The inn was quiet when Koli returned from his buying frenzy, except for what sounded like either a thunderstorm or tornado coming from upstairs. “What the hells is that, then?” he wondered aloud.

“That,” one of the troopers lining the bar and mellow from his third pint pointed out, “would be them there sylvern wenchies cryin’ out in agony t’their strange and fell woodland gods.” He punctuated the statement with a quiet belch.

“Where’s The Tairn?”

“Up there,” the trooper chucked a thumb at the closed door. “Makin’ them there sylvern wenchies cry out in agony t’their strange and fell woodland gods.”

The whole line of troopers chuckled quietly and shook their heads, but Koli wasn’t getting it. Man child humor wasn’t his strong suit. “He’s hurting them?”

The whole line of troopers burst out laughing, slapping the bar and snorting beer through nostrils. “Not so’s yer’d notice,” the garrulous one snorted, “fer ha’ no they been beggin’ him t’do er again and again fer the last twa span, an’ don’t oy wish oy were that much the stud oy cud do a tenth sa’whell.” he raised his mug in mournful salute and drank deep.

“Still,’ he philosophized, “t’ bair’s gud here, an’ should oy ever again see me auld woman, oy’ll ‘ave sommat ter inspire me efforts on ‘er be’alf, oy will.”

“They’ve been at it for two span?”

“Nasor,” the trooper lamented. “They’ve been at it fer threy and moor. Tis th’ wee laddie wi’ nah staminer oy’ve been failin’ t’ last twa, an’ oy c’n tells yer. C’mon man ‘n ‘ave ye a bair an’ listen ter th’ show wi’ t’ rest o’ us pore limp loners.”

“There isn’t time,” Koli insisted. “I’ve got the horses and supplies waiting at the stable and we’d better get to them before the stationers do or we’ll die in this accursed stye.”

He had the troopers’ undivided attention now. Whatever else they thought of him, they knew the were to be no coward.

“Bu’ t’ mage hain’t done wi’ t’ corporal yet,” the garrulous one protested. “We canno’ leave wi’oot t’ corporal.”

Cursing, Koli bounded up the stairs, making three at a time. He stuck his head into the corporal’s room, taking in the mage and his daughter at a glance. The corporal was harder to see, a nimbus of deep red light nearly obscuring his body. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he interrupted the old man, so he motioned for Keeli to join him in the hallway.

“What is it daddy,” she demanded anxiously. “I have to get back to Luka.”

A growl escaped his lips before he got it under control. “That’s why I’m here, my child. Did the mage say anything about how long it might take?”

“He said that the worst of it should be accomplished by midnight,” Keeli acknowledged. “After that, it should be only time.”

“Can he be disturbed?”

“He can’t even hear, Daddy. Not with that light all around—”

“The mage, sweetheart,” Koli interrupted, clenching his jaw. “I was speaking of the mage.”

“Oh,” she flushed prettily. “He has to come back to this world every couple of span to eat or drink something, and add more things to the brazier.”

“And...?” he prompted impatiently.

“And he should be again in half a span or so.”

“Ah hah. Call me the instant he does, for I’ve the need to speak with him.” He kissed his daughter on the forehead and turned to the closed door from whence the thunderstorm noises issued.

Wondering to himself if he were committing a strange sort of suicide, he pounded on the door.

The thunderstorm vanished. He pounded again. Long hundredbeats later, Thrush Dancing, hair disheveled, face red, opened the door the scantest crack, and the look she gave him made him flinch back. The sound of a beetle-riven tree collapsing assailed his ears.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “you can sup on my guts later, but right now I’ve got to see the man.”

It took longer for The Tairn to get to the door, and he was mercifully clothed, at least partially, when he did.

“I’ve been out about the town,” the trader told him hurriedly. “Something is brewing. I think we need to be out of here quickly or we’ll not survive.”

The Tairn was instantly alert, nostrils flaring. “Any idea what it might be?”

A helpless shrug. “None, and not for lack of trying. I’ve been through the town in both forms tonight, and there isn’t a soul about. Even the rats are in hiding.” He shivered. “To make it that much worse, there’s the smell of the pigs about, and another I can’t fathom. Not a good one either.”

“Pigs....”

“Were boars. Changelings. Their true form is that of an ogre, but they can change at will to that which we fought together in the wood.”

“And you think we’re the focus?”

“They’re but lately come to the area. There wasn’t a hint of their scent until well after we arrived. I feel they might be following.”

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“How can you tell?”

“Only a feeling,” the trader admitted. “But I’ve learned to trust such since the packs have joined the war against the pigs.”

There was no arguing with that. “How much time do you suppose?”

“Would that we were two hours out upon the plain already. I’ve the supplies and mounts ready at the stables, but I’ve no idea how safe they might be nor for how long. We wait only for the mage and the wounded boy.”

“Right,” The Tairn straightened. “Send half the troopers over to the stable, but keep the rest here for now. I hate to split my force, but without those animals we’re goners.”

“The troopers are well along the path to falling down drunk,” the trader protested.

“Huh. You tell ‘em what you’ve just told me and watch how fast they sober up,” he chuckled. “Adrenaline is a helluva drug. I’ll be down as soon as I’ve gotten dressed.”

It took him all of three minutes to throw on the rest of his clothing and belt his weapons about his middle. Roughly two minutes longer than it took the little birds.

A glance into the corporal’s room to see the mage still absorbed in the spell, and to catch up the corporal’s sword, and he was clattering down the stair in time to see Koli gasp and morph into a wolf. The little birds rushed to the side of the struggling grey. Long knives flashed in the dim lamplight as they cut away the clothing that threatened to dismember the struggling beast.

Abruptly, there was a dall warrior standing in the doorway, long spear held crosswise before him. “They are coming.”

“Who?” Storm asked, even as a trooper blurted, “the horses!”

The dall answered the trooper first. “We will look after the runners. You must deal with the green ones.” To The Tairn he said, “A hand and three of the great green ones and another that we don’t recognize.”

The wolf, still half tangled in the ruins of Koli’s jerkin, growled something at the dall.

“Bigger,” the warrior responded. “Dark. Hard to tell what color, but it has too many arms.”

“How many too many?” Storm wanted to know, his eyes grim.

“Four arms all together. We think. It is hard to see, for it keeps to the deepest shadows.”

“Which direction and how far away?”

“From deeper within the wood. At the rate of their travel, perhaps a quarter span. I must go now. We are only three hands and they may send a party after your runners.”

Storm waved him clear, looking over to the nervous troopers and the wolf, just now shaking free of the last of the man clothing, empty jar still dangling from its neck. Thrush Dancing wanted to go outside and try to determine what their enemy was, but he wouldn’t let her. He had a horrible feeling he knew.

The mainstay of the K’trin’al warrior castes were arachnid-like creatures about eight feet high when walking on their rear two pairs of legs. In the shadows, one could easily be confused for a four-armed

Swallow Courting faltered. She was nearer the man and the first to feel his leaving. She turned to reassure herself the body was still in the room, for the man had gone into the cold place.

“Koli, Up the stairs. You’re no use against ogres down here in your current state. Stay close enough to the staircase that you can take on anything that gets that far. On the stairs, at least they’ll only be able to come at you one at a time.

“Thrush, Swallow, up on the balcony with your bows. You’re the only rapid fire ranged fighters we’ve got, and I want you both up there with a good, clear view of anything coming through those doors.

“You with the half ear, grab a couple of others and build them some sort of cover to duck behind up there.

“The rest of you, I want barricades of anything solid you can find in front of these windows and any other entrances. I want whatever is out there to be coming in through the front door. Then I want you hunkered down right there in the middle of the floor behind such cover as you can create and able to cover all sides as needed. Is there a back door?”

“Aye,” it was the trooper who’d summoned him back to the inn. “She opens up ahint th’ kitchen, an’ inter a walled pottage garden.”

“Walls?”

“Fifteen span hoigh, Sor, if they’re a hand, but there be a barred gate inter an alley.”

“Great. See if you can bar that gate and the inner door. Should slow them down, at least. We’d better have a couple of musketmen paying attention, though, just in case.”

The trooper saluted and charged back towards the rear of the inn.

“Anybody ever fought one of these things before today?”

Koli barked out a grand lupine laugh. “More than you’ve hairs on your chin,” he called down from the stairway.

“Fine, the Tairn grinned back up, “so more than five? You have any idea how many shots it’s likely to take to put one of them down?”

“From only forty span?” the wolf answered. “Two or three should do the job. If these louts can hit them squarely. One, if someone manages to put a ball into its brain.”

“Fine. You others hear that?” They had, but not a one had understood, so he had to translate. The troopers nodded.

“Who’s the best shot?”

The trooper with the half ear raised his hand from the stairway, a heavy box of something on one shoulder.

“Okay, you change jobs with somebody and get down here. Who’s next?"

We’ve got enough men for nine teams of three, but one will have to be split. I want two teams oriented on the kitchen, one of them with only two men.

Three teams on the side door. And I’ll want the last four right here zeroed on the front, with one of our best marksmen in each of the center three. You sure you can hit one of these things dead center?”

“At this range?” the garrulous trooper with the half ear snorted. “Aye, Sor. Any of us. Won’t even have t’risk flash burnin’ me oye.”

“Alright. I’ll want one volley from each of the center teams as they come in through the doors. You won’t have time to reload. Fire, drop the musket and set for a charge with your lance.

“Don’t stop at three, though,” he warned them. “I’ll want the last team to deal with any the volley didn’t finish off. They don’t go down, you give them some more. Fire ‘til they fall, yeah? Or until you run dry. You won’t be the only ones shooting.”

He was answered with nods all ‘round. Ogres, they’d never contested before, but battles these men had seen in plenty.

“You,” the Tairn indicated a tall trooper who looked steady. “You take two of the leftover muskets as well as your own and stand aside while the others fire. Do not shoot unless and until you see the big thing with too many arms.

It won’t matter how good a shot you are for I’ll want you to wait until its almost upon the barricade. Then hit it here,” he made a ring with the thumb and forefinger of each hand, holding them over his own navel. “You hit it square, it should drop like a shorted maglev. But if not, you drop the musket and grab another to give it another taste. And the last if there’s time.”

“And where will you be during all of this?” Thrush Dancing demanded as the troopers were wondering aloud what the hells a maglev might be and how did one know was it short.

He held up a hand to forestall her question as he swept the group, eyes level. “It may not go just the way I’m expecting,” he told them, his voice low. “And I know you men don’t have your officers to—"

to a man, they turned to the rear of the inn, where a trooper was just now returning from securing the rear gate and door. He jerked to a halt as he became aware of their regard. “What?” he demanded.

Storm grinned in spite of himself. There was always one, he thought. In any unit, anywhere, all down through history. You could almost count on it. “You,” he addressed the man. These guys will fill you in on what I’m expecting. I’m led to believe they aren’t awful at their jobs, but things happen. Things may need to be adjusted on the fly. Anything goes sideways, handle it.”

“M-me, Sor?” the trooper seemed nonplussed.

Turning toward his little bird, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Out there,” he told her. “I have to get a look at this new thing.”

She started a protest, but he’d already slipped out the door, closing it softly behind.