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  HUNTER’S MOON

  GUARDIAN’S PROPHECY: BOOK TWO

  By D.A. Godwin

  War

  Tormjere crept forward with sword in hand, slipping noiselessly through the damp underbrush towards his chosen spot at the edge of a clearing. He crouched low behind a bush and waited. Behind him, the sun was just cresting the treetops, sprinkling cheerful patches of light through the leaves and onto the path while leaving his own position in shadow. The brown leathers and loose green cloth of his hunter’s garb, carefully layered in an elvish pattern, allowed him to further blend into the surrounding foliage. He arrived not a moment too soon, as the sound of running feet carried down the narrow game trail to his sensitive ears. His hiding spot was downwind, also by design, and a stench strong enough to override the pleasant fragrance of spring flowers hit him: goblins.

  Nearly a dozen of the short, greenish creatures came into view, their attention focused ahead as they hurried towards the distant sounds of battle. Though barely larger than scrawny children, they were cunning creatures that were deadly in a group this size. Tormjere studied the motley assortment of weapons and armor each carried as they drew near, plotting the sequence of his attack.

  Arrows hissed from the trees, and a pair of goblins at the rear of the line tumbled to the ground and lay still. The rest did as expected, coming to an abrupt stop a few paces in front of him and searching for the source of the attack. Their hesitation proved costly as two more fell.

  The largest of them pointed its weapon towards the trees opposite Tormjere and shouted angrily in its guttural language. Obeying the command, the rest charged forward in a disorganized line that left their backs to him.

  That was when Tormjere struck.

  With violently precise swipes of his sword, he killed one and then another. A third spun to face him, but not quickly enough to save itself.

  Thrown into confusion by his assault and the unseen archers, the remaining goblins died without mounting a defense.

  When the last had fallen, Tormjere dashed through the clearing and into the opposite tree line. Once under cover, he stopped to survey the woods, quieting his breathing as he looked and listened for any signs of pursuit. He let his awareness extend and tried to read the texture of the forest in ways his normal senses could not. It was an unusual skill that rarely manifested except in times of stress but had always proven reliable.

  He felt more than heard the other two Rangers hurry onto the path behind him to search the bodies. It was unlikely they would discover anything useful, but one never knew, and Rangers were always thorough. That much had been drilled into him over the past months as he had trained with the secretive group. It had been an interesting, if unexpected, way to spend his sixteenth winter.

  As he wiped dark blood from his blade, he allowed himself a moment’s satisfaction—it had been a perfectly executed ambush.

  The hoot of an owl sounded behind him—the Ranger’s call to bring in any sentries on watch. He retrieved the bow and bedroll he had stashed behind a nearby tree and hustled to rejoin his companions, both of whom were dressed in the muted greens and browns common to woodsmen.

  Drex, the patrol leader, shot him a questioning glance to make sure he was uninjured, then they were off. Without words, the trio turned south towards the town, spreading into a loose formation as they traversed the rough, heavily wooded terrain. Their pace was rapid but measured, such that it could be maintained over long distances without tiring.

  Tormjere travelled without conscious effort, following his own path through the forest while keeping Drex in sight. He took the opportunity to evaluate the recent encounter, his first real combat since the prior summer. It had been easier this time, and far less terrifying. Despite that, he could not allow himself to become complacent—not every enemy he faced would prove as easy to overcome. He could find no flaw with his tactics, however, and turned his thoughts to the sword now secured at his waist.

  Expertly crafted by the dwarven smith Fendrick, the wide, double-edged blade had cut through flesh and armor with surprising ease. Fighting his way out of the wilderness with Honarch and Treven the year before had been far more difficult, but this sword was different. It was heavier, made more for cutting than finesse, and suited him better. It was a comforting discovery, even if the current situation was not.

  They had been on patrol for a week now, making a sweep along the generally peaceful western border of the Kingdom of Actondel. Although they had expected little trouble, they had stumbled upon a major incursion from the wild lands. Hundreds of goblins had moved through the forest en masse, leaving behind a clear trail. Several hamlets along their march had been savagely swept away, their inhabitants either dead or gone by the time the Rangers arrived.

  Tormjere brought his attention back to the present as they stopped atop a low hill on the edge of the forest, nearly a mile from the town proper.

  Below them, Jonrin burned. Dark smoke billowed ominously from inside the walled town and rode a gentle breeze into the cloudless sky. A stream of townsfolk could be seen fleeing east over narrow bridges that spanned the river, but from the Ranger’s vantage point there was no sign of either the attackers or defenders.

  “This is the worst possible timing,” Drex said, breaking their silence. He leaned on his longbow, a hallmark of the King’s Rangers, with concern plainly visible on his bearded face.

  “More a war party than a raid,” Caden said, coming to stand beside him. “At least three hundred. We’re spread too thin to have given anyone warning.”

  “And the garrison is stripped and sent east,” Drex spat. “I doubt there are even forty defenders in the city right now.”

  Tormjere was equally upset over their failure to predict such an attack. The eastern border of the Kingdom, far from where they currently stood, had been invaded by the neighboring Ceringion Reginum as the last of the winter snows were melting. It wasn’t a surprise, as the indications had been clear the year before. Most of the lords of Actondel had rallied to their king and sent troops to aid the fight. Despite their response, the invasion was said to be moving more quickly than anyone expected, though details were scarce.

  Tormjere scratched at the scruff of hair that covered his chin and upper lip but which stubbornly refused to grow on his cheeks and fully hide his youthful countenance. He had been conscripted into service, as had much of the able-bodied population. Before a week was out, he had been plucked from his unit without explanation and rushed south to train with the Rangers. Grueling days that started before the sun rose and ended long after it had set had been all he had known for months on end.

  “Coincidence?” he asked. Two attacks of this magnitude at the same time seemed suspect.

  “Or opportunity.” Drex shrugged. “It matters little. It’s been almost twenty years since we’ve had problems here, but regardless of why, the effect is the same.”

  “We must aid them,” Tormjere said, still staring at the smoke. Jonrin was only a day’s walk from his home valley. People from his village could be down there even as they spoke.

  “This is too large for just us. We need to get help.”

  “The whole town could be lost before we return,” Tormjere insisted.

  “We aren’t front-line soldiers.”

  “Even one or two of us could make a difference.”

  Drex considered, then turned to Caden.

  “Head south to Bendin and alert Lord Rothor. Commandeer a horse if possible.”

  “Kenzing is closer,” Tormjere pointed out. “And they’ve more men.”

  Caden could be in Kenzing before nightfall, whereas it would take until well past midnight to reach Bendin if a horse could not be found. Extra soldiers had been placed in Kenzing under the command of Baron Cheldiff last
fall—Tormjere’s uncle had delivered many of their weapons.

  Drex shook his head. “They have their own purpose, though I know not what it may be. The two of us will offer assistance as we can and attempt to determine motives and movements. Look for us in the villages north of here when you return.”

  Caden nodded and took off at a run.

  “Try to be more cautious next time,” Drex said to Tormjere as they began moving towards the town.

  Tormjere raised an eyebrow.

  “Had you used your bow first, there would have been fewer to face directly.”

  “You two are better shots, and there were only seven by the time I got there.”

  “Had more followed, you would have been cut off.”

  Tormjere was certain that, had there been more goblins coming for them, he would have known it long before they arrived.

  “There weren’t any more.”

  Drex let the matter drop, confident that his point had been made. Further conversation ceased as they sprinted across a pasture and took shelter behind a small farmhouse. It was abandoned, though goblins had obviously been through looking for anything of value. Tormjere felt sorry for those who had lived there, given how much of their life now lay scattered about the floor.

  Drex peeked around a corner of the building, looking across the fields at the curtain wall encircling the town. “They must be inside the walls now. I see no defenders anywhere along it and no fighting outside.”

  “Through the gate?” Tormjere asked. “It looks open.”

  Drex agreed. “If they’ve fallen back to the keep we may be lucky and find it abandoned.”

  Or we could find it not, Tormjere thought as they continued forward. If the gate had been forced, it seemed unlikely to be left unguarded. The thought of goblins in possession of the defenses was troubling. He still maintained a particular dislike for the creatures, owing to the problems they had caused him on his quest to retrieve the Book of Amalthee a year prior.

  He stopped with Drex at the last building. Nothing lay between them and the wall now but an empty field.

  “See anything?” Drex asked.

  “Nothing. If enemy archers hold the gatehouse…”

  “They’d better have bad aim!” Drex laughed as he took off towards the gate.

  With a curse, Tormjere followed, sprinting after him across the emptiness of the bare killing field surrounding the walls. The towers flanking the gate loomed ominously, watching their approach, but he could hear nothing over the pounding of his own feet.

  Halfway there.

  The walls seemed to grow taller the closer he got. He tried to keep an eye on the dark vertical slits in the towers as he ran, knowing that a bowman could be watching from within.

  Twenty yards.

  Could he dodge an arrow this close?

  Almost there, and… he dashed between the towers and through the gate, skidding to a stop beside Drex and giving the senior Ranger a black look.

  The street was deserted, and a heavy door on the closest gate tower was cracked open. Drex was already moving towards it, ignoring the sounds of fighting that echoed between the buildings. He kicked the door and they rushed inside with swords at the ready.

  The sickening stench of blood hung thick in the cramped space, and the contents of the room were strewn about and smashed. Light from a slit window fell on two men in the baron’s red and yellow who lay motionless on the floor.

  Drex motioned him towards the stairs and knelt to check the bodies. Tormjere took them two at a time, but found a similar scene awaiting him on the upper floor. Another of the baron’s men was pitched backwards over a table, and three goblins lay in pools of their own blood. The door to the top of the wall was closed and barred.

  He turned and hurried back down the stairs.

  “Another dead upstairs, but at least they got some of them first,” he said.

  Drex stood, seemingly puzzled by something. “This is a bold raid for them. Were the full garrison present, they would never have breached the walls.”

  “Had the gates been closed, they wouldn’t have breached the walls,” Tormjere replied, watching the street through the open door. “How should we handle this?”

  “We’ll split up to cover more ground. I dislike the need, but we must discover the scale of this attack quickly. Head for his lordship’s manse and offer your services to whoever is in command. It is there,” Drex said, pointing through a narrow window to a modest stone keep several blocks away, “close to the river. I’ll check the length of the city wall and meet you there. Remember, good information is worth more to the commander than another sword.”

  With that, Drex hurried up the steps Tormjere had taken earlier.

  Tormjere stepped from the gatehouse. A small crowd of men and women ran past him and out the gate, fleeing the conflict. Hazy smoke drifted through the street, obscuring the keep. With a final glance over his shoulder, he set out in the general direction Drex had indicated. He had visited Jonrin only a handful of times and remembered the arrangement of the city, but it was easy to get turned around. The multi-story buildings were tightly packed, turning the streets into narrow tunnels with blind turns.

  A group of goblins burst onto the street ahead of him, but he ducked into an alley before they saw him. They ran past without stopping, headed towards the gatehouse he and Drex had just vacated. Tormjere picked his way through the alley to the next thoroughfare and stuck his head around the corner. Through the smoke, he could make out a high stone wall several blocks away that was doubtless part of the keep. Between it and where he stood a group of goblins was trying to force their way into a house. Frightened shouts sounded from inside. Tormjere knew it would take little more than time before they gained entry.

  Unwilling to let that happen, he charged across the street. The goblins were so intent on the door they never saw him coming. He hacked down the first from behind, sending the dying creature crashing into the others. All three went down in a tangle, and Tormjere killed each as they attempted to rise.

  “You’re safe for now!” he shouted into the building, then continued down the street without waiting for a response.

  As he drew nearer the keep, the smoke cleared, and he got a good look at what awaited him. The keep itself was small and square, and the outer bailey no higher than the buildings surrounding it. Soldiers fought along the length of the wall to repel the goblins. Rather than scaling ladders, the goblins were stacking crates and stolen furniture in piles to try and reach the top of the wall, but the defense appeared to be holding.

  Goblin archers had gained the roof of a burgher’s home nearby and were lobbing arrows into the compound. Screams of pain from inside the walls meant that at least some were finding their mark.

  There was no way Tormjere could reach the gate, but he might be able to do something about the archers. Altering course, he ran through the open door of the house.

  A goblin spun towards him in surprise, a fresh loaf of bread in each hand and its mouth stuffed full. It dropped one loaf and reached for an axe, but Tormjere was faster. He killed it and kept moving—fighting goblins was all about speed. It was a lesson he had learned early and never forgotten.

  Another goblin poked its head down from the upper floor to investigate. Spying Tormjere, it drew a knife and charged down the steps with a shout.

  Tormjere grabbed a nearby pot and threw it at the creature to slow its approach. The goblin avoided the makeshift missile and dove from the steps at his head. He managed to duck the slashing knife, but the creature’s sharp nails raked painfully across his shoulder. He shoved the flailing goblin off before it could gain hold. It landed hard and rolled to a crouch, but by then Tormjere had his sword ready. A well-timed slash killed the goblin before it could rise.

  Tormjere inspected his bleeding shoulder. He should have waited for the goblin to reach the bottom of the stairs where his size would have given him a better advantage. Unhappy with his poor decision, he rushed up the stairs to sal
vage any momentum he could.

  Alerted by the sounds below, three goblins waited for him with steel in their hands. He never stopped moving, burying his sword in the first creature’s stomach before it could react. The goblin contorted in pain and doubled over, pulling his sword down with it.

  Tormjere let it fall with the goblin. There wasn’t room for the long blade here. The deer-hooved handle of his elvish knife seemed to almost leap into his hand, and he pressed his attack.

  Both remaining goblins descended on him, attempting to force him into a corner. He feinted at one and slashed at the other, then jumped atop a small table to gain space. Before he could bring his knife up, a hand wrapped around his ankle and jerked him to his knees. Tormjere stabbed the creature through the neck, and its hold on his leg loosened.

  With a snarl, the other goblin kicked the table, tipping it and sending Tormjere crashing to the floor. The small creature leapt over the table and landed on him heavily.

  The goblin fought like the animal it was, biting and clawing as they rolled across the floor, crashing into furnishings. Using a wall for leverage, Tormjere managed to pin one of the creature’s arms behind its back. It squirmed and howled, but he freed his knife and stabbed it through the heart.

  Tormjere untangled himself from the dead goblin and winced as he took a deep breath. Battered and bleeding, he recovered his sword and moved into the next room. Sunlight poured through a hole in the roof above, accompanied by the twang of bowstrings.

  He scrambled up the pile of furniture beneath the hole and hoisted himself onto the slanted tile roof. Three goblins stood near the edge, firing arrows towards the keep.

  The one closest barked something over its shoulder. When Tormjere didn’t answer, it turned to repeat the command. Its eyes widened as Tormjere crashed into it with his shoulder. The hapless creature tried desperately to grab him before tumbling over the edge with a screech and plummeting two stories to the cobblestone street below.

  Tormjere’s foot slipped on the slick tiles, allowing the next goblin time to drop its bow and rush at him with an axe. Off balance, his wild swipe was easily dodged by the creature, leaving him staring directly at a recurved bow drawn fully back.