Quiet had descended upon the scene, at least outwardly. Alter roved the perimeter, hands gripping his weapon tightly as he scanned the foliage below. Somewhere in that leafy soup was a small force of hostile men capable of ruining their days, their lives, everything. Or maybe they had all fled, scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind and all this tense paranoia was for nothing. Either way it didn’t matter, vigilance was the order of the moment, and damned if he was going to be found wanting.

  At least he wasn’t alone in this undertaking. Walross was also on patrol, his posture betraying the fact that he was just as on edge as him. In the shadow of the wall, Pavejack had the machine gun set and ready with a view of the newly created staircase. Having confirmed that the tents were clear, Whim had set off back to where Boozehound worked frantically to prepare his two patients to move. Finally, Boats was away by himself amidst the high rocks to ensure none could sneak up behind them.

  “Ever get the feeling you’re being watched?” Walross commented as their paths crossed, his voice laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

  “I feel like a random npc grunt in a stealth action game, existing only to spout some cheesy macho one-liners and run for an alarm button.” He responded bitterly.

  “Mmhm. Although, you’d think that if they were in fact watching us then the Kindler would have tried something by now.” Walross paused to examine one patch of bushes more intently.

  “I’ve got a small theory about that.” Alter halted as well, choosing a point to scan deeper into the basin. “Remember how Oliver said that using his powers too frequently could have pretty large drawbacks? That man let loose a bunch of blasts and pulled a fairly long flight of stairs out of solid rock, all within a couple of minutes of each other. He may well need time to rest and recharge before they can think about reengaging.”

  “I see the logic. How much would you be willing to bet on it, though?” Walross asked thoughtfully.

  “Nothing. As far as I’m concerned there’s a man behind every leaf ready to jump out at any second.”

  “Very wise.” Walross nodded and continued on his cliffside vigil.

  Motion from behind drew Alter’s attention as a small procession made its careful way through the hole in the wall. Boozehound stepped as if he were tip-toeing through a minefield, the still unconscious Vangroover strapped securely to his back. Riptide came following him like a lost puppy. From the way he was swaying gently from side to side as wide eyes peered intently at his surroundings, he was still recovering. Bringing up the rear was Whim, ready and alert to any potential threats. The trip hazard of the destroyed barricade successfully navigated, the men disappeared into the centre cabin where the wounded could be given proper beds and chairs. Transportation mission accomplished, the two healthy men exited the building and moved over to Alter’s position.

  “I know what you’re going to ask.” Boozehound cut off Alter’s immediate question. “We’re not going anywhere until Harry’s neck has a chance to begin healing. I’ve done all I can for now, and I see no reason why it would get any worse without provocation. Still, he’s in no fit state to travel. As such, this collection of hovels is home until I say so.”

  “I understand.” Alter held up a placating hand, the man had predicted his next words perfectly. “Do you have an estimate for how long it’ll take?”

  The Frenchman shook his head. “Not really, but it certainly won’t be today. We should make preparations in order to secure the area for the night.”

  “Does that mean we’re going out hunting?” Whim asked eagerly, hefting his rifle to imply the results of such an excursion.

  “If we were at full strength, perhaps. But we are not.” Alter answered firmly. “We need to bring all of our resources within the walls. That means a couple of people are going to have to go back and retrieve Farfield and the horses and bring them back here. Go and grab Boats and get moving.” He ordered.

  Whim’s jaw worked silently for a couple of seconds as he processed what he’d just been told to do. The man let out a low, grating groan before dejectedly stomping his way towards the wall. Boozehound let out a low snicker as they watched him depart, and despite the tension Alter found himself cracking a smile at his overly dramatic exit. The pair listened to him bemoaning his pitiful situation and back-breaking workload to the Marksman over the radio before the two arranged a rendezvous point and the conversation petered out. Boozehound continued his report to its conclusion.

  “As for Rip, he’s improving steadily and shouldn’t see any lasting damage. I’d wager that by sundown he’ll be cleared for duty again. He’ll be my assistant until then.”

  “That’s a relief, thanks. Will you need any more help or is it just a case of waiting?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “I’ll be fine with what I have. You keep working on maintaining our new perimeter.” Boozehound began walking back towards the cabin but paused to glance ruefully at the wall.

  “Would’ve been nice if this was intact.” He commented, a not-so-subtle hint of accusation in his voice.

  Alter considered shooting a defensive remark back but ultimately decided against it. With Boats and Whim retrieving the ostler and horses, and the machine gun team busy with eyeing the basin, there was no one left to watch the proverbial front door. That was his job. The bodies of those dispatched near the wall had already been searched and removed, but as Alter slowly clambered up the rickety ladder of the watchtower, he found himself face to face with the shocked, pain-wracked expression of one of the men Boats had dealt with. Lovely. Turning away from the silently accusing face he scrambled up the rest of the ladder and used a foot to flip the body over and into a corner where he didn’t have to think about it. The local scenery made for much more pleasant viewing.

  Time had passed, unaware of the drama that had unfolded so recently. The sun hung low in the sky, toying with the horizon line like a child dipping their feet into a cold pool. The sky was beginning its vibrant evening palette swap as hints of yellow and orange clamoured for attention around the blazing white disc. The gently darkening hillsides and banks were still and serene but for the scattered patches of longer grass where the invisible machinations of the breeze painted their waving patterns. He sucked in a long breath through his mouth and exhaled slowly through his nose. He had not been himself during the latter stages of the fight. The sight of his friends lying wounded on the floor had caused him to throw an amount of critical caution to the wind. As a leader, as a Captain, he could not allow himself to become so swayed. Compromised. In his self-imposed exile atop the tower, Alter reflected on his actions, silently vowing to never allow that harsh, malicious self to take control again. Even though the uncontrollable little voice in the back of his mind made it perfectly clear that he would do the exact same thing should such an event happen again.

  Movement caught his attention, snapping him out of his grim reverie. A column of horses led by familiar figures made their way slowly through the rocks towards him. Whim spotted him in the tower and waved jauntily while Boats quietly split away from the procession and vanished back into the broken boulders. The horses were skittish as they approached the wall, and required some encouragement to finally plod their way through the ruined gate. Farfield glanced around the captured camp nervously, finding himself sickened by the dark red smears on the ground yet unable to stop himself from taking long glances at them. The cooking pot was produced and suitable firewood sourced from one of the tents. The sky completed its transition, the temperature fell, and the sun finally decided that the pool was fine enough to sink beneath the surface. Eventually, Alter decided that remaining in the tower was a fruitless task and he began his unsteady descent.

  “Any movement?” He asked Pavejack who was still nestled snugly against the edge of the wall.

  “Nothing the whole time.” Pavejack answered languidly, with a cat-like stretch. “Hey, how’re we going to handle security tonight?”

  “By having two watchmen on alert at all times, and relying on the proximity pulse.” Alter answered, waving to Boats as he came silently padding into view to join them

  “One on the gate, one on the stairs?” Pavejack asked as he stood, to which Alter nodded.

  “Rip’s had a nice, relaxing afternoon. I’m sure he won’t mind volunteering for a double stint.” Boats commented with a half-smile.

  “That’ll be up to Marcus. Come on, let’s see what's on the menu.” Alter nodded towards the small cooking fire that had been constructed between the cabins and the trio made their way over.

  Farfield stirred the half-constructed stew in silence, his grip on the long wooden spoon was iron-like, his head snapped toward any direction a sound emanated from. Alter coughed gently to signal their approach, causing the young man’s face to spin toward them with wide eyes locked in anxious scrutiny.

  “Ahh. Good evening, Captain.” He stammered as he turned to stare intently at the cooking pot.

  “Good evening, Farfield.” Alter responded gently as he sat down opposite the nervous youth and offered him an encouraging smile. “You’ve worked yourself into quite a state there. What ails you?”

  “Oh, it’s, umm.” He began before a wave of embarrassment caused him to choke on his words.

  “Relax kid, we won’t bite.” Boats laughed as he took his own spot.

  Farfield took a second to compose himself, eyes straying out to the rapidly darkening wilderness. “They’re still out there, aren’t they? Sir Whim told me that a Soul Kindler was among them. The thought that I could just vanish into the floor without warning terrifies me. I don’t know how you can do it.” He admitted, his head awkwardly shrinking into his chest.

  Alter sighed, what had the man been telling the poor lad as they’d brought the horses over?

  “You’re not going to get sucked into the floor or anything like that, trust me.” Pavejack sat down next to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. “We’re all here, we’re all going to protect you.”

  Farfield smiled weakly at the attempt at comfort before shivering. “A lot of people died here, didn’t they?” He asked as his attention turned to the slim licks of fire.

  “An amount.” Alter answered simply, the exact number that had been reported to him had already been lost to the aether.

  “How do you do it?” Farfield asked without looking back up. “The camp, these buildings, even this firewood. It all belonged to these men, now they’re gone and we’ve taken it over so casually." His voice was plaintive, as if begging for reassurance that those surrounding him felt the same way.

  Alter swallowed, and wished he had some sort of alcohol to hand. He had a hunch that he would need some fortification for the upcoming conversation.