Asag raised the wooden cup to his lips, letting the sour, thin wine wash away the lingering grit of three months of ash and iron. It wasn’t the fine vintage of the capital, but it served to dull the echoes that haunted him after so close a brush from death.

He bit down on the rim of the cup, feeling the grain of the wood against his teeth.

During the siege, he had been a priest, refusing even a drop of spirits. It would have been too easy to find companionship in a cask when the walls felt like they were closing in. But how could he have looked his men in the eye if the Bastion fell while he was sodden? How could he tell a mother or a widow that her son died because his commander was too drunk to see the ladders rising? He would sooner have the crows pick his eyes out than present a loss born of his own weakness.

The only time he had broken that vow was when a mace-wielding cunt had turned the bones of his forearm into a bag of wet gravel. He couldn’t take opium, a commander needed his wits, even in agony,so he had settled for the middle road, choking down enough ale to blur the edges of the world.

It hadn’t worked particularly well.Looking back oppium may have been a better choice.

The story, of course, became the centerpiece of their first real dinner. There was no courtly splendor here; the table was a scarred slab of oak laden with the Bastion’s dwindling stores and stringy game harvested from the surrounding woods.

As Asag worked a spoonful of mashed potatoes, Basil, dear, persistent boy he was, leaned forward with wide eyes, asking after the sling that bound Asag’s arm. Asag felt a flicker of shame as he began to recount the tale. Beside him, Xanthios had been holding court with much bloodier, more heroic yarns.

Basil’s favorite was the story of how Xanthios had bested a renowned knight of the League named Mers. The prisoners claimed the League’s morale had shattered when they saw Mers fall from the battlements, his neck snapping like a dry branch when he hit the rocks below.

"A cunt with a mace took a fancy to my reach during a breach at the westerm stronghold" Asag began "I’d buried my halberd deep in the collarbone of another bastard, it was stuck fast, wedged in the bone. I couldn’t wrench the shaft free in time to parry. I took the full weight of the blow on my forearm. Luckily, my second caught the man with the butt of his poleaxe before finishing him with a thrust to the throat.Got to thank Ghalrim for not going back in a casket"

Asag took a long pull of wine, the memory of that death-rattle clear in his mind, the wet, choked gasp as the steel needle tore through a vocal cord. He had seen a thousand deaths, yet that one remained vivid, reminding him of just how close the veil truly was.

"After that," Asag continued, "I couldn’t swing a halberd to save my life. The physician suggested I lead from the rear. I suggested my response with a spit in his eye."

Basil let out a bright, youthful chuckle, and even Alpheo’s lips twitched.

"I switched to a one-handed blade. Lasted all of two days," Asag said, shaking his head. "Met another bastard, always with the damn mace, mind you, who swung for the side of my neck. He rattled my teeth so hard I saw stars on the back of my eyelids. I hit the stone on my knees, dazed, watching that mace rise up and up above his head, ready to end the story."

He took a breath, his fingers tightening on his cup. "Without thinking, I balled my fist, and swung right between the man’s thighs. I felt something pop." He offered a small smile. "The pain didn’t truly hit me until I’d finished him with my dagger. After that, the physician told me plain: if I ever wanted to be able to wipe my own arse with my left hand again, I’d have to sling it and keep it still. So, here I am, wearing this white rag like a man asking for a parlay. As for the limp in my thigh?"

He shrugged as if it were a minor inconvenience. "A stray arrow found a gap in the greave. Nothing more."

Asag took another measured sip from his cup, trying to disappear into the rim of the wood as the table suddenly went still.

"Bloody fuck! He fought like a godsdamned starved and rabid dog for eighty days, and now he says ’nothing more’!" Xanthios’s voice boomed, rattling the platters. The Lord of Bracum was deep into his tenth cup of wine and his third serving of roasted deer, which he tore into with a ferocity that matched his reputation. He gestured wildly with a greasy rib bone.

"When I asked him about those wounds during the breach, the cunt was as dismissive as a lord faced with a bastard son in the company of his lady wife! Ha! I always knew there was a proper story behind it!" Xanthios leaned over, a heavy, tree-trunk of an arm nearly collapsing Asag’s shoulder. "He’s always brooding, this one, you know? You never had to look for him, just find the highest, coldest stone on the ramparts and there he’d be, day and night, letting the gale weave through that black hair of his as he go deep in thought.

I asked him once if he wasn’t freezing his stones off. He just looks at me, all grim-like, and says: ’Only death is cold.’ Hah! ’The Mountain That Broods,’ that shall be his name!"

A thunderous round of laughter erupted around the table, vibrating the very floorboards. Asag felt the heat rise in his neck, turning a shade of red that would have rivaled a sun-ripened tomato. He cleared his throat, desperately looking for a way to shift the spotlight.

"Perhaps Basil would like the stage?" Asag managed, nodding toward the boy. "How was the war for you, lad?"

Basil, still wearing a bright, lingering smile from the teasing, sat up straighter. "I spent most of it beside Jarza," he said, his voice filled with a youthful, earnest energy. "Walking among the ranks, listening to the men. He even brought me on a few night raids, let me loose a few shafts from the longbow. Unfortunately, the dark was like pitch, so I couldn’t tell if I actually feathered anyone." He sighed, looking genuinely dejected at the lack of a confirmed kill.

"The soldiers were curt, but kind enough in their own way," Basil continued, his eyes sparkling. "I was never bored. But then Father recalled me and brought me into the deep woods. I was sad to leave the camp behind, though it grew far more interesting when he took me along to meet that ugly mouse of a Habadian Prince."

Asag’s brow arched. So that was the secret behind the sudden thinning of the enemy lines. He recalled the moment he saw in the morning that the enemy ranks had halved in a single night; he had nearly wept with the relief that the end was finally in sight.

"I am happy you are here now, truly," the lad muttered , his smile softening as he looked at his uncle. With that sharp nose, Basil resembled his father more than ever in the flickering torchlight.

"I can’t say I preferred my previous company," He glanced toward the darkened windows that looked out toward the siege-lines. "Having those bastards swinging iron at my head day and night did nothing to improve my opinion of their hospitality. I’ve had enough of ’guests’ for one lifetime."

"They were guests who didn’t know when to leave," Alpheo added. "But we’ve taught them some manners. And soon, we shall teach Sorza that some doors are better left unknocked.Can’t have them think they can come univited whenever they please. Should make a fine example of him"

Basil’s eyes lit up with a fierce spark as he looked at Asag’s sling. "Next time, I’ll be the one with the bow behind you. I’ve been practicing my aim every morning. Maybe I’ll be the one to feather the Oizenian Prince himself!"

"Now that would be a story I’d pay to hear!" Xanthios roared, reaching up to stroke his snowy thicket of a beard before realizing his fingers were slick with deer grease. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

He let out a colorful curse, fumbling for something to wipe away the mess. Soon enough Edric handed him a handkerchief, not of silk.

As the laughter subsided and a momentary, heavy silence reclaimed the table, Asag felt the need to ask something.

"So, what now?"

"We make for Oizen’s host" Edric answered immediately.

Asag shook his head slowly. "If possible, I’d like a better explanation than a threat. I have spent the last three months trapped between four walls of grey stone; the world beyond these ramparts is a mystery to me. If I am to be of any service i, I’ll need to be brought into the present."

He paused, his gaze drifting across the table, noting the empty chairs where friends and lieutenants should have sat. "As I look around, I cannot help but notice that some faces, ugly as they are, yet dearly wanted, are not here to break bread with us. I need to know our standing. How do we move now that we’ve finally been freed from the unwanted presence of Ezvanians, Kakunians, and Habadians? Of course, may the five hells take every last one of them, hopefully sent there by our hands.But I suppose we are in need of a plan no?Operation Titanfall should have ended the moment the Bastion’s gate opened so really the question is what comes now."