The Fourth Prong
Mountainous Region, West of Three Hills
It was dark and wet in the jungle camp. Rain still clung to leaves, cabin roofs, and canvas, dripping steadily onto the coarse, rocky sand below. The air was cold for the season, heavy with the smell of damp earth, rot, and wet leather. Guards stood watch atop the wooden towers, but light was scarce. A few lanterns burned at the gates, along the corridors, and near the corners of the camp. Many more had gone dark in the fierce wind that followed the rain.
Only two men were at the task, coaxing the lanterns back to life, tending the wicks with care. If a wick was too soaked, or the mix of tallow and oil fouled by rainwater, the lantern had to be set aside to dry and be refilled anew. There were spares, but not many.
Beyond the weak glow of those remaining lights, aside from the main hall where firewood burned for warmth and illumination, much of the camp dissolved into shadow.
Then, from the corner of the camp near the stables, several horses neighed.
Guards on the watch towers and at the gates stiffened. Hands moved to crossbows, spear shafts, and sword hilts. A lantern was lifted higher, its light pushed outward, but it revealed nothing beyond rain-soaked mud and empty space.
Yet the air had changed. It felt thicker, heavier.
The veterans sensed something was amiss, but the officer on duty chose not to raise the alarm. In the dark, certainty mattered more than fear. A false call would only breed chaos. Men rushing half awake with spears and crossbows into a camp drowned in shadow was a recipe for disaster.
So they listened.
They watched.
And patiently waited for the patrol to complete another round, hoping it would find nothing.
No one ever saw the intruders.
Four shapes were already inside the camp, moving under the cover of darkness. They carefully slipped between cabins, almost without sound despite their size. They avoided lantern light and patrol routes with ease. After stopping to identify the well-lit hall and the adjacent structure, likely the commander’s quarters, they abandoned their scouting and advanced with purpose.
Angling toward the command building, their bloodlust was invisible to human senses.
But there was more than human within the camp.
Something rose near the hall's entrance. A creature of brown fur and long, powerful limbs stirred, lifting its head as if it had scented danger.
Watching it, the leading intruder reacted in sudden surprise and lunged into a full charge, its powerful legs driving it forward with terrifying speed.
Rrraaaaugh!
The intruder swept in with hooked claws. The orangutan shrieked as the blow tore across her arm. Hot blood scattered, her scream raw and guttural, jolting everyone inside awake.
A guard standing near the hearth, checking whether his rain-soaked coat had finally dried, turned toward the entrance and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Beastmen!”
At the same time, the guard on the watchtower shouted, “There, intruders!”
At his cry, the officer beside him struck the hanging metal with an iron striker. The alarm rang out at once, loud and continuous, cutting through the camp.
Down below, the patrol looked up, shoulders tense, eyes wide. They followed the pointing arms of the tower guards and rushed toward the hall.
Inside the hall, no further waking was needed. Chaos erupted. Men stumbled from benches and bedrolls, half awake, grabbing swords and spears as they could. The one guard hefted his poleaxe and charged forward, intent on buying time for his comrades, but at that very moment, three more wolf-shaped figures stormed into the hall.
“Half-breed?” a man wearing his gambeson cried out, disbelief plain in his voice. “How can that be? They are our allies.”
“Fuck,” another cursed as everyone reached for weapons, some pulling on helmets and gambesons as best they could.
The realization struck hard. The smugglers had half-breed of their own.
“Get them. Get them!” the lieutenants barked, shouting orders over the din as a lone guard fought desperately for his life.
Despite the confusion and fear, three men surged forward, followed by five more, brandishing spears, pole weapons, and swords as they rushed the two beastmen already locked in combat with the orangutan and the guard.
The beastly intruders were unfazed. The first finally slammed the orangutan aside and turned to meet the charge. Massive arms and raking claws sent men crashing to the floor. Blood sprayed across the floor, slicking the wood planks ochre red. Still, the men clenched their teeth, anger burning hotter than fear, and forced themselves back into the fight.
Then came the sharp snap and tearing hiss of crossbow bolts splitting the air. The bolts struck true, and for the first time, the creature was driven a step backward, snarling as it recoiled from the sudden pain.
“Shields!” the lieutenant instructed the men still forming up behind.
Amid the melee, lit only by the hearth and the lanterns, two half-bred forms burst free from the fight. They dropped low, moving on all fours, muzzles thrust forward, eyes fixed ahead. They slipped past the men, crossed the hall in a blur of muscle and fur, their attention locked on the door beyond.
Seeing their intent, the men shouted and rushed after them, hurling whatever they could to slow them down. Spears flew. Wooden cups spun end over end. Even boots were torn off and thrown in desperation.
By sheer fortune, a helmet struck one of the creatures square in the face. It staggered back with a sharp, animal howl, clawing at its eyes as blood seeped through its fur, its charge finally broken.
The other did not slow. Its eyes stayed locked on the cabin door as it lowered its shoulder and drove forward in a full charge.
Yet it misjudged the door. It expected solid timber, but the door had not been built to take such force. The impact drove it clean off its hinges, and the creature burst through as the door collapsed inward beneath its weight. It prepared to surge forward, expecting to see a half-awakened officer and a startled young squire. Instead, nine men stood ready inside the chamber, four of them already aiming crossbows.
With a sharp violent twang, the bolts crossed the short distance. The creature let out a raw, animal cry as pain tore through it, the shafts punching through thick canvas padding and hardened leather.
Driven by instinct and pain, it slid back, barely evading another bolt.
The attack had been blunted; that much was clear. Yet even wounded, four half-breeds were still far more dangerous than dozens of ordinary men.
Fighting only grew wilder. Men rushed in from every direction, some armored, some half-dressed, but all brandished their weapons without fail.
Two of the half-breeds smashed through a wooden wall, the hall too constricting to contain them. The battle spilled outside into the dark.
Amid the shouting and screams, with men being tossed and crashing to the ground, groaning in pain, the patrol finally arrived and bathed the area with their powerful reflective oil lanterns.
“Half-breed? By the Ancients, what the fuck is going on?” the patrol leader yelled in confusion.
“Francisca. Big Ben. Ocelot!” some still hopeful voices cried out from inside the hall. Others took up the names as well, shouting them again, but there was no answer.
A young man in rich brigandine, part of the patrol, spotted his superior reloading a crossbow amid a knot of men holding shields, bardiches, and halberds. He dashed to his side. He didn't need to ask.
“I don’t know, kid,” the commander replied, eyes never leaving the fight. “Looks like we’re not the only ones who befriended half-breeds.”
“The tribes don’t know Francisca’s human name. The Lord gave it to her after she joined,” someone shouted nearby, just as one of the creatures caught and hurled another guard aside, sending him skidding across the floor.
“Or they’re simply hostile!” one shouted as he strapped the fallen man's shield onto his arm.
“No,” the young man in rich brigandine shouted back, pushing his words toward the command staff. “Call the name they know.”
“The name of their lord,” one of the staff blurted out, but his words were drowned by screams as two men launched a desperate charge. It forced one of the half-breeds to leap back.
“What’s the name, what’s the name...” another stammered, struggling to recall it. A crossbow snapped, followed by a volley of bolts that drove the half-breed back, stopping it short of mauling another helpless man.
Amid the chaos, the commander felt sweat running down his brow. He strained to recall the name, but his thoughts were still fogged.
Then a man in an unfastened black brigandine and a dark cloak shouted, “Lord Beatrix.”
As if a spell had struck, the four half-breeds froze, their predatory gazes turning toward the man, and one by one they leapt back, creating distance. For the first time since the fighting began, there was a positive response.
“Stand down. Stand down!” the commander bellowed. The clash broke apart, leaving only cries of pain and ragged breathing.
The leading half-breed looked around once more, then lifted her gaze toward the banner fluttering in the wind. Her eyes cut through the darkness, catching shape and movement, but color was lost to the night. Uncertainty crept in as her wounded and exhausted brethren glanced to her for direction.
“Who are you?” the leading half-breed asked the line of men who brandished spears against her.
“We are the Shogunate force at Three Hills,” the lieutenant replied boldly.
A sharp intake of breath passed through the half-breeds. They murmured among themselves in a tongue of low growls and rough, quick and urgent.
One of the half-breeds muttered to their leader in the common tongue, “Sis, the banner bears a shield and a chevron.”
The leading half-breed hesitated, doubt still plain on her face.
“Who do you think we are?” the lieutenant demanded, intent on keeping their attention away from his commander.
From behind him, a young man shouted, “The banner is blue and bronze. You are Umberlanders. You should know it at a glance.”
“We cannot see color in the dark,” the leading half-breed snapped. “And you do not smell like Lowlandians. You're different. We were certain you were Mountain Clans.”
Only then did the truth settle in, cold and sickening. This was blood spilled in error, blades raised against allies. The force was now made up mostly of Midlandians, and that difference in scent proved fatal. The half-breed had failed to recognize them.
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“Stand down,” the commander shouted to his men. “The patrol will handle security. The rest, gather the wounded and fetch anyone who knows medicine and wound care.”
As if taking the cue, the leading half-breed lifted her head and let out a series of long howls.
At the sound, answering howls rose from several points around the camp. Only then did the men realize there had been more than just these four, likely ones who had entered first to kill their leader. If not for the orangutan, they would have succeeded.
“At ease,” one of the half-breeds said to the gathered men as the howls were still being exchanged. “It is a call to our brethren to stop the attack. We almost did the unthinkable...”
Her words sent a chill through all who heard them. The four had already spilled far too much blood. Several who were struck were hanging by the thinnest thread of life. Some had probably already bled out. And there was the fear of what the half-breed had done on the other side of the camp.
Before anyone could mutter a word, the commander, Farkas, bellowed another order. “Light all torches and lanterns, and put our banner where it can be seen. Spread the word, they are allies. There has been a mistake.”
Then he turned to his lieutenant. “Get them to work. We have men to treat.”
“Clean linen, bandages, get them out. Move it. For fuck’s sake, lower your crossbows and unload them,” the lieutenant barked in support, sweeping his gaze across the men, fearing a trembling finger might loose a bolt by accident.
“I'll go boil some water,” the cook muttered, already running for the kitchens with his spear still in hand, his crew close behind him.
The men hesitated, clearly reluctant, but then began to move. The wounded were dragged as gently as the situation allowed to the side and given what treatment could be managed. Those who no longer responded were either carried closer to the hearth or tended where they lay.
Commander Farkas dispatched several men to bring light and calm the camp. Outside, the penal battalion was certainly waking in confusion, unaware of what had happened or where the attack had come from.
His orders came just in time. More men poured out of their cabins, already armored and ready to fight. They were told to stand down, and anyone with knowledge of medicine or wound care was called to the hall.
Meanwhile, no fewer than four men struggled to restrain the wounded orangutan, who still tried to close in on the half-breed. Only after a long struggle did the creature, by instinct, seem to understand that the situation had changed. Her strength ebbed, her body went slack, and she slumped heavily onto the wooden floor. Without a word, the men began moving her toward the corner where her children waited in terror. Lanterns were raised as they examined the wound, tearing strips from their own clothing to press against the bleeding.
After several attempts, the leading half-breed finally stopped her howling. She had managed to order her brethren back to the cave to wait for further instruction. Only the four remained in the camp’s wet courtyard, sitting on the ground in silence, tending to their wounds.
The lieutenant approached them with no weapon drawn, carrying clean linen for bandages. It was a calculated gamble to steady his men’s nerves. With many just roused from sleep moments earlier, they needed evidence, not words alone.
The leading half-breed accepted the bandage and asked, “You keep calling names. Who are they?”
“Francisca and Ocelot? They are your kin who joined our Lord’s side. Almost all of them took human names," he explained.
“Must be one of the old sisters who joined first,” one of the four muttered, wincing as the pain caught up to her.
“This is a tragedy. I apologize,” another said heavily, bowing her head.
“It is,” the lieutenant replied grimly. “But you need attention as well. That laceration and the bolt lodged in you both need to be dealt with.”
“It will require a surgery,” the leading sister said, worry plain in her voice.
The lieutenant let out a long breath. “How many of you are there, and where did you come from? It is a long way from Umberland.”
“Lord Beatrix acted on the Lord of Midlandia’s request,” the leading half-breed answered. “We are the Fourth Prong, sent to strike after we found a collapsed tunnel deep in a ravine, accessible only to our kin. Inside was a maze of unfinished passages and caved sections, but one path led here. We believed we had found the Mountain Clans. It was an error. We found you instead.”
The lieutenant and the men who heard her stared at her, eyes widening. “So you breached the tunnel?”
“Breach?” she repeated, turning the word over. “We became familiar with the locking mechanism. Since we approached from the inside, we were able to open it.”
Another of the four, still binding a deep cut along his arm, spoke up. “Despite this grave mistake, we found a wide tunnel that led deeper. Now that we know this was the entrance, we are certain the other end leads to the cities in the mountains.”
The men looked at one another. Tonight had been a tragedy. Casualties were soon confirmed. Yet amid the sorrow, there was also a breakthrough. The stone gate that had blocked their advance for months, and was expected to hold for many more, was finally under their control.
***
Canardia Castle
It was late, but the chandelier in the study chamber still burned bright. Lansius was accompanied by Audrey, who had just returned after feeding the baby. Together, they faced Sir Omin in a relaxed meeting. After all, they were a family.
Dressed in a deep green doublet tailored to complement his build, Sir Omin sipped a warm herbal drink Carla had poured for him. The Banneret now wore his hair slightly longer, a result of an ever-busy schedule. A faint scent of herbal rinse clung to him, likely meant to keep his hair from turning greasy.
“Gratitude for the drink, My Lord, My Lady,” Omin said with a slight bow.
“Please, it is just us. You can drop the formality,” Lansius replied, his tone casual. “You must be busy preparing for our departure.”
“Indeed. Everything will be ready by tomorrow morning,” Omin replied confidently.
In matters of planning and logistics, Omin was among the most capable. It came from his authoritative presence. He was a natural leader, someone who could lead men and knew how to make them carry out his will.
Someone who, even without rank, had the gravity that drew men to gather around him. He could provide assistance or make things happen. From securing goods and finding the right people, or knowing who could help, he was also resourceful and careful with money.
“Omin,” Lansius said, sipping his warm drink, “I was wondering who I should place in command of the garrison in Canardia.”
“Camp Commander Karl should remain in charge of the garrison, while Sir Harold should hold authority over the army.”
Lansius nodded, then asked, “And the hierarchy? We still have the Shogunate members in here.”
“Lord Robert should work closely with Karl. Even if they run into difficulties, he still has his household guard. One hundred men, mounted. He can also rely on the castle and city guards for protection. It will be sufficient. They will not be defenseless.”
Again, Lansius nodded. It was the structure he had set, and he was pleased that his staff understood his intention. “Then how about you? Where should I assign you?”
Omin looked at Lansius, his eyes narrowing slightly, already suspecting where this discussion was headed.
Lansius continued, “Should I leave you in Canardia, or bring you to Korelia?”
From his careful yet light tone, Omin knew it was not a mere question. “Permission to speak freely, My Lord, My Lady.”
“Proceed,” Lansius replied.
“My Lord,” he began, “I would be a threat if you kept me in Canardia. I could assassinate Karl, spread rumors of rebellion, seize control of the garrison, the city, and the castle guard, take the Shogunate members hostage, align with the Midlandian nobles, and raise another army to stand against Harold.”
Lansius laughed, while Audrey’s eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief.
Omin himself offered a stiff smile, as if what he had said were simply a statement of fact.
“Omin,” Lansius said, “you are a dangerous man.”
“All highly capable men are dangerous, My Lord,” he replied without missing a beat.
Lansius chuckled again. The sound eased Audrey slightly, though she remained guarded, even toward her cousin.
Omin then remarked, “My Lord’s penchant for honesty is truly refreshing.”
“Better that than beating around the bush,” Lansius replied as he took a deep breath. “So, where should I place you? I do not wish to drag you to Korelia when your talent is indispensable to the Shogunate.”
Catching Audrey’s glance, Lansius added, “Karl and Harold may be capable military men, but they do not play politics. We need someone to balance against Lord Robert and the other Shogunate members currently in Canardia.”
“My Lord may be pleased to know that the son of the Lord of Galdia will travel to Korelia, as will the senior knight of Three Hills. Lady Ella has also expressed her intention to travel to Korelia.”
“Ah, I see. In that case, my concern lessens,” Lansius said.
“Your concern is still valid, My Lord,” Omin replied. “But I believe Dame Daniella would suffice, though it would place more burden upon her.”
Lansius eased back in his seat and muttered, “Ideally, Sir Michael. But placing both him and his father-in-law in Canardia would displease the other members.”
“Without a doubt,” Omin said.
“Then let us place Dame Daniella as Lord Robert’s deputy during my absence,” Lansius decided.
Hearing this, Audrey motioned for Carla to come closer and relayed the decision. The squire bowed and left the chamber to find a messenger.
Lansius remained seated, relaxed. What Omin had said was a possibility, but in reality, it would hardly work.
He had dispersed policing power into many nodes, each held by independent and loyal men. Even if Dame Daniella ran into difficulties, she could still rely on the Chief Bailiff and Ocelot, who controlled a network of agents that included the bailiff’s men, the half kin, the Orange Skalds, and even the SAR, all loyal to the House. Any one of them could raise the alarm and thwart an ambitious leader from seizing power.
Without granting any single office too much authority or autonomy, not even the garrison or the army could rebel without facing heavy resistance and a swift counter from many sources.
Then his gaze settled on Omin again. “Then where should I assign you?”
“I believe Lady Astrid has asked to join your party to Korelia, My Lord, given that she is now your son’s wet nurse.”
“What does that have to do with your position?” Audrey interrupted.
“My Lady,” Omin addressed her, “with Lady Astrid traveling with you, it would be only fitting for Sir Michael to accompany her. That would leave Ornetia without an administrator. The barony is not without importance. It is the link between Midlandia and Lowlandia, and many sensitive matters are being handled there.”
Lansius signaled for him to continue.
“As you know, we are holding esquires and knights from the Midlandia war who are still negotiating their ransoms there, along with rebel prisoners, some in the dungeons, others under house confinement. Without firm supervision, they could bribe their way out and escape.”
“So you believe it would be best to place you in charge of the barony?” Lansius asked.
“Temporarily,” Omin replied.
“And you would not rebel from there?” Audrey asked bluntly.
“The garrison in there is modest, and the population is neither large nor wealthy. It would be difficult even for me to hope to achieve anything from there. Besides, it lies too close to Ordu Khan, and the nomad tribesmen hold no love for me.”
Lansius snorted. The risk assessment was sound. “Then I shall trade your post with Sir Michael for the winter, as administrator of Ornietia.”
“Much obliged, My Lord,” Omin said. “Then, since it will be double the work, would I receive an additional stipend?”
“I think it is only fair. After all, higher responsibility should come with higher pay,” Lansius replied, then shifted to another subject. “How are the plans for winter training?”
“The winter training halls and quarters will be ready before the snowfall.”
“Good. I want them training in proper facilities, not empty barns.”
At that, Audrey nodded and took a sip of her herbal drink, likely recalling the barn they had wintered in at Ceresia many years ago.
They spoke a while longer about the departure before finally calling it a night.
...
Lansius and Audrey returned to their chamber. With their departure set for the following day, he had already cleared the guest room, careful to remove anything that might be left behind by accident and cause trouble later.
They reached the small private hall adjoining the chamber and found a woman waiting there. She wore a light blue velvet dress, her long golden hair loose over her shoulders. She greeted them with an easy smile. “Heya.”
“Felis,” Audrey said, surprise and warmth mingling in her voice.
Lansius nearly returned the greeting, but caught himself and turned his face aside, mindful that Felis was nursing her child.
“Sorry to bother you,” Felis said, untroubled, “but I was looking for Arryn. My son would not stop crying. She managed to calm him, and now he is in a good enough mood to take milk.”
“Probably some discomfort in his stomach,” Audrey said, moving to sit beside her.
As the two women spoke, Lansius quietly slipped into the chamber. He could not hold a conversation with her as she was. As expected, Mother Arryn was there with Gilly. When he entered, she slowly rose from the bed and stood beside it.
“My Lord,” she said. “Lady Felicity is visiting.”
“Yes, Mother. Gratitude for helping her."
“It is nothing,” she replied as she tidied the blanket Gilly used. “Is Lady Audrey with you?”
“Yes. You should rest now. We have an early ride tomorrow.”
She nodded. “I am looking forward to seeing Korelia.”
“We will visit a few places first, but nothing too busy like the last time." Lansius removed his sword and put it to the side.
“I see. Then I will see you tomorrow, Lansius.” Mother spoke his name with care, and Lansius smiled as he heard it.
She left the chamber, and he could hear her engaged in an exchange with Audrey and Felis outside.
Lansius looked down at Gilly, sleeping comfortably, then quietly changed his clothes. He brushed his teeth with a frayed chew stick and washed his face, knowing there would be no warning when the child might turn and cry at any moment.
He managed to finish before Gilly stirred and carefully lay down beside him. Two small pillows, sewn by the maids, were set in place to keep Gilly from shifting too much in the bed. The boy had grown and had begun to roll in his sleep.
After a while, Audrey entered the chamber.
“Has Felis left?”
“Yes. She decided to sleep at Mother’s place tonight, saying she will miss Arryn and Tanya.”
Lansius exhaled softly. “Do you think it is a good idea to let her stay in Canardia and not travel with us?”
“I wish she could travel with us,” Audrey said as she changed into her sleeping robe. “But if Dietrich manages to secure a safe passage, they will smuggle her and Arte’s son to Brunna with the volunteer group.”
“What kind of fate awaits them...” Lansius muttered, careful not to wake Gilly at his side.
“Don't worry,” Audrey said before washing her face. “She has always been fortunate.”
Lansius snorted softly.
“So what did you talk about with her?” he asked after she finished her night routine.
“You know her. Some crude things I would rather not share with you unless we were without our clothes.”
“I can arrange that.”
They both chuckled softly.
“Oh, she mentioned another matter,” Audrey added. “She said someone helped her escape the Monastery, and she wishes to reward him.”
“Of course. We can send an official with a gift,” Lansius replied, feeling the weight in his eyes.
“She said the man is talented. He has a workshop and makes many remarkable things, but he is in need of money.”
“Money it is then,” Lansius said easily.
“She said the man is making something he calls a pressa typographica.”
Lansius blinked at the unfamiliar term. “A what?” he asked, a little louder than he should have. Baby Gilly stirred at once, and he quickly reached over to pat his back until the child settled again.
“Felis said it is like a screw press, modeled after wine or olive presses,” Audrey explained in a whisper as she slid into the bed. “But instead of pressing fruit for oil, it presses ink onto paper.” She turned to him, her brow furrowing as she saw his reaction. “No way. Did Felis really stumble onto something extraordinary?”
Lansius grinned nervously, half disbelieving, half exhilarated.
Felis had just blessed him with a printing press.
***
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