Shard.”

  Bash looked back up. “Thank you, Jack. For trusting in me.” He gestured at the maps. “Now. Catch me up.”

  “Best guess, their main force will hit our position either tomorrow night or following morning.” Jack coughed, wincing at the pain in his side. “The good news is the pass is narrow. They can’t bring their full numbers to bear. The bad news is they don’t need to. They can rotate fresh troops while we exhaust ourselves.”

  Bash stared at the map. He was good at hitting things. Good at surviving. Planning was Patrick’s job.

  “I need you to lead the war council tonight,” Jack said.

  Bash’s head shot up. “What?”

  “They need to hear from you directly. Not through me, not through messengers. You.”

  “Jack, I don’t know what I’m doing. You’ve led armies before. You built this place.”

  “I saw you at the training yard. With Luis” Jack spoke with certainty. “The way you handled him when he was struggling. The way you adapted instead of just pushing harder.”

  Bash looked away, his face tight. “What if I don’t believe I can do it?”

  “Then lie to yourself.” Jack’s smile was thin. “Leadership is mostly performance. Confidence comes later.”

  Bash was quiet for a long moment. Outside, he could hear the sounds of the village, the hammering, voices, the distant howl of a werewolf calling its pack. People who would die if he got this wrong. “Fine,” he said finally. “But if I say something stupid, you’re going to kick me under the table.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Jack fixed him with a stern look. “The council convenes at dark. That gives you a couple hours to rest. Consider it an order.”

  Bash raised an eyebrow. “You can’t order me. I’m the lord.”

  “Then consider it very strong, non-optional advice,” Jack said, as he moved toward the door, one hand pressed against his side. “I’ll send someone to wake you.”

  He left before Bash could argue further.

  Bash sat alone in the hall, staring at the maps. Two days. Maybe less. Standing, he walked to his room and pushed open the door. A pitcher of water and a plate of bread and dried meat were left on the side table for him. Nora’s doing, probably. She had a way of taking care of people without making a fuss about it.

  In here, alone, with his thoughts, was way worse than the training yard. Worse than the planning table. Out there, at least he had distractions. People to talk to. Problems to solve. In here, there was nothing but his memories.

  Patrick’s face. The blood pooling beneath him. The follower count dropping from 52 to 51.

  Picking up the bread, he raised it to his mouth before realizing he wasn’t hungry. Setting it back down, he reopened his menu. Stats. Skills. Anything to distract him.

  Bash could feel the pressure building. A few more battles, maybe less, and he’d hit the level cap again. Level 77.

  Then he could remort. Reset to level 1. Double the grind, but double the power. The only way to keep growing. The only way to become strong enough to face Maximus.

  “Shai.” He called.

  She appeared beside him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her usual metal armor was replaced with a flowing black gown, in a similar Victorian style. Her oversized eyes and painted white face looked at him with concern. “Yes?”

  “The Remort. The class error. Have you fixed it yet?”

  “I’m still working on it.” She paused. “The pointer error is more complex than initially estimated.” She tilted her head. “Why? Do you plan on using it soon?”

  “Might not have a choice,” he said. “If the battle goes long enough...”

  “I’ll prioritize it then.” Shai’s voice softened. “But Bash? You should lie down. Jack was right. You look terrible.”

  “Thanks.” Bash gave a weak smile.

  “I mean it. Your cognitive efficiency has dropped twenty-three percent since this morning. Your emotional regulation is compromised. If you try to lead a war council in this state, you’ll make mistakes.”

  “But you know I can’t really sleep, right?”

  Shai was quiet for a moment. “Yes, but at least close your eyes. Let your body recover for a bit.”

  It was good advice. Bash knew it was good advice. Laying back on the cot, he stared at the ceiling trying to blank his mind. It didn’t work, but at least the tension in his shoulders eased. His breathing slowed. “Shai, can you stay with me?”

  She didn’t answer with words. She didn’t have to. Her presence came closer, giving off a physical warmth that brushed against his skin.

  He closed his eyes.

  Sleep, as always, never came. But something like it did. A gray half-state where the thoughts kept circling and lost some of their sharp edges. Where Patrick’s face still appeared but didn’t cut quite as deep.

  Tonight, Bash would stand in front of his people and pretend he knew what he was doing.

  Leadership is mostly performance, Jack had said. Bash hoped he was right. Otherwise, they were all doomed.

  ***

  Bash’s mind hadn’t stopped. Not for a second. Tactics. Decisions. To-do lists. The enemy was coming. The defenses weren’t ready. None of them were ready.

  Despite that, he somehow felt better as he stood and headed to the great room. The war council was already gathering. Jack sat at the head of the table, still pale but healthier than last time he saw him. Garrett and three other senior Beastmasters filled the left side. On the right, a cluster of werewolves in human form, their eyes reflecting the torchlight with an animal gleam.

  Bash took his place at the table and cleared his throat. “Alright. Let’s go over what we have.”

  He laid out the plan. The chokepoint at the mountain pass that Jack had briefed him on. The initial rockslide to funnel the enemy. The defensive line of Beastmasters and wolves. The stone wall construction and the fallback positions if things went wrong.

  The men nodded along. Murmured agreement. No one interrupted. Because he wasn’t saying anything new.

  Bash realized he was just repeating what they’d already discussed. Word for word, in some places. He wasn’t adding value. He was just talking to feel important. To feel like he was doing something.

  His shoulders dropped as he looked around the room, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. Nora, Luis. Jack. The other Beastmasters and werewolves.

  “Any new ideas?” he asked. “How can we improve the odds?”

  Silence for a moment. Then one of the leaders spoke up. “More Pit traps. Along the approach. It could slow them down. Make them nervous.”

  “Good. What else?” Bash prodded.

  A werewolf stood up. Tall. Broad. Gray streaks in his dark hair. Bash thought his name was Jason, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

  “More rockslides,” the werewolf said. His voice was a low rumble. “We need to double what we have planned. Triple, if possible. It’s the only realistic chance we have of evening the numbers.”

  Murmurs of agreement passed through the room.

  Bash grabbed a piece of charcoal and turned to the rough map on the wall. He circled the mountain pass and wrote ROCKSLIDES in bold letters.

  “Good. What else?”

  “Hit and run,” another werewolf said. This one was leaner, younger. “Night raids. We hit them tonight. Tomorrow night. Keep them scared. Keep them tired.”

  Bash felt something stir in his chest. Something dark and eager. “Night raids,” he repeated. He wrote it on the map. “Good. What else?”

  More ideas came. Poisoned water supplies, rejected as not feasible. False retreat to draw them into an ambush, possible, but risky. Sending messengers to the Londonland Resistance for reinforcements, too far, too slow.

  They circled some options. Scratched out others. By the end, the map was a mess of charcoal marks and crossed-out words. They now had a plan. A real plan.

  Bash turned to the Beastmasters. “Garrett. You’re in charge of the rockslides. I want every loose boulder on that mountainside ready to fall by tomorrow evening.”

  Garrett nodded. “Consider it done.”

  Bash turned to Jason, the werewolf leader. “Gather your fastest. Your quietest. No more than ten. We hit tonight.”

  Jason’s lips pulled back in something that might have been a smile. Too many teeth. “With pleasure.”

  Bash looked around the room one more time. “I’ll be joining the raid personally. Any objections?”

  No one did.

  “Good. Let’s move.”