What guardsmen the city of Leyawiin could muster stood in two roug columns in front of Castle Leyawiin. Anton Dominicus, captain of the guard, surveyed his meager collection of troops. They were mostly his own race, Imperials, but a few of the catlike Khajiit and reptilian Argonians had been conscripted into service. They each wore a suit of chain-mail, with the emblem of County Leyawiin (a rearing white horse) on the tabbards. A few feet away, he saw a female Orc in heavy plate armor leaning against a wall. That was Mazoga, an Orc whom the count (in a brief fit of madness, Dominicus assumed) had knighted.
And it was raining. Droplets of water pinged incessently against Dominicus’s capeline.
“Archers!” he called, “I want one-half of you on the walls at all times. Your shifts will be four hours at a time.” He looked at the bowmen, who had snapped to attention. “I want to see two units, now!”
Obediently, the archers clustered together in two groups of roughly the same size. He pointed at the group to his left. “You’re unit 1. Your shift starts now.” Then he pointed to the others. “Unit 2, stay alert, but you can stay in the barracks until your shift comes.” He gestured to the rest of the guardsmen. “The rest of you, keep up your patrols as normal. Fall out!”
Archer unit 1 headed to the tops of the city walls, archer unit 2 went back inside the castle, and all the other guardsmen scattered. Captain Dominicus looked across the damp courtyard to Mazoga.
“Oh, Great Captain,” said the Orc, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “What are your orders for me? Should Mazoga Unit 1 stand guard at the gate?”
Dominicus answered her sarcasm with his own: “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of trying to command the Great Sir Mazoga.”
He had tried to be polite with her before—he had long since given up.
Mazoga snorted to herself as Dominicus left the courtyard. He walked through the streets of Leyawiin and shouted, “Anyone who can fight, we need you at the castle! If you’re strong enough to hold a sword! We need all the fighters we can get!”
Meanwhile, in the wide Niben Bay outside the city, hundreds of exotic warships floated on the water. On board, thousands of beast-folk—Tsaesci snake-men, goblins, and most of all the massive Ka Po’Tun tiger-men—prepared for battle. Above each ship, a fearsome banner wove—a black flag with a picture of a red dragon face, snorting fire, on it. This was the banner of Tosh Raka, the tiger-tragon, ruler of Akavir and—if the defenders of Leyawiin failed—potential ruler of Tamriel.
