Cohen stared across the fields at the people working feverishly to bring in the remaining the crops and finish the last of the temporary homes. The arrival of the outcasts from the south had been a twofold blessing. They had brought men, and those men had brought supplies. If they were exceedingly careful, they might last through the winter—if they made it to winter. Cohen rested his hand on his sword hilt as he watched them, then strode to check on the women and children learning to use a bow, his guards following closely behind.
Approaching the training grounds reminded him of Tenan. Still, he had heard nothing from Tenan or Ara. Weeks had passed since his spies had obtained a report from Tenan's group. He felt the usual frustration welling inside him, again. He'd rather be anywhere fighting than sitting here waiting for the fight to come to him.
He saw a young boy mishandling his bow and reached down to correct his mistake. The boy looked up at him in awe. Cohen studied him for a moment, hoping against hope that the child would never have to use his knowledge. He ruffled the child's thick brown hair and approached the captain in charge of training. After reminding the man to keep the training concise, he headed for the wall being thrown up at the entrance to the valley.
His eyes swung about as he looked for Bomin. A week before, Bomin had arrived with some of his best stonemasons and blacksmiths. Exceedingly grateful for any assistance, Cohen had immediately sent them to work forging weapons and strengthening their fortifications.
Straight away, the Dwarves started building a new stone wall in front of the old wooden one. They fashioned it into a wedge shape that curve outwards at the end—like a flattened W. Bomin then ordered all the men Cohen could spare to dig deep trenches before it. The sound of swinging axes and biting shovels reverberated through the air spicy fall air.
Any soldiers not working on the wall or trenches were dragging enormous boulders from a quarry from inside one of the side canyons for the catapults. Cohen fingering the lumber fashioned into sharpened spears slanting outward, they would prove intimidating to anyone wishing to climb over. He glanced down at the men busily digging the trenches below. If the winter doesn't stop Kanovia, perhaps this wall will, Cohen thought hopefully.
Looking out over the defiled canyon, Cohen grieved for Ara. He knew how much she loved her home, now it was nearly destroyed. Most of the trees and animals were gone and every available inch of open space used up to house the thousands of people behind him. The refugees stretched all the way past the village Sohn. Ara's valley had been reduced to a bald dust bowl.
Cohen noticed Bomin approaching. "How goes it Master Dwarve?"
Bomin hooked his thumbs in his pant and puffed his chest out proudly. "The enemy will be hard pressed to defeat our fortifications."
One of his men huffed up the stairs towards him, interrupting Cohen's interrogation before it began. "Sir, another issue needs your attention."
Cohen's eyes darkened. There were never ending problems—always needing his attention. "Can't you take care of it? I've much to accomplish today."
The man shook his head. "It's about Tenan's detachment."
Immediately, Cohen's attention focused. Finally, a spy had arrived with some news! "Where is he?"
"Your quarters, sir."
Nodding his goodbye to Bomin, Cohen half ran, half jogged to Myrel's Tavern. His quarters came into view. Outside a mare, her ears sagging flat against the side of her face, lay against the wall—near death. Sweat pooled on the ground beneath her. Not a good sign, he thought grimly. He pointed to a soldier as his pace elevated to a run. "See to that horse!" he bellowed. Throwing his door open, he faced the dirt coated man. "Out with it!"
