The war chamber was not built for comfort. Its walls were thick red stone, cold even with the lanterns burning bright, and the single long table that filled the room was scarred with decades of use. Tonight, the table was crowded with maps, troop lists, half-scribbled ledgers, and a mug of bitterroot ale that no one had touched since it was poured hours ago.

  Guildkeeper Eborin leaned over the table with both hands braced on the wood. His robe, once crisp, sagged with creases and stains. Sweat clung to his brow, but his eyes were steady.

  “Nearly all non-combatants are gone,” he began. His voice was even, though the exhaustion behind it could be felt. “The last wagons cleared the East Gate this morning. The river runners say some stragglers may have pressed farther south, but every hamlet in the county is accounted for. Vieti is abandoned, scouts think the people fled inland or tried for the marsh ports.”

  The men and women around the table exchanged small nods. No one spoke.

  “The guilds have answered,” Eborin went on. “Not all, but enough. The Metalsmiths, the River Masons, even the Glasswrights sent their people. A few more might arrive tomorrow, if the road holds and if we have that long to wait.”

  Commander Ennett stepped forward. Her white armband marked her as Watch Commander, though no mark was needed. Everyone knew who carried the weight of Harbinth’s walls on her shoulders. Her armor was plain steel, rubbed dull from years of wear. The set of her jaw was as sharp as her sword.

  “The City Watch and temporary deputies number just over two hundred and fifty,” she said. Her voice was clipped, precise. “Most are untrained, dockworkers, candle makers, a handful of retired soldiers, but they’ll stand.” She gave the faintest nod to the dwarves seated nearby. “The dwarves have taught them something clever. Bottles of spirits lit with fire. We’ve enough stored to turn the lower district into an inferno if we’re forced.”

  Bram Flintbrace, who had been lounging in his chair like the table was a tavern bench, broke into a wide grin. “We only waste liquor in battle. Any other time, it’s a crime worthy of exile.”

  The dwarves chuckled, a sound like gravel shaking loose in a barrel. For a moment, the air in the chamber loosened.

  But First Captain Halric Vane did not smile. He stood straight in his travel-stained field leathers, a faint smear of ash still on his cheek, arms folded. His golden hair caught the lantern light, but the lines at the corners of his eyes betrayed sleepless nights.

  “Arnathe’s response was slowed,” he said plainly. “Too slow. News of Elzibar’s fall took time to reach the capital, and longer still for the king’s vanguard to be freed from their fight in the Green Hills. The trolls there are not finished.”

  Eborin frowned. “Where do our numbers stand?”

  Vane inclined his head. “Three score watchmen from Arnathe. But we have hundreds of volunteers we brought along the way. They are here. They are ready.”

  Ennett muttered, almost to herself, “We’ll still be outnumbered.”

  From the far side of the table, Deacon Calendri stepped forward. His robe was gray with a trim of gold, a sunburst pin shining at his collar. His face carried deep lines, but his eyes were steady.

  “The attack is near,” he said. His voice was quiet but carried. “Within a day, perhaps two. The birds know it. Their flight paths are broken. The skies over the coast do not move as they should.”

  He lifted a scroll, sealed with the crest of the Morning Sun. “The clerics have taken their stations. Triage areas are being prepared under the north arches and behind the grain dome. The Sisters of the Morning Sun chose to remain. Many of them could have gone with the refugees. They stayed.”

  The room fell silent. Even the dwarves’ usual sharp humor softened.

  Eborin cleared his throat, steadying himself as he looked around the table. His voice, when he spoke again, had dropped lower, metal and weight beneath the words.

  “You have all done your part. We make our final preparations tonight. Whatever comes, Harbinth will hold. Be it kobolds, trolls, or something darker, we stand as one.”

  He rested a hand over the center of the map where the city was inked in faded lines. “And we pray. For the city. For each other.”

  The words carried through the chamber, heavy as stone. No one argued. No one shifted.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  At last, Ennett broke the silence. “Hundreds against thousands. I don’t fool myself about the numbers. But numbers don’t fight. People do. I’ve seen men hold a gate with fewer.”

  Thora Greyfell, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. Her mattock rested against her chair, her voice as blunt as the iron in her grip. “Dwarves don’t count the dead before the battle begins. We hold. That’s what we’re here for.”

  For a moment, there was no fear in the room, only a steady kind of resolve. The kind that grew heavier the longer it stayed, but also sharper.

  First Captain Vane looked around at the faces: the dwarves, the watchmen, the guildkeeper, the deacon, the commander. He saw weariness in every pair of eyes, but not surrender.

  “I’ll speak plain,” he said. “The enemy is coming. And they won’t stop with Harbinth. If we fall, they will march north. If we hold, even for a day, we buy time. For the king, for the people, for whatever comes next.”

  He pressed a fist to his chest. “That’s enough reason to stand.”

  Ennett gave a small nod. “It will have to be.”

  The table grew quiet again, save for the soft drip of wax from a lantern overhead. Each drop hit the wood with a sound that felt like a countdown, steady and unavoidable.

  No one left the chamber quickly. Each lingered, studying the maps, whispering to their neighbors, adjusting their weapons. There were no more jokes. No more plans to add. Only waiting.

  Waiting, and the knowledge that by dawn, Harbinth would no longer be the same city it had been the day before.

  The war chamber felt hollow after the meeting ended. The council’s voices had filled it with urgency, but now only the hiss of lanterns and the scrape of chairs breaking the silence remained. One by one, the leaders filed out: Guildkeeper Eborin carrying a roll of ledgers under his arm, Deacon Calendri murmuring a prayer, First Captain Vane lingering only long enough to give Ennett a sharp nod before departing to speak with his men.

  Commander Ennett stayed. She stood at the map table, fingers pressed against the old wood, staring down at the faded ink lines that marked Harbinth’s streets. The wax from the overhead lantern dripped onto the edge of the parchment. She brushed it away with her gauntlet before it could stain the market quarter.

  She wasn’t alone.

  Thora Greyfell remained seated on a low bench near the side wall, her mattock balanced across her knees. The lantern light caught the streak of silver in her dark hair. She hadn’t moved since the others left, only watched Ennett with that still, heavy patience that dwarves carried so easily.

  Ennett finally spoke. “I need to know what your people can do.”

  Thora tilted her head. “You mean fight?”

  “I mean, fight, yes. But also how. Where. What they’re best at. I can’t afford to waste a single man, not yours, not mine.”

  Thora adjusted her grip on the mattock, then leaned back slightly, considering. “You’ll get honest words, then.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  The dwarf nodded. “Bram’s our loudest. He fights like a storm, axe in both hands, rushing faster than most expect. He’s strongest in the first clash, before the lines tangle. Put him where you need chaos.”

  Ennett gave a short nod and traced a finger over the map’s southern gate.

  “Korrik’s slower,” Thora went on. “But he doesn’t break. Give him a wall or a gate to hold, and you’ll need a dragon to move him. He’ll anchor a line longer than most men will stay standing.”

  Ennett’s eyes flicked up at that. “Reliable.”

  “Aye.” Thora’s voice softened a little. “Farin Duskshade’s different. She’s clever with tools. Quick hands. She can rig traps, turn a smith’s shop into a fortress if you give her rope and nails. Not as loud with her steel, but she makes up for it with her mind.”

  Ennett’s lips twitched faintly, almost a smile. “We’ll need that.”

  Thora continued, her tone steady but proud. “Torli’s best in close quarters. A brawler, through and through. Don’t put him on a wall or in an open field. Give him narrow alleys, stairwells, tight ground where his shoulders touch both walls. He’ll make it a grave for anyone who steps in.”

  Ennett marked the temple district with a finger. “Streets are tight there. He’d hold.”

  Thora hesitated, then added, “Old Surna’s not as quick as she was. But her eyes are sharp. She’s good with a crossbow. If you put her high, where the wind doesn’t cut too strong, she’ll drop three men before most realize where she’s perched.”

  Ennett finally straightened, meeting Thora’s gaze across the table. “And you?”

  Thora smiled, though it was a grim one. “I prefer the front. Close to the fight. My mattock isn’t meant for ceremony, it’s for breaking what stands in front of me. Walls. Shields. Skulls. I’ll go where you need me most.”

  The commander studied her for a long moment. Ennett had worked with many soldiers, but she rarely heard such plain certainty. No boast. No hesitation. Just truth.

  “Thank you,” Ennett said at last. “That’s what I needed.”

  Thora leaned forward slightly. “One thing more, Commander. My people, dwarves, we don’t run. Not unless we’re ordered, and even then, you’ll have to tell us twice. That means if you put us in a place, we’ll stay until it’s rubble. Be sure where you want us before you say the word.”

  Ennett’s mouth tightened. She understood the warning for what it was.

  “I won’t waste you,” she promised.

  “Good.” Thora rose from the bench, hefting her mattock across her back. “Then we’ll see dawn together.”

  Ennett let out a slow breath as the dwarf left the chamber. Alone again, she returned to the map, her mind already moving the pieces. Hundreds against thousands. But now she knew where the dwarves stood, and sometimes, knowing where your stone pillars were placed made all the difference.

  Outside, the storm clouds gathered thicker over Harbinth.

  Tomorrow, the city would be tested.