Ryan was having one of those déjà vu moments—except this one was entirely placeable. He had literally done this last week, practically in the exact same spot. The only difference between facing the armored goblin with its four-goblin crew was that this time he had a better shield and actually knew how to wield the damn spear. At least, his skill level of four claimed as much. There was an overall sense of having actually been trained.

  Three wooden round shields locked together side by side, spear points thrust forward as they advanced at a steady pace. Two more spears stabbed over Ryan’s shoulders, keeping the goblins at bay and preventing them from closing the distance. As the line pressed forward, it created just enough space for the people behind them to haul the ladder up, cutting off any chance of goblins coming up from behind. While each villager had only received about a day’s training in this particular tactic of walking the rampart as a group, it was clearly far more effective than the mob tactics they’d used during the first attack.

  Just as the armored goblin finally went down—bleeding out on the rampart while its fellows turned to ash—something shifted. A palpable wave rolled in from outside the wall, carried on the sound of a hundred goblins screaming in glee. Ryan panicked at first, scanning over the wall and catching sight of shadows moving in mass. Only then did it hit him. The gates must be open.

  Ryan and his crew reached the first guy, who looked exhausted, beaten, and on the verge of collapse. He slumped to the ground with his back against the wall, struggling just to breathe as he wheezed out a harsh, “Thank you.”

  “Get to the gate,” Ryan ordered, not having time to give the poor bastard a real break, before pushing past. Ryan and his small chunk of the quick reaction force pushed forward, relieving defenders in groups of two’s and three’s and sending them down toward the gate. It didn’t take long before they reached the stable roof that marked the end of the rampart for this side. Ryan ordered his people to join the fighters on the ground, then climbed up onto the roof himself to see what was going on.

  “I got the fucker!” someone yelled from behind Ryan, but he didn’t have time to look back. All he could do was to stare at the sea of little green bodies flooding through the gate—like water through a broken dam. There had to be more goblins packed into this tiny choke point than had attacked the village a week previous. They were being forced forward by sheer numbers pressing in from behind. Hundreds of small, green-clawed feet trampled what remained of the group he’s sent to open the gate, grinding their corpses deeper into the dirt. As the horde poured through the opening, the only reason they weren’t forced to climb over piles of their own dead was that the bodies dissolved into dust almost as quickly as they fell. Outside the walls, beyond the reach of the village lanterns, the shadows of larger goblins meandered in the darkness.

  “Try to take out the big ones!” Ryan yelled back to the archers on the wall, not sparing them more than a glance. Instead, he stared down at the throng of goblins, wishing—briefly—that he had a grenade, and shoving away the déjà vu that the thought brought with it. It was only a matter of time before the damn things realized they could climb over the short wall on the far side of the stable, or push through the stable itself and start flanking the villagers.

  Ryan spared a glance toward the south and west walls, though he still couldn’t see anything from his current vantage point. He wondered—once again—where his damn runners were. Any of his runners. Their sudden disappearance boded poorly for the village, as if it had already been overrun and he just hadn’t seen the signs yet. As if to prove his fears, a sizable number of goblins began popping up over the wall south of the gate, an undefended stretch. They scrambled across the rampart and dropped down inside, already within a minute of rounding the corner and coming up behind those holding the open gateway.

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  Ryan swore, rushed to the edge, and dropped off the stable roof. Despite landing as carefully as he could, pain flared through his knees and he groaned, forcing himself forward anyway. He grabbed one of the rear defenders and bodily shoved him toward the oncoming group. The man Ryan grabbed looked startled and confused. But once Ryan had him positioned—and shoved another defender into place beside him—the goblins rounded the corner and formed up.

  That, in itself, was nerve?wracking. One of the larger, well-armed and well-armored goblins stood tall at the center of the formation. On each of its sides were two normal-sized goblins, also armored and armed, all carrying shields and spears. Behind them clustered roughly sixteen smaller goblins. Their shields were little more than bucklers and their spears were shorter, but they stood in a phalanx all the same—no less ragtag than Ryan’s own.

  The goblins advanced as one.

  Ryan shoved another defender into the line, then grabbed a man who looked panicked—on the verge of bolting. The man stared at Ryan as if he were some kind of savior, then let out a small whimper as Ryan forced him into place, facing the far more professional-looking goblin strike force. Ryan slung his shield over his shoulder and gripped his spear two-handed, leaning over the shoulders of the men in front of him to jab at any of the fodder goblins that slipped past the first line of spear points. On the one hand, the smaller goblins’ shorter spears made them almost useless at the reach of the human weapons. On the other hand, once they got inside that line, they became very dangerous.

  The smaller fodder goblins didn’t last long, dying in droves to the reach of the longer human weapons. The larger goblins, however, made up for it by being far better fighters. One man in the front line went down. Ryan reached for another to fill the gap, but there wasn’t anyone. So he flipped his shield around to the front and stepped into place himself.

  Annoyingly, he couldn’t keep track of the wider battle. He had no idea what was happening behind him, or to his left or right. The only thing he could focus on was the large goblin’s spear point darting toward his face—or angling low for his feet.

  Ryan thrust at the creature ineffectually, more concerned with keeping the sharp metal away from himself than landing a solid blow. The large goblin feinted. Ryan jerked his shield up—only for the goblin to drop the spear point low. He managed to mostly jump clear, but still took a glancing slash to the leg. Fiery pain shot up his spine. Still, he was on his feet. If he could walk, it couldn’t be too bad. Not that it really mattered. If the line was breaking down here and no help was coming, it was only a matter of time before they were completely overrun and destroyed.

  For the second time in Ryan’s memory, he was going to die.

  The goblin in front of him suddenly jerked and screamed in pain. Ryan blinked, staring at the creature as he tried to spot where the arrow had struck. But he didn’t see any arrows. The goblin lunged, thrusting its spear at Ryan. He blocked and jabbed back, startled when the spear point didn’t strike wood, but instead slammed into the creature’s hide armor. It didn’t pierce through, but the impact itself was surprising. The goblin had been turning—and just as Ryan realized it, four spear points slammed into the creature, driving it to the ground. Screams and cries of agony erupted from the other goblins as they, too, were brought low. Ryan had been so focused on not dying to the spear in front of him that his complete loss of awareness of the wider battlefield wasn’t much of a surprise.

  He looked up from the dead goblin.

  “By my ancestors,” Tor said with a shit-eating grin, “you’re uglier than the gobs.”

  Ryan almost chuckled as a wave of relief washed over him. It was instantly replaced by a surge of anger when his eyes locked onto the bruised and bloodied figure standing beside Tor. The runner had a spear in hand and a stupid grin on his face. One of his missing runners. If Ryan had the energy, he would’ve taken the spear out of the kid’s hands and started beating him with it. Instead, Ryan just pointed toward the group still struggling to hold the gate and wheezed something inaudible. It must have been enough.

  The entire group that had been defending the north, west, and south walls surged forward, rushing in to relieve their far more harried comrades.

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