The improvised army marched out at sunset.
We moved through the valleys like a stretched shadow, torches burning and banners blackened by ash. I walked among the first ranks, silent, watching how Mara’s madness infected her followers. She stayed close to me, leading the front line, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The lunar priestess walked beside her, whispering prayers in a tongue I didn’t recognize.
The forest opened before us. In the distance, on the plain, the stone towers of Hagenwolf rose against the darkening sky—a small fortress, but well defended. The wind carried the scent of smoke even before we lit the first torches.
“Do it,” Mara ordered.
The first line hurled jars of pitch. Fire spread like a living tongue, devouring the fields. The screams came soon after. I watched from
