The hour after Jarek's departure was one of quiet.
The mission to Lysandra was the first line cast into the hostile waters of the Empress's domain, a wager that could either secure an indispensable ally or result in the immediate execution of a vital operative. Kaelen had to manage the risk by focusing on immediate, undeniable tactical gains.
He needed to prove to Captain Varrick that while the Prince may be sick, the mind commanding Stonehaven was fully operational and, more importantly, infallible.
Kaelen summoned Varrick to the small, frozen room adjacent to the tower that Varrick used as a makeshift war council chamber. It contained a single, massive map of the Northern Frontier, tacked to a rough-hewn table, the parchment brittle with age and smeared with old soot.
"Captain," Kaelen said, his voice quiet, drawing Varrick's full attention. "Lady Seraphina wants to see this post fail naturally before she arrives to collect the body."
Varrick crossed his arms, professional skepticism hardening his features. "With all respect, Your Highness, we have had no major Tier 4 incursions since the Harpy-Fiend you dispatched. We are focused on re-securing the north wall, as per your initial direction."
"That is the problem," Kaelen countered, tapping a thin finger on the map's northern edge, far beyond Stonehaven's crumbling walls. "Your attention is where the Imperial Mandate says it should be. The north. The predictable path. The Dreadlord's territory."
He pushed aside Varrick's small scouting reports, sweeping them onto the floor.
"Based on the pattern of high-altitude frost melt and the prevailing easterly winds—data you collected last week and dismissed as irrelevant meteorological trivia—the primary winter passes are choked three feet deeper than the Imperial standard charts predict. No large, land-based predator will risk the deep passes this week."
Varrick raised a brow. "So… we are safe?"
"No," Kaelen said, his gaze locking onto a remote, seemingly impossible location on the map: the desolate, jagged ridge that ran along the south-east perimeter, a full two-day trek from the main threat zone. "Much the opposite. The Gravel-Skinned Behemoth is not a creature of intelligence, but of resource efficiency. It is heavy, it moves slowly, and it relies on stable, firm ground. It will bypass the choked passes and use the less-traveled, dry ridge path that winds down toward the old Iron Mine perimeter."
Varrick leaned over the map, the disbelief palpable. "That route hasn't been used in fifty years. It's too exposed. And why would a Behemoth, a creature that thrives on thick-skinned prey, come this far south?"
"Because the Iron Mine perimeter is the only spot in a hundred square miles where the geothermal heat vents have melted the frost enough to reveal the veins of deep-veined quartz the creature requires for its carapace regeneration," Kaelen recited, citing geological knowledge the Prince Alaric could not possibly have learned in his pampered court life. "It is not hunting prey, Captain. It is hunting minerals. It is Tier 5, Captain. It will arrive at the south-east flank, the very same you currently guard with a single, two-man watch team, in 36 hours."
Kaelen straightened, his gaunt appearance now radiating a chilling certainty. "A Behemoth breach on the south-east flank, an area traditionally considered safe, two days before Lady Seraphina's arrival, would be perfectly interpreted by the Empress as proof of your total tactical failure, Captain."
The political calculation hit Varrick harder than the military prediction. He was already politically vulnerable, and Kaelen was predicting a disaster that would not only destroy Stonehaven but utterly ruin Varrick's chances of rehabilitation.
"The reports are against this, Your Highness," Varrick argued, rubbing his chin, his voice laced with doubt. "If I redeploy our seven available men… with Jarek gone and Torvin running message, if they are all deployed to the south-east, the north gate will be held by four men. That is suicide if the main force moves."
"The main force is delayed. I told you why. Your choice is between risking a possible failure in the north, or guaranteeing an imminent failure in the south that condemns you and the garrison politically. Which is the greater threat, Captain? The monster, or the Empress's scrutiny?"
Kaelen's logic was brutal and irrefutable. It wasn't genius; it was absolute knowledge presented as tactical calculation. He was giving Varrick the perfect professional escape: follow the Prince's mad, hyper-detailed command, and if it works, Varrick survives.
Varrick stared at the prince, seeing not the weak, exiled noble, but a cold, calculating force that saw three moves ahead in a game Varrick hadn't even realized he was playing. The source of the Prince's knowledge, whether it was magic, madness, or pure strategic insight, no longer mattered. The prediction was too detailed to ignore.
"Very well, Your Highness," Varrick conceded, the defeat absolute. He snapped to a salute that was far crisper than his earlier submissions. "I will move four men immediately to reinforce the south-east ridge perimeter. I will personally supervise the installation of the heavy ballistae we recovered from the ruins."
"Good. Use the remaining three men to set up a trip-wire alarm system along the crest of the ridge path, two hours prior to the estimated arrival time," Kaelen instructed, adding a detail that indicated his familiarity with Behemoth behavior. "Their footsteps are deafening, but they move slower than frost creep. They will trigger the alarm, not the watch. Now go."
Varrick hesitated for a moment, looking at the map, memorizing the coordinates, and then, without another word, he turned and left, his new tactical conviction overriding his strategic confusion.
Kaelen was left alone, leaning heavily against the wall, utterly spent. The depth of the Arch-Mage's memory, pulling decades of geological, zoological, and meteorological data, had almost completely drained his limited mental reserves. But the investment was worth the cost. Varrick was secured. The garrison was now his instrument, operating on his orders, ready to prove its competence by defeating a Tier 5 monster exactly where no one expected it to appear.
He sealed the door. The next two days would be spent in silence, recovering for Lady Seraphina's political arrival.
Stonehaven was about to become the Arch-Mage's fortress.