The courier reined his third exhausted horse at the southern convoy gate and handed Taren a wax-sealed order.
The purple crest of House Seliza marked the parchment, and Taren recognized the hand behind every order to retreat.
Taren broke the crimson wax seal, his eyes scanning the sharp, calligraphic instructions penned by Lady Seliza herself.
The directive was brief, ruthless, and devoid of any human empathy for the common people of the province.
"Secure the eight gold wagons immediately, burn the medical tents, abandon the local wounded, and retreat south before the main clash."
The merchant house commander folded the parchment with trembling fingers, a deep disgust rising in his chest.
Behind him in the staging area, sixty local wagon drivers and water-haulers were securing the supply tarpaulins by lantern light.
Among them were young brothers Tovin and Evin, two teenaged farm boys who volunteered to haul grain for the fortress garrison.
