It was an open clearing set back a little from where Damu's south and west walls met.
The ranks of soldiers stood in formation.
In the front line, Dawi soldiers stood spaced at regular intervals, spears and shields in hand. Behind them, Muwa Winged soldiers waited, javelins gripped in hands manifested from mana. A few of them opened and closed their wings, checking over the feather-blades along the edges.
Behind them all, the volunteers had gathered.
Their helms and armor were a mismatched lot. Among the Dawi stood some wearing scarred leather breastplates or gear worn thin in patches, instead of Damu's standard-issue equipment. The easy, seasoned bearing they carried marked them as mercenaries — men who had spent years guarding merchant caravans on the roads to and from Damu. One of them still had a bag of fishing tackle slung over his leather armor, as though he'd simply forgotten to set it down.
Standing silent among the Dawi, longswords belted at their waists, were the guards Damu called Sarun-Ke — hired protectors of the merchant houses. Something about them, planted there among the Dawi ranks, looked out of place. Beside them stood two elves side by side, long bows slung across their backs, staring toward the broken wall without so much as a twitch, motionless even within the formation.
There was a reason the south wall had been left to the volunteers. It stood atop a steep rise, and below the ramparts grew a dense stand of massive trees, too thick to move any large body of troops through, let alone mass them for an assault. So the volunteers — men who had come of their own will to lend their strength to Damu's defense — had been given the south wall to hold. It was Gardon's doing, his and the other warchiefs', giving them the stretch of wall least likely to see real danger.
It wasn't a shape suited to throwing the main strength of the orc and minotaur host against. And true to that, not a single orc or minotaur had shown itself beyond the south wall, even now.
Still, the south wall couldn't be left empty.
Orden had handed command of it to Warchief Rangpur, the moment a Winged soldier brought him word that the wall had been breached. He turned command over at once. The brown-feathered Muwa warchief, speckled thick with white, gave a silent nod and took to the air above the wall to reform the ranks.
And Orden, without pause, led the soldiers and volunteers here at a run.
Low voices passed among the volunteers.
"I heard there was nothing on the south wall."
"That trebuchet stone flew in from over there, didn't it? Fired from outside the west wall."
"Then what about the west wall now?"
A brief silence followed. No one answered.
Bouma stood in the ranks, leather armor pulled on over his usual clothes, a short axe hung at his hip through a round iron ring. Dallen sat perched on his shoulder, craning his neck toward the sky.
Daoba stood beside him, still in his fur vest. The scar beside his left eye showed beneath the rim of his helm. A long-handled axe was strapped across his back.
Bazz stood next to Daoba — a small Dawi with dark brown fur. He held a long-handled fishing harpoon, flicking the tip lightly with a finger. It gave off a small metallic ring.
"What's that harpoon for?"
Daoba said, looking down at him.
"There'll be a use for it."
Bazz flicked the tip again.
Beside them stood a long sword in its sheath.
The tip of the scabbard touched the ground — an extraordinarily long blade. A short, narrow hand gripped the end of the hilt. It was Nia, leaning on the sword as she stood, almost using it as a cane. The Droko's small face pointed straight ahead, both eyes fixed on the broken wall, unmoving.
Nia turned her head to look at Bouma. She reached into a pouch and pulled something out.
A piece of dried meat, dark red, bigger than her own palm — jerky, its glossy surface hardened stiff.
"Here. You eat."
Nia held it out.
Bouma took it.
"Uh — thanks, Nia."
He bit into it, a big bite. Tough. It took real effort to tear through with his teeth. As he chewed, his eyes drifted toward the broken wall in the distance.
"The wall, falling like that... how does Damu's wall even collapse? That thick a wall."
Dallen said nothing from his shoulder, only looked down at Bouma.
Daoba clapped him on the shoulder.
"Still time to back out, Bouma."
"Can't."
Bouma said it without pausing his chewing. His voice was small. But clear.
"Can't back out now... someone's got to hold Damu."
He looked back toward the broken wall.
Daoba let out a short breath through his nose. He said nothing more.
From the front of the formation came the clash of metal.
It was Orden.
His armor was ornate — a breastplate layered one plate thicker than the standard Dawi soldier's, with vambraces running down in fine, articulated segments beneath the pauldrons. Even the single ornament on his scabbard set it apart from anything the soldiers carried.
Orden took his place at the front of the formation.
The soldiers' eyes turned to him.
"You've all heard by now — there's a hole torn in the wall."
His voice was low and strong.
"No wall, however thick, holds against a stone that size. That's the truth of it. I won't stand here and lie to you."
One soldier's eyes met his neighbor's.
"But."
Orden went on.
"A hole in the wall doesn't mean the wall is gone. It doesn't mean our land has fallen. Damu still stands, inside those walls. What we're here to protect was never the wall. It's the people inside it. That's the job in front of us, right here, right now."
A brief silence, then he continued.
"Holding this ground today is the single most important thing in this war."
Orden drew his sword. Its point rose toward the sky.
"And I'll be standing right here doing it! The moment an orc shows itself, I'll be the first one moving — all you have to do is follow!"
A roar broke out across the formation all at once. Dawi soldiers thrust their spear-tips skyward and shouted. Sharp voices rose among the volunteers as well. The Muwa Winged soldiers hanging in the air surged upward without a sound, wings spread wide, feather-blades clashing together in a sharp, ringing note.
Orden sheathed his sword.
He turned, looking for Master Builder Vargo nearby.
"Master Builder."
"At your word, Warchief."
The gray-brown-furred master builder stepped forward. Stone dust sat white across his heavy leather apron. In his hands he held a thick-headed mason's hammer and a wedge.
"This wall. How long will it take to raise?"
Vargo took a look around. Carpenters had already begun arriving, some already shaping long lengths of timber. Some stone had been stacked nearby — quarried outside the city and stockpiled beside the watchtower for wall repairs.
Stone Vargo had hauled in from the distant Monos quarry, back before the great host of orcs and minotaurs had ever appeared before Damu.
"If we use every stone we've brought and try to raise a wall right now, we're short on both material and time."
Vargo said.
"I did learn the Mason of Laboreus's stone-laying technique, back in the day... but even calling it a wall raised mid-battle, it'll come out closer to a small, hastily-thrown-up rampart."
"How long?"
"Hard to say exactly. If you want to call it a stone wall, we'd need until sundown at least, and even then we're short on plenty. But if stone runs out, we use earth. Whatever timber's left over from the palisade posts, we use that too. Bind the small stones up with rope and pack them in as fill. Won't be perfect. But it'll hold. Better than nothing standing there at all."
Orden nodded.
Vargo turned to the Dawi builders nearby, carrying stone.
"'A wall raised while we're still fighting' — we just never had cause to try it before. Any hand that can cut stone and stack it can do this work, plenty enough."
He turned his head and called out to the masons and carpenters working close by.
"Isn't that right!"
A carpenter raised the axe in his hand.
"That's right!"
A mason shouted.
"We just never had the chance before!"
Someone else called out.
"Cutting and setting stone was never the Mason of Laboreus's alone to know!"
Vargo nodded and raised an arm, pointing out the direction.
"Now. Listen close."
The people standing nearby drew in closer.
"The breach in the wall — thirty paces in from the sun-side edge of the gap. Thirty paces in from the moon-side edge, too. From each of those points, raise palisade posts running this way."
Vargo stretched his arm out, pointing east.
"Sun side, thirty paces. From there, the palisade runs this direction."
He pointed west.
"Moon side, thirty paces. From there too, the palisade runs this direction."
He stamped his foot on the spot where he stood.
"And on this line, raise the stone wall. Stone for the base. Fill it in with earth and timber. Bind the small stones with rope to close the gaps. Higher than a Dawi stands."
A soldier stepped up to Vargo and Orden.
"So we'll be holding the line behind this new wall, inside the breach?"
"That's right. We fight from behind the stone wall we raise."
Vargo nodded.
"The orcs will come through there. And the second they're through, they'll be boxed in between the sun-side palisade and the moon-side palisade. Arrows raining down from both sides, spears coming straight at them from the front."
A moment of silence.
Vargo turned back to the carpenters.
"Palisades first. Split into sun-side and moon-side crews. Masons, raise the stone wall — fill what's short with earth and timber. No stone needs to be perfect. Speed is what matters!"
He raised the mason's hammer and brought it down on a block of stone lying on the ground. The wedge bit in, and the rough face of the stone split apart. Not smooth. But a surface fit to build on had been made.
"Like that. Fast. No need to cut it clean. Just enough to stack."
The carpenters started moving, carrying wooden posts already sharpened to points, taking their positions and driving them into the ground with hammers to fix them in place. Thud-thud, thud-thud. The sound of posts being driven rang across the clearing.
The masons lifted stone and began laying the foundation blocks. Soldiers came carrying sacks of earth to pack the gaps between them. Some twisted pieces of timber into place to wedge things fast.
Dallen watched it all from Bouma's shoulder.
"Can that thing actually hold?"
He whispered.
"Master Builder Vargo says it will."
Bouma said, eyes still fixed on the broken wall.
Dust still hadn't fully settled over the breach. Beyond the wall, the roar of orcs kept coming without pause. Atop the wall, the shouts of soldiers and the the clash of steel and stone never stopped.
Inside the wall, the sound of hammers, of posts driving into the ground, and of great stones dragged along by rope all mixed together in the air.
Vargo raised a hand.
"Tenth post, moon side — wrong angle! Pull it back out!"
"Now?!"
"Yes, now! That angle won't work! Move!"
"Understood!"
The sound of a post being wrenched back out rang through the clearing. It held fast and wouldn't budge, so two Dawi joined a Muwa's manifested hands and began working it loose together.
Atop the stone watchtower, one of the Muwa Winged soldiers rose high into the air and conjured a round point of light.
It rose higher still, and the glow flickered above the wall.
Then a sharp cry rang out.
"They're coming in!! The orcs are through the breach!!"
The hands working the post stopped. The carpenters turned toward the breach. The soldiers raised their shields.
Orden drew his sword.
Vargo raised his hammer and shouted.
"Faster!! Move!!"