The thin morning mist had yet to fully disperse. Cold, damp air steeped in the scents of earth, melting snow, and pine needles shrouded the abandoned fort held by Carnford's Vanguard Camp.
After several days of emergency reinforcement, the fort had begun to take shape. Its broken stone walls had been patched with freshly felled logs and rammed earth, while shallow trenches had been dug around its perimeter and sharpened wooden palisades erected.
The soldiers had just finished breakfast and were preparing to begin a new day of patrols and fortification repairs. Everything seemed no different from the previous two days. Only the occasional flocks of birds startled into flight from the distant mountain forests hinted that this land was far from peaceful.
Suddenly, atop the crude new watchtower—lashed together from thick logs—the pupils of the young staff officer watching the northern mountains abruptly contracted. He cried out, "Commander! Look! There's black smoke on the northern mountain!"
His voice cracked with tension, instantly shattering the camp's calm.
Roderick, who had been inspecting the cannon placements in the open ground at the center of the fort, snapped his head up at the sound. Without another word, he shoved the tool in his hand into a nearby soldier's grasp and charged toward the watchtower, taking two steps at a time. The wooden ladder rungs rang out with urgent thuds beneath his heavy boots.
He swiftly climbed to the top, snatched the Monocular Telescope offered by the staff officer, and looked in the direction the man was pointing.
The lens swept across the gray-blue horizon and focused. Then Roderick's brow drew tightly together.
Beyond the rolling outlines of the dark green mountains to the north, behind a higher ridgeline some ten-odd li away, a dense, straight pillar of black smoke was slowly rising