Stormlands ( Book 2 of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Thirty-Four: Patience

It was cold tonight. A chilled, damp breeze blew across the army camp leaving every soldier wanting for a thicker cloak and a cot closer to a fire.

Lugaria sat and stared at the fort in the distance, with a tense expression. He could not make out any fine details from this distance in the dark, but he knew it was there.

The fighting on the hill had died out hours ago, as each side had decided to wait for morning before resuming their slaughter.

Sahn-Raidar had their hill, but Lugaria could not help but feel that they had gotten it too easily. He had of course mentioned his suspicions to Graiden, who had listened keenly. Though the dwarves seemed eager to celebrate a victory. Tomorrow their siege would begin, and though there was nervousness, he saw nothing of the kind in Graiden who acted with the confidence of a man who had something hidden deeply up his sleeve.

A part of him was curious what that was, and why he did not know it, and the other part was grateful for it.

If Graiden was confident that the siege would be a short affair, he would trust in that and be grateful for it. Now if only he could figure out why the orcs had given up this precious spot so easily. Likely, the orcs would attack in the night. But they had made no moves, so far.

Had they lost their confidence? Had an internal power struggle bubbled to the surface in the wake of the stresses of war?

A tap on his shoulder jerked him from his thoughts. Agrata stood beside him, offering him a steaming mug of coffee.

"You didn't hear me."

"I heard you," Lugaria said as he took the cup.

Agrata laughed quietly. "No, you didn't. I could have stuck a knife in your back."

"You could try," Lugaria said, finally tearing his eyes away from the stone fortress in the distance, with a breath. "What do you think they are hiding?"

"Weaponry, allies, it could be a trap." Agrata shrugged. "We won't know until we do. No reason to speculate."

"And you're not worried about it at all, are you?" There was a hint of disappointment in his tone.

"I have all I need," Agrata glanced toward his weapons. "And so do you. Nothing hunts you in the night, and if something should decide to try, it will not live to regret its mistake."

Lugaria sighed, and leaned back into the damp grass beneath him. His thoughts wandered back to when he met Agrata. Young and terrified, yet still somehow focused and deadly as soon as he was provoked. He had an odd view and acceptance of his place in life. He was sure of himself, and his own capabilities to carry him through whatever it was that he had to face. And, despite the similarity he saw, Lugaria envied him that. He had never had such luxuries of surety. But neither had he seen the same horrors. He had never wanted a life of blood and fighting, when he thought truly about it. But he had only ever excelled at one thing, and there was no way to change that now.

Four hours, until they would siege the orcish fort, and either win the war, or die trying. He envied that sense of surety, but he knew better than to hope for it. His only job now would be to focus himself, and live through the hellscape that would greet him at dawn.