After a half an hour the Baron had not returned, so the three men went out into the Mill yard. The morning air carried a crisp bite, a reminder of the season’s change. Cheese tugged his cloak closer as he walked through the camp, Mauren by his side. Nold and Torv followed a few paces behind, their presence a quiet but constant reassurance. The camp hummed with life around them—soldiers preparing their gear, workers ferrying supplies, and the occasional bark of an officer issuing orders, the laugh of a squad before they went to arms on the pitch.
Their first stop was the wall. Tompson sat atop it, leaning casually against the stone parapet as he scanned the horizon. The man greeted them with a nod, his face weathered but cheerful. He had de-aged further and now looked near forty to Cheese` eyes.
“How’s the watch?” Cheese asked, shading his eyes as he looked out toward the distant walls of Fairhaven.
“Quiet,” Tompson replied, gesturing with a lazy wave toward the horizon. “The goblins are out there, though. You can see ‘em butted up against her." He pulled out a hand towel and began polishing his spear as they stood in silence.
Cheese squinted, straining his eyes to pick out anything of note. The goblins were little more than vague shapes against the distant backdrop, wholly unremarkable. They moved, and there was a fire lit, but nothing seemed to be truly stirring.
Fairhaven’s wall loomed behind them like a silent sentinel, a stark reminder of what had been lost.
Mauren leaned against the parapet, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the scene. “They look small from here.”
Cheese allowed himself a dry chuckle. “They’re small up close, too.” The joke came out flat, the grim undertone in his voice betraying the humor he tried to force. Tompson nodded, his expression sobering. “Small or not, they’re nasty buggers. Lucky for us, they seem content to keep their distance—for now.”
"The trolls, how big are they?" asked Cheese.
"Well, they're big" replied Tompson. "Waff says they are about half the height of the baby you felled. So, they shouldn't be an issue but a hundred of them is quite the sight to see let me tell you"
Cheese simply grunted. Thinking of the giants was a fever dream to him now, that fight had been so chaotic. And he was not of the mind that it had been a simple fight, whatever Waff claimed.
In time they descended from the wall, the sounds of the bustling camp enveloping them once again. Their next stop was the blacksmith’s shop. It was a makeshift affair set up in the remnants of an old toolshed. The forge was modest, barely enough to keep up with the demands of the camp, but it burned hot, a constant plume of smoke rising from its chimney. Beside it, a fletcher’s workstation had been cobbled together, where workers were busy crafting arrows from whatever materials they could scavenge.
Floki, the blacksmith, was hammering away at a blade when they approached. He looked up, his face streaked with soot, and gave Cheese a curt nod. “Bladesman.”
“Floki,” Cheese replied, stepping closer. “How’s the forge holding up?”
Floki wiped his brow with a cloth, glancing at the forge. “It’ll do, but we’re running low on iron. I’ve been melting down whatever scraps we can find, but it won’t last. I`ve made maybe 400 arrows, thats only enough for ten men to shoot an hour or so in battle.”
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Cheese frowned. “How long before it becomes a problem?”
“A week, maybe less, at this pace, I can make enough to kill the bastards, but only if every shaft claims a life” Floki said. “Arrows and blades eat up the stock, luckily I only have to make the arrows. If a man breaks a sword or axe, well at this point I will haev to melt down the Iron and make a spear.”
Cheese nodded, his gaze shifting to the fletcher’s station. The workers there were hunched over their tasks, fitting shafts with improvised fletchings—feathers, bits of leather, even strips of cloth. One of them, a wiry man with sharp features, looked up as Cheese approached.
“Bladesman,” the man greeted, setting down the arrow he was working on. “You here to check on our progress?”
Cheese nodded. “How’s it coming?”
The fletcher sighed. “Slow. The wood we’ve got isn’t the best for shafts, and we’re running out of proper feathers. It’s a wonder these arrows fly at all.”
Mauren crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. “Can we send scouts to gather more supplies?”
Cheese shook his head. “Not with the dogs prowling the forest. It’s too dangerous to risk lives for feathers and wood, maybe we could get Iron, but that's the Barons call.”
The fletcher grimaced but didn’t argue. “Fair enough. Just thought I’d ask.”
Cheese hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll bring it up tonight.”
The men exchanged a glance, their expressions a mix of hope and doubt. Cheese noticed but chose not to address it. Instead, he clapped the fletcher on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work. We’ll make do with what we have for now.”
As they left the blacksmith and fletcher behind, Mauren fell into step beside Cheese, his expression unreadable. For a while, they walked in silence, the sounds of the camp filling the gaps in their conversation. Finally, Mauren spoke.
“They’re looking to you for answers, you know.”
Cheese sighed, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “I know.”
“And yet you keep dodging the hard questions,” Mauren pressed. “They expect you to be decisive, Cheese. To lead.”
Cheese stopped walking, turning to face Mauren. “I’m not a leader,” he said firmly. “I’m a Bladesman. My role is to fight, not to manage supplies or plan logistics. That’s Ibron’s job.”
Mauren’s eyes narrowed. “And what happens when Ibron isn’t here? What happens when you’re the only one left to make those decisions?”
There was a long silence, eventually Cheese sighed deeply, and opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Mauren clapped him on the shoulder and said "I unlike them do not doubt you. But your father kept me around because I know when to stand on a point. I`m standing on this one Cheese. You need to be the man we need, not the man you want to be. Now let's go see the men in the Infirmary.
As they walked the camp bustled around them, a hive of activity that never seemed to rest. Cheese felt the weight of it all pressing down on him—the expectations, the doubts, the quiet fear that lingered in the eyes of the men and women he passed. But he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the rhythm of his steps and the tasks that lay ahead. There was still much to do, and the day was far from over.
The two men leaned low into the larger tent that housed the operating table where Cheese` mother and Master Vella worked. Inside it against he far wall were two men, both wrapped across the midsection with large bandages. They were the two the scouts had recovered from the battle with the goblins. Cheese walked up to them and stood beside their beds. Both men were unconscious, but there was a nurse sitting who said "Honor Bladesman"
He nodded at the woman and asked, "How are they?"
"They are well" came the reply from one of the sleeping men. It was the one who wore the pin of the Fairhaven guard across his chest. "How goes the fight Bladesman?" he asked, his voice a croak.
""Well enough" replied Cheese. "We send forays into their camp, the enemy is hold up outside Fairhaven's walls. How do they say your mending will go?"
The man ignored his questions, instead saying "I was by him. When it happened."
Cheese felt his mouth tighten, but no words came out. "He sent my brother as a runner to that daft bastard Jean. Saved my life too. Hid me under a rock. he was a good man"
Cheese nodded, built didn't say anything. After a time he asked "your brother?"
The man inclined his head to the pile of bandages beside him. "He lived too aye, somehow. We both got found by that Barons scouts. Good lot of men them."
As the man finished his words it sounded, and Cheese felt his blood run cold. A single horn from the wall.
In moments a second note followed, loud and long. Cheese knew there would not be a third. He summoned his blade and began to run.