The sky was pale as Squad Four crested the last ridge. Below, Willowshade sprawled—a battered village huddling against the edge of the forest. Palisades gapped and splintered, fires smoldering in a ditch as beacons against goblin night attacks. Smoke curled from half a dozen watch-fires lit around the makeshift walls. Scattered pine shavings and tattered banners of the fallen fluttered in the breeze. Children huddled behind cracked fence rails, frightened faces peering out from wood and wicker, clutching each other.
Liam's jaw set tight. This was no victory parade.
Sir Merek led the Hunters through the breached gate. At the village square they were met by a stern-faced woman in militia gray. She introduced herself with a grunt. "Captain Brana of the Willowshade Militia," she said. Her eyes were sharp and weary, but her posture proud. "We were told relief was coming. Thank you for coming, all of you."
Brana nodded to her soldiers, then circled the newcomers. She inspected each member of Squad Four with a discerning stare. "You'll find quarters in the old storage barn by the eastern gate. It'll do for a night." She turned to Liam and Tomlin specifically. "Space is tight. You two share one room in that barn."
Lina's lips curved in a small smile at Tomlin. "Well, at least it's not a mud pit," she joked.
Tomlin gave Brana a formal nod. "We're at your service, Captain," he said, hefting his spear.
The captain merely inclined her chin. "Dinner and hot mead will be brought out in an hour. There will be a war council after. Rest while you can."
The storage barn was chilly and dim inside. Stacks of grain sacks and broken crates left little room for six beds. Two oil lamps flickered with smoky yellow light.
Tomlin flopped down on a nearby barrel. "Not much of an inn," he joked, rubbing his stiff shoulder from the day's march.
Liam allowed himself a weak grin. "Better than no shelter," he replied, unpacking his cloak. He found a dry patch of ground and rolled out his blanket. Tomlin slid a loose plank to create a rudimentary wall. Two hunters on each side arranged casks as mattresses.
Despite exhaustion heavy in their limbs, sleep did not come easily. Tomlin whispered above the hush of his snoring companions, "Liam, hey. Think we'll see that goblin horde tonight?"
Liam shook his head. "Let's hope not," he said quietly. "We've done enough for one day."
Tomlin stared at the cracked wood roof above them. The two sat in silence for a long moment. Then Tomlin ventured softly, "You did good today."
Liam nodded, not trusting his voice. "We both did," he managed.
It was late before the lean men finally lay down, shoulders side by side on the same cot. Sleep drifted over them reluctantly.
Hours later, they were abruptly roused. Sir Merek's voice echoed at the door: "Hunters, war council."
A few minutes later, Squad Four joined the rest of Willowshade's defenders under a flickering lamp in the mayor's hall. Brana stood over a crude map spread across a wooden table, the faces of the squad illuminated by firelight. Villagers and militia sat around, hushed.
"Goblins have struck from the north," Brana said. "We expect another assault before dawn. Our scouts have counted nearly a hundred goblins massing in the woodline east of here." Her gravelly voice was steady as steel. "Willowshade is under siege. That's why you're here. Tomorrow at first light, we ride out to meet them. Tonight we hold the line."
She looked at each Hunter in turn. "Make sure your weapons are sharp and your eyes open. We don't sleep easy tonight."
Liam felt a knot tighten in his stomach, but he squared his shoulders. These people needed him.
Hours passed in grim planning. Then at last Liam stepped onto the broken palisade by the eastern wall. The moon was hidden, and darkness lay thick over the forest. In the distance beyond the watchfires, the woods swayed in the midnight breeze.
Liam peered out into the blackness. The shapes of trees cut ragged against the sky. Then—something shifted among the shadows at the tree line.
He held his breath, eyes narrowed.
Something was moving.