A few run-down houses and shops centered around a wide paved road in the village of Himmi. The village’s smithy was on the far end, and Goslin could hear a steady rhythm of metal against metal ringing through the air of the relatively empty community.

Himmi sat along one of the main roads in Eldsprak. The road would eventually lead Goslin and his group to Kleotram and all the way into Tyriu. Without the main road passing through, Himmi wouldn’t have lasted long, being located in the middle of nowhere.

Thankfully, Goslin thought, this also meant that Himmi possessed an inn. Traveling merchants required a place to sleep after a long day in the saddle or on a wagon.

It was a little too quiet, and Goslin caught the anxious gazes of villagers peering out their windows. Not a single person greeted them as the group dismounted and walked past the first row of houses.

“Set up camp right outside the last row of houses. Keep a lookout for any troublemakers. I’ll take Sarien here, and Tom, to meet with the inn’s proprietor. He’s the one who sent for help.”

The three of them entered a brick two-story building with a sign on the front that simply said Himmie Inn.

Several windows lined the outer wall, but they were small and streaked with dust. Goslin squinted in the gloom. A smattering of round tables dominated the wide room within, and a bar ran along the wall to their right. The only person present was a heavy-set balding man in a white apron standing behind the bar.

The barkeep looked up as they entered and put down the glass he was drying with a dirty rag. “You’re Goslin of House Steerian?”

Goslin blinked, surprised. “You know me, good man?”

“No. There was a letter from your father addressed to me by name, strange that. He knew you were coming and left one for you too.” He rummaged behind the bar and withdrew an envelope. The wax seal on the front was unbroken.

Goslin took the letter and turned it over. “How did a letter get here before we did?”

The innkeeper shrugged. “Messengers come through here all the time. A man with two horses can make it to Himmi from Fyrie quickly. The road doesn’t move in a straight line and perhaps your man didn’t stick to it.” The barkeep picked up another glass and began cleaning it. “I’m Harald, the innkeeper. I was the one who sent for help.”

“Well met, Harald,” Tomford said. “Can you tell us what has happened?”

Harald shook his head. “Afraid you’re too late. They came back yesterday with demands for more coin, food, and beer.” He bowed his head down and his face shadowed in the dim light. “We gave them food and the drink, but we have no gold or silver, barely even copper. The folks here are not rich, you must understand.”

“Of course,” Goslin said. “What happened? What did they do?”

“They took a few wives and daughters. Said they would be returned when we came up with enough gold to pay for them.”

Goslin’s face twisted in anger. “Hostages? Have you attempted to rescue them?”

Harald furrowed his brow in confusion. “No. We’re not soldiers. I thought you’d be here sooner. We sent and asked for help weeks ago! Where were you?”

Tomford placed a large hand on Harald’s arm and shook his head slightly at Goslin before speaking to the agitated man. “Of course, you couldn’t go after them yourselves.”

“I apologize,” Goslin said. “I didn’t think. We came as fast as we could. I didn’t know you had waited this long. Don’t worry, we’ll get them back.”

“Do you know where they are?” Sarien asked.

Harald nodded. “An old fortification in the woods. There’s a path leading up to it if you head back the way you came, then turn in through the trees. Can’t fit a wagon, but the path is wide enough to ride.”

“Fortification?” Tomford asked. “Like structures?”

Goslin shook his head. “There are relics from an insurrection littered about these forests. They all predate the shattering, so they can’t be much more than ruins these days.”

The innkeeper shrugged. “I saw them as a lad, playing in the woods. There are some low walls, but not even a gate, and that was forty years ago.”

“What do you know of the bandits?” Tomford asked.

“We have seen twelve of them altogether, at different times. Big men. Dirty. Their leader is a man they call Ofver. He carries around a big axe, like one you would use to fell trees. I think most of them used to be soldiers, because they wear bits of uniform.”

“Rabble.” Goslin couldn’t help but sneer. To think soldiers would stoop so low. “Don’t worry, my good man. We’ll deal with them and get your women back. Please set some rooms aside for us for tonight. We’ll celebrate once we return.”

The innkeeper’s face brightened a little. “Thank you.”

Goslin turned to his companions.

“So, there’s twelve of them against our sixteen, if we count Hart’s soldiers,” Sarien said.

“There might be more of them,” Tomford said. “Some must stay behind when they come to town.”

“Heylien and Lana will scout ahead and make sure there are no surprises,” Goslin said as they headed back to where the others were setting up camp. When they arrived, he shared the news of what they were facing.

“Ofver, huh?” Kax said. “Dumb but doesn’t sound like a bandit’s name. I’d thought he’d be named Ivan the Terrible or something.”

Emeryn sighed. “You’ve read too many stories.”

“Read?” Kax said, bewildered.

“When do we go?” Hart asked.

“Right away,” Goslin decided. “We can get there and return before nightfall if we don’t tarry. Is Heylien around?”

Lana pointed. “Over there, by the horses.”

“Go and head out with him, get close to the bandits and see what we’re up against. Be careful.”

“If you follow after fast enough, we might even leave some for you,” Lana smiled, her eyes glittering.

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She turned to leave, but Goslin grabbed her shoulder. “Don’t attack before we’re in position. This is no game. They’re dangerous.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Spoilsport.”

Goslin turned to the others. “Gather what you need. Hart, go inform your soldiers we’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

A little later, Goslin and the others doubled back to find the path that would take them to the bandits, with the soldiers marching up front and the rest following close behind. Sarien clutched his spear tightly, his face pale. Goslin frowned. It would be best to keep their newest member away from the flanks until he got more experience under his belt.

Tomford did his best to convince Anicetus to stay behind at the camp, but the old priest refused to leave his side, especially since they were riding into danger. Goslin wished more than once that they didn’t have to bring the man with them from Fyrie, but it was not his decision to make. Tomford would have to free himself of those shackles when the time came. If that was his wish, of course.

Tomford’s instructor in hand-to-hand combat elected to stay behind, but Hart’s dog followed after, his tail wagging. Quite the retinue.

It didn’t take long to reach the opening to the path the innkeeper mentioned. At some point in the past, it had been a small road, but it was so overgrown that they would need to ride single file.

“We leave the horses,” Goslin decided. His group promptly dismounted, tying the reins to nearby tree branches.

Goslin stepped onto the path. Visibility dropped among the thick overhanging trees so much so that he couldn’t see farther than a few feet in front of him. Their chatter quieted.

The bandit camp would not be far. Goslin readied his shield and saw Hart do the same.

“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Goslin said, his voice almost a whisper. He peered back at their formation. Sarien walked behind Kax and in front of Emeryn, with Tomford and Anicetus bringing up the rear.

A twig snapped somewhere off the path beyond the line of trees to their right.

“Did you hear that?” one of the soldiers asked, raising his sword. Hart’s dog barked and dashed into the underbrush. In an instant, the animal was gone.

Hart swore and hurried after it.

“No, Hart!” Goslin yelled.

Hart rushed toward the line of trees, then stopped abruptly with his hands held up. “There’s an ugly bastard here pointing an arrow at me.”

“What?” Goslin asked as he watched a large man exit the forest with the point of his drawn arrow nearly touching Hart’s nose. Hart scrambled backward.

The soldiers hurried and fanned out in front and one of them, Slakt, Goslin thought, called over, “There’s someone on the road ahead of us!”

The woods rustled all around them and more men appeared like wraiths. By Goslin’s count, there were at least half again as many as the number reported by the innkeeper, and those were just the ones he could see.

“This is bad,” he said to no one in particular.

“It isn’t ideal,” Kax admitted from farther back where he and Sarien readied themselves. “But at least there are only a few bows on their side. Most of them are carrying swords.”

“You’re Ofver?” Goslin asked the bandit who separated himself from the others.

The man was as unwashed as his companions, and he sported a thick black beard. His hair was tied back with a leather cord. In one hand, he carried a long-handed axe, in the other a round shield painted green and gray.

“That I am, lad. I wondered when Fyrie would send someone out here for a look. Never would I have thought, though, that they would send a bunch of children!” Ofver waved his arms around when he spoke, as if punctuating each word with the swaying of his axe. He was tall, taller than Tomford even, and his arms were thick as tree trunks. A swing from his axe would cleave a person clean in half, Goslin thought.

“I see uniforms around you. Are you defectors?” Goslin asked. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he kept his voice steady.

Ofver grinned and was about to reply when his eyes widened. He gurgled for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, before Goslin noticed the arrow jutting out of the bandit leader’s neck.

Ofver fell forward, clutching desperately at his throat. One of the bandits to the left of them grunted and fell, a dagger sticking out of his back.

Chaos broke out. Goslin spun and pointed, trying to direct the battle around them, but the words stuck in his throat. Hart roared and swung his blade at the bandit that was bitten by his dog, getting it stuck in the man’s head. Arrows flew from bandit bows, and one of the soldiers doubled over, stuck in the gut.

Goslin stared at Tomford who leapt at one of their attackers with nothing more than his fists. The bandit slashed a long gash along Tomford’s chest. Blood gushed, but the young man didn’t stop. With gauntleted hands, he bashed the man’s face in with several heavy punches. When he turned, the deadly wound he’d received had stopped bleeding and was quickly disappearing, but he took another slash along the arm that forced him to step back.

Goslin spun on his heel and barely parried a clumsy attack before thrusting his blade into the attacker’s chest. The man fell and slid off his sword, his eyes wide with surprise before life faded away. Dead. He’d killed a man. His chest felt tight, heavy as if wearing the heavy armor at the academy. He forced words from his stiffened lips, “Don’t spread out too thin! Soldiers, cover our flank!” Goslin wasn’t sure anyone heard him. The vacant eyes of the bandit stared back up at him from the ground.

Someone grabbed Goslin’s tunic and he spun to face the new foe.

“Stop dreaming and get in there!” Tomford shouted the words and pushed Goslin past Hart, who bellowed as he struck someone in the face with his shield over and over again.

Arrows and daggers flew from somewhere out of sight, taking out bandits who never saw it coming. Emeryn brought men to their knees with her geomancy, the ground itself at her command. The bandits regained their footing and closed in on her. Kax was busy keeping men off Sarien with his unwieldy blades, so he couldn’t come to Emeryn’s aid.

Goslin ran, closing the distance in a few strides to hack at those who dared try to harm Emeryn. He took another life, blocked an axe swing with his shield, then thrust upward to take another bandit in the neck.

Three. Three deaths at his hand. He wanted to vomit.

“Thank you,” Emeryn said, her face pale from exertion and her chest heaving with each breath. Her bright red hair was smeared with dirt and grime.

“Stay safe,” Goslin said, surprised by the sudden affection he felt for his friend. He looked at her and she gave him a shaky nod. A smile flitted on her lips as if she understood what he was thinking.

Goslin raced back to aid Tomford. The Vatner was overwhelmed trying to fight off several bandits at the same time. Wounds covered his arms and shoulders. None of them were beyond the man’s healing capabilities, but it was obvious to Goslin that his friend couldn’t go on much longer.

“Stick together!” Goslin yelled as he leapt for one of the men attacking Tomford. A quick slash, followed by a thrust, and the bandit fell to the ground, groaning.

Four. Goslin’s eyes burned, but he didn’t let himself stop. Tomford struck a bandit in the face with bone-shattering power, dropping him. A loud clang rang out from Goslin’s shield when he blocked a strike from the last bandit of the group. His entire shield arm went numb with the blow and he lost his footing, tumbling to the ground. Thankfully, Tomford grabbed hold of the bandit and a loud snap rang through the air, followed by the man screaming and running, his sword arm dangling uselessly by his side.

Goslin got to his feet and scanned the battlefield. The dog barked, but he couldn’t see it. More bandits had come up from behind them.

“Soldiers, to the back!” He looked around for them, but none stood. That couldn’t be right. Where were they? Hart’s entire front was covered in blood, and he laughed as he ran to intercept an archer at their flank.

“You okay?” Tomford asked, barely standing himself.

His throat was parched, and his tongue felt swollen. “I’m fine. Can you go on?”

“No choice,” Tomford replied, stumbling forward.

Goslin couldn’t think. He’d trained for this very scenario at the academy and even won the contest, but it hadn’t prepared him. Nothing could have. All this death, many at his own hand.

His ears wouldn’t stop ringing. His clothes were soiled, his face covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. He felt itchy and a familiar panic crept forth. Even now, as danger closed in around him, he felt the rise of disgust at his own sorry state.

“Goslin!” Kax yelled.

Goslin blinked and looked up to see his friends beset by bandits. An arrow struck Sarien’s shoulder, and their newest companion fell with a scream. He forced his legs to move. His friends needed him.

“Sarien!” he yelled. “Someone help him!” The order had about the same effect as all his previous ones. None. He hastened his steps when he saw a bandit grin and leap into the air at Sarien. Goslin screamed out a warning, but no one was near enough to help.

Goslin watched helplessly as Sarien gritted his teeth and managed to raise his spear in the last moment. The metal tip disappeared into the bandit’s chest with a sickening, ripping sound. Flames black as night erupted from Sarien’s right arm and traveled up the length of the spear in the blink of an eye, killing the bandit instantly when it touched him. Sarien let go of his spear in surprise. It had turned the same color as the flames, an impenetrable obsidian, and crawled backwards as if horrified by what he had done.