The forest road stretched ahead like a dark ribbon unfurling through hostile territory, flanked by towering pines whose gnarled branches formed a canopy so dense it choked out most of the weak dawn light. What little illumination filtered through came in pale, sickly shafts that only served to deepen the shadows between the trees.
The Third Squad marched in tight formation, ten squires plus their knight commander, boots crunching rhythmically on frost-hardened earth. Their breath steamed in the cold morning air, forming small clouds that dissipated quickly in the chill. Knight-Captain Voss led from the front, her scarred plate armor reflecting what little light there was, her hand never straying more than inches from her greatsword's hilt.
Fifteen miles from the capital had never felt so far.
Adrian walked in the middle of the formation, positioned where he could see threats from multiple angles. His eyes moved constantly—scanning the treeline for movement, checking the underbrush for disturbances, tracking the shadows that seemed to writhe and pulse with barely contained menace. His body was relaxed yet ready, loose but prepared to explode into motion. Not the rigid tension of fear, but the fluid readiness of experience.
He knew what to look for. Knew how goblins moved through forests, how they used terrain, how they hunted in packs like wolves but with crueler intelligence. Knew the signs most humans would miss: the unnatural stillness of birds, the way small animals fled before predators arrived, the subtle wrongness in how shadows fell.
Around him, the other squires were far less composed.
Edric kept glancing nervously at the trees, his head swiveling at every snapping twig, every rustle of wind through branches. His hand was white-knuckled on his sword hilt, gripping it so tight his fingers had gone bloodless. He'd barely spoken since they left the gates, all his usual chatter dried up by the weight of genuine fear.
Finn moved with quiet, coiled tension, his dark eyes sharp but betraying his unease in the way they darted toward every sound. His fisherman's instincts—honed through years of reading water and weather—were screaming that something was wrong even if he couldn't identify exactly what. He trusted those instincts, and they were telling him danger was close.
Even Brann's characteristic bravado had dimmed to nervous energy barely contained. His jokes had fallen flat since the first mile, his laughter sounding forced. Now he just walked in silence, jaw clenched, one hand on his sword and the other unconsciously flexing and relaxing, flexing and relaxing.
A squire near the back—a noble's son named Derrin—stumbled slightly, catching himself with a muttered curse that sounded too loud in the oppressive quiet.
"Quiet!" Voss hissed without turning, her voice sharp as a blade. Then, louder but still controlled: "Stay alert. Goblins are ambush predators. They'll wait until we're distracted, tired, or separated. Don't give them the opening. Keep your eyes on the trees, not your feet. Trust your formation."
The road curved ahead, following the natural contours of the rising land. The trees pressed closer here, their roots breaking through the packed earth to create uneven footing. Visibility dropped to maybe thirty feet in any direction, the forest seeming to close in like a fist.
Adrian's eyes narrowed as he studied the terrain. This was perfect ambush territory—limited sightlines, natural cover on both sides, multiple escape routes into the dense forest if the attack failed. If he were planning an ambush, this is exactly where he'd place it. The curve meant they couldn't see what was ahead, and the dense undergrowth on both sides provided perfect concealment.
His instincts—sharpened by centuries of warfare, countless battles, a thousand ambushes both survived and executed—screamed warning.
A heartbeat before it happened, Adrian's hand was already moving toward his sword.
A shriek split the morning air—high and savage and utterly inhuman, like metal scraping across metal mixed with an animal's death scream. The sound hit like a physical blow, making several squires flinch involuntarily.
Then the forest exploded with motion.
Figures burst from the underbrush on both sides of the road, small and twisted and moving with terrifying speed. Goblins. Dozens of them, not the twenty reported. Their skin was mottled gray-green, stretched tight over sinuous muscle and prominent bones. Their eyes gleamed yellow in the shadows, filled with feral intelligence and hunger. They wore scraps of stolen armor and carried crude weapons—jagged blades, notched axes, spears tipped with bone.
And they were fast. Gods, they were fast.
"AMBUSH!" Knight-Captain Voss roared, her voice cutting through the chaos like a clarion call. Her greatsword sang free of its sheath in one smooth motion, white spirit flame erupting along its length, blazing like captured sunlight. "FORMATION! SHIELD WALL! WATCH YOUR FLANKS!"
Training took over where thought failed.
The squires moved instinctively into defensive formation, those with shields raising them, those without pressing shoulder-to-shoulder to present a unified front. Swords came up, edges glinting. The neat marching line transformed into a bristling defensive circle in seconds.
But seconds were all the goblins needed.
The first wave hit like a green tide of teeth and claws.
A goblin leaped at Edric with a shriek, its crude blade slashing toward his throat. Edric got his sword up barely in time, the impact sending shock waves up his arm. The goblin was strong—impossibly strong for something so small—and its breath was rancid, a mixture of rotted meat and something worse.
"Hold!" Voss shouted, her greatsword cutting through a goblin that had gotten too close, cleaving it nearly in half. Spirit-enhanced steel cut through flesh and bone like they were paper. "Hold the line! They're testing us!"
Adrian's blade was already in motion, flowing through defensive patterns ingrained in muscle and bone. A goblin lunged from his left—he sidestepped minimally, his sword cutting across its exposed neck in one economical motion. Black blood sprayed. The creature went down gurgling.
Another came from his right, this one smarter, feinting high before going low. Adrian read the feint, pivoted, and drove his blade down through the goblin's spine. It collapsed with a wet crunch.
Two down in three seconds. His movements were efficient, precise, wasting no energy. But he was careful—showing competence without revealing the full depth of his ability. He fought like a well-trained squire who'd practiced extensively, not like a demon prince who'd commanded armies.
Around him, chaos reigned.
Finn fought with desperate precision, his blade work tight and controlled despite the terror in his eyes. He blocked, parried, struck when openings appeared, his fisherman's economy of motion serving him well. A goblin fell to his blade, then another, but a third managed to score a shallow cut across his forearm. Finn hissed but didn't falter.
Brann roared, meeting the goblins' savagery with his own, his sword swinging in wide, powerful arcs. He was all offense, trusting his strength and aggression to overwhelm his opponents. It worked—mostly. He downed three goblins in rapid succession, but left himself open. A fourth goblin's blade raked across his thigh, drawing blood and a curse.
Edric struggled, his defense barely adequate against creatures that moved like nightmares. A goblin's claws raked across his arm, tearing leather and drawing blood. He stumbled, nearly went down, but Adrian was there—his blade intercepting the goblin's follow-up strike, turning it aside, creating space for Edric to recover.
"Back to back!" Adrian commanded, his voice cutting through Edric's panic. "Don't let them isolate you!"
Edric obeyed instinctively, pressing his back to Adrian's. Together they formed a small island of defense in the swirling chaos.
Knight-Captain Voss was a whirlwind of steel and spirit flame, her greatsword cutting through goblins with terrifying efficiency. Three fell to her blade in as many seconds, her white spirit flame burning so bright it left afterimages. She fought with the casual competence of a veteran who'd done this a hundred times, her movements economical and devastating.
"They're herding us!" she shouted, reading the tactical situation even while fighting. "Trying to split our formation! Tighten up! Don't let them—"
A larger goblin—nearly the size of a grown man, its skin darker, covered in crude tattoos that might have been runes—burst from the trees directly at Voss. A leader, or champion. It wielded a massive cleaver notched from use, and its eyes burned with intelligence.
Voss met it head-on, her greatsword clashing against the cleaver with a sound like thunder. Sparks flew. The goblin champion was strong, inhumanly so, and skilled enough to actually match her for several exchanges.
The smaller goblins, seeing their champion engaged, pressed harder.
Adrian felt the formation beginning to buckle under the pressure. The squires were fighting well enough—better than he'd expected, honestly—but they were green, untested, tiring quickly. And the goblins kept coming, emerging from the forest in a seemingly endless stream.
Twenty goblins? There had to be forty. Fifty. Someone's intelligence had been very, very wrong.
A goblin broke through the line, going for Derrin, the noble's son who'd stumbled earlier. The boy froze, eyes wide, sword half-raised. The goblin's blade descended toward his throat.
Adrian moved.
His body blurred across the distance—too fast, he realized even as he did it, faster than a normal squire could move—but there was no time to recalculate. His blade intercepted the goblin's strike inches from Derrin's neck, the impact sending the creature stumbling. Adrian followed through, his sword taking it in the chest, punching through ribs to find its heart.
He pulled the blade free and was already turning back to his position, but he'd seen it—the way Voss's eyes tracked him, measuring, noting.
Too fast. He'd moved too fast.
But there was no time to worry about that now.
"FALL BACK!" Voss roared, her greatsword finally finding an opening in the champion's defense, taking its head in one massive swing. "Fighting retreat! Toward the waystation! We can't hold them here!"
*"Back! Back!" The squad began retreating in order, fighting as they moved, trying to maintain formation even as they gave ground.
Adrian covered the retreat, his blade dancing between multiple opponents, keeping them at bay without overwhelming them so completely that questions would be raised. A balancing act even in the middle of combat—show enough to survive, not enough to reveal.
They'd made it maybe twenty yards when the horn sounded.
Deep, resonant, echoing through the forest. Not a goblin's crude instrument, but something else. Something worse.
Voss's face went pale. "Move! MOVE NOW!"
"What is it?" Edric gasped, still fighting as they retreated.
"Reinforcements," Voss spat. "They called in more. This wasn't a hunting party—it's a war band."
And from the forest depths, answering that horn's call, came the sound of something much larger crashing through the undergrowth.
The real battle was about to begin.