The broken spear lay on the courtyard table while Duskwatch prepared to answer its warning.
Desmond counted their food twice. The smoked Duskmaw meat gave them enough to feed six additional people for several days, provided nobody expected generous portions. Elara packed boiled cloth, bandages, herbs and two waterskins. Callum studied the southern road from the tower and selected an old stone culvert half a mile from the keep as their fallback point.
The culvert stood close enough for a fast retreat but far enough that strangers could not follow them directly through an open gate.
Weston spent the morning turning damaged roof boards into four light stretchers. He strengthened the grain, formed smooth handles and added narrow runners underneath so one person could drag a wounded traveller over level ground.
Desmond watched him stack them.
“The message said three wounded.”
“The person writing it may have been bleeding.”
“You think the number could be wrong?”
“I think carrying an extra stretcher is easier than carrying a person without one.”
Callum entered the workshop carrying two repaired bows and a bundle of arrows recovered from the old armory. “The cart stays here. It will slow us among the trees.”
Desmond tied medical supplies to one of the stretchers. “It also carries food.”
“We take enough for the six and return before dark.”
Elara tightened the straps of her pack. “We can discuss the rest while walking.”
They left Duskwatch shortly after sunrise.
Callum led with his sword loose in its scabbard. Weston followed with the steel spear he had created during the quillfang attack. Desmond and Elara pulled the nested stretchers behind them.
The trail was easy to find.
Blood marked low branches beside the road. Boot prints crossed one another where the survivors had changed direction, and dark metallic quillfang bristles lay scattered across the mud.
The first dead monster appeared less than a mile from the keep.
Its body had been crushed beneath a wall of hardened soil.
The wall stretched between two trees and stood nearly eight feet tall, though rain had already opened cracks through its surface. Roots and loose stones protruded from the sides. It had been raised quickly and abandoned without reinforcement.
Callum pressed one hand against it. “Earth magic.”
Elara examined the crushed quillfang. “A great deal of it.”
Weston placed his palm against the wall.
The structure contained several tons of soil and stone gathered into one rough mass. Its foundation was shallow, and large empty pockets remained inside. It would collapse within days, but that had never been the builder’s concern.
The wall had been raised to stop a charge.
Farther south, they found another barricade that had already failed. Three quillfangs lay beneath the collapsed earth, and a narrow column of stone had pierced one of them through the chest.
Desmond stopped looking at the bodies after the third defensive position.
A low ring of soil surrounded the remains of an overturned wagon. A trench had been opened across the road, and several quillfangs lay twisted at its bottom. Bloody bandages and a cold firepit showed that the survivors had rested there recently.
Elara knelt near the discarded cloth. “They left this morning.”
“Why abandon a wall?” Desmond asked.
Callum kicked loose soil from the base. “Because another charge would have brought it down.”
A dull impact travelled through the ground.
Callum raised his hand, and everyone became still.
Another impact followed, then a series of cracks too deep to have come from branches.
The fighting was ahead.
They left the stretchers beside the wagon and ran.
The forest opened into a shallow basin surrounded by low ridges. Five people huddled behind a crescent-shaped wall at its centre.
A sixth person stood in front of them.
He was broad through the shoulders and chest, with the thick arms of a soldier who had spent most of his life in armour. Dark hair was streaked with grey at the temples, though he looked no older than fifty. Blood soaked the left side of his coat.
He wore no staff or magical focus.
Both hands were pressed into the ground.
The wall shuddered as quillfangs struck its outer face. Cracks spread through the loose soil while stones rolled down the inner slope.
More than twenty beasts surrounded the basin. Others already lay dead inside trenches or beneath broken stone.
The earth mage lifted his head before Weston’s group reached the bottom of the ridge. He had felt their steps.
“Stay back!” he shouted. “They have not closed behind you yet.”
One of the larger quillfangs struck the wall.
A section near the centre collapsed.
The mage drove his fist into the ground. Earth surged upward, filling the breach before the first beast could force its way through. The repair was fast and massive, but loose soil immediately began spilling from its face.
Elara looked at Weston. “He is almost finished.”
The mage heard her.
“I know.”
The five people behind him were in poor condition. One young man lay with his thigh wrapped in blood-soaked cloth. Another survivor held his ribs and breathed in short, painful bursts. A woman supported someone whose ankle had swollen inside a torn boot.
The fifth still held a bow, though only a few arrows remained.
A scarred quillfang stepped forward from the pack. It was larger than the rest, with layered bristles covering its shoulders.
The earth mage shifted his weight. His left leg trembled, but his hands remained steady against the soil.
“Take the eastern ridge,” he called. “They will stay on us long enough for you to leave.”
The archer behind him caught his coat. “We are not leaving you.”
“You cannot run.”
“Neither can you.”
Weston started down the slope.
Callum caught his shoulder. “There are too many.”
“The mage already gathered the material.”
“That does not make the basin safe.”
“No. It makes the wall usable.”
Callum looked at him for a second, then released his shoulder and drew his sword.
Elara pulled water from the damp ground and the plants along the ridge. She sent it down the slope in a broad surge, knocking several quillfangs away from the path.
Weston and Callum ran through the opening.
The earth mage raised one hand from the ground. “Who are you?”
“Weston Draymoor. Warden of Duskwatch.”
His eyes moved briefly toward the north. “The light on the tower?”
“Ours.”
The scarred pack leader lowered its body.
The other quillfangs gathered around it.
The mage slammed both fists down.
Soil and shattered stone surged upward around the survivors. The crescent wall climbed higher and curved inward at both ends. Two rough platforms rose near the corners, high enough for archers to fire over the top.
The effort forced blood from the mage’s nose.
The first impact struck before the wall stopped moving.
Cracks opened across its centre.
“That is all I have left,” he said, remaining on both knees. “Make use of it.”
Weston placed both hands against the earthwork.
The amount of material hit his awareness at once.
The wall contained wet soil, gravel, tangled roots and heavy stones pulled from several depths. The mage had gathered it with extraordinary power but little time to arrange it properly.
Weston began at the base.
He widened the foundation by drawing connected earth inward from the basin. Loose pockets closed, and stones shifted into interlocking layers. The inner core compressed until the structure could carry its own weight without the mage continuously holding it together.
The next impact shook the rampart.
It remained standing.
The earth mage turned toward Weston. “What are you doing?”
“Finishing the foundation.”
Weston pushed farther.
He hardened the outer face by compressing the clay-rich soil and fusing the surface minerals together. It was not true fired ceramic, and it would still weather eventually, but it became dense enough to turn claws and absorb repeated impacts.
He flattened the top into a narrow fighting platform and shaped simple steps along the inner slope.
Then pain tightened behind his eyes.
The wall stretched farther than anything he had changed before. His Calling continued spreading, but the finer details at the distant ends became blurred.
Weston stopped improving the whole structure and focused only on the centre and the two platforms.
His hands began shaking.
Callum noticed. “How long can you hold it?”
“The wall will remain. I’m not holding it up.”
“That was not what I asked.”
“Long enough.”
The scarred leader charged.
It struck the hardened face with enough force to send a tremor through the basin. The wall held, but the left platform shifted where Weston had not completed the foundation.
The earth mage felt it immediately. He planted one palm against the ground and raised a wedge of rough stone beneath the weak section.
Weston corrected the stone before it settled, fitting it into the existing base.
The mage looked at him more closely. “You can make my earthworks permanent.”
“When the design is simple enough.”
The quillfangs began climbing over their dead.
Callum took the left platform with the surviving archer. Elara climbed the right and used concentrated water strikes to throw animals away from the wall.
Weston formed thick stone points along the most exposed section, but his vision blurred when he tried to extend them too far. He kept the change close to his hands and left the rest of the wall untouched.
The earth mage sensed the scarred leader moving toward the left.
“Under your platform,” he warned.
Callum turned just before the beast struck the base.
The platform jolted. A crack opened through the rough stone support.
The mage drove his fist down, forcing more earth beneath it. Weston compressed the new mass and locked it into the foundation.
Their abilities fitted together without discussion. The mage supplied material faster than Weston could gather it. Weston corrected its weaknesses before the next impact arrived.
The pack leader backed away and prepared for another charge.
Weston looked at the ground beneath it. The distance was too great for precise shaping through his Calling alone.
“Can you lift the ground under that one?” he asked.
The mage followed his gaze. “Once.”
“Do it when it runs.”
The scarred quillfang charged.
The mage pressed both palms flat.
A thick column of earth erupted beneath the creature’s chest. Its front legs left the ground, ruining the angle of its attack.
Weston sent his Calling through the connected column.
He compressed the upper portion into hard stone and narrowed it into a reinforced point. There was not enough suitable metal in the soil to produce a large steel spike without shrinking it severely, so he kept it stone and strengthened its internal structure instead.
The quillfang’s own weight drove it onto the point.
It roared and twisted, unable to pull free.
Callum jumped from the platform and landed on the inner slope. He ran up the hardened wall, launched himself from the top and drove his sword into the beast’s neck behind the jaw.
Elara struck the hilt with a narrow burst of water.
The blade went through.
The leader collapsed against the stone column.
The pack faltered.
The earth mage closed one hand, hardening soil around the legs of the nearest animals. Elara knocked two more from the wall while Callum returned to the platform.
The surviving quillfangs began retreating.
Weston attempted to reinforce the far end of the wall in case they circled back, but the pain behind his eyes sharpened. His right hand lost feeling for several seconds.
He broke contact.
The wall remained standing.
Weston took one step backward and nearly fell. Desmond caught him beneath the arm.
“You are done.”
“I’m standing.”
“Barely.”
Across the basin, the earth mage remained on his knees until the final vibrations faded into the forest. Then his arms gave way.
Elara reached him before his face struck the ground.
“He has emptied most of his mana,” she said after checking his breathing. “And that wound needs attention now.”
The man forced his eyes open.
“The five?”
Desmond counted them. “All alive.”
Only then did the mage stop trying to rise.
Elara treated the injured survivors in the shelter of the strengthened wall. The young man with the bitten thigh had lost dangerous amounts of blood, but the bone remained intact. The man holding his ribs had several cracks rather than a complete break. The woman with the swollen ankle could not walk without help.
The archer introduced herself as Nella Harrow. Her hands began shaking only after the fighting ended.
The other woman, Mara, knew enough herbal medicine to help Elara prepare dressings. The remaining three were too exhausted or injured for formal introductions.
None of them had originally travelled with the earth mage.
“He found us after our caravan scattered,” Nella explained. “He could have kept walking.”
“How long has he protected you?” Callum asked.
“Four days. He raised shelters when we stopped and walls whenever the pack reached us. Last night, he moved the wounded on a slab of earth while the rest of us ran beside it.”
Callum looked across the trenches and ruined barricades.
“He did this for four days?”
Nella nodded.
Weston rested against the rampart while the feeling slowly returned to his hand. The wall no longer required either mage’s attention. Its foundation was broad, the centre tightly compressed and the outer face hardened enough to survive ordinary weather.
He had not perfected every section. Several cracks remained near the distant end, and the platforms would require proper reinforcement before anyone relied on them again.
Even so, the structure could last for years rather than hours.
Weston could never have gathered so much earth during the attack by himself. The earth mage could never have made it permanent while exhausted.
They prepared to return to Duskwatch.
The wounded were secured to the stretchers. Weston used boards from the abandoned wagon to create a wider drag-sled for the unconscious mage, but his concentration remained unsteady. He kept the construction simple and allowed Callum to test every support before they used it.
The walk back took most of the afternoon.
The earth mage woke briefly near the old culvert. His hand struck the ground the instant his eyes opened, causing the stone beneath the sled to shift.
Callum reached for his sword.
Weston raised a hand. “You are safe.”
The man looked past them and counted the five travellers before examining the road.
“Duskwatch?”
“Close.”
He tried to sit up.
Elara pushed him down with one hand. “You have a deep wound below the ribs and almost no mana left.”
“I have rested.”
“You were unconscious.”
“That still counts.”
“No, it does not.”
His attention moved to Weston. “You changed the wall.”
“I strengthened the sections we needed.”
“You stopped touching it.”
“I reached my limit.”
The admission seemed to interest him more than a boast would have.
“What is your Calling?”
“Wright.”
A tired breath escaped the man that might have been a laugh. “That word has become generous.”
“You have not given us your name.”
He was quiet for several seconds.
“Garen Stronghold.”
Callum stopped walking.
Weston knew the name from military reports. Garen Stronghold had raised an earthwork ring around thousands of soldiers during the Siege of Arthen Ford and sealed the Blackridge Pass after three defensive lines failed.
Four years earlier, a dragon had destroyed his territory.
Official records claimed that the Earthwarden of Redhaven and his household had died inside the fortress.
Weston studied the wounded man on the sled. “The Crown declared you dead.”
Garen closed his eyes again. “It was close enough.”
He did not speak for the rest of the journey.
The repaired gate of Duskwatch appeared between the trees near sunset. One of Weston’s mana lights glowed inside the southern tower, and smoke drifted from the Duskmaw racks.
The five survivors slowed when they saw the keep.
Nella stared at the white light. “There is no flame.”
Desmond continued pulling the stretcher. “You can examine it after the bleeding stops.”
They brought everyone inside.
The barracks remained damaged, but Desmond had prepared the safest section before leaving. Weston’s light globe illuminated the room without oil or smoke, and the repaired bedframes held clean blankets.
Mara helped Elara treat the others. She had practical knowledge of herbs and wounds, though Elara still took control of the serious injuries.
Garen remained unconscious through the evening.
They fed the survivors fish broth, softened grain and small pieces of Duskmaw meat. Nella stopped eating when she learned what the meat was, considered the empty bowl and then continued.
Garen woke after midnight but did not leave the bed.
Weston found him staring at the light globe hanging from a repaired ceiling beam.
“No flame,” Garen said.
“No oil either.”
“How long has it worked?”
“Several days.”
“Then you are either very clever or extremely dangerous.”
“Both are possible.”
Garen’s eyes moved to Weston’s hands. “You were shaking after the wall.”
“I changed too much at once.”
“But the work remained.”
“Yes.”
“That does not happen with my emergency walls. Once I stop maintaining them, rain and their own weight begin pulling them apart.”
Weston sat beside the bed. “You move more material in seconds than I could gather in an hour.”
“And you turn a pile of earth into something soldiers could defend.”
Neither man needed to explain the value of that combination.
Garen looked back toward the ceiling.
“You recognised my name.”
“I studied Arthen Ford.”
“The army needed one night. The wall gave them one.”
“It was enough.”
Garen was silent for a while.
“Redhaven was different.”
Weston waited.
“A dragon came from beneath the northern mountain. The mines had opened something that should have remained sealed. I held the roads while people escaped.”
“Your family?”
Garen’s jaw tightened.
“My wife and sons remained in the fortress.”
The answer contained everything Weston needed to understand. He did not ask how they died or how Garen survived.
After another long silence, Garen continued.
“I walked after that. Staying near the ruins was worse.”
“And you found the five travellers.”
“They needed help.”
“You fought for them for four days.”
“I expected the pack to lose interest.”
“It did not.”
“No.”
Elara entered before Weston could ask more. She checked Garen’s wound, changed the dressing and ordered him to remain in bed for the next day.
Garen did not argue.
That alone showed how badly he was hurt.
The following morning, he could sit upright but did not attempt to cast. On the second day, he walked as far as the courtyard with Elara beside him. The wound pulled painfully whenever he turned, and his mana recovery remained uneven.
The five survivors began recovering around him.
Nella helped Callum repair arrows. Mara worked beside Elara and inspected the herbs growing near the eastern stream. The carpenter with the cracked ribs advised Desmond on which sections of the barracks could be repaired without replacing the entire roof.
Garen watched them from a chair near the workshop.
Weston did not ask him for magic.
On the third day, Garen approached the northern breach.
The gap remained blocked by a temporary arrangement of rubble and reinforced wood. It would slow a small beast but not a serious attack.
Garen placed one hand against the ground.
Elara saw him from across the courtyard. “No.”
“I am testing my recovery.”
“You can test it by walking back to the chair.”
Garen looked toward Weston.
Weston examined the old mage’s stance and breathing. “A small amount. No wall higher than your shoulder.”
Elara folded her arms. “You are both becoming difficult.”
Garen lowered both hands.
The ground trembled gently.
Loose earth and stone rose into the breach, forming a rough barrier slightly higher than a man. The movement was controlled but noticeably slower than the walls he had raised in the basin.
Garen stopped before his breathing worsened.
Weston touched the new structure. He closed the largest internal gaps, broadened the base and compressed the surface enough to resist rain. He did not add battlements, stairs or stone facing. The breach only needed to remain sealed until they could rebuild the tower properly.
Garen pressed his palm against the finished wall.
“It no longer needs me.”
“No.”
The simplicity of the answer affected him more than praise would have.
That evening, Garen asked Weston to walk with him outside the southern gate.
Callum followed at a distance. Garen noticed and did not object.
They stopped where the road overlooked the lower field.
“My wife was Alessa,” Garen said without looking at Weston. “My sons were nearly grown. I could raise walls around armies, but I could not reach them before the fortress fell.”
Weston allowed the silence to remain.
“I spent four years avoiding every lord who offered me another command,” Garen continued. “Most wanted the name. Some wanted the power. None cared much what remained of the man.”
“I am not offering you a command.”
“No. You have not asked me for anything.”
Garen looked back toward the keep. Nella stood on the repaired tower with Callum. Mara and Elara were working near the stream. The others sat beside the courtyard fire.
“You left your walls to help people you had never met,” he said. “Those five would be dead without you.”
“They would also be dead without you.”
“I had nothing left to give.”
“You gave them four days.”
Garen considered that.
“I owe you a life,” he said.
Weston shook his head. “You do not.”
“I decide what debts I carry.”
There was no ceremony in his voice, only the stubborn certainty of a soldier who had already made a decision.
“I will remain until Duskwatch is secure and that debt is settled. While I am here, nothing reaches you through ground I can feel.”
Weston looked at him. “I need advice as much as protection.”
“You will get it. Whether you enjoy it is another matter.”
“That sounds fair.”
Garen held out his hand.
Weston clasped it.
The agreement was not yet an oath of lifelong service. Garen had promised to stay, protect Weston and help secure Duskwatch. What came after that would depend on what he found here once the immediate debt was paid.
For now, it was enough.
They spent the next two days surveying instead of building.
Garen could sense a hard stone layer beneath the eastern ground and a buried stream channel running near the lower field. He also identified the weakest approaches to the keep and the places where water would collect after heavy rain.
Weston marked the findings on Desmond’s map.
The original walls protected only the military courtyard. New houses, workshops and future fields would remain exposed unless they created a larger defensive line.
Garen drew the first plan in the soil with one finger.
“A wall here would cover the southern road and western slope. The eastern side can wait until your people need more ground.”
“How much can you raise safely?” Weston asked.
“Today? A few hundred feet if you allow me to rest between sections.”
“That is enough.”
They began on the sixth morning after the rescue.
Garen stood outside the gate with both feet planted firmly against the ground. His wound was still bandaged, and Elara remained nearby in case his condition worsened.
He drove both fists into the soil.
The earth rolled upward.
A long rampart rose across the southern approach, carrying loose stone and compact soil from the trench opening in front of it. Garen stopped after the first hundred feet rather than forcing his damaged body farther.
The wall was broad and impressive, but its outer face slumped in places and several stones sat unevenly inside it.
Weston moved to the nearest end and placed both hands against it.
He strengthened only what mattered first: the foundation, the inner core and the rain-facing surface. Drainage channels formed beneath the base, and the trench slope became steep enough to slow charging monsters without collapsing after the first storm.
The work pushed against his concentration, but the section was much smaller than the basin wall. He stopped before the numbness returned to his hands.
Garen rested while Callum marked positions for future firing platforms.
After an hour, they raised the next section.
They worked in stages throughout the day. Garen supplied the volume. Weston corrected each section before they continued. Neither attempted to finish the entire defensive ring at once.
By sunset, the new rampart protected the southern road and part of the western slope. It was not a city wall yet. There were no towers, permanent gates or weapon mounts, and the eastern side remained open.
It was still more defence than Duskwatch had possessed that morning.
Garen stood beside Weston near the completed section. His face showed fatigue, but he remained steady.
“I could have raised twice as much alone,” he said.
“It would have started collapsing after the first heavy rain.”
“Yes.”
Weston looked along the hardened wall. “Tomorrow we add one tower. After that, we repair houses.”
“Not another wall?”
“People need somewhere dry to sleep before they need three layers of fortification.”
Garen nodded slowly. “You listen to your own supply keeper.”
“Desmond becomes unpleasant when ignored.”
“I have noticed.”
Behind them, one of Weston’s mana lights illuminated the repaired gate. The survivors gathered around the cooking fire while Duskmaw meat smoked along the eastern side of the courtyard.
Garen looked toward the forest beyond the new rampart.
“The next wave will be larger.”
“Probably.”
“This wall will slow it.”
“Tomorrow’s wall will do better.”
Garen rested his hands on the hardened earth.
For the first time since Redhaven, something he had raised would remain after he walked away.