Henna wasted no time. While Tryle stood gawking at the monstrous wolf towering among the trees, she scooped him up under one arm and began sprinting back the way they’d come. Cadoc was close behind, covering their retreat with his sword. The goblins’ yelling was louder, and above it all Jrunta was barking commands, ordering them to regroup and stand firm.

Stand firm for what? thought Tryle. His vision bounced and juddered as Henna ran, but he saw the silhouette of the wolf rear up onto its hind legs, reaching the same height as the orbs of light he’d seen hovering amongst the trees on the night of the first raid. It raised its thick snout, sniffing the air.

The howling grew louder.

Suddenly, Tryle understood Jrunta’s thinking. If there were more wolves coming, then it didn’t matter if the warriors from Lundy village chose a tactical retreat. They would all be overrun, hunted down one by one like rabbits. If they stood their ground and fought as a single body, they at least had a chance.

Or they would simply die together.

Opal…, he thought, and then the cottage door banged open and they were inside.

Gabriela, Connor, and Reya looked up from where they were playing a card game on the dining table.

“What is going on?” asked Connor, startled.

Henna put Tryle down and grabbed one of the wall-mounted shields. “A Berserker Wolf. Put out that fire and keep your voices down.”

Gabriela looked astonished. “A — what? It’s real?”

“Now, Gabriela!” hissed Henna.

Cadoc checked the lock to the entranceway. “Connor, help me block the door.”

Connor leapt to his feet, and he and Reya dragged the table over. Cadoc heaved the thick oval of wood against the door, scattering cards all over the floor.

Meanwhile, Gabriela extended her arm toward the fire, and there was a peculiar whooshing sound as the flames shrank in the fireplace, draining away in a continuous stream around Gabriela’s hand.

“You’d better arm yourselves,” said Cadoc. “They are coming.”

Connor and Reya ran into their rooms and reappeared with swords in their hands. Their cloaks were gone, leaving their bare arms free and unconstrained. Connor’s sword was very different from his training blades: a bone-white double-edged blade fused to a silver hilt, with a teardrop of glistening ruby-red emanating up the center of the blade from the horizontal guard. Reya carried a rapier with a basket hilt welded with blued metal.

Henna was peering through the window facing the Woodlands. The light of the goblins’ torches bobbed and gathered into a blurry, glowing mass.

Tryle grabbed the nearest weapons he could find — the fireplace poker and the grapple gun on the mantelpiece. “I have to get Opal,” he said.

“You will do no such thing,” said Henna. “It would be too dangerous to be out alone in the open now. She is safest with her people now.”

“I’m her people!”

“Be quiet,” growled Cadoc.

Tryle was about to make a forceful reply when a wolf tore out of the woods. Though relatively smaller than the gigantic figure hovering among the trees, it was still as big as a small horse.

Under the silver light of the moon, a horde of wolves began to pour onto the field like spilled shadows. Their howls were muffled, but somehow that made them even more eerie, as if ghosts were trapped in the cottage’s stone walls.

The goblin torches bunched together defensively, but the wolves ignored them entirely, galloping past them without a second glance. From inside the cottage’s shadowy interior, they looked to be teleporting every few feet, flashing in and out of view through the patches of moonlight hitting the ground.

As he processed the sight before him, Tryle’s thoughts ceased to be thoughts and changed more into something resembling strings of intuition, choppy and elongated and snapping with adrenaline.

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He recognized the threat. Thirty or forty wolves, at least. Odds were ten-to-one, without factoring in Tryle, who had enough self-awareness to realize how much he messed up the equation. He was at best an irreducible constant and at worst a troublesome variable. A deadweight.

So all in all, the odds were tipped even more out of favor. Because to Henna and the rest of them he was a semi-opponent as well. Someone to waste precious time and energy trying to protect. Someone who would suck the life out of them without trying. An unwilling accessory to their murder.

“Stay back in the hallway, Your Highnesses,” ordered Cadoc. “Reya, guard my back.”

“I can fight,” growled Connor.

Gabriela clutched her staff. “Grandma, why isn’t the Berserker coming for us directly?”

“To soften us up with foot soldiers they’ve forced under their command. Or for fun. They like to play with their food.”

“But what if we get trapped in here?”

“If we go into the open, we die.”

“But how long can the cottage windows withstand assault?” Tryle asked.

There was a pregnant pause as everyone considered the question.

And then a dark shape slammed against the window, spreading cracks across its surface. Gabriela let out a gasp, and Connor swore. Cadoc didn’t move. Henna simply hefted her shield to the other hand. Behind them both, Reya’s face was cold and resolute, the tip of her sword high and unwavering.

A rolling yellow eyeball pressed against the window and then vanished. More sounds penetrated from outside. Growls and yelps and claws scrabbling for purchase against stone. Jaws snapped at the door. The snarls were jarring and ever-present, as if they had always been there, ambassadors of an evil wind.

Another howl rent the air. This one was deeper and harsher, like a bell struck by a sledgehammer.

The call sent the wolves into a frenzy. Their siege on the cottage intensified, and the door began to splinter and boom as they rammed madly against it. The leaning table jumped a little with each impact.

“Grandma…” said Gabriela.

Teeth blazed in the moonlight as the wolves began to tear into the door, the table barricade was starting to also give. Cadoc calmly stepped forward and thrust his sword through one of the gaps. There was a yelp of pain, and a bloody snout withdrew.

“Grandma, we can’t stay here,” insisted Gabriela. Her face was white with fear.

“Very well,” said Henna. “We stick to the original plan. Cadoc and I will clear a path. You, Connor, Bodkin, and Reya will ride out of here.”

“But we tied the horses out back. If the wolves have gotten them…”

“Go on foot if necessary. Run as fast as you can.”

“I’m not leaving you here!”

“Nor I,” said Connor.

Tryle didn’t have to be a battle strategist to know that him trying to outrun a pack of wolves was like a banana slug challenging a goblin to a footrace. That entire line of thinking was a hopeless proposition.

The wolves were baying louder than ever. A low, desperate whine trickled through the fragmented door, like a puppy crying for milk. The irregular rhythm of thuds from the wolves throwing their bodies against the door added to the chaos, lacing the air with a nameless terror.

“Divide and conquer,” said Tryle.

“What?” said Gabriela over the howling.

“We need to split up. In doing so, we reduce their fighting strength.”

“Bodkin,” said Henna warningly. “Don’t be insane. You stand no chance against a Berserker.”

“I’m thinking we have no choice,” said Connor. “And I would like to do some conquering.”

“Both of you stay where you are!” shouted Cadoc, slashing at the front half of a wolf who had stuck its head through a hole in the barricade. It cried out and slumped over in the gouged-out entrance, its limp body blocking the other wolves from piling in.

All the windows on both sides cracked in unison as more wolves hurled their bodies without abandon. The entire cottage shuddered, but this time Connor didn’t flinch.

He scrutinized the ceiling, his gaze lingering on the piece of wood Tryle had secured with Giant Snail slime a couple days ago. He glanced at Tryle, his grin looking not unlike that of the wolves outside.

“I’ve heard wolves are partial to goblin meat.”

Tryle didn’t like the wild glint in his eyes. “That is not what I was —”

For the second time that night, Tryle was lifted up like he weighed nothing at all. Connor grabbed the back of his collar and jumped straight up with a blast of air, shattering the cottage windows in a spray of glass. They burst through the rectangle of wood embedded in the ceiling and landed on the roof.

Two large wolves were feverishly digging at the smooth shingles. They looked up, jaws slavering. Without hesitation, Connor turned around and sprinted across the ridge of the roof. When he reached the edge, he jumped off and slung Tryle away.

Tryle soared through the air and hit the ground rolling, coming up spitting clods of dirt from his mouth. The poker and grapple gun flew out of his hands.

“Over here, vermin!” yelled Connor. “I’ve brought you an appetizer!”

The wolves leaped down and bounded towards Tryle. He scrambled away — too slow — but just as their fangs were about to reach his neck, Connor’s sword whistled through the air.

The blade cleaved through fur and muscle with a bloody hiss. Tryle opened his eyes. A few feet away, the wolves were lying motionless with deep gashes in their necks.

Connor was by his side, sword held at the ready position.

“It might be best to stay close, goblin,” he remarked.

A snarl came from somewhere behind them, and a four-legged shape leapt from the shadows. Connor’s head swiveled like an owl and his arm blurred as he swung his sword at Tryle, who yelped and ducked as the blade whipped over his head. Something gurgled out of sight, and a moment later a wolf’s head rolled into Tryle’s vision, its swollen red tongue lolling from its mouth.

“But perhaps not too close,” amended Connor.

Tryle was about to make a cutting reply, but just as he predicted, some of the wolves swarming around the cottage peeled off and began to gallop in their direction. Behind them, Henna climbed through the wreckage of one of the windows. A wolf pounced from the side, and she bashed it in the face with her buckler shield.

“Move, Bodkin!” she roared.