I don't like what I'm seeing, Bartold thought as he watched a handful of pigeons rise into the sky from Schlucht and then scatter across the sky.

  Two, however, were clearly flying towards Emmertal and Westfold. He picked up an old telescope that they had taken as a tribute from one of the local hunters years ago and peered into the sky.

  As expected, the birds had small tubes tied to their legs, which revealed them to be carrier pigeons, and even though he obviously couldn't know exactly what kind of message they were carrying, he was sure that they wouldn't work to his advantage.

  “Schlucht has sent out carrier pigeons,” he informed his two companions grumpily, wondering what they were hoping to achieve with that.

  “To whom would they send carrier pigeons around here?” Miriam asked confused as she sharpened one of her hand axes.

  “Hmm, it looks like two of them are flying towards Emmertal and Westfold, at least there is nothing else in that direction. I'm not sure about the others, but I think they are heading towards the surrounding farms,” he thought out loud rather than really answering her.

  A few of them are coming pretty close to us, he thought and turned to Miriam.

  “If they want to go to the farms, a few of them must fly past us, can you shoot them down?” he asked her, pointing to a bow that another of the bandits had left near them when he disappeared into the next bush to pee.

  “Do I look like Harpy or something?” Miriam asked him, astonished.

  “What, you're saying how good you are at hunting with a bow, so go on, show us what you can do,” he answered her annoyed.

  “Yeah, I'm pretty good at hunting, you know, deer and that shit isn't exactly the same as a fast-moving flying target that's maybe a bit bigger than your own fist,” Miriam explained to him indignantly.

  With little hope, he turned to Martin, who just shook his head, whereupon he had no choice but to watch as the pigeons flew over them with Grotar knowing what kind of message.

  “What do you think, should we go back to the surrounding farmers and rob them as an appetizer, while we're at it, we can also find out from them what kind of message they've received,” Miriam suggested.

  “It's probably just a warning not to go to the village, no, never mind, we can deal with them when we're done with Schlucht,” he waved her off.

  Besides, most of the people who are going to the farms now probably won't be back in time and I need every threatening-looking scoundrel with me so that no one from Schlucht comes up with any stupid ideas, he added in his thoughts.

  "Aren't you worried that they might get help from Emmertal or something?" Martin asked worriedly.

  "Haha, unless Emmertal can pull a few dragon slayers out of their sleeves, I don't know what kind of support they can provide. And both good old Albert and the people in Emmertal know that. It's probably just a kind of advance warning that we might come to them too. Let's bet that when we get to Emmertal, they'll have already gathered everything together for us. Well, everything they're willing to part with, but we won't let them trick us, believe me, I'll find every single coin they've hidden with them, even if I have to personally shake the money out of every single pillow or child," he said confidently.

  “Man, Bartold, you really would have made a great tax collector,” said Martin, impressed, his face seeming to brighten up immediately after Bartold’s little speech.

  Exactly, now shut up and stop asking unnecessary questions, he thought to himself with a confident smile on his face.

  “Yes, and as I said, we have Aodhan on our side, Dragon tops whatever else they can bring by far and they know that” Miriam agreed.

  “Yes, that’s right, with Aodhan on our side we can’t lose,” beamed Martin before his voice suddenly took on a more thoughtful tone, “but if Aodhan had already been here, he would have easily snatched the pigeons out of the air,” he now mused out loud.

  When Bartold heard this, he began to massage his temples with a sigh and tried to suppress his developing headache with thoughts of all the money that the residents of Schlucht were undoubtedly gathering for him at that moment.

  The thing must be lying around here somewhere, thought the shoemaker Gustav as he searched his workshop at home.

  Ah, I got you, he thought happily when he finally found his hammer lying around and picked it up.

  It was of course only a tool and not as big as a Warhammer, but it would do for a one-handed weapon; at least the hammer was better than the rasp or pliers.

  Wait, one-handed weapon, then I'll have one hand free. Do I have something here somewhere that I could use as a shield? thought the shoemaker enthusiastically and began searching his workshop again.

  That's a little to small, thought Mikal doubtfully as he looked at his hunting knife, the only thing he carried with him that could perhaps be called a weapon.

  "Have you perhaps hidden a halberd or something in one of your pockets?" he asked the family pack mule next to him with a sigh as he leaned against the cool stable wall.

  The donkey looked at him briefly with bored eyes that clearly showed that he was busy, and then went back to his haystack.

  Unfortunately, unlike the residents of Schlucht, he couldn't just run home and search his kitchen for pseudo-swords.

  He felt slightly uneasy at the thought of his home.

  Albert said that he had warned them with the pigeons and of course they had a small shelter in the basement in case of a particularly stubborn monster attack, but as Albert had said, that was intended against stupid beasts and not to hold of people and Albert's vague suspicion that they would only tackle the farms once they had finished with Schlucht was not enough to calm him down.

  No, he knew he absolutely had to get home as quickly as possible and see if his family was alright.

  The thought of the horde of bandits outside the town and his family's farm, which was protected by nothing more than a slightly higher fence, sent a chill down his spine.

  However, the desire to get home brought him straight back to the problem of the missing weapon.

  If only I had taken my dad's bow with me, no wait, I don't know how to shoot, oh damn it! he thought angrily and kicked away a small stone that he saw lying on the ground, his foot dragging a little along the ground, causing a cloud of dust to rise that reached up to his knees.

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  I get that a stable isn't going to be the cleanest of places, but they could at least sweep a bit , he thought to himself, and he had to smile when he thought of one of his mother's favorite sayings.

  You know, Mikal, the broom isn't just there for decoration, it can and should be used too, he heard her saying in his head.

  Unfortunately, a broom won't get me anywhere now, he mused to himself, while the donkey snorted briefly and shook his head.

  No, wait, mother is right, the broom is the solution! a sudden flash of thought occurred to him, and he looked excitedly around the stable, where he finally saw a broom leaning in a corner.

  He crossed the stable with quick steps, inspected the broom and hit the wall hard with the hairless end a few times, which made a dull tapping noise.

  When this is over, I owe the stable master a new broom, he made a mental note and looked around the stable furtively, but couldn't see anyone else except himself, since everyone was probably at home hammering nails into rolling pins.

  With his hunting knife he severed the ropes that attached the straw to the broom and held it together.

  It took a while, but finally he was standing there with a wooden stick that was mostly free of straw.

  Satisfied, Mikal went back to his donkey, leaned against the wall again and, whistling, began to carve away at one end of the former broom with his hunting knife.

  He knew that his improvised weapon was probably not quite as long as a normal spear, but it hopefully looked just as threatening and, if in doubt, had a guaranteed longer range than his hunting knife.

  Poisoned a dragon? What kind of stuff was that supposed to be, how much does a dragon weigh again? she thought grumpily as she took a bread knife from the kitchen unit.

  I've never seen the dragon up close in all this time, well, once this is all over, I can at least take a look at the corpse, she thought, which immediately lifted her mood a little.

  How many people in her field had the chance to examine a dead dragon after all? And she actually believed that Aodhan was dead.

  Judging by his roaring at the marketplace Ivar had no idea about intrinsic magic, but he was definitely right about this Wyrmus Lind, there was simply no point lying to them all about Aodhan.

  Just as she was about to march out the door, her eyes fell on her shoulder bag in which she kept her most important utensils and medicines.

  After some hesitation, she took this with her to the wall. She wasn't expecting any fights, after all it was just a matter of scaring off their neighbors, but still. Maybe a few arrows or stones would be shot up to them, or what she thought was more likely, one of her people would wave his rolling pin around too much and fall down the wall.

  Either way, it was an interesting change from the every day life in Schlucht, she thought.

  It's all going to go horribly wrong, Albert thought as he slowly made his way towards the north gate.

  Back home he had consulted “Just Pretend”, a handbook of advice for actors, traders, warriors and politicians on how to bluff, lie and exaggerate without getting caught.

  He had bought it ages ago when he was a student in Auros, hoping it would help him win more often at card games in his local bar.

  It hadn't worked then, and the only thing he ever won there was a lifelong hatred of gambling, but he knew he had to be convincing at least this once, not least because there was a little more at stake here than just paying for the next round.

  As a precaution, he had also read through some passages from "The Art of Enduring," a tactical guide that included the knowledge of more than a dozen well-known military leaders of humans, beastmen, djinn, and elves on how best to behave during a siege and how to prepare for it.

  Ensuring that supplies were guaranteed had been one of the points, but he doubted that would play a role here.

  They did not have huge granaries and could probably only last a couple of weeks in a real siege, but their opponents were not an organized army either.

  He very much doubted that the dragon's men would have the patience to stand outside their door for days, after all they did not even have tents or anything like that with them.

  No, he had the vague feeling that the whole thing would be decided this evening, no matter what.

  He had also skipped the chapter on siege engines and magic for the same reasons.

  It was more likely that a Nephilim would show up to settle the conflict than that any of them knew how to build a catapult or something, let alone magic to tear down palisades.

  No, what he was worried about was rain of arrows, or worse, battering rams, which they could probably manage.

  Well, with normal rain you hold something over your head, go inside or take cover, there's no reason why that wouldn't work with a rain of arrows. A battering ram, on the other hand, would be a bit more problematic. We don't really have castle gates here, but then again, they won't have a real battering ram either, they'll probably just chop down some tree and carve it into shape. We could push against the gate, a few of us can do at least some intrinsic magic to strengthen themselves, Ivar guaranteed, but it's quite possible that a few of them can do that too. We also have to be careful where they're attacking from. It's possible that they're attacking different gates at the same time. Oh, Damm it, what if they've already secretly surrounded us. No, wait, some of our people have been standing nervously on the wall the whole time because if something like that. They surely would have noticed if they had encircled us, at least I hope they would. He mentally went through a few more eventualities and finally reached the north gate, where most of the residents had already gathered and were looking at him expectantly and waving rolling pins and the like at him.

  Everyone in the book had agreed on one thing though.

  Once the enemy had managed to break through the gate, there wasn't much that could save you.

  Apart from unexpected reinforcements, extreme magical powers and the occasional heroic outburst of the besieged, however, he knew that none of these three cases were very likely in their situation and so he climbed the stairs to the wall with a sinking feeling in his stomach, smiling confidently at the people as he hoped and mentally prepared himself to pull off what was probably the biggest bluff of all time.

  “Good evening, Albert,” Ivar greeted him politely, seeing him with his sword at his hip for the first time in a long time and, to his surprise, even with a round shield on his back

  "Evening Ivar, I didn't know you had a shield," Albert asked, slightly absent-minded.

  "This is also its first time as a shield, I originally commissioned it for fun, to use it as an extravagant plate," Ivar answered curtly.

  Albert, who now leaned back a little to inspect the shield, could still see various strange marks on it and thought for a moment before he remembered it.

  “That's right, at Boris's birthday last year there were pork knuckles on it, is it any good as a shield?” he now asked curiously.

  “According to the seller, yes, and I stood on a chair and dropped it without breaking it, so it's better than anything else I have that I can carry in one hand, plus it looks better than a kitchen countertop,” Ivar answered with a shrug.

  “I see, I read something about bluffing in a book earlier,” he told him.

  “And what do they write?” Ivar asked curiously.

  “You're supposed to sound confident and imagine that you're talking about something you know about. You're also supposed to imagine that the others are standing there in their underwear. I think that book was a bad investment, what do you think?” Albert explained doubtfully.

  There was silence for a moment while Ivar thought about what had been said.

  “Sounds a bit strange, yes, I don't know if I'd be creative enough to imagine so many people in their underwear at once,” Ivar finally replied thoughtfully.

  “Just in case push comes to shove, I've also read up on how best to behave during a siege, as a besieged party,” Albert continued.

  “And?” asked Ivar.

  “They say you should hold the gate,” he replied.

  Ivar took a moment to think about what had been said before answering.

  “Yes, makes sense to me,” he answered in a sober tone.

  The two stood next to each other in silence for a while, watching the sun get closer and closer to the horizon, until Ivar finally broke the silence.

  “What do you think, Albert will bards write about this in a song one day, or at least some historians in some footnote in a book about local history,” Ivar asked, without taking his eyes off the horizon.

  “Hmm, I don’t know if anyone knows enough about our corner of the world to write a song about it, but it’s possible that they’ll write it in a history book or something. Traveling historians like to collect local stories like this and then publish them in almanacs or something like that,” he answered after thinking about it for a while.

  “It’s a shame that books like this never worry about whether it has a good or bad ending,” Ivar sighed.

  “Yes, believe me, books like this are often written quite dryly, and people always wonder why nobody is interested in history anymore. And as for the ending, well, it looks like we’re about to find out,” Albert answered, watching as three figures gradually approached the gate.