The scout burst into the yard mid-drill and almost collided with the practice rail. He managed one sentence before sucking in a lungful of air.
"They're moving at the quarry. The south wagons and whole cohorts are pushing out now."
The yard fell quiet as his words rippled through the ranks.
Ann's voice carried over the slowly rising chatter on the training ground.
"Everyone move!"
The drills they had practiced for days now became their new formation. Wolves fell into rank effortlessly, as though it had been burned into their muscle memory. Lycans took the flanks, and magick users slid into place, already marking charms onto their palms.
Adam stepped forward, setting fighters where they needed to be.
"You, hold the yard wall. Runners, three pairs south. Vanguard stays with me. Vent climbers, I only want lean fighters on that rope. Medics, open your kits and be ready to carry."
He glanced at the terrace and saw Ann already had her comms in hand. He turned away, trusting she would keep herself safe. She had enough guards to protect her, and now his focus was the fight.
Adam led the vanguard out through the south gate at a run. The forest track narrowed, the trees leaning in, leaving no room for wagons to swerve. It was perfect ground for an ambush. Ahead, wagons rattled uphill, handlers snapping reins, their shouts echoing down the slope. Adam raised a fist. The unit scattered to cover, wolves flattening low in the brush, Lycans crouching against trunks, magick users scrawling wards into the dirt with chalked hands.
The first wagon hit the blind turn and Adam dropped his hand.
They struck at once. Canvas ripped down. Horses reared and kicked as grit stung their eyes. Wolves lunged from both sides, blades flashing, cutting reins and tangling lines.
Handlers shouted, fingers rising to their throats. One opened his mouth, a word half-formed. Adam crossed the distance in three strides and slammed the jaw shut with one hand while driving a dagger up through the throat with the other. He twisted until the word died with the blood in his neck, and the man collapsed in silence.
Another handler stumbled back, mouth shaping the same spell. Adam didn't wait. A throwing knife caught him through the open jaw and pinned him to the wagon frame, and Adam was already moving on.
The chained construct bucked against its bonds, necrotic flesh stitched with iron and bound by Ely's magick, one arm hanging useless. Wolves darted under the wagon, looping chains into the wheel spokes. Lycans heaved, shoulders slamming into the axle until wood cracked and the whole wagon tilted sideways. Canvas collapsed over the thrashing shape.
Adam raised a hand. A torch arced down and struck. Fire licked up the cloth, catching fast. The thing screamed, metal and corpse-flesh grinding and shrieking. Magick users lifted their palms, fire boiling out to smother the struggling shape in flame until the black heart of the reanimated dead cracked open, split, and blew apart in sparks. When the fire burned out, only warped iron and ash remained.
The next wagon jolted as Lycans barreled into it, breaking the wheels clean. The bed toppled, spilling sacks, tools, and half-finished husks of stitched flesh and iron onto the dirt, each one a corpse mid-way to becoming another of Ely's abominations. Wolves dragged handlers down by their hair and slit their throats before they could breathe a word.
Adam gave a sharp signal. Flames roared up the wreckage, magick heat fed into the blaze until wood, harness, and bodies turned to cinders. Nothing Ely could use remained.
"The south track's clear," Adam said. Runners sprinted the message back.
The quarry's west face rose sharply and it was near vertical. Adam clipped onto the rope, set his boots, and hauled himself upward. Stone scraped under his gloves, grit tearing skin. Behind him, fighters climbed in a line, ropes cutting into their palms with every pull. One slipped. Adam dropped his weight, caught the harness, and heaved the man back into place.
"Keep climbing."
No one dared to make another mistake.
The vent mouth waited, narrow, jagged, and dark. There was only enough room to crawl. Adam drew his knife and went in first, his shoulders brushing stone.
A sentry leaned in to peer inside. Adam's blade punched up through the chin, hot blood spilling across his knuckles. The body wedged in the mouth until Adam dragged it out with one hand and shoved it aside.
The second sentry jabbed a spear into the vent. A wolf caught it, yanked, and dragged the man off balance. Adam surged forward and finished him with a throat cut.
Inside was tighter still. Elbows and knees scraped. Wolves stabbed straight ahead, blades sinking into ribs and lungs. Lycans crawled forward, smashing skulls against rock with their bare hands. Every step forward left a body behind.
A magick user crouched in the narrow passage ahead, palm glowing, the mark of control beginning to flare in his hand. Adam lunged before it finished. He snapped the wrist sideways, drove his knife into the chest, and shoved the corpse against the wall. The glow sputtered out.
Bodies clogged the crawlspace. Fighters dragged them back into the dark to clear the path. Breathing was difficult in the narrow space, the stench of rotting flesh making them gag, but no one slowed.
Adam pushed at the front, cutting and shoving until they burst through the quarry mouth, driving the last defenders aside.
"Wait here and seal the vent behind us," Adam ordered.
Warders pressed their palms to the stone, lines of magick etching shut over the entrance as the fighters secured the ground.
Adam scanned the quarry floor once, then raised his hand.
"Retreat and let's keep it tight."
The line pulled back in order, wolves covering the sides, Lycans carrying stretchers. Magick users hurled fire as they withdrew, their flames rolling over wagons, spilled gear, and corpses until everything blackened. Nothing was left to scavenge. The flames roared so high that Ely's scouts could not miss them.
Medics worked on the move, binding wounds, pouring water, and packing bandages into cuts without slowing the march. Wolves took stretchers when arms shook. Lycans carried the heavier loads, heads down, never faltering.
One boy froze over a body and Adam's voice snapped him out of it.
"Move him. No one stays behind."
The stretcher was lifted and the march went on.
Black Crag covered the exit, their shields forward and eyes on the trees. No one broke rank.
The trail smoked behind them and the air glowed red with firelight as they cleared the quarry. Runners whispered back the names of the wounded, then the dead. Adam repeated each one under his breath, but his face stayed expressionless. He carried the names himself.
Dawn had begun to break by the time they reached the yard. Shields were streaked with blood, cloaks were black with smoke. Wolves limped, Lycans bled, and magick users looked hollow-eyed, but the line stayed straight.
Ann waited at the gate. The terrace above was crowded as people watched in silence. No one called down. No one dared.
Adam walked to her silently and they met in the middle. He caught her hand and lifted it to his cheek, his thumb brushing once before he pulled her in against his chest. Ann pressed her face to his shoulder, her grip tight as though she were holding them both upright, before letting him go.
"The quarry is clear," He said as he allowed himself to be led inside.