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Iris, Yula, and I traded the Eagle Eyes while the goblins tried and failed to set the Sternway Guildhouse on fire. When the structure proved fire-resistant, they built a pyre next to it—adding a veneer of black soot. After my last encounter, watching them fail at putting our buildings to flame felt victorious.
With single leaps, the enemy jumped onto the roof, prying at and beating at the guild house shingles to little avail. Their hammers bounced off the architectural elements like plastic toys.
When they relented on the guild house, they pried open the mercenary’s livery, finding it empty aside from bales of hay. Their barn proved as resilient as the guild house, and when the goblins set its hay ablaze, an inferno of black smoke issued from it, charring the wood. Pillagers’ gesticulations ceased after the hay burned away, leaving the building blackened but intact.
The goblins’ posture and indiscernible shouts conveyed dissatisfaction with the arson.
Their consternation in our fire-retardant town pleased me. The settlement’s Protection bonus made all the hassles of quarrying stone worthwhile. Out of respect to the mercenaries, whose buildings fell under attack, no one on the barbican walls cheered at the goblins’ misfortune.
Iris breathed a sigh of relief when the flames died.
The goblins crossed the meadow toward us, hacking the barracks half-heartedly as they passed. A group surrounded the king, whose glowing eyes provided a beacon for our observations. Other buildings in Hawkhurst proved as immune as the guild house. The goblins spread out, searching for weaknesses or structures susceptible to razing—but found none.
A contingent climbed the motte and bailey walls, hoping to find defenders or booty. But the shrine inside contained no precious idol of Forren. We’d long since spirited it away to the barbican. Their shoulders slumped when they returned to the king empty-handed.
Aside from the mercenary’s barn, the Deathless breached only one roundhouse by force. Somehow, a lock on the door hadn’t held, but invaders searching its interior hadn’t bothered to set the furniture on fire.
Things got lively when they entered the battle arena. Rezan’s powers worked overtime as he healed goblins attacking Dino. Had he known damage in the arena wasn’t fatal, they wouldn’t have bothered, but we weren’t spoiling the opportunity for our indestructible instructor to get a good workout.
“Get ‘em, Dino!”
“Rattle their noggins!”
“Make ‘em practice their points!”
The Fort Krek guards shouted words of encouragement. A half-mile away, the facility stood too far for the trainer to hear us, but the words invigorated those within earshot. After nearly five minutes of fighting, the goblins retreated from the battle college, regrouped, and made their way to the barbican. They bypassed buildings as they approached, and a small cheer sounded from the barbican’s second floor when the intruders passed the brewery without molesting it.
Fin’s crew moved his tools to the barbican. The goblins did nothing to the open-air smithy, but the dwarves shouted indignant curses when they passed through the structure.
I could hear Fin’s voice above the tumult. “Bastarts will foul the place, you’ll see. Tomorrow will stink of their filth.”
When the goblins approached, I sent Beaker after Rezan. After issuing target orders to drop the one with bright yellow eyes, my pet took flight, circling high before picking a moment to dive.
Unfortunately, little eyes around Rezan winked into existence as soon as the griffon began his approach. Whatever power warned Rezan of incoming attacks, it applied to long dives from the air. The goblins showered the air with missiles, dispelling Beaker into a puff of vapor.
Bernard shot me a concerned glance. “Can ye summon him again, Guv?”
“He’s okay, but I have to wait for the cooldown. It’ll be a bit before we can test their air defenses again.”
The invaders combed Hawkhurst Rock, probing the grounds for weaknesses or artifacts to steal—finding none. After midnight, they circled the barbican, but Rezan knew enough not to push his disheartened troops further and called for an early withdrawal. They prudently surveyed our territory.
Someone shot an arrow at one goblin below us, but Iris stopped the initiative. “Belay your actions, people. We can’t prevent them from sniffing us out.”
To illustrate her point, the arrow’s recipient pulled out the offending shaft as their health jumped to full. Neither it nor its fellow goblins reacted to the fire. Instead, they assessed the terrain around the barbican, gesturing to the moat and rock around it. A few goblins climbed into the temple but emerged empty-handed soon after.
When the goblins left, I turned to Iris. “I’m impressed by your guards’ restraints to taunting the enemy. Is that to keep diplomacy an option?”
Iris shrugged. “Yes, and no. We keep quiet in case we can eavesdrop on conversations. You can never guess when goblins or orcs will revert to Common, so you keep chatter to a minimum. Unfortunately, the king confines his counsel to the two at his side—and I don’t mean the hobgoblins.”
“You’re talking about General Sturm and Crooga the Inquisitor. She’s the only one wearing robes besides Rezan and always seems by his side.”
For some strange reason, the goblins stopped outside town, halfway between the tree line and Hawkhurst. I peered at them to see what interested them in the middle of the meadow. Rezan and the inquisitor gazed at the sky. Had they spotted one of Darkstep’s Improved Eyes?
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Even with the Eagle Eyes, I couldn’t see anything as small as an eyeball two miles away, so I could only speculate. They weren’t looking for Beaker. Rezan’s magical early warning system took care of my pet’s only ploy. What had caught their attention?
Yula interrupted my train of thought. “Weez so few goblins, starting fires ees not a danger.”
Iris nodded. “I agree. Our only threat is a sizable army.”
I patted my blade against my leg. “Ol’ Blood Drinker here has taken large-scale combat off the table. I’ve proven I can Whirl my blade to dangerous levels, and I don’t think the king will risk bringing low-level goblins.”
“They might spread out their formation.”
Yula shook her head. “Not possibile. Once green devils get excited, no formation or deescipline. Like unruly cheeldren. Eef zey have orc war machines—beeg problem.”
Neither Iris nor I could argue. Against normal weapons, Hawkhurst stood impregnable, but siege machinery amounted to another matter. But it seemed unlikely Rezan had time to cross the river and barter with their neighbors to the east. Sovereigns driven by reckless demons wouldn’t possess the tact to strike a treaty. Nor did it seem likely the orcs would surrender their siege engine secrets to goblins.
“Why are they looking in the air? Beaker, maybe? Or rainstorms?”
“Ees Fabulosa back, maybe? Maybe cloak makes her float….” She didn’t finish her thought as she studied the clouds.
The game’s interface showed that my letter to Fabulosa remained unopened. I searched the sky for her, griffons, or anything overhead. “No. Fab’s in the Ragged Hills—or possibly exploring Blyeheath. She sent me a letter a few days ago. She’s way out of the picture.”
The three of us looked at the moons and stars. They seemed unremarkable. Owd’s blue haze peered over the northern horizon. Nassi and Laros hung in the sky, making it too bright to see Tarnen anywhere. The stars seemed unremarkable.
I tossed the Eagle Eyes to Yula. “Tell the guards to stand down and relax. Make sure they rest tomorrow. We can’t have them up at all hours. Whoever watches the tree line should use these.”
The orc nodded and thumped me on the chest. “Ees good order, Great Commander Apache. I will see to eet.”
I smiled at her approval and returned the gesture before heading downstairs.
With the second floor’s shelves filled with townspeople turning in and the floorspace covered with bedrolls, I put off my conversation with Fin until tomorrow. I needed to know if he or Rory had progressed in forging my sword. I set up the Dark Room and invited stragglers from the roof inside for a place to sleep.
I slept late, as did many, the following day. Fin and Rory looked tired from the previous night when I met them at Rory’s forge. Fin waved me away from Rory, who pounded a hot glowing blade with his extra-heavy hammer. The sight of it made me giddy. It took sheer willpower not to ask questions.
Fin came over to me to usher me away from the forge. “It’s not a good time, Guv. Rory finished folding the metal—and he’s fashed with the shape. Maintaining a malleable temperature is hard, so time is precious. If you’ll be so kind as to excuse us, we must focus. No time to gab.”
“Fashed” meant something bad, judging by their expressions. I nodded and backed away, letting Fin return to his task of stoking the furnace.
The sword Rory pounded on looked straight and wonderfully shaped, but its edge wasn’t sharp. It looked close to being done.
I found better company in the woodshop, where our resident goblin engineer worked on our own siege engines. “Hey, Greenie. How’s it going?”
“Greetings, Governor Apache. It goes well. I’m still stabilizing the ballista coiling mechanisms. It would be easier to concentrate at night, but I’m afraid my brother has put us off our routines.”
“Does it bother you we’re fighting your family, or at least, Rezan?”
Greenie paused, almost said something, then stopped. Casual observers who didn’t know his expressions might interpret his stutter as indecision. But I knew him better. Goosebumps chilled my skin when I realized he wasn’t telling me something. Perhaps he couldn’t without breaking his bonded promise.
I tried a different angle. “Do you see any advantage in telling your brother about your citizenship here? Is there any chance he’ll leave us alone if he knows you’re in the barbican?”
“It is strange he hasn’t attacked yet. If he knows about Blood Drinker, he won’t summon more troops, or at least enough to empower the weapon. Perhaps his revelation spells identified my presence. I see no reason to do anything rash until Rory finishes your blade.”
Greenie seemed somber and less worried about Rezan than when we freed him from the goblin mine. Somehow, hiding from his brother wasn’t a life or death matter. In a way, it made sense. He stood as the only member of Hawkhurst who couldn’t suffer harm.
I grunted and decided not to press the issue. I walked away, leaving the goblin to his work. This siege looked far too casual. I had missed something that Rezan’s unearthly eyes hadn’t. He looked too confident. What vulnerability had I missed?
The goblins didn’t attack the following night, nor the one after. A handful of them appeared, performing reconnaissance sweeps to ensure we weren’t up to anything clever, but mostly, they kept their distance.
Turnabout was fair play. Yula and I did the same to their bunker in the forest while everyone else stayed in Hawkhurst. Like twin nightlights, Rezan’s glowing eyes illuminated the bunker’s entrance—a king who guarded his sleeping soldiers.
Surely they didn’t think we’d succumb to this half-hearted siege? Conditions in the barbican weren’t ideal, but it wasn’t worse than goblin servitude. Had my adversary sent for siege engines or more high-level troops? In either case, Yula and I weren’t bold enough to venture into the bunker, nor did they attempt to penetrate our tower.
After two failed assassinations, I saw little need to risk my neck with my darksteel sword on the way. A premature offensive made little sense if a weapon could break the stalemate. Still, idle hands were the devil’s playground, so I pushed my luck returning to the bunker.
I dwelled on pulling them out of their hole with Dig or Mineral Mutation. If I could suffocate them in a cave-in while they slept, I might derail Rezan’s plans of conquest altogether. Perhaps we could interrupt their sleep and winnow them down with Exhausted debuffs.
The king’s amber eyes passively watched us while I mulled over the possibilities. Doesn’t this guy need to sleep—or does his demonic possession somehow eliminate the need?
Rezan emerged from his hole when I came within spell range of the bunker. His reaction to my casting of Dig surprised me. He drew a single level 16 goblin out of the burrow with a finger snap.
Before the goblin pulled out his bow, Yula planted an Imbued arrow into it on a critical hit, inflicting a quarter of its 175 health.
Rezan’s Restore popped the missile out, leaving no wounds behind. The creature reeled from the impact but returned fire, nocking and shooting an arrow at me while Yula deflected it with Quick Shield.
Before Dig could do much work, the goblin performed its jump ability, hitting me for 11 damage, interrupting my channel, and forcing me to wait 20 seconds to recast my excavation. Yula popped me with a courtesy Rejuvenate, erasing the damage.
“Green devils!” Yula sent more missiles at the goblin pair and switched to spells while I pelted them with Scorch and Shocking Reach. I fought on the offhand chance that Yula might discover a vulnerability, but soon she relented, resigning herself to the conclusion that we could not harm our enemy.
Rezan obliterated our damage with his powers as if bored by the exercise. When my Dig cooldown ended, I cast it for barely a few seconds before another goblin performed its jump ability, interfering with my channel.
The king’s point rang painfully clear—he could undermine us with a single goblin. “Give us Esol and go.”
I would not buckle under a stalemate. If Rezan wanted his brother, he would have to storm our gatehouse. I fixed my stare on Rezan.
Yula put her arm on my shoulder. “No more wasting time with green devil. Ees time to go home.”