Inktober 2026 - 22 - Beacon

He had relieved the previous watchman of duty about an hour ago, and the main star was still not giving any sign of rising yet. He did not mind waking up this early, though. At any moment now, a light might shine on the horizon, other than a celestial one, and after that, there would be no time to waste. Missing it was not an option.

The distant flame would mean two things:

Firstly, their allies were still alive and fighting. Dead men did not light fires or cast spells. And conquerors would not try to lure them into a trap so soon after winning the battle. That would just be bad strategy, calling a new adversary to them, a fresh and rested one, just after vanquishing another, presumably at no small cost.

Secondly, their allies were calling for their aid, which meant they would ride right away, weapon in hand. If assistance was not needed, then a couple of heralds would simply be sent in a few days, to inform them that the threat had passed. Flares were for emergencies, not communication. This was why they had only learned about what was happening in that direction via travellers in the first place.

Nobody ever blamed people for leaving a territory on the brink of invasion. As far as his people were concerned, though, they never left those that stood their ground without help under those circumstances either. For this reason, they had been accused, in the past, of intervening too often, too fast; they were this rare combination of peaceful and powerful, the kind of population that knows the cost of its freedom and is always prepared to have to fight for it. It was after these rumours had become loud enough that the light signals had come into play. They had promised to no longer offer any support until their help was explicitly requested. As frustrating as it was for them, it seemed to work that way. They had not been blamed for their interventions since this system had been put in place, and only a few tribes had been too proud to call for them in time and gone extinct as a consequence. 

The barbarians that were currently wreaking havoc in the direction of the rising main star sounded like nasty pieces of work, the kind of monsters to slaughter animals in a cruel manner and have little to no respect for their own women and children, making up in violence what they lacked in intelligence. Everyone he knew was very eager to go and free their friends from their attempted tyranny. Amid the horror that seemed to inevitable recur some place or other, they found consolation in being symbols of hope and liberation. Over time, they had quite effectively turned around a reputation of meddlers into one of liberators. They still had detractors, of course, but that was irrelevant to them. They welcomed those who shared their values, and simply shut their doors to those that didn’t.