Maruzan was already halfway to the breach again, planning to slip out before anyone noticed. He had done his part, warned them, passed on what he knew, fulfilled his duty. Velthur was waiting for him in the cave by the southern cliffs. That had been the plan. Leave before things get worse.

  But then he stopped.

  It started as a soft tremble beneath his boots, like something huge shifting deep in the earth. Then came the horns, low, raw, and endless. The sound rolled across the plains like thunder and hit him straight in the chest.

  Then the ground began to shake for real.

  The charge had begun.

  Maruzan froze for only a second before instinct took hold. He turned and sprinted toward the wall. Around him, the city came alive like a struck beehive. Bells rang. Orders were shouted. The clang of armor and the scrape of metal filled every street as soldiers, watchmen, and volunteers rushed to their stations. The calm before the storm was gone; now there was only movement.

  On the northern wall, dwarves were already lighting torches. Archers hurried to their marks, quivers slapping against their backs. The air was sharp with salt and smoke. The wind came harder from the sea, pressing at Maruzan’s back. He looked up, squinting.

  The gusts were strange, too steady, too deliberate. Each one seemed to push the smoke north, out toward the fields beyond the wall.

  Then he saw the birds.

  Dozens of them wheeled above, hawks, gulls, even crows, circling in a wild, shifting pattern. Then they dove, sweeping toward the plains where the kobolds would soon appear.

  Maruzan knew, without really knowing how, that this was a sign.

  He couldn’t leave. Not now. He’d stay and fight, just until it was over, or until he had no choice left.

  The archers raised their bows. The torches touched the arrowheads. Fire caught in the breeze, bright as sunrise.

  “Loose!”

  The first volley arced high, hundreds of burning points streaking through the sky. The fire hissed as it fell, lighting the dry brush along the plains. The smoke rose thick and black.

  And then came the sound, distant at first, then closer. The pounding of thousands of feet. The kobolds had arrived.

  Maruzan could see them through the haze now, a dark wave of scaled bodies and glinting weapons, banners of bone and ash whipping in the wind. They ran low to the ground, fast and tight, their screeches barely heard over the roar of their march.

  Behind them came the hulking shadows, trolls. A dozen of them, their bodies like living towers, each carrying clubs as long as a man was tall.

  The archers fired again. Another wave of fire rained down.

  Some kobolds fell. Others stumbled as flames caught in their furs and leathers. The wind from the coast fanned the fire across the front ranks, turning the dry grass into a field of flickering orange. Still, the kobolds pushed forward, stepping over their fallen.

  On the walls, the watchmen shouted orders. Buckets of oil were passed down. Fire bombs, bottles filled with liquor and rag wicks, were handed from one fighter to the next.

  “Light and throw!” came the cry.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The bottles flew over the walls, shattering among the attackers. Fire spread faster now, carried by the same wind that had been so strange a moment before.

  Maruzan saw it all from the lower stair. The flames weren’t random, they were bending east, like something unseen was guiding them. The dryads, he thought. It had to be.

  “Keep steady!” someone yelled. “They’ll hit the gate soon!”

  And then they did.

  The trolls reached the front lines, their bodies steaming from heat but unbroken. They slammed their fists into the main gate, each strike echoing like a hammer against a drum. The wood splintered, the hinges groaned.

  Maruzan ran to join a group of soldiers near the inner yard. The smell of burning pitch filled his lungs. He caught sight of Commander Ennett on the wall, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

  “Hold your ground! The gate holds until I say otherwise!”

  Her armor was streaked with soot, her hair damp with sweat, but her presence alone steadied the line.

  Below her, Bram and Torli led a small squad of dwarves toward the gate. They carried barrels of spirits, liquid fire in waiting.

  “Get them close!” Bram roared. “If it falls, it burns with them on it!”

  Maruzan pushed in to help. Together, they rolled the barrels into position, each movement a gamble between life and death.

  The trolls struck again. The gate shuddered, splitting down the middle.

  “Now!” Ennett’s voice boomed.

  Torli yanked the torch from a soldier’s hand and tossed it. The barrel nearest the gate ignited, a flash of white-orange flame bursting upward. The explosion knocked several kobolds off their ladders. The trolls reeled, roaring as their skin blistered and blackened.

  And then something impossible happened.

  From the base of the wall, just beyond the gate, fire erupted again, but this time not from oil or liquor. It came from the ground itself, rising in a column of gold and red, clean and fierce. The trolls screamed, stumbling backward, clawing at their faces.

  Maruzan shielded his eyes. “What, what is that?”

  No one answered. But far beyond the flames, he saw movement at the edge of the woods. A figure, tall, cloaked in green, stood with an arm raised. The Seeker. And beside him, faint in the haze, was Nethira.

  Their magic was not wild. It was controlled. Precise. The fire bent only toward the invaders, sparing the wall and the people who defended it.

  Maruzan felt his knees weaken. But the battle wasn’t over.

  More ladders slammed against the walls. Kobolds climbed in waves, some burned, some bleeding, all screaming. The defenders fought with everything they had. Spears jabbed downward. Arrows loosed at close range. Blades flashed and broke.

  Ennett leapt from the parapet to the lower walkway, joining her men in the thick of it. Her sword cleaved through a kobold’s armor, the strike clean and efficient. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter.

  At the triage post, Guildkeeper Eborin barked orders as wounded men were dragged in. “Keep them moving! Further back, behind the grain dome!” He turned to a young cleric. “If you’re staying, keep your hands steady. We can’t lose focus now.”

  The cleric nodded, trembling.

  Eborin looked up once more, just before the smoke grew too thick to see the wall. Birds still circled overhead, darting through the fire and smoke as if guided by unseen strings. They fiercely assaulted the ranks of kobolds and trolls below. The wind rolled harder now, pushing the flames deeper into the enemy’s ranks.

  And for a single, fleeting moment, Eborin felt something he hadn’t in years.

  Faith.

  Nature was not standing by. The forest itself was fighting.

  On the walls, dwarves shouted as they hurled stones and axes down on the kobolds. “For the mountain!” one roared. “For Harbinth!” another bellowed back.

  Maruzan felt the call rise in his chest too, unbidden. He didn’t shout it, but he fought harder, his arms burning, his heart alive.

  He no longer thought about the cave or escape or the plan. None of it mattered. The battle had begun, and he was part of it.

  The gate still burned. The trolls were in retreat, though not for long. The kobolds pressed on, driven by something deeper than rage.

  Maruzan looked up once more at the sky, at the swirling smoke and streaks of orange fire. He didn’t know what would happen next, whether Harbinth would hold, or if they’d be buried under the weight of what was coming on the other side of the walls.

  But in that instant, as the wind roared and the flames climbed higher, he knew one thing for certain.

  They would not fall quietly.

  They would not burn alone.