The march of the Army of the Wastes was a sight the desert had never before witnessed. It was a river of purpose flowing through the barren lands. At its head were the Ashen scouts, led by Kai and Ren, their sand-colored horses blending into the landscape as they fanned out, securing the path ahead, ensuring our main body moved unseen.
Behind them came the main force. The Oakhaven infantry, now a solid core of fifty disciplined spearmen, marched in tight formation, their iron-tipped spears a bristling hedge. Flanking them were the thirty Ironpeak warriors, a terrifying spectacle of black iron and brute strength, their heavy axes and hammers held at the ready. Bringing up the rear, guarded by Borin and his twenty Dragoons, was our new siege train.
The construction of the siege engines had been a marvel of Oakhaven ingenuity. Following my system-granted blueprints, our carpenters and blacksmiths had worked day and night to build three powerful onagers and a massive, wheeled battering ram we nicknamed 'Grak's Fist'. The components were designed to be broken down for transport and reassembled on site. Hauling these massive pieces of timber and iron across the desert was our greatest logistical challenge. Our Oakhaven Freighters, pulled by teams of straining mules, groaned under the weight.
My new knowledge of logistics was tested to its absolute limit. I established a strict marching order, with rotating patrols and designated foraging parties. We moved primarily at night, resting during the worst of the day's heat in hidden arroyos and canyons that Ren's expertise uncovered. Our food was the iron-hard ration of hardtack, supplemented by the hunt. Our water discipline was absolute. This was a professional army on the move, not a migrating tribe.
The journey was a crucible that forged the disparate parts of our army into a whole. The soldiers, who had once viewed each other with suspicion, now shared their water, their food, and their stories around the low-burning fires at night. An Ironpeak warrior learned how to fletch an arrow from an Ashen archer. An Oakhaven farmer learned a silent hand signal from a nomad scout. They were bound by a shared purpose and by their shared faith in me, the strange lord who seemed to know everything.
After nine days of hard marching, Ren's scouts returned with the news we had been waiting for. We had crossed the kingdom's ill-defined border undetected. Fort Drakon was two leagues ahead, nestled in the pass, its garrison blissfully unaware of the doom gathering in the hills around them.
We made our final camp in a deep, wooded canyon, a place where the desert finally gave way to the more temperate climate of the kingdom's edge. Here, the final phase of the plan began. Under my direct supervision, the siege train was unloaded, and the assembly of the war machines commenced.
The sight of the onagers taking shape was a revelation to my allies. Grak, who had come along to personally oversee his warriors, stared at the massive torsion springs—thick bundles of rope woven from the sinews of a hundred goats—and the long, powerful throwing arms. "By the forge," he breathed, "what devilry is this?"
"It is the devilry of the lever and the screw, Grak," I explained, pointing to the winding mechanism that would twist the sinew ropes to build their immense potential energy. "It is the devilry of physics. And it will be the death of that fortress."
We worked for two full days, the canyon echoing with the sound of hammers and saws. As the machines neared completion, I gathered my commanders—Borin, Kai, Ulf, and Grak—around the map.
"The fortress is garrisoned by about two hundred men," I said, relaying the intelligence from Kai's scouts. "Mostly provincial levies, not elite knights. Their commander is complacent. They patrol the walls, but they do not look beyond them. They believe their stone is all the defense they need."
I laid out the plan of attack. "Our assault begins at dawn, two days from now. Kai, your archers will be positioned here and here," I pointed to the ridges overlooking the fortress. "Your first task is to eliminate every sentry on that wall. I want a silent, deadly rain to fall before they even know they are under attack. Ulf, your warriors and our siege engines will be positioned here, shielded by this ridge. Borin, you and the main infantry force will be here, ready to advance on the main gate. The Dragoons will be held in reserve, hidden in this copse of trees, ready to exploit any breach."
My eyes met each of theirs in turn. "We do not just want to defeat them. We want to overwhelm them. We want to create such a storm of sudden, unexpected violence that their morale shatters before they have a chance to mount a proper defense. We are the scorpion. The time for stinging is almost upon us."
As night fell, the three mighty onagers stood complete, their throwing arms pointing at the sky like the accusing fingers of a vengeful god. Our army, hidden and silent, looked down from the hills at the twinkling lights of Fort Drakon, a tiny, arrogant island of order, utterly oblivious to the tide of history that was about to wash over it.