The first rays of the sun shone brightly through the horizon, unveiling a pristine and completely breath-taking view and the silhouette of a path snaking its way, leading me to where my destiny awaits: Lyria. Despite the betrayal from the halfling rogue, my whole being felt exhilarated at the thought of the one who would receive me at the top of the pass. Though Lyria has been reticent since we last parted, she did promise to wait for me at the peak of High Crag Pass; High-Crag Hold.

From where I stopped, I could see the road, winding up the mountains like a serpent slithering its way to the top. As I rode through the day, stopping only to let my mount regain its stamina, there was tall ominous mist shrouding the peaks rising above me. In sharp contrast, looking down, Fort Halcyon, was a huge citadel in a vast sea of green. Ignoring the ominous size and its formidable fortifications, I mounted the destrier, urging it to ride through the pass.

With steely-gripped reins, I drove the chestnut destrier over the perilous terrain until dusk fell. A chill wind blew against my ears, as we neared the higher altitude. The sun slipped down the horizon when we reached another wide curve in the pass. In front of me, an old relic representing probably a hundred years to these parts sat rune-engraved stone columns. Remnants of recent, but not so-recent campfires littered the ground. It must have been a huge structure back then; but now, due to ravage caused by neglect and time, hardly anything remained except for the still standing wide-pillars blanketed by centuries of growth of moss and vines. I rested the night, on the strange grounds, sleepless. Memories of Lyria taunted me, prodding me to venture onwards.

At dawn, silhouetted on the top of the mountain, blurred by the icy winds and ever-present mist, sat the distant walls, still guarding what was probably going to be the stronghold for my mercenaries. With High-Crag Hold, though looming in the distant but still in sight, I mounted and rode past through the alpine mesa till the sun-exposed everything below me. Exhausted, my wrist aching, and the white foam frothing from my exhausted mount’s mouth, I was glad to see the first trace of civilisation. Band of orcs pushing loaded carts up the pass.

"Greetings," I hailed them but received no response in return, despite my jovial smile. One of them barely raised an arm, tightly bracing a pole, he pointed towards a blue tattooed orc with a shaved head. His beard, was grey and hung in knots, long enough to dance in the wind as he barked orders.

"Greetings foreman," I hailed, "I am..."

"We know who you are. Friend of Overlord," he replied, "Seneschal Tharkas is who you want to speak to. He is ahead."

Riding in the pointed direction, I found Tharkas, overseeing the construction of a basement pillar.

"Lady Rylonvirah, You are here at last," called out Tharkas with curious surprise painted on him. His cordial smile was almost as inviting as a warm meal on a cold evening.

As I handed over the reins to an orc stable-hand, the familiar form of Captain Jorrell and Captain Hilam strode over. Apart from the insignia of House Wysteria, Captain Jorrell was dressed almost non-descriptive. His entire attire could be easily mistaken for a rich Merchant's guard. On the contrary, Captain Hilam looked like a mountain brigand, with unkempt hair, an unshaved beard and a thick layer of dirt caking his features.

They both bowed politely towards me as I neared.

"Commander." They said. No further titles or tidings. Just a simple respectful greeting, accompanied by tight pursing of lips.

"A brief rundown on the inventory, please," I asked.

"We have stocked them. Enough to feed a small army but not enough to last a siege" answered Tharkas.

"Captain Jorrell, how many soldiers followed you?" I requested.

"Twenty of my mounted knights and a hundred crossbowmen," replied Captain Jorrell succinctly, not bothering to conceal the displeasure coursing through him.

"Assign your mounted knights to transport work with the orcs," I ordered, unperturbed by Captain Jorrell's sharp intake of air and the hiss under his breath.

"They are soldiers. Knights. Men I have trained. You cannot tarnish their honour by assigning them to peasant duties," replied the man, stepping aside with his arms defiantly crossed in front of his chest.

"Your mounted knights will not see the glint of steel. Or would you rather that I through them in this unforgiving terrain against the horde?" I asked.

With heavy steps and head hung low, he shrugged his wide shoulders. Finally, after a brief silence, when he spoke, it was a simple word of acknowledgement.

"I will see to it," he replied.

"Sadly, I cannot promise the same safety for those hundred poor crossbowmen. They will be stationed behind the walls. Should the Hold fall, they will provide cover for the retreat."

Captain Jorrell simply nodded, realising full well the fate of those crossbowmen under his command. The man probably knew it when he was ordered to aid me. Looking straight into my eyes, the man gave one final nod before leaving me with Captain Hilam, both men eyeing each other, pitying each other.

"Captain Hilam, what about your men?" I inquired.

"Fifty light infantry. Proficiency with polearms" replied Captain Hilam with a huff. He rubbed his arms and drew another long breath. Sensing me watch his actions curiously, he added like an afterthought,

"Thin mountain air does not bode well with me."

"Have your men erect wooden palisades. Tharkas will supply your men with the required material," I instructed.

Only a simple nod was all that I could offer, the only sign of comforting assurance that I could provide to Captain Hilam. The burly man before me looked already easily conceded to defeat, accepting the inevitable with sad resignation in his deep dour eyes. Captain Hilam stood steady, like a mountain, as he glared with empty eyes at the working orcs. His fist, clenched tight that his knuckles paled and his jaw set in stubborn resistance to whatever that he felt inside.

I recalled Karlienne mentioning in Asterlund that Captain Hilam's wife was pregnant. For a narrow fragile moment, I felt extremely guilty at plucking the man from his house and setting him in the middle of ravaging flames.

"Should it come to retreat, you will lead the first wave of refugees." My words brought a sigh of relief to his weather-beaten features.

"Thank you," he finally managed to push those words out. His tone to prove him proud yet somehow saddened, conjuring something dark from the bottom of his subconscious. He smiled an extremely feeble smile.

"Asterlund is no big city, just one town joining a few villages. Everyone was related to everyone else, either by blood or by marriage," he said with sadness.

Swaying towards me, like a tree rocking in a gentle mountain breeze, he awkwardly placed a hand on my shoulder. An act that surprised me in itself. He gestured to the incomplete Hold that still loomed as far away as possible.

"This land does not belong to my men. None of us even visited this place before and yet my men are sent here to die for a cause that is not their own," he said.

He turned suddenly. Reaching forward, he grasped my hand between his own worn ones, never hesitating to squeeze it lightly.

"I have seen you fight in Asterlund. Despite what others say, I know that you are the one behind the liberation of Arlond. Please help my men, to reach back to their wives and family," he pleaded. His honest admission somehow made it hard to refuse his request.

"Give me their names. I will send an outrider to Ellisinore. The High Archoness will provide for their families for the rest of their lives. That is all I can promise," I answered disappointing the man.

Silently, without any salute or acknowledgement, he strode away barking orders to his men.

*****

The thick grey walls of High-Crag Hold welcomed me. Despite being surrounded by mist and thick clouds, the Hold itself rested on somewhat flat terrain, bright and somewhat warmer than the surrounding pass. Though just thick walls and still under construction, its ferocious appearance was more than just its thick lower portcullis, unfailingly guarded by a dozen of my own mercenaries, all goblins in full battle gear. As I drew closer, I could make out the individual features of the orcs working high on the scaffoldings.

Contrary to my initial conception, the Hold itself radiated warmth and serenity. Structures huddled behind the safety of the walls provided the necessary facilities and workshops, together with taverns and even two granaries for keeping provisions safe during the long winters, which was not surprising since High-Crag Hold developed primarily as a resting and restocking place for caravans traversing the High Crag Pass.

Maapu rushed from behind the portcullis barking at a few other goblins as he passed them. Somehow, he now bore the insignia of a captain on his fine woollen cloak. Since I could not remember ever issuing such an order and Arlene would never willingly do so, I could only surmise that he promoted himself.

"Dark Mistress," he huffed drawing a deep breath almost pushing his chest forward, "Welcome to your place."

His vocabulary still needed working.

"Where is Taltil and Theko?" I asked without breaking stride.

"Theko with strong demon woman," said Mappu. A smile crossed my lips at his title for Lyria. A strong woman, that she is. That is the kind of woman my love is.

"Taltil, I do not know. Comes and goes when she likes. I think Taltil is lazy and sleeps with no Dark Mistress to serve," complained Maapu.

I stepped through the threshold, only to be accosted by a portly man with a receding hairline.

"My Lady, let me formally welcome you to your Hold. I am Gwain, speaker for the community and the innkeeper," he introduced himself.

Without wasting any time with formalities nor intending to break my vigorous stride, I asked, "How many people are here?"

"Within the Hold, around two hundred and another hundred outside," he answered.

"When the siege begins, I cannot protect the outlying settlements. Send word for everyone to move in and make accommodations," I ordered. The wide square of the Hold, broad enough to hold four to five different caravan, was now filled with Goblins, Humans and Ogres sparring. A loud stone-rattling cheer erupted from my mercenaries as I stepped closer. Goblins, Ogres, werewolves and even the pugilist joined as the cacophony filled the square.

Raising my voice to be heard, I questioned, "Sources of water?"

"Two wells and we have a cistern bring fresh water from a stream, My Lady," replied Gwain.

"Have an alchemist or herbalist check the water source from the cistern every day," I instructed. Quickening my pace, I strode almost mesmerized, attracted by the rhythmic sound of metal striking against metal and the smell of melting ore.

"My Lady, Your residency is prepared in the inn. This way please," interrupted Gwain.

"I will be visiting the forge first and you may now leave," saying that and extracting myself from the group and my responsibilities -- temporarily -- with my tummy filled with the fluttering of thousand butterflies, I stepped into the forge.