The smell of coffee pulled Maruzan from sleep.

  Real coffee. Bitter, grounding, familiar in a way that felt out of place in this crumbling world. For a moment, lying on the heap of spare clothes he had turned into bedding, he thought he must be dreaming. But the scent lingered, sharper now, followed by something softer, biscuits, warm and buttery.

  His stomach growled before his mind caught up. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His body ached as if he had carried the whole city on his shoulders the night before.

  The cove had worked. Better than he dared hope. He had scouted it two nights ago and decided the plan was worth it, so he brought Velthur the next night to move forward with the plan.

  It was dry, hidden, and far enough from the main road that no one would stumble into it by chance. Someone had used it before. There were broken crates, a snuffed lantern, and a forgotten cloak, but it had been abandoned for some time. Now it was his. His and Velthur’s.

  For once, he allowed himself a small breath of relief. They had a place to fall back to. A place to hide if the walls broke.

  Then the horns sounded.

  The low, drawn-out note rolled across the stone and rattled the cave. Dust fell from the ceiling. Maruzan’s heart slammed against his ribs. Was this it? Or another warning?

  He was on his feet before he could consider his own thoughts.

  “Velthur!” His voice cracked with urgency.

  The boy stirred from his bedding, blinking against the dim light. “What is it?”

  Maruzan hesitated only long enough to see the fear in his son’s eyes. “Stay here,” he said firmly. “Do not leave this cave until I come back.”

  Velthur nodded, but his small hands curled tightly around the blanket.

  Maruzan ran back toward Harbinth.

  The narrow stone path scraped against his boots as he climbed fast, his chest burning. The horns still echoed, and every step carried the weight of expectation: kobolds at the gates, the battle beginning at last.

  But when he reached the northern wall, the watchmen were not fighting. They leaned forward over the parapets, voices hushed and uncertain.

  Maruzan followed their gaze.

  Across the northern hills stretched a line of people, winding slowly toward the city. At first, it looked like another flood of refugees: women, children, elders, burdened with bundles and carts, their steps weary. His stomach sank. More to feed, more to shelter.

  Then he saw the riders.

  The same men who had ridden out days before now returned, their horses streaked with mud, their cloaks torn by travel. They flanked the line with discipline, herding the people forward.

  And then came the banners.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  First, the green-trimmed tabards of the bankers’ guild. Soldiers of coin, usually loyal only to merchants and caravans, now marching in step like an army. Their presence drew murmurs of disbelief from the watchmen.

  Behind them came the hammer-crossed banners of the Blacksmiths Guild, followed by the lantern of the Adventurers Guild. Smaller flags followed, each bearing symbols of distant provinces, minor guilds, and independent companies. It was not a massive army, but it was skilled. Hardened. Loyal.

  The murmurs quieted as the last line came into view.

  Soldiers of Arnathe’s City Watch, their bronze armor glinting in the sunlight. Shields raised, spears steady, their formation tight. And at their front rode a young man with golden hair that shone like fire beneath his helm. His armor gleamed, his posture straight, though the wear of travel still clung to his cloak.

  The gates opened.

  Commander Ennett strode out, her dark armor absorbing the light, her presence steady as stone. Beside her walked Lord Mayor Haldrin, his fine robes disheveled from sleepless nights.

  The young captain dismounted. Up close, Maruzan saw he was not a boy, though his youth was clear. His jaw was set, his eyes sharp, his stance unyielding.

  He saluted Ennett. His voice carried across the courtyard.

  “I am First Captain Halric Vane of the Arnathe City Watch. The king has heard your call. And he supports his people.”

  For a moment, silence reigned. Only the snap of banners in the wind filled the space.

  Ennett studied him with the weight of someone who had no patience for ceremony. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at her lips.

  “You’re late,” she said. “But welcome.”

  Halric lowered his hand, but his back stayed straight. “The king moved as swiftly as he could. I bring three hundred soldiers of the Watch, mostly from Arnathe, but many volunteers from the other towns between there and here. With them, we bring three guild companies: the bankers, the smiths, and the adventurers, and two hundred villagers from the northern hamlets. They insisted on marching with us.”

  “Insisted?” Haldrin asked, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

  Halric nodded. “They said if Harbinth falls, they fall with it. They would not hide while others bled.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd gathered at the gate. Some faces turned away in guilt. Others hardened with resolve.

  Ennett’s eyes narrowed. “Supplies?”

  “Enough for a week,” Halric answered. “Food, arrows, timber, and some coin to pay laborers. Not much more. The road was slower than we had hoped. We lost two wagons in the mud.”

  Ennett let out a sharp breath through her nose. “A week, then. We’ll make it count.”

  Halric looked at her closely. “The king’s message is simple. Hold. Reinforcements are coming from the capital, but it will take time. He said, ‘Harbinth must not fall.’”

  The words carried. People repeated them quietly, some in awe, some in fear.

  Ennett’s smirk faded. She crossed her arms. “We’ve been holding already. But it helps to know someone noticed.”

  Halric’s expression softened. “They noticed, Commander. You lit a fire in the court. The king spoke your name himself. That’s why I came.”

  Ennett blinked once, caught off guard. Then she straightened. “Good. You’re here now. But don’t expect your men to rest. I’ll have them on the walls before the sun drops.”

  “They’re ready,” Halric said. His voice was firm, almost defiant. “They didn’t march to stand idle.”

  Ennett held his gaze for a long moment. Then she gave a single, sharp nod. “We’ll see if you’re as strong as your words.”

  The Lord Mayor finally let out a breath, one hand pressed to his chest as if he had been holding it since dawn.

  And then the cheer began.

  It started small, just a few voices among the tired crowd, but it grew, swelling into something that rolled through the city like thunder. People clapped, some cried, and others simply shouted into the sky. For the first time in days, Harbinth’s streets rang not with fear, but with hope.

  On the wall, Maruzan’s hands shook. Not from dread. From something he barely remembered: relief.

  It wasn’t over. The kobolds would still come. The trolls and ogres would still march. But Harbinth would not stand alone.

  Not anymore.