Shakti surveyed the convoy. It counted their heat signatures twice. It was as Damacon had reported.
'Many numbers.'
Shakti travelled half the night with its horde of troglodytes. Toothy grin the whole walk over. The moon hung high behind a veil of clouds. Shadows clashed with patches of pale light on the grassy plains. Laughter echoed over the insects' drone– the sound of men who thought they were safe while bloodthirsty trogs tirelessly watched from the marshes.
And still it waited. It watched for patterns of movement, looking for weak points throughout their ranks and guard posts. Half the men in camp had gone to their shelters for the night while the other half made fires and made a perimeter of torches along their camp. A clear division between camps could be seen as one side was brimming with motion and light while the other was pitch black for the night. Only a few men walked the perimeter around the two camps as a whole.
Then there was the lone torch at the top of a nearby hill. One man on guard in front of something large that Shakti could not see– stationed a fair distance away from the camp– looming over it.
That shadow was darker than the night itself. A void. It gave off no heat, no movement—only presence. Even the wind seemed afraid to touch it.
'Power'
That was what waited on the hill. That was where Shakti wanted to be.
Shakti's stomach twisted. It spat up the remains of its meal into the murky water. Its strongest warriors feasted eagerly on the slop, snapping bones with wet crunches.
They crept closer, waiting for the signal.
A few split off to stalk the guards on post while the rest snuck into the quarters that held no light.
And still Shakti waited. And then the opportunity came.
The guard shift.
A few men in camp got up from their spots by the campfire and stretched their tired bodies as they relieved their comrades from their post. Shakti and the few trogs finishing their meal advanced.
Shakti's throat burned, a raw hunger scratching inside it, gnawing like a parasite. Its claws twitched, aching to tear, but it held firm. Its warriors twitched with hunger, each fighting the urge to bite and tear at whatever lay closest. The anticipation of battle had infected them all.
The fear-bond tugged at Shakti's mind—hot pulses of anger and hunger radiating from each of its troops. They were ready. They would obey.
But Shakti reined them in. It always did. They waited, impatiently, for the next command. Although Shakti was watching all its troops through its fear-bond, its real focus was on the hilltop.
It's battleground.
"A lone horseman galloped up the hill. Finally—relief for the sentry. But instead of exchanging posts, the rider drew his blade and cut the guard's head off in a single motion. The body knelt before it toppled over.
The sight was perfect! Shakti let the bloodlust loose.
All at once, the guards on post fell as Shakti watched the glowing orb of a head roll down the hill. The horsemen invigorated Shakti even more as it considered it another powerful thing to fight.
Screams replaced the chorus of laughter. The soldiers began to yell commands before a horn broke through the calamity of the night.