Hawkhurst blacksmiths finished their bloomery, smelted the darksteel ore, and pounded out its impurities. Day after day, they toiled until the result convinced Rory he had enough alloy for a longsword.

  Rory ran his hand through his beard as he spoke. “I’ll admit, me hammer hasn’t kissed anything as tough as this darksteel. The anthracite coal gets it hot, but it’s a wee less liquid than I fancy. I’ve got to fold it to work off the slag.”

  “And slag is bad, right?”

  Fin nodded. “Aye. And the parts that don’t liquify need to be worked off the hard way—folding.”

  “Pure tough work it is. Enough, so I hand the job to Fin when I’m knackered.”

  Fin grinned at the mention of his inclusion.

  “Before ye ask, I don’t know how long it’ll take. Weeks probably. At least we’re done with the bloom and onto folding.” Rory presented an oversized hammer. “Fin made this for the job. It’s a wee heavier than I usually need but delivers a stout wallop.”

  I handed them the Artilith. “When you finish the sword, make sure you add this to it. It’ll spice up the recipe.”

  Rory turned the core and admired its facets. “Enough to make a mammoth sneeze. I’ll take care of your bauble. Don’t worry about that. This will be the finest blade in the land—only don’t rush me.”

  I held up my hands. “You have my word.”

  I couldn’t imagine how some of these bonuses might translate into a weapon, but after Fabulosa’s cape, I knew it would be good.

  My reply to Fabulosa’s message contained nothing about Hawkhurst’s fine new barbican or losing my equipment in Iremont. Instead, I recounted the goblin king’s prowess in battle, hoping she’d volunteer to come down with the basilisk egg and save the day. She’d been gone only a month, and I felt silly for hinting that I needed help.

  Aid wouldn’t come from my partner anyway. Fabulosa didn’t receive my message that afternoon or the days after. Without a mail system or Switching Gloves to communicate, I relied on watching the contest interface for updates about her expedition. Neither she nor Skullcap’s status changed.

  My focus on the Great RPG Contest switched to NPC matters. Ida and I discussed marketplace booth rotations at the manor when Jahid and Val appeared out of breath in the doorway.

  I acknowledge them. “Hey, boys. What’s up?”

  Jahid saluted. “Good evening, sir, ma’am. Val and I came across an orc campsite about 25 miles north. We followed their trail to Iremont, where they doubled back and returned to the river.”

  “Are they gone?”

  Val nodded. “They must have concealed a canoe in the bushes, sir. And they hid their footprints on the riverbank.”

  As Ida and I digested the news, Jahid added his analysis. “By the lay of their path, this looked like a mission. The trio we followed went straight to Iremont, climbed, and explored the top before returning home. We found a dwelling on the plateau.”

  Val’s lip curled in disbelief that the esteemed Sune Njal lived in such slovenly conditions. “Sir, was that really the Pentarch’s home?”

  I nodded, pondering the ramifications of orc involvement. “Are you guys off-duty?”

  The pair nodded, but Jahid spoke. “We just returned.”

  “Get some chow. Rocky ought to still have leftovers available. I’ll find Thaxter and Jourdain.”

  Val nodded appreciably. “Thank you, sir. The captain sent for Commander Thaxter when we gave our report. They should both be in the barracks.”

  Ida deferred to my expertise in combat, but I urged her to come with me. As lieutenant governor, she needed involvement in security. We made for the barracks while the soldiers sought food in the town hall. We found Captain Jourdain and the commander downstairs at a table beside the empty jail. I still fought the impulse to refer to Thaxter by his emeritus title—commander.

  Captain Jourdain offered Ida a chair. “I assume you’ve heard?”

  I sat down last. “Your boys gave us the gist. What do you think a few orc scouts mean?”

  The captain looked to Thaxter, who shrugged. “It could be nothing. Iremont smoked for nearly a week—it surprised me it took the orcs this long to investigate.”

  Ida asked the next question. “Could we tell how old the trail was?”

  Captain Jourdain nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Judging by their campfires, we followed only days behind. We could have easily crossed paths.”

  I grunted. “That’s a shame. The last thing we want is for orcs to sniff around our business. From Iremont, I could see Hawkhurst—at least, with my human eyes.”

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  Thaxter leaned back in his chair. “Then the scouts saw us. Their eyes are keen. However, I don’t share Commander Yula’s enthusiasm for making contact. Orc scouts are no pushovers. Despite Val and Jahid’s field experience, we might not have their report if the two parties met.”

  “You don’t think the emperor will take it as an affront that humans settled across the river?”

  “Not as much as Fort Krek—which doesn’t have dwarven engineers building its defenses. No offense to Hawkhurst, but Krek is a closer and larger target—and conquering it carries more esteem. Their knowing of our whereabouts shouldn’t be a problem. Even though we’re on both sides of the river, we’re too far south to be a bother.”

  Ida and I asked hypothetical questions, but neither officer thought we could do anything about the situation. They could think of no reason to panic, but that changed a few days later when Jahid and Rachel returned from patrol with news of a goblin army.

  Horse hooves clattering on Hawkhurst Rock woke me in the early morning. Through harsh whispers, I recognized Bernard’s voice. “Guv! Wake up. We’ve got gobs on the way.”

  When I arose, Beaker stretched his back legs across the warm spot, cooing to himself.

  “A fat load of good you’re turning out to be. If I have to get up, so do you. Come on, turkey. Let’s see what’s going on.”

  My pet clucked and buried his head deeper beneath his wing to shut out my voice.

  I sighed and called downstairs. “I’ll be down after I dress.”

  “Righto, Guv.”

  I grinned at how adept the Blane and Bernard had become on horseback. Bernard even upgraded from his pony to a full-grown horse. They greeted me outside the manor from their mounts. “Is everyone heading to the barbican?”

  The brothers looked at each other as if I had asked a silly question.

  Bernard lowered his voice. “What for? It’s morn. There’s nay gobs about in the daytime.”

  I grunted at his point, but we couldn’t be too careful.

  Blane gestured north. “Sorry, but the gobs aren’t here yet. Rachel spotted them and returned with the news. She’s at the barracks. We thought you’d want one of us to contact Iris.

  The barracks stood less than a mile away, but I thanked them before summoning and mounting Jasper.

  We galloped fast enough to send mud splattering.

  I considered sending for Greenie, but involving him in matters against his brother seemed too risky. It seemed a shame—he might help to interpret the enemy’s movements. I grunted at the complication of it all. Our engineer’s bonded promise constantly derailed my thought process.

  From the dwarves’ description, I expected Rachel sprawled out in her bunk, but she sat at the building’s mess table, slumped over an empty bowl of stew made from the barrack’s cooking facilities. Several soldiers sat behind empty bowls when I arrived.

  Rachel rested with her eyes closed. Everyone except her stood when I entered, but I quickly gave “at ease” orders.

  Captain Jourdain spoke before anyone. “Sir, Rachel saw them about 30 hours away, due north. About a thousand—at least half of which will be combatants. We considered rousing Lloyd to operate the tower, and he’s already up and at the shipyard. I can send for him at your word.”

  “Yes, captain. Put him on watch. We need all the warning we can get, and people will feel better seeing more radar on their settlement maps. Make sure he has a fresh horse hitched to the tower in case they show.”

  “I sent Lazaar, Ahmet, and Arikan to the barbican up north for more intel. They’re on horseback and will give us more updated information.”

  “Do the Sternways know?”

  “I sent Eren to Iris. The guild dispatched a guard detail to escort a caravan from Grayton yesterday, so they’re short-staffed.”

  A game notification appeared in my interface—a campaign.

  Rachel’s intel had been a little off. The campaign put the invading force closer to 700, but she’d done well by getting home as quickly as she did.

  Goblin Incursion’s reward offered twice as much as Winterbyte’s attack, leading me to believe it would be twice as difficult, and the flagging morale bothered me.

  Rachel spotted the goblins 30 hours ago, but how far had they traveled during her return? Would they travel only at night, or would the forest canopy allow them to press harder? They could be one or three nights away.

  I checked the temple’s construction status.

  The town’s 48 percent morale drop hadn’t done the temple’s progress any favors. News of the goblins brought a 15-point decline to Hawkhurst’s security rating—a modest reduction for such a sizable force. Still, we had 151 citizens on our side, many of whom had trained in the battle college thanks to Dino and our shiny new barbican.

  We came close to finishing the temple and adding a crucial tool to my arsenal—Holy Smoke. The blessing allowed me to turn gaseous within the settlement’s boundaries and reappear inside the temple, giving me an extra life if needed. Since the temple stood close to the barbican, it made sense to continue work, for the nocturnal invaders seemed incapable of preventing us from finishing the job. Perhaps we had enough time, after all.

  But squaring the town for a siege took precedence, forcing me to put the temple’s completion on the back burner. We locked away bedding, furniture, belongings, and tools in storehouses, stripping buildings of anything loose or vulnerable. The town hall also featured a heavy, barred door, so we left it intact. Perhaps we’d be able to use it for meals during the day.

  Anyone not assigned to the temple went from building to building, stowing things away to prepare for the storm. We first retrieved Forren’s idol. Without it in place, we couldn’t gain more favor. We’d accumulated over 14,000—not enough to rush the temple for anything more than a quarter of a day’s work, hardly worth the expenditure. Besides, I need the favor for blessings.

  The cost of bestowing blessings increased by 1,000 for every blessed follower. Only Fabulosa and I had blessings at the moment. I could give Glowing Coals to Ally, Ida, and Bernard Silverview for 2,000 + 3,000 + 4,000 favor, leaving barely enough for a 5,000 Holy Smoke purchase for myself.

  I would have given Glowing Coals to Yula, who outranked Bernard, but neither she nor Fort Krek’s top officers followed Forren. Bernard’s younger brother, Blane, would be jealous, but he’d have to get over it.

  Rory worked tirelessly on my sword. But the ugly lump of darksteel looked no closer to becoming a sword than any chunk of ore littering the smithy’s stores. The underground forge didn’t smell as much as the first smithy. When I found him working on the ore, I asked him about it. “Why doesn’t the forge stink as much as the above-ground one?”

  Rory didn’t look happy about seeing me checking up on him. “The canny air had naught to do with the forge.” He held a piece of anthracite coal to one of his wide nostrils and sniffed. He tossed it to me. “It’s the coal. No sulfurs when it roasts.”

  I smelled it but couldn’t detect anything—but perhaps that was his point.

  He shook his head in disgust. “Slag dust shakes off the nugget with every drap of me hammer. No sense in casting clatty metal.”

  “Is there any guess about how long—”

  “I’m as scunnered as ye, but it’ll be pure class when it’s clean. I hope we have enough anthracite. Otherwise, we’re stymied.”

  I handed back the coal and thanked the master blacksmith for his effort.

  Later that evening, Corporal Lazaar returned with news that the goblins would be in Hawkhurst the following evening, four days before completing the temple.

  With everyone busy with tasks, I resolved to spend my last day of freedom doing what best served our cause. I psyched myself up to meet the oncoming army head-on.