When dusk fell, the goblins were waiting at the base of the slope. All pretense of stealth had been abandoned. Tryle faced a small army of angry goblins bristling with cutlasses and tomahawks. Some carried torches which blazed brighter with every second as day darkened into night.

Tryle stood with Henna and Cadoc at the same spot they’d met Opal, in the very stretch of field he’d crossed in his very first night raid. Only now the direction of uncertainty lay towards the Woodlands.

Tryle searched the crowd for Opal, but she was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she was once again concealed in the trees, providing an overhead reconnaissance with her bow.

The extent of damage Henna had wreaked upon the raiding party was clear. Many of them some kind of bandages wrapped around an arm or leg or tied diagonally on the side of their head. Some sported impressive black eyes that had only just begun to heal, their skin bags a dull purple instead. A few goblins showed gaps in their snarls as they bared their teeth at Henna, making them look more sickly than intimidating.

“What a sorry lot,” remarked Cadoc.

Tryle said nothing. At Henna’s instruction, he kept his palms open at his sides to show he was not being held prisoner.

The line of goblins parted, and Chief Jrunta limped into view, accompanied by Graddle and another beefy goblin Tryle recognized as Tunk, one of the senior watch-goblins responsible for guarding the gate to Lundy village.

The small delegation stopped about a stone’s throw away from Tryle and his companions. By the light of the torch carried by Tunk, Jrunta’s murderous expression was thrown in sharp relief. His arms were bound up in splints. His face was crisscrossed with cuts and scrapes. Graddle and Tunk had their clawed hands resting warily on the hilts of their cutlasses.

“Good evening, Chief Jrunta,” said Henna pleasantly. “I hope this occasion finds you well.”

“I don’t do jokes, human,” replied Jrunta nastily. “You know what you did.”

The corner of Henna’s quirked up slightly. “I suppose I should say ‘I hope this occasion finds you better’.”

“You read our note, then?”

“I did, yes.”

“Awright. Then hand our goblin over. Now.”

Tunk’s underbite fangs shifted with unease. Graddle cast a nervous, sidelong look at Jrunta. Despite their fighting experience and above-average size (Tunk was nearly as tall as Henna), they’d clearly seen and heard enough of the granny to be more open to diplomacy.

“I can’t do that just yet, dearie,” said Henna. “Please let me explain. You all might be in grave danger.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Sixty of us against two of you. Plain to see who’s actually in danger here.”

“Sixty-one, actually,” noted Tryle helpfully. “With eighty percent or so wounded. I counted.”

“Shut it, Bodkin.”

“Your scouts reported sightings of a Berserker Wolf, did they not?” said Henna.

“The goblin you met with earlier didn’t know what she was talkin’ about. Only I have the authority to make demands.”

“Please answer the question.”

Jrunta’s mouth worked briefly, as if he was chewing something over in his mind.

“Unverified sightings, but yes.”

“Then I would like to keep Bodkin close by until I make sure it is safe for him to travel back to your village.”

Jrunta snorted. “Again with the jokes, are we?”

“I do not want to risk Bodkin’s life,” said Henna steadily. “And based on his own testimony, nor do I want to risk yours.”

“Is that a threat, granny?”

“Jrunta,” said Graddle quietly. “Maybe we should listen to what the ox woman has to say.”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” said Jrunta. Then, to Tunk in Goblano, grunted: “Make ready for battle.”

“Chief, you gotta calm down,” said Tryle.

Jrunta switched back to English. “Don’t tell me you’ve really gone soft for your captors, Bodkin. You know the rules. Don’t mix with humans, and leave no goblins behind.”

Beside him, Tunk nervously gripped his sword hilt, his body shifting slightly into a combat stance.

Henna’s mouth tightened. “I’m not looking for a fight, sonny. But take one step with that twig of yours and I’ll knock you into next week.”

By now, the sun had gone, and only a glimmer of purple shaded the horizon. The shadows of the trees had lengthened and were fading along with the dying light. The stars were beginning to pop out one after the other.

The two sides stood motionless, both eyeing the other. Cadoc’s own hand was clasped around his sword hilt in a relaxed grip, his eyes locked on Tunk’s. Graddle’s forehead scales were shiny with sweat.

Suddenly, a loud yelp pierced the air. Tryle glanced around, but nothing had moved. The goblins at the edge of the woods were whispering to themselves as well, heads swiveling to find the source of the sound.

From deep within the woods came a chorus of whimpers and guttural barking sounds. Too low-pitched to be puppies. Too guttural to be hunting dogs.

Then, like water draining, the yipping dwindled into nothing.

Nobody spoke. Tunk looked baffled, but Graddle had started to tremble. His eyes darted back and forth over the woods.

“Somethin’s wrong,” he said shakily.

“What is?” said Jrunta.

“I dunno, I just feel it…everywhere.”

It was only then Tryle noticed how quiet the forest had become.

A cold blanket of silence had fallen over the forest. The normal chatter of night wildlife had abruptly died away. No birds chirped. No squirrels rustled in the underbrush. The crickets had lost their voices in the all-surrounding night.

The goblins at the rock wall were beginning to disperse. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, until they were streaming onto the grass. Some of them were waving their arms at Jrunta’s delegation, shouting something indistinctly.

And following them was a huge, impossible shape. Darker than the darkest tunnel. Darker than a hole cut into the bottom of the earth.

A sense of foreboding came over Tryle. Every scale on his body went cold and clammy, subsumed by a bone-chilling dread.

The shape’s massive bulk filled the gaps between the trees. The high, jagged silhouette of its furred shoulders brushing along the trunks.

Only the creature’s ember eyes were clearly visible, shining a deep red in the darkness and radiating a hateful, intelligent malevolence. They injected a deep, icy terror into Tryle, flooding him with the panic of a trapped animal.

With deceptive calmness, Cadoc drew his sword from its sheath. “Bodkin, now is a good time to return to the cottage.”

Then the howling began.