Eugal approached the village elder's home with excitement. Why did a lord from Clive Rae come here to see him out of all people? Did he want to make a trade agreement? Make a large purchase? He had so many questions but composed himself before entering. Inside, he saw the lord speaking to the village elder. He was tall, wearing a suit of armor that cost more than the village itself, and he looked familiar in an odd way. Eugal figured he must have seen the young lord on one of his many trips to Clive Rae, maybe even done some business with him. He bowed and introduced himself.

"Eugal, I want to congratulate you on behalf of the king for aiding his Majesty's efforts in stamping out a plague in our countryside," Fin said with a smile. "You are a true hero."

"I uh, I don't know what to say," Eugal stammered, face turning bright red. "I am but a humble servant to his majesty the king."

"Please, you don't have to be humble in our company," Fin said regally. "Do you want to tell them the story, or shall I?"

"Please, continue. I couldn't possibly," Eugal said, not knowing what he had done.

"Some time ago, I came here under the guise of a commoner to seek out and eliminate certain criminal activity," Fin said carefully so Eugal knew what was happening. "I asked Eugal to spread the rumor of two slave traders in hopes of flushing out the real ones. He executed the plan with determination and cunning, and we were able to flush out the criminals we had been hunting."

Fin removed his helmet, "I apologize for misleading you all, but I made you believe Sir Brando, protector of the realm, and myself were the criminals to flush out the real ones."

The room didn't audibly gasp as much as it did physically. Fin had made his gambit, and now it was up to Eugal to make a move. He had Eugal's signed receipts for buying and selling enslaved people if it came down to it, but he hoped it wouldn't. The second part of the plan relied on it.

"Yes, of course," Eugal said somewhere between a smile and a grimace. "I am just glad you found the real ones."

"But you said he broke into your house and stole from you after his escape?" Seagram asked from his nominal spot in the back of the room.

"Yes, that was all part of the plan." Eugal gave Fin an uneasy look. He was sweating.

"And the damage to the prison?"

Fin could tell Eugal was about to crumble, so he answered, "It was all a carefully constructed ploy. If the real slavers knew I was in prison, they would know it was only a matter of time before you found out you had the wrong people. I apologize for the inconvenience, but the trouble was quite necessary."

Fin diverted the conversation to prevent further questions, "Now, I am traveling with around forty dwarven mercenaries to eliminate the rest of the operation. We are traveling to a goblin slave camp due South about a five- or six-day journey, but with our speed, it will probably be double that. Before you ask why we are using dwarven mercenaries over human ones, just know that I caution you against questioning the orders of his highness the King. They will be here midday and probably want to stay the night."

This time, the room audibly gasped. Eugal frowned at Fin, wondering if there was a limit to his lies. The village elder stared in shock. Even the constable's stone visage showed its cracks under a wide-eyed expression.

"How can this be?" Carthage asked, holding his extinguished pipe aloft. "The dwarves don't travel outside their own gates but rarely, and for so many?"

"These are desperate times," Fin replied, starting to believe it himself. "They will require food and drinks. Eugal, I hope you will see that the inn is properly stocked and your prices are low."

"Of course!" Eugal bellowed louder than he would have liked.

"Constable, I trust that you will ensure there are no mishaps this evening."

"Yes, my lord," Seagram bowed.

"There's just one more thing," Fin tried to keep the smile off his face. "They all want to try your famous apple pie. I hope you can make enough for everyone on such short notice?"

The dwarves came as promised late into the day. They were directed to an empty street in front of a sign that read, "The Village Inn." Inside, they found Fin arguing with a strange-looking man about pies. He held a paper and said things like, "This says unlimited pie for free, or can you not read your own handwriting?" and "You're a hero now; it's time to start acting like one!" Some of the dwarves wondered what they got themselves into; others would not wonder the same until it was too late, for good or ill.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Everyone knew the night in the village was the last semblance of civilization they would see for the remainder of the journey, so they ate heartily and drank deeply into the night. Too soon, the excitement of the road came and went, and the group fell into a routine. They would travel through the day but stop early enough in the evening for a hot meal and formation training.

Marriam's guards took over the training. They taught formations, short verbal communications, and weapon forms. They did not spar as much as they practiced group actions for different scenarios. The guards would demonstrate how it would look, and the rest of the group, mercenaries included, would imitate them. They said that goblins fight by swarming, and the best way to fight against them is to hold your ground and work together.

Fin discovered that four of the dwarves used war hammers and got special instructions from them. His hammer gave him too much of a benefit to want to go back to the sword. When he held it, his strikes were as powerful as his movement was swift, even while wearing armor. It even gave him a more extended reach, albeit of blunt force. It wasn't until they were attacked that Fin realized how fortunate he was to have it.

On the ninth day, the gradual incline of the mountain pass had dampened the spirits of the group as much as their brows. The wind changed directions, whistling through the trees for a brief gust and bringing an acrid smell of something unpleasant. Fin was deep in his own mind, considering the smell, when Brando stopped him with a hand.

"Something doesn't smell right," he said in a low voice.

Fin's attention snapped to the present, and he looked around warily. Some of the other dwarves looked concerned, too, which concerned him more. Brando lifted a hand for everyone to stop, and they did so, happy for the break.

One of the mercenaries approached. "I smelled it, too. I'll send a scout."

"And let you have all the fun?" Brando joked with false bravado. "Besides, you short leggers aren't very good at sneaking around. I'll be back in a bit."

Brando unsheathed his sword, slipped into the trees, and a moment later, he was out of sight. Fin stared into the foliage a good distance off the road, craning his ears for anything out of the ordinary. He was looking and listening so hard that when someone touched him from behind, he was startled and yelped.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you," Rasengold said, holding out a cup of ale. "Drink this; it will help with the altitude."

Fin was halfway finished with the cup when Brando ran out of the bushes yelling, "Formations! Form up! They're coming!"

Fin stowed the cup and unstowed his armor. He instinctively equipped his sword but then switched to the hammer. Some miners were seasoned veterans, while others had learned the various formations just days ago. They took up shields and arms and lined up the same way; the only difference was the confidence in some that the others lacked.

Fin stopped Brando from moving, and despite the unknown danger, he allowed himself to stop and focus. Several terrible heartbeats passed before Brando's armor appeared around him.

"What's coming?" Fin asked as he took his place on the line.

"Lizard people," Brando replied. "Lots of them."

And lizard people they were. Dozens of shoulder-height, lizard-looking monsters charged the line, walking on feet and tails. Fin identified one of them.

* Kobold

* Corrupted.

"Kobolds!" he roared as they reached him, hoping the information helped someone.

He stabbed the hammer out to stop their momentum and then brought it down on the first one's head. As it crumbled to the ground, he leaned back to collect his momentum for a powerful swing as the person on either side of him either blocked or attacked. The line worked, and he was able to follow through with his next swing, taking another down.

It wasn't perfect, however, when he noticed that several dwarves had sustained ugly wounds to their arms. The attacks came too fast, and he could hear the claws scratching across his breastplate. He grabbed the kobold's wrist with his bare fingers and pulled down, toppling the lizard to the ground.

As his hammer crushed the fallen creature, Fin realized something. He was stronger than the kobolds, and they couldn't hurt him. He looked down at his chest and saw vague scratch marks but nothing more. He wondered if he could do more damage forward of the line rather than in it. It wasn't battle courage, bloodlust, or hubris, he felt. The people around him were bleeding, and he wasn't. So, he looked for his opening and stepped forward.

Kobolds surrounded him, but his whole body was a weapon. He struck forward with his hammer, snapped elbows back, stabbed, and swung. The creatures' sweating bodies gave a musky scent over the growing smell of blood. Snarls, grunts, and growls permeated the atmosphere.

Fin felt arms around him in an attempt to hold him, but he wiggled and spun free. He broke free but was running out of breath and was beginning to feel the aftereffects of his wild fight on the battlegrounds. He looked for the line and saw it was just behind him, or rather, a secondary line had formed behind him. He and eight others he recognized as the mercenaries were taking the brunt of the onslaught, and by the look at the bodies surrounding them, they were holding out!

"Fall back!" Fin gasped before spinning the hammer around in a deadly arc, back and forth, clipping some and knocking others down as he retreated. When he was back in the line, he made a minimal effort to fight until he could breathe again. Then he stepped forward, struck two kobolds down, and regained his place.

Repeatedly glancing at the ground littered with corpses, the kobolds ceased their relentless attack and pulled back. The two groups stared across the sloped roadside battlefield in a stalemate for a moment. There were no more reinforcements for the kobolds; they were intelligent enough to know when the battle was futile. The dwarves held their line, neither retreating nor advancing. One of the kobolds gave a harsh order, and they all, if reluctantly, abandoned the dead and ran back into the trees.

As soon as the kobolds were gone, some of the dwarves collapsed to the ground either from exhaustion, blood loss, or worse. There was no time for celebration as the injured were treated or given their last rites as warriors.