For three days, Caius had been personally trained by his father.
The lessons began early and continued until his body was exhausted. Cullum did not allow him to rely solely on his eyes or his instincts. Every movement had to be understood before it was made. Every attack had a beginning, and that beginning could often be seen in the flow of mana beneath the flesh. Caius spent hours practicing Far Sight, learning to establish a mental lock on the mana core of a target within twenty meters. At first, maintaining the lock on his father for more than a few moments left his eyes aching, but each day he endured a little longer.
Inner Sight proved even more difficult. Cullum would attack without warning, forcing Caius to observe the movement of mana throughout his body rather than the position of his limbs. A concentration of mana in the shoulder could signal a strike. A sudden shift toward the leg could reveal an incoming step. Sometimes Cullum deliberately allowed his physical posture to suggest one attack while his mana prepared another, forcing Caius to ignore what his eyes expected and trust what the Eye of the Loom revealed.
By the third day, Caius had begun to understand the difference.
He was still unable to defeat his father, but he was no longer fighting blindly. During their morning spar, Caius saw the subtle surge of mana moving through Cullum's right leg and realized that his father was preparing to kick. Instead of reacting to the movement itself, he shifted his weight before the attack came, allowing the boot to pass beside him. He immediately countered with his wooden sword, aiming for Cullum's ribs, but his father turned aside and caught the strike with his wooden longsword.
The exchange continued for several moments before Cullum finally knocked the wooden sword from Caius's hands. Even so, the older man's expression held something that had not been there on the first day.
Approval.
"You are beginning to see the difference," Cullum said.
Caius bent down to retrieve his wooden sword, breathing heavily as sweat ran down the side of his face. "I can see the mana before you move sometimes."
"Sometimes is not enough." Cullum rested the wooden longsword against his shoulder. "An enemy will not wait for you to become comfortable. You must learn to maintain your vision while moving, while attacking, and while defending. The moment your concentration breaks, your advantage disappears."
Caius nodded and tightened his grip on the wooden sword.
Before Cullum could continue the lesson, the heavy doors of the training hall opened. Neither of them had heard anyone approaching.
Caius turned toward the entrance and immediately recognized the figure standing in the doorway. The dark elf was tall and lean, with dark skin, long silver-gray hair tied loosely behind his head, and narrow crimson eyes that reflected the torchlight. He wore a dark cloak over fitted black leather light armor, the armor designed for movement rather than protection. A short bow rested across his back, while several knives were concealed beneath his cloak. His clothing was plain and practical, giving him little presence despite the deadly weapons he carried. He looked nothing like a soldier, and that was precisely how he preferred it.
His name was Sereth.
The dark elf had been with the Macrae family for decades, long before Caius had been born. Nobody in the castle truly knew why he had remained. He was not one of Cullum's soldiers, nor did he belong to the castle guard. He had never sworn an oath to serve the Macrae family, and Cullum had never issued him orders in the manner he commanded his own men. Sereth simply appeared when he was needed and disappeared when he was not.
He performed the scouting and reconnaissance duties around Castle Precipice, sometimes vanishing into the mountains for days before returning without explanation. The only person who knew the real reason he remained at the castle was the castle lord himself. Whenever anyone asked Sereth why he stayed with the Macrae family, his answer never changed.
"I like it here."
That was the entire explanation.
Caius had taken to calling him the loafer because Sereth seemed to spend as much time sitting in shadows, leaning against walls, or sleeping in places where nobody could find him as he did actually working. Yet whenever danger approached, the dark elf somehow knew before anyone else.
Sereth entered the chamber and glanced at Caius before looking toward Cullum. "I found something."
Cullum's expression immediately became serious. "What is it?"
"Orcs."
Caius lowered his wooden sword.
Sereth walked toward the large table near the wall where a map of the surrounding mountains had been spread across its surface. He leaned over it and pointed toward the southern passes.
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"I spotted the first scouts two nights ago. At first, I thought it was a small warband moving through the mountains, but more followed them. I tracked their movements and found several larger groups converging from different directions."
Cullum approached the table. "How many?"
"I cannot give you an exact number yet." Sereth's eyes moved over the map. "But there are enough to call it a horde."
Cullum remained silent for several moments. "Who leads them?"
"A warlord."
The answer alone was troubling, but Sereth was not finished.
"There is also a shaman traveling with the main force."
Caius felt the atmosphere in the chamber change. A group of raiding orcs was one thing. A horde organized under a warlord and supported by a shaman was something else entirely. Such a force could tear through isolated settlements and challenge even a fortified position if it had enough numbers.
"How long?" Cullum asked.
"Three days, perhaps less."
Cullum studied the map while Sereth continued to explain what he had seen. The horde was moving carefully through the mountain passes, using scouts ahead of the main body. They were not wandering aimlessly; they were moving toward Castle Precipice.
Caius watched his father's expression. He had seen that look before, but never directed toward an enemy this large. Cullum was calculating, thinking about numbers, supplies, walls, weapons, and the men available to defend them.
The problem was that Castle Precipice did not have many men.
The castle had only one hundred men-at-arms and twenty archers. In addition to them were ten loyal Macrae guards who had served Cullum for many years. Those ten men were not ordinary soldiers. They had fought beside Cullum during his years as a mercenary, long before the Macrae family had been given the castle. They had followed him through battles and campaigns, and when the previous king granted Cullum Castle Precipice, those same companions had remained at his side.
They were not merely soldiers; they were his companions, his brothers in everything but blood. And now there were only ten of them.
Cullum had already known that the castle was vulnerable. For months, he had repeatedly requested reinforcements from the kingdom, warning them about the increasing danger along the mountain frontier. The replies had always been polite, but empty.
The army is needed elsewhere.
Every request had received the same answer.
The kingdom had a new king now, one who had little affection for the Macrae family. The previous king had trusted Cullum enough to grant him Castle Precipice, but that king was dead, and the new ruler had no desire to strengthen a family that no longer enjoyed favor at court.
Cullum finally straightened. "How far are they from the castle?"
"Far enough that you still have time," Sereth replied. "Not enough time to waste."
Cullum nodded. "Continue watching them."
Sereth gave him a slight smile. "I was planning to."
"Find out everything you can. Their numbers, their route, their weapons, their war machines, and anything else that might tell us how they intend to attack."
Sereth nodded and turned toward the door.
Caius watched him leave, then looked toward his father. "Do you really trust him?"
Cullum's gaze remained on the doorway. "I trust what he does."
Caius understood the distinction.
Cullum turned toward the corridor. "Come."
They left the training hall and made their way through the fortress. The castle was beginning to stir as the morning progressed, with servants moving between the kitchens and storage rooms while smiths worked near the courtyard. Soldiers were beginning their daily routines, unaware that an orc horde was moving toward them through the mountains.
Cullum entered the command chamber and summoned his most trusted human captain.
Captain Roderic had served beside him for many years. His hair had turned gray with age, and a long scar crossed one side of his face from an old mercenary campaign. Like the ten Macrae guards, he had followed Cullum long before Castle Precipice became their home.
"My lord."
Cullum approached the table and looked down at the maps. "An orc horde is coming."
Roderic's expression hardened. "How large?"
"Large enough to concern us."
The captain studied Cullum's face before understanding the seriousness of the situation. "Then we should prepare the walls."
"We will." Cullum looked toward the window overlooking the castle grounds. "But first, I want everyone given a choice."
Roderic waited.
"Tell all the people of the castle to leave. Anyone who cannot fight should be escorted away before the orcs arrive. The elderly, the children, the servants who do not wish to remain, and anyone else who wants no part in the battle."
Roderic looked at him carefully. "And those who stay?"
Cullum turned toward him. "Tell them the truth." He paused before continuing. "Tell them an orc horde is coming, and tell them that we do not know whether we will survive the battle."
Roderic nodded slowly. "And if they choose to fight?"
Cullum's expression became firm. "Then we welcome their strength."
The captain straightened. "I understand."
"Give every willing fighter a weapon. If they know how to use one, put them where they can be useful. We cannot afford to waste a single person willing to stand beside us."
Roderic bowed his head. "Yes, my lord."
The captain turned to leave, but Cullum stopped him. "Roderic."
The veteran looked back.
"Do not force anyone to stay."
Roderic nodded. "They will remain because they choose to."
After he left, the command chamber became quiet.
Caius stood beside his father, looking down at the map. Only a few days ago, his greatest concern had been learning how to see mana flowing beneath his father's skin. Now he was looking at a map that represented an army coming toward their home.
Cullum rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "The Macrae line has been reduced to two."
Caius looked up. "You and me."
Cullum nodded. "We are the last of our blood." His eyes moved toward the mountains beyond the window. "The kingdom may have forgotten us. The new king may wish us gone. But this castle was given to our family, and there are still people here who have chosen to stand with us."
Caius looked toward the courtyard below, where soldiers were beginning to gather as word of the approaching horde slowly spread.
For the first time since learning the Eye of the Loom, Caius understood why his father had been so determined to teach him the family legacy. The art was not meant simply to make him stronger; it was meant to keep the last son of the Macrae family alive.
And somewhere beyond the mountains, an orc warlord was leading an army toward Castle Precipice.