Upon the battlements, sentries patrolled—massive barbarians clad in heavy leather armor and furs. Long braids fell over their shoulders; dense beards framed their coarse faces. In their fists they carried heavy axes and long spears, while broad knives hung at their belts. Small round shields with iron bosses rested beside them, and bows were slung across their backs.
At the foot of the wall, ceaseless labor was underway. A dozen men worked with crude tools upon the fortifications: rotten stakes were torn from the ground and replaced with fresh trunks; angled braces were driven deep into the damp soil, ropes drawn tight, cracks sealed with clay and resin. Hammer blows thundered through the ravine, accompanied by the rough cries of the workers. A cart laden with timber and iron stood nearby, while two men sharpened tools upon grinding stones.
Prince Sylvian watched the workers for a time, motionless, before giving a slight nod. He observed that the guards on the towers remained vigilant; every movement below was noted at once. Weighing his chances, he knew an attempt in daylight would be folly. He would have to wait for the cover of night.
His eyes searched the terrain for concealment. To the left, slightly off the path, he discovered a dense cluster of thorned bushes—thick enough to hide his presence, yet open enough to keep the wall in sight.
Carefully, he guided his spider into the tangled growth. The creature sensed the narrowness and hesitated, its long legs trembling. He felt its unease, yet there was no other way. With a firm pull on the reins, he forced it onward. The spider reared briefly, releasing a sharp clicking sound before yielding and slipping into the thicket. There he remained, watching the wall.