Hel’kesh, chieftain of the red tooth clan woke to the sound of feet moving through the grass. He had always been a light sleeper, a side effect of the rampant paranoia he had been afflicted with ever since killing the former chieftain. A female entered the tent and froze as his dagger kissed her throat.

  The female paled as several drops of blood ran down her fur. Hel’kesh withdrew the dagger once he recognised his ‘attacker’ as one of the females who sometimes warmed his bed. His mouth opened in a displeased snarl.

  “You dare enter my tent without permission?”

  The terrified female pointed a shaking finger over her shoulder. A large satyr wearing a chainmail vest and plate gloves stood in the opening. Hel’kesh shoved the terrified female to the ground and then growled at the figure.

  “What do you want, son?”

  Opal’kesh, second of his sons lowered his head slightly in a sign of submission before replying.

  “The scouts have returned, chieftain, I think you will want to judge their words for yourself.”

  Hel’kesh frowned at his son. Opal’kesh had been third in rank in their tribe until, Ilay’kesh, his first born, had disappeared three days ago. Now that he was second in rank, he was expected to rule the clan in his father’s absence, such as when he slept. Him choosing to wake his father and thus give up power could only mean one thing, they’d found Ilay’kesh.

  Hel’kesh followed his son to a campfire where three satyrs were busy eating their fill. He recognised them as the scouting party he had sent out three days ago to look for a raiding party lead by his fourth son. The satyr scouts shot to their feet once they saw him. Hel’kesh face darkened as he saw the charred hand of a dead human fall to the ground. Food for their tribe had been scarce of late and such waste could not be tolerated.

  He glanced sideways at Opal’kesh and his son didn’t miss a beat, he ordered a nearby warrior to take the scout who’d dropped the hand for a lashing.

  Hel’kesh looked at the taller of the two remaining scouts.

  “Speak.”

  The satyr looked nervous which likely meant the news was bad. Afraid he might end up being blamed for the bad news the satyr assumed a submissive pose as he made his report.

  “We managed to track down the scent of Ilay’kesh and his raiding party to a place several days northeast. When we arrived, we found several human made wagons and carriages which had been abandoned. We also found the charred remains of several humans and satyr. It was my belief that Ilay’kesh had attacked a trading caravan and was enjoying the spoils of his victory when he was attacked by a superior force.”

  Hel’kesh’s growled.

  “Are you telling me that my son and his entire raiding party was slain!?”

  The satyr who’d spoke fell to his knees and put his head against the ground. And when he spoke, his voice was had taken on the whine of a female. It was the ultimate show of submission and one the satyr was unlikely to recover from anytime soon.

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  “Yes chieftain, I could not find the scent of any living satyrs in the area, only the stale scent of satyr blood.”

  Hel’kesh’s eyes blazed with sudden magical power as he inadvertently activated his tribal magic. The power had been gift bought with the life of his first-born son so many years ago from the strange scentless being which had come from the strange clan known as the ‘concordium’. It was also the power he had used to slay the former chieftain and any challengers to his rule since that day.

  “Where did the scent of our fallen kin lead you?!”

  “We followed the scent back to the place where the prey lives within their wooden walls.”

  Hel’kesh’s murderous glare morphed into a confused frown. He knew very well which town his scout was speaking of. It was part of a large kingdom they occasionally skirmished with. But as far as he knew this particular town didn’t have more than a handful of warriors they could call upon. They had never once followed any of the raiding parties he sent to test the town and its defences. Clearly something had changed.

  “How can you be certain these humans slew Ilay’kesh?”

  The satyr gulped audibly and did his best to remain submissive as he delivered the horrible news he carried.

  “When we reached the edge of the forest we found a row of spiked heads, one of the heads bore the scent of Ilay’kesh.”

  Hel’kesh howled loud enough to send nearby birds flying into the air. His magic responded to his rage and lashed out to destroy the scout. By the time his howl ended the scout’s body had been reduced to a bloody mess of bones and flesh.

  Hel’kesh whirled upon his son and the other satyr took several steps back in alarm.

  “Gather the clan! We strike at once!”

  His son’s eyes went wide.

  “The entire clan? Even the females and the pups?”

  “They will follow in our wake, once we eradicate the humans they will share in the feast and our numbers will grow yet again.”

  The satyr’s face twisted into a grin and within the hour several thousand satyrs began moving towards Willowford.

  Milo was trying and failing to look confident as he struggled to control his new horse. The beast was one of a handful Haldor had demanded for every leader in their new army. What he had failed to mention however was that breed of warhorse native to Lilith’s realm was famous for their poor temper.

  Ivy snickered as she watched him struggle.

  “I thought you said you knew how to ride a horse.”

  Milo glared at her. It wasn’t like he had lied to impress her, he truly did know how to ride a horse, or at least he thought he did.

  “I went on a holiday to Iceland a few years ago, they had these short horses they would use to teach tourists how to ride. I assumed the skills I learned back then were transferable to a warhorse…”

  Ivy leaned forward and stroked the side of her horse’s head, then she produced an apple which the beast happily gobbled up. She clearly had a way with the animals.

  “Will you teach me?”

  Ivy was only too happy to oblige him. He felt a bit silly taking horse riding lessons in front of fifty hybrids who were watching his every move as if he were some sort of evil emperor. Ever since he had used his new brainwashing ability not a single hybrid had even dared to speak out of turn. Only Lizbeth, Haldor and Ivy were still treating him as normal which was why he had brought the latter two with him on his return journey to Willowford although neither strictly needed to come. As for Ivy’s master, the newly arrived Lily, she had given Milo the stink eye before taking her small force of twenty shadow stalkers in hand and vanishing. According to Ivy her master was already busy mapping the region.

  As Ivy taught him the finer points of horsemanship Milo found himself wondering how the people of Willowford would react to the arrival of his little army. He expected lukewarm welcome but foresaw that once he provided their town with a proper wall, they might change their minds, at least that was his hope. And if all that failed, he had also brought along the notorious Rosanna. The curvy elementalist had reacted poorly when Haldor had refused to give her one of the horses and she was currently alternating between glaring at Ivy and Haldor.

  Once again, the journey between their settlement and Willowford seemed like it would go off without a problem. That was until one of the shadow stalkers returned with an arrow in her back on a bloody horse. The woman was one of the scouts Ivy had sent ahead, she collapsed off her horse the moment she reached them.

  Haldor immediately took charge of the situation and started bellowing orders.

  “Warriors to vanguard position! Elementalists to the rear! Rosanna with me!”

  Rosanna looked like she might refuse but one look from Milo changed her mind. She rushed forward and started tending to the wounded scout. Haldor didn’t wait for the healing to finish.

  “Report!”

  The scout groaned with pain and her voice was weak.

  “Large band of satyr raiders, several thousand strong, they ambushed me just outside Willowford. The town is on fire, I think it’s under attack.”

  Haldor rose to his feet and locked eyes with Milo. They were about thirty minutes away from Willowford at best speed. Haldor voiced the cold question Milo didn’t want to ask aloud.

  “The town might already be wiped out by the time we get there, do we turn around?”

  Milo looked back at their little army. It was a potent force to be sure, but was it enough to take on what sounded like every satyr in the forest?

  “Can we take them if we get there in time?”

  “If this force was all we had at our disposal? Probably not, but your crown opens additional options.”

  They had just 13 000 spirit essence left, enough to summon 13 hybrids or 52 demon soldiers. Probably not enough to turn the tide, but they would also be earning spirit essence with every satyr they slew. If they could keep the army from collapsing, he could keep reinforcements coming indefinitely. The longer the fight lasted the more certain their victory would be.

  Milo made his decision and spent every shred of spirit essence left to double their numbers.

  “Let’s do this.”