Par’gul approached the resting trio of companions with some reserve and handed Gra’sha her spear with the words, "We helped clear the gate, and we managed to recover it."

  She took it from him with a grateful look, though she didn't get up. Instead, she rested it against her shoulder and threw out a short, "Thanks, Par’gul."

  Behind him stood part of the unit that had defended the breach with her. He looked back at them as if seeking support, to which the rest nodded or murmured some confirmations, then he looked back at her, cleared his throat, and said, "We wouldn't have made it there without you. Great job, warrior. Together, we will withstand this siege."

  "You bet!" she replied briskly, then added, "Shaman or not, they won't beat us."

  He nodded to her with a grim determination and walked off to the others. They immediately set to work further clearing the area.

  The enemy had indeed retreated, but they kept a unit of archers at a distance to cover the bridge created from the vines. Just in case Urg’hur tried to give the order to hack it apart with axes. Which, given the number of opponents, he did not do. They wouldn't have managed it under a hail of arrows and would only have wasted defenders needlessly. Instead, he threw available hands into securing the gate and organizing the square in front of it. A multitude of enemy bodies, but unfortunately also defenders of Wolf Rock, had to be removed from there, which they did with toil and trouble.

  The defenders remained on alert, but the warriors who had taken part in the slaughter were immediately rotated out and replaced by those in reserve so they could rest, or, like Gra’sha, get new weaponry. The three of them, together with Sha’dru and Mal’gor, handled this efficiently, and fully equipped, they sat down by one of the field kitchens where meals were being served to the warriors.

  "Par’gul is right, you were great back there, but you can't lose your head like that," Sha’dru noted quietly, without rebuke, but rather with concern in her voice. Between one spoonful of stew and another. Referring to the fact that at some point, she had clearly stopped minding her defense.

  "I'll try," the girl replied shortly, her eyes fixed on her bowl.

  Mal’gor ate in silence. He didn't ask questions, but it was visible from his brow that he was pondering what he had seen. However, the circumstances did not allow for debates; others were sitting around them, and whatever Gra’sha might tell him, he was sure it wasn't meant for general ears. Instead, when she glanced at him, he squinted his eyes cheerfully at her and nodded slightly, as if to say that everything would be alright.

  The girl wanted very much to believe that. She thought she had control over this gift, but it had surprised her again with its wildness and elemental nature. The tingling was still with her, and she had no idea when it would let up. She was also still bursting with energy—she must have absorbed too much, and it was settling into her too slowly. This process had its own speed, over which she had no control. Just as she couldn't control how fast she digested the meal from the cookhouse. However, she had friends and comrades-in-arms with her, and that thought strengthened her and made the whole situation less disorienting.

  So she answered him with a smile and said quietly, but loud enough for both to hear, "You two don't lose your heads either; we still have a war to win."

  "Ha, don't worry about me, young one," he said, then shoveled in the rest of his stew and vacated his seat for the next person. Seeing a line forming, the girls followed his lead and finished quickly too, returning together to the rest of the unit.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The Crescent Moon warriors, somewhat disoriented by the failure of the attack, returned to positions beyond the range of the defenders' archers, waiting for new orders. In the command tent, a heated discussion was boiling over.

  The shaman known as Boulder, exhausted by the spell he had cast, sat sprawled on cushions, practically half-lying down. He had made a slight mistake in the incantation and had to correct it on the fly, which had taken a toll on his well-being. With such a great distance and the complex nature of the command he had woven into the spell, minor problems were inevitable.

  As was reported to him, the veterans assisted by ogres had failed and hadn't captured the bridgehead behind the shattered gate, which he found hard to wrap his head around. He had chosen particularly strong ogres for the attack, and fundamentally, they should have easily broken through the opponent's orcs lines, who were surprised and shattered by the unexpected spell. He wondered if perhaps Urg’hur himself with his wolves had repelled them. Various stories circulated about him, but he didn't understand how the Wolf Rock chieftain could have gotten to the gate in time to react. However, he had no chance to consider this in peace, because an uproar reigned in the tent.

  The clan elders and the chieftain were shouting over each other, not daring to suggest a mistake to the shaman—after all, as promised, he had opened the gate to the stronghold, and with a flourish, placed a wide bridge of vines along the way. No siege engine or trick would have done the same. Therefore, instead, they looked for errors in the approach to forcing the breach. Two narratives dominated: command errors, which the chieftain looked for in the orders of individual commanders, or insufficient determination of the warriors, which the elders pushed, as most of the commanders came from their ranks. An improvised drawing of the stronghold on the table passed from hand to hand every now and then as one or another tried to explain their point of view to the rest.

  "Two breaches," the shaman hissed like a curse, loud enough to cut through the din.

  "Honorable Boulder?" the chieftain asked, although he had heard, he wanted to make sure exactly what the representative of the Circle of Shamans had in mind, so that everyone else would hear too. So he silenced the rest with energetic waves of his hands. It took a moment, but finally, relative silence fell.

  The shaman clamored up from the cushions and leaned toward those gathered at the table, then declared, "Tomorrow morning, I will make two breaches for us. My vines will lay over the palisade in two places, like a grapevine on a fallen tree. On both sides of the gate. So you will have three crossings over the moat, and two paths of entry over the top into the stronghold, each wide enough for a unit."

  A satisfied murmur spread among those gathered. They began to focus now on considering which units should go in what order; the discussion became calmer and constructive.

  "Probably with great effort and sacrifice, they held one point of defense; they won't handle two," said one of the elders.

  "Both wide enough for a whole unit! We'll walk in there like we own the place," seconded a younger commander, who just a moment ago had been fuming at suggestions that his warriors hadn't forced the fallen gate bravely enough.

  "Good, brothers, let us settle the details to fully utilize the generous offer of the honorable Boulder," the chieftain decreed.

  Before the discussion flared up again, the shaman added one more thing.

  "However, this will cost me a lot, and I will not be able to help you any further for the rest of the day. So use it well. We have a significant numerical advantage; let your warriors flow into this stronghold like a spring thaw and bring us victory. This will be the end of these apostates, and the beginning of the great Crescent Moon and your rule over the entire region. To the glory of the ancestors, brothers!"

  The shouts that answered him were full of self-assurance, and the animosities that had dominated the tent just a few minutes ago could no longer be heard. The rest of the meeting passed in a spirit of cooperation and conviction of inevitable victory. The shaman left as soon as the opportunity arose, and in his own tent, which he shared with no one, he lay down with a headache and began to think about exactly how to weave such a complex spell as he had promised the Crescent Moon clansmen. Casting it would take a lot of time and be complicated, but he had a concept of how to do it. He worried only whether his body would withstand the effort. But he couldn't back out now, and without his help, this whole attack made no sense. Building siege engines and a laborious siege would have slowed his plans significantly, and he couldn't afford that; the Circle expected results, and he intended to deliver them.