There was an interminable gap between the point when preparations were complete and battle began. During this time soldiers were left to worry, make merry, or pray to their Dread Lord for survival. Hohza looked down on Hangman’s Forest and saw columns of smoke rising in the night sky from between the trees, the edges lit blue by the moon overhead. Each one marked a camp of soldiers under his command who suffered this dread along with him. While they had tonight, and most of tomorrow, sometime the next evening Tad and Gohta would return to the Prison, their deliveries complete, and then the battle would begin short after.

Long ago, when the watchtower for the Prison of Eternal Suffering was crowned with circular room that overlooked the prison grounds, Hangman’s Forest, and the lands beyond, the domain had entertained many such adventuring parties as Hohza would soon face. War Masters marched to their death to protect magical baubles from dwarves, elves, sprites, and even humans, all so their dread could have the prestige of being known in the World of Light.

Death in service of Withering Sorrows seemed insult enough. Knowing that his afterlife would be spent singing the Dread Lord’s praises in hopes of the Makers recognizing their greatness seemed a pathetic way to waste the rest of eternity.

Standing at the edge of the creaky wooden floor, Hohza braced himself against a wall. An arrow loophole was carved from the stone wedge, which was superfluous as the centuries had worn away all the platform’s roof and most of its walls. The wind blew around Hohza, chilling him through his cloth vest and pants, as it whistled, high and constant. He was looking at the squat Dread Lord’s keep which loomed due south. With his bare foot, Hohza kicked some rubble from the tower and watched it fall so far that he couldn’t hear it land on the ground below. Then he spat after it with his eyes on the Keep. The phlegm carried with it a sentiment he had voiced often. Until now, however, he had not dared to think it could be realized.

He could free himself of the Dread Lord. All it required was to delicately handle this campaign and show the invaders that orcs were not mindless brutes. Despite his hesitance concerning Yendell, he was sure Toran would support the plan.

He just needed to tell his teacher of it.

“Be careful over there,” said Toran.

Hohza looked to his teacher, already back to reading. The elf sat the center of the platform, in a small chair, while swathed in a thick blanket that spilled over the sides. He leaned so a lantern set at the edge of the table beside him could light the pages. One of the goblins’ communicators was beside the lantern. The elf’s lips silently mouthed the words from the page; an embarrassing habit he was pleased he’d never passed to his pupils.

Near the elf sat Glum, hunched atop the table. The sheets covering him made him seem like jumble of rags that were stubborn against the breeze. Only his perpetually grumpy face poking out of the pile made it clear he was present. He was surrounded by enchanted lures and goblin tools.

The orc spared one more look at the prison grounds below; a field dotted by the remnants of roads and the skeletal ruins of buildings. He was reminded of a poem Toran once assigned him to read. It was penned by an elf woman who was injured when a flight spell she was developing failed. She referred to the fall as having a unique exhilaration as it was tinged by not knowing whether she’d survive. She wrote that her life was fuller for having survived to know the feeling. However, she died after a subsequent disastrous experiment, according to his teacher.

If he failed in his current mission, it was unlikely Hohza would survive to even enjoy the thrill of that failure. He smiled bitterly and used the back of his hand to wipe a fleck of spittle which had hung from his lip. Hohza turned and approached his companions. The stars along the northern horizon were blotted by the silhouette of Moonpeak, which jutted from the valleys that housed the moon berry orchards.

A clap of thunder sounded from that direction. No flash of light accompanied and there weren’t even clouds. Pausing mid-stride, Gohta mumbled “that’s odd.”

“Was that thunder?” Glum yawned and around. His blankets twisted about him.

“Yes. From the north. But no storm stirs there,” Hohza said.

Toran closed his book while slipping a satin bookmark into it. He set it on the table. “Ask Tad about it.” He tapped his fingers on the communicator. “He and Gohta are that way now, right?” He rose from his chair, casting off his blanket, and strolled to the north side of the platform.

There was a clamor as Glum crawled across the table, slipping out from under his sheets as he did. While unrolling a map of the area the old goblin pushed aside the various enchanted lures strewn on the table. A sudden gust made the sheets blow to the floor and threatened to take away the map. Glum threw himself across it and snatched up items from the table to place them at the corners to hold down the map. “Yes, yes, the North Country team’s camp ought to be midway between here and the peak.” He dragged his thick fingers along the map, anxiously tracing Tad’s route through Hangman’s woods. “Toran, do you see a campfire out that way?” He reached for the communicator.

“I do! Quite a plume coming from there,” Toran answered while peering across the horizon.

That the little goblin, Tad, had gone moments without using the communicators to chat about the unexpected thunder left Hohza concerned. The boy had proven quite chatty with the devices over the past two days and could only imagine how much blather Gohta endured in person. It was his hope that Gohta learned to at least be patient with the boy, if not engage with and possibly befriend him.

Standing over Glum, Hohza looked over Tad’s and Gohta’s route on the map. Was it significant the boom came from where the third key stone was to be delivered? Was that an effect of the stones’ magic? The thought of the magic key stones made Hohza notice that Glum secured the map’s corners with the enchanted items available: the purple velvet pouch holding the Eggfinity, the black Wraith’s Edge knife glinting the moonlight, the pouch holding some of the Many Rings of Power, and the oversized brass key which completed the set of keystones.

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Although Glum held the communicator in his hand, his thumb poised to depress the red button on its black, dull face, he held it as he retraced the route on the map, muttering to himself. Was he worried he might interrupt a message from Tad if he used it?

“Let me have that.” Hohza reached for the device. Just as he laid his hand on it, a shrill, panicked voice blared: “We’re under attack!” The speaker was Porran, a promising neophyte granted command of the southwest camp to prove his mettle. Tearing the communicator from the old goblin’s grip, Hohza depressed the red jewel and spoke into the slab. “Who is attacking?” He stood up and turned to scan the horizon. There were flashes of blue and white buried in the forest southwest of the tower. He grabbed the spyglass from the table and ran to the edge. Looking through it, he saw a bright light illuminate the forest from within. Immediately after a stretch of woods shuddered as a tree toppled, dragging others with it.

Immediately after hearing his question repeated to him, Porran squealed in response: “Elf and human” before his voice was drowned out by a series of piercing pops and the groan of the falling tree. Then, panting, Porran added: “Big as a bearwulv!”

“Human,” Hohza wondered aloud. How could the scouts had failed to report the presence of a human in the enemy’s party? He would have requested a larger force to compensate.

“The fellows from Withering Fields said one of the elves was especially large. Carried what looked like a tree as though it were a club,” said Glum. “He could be confused for a human.”

Hohza nodded at Glum. Despite his calm assessment, the old goblin’s face was pulled with worry. “Keystone camps North and West, report your status,” Hohza barked into the communicator. After his request repeated the trio anxiously stared at the communicator in Hohza’s hand. Finally, a squeaky voice answered with “Second western scout party here! We heard some noise in the direction of the westmost keystone camp and are on our way to investigate War Master Bigrummar’s situation. Will report as soon as we arrive, War Master Hohza.” It wouldn’t surprise Hohza for Bigrummar to refuse to respond if he needed help. Especially if he needed it; he’d be happy to inform Hohza that everything was under control if it was.

“That still leaves Tad and Gohta at the north camp,” said Glum. He crawled to a chair to descend from the table. One hand pulled his screwdriver cane along.

“North camp, report in!” Urgency tainted Hohza’s voice. His chest pounded as he considered that Tad and Gohta had the option of retuning the prison immediately after delivering the keystones or spending the night at the northern camp. If they were on their way to the prison, they were likely safe from these attacks. If they were safe from these attacks, however, then Tad would have said something.

“Is it possibly something unrelated? A coincidental invasion from another domain, or perhaps it’s from the forces the Yendellians brought.” Toran had his hands planted on the table as he stared down at the map. “Maybe Bonnelle’s company was merely a distraction,” he muttered.

“I can’t imagine why there would be a coordinated strike on the keystone locations if it was unrelated,” Hohza muttered. “Lady Rhodian is experienced in the Dark Lands. She knows better than to strike before the Dread Lord has their pieces in place and she would have advised against the Yendellians attacking. Besides, our scouts would have reported if forces had left the camp.” He wrung the telescope in his hands. “How could they know the keystones’ locations without them being activated?”

Scratching at his chin, Toran thought out loud: “Once activated the keystones can be detected with a variety of scrying spells. The scouts indicated they had quite a contingent of mages at the elven camp.”

Hohza turned and stomped to the table, almost trampling poor Glum as he did. He replaced his telescope for the brass key, necessary to activate the keystones, and waved it at Toran, pushing it toward his face. “Once they’re activated! We haven’t activated the keystones! We were waiting for Gohta and Tad to return before doing so!”

“Hmmm.” Toran stared at the key under furrowed brows. Hohza was unsure what to make of his master’s frown. The elf reached out and plucked the item from his student’s hand. “It’s been activated!”

“What? How?” Hohza watched as the elf held the key in the air, examining it against the full moon overhead.

“This is Scout Master Palar, reporting in from the southwest camp. The keystone is gone and there are no survivors,” an orc reported through the communicator. The words came hesitantly, strained by fear. “Please advise, War Master Hohza.”

Shortly after the scout master from earlier came through. Raucous shouting almost drowned his voice. “War Master Bigrummar is alive, but the west camp’s key stone has been taken. What? I’m reporting to War Master—AGHK!” Then there was the noise of a brief scuffle and Bigrummar told Hohza: “I’m going to get it back.”

“Still nothing from the North Camp,” said Glum, his voice a wary croak.

Hohza held the communicator to his lips for a long moment before finally speaking into it: “Is there any news from the North camp? Anyone hearing this message, you are to return to the Prison Grounds immediately! Something has gone wrong with the key stones and you are not to defend them! Return to the Prison of Eternal Suffering.” When he ended the message he held the device in place with one hand while pinching the bridge of his nose with the other to stem a mounting pressure there. So much for whatever schemes he had been hoping to work; it would be a struggle to live.

“If the key stones are active, then is the barrier?” Glum arced his back to look up to the sky, as if hoping to see the shield that should protect the prison grounds.

After setting down the communicator Hohza explained: “The barrier is shaped like a cone with a very wide base.” Hohza made a triangle with his hands and looked up. “The tip was positioned just over the rooftop of this platform.” He shrugged, noting there was no longer a roof. However, that shouldn’t affect the spell. He grabbed a stone from the floor and pitched it into the air with the strength to go far past where the roof would have been. Instead of bouncing off the invisible surface of the barrier, he’d dealt with similar spells in the past, it whizzed well past where the barrier would have been and finally plummeted past the floor. Hopefully it wouldn’t hurt anyone below. Picking up the device again, he reported: “The barrier did not activate. The prison is open.”

Slumping in his chair, Toran kept turning over the key in his hands. His face was stricken as he mumbled: “They were all killed. I couldn’t even have helped them.”

“You should report to the medical tent,” Hohza said. He’d never been positioned to issue an order to his teacher and the experience didn’t sit right. “The battle will be here by dawn.”

“You’re right,” said the elf. He rose and opened the satchel on the table. He began shoving the enchanted lures into it, muttering as he did. “The Dread Lord has used all of these items before: twelve Rings of Power, the Bridle of Turning, the Shattered Mirror.” He reached across to pluck the Eggfinity off the table. “Withering Sorrows has used all of these before with no issue!” His grip failed and the satchel dropped to the floor, spilling the items. “Hohza, this isn’t your fault! You were running this as well as any War Master could.”

Hohza considered all those War Masters before him who had waged campaigns as well as he. “Mention that to the Dread Lord and perhaps they’ll only flay me alive,” Hohza said.

Another message came from the scouts investigating the camp up North. The place was a wreck but there were few bodies. Glum perked at the news. They were following the sounds of a pitched battle. Shortly after, Yurzan confirmed that the remnants of Bigrummar’s War Party were headed to the prison.

“Maybe Lim from the Logistics Corps can help.” Glum pointed at the communicator. “The Dread Lord has used these keystones and lures before, but this is the first time these communicators have been involved in an invasion!”