The sharp sting of adrenaline from the brief, brutal skirmish faded, leaving William acutely aware of the grim symphony playing out around him. Sharwood was bleeding smoke. Flames still clawed greedily at the charred skeletons of warehouses and homes along the eastern edge, casting flickering, hellish light on the desperate, frantic efforts of militia and townspeople battling the blaze with buckets and dwindling hope. The air was thick, tasting of bitter ash, stinging the eyes, coating the back of the throat. A pall of exhaustion, fear, and shock hung heavy over the survivors, only partially lifted by the relief of their sudden rescue.
Captain Oswald stood amidst the organized chaos near the sputtering town well, leaning on his sword like a crutch. Soot was ground into the lines on his face, his scorched cuirass was dented, but his eyes, though bloodshot and weary, held a spark of fierce determination as he watched his people fight the fires. He looked up as Sir Roland, Julia, and William approached, Caspian hovering a few anxious paces behind, clutching his amulet.
“Your timing was… heaven sent, Sir Roland,” Oswald managed, his voice rough and raspy from smoke. He gave a tired, grateful nod. “Another hour… they might have breached the inner stores. We were fighting goblins and fires. Spread too thin.”
Roland’s gaze swept the devastation, the burning buildings, the wounded being tended near the well, the exhausted faces of the bucket brigade. His expression was grim, analytical. “We had intelligence the Goblin King was concentrating his forces for a siege at Oakenfall, Captain. We weren’t anticipating… this level of activity here. What happened?”
Oswald scrubbed a soot-stained hand across his forehead, leaving muddy streaks. “That’s the damned puzzle, Sir Roland. It’s not like Oakenfall, not a siege. We’ve been harassed for days, ever since word of the siege came down. But it’s… chaotic. Disorganized, almost.” He gestured with his sword towards the dark line of Tallenwood. “Small raiding parties. Five, ten, never more. They hit fast, throw torches, ambush patrols, vanish back into the trees before we can mount a proper counter-attack.”
He kicked viciously at a smouldering timber. “Bloody hornets! Not trying to take the hive, just stinging, constantly. Keeping us off balance, running ragged. They prioritize targets for maximum disruption, food stores, the smithy, the stables last night. Anything to pull defenders away from the walls, tie up resources in damage control.” He sighed, a ragged, smoke-filled sound. “The few runners who got through from Oakenfall before the roads were cut reported the same pattern there. Constant harassment, probing attacks, day and night. No major assault. Just… bleeding us dry. Pinning the garrison.”
The team exchanged uneasy glances. Julia’s hand tightened into a fist. Caspian’s academic curiosity visibly shifted back to apprehension. Roland’s brow furrowed, his hand resting thoughtfully on the pommel of his sword. “Attrition,” he murmured, the pieces falling into a grim mosaic. “Coordinated attrition. He’s not aiming for swift conquest here or at Oakenfall. He’s using these attacks to pin Aver's forces, drain our attention, bleed our resources…”
“It’s strategically sophisticated,” Caspian interjected, his voice strained but analytical. “Goblins typically favour overwhelming force for immediate gain. This… sustained, multi-point harassment campaign, deliberately avoiding decisive engagement while achieving specific disruptive goals… it implies stringent command overriding base instincts. Discipline enforced by the Goblin King, Virrerk the Vile, serving a larger purpose.”
A distributed denial-of-service attack, William thought, the analogy clicking perfectly as he processed the incoming data streams. Oswald's first-hand report, Roland's tactical assessment, Caspian’s strategic analysis. The raids aren't the primary vector. They're nuisance packets, designed to flood defensive bandwidth, occupy system resources, mask the real payload delivery. He focused his intent, pushing mana – MP: 88/106 – into EMMA. Synthesize incoming intel: Oswald (Sharwood raids), Runner Reports (Oakenfall harassment), Jett (Deep woods patrols/movement observed). Cross-reference with known Tallenwood geography. Project probable enemy force distribution.
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The internal visualization flickered to life, mapping the known data onto the region. Angry red zones pulsed around Oakenfall and Sharwood, marking the high-intensity harassment zones. But EMMA, extrapolating movement vectors from the reports of disciplined forces moving away from these contested areas, painted a much larger, more ominous concentration deep within Tallenwood, a significant red smear indicating high probability of a major troop concentration moving steadily southwards, directly along the paths they had intended to take towards Lumenar.
William took a breath, forcing calm into his voice, translating the EMMA visualization. “Captain Oswald’s report confirms the pattern. These raids are tactical diversions, resource sinks. If the main force isn't committed here or at Oakenfall…” He looked directly at Roland, the grim conclusion unavoidable. “Then I suspect they are almost certainly deployed further south, likely establishing a corridor through Tallenwood directly towards the Lumenar border region. The harassment is cover for that primary troop movement.”
The implication landed like a physical blow. Their planned route, the established southern trails Jett knew, chosen specifically to avoid the Oakenfall siege, now led directly into the path of the main goblin army. Project timeline meets critical dependency failure, William thought grimly. Designated pathway is lethally compromised. Requires immediate strategic rerouting. Probability of mission success via original plan: Zero.
He voiced the obvious, fatal flaw. “We were relying on Virrerk the Vile and his army being occupied at Oakenfall. If his main army is already positioned between us and Lumenar, using the known southern trails is suicide. We'd walk straight into their lines. We’d be detected and overwhelmed long before reaching the elves.”
Oswald nodded heavily, his face grim confirmation. “Our scouts haven't risked going deep enough for numbers, too many goblin patrols now, moving with discipline we've never seen. But they confirm a large, organized force moving south, well past the usual hunting grounds. If that army had turned its attention here…” He didn’t need to finish. Sharwood would be a crater.
A heavy silence descended, thick with smoke and the weight of their suddenly invalidated plan. The mission, already a long shot, now seemed statistically impossible via conventional means.
Roland, however, wasn't one for despair. His focus sharpened, shifting immediately from assessment to problem-solving. He turned back to Oswald, his gaze intense, the earlier relief replaced by urgent necessity. “Captain,” his voice was low, cutting through the background chaos. “Our mission objective is Lumenar. We must reach their border, and we must do it undetected. Urgently. William's assessment seems correct, the standard southern routes through Tallenwood are blocked.”
He leaned closer, the gravity of the situation etched onto his face. “You grew up here. You know these woods, this region, better than any map from the capital. We cannot risk engaging the main goblin army. We need another way. An alternative path south through Tallenwood from Sharwood.” His eyes bored into Oswald’s. “An old smugglers’ route? A forgotten hunters' track? Ancient logging trails? Anything that bypasses the main concentration?” He held Oswald’s gaze, the fate of their mission, and potentially far more, hanging on the answer. “Think, man. Is there any other way?”
The weight of the question settled onto the weary militia captain's shoulders. He looked from Roland’s demanding stare to the anxious, hopeful faces of Julia, Caspian, and William, the kingdom’s desperate gamble suddenly reliant on the forgotten secrets of his local woods.
