I watched the construction crew finish the barbican later in the week. While half disassembled the supports and scaffolding, the others fitted the outer doors over its entrance and exit portals. Ally spent the day aligning their hinges and consulting with Rory and Fin on minor adjustments.

  The settlement’s interface detailed the impending completion.

  When the gang started carrying and stacking timber, I chipped in. Building things wasn’t my forte, but I could mimic simple tasks. It showed poor form for someone with my strength to stand idle while others labored.

  When construction finished, the refrigerator-sized slate-blue granite blocks darkened and smoothed into a shiny surface reflecting the hazy afternoon skies. Brass fixtures sprang from the tower, unfurling long, green banners bearing the silhouette of a hawk flying over a castle. The building’s description showed a structural point increase of 1,000, and it inflicted a -10 percent penalty for militias assaulting it by force. It wasn’t a game changer, but the orange core added a little hot sauce to the recipe.

  Alarm and amazement echoed amongst the workers.

  Rory dropped his hammer on his foot.

  Ida, standing outside the manor to watch the final touches, gasped. “What in the moons?”

  Ally caught her astonishment. “Have you forgotten? I installed the core the Guv won from someone named Odum. It has bonuses for vanity and dominance.”

  Ally christened it by hurling a small sandstone block at a cornerstone. “With this yocker, I declare thee solid!” When the sandstone broke, she raised her arms and turned to the crowd, who cheered and clapped. The ceremony’s meaning became clear—she expected the barbican to be a steadfast building.

  “Where did we get sandstone? That’s not from around here, is it?”

  Ally clapped her hands to wipe off the grit. “Nay. We brought it from Grayton, I think. I forgot a glassworks is a tier 4 building, so our sandstone does naught but gather moss.”

  Ally hollered to her crew. “Maggie, get the girls going on the temple. Greenie has already staked a bonnie location by the flag. Murdina, you and Hugo get the animals inside. See how they take to it. The rest of you, break off for the day.”

  Turning to me, Ally explained. “Temple is pure stone. The quarry lasses will need a head start before the lads can move the blocks into place. Come on, then. I’ll show ye around.” Ally beckoned me into the barbican for a tour. I’d seen many iterations of its design on parchment but couldn’t recall Greenie’s final blueprint.

  The barbican looked like something between an overblown gatehouse and a simplified castle, whose ground floor sported various openings on interior walls. Its entrance faced west instead of north, featuring a drawbridge spanning the 20-foot-deep quarry surrounding the structure. The exit, which would meet Hawkhurst’s main castle one day, had no such drawbridge, making it inaccessible to anyone unable to bridge the quarry. Doors on adjacent walls forced interlopers to turn 90 degrees inside, limiting the length of battering rams.

  A heavy set of doors and portcullis guarded both openings. Ally noticed me admiring the iron studs in the door and gate as we passed, and commented on her work. “That bonny Protection bonus applies to wooden fixtures. That’s why the gnolls never set fire to the roundhouses.”

  “They tried to burn down our buildings?”

  “Aye, when Lloyd was guv. But the flames never took.”

  “I never knew that.”

  A wall with an iron gate I recognized from the goblin mine divided the ground floor into two triangles. Small arrow slits covered the wall’s surface. Bales of hay, buckets, and other livery equipment filled the room beyond the gate. “That doesn’t look big enough for all our animals.

  “That side is for the sheep and torodons. The horses stay here, in the main thoroughfare.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We don’t need to protect the exit until we build the rest of the castle, so we converted the passage into a corral.”

  I nodded. “And the way to the second floor is through the iron gate.”

  “Aye. There’s a narrow wooden stair that folks on the second floor can pull up in times of trouble.” Ally smacked a bulging corner between the main entrance and exit. “Counterweights for the portcullises hang inside this wall. And the well lies in the opposite corner.”

  “This gatehouse has a well?”

  “Aye and nay. Come with me, I’ll show ye.” Ally led me through the gate into the other triangular room and showed me a shaft ending in a pool of water. “The river’s current feeds and circulates our supply, keeping it fresh and sparkly.”

  Ally made her way up the hinged stairway to the middle floor, leading me to what looked like a giant storeroom. Shelves filled with blankets and bedding took up most of the center floor space. Ally flipped up a small trapdoor and pointed through it. “Murder holes let us rain arrows on anyone beneath us. Arrow slits cover the western and northern walls, but a few overlooks the river and lake. I gave each vantage an obligatory gaze, admiring the views and sight lines.

  A larger arrow slit in the northwest corner caught my attention. “Why is this corner so big?”

  “The hitch about square towers is the corners give blind spots to defenders. This opening provides an unobstructed view of the town and approach to the castle.”

  The second story’s expansive wooden floor didn’t creak when we walked across it, partly because of its robust construction and the ground floor walls supporting it.

  Ally showed how a single person could raise the stairs to the middle floor, a testament to the perfect counterweight.

  We climbed another removable flight of stairs to the roof.

  Braziers and barrels congested the floorspace, and crenelated stone teeth lined the parapets, making the place look eager for a siege. I went to the southeast corner and took in the view. From above, the river looked dark and muddy, quite unlike its ground-level appearance, whose surface pleasantly sparkled with reflections. From this height, I saw the meadow’s tree line miles away, and the vantage point made the trees somehow look bigger.

  Beaker nestled into one of the two raised platforms in the center, looking like a sculpture on a pedestal.

  “Those aren’t griffon nests, pal. You’ll need to move when Greenie finishes his war machines.”

  Ally beamed with pride. “Greenie is busy testing components to validate his blueprints. Aside from orcs, Hawkhurst will be the only fortress with such devices.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  I walked to the roof’s opposite corner and saw Maggie directing her quarry crew around the site of the new temple. They worked carefully around the memorial stones. Seeing it from above made me want to fill the cavities we created around the flagpole with dirt and make a fine park overlooking the water.

  “You have outdone yourself, Ally. Hawkhurst is safe. I can’t wait until I see the new efficiency ratings.”

  Greenie had designed a remarkable fortress—and the result of his blueprint laid to rest any doubts Sune Njal could cast upon his character. He was undoubtedly a goblin I could trust, and I made a mental note to compliment him on his new building.

  After Forren got her temple, I might return to goblin country. But if Rezan discovered our location, he probably wouldn’t do anything destructive—his relic augmented healing, not damage. If he’d unlocked offensive light magic spells, he would have used them against me in the goblin tunnels.

  The goblins’ only means for destroying buildings involved undermining them, but that wasn’t possible on Hawkhurst Rock, where the barbican stood.

  I scanned the ground, far below. I doubted the goblins could do anything from down there. Even if they attacked, they’d have to break during the daytime, and whoever heard of a 12-hour siege?

  With goblins still threatening us, I needed to be around and devote myself to training in the battle college. By ranking up to 29 in combat skills, I might unlock something that might help against Rezan.

  The temple construction began a day later than planned because Captain Jourdain ran settlement-wide battle drills for falling back to the barbican. With Lloyd in the watchtower, even the mercenaries and loggers had enough time to reach safety. The only horses not in the barbican’s belly were scouts’ mounts and the horse Lloyd tethered to his perch.

  We even piled a bundle of dry leaves by Forren’s idol, perhaps the town’s most essential object, to signal that someone had secured it. If we didn’t see smoke, we knew someone needed to retrieve it.

  Beaker proved to be as useless as ever. I couldn’t get him to make a noise on command. Neither voice commands, hand signals, nor telepathy could get him to sound an alarm. He didn’t understand the idea of making noise until he saw signs of danger. Perhaps his instincts would kick in when he finally spotted goblins. Aside from crowing near sundown, his noises remained random in timing and volume.

  Once everyone understood the procedure for getting to the barbican, we spent the afternoon reviewing tower defense basics. Fort Krek soldiers and the Sternway mercenaries took positions along the perimeter while others fed them with arrows and loaded crossbows. Fletching had become one of the full-time preparation tasks, and we’d accumulated nearly a thousand arrows.

  By the end of drill day, Hawkhurst established its emergency response. We felt undoubtedly more secure than most villages in the West, although the comparisons were moot—western cities nowadays had little to fear from goblins.

  The barbican and battle drills infused the town’s security rating—bumping it up to 95 percent. Other strange improvements appeared in the town morale interface when Maggie’s quarry crew and their families moved into the barbican. It relieved crowding in the roundhouses and improved our health and culture rating by a few points.

  The Temple’s build time wasn’t so bad. Between improvements in security, comfort, and culture, the town’s morale rating rocketed ten points, up to 57 percent. This improvement boosted the construction crew’s efficiency.

  The best part about building the temple involved its lack of metal components. Rory and Fin had time to work on their special furnace to smelt the darksteel. I volunteered to help with the endeavor, but Rory chased me away after I suggested it. He only trusted Fin to touch his new equipment.

  Once or twice a week, a caravan pulled into town. Some arrivals came unexpectedly, but we hosted every merchant who passed through. One procession from Grayton included two families looking to start farms. Two guards sent by Oscar joined the mercenary guild. The additions raised our population to 151. We gladly received them, inching our way to the 500 we needed for another settlement power point.

  Threats from orcs and goblins notwithstanding, things progressed well in Hawkhurst. Yula’s deep patrols returned with no news of orcs, nor had we detected goblin activity.

  Spending time in the battle college, I neared the point where Dino and I could spot each other’s tells, ending most of our bouts in draws. Not once could I defeat him.

  In practicing with longswords, I found thrusting delivered heavier hits. Handguards protected and improved my grip, making me wish axes and maces had similar features. Dino had long since chastened me about using my spear as a bo staff, swinging it like a bludgeoning instrument. He permitted me to use it in a pinch but not as a preferred tactic.

  We practiced spins—the same theatrical move Dino taught us not to perform. When a blade gets snagged, spinning around opponents sometimes dislodges it while catching them off guard. It made for a dangerous maneuver, but not more so than having a weapon hooked onto something.

  Greenie interrupted my training with news of a letter from Fabulosa addressed to me. After apologizing to Dino for skipping the rest of his lesson, I followed the goblin back to the manor to retrieve it.

  Greenie waited while I read the message. “May I ask, how goes Lieutenant Governor Fabulosa’s quest?”

  “Fab’s fine—she’s running around some place called The Ragged Hills.”

  Her most poignant mention included the drop in contestants. The last I checked, I counted 25 people still playing in The Great RPG Contest.

  As she had said, today’s player count fell by three.

  I entertained scenarios in my head. Would all enemy players be terrible at melee? I imagined facing off against multiple players and couldn’t believe it would be as easy as she described. Had Dino’s training been that helpful?

  It had been a while since I last checked the player count. With Clootie, Treebiter, and Wetbottomz out of the picture, the names to watch included Fabulosa and Skullcaps.

  The collapsing numbers drew me into thoughts about the contest. Clashing enemies merged loot into a rich-get-richer dynamic. Magic gear made fight mechanics too complicated to predict. And here I lived, out in the boonies, picking fights with an unkillable goblin.

  Fabulosa’s strategy wasn’t crazy. Maybe tracking down enemy players seemed the right way to go. On my way to the blacksmiths, I sent her a letter giving the town’s status. I kept my message neutral and resisted the urge to ask for help. If my new sword solved our Rezan problem, my partner’s help might not be necessary. Besides, begging for help wasn’t becoming.

  Fabulosa had passed on the opportunity to battle goblins. I had to respect that.