Westfall Pass, one of the few routes to the valley that contained The Twin Towns of Kwent, was normally quite windy, and today was no exception. The mountains of the valley constrained the winds blowing through the pass and caused the constant rustling of the trees that grew under the shadow of the mountains.

In fact, as Frances, Martin and Elizabeth approached the highest point of the road between the two mountains, they found their ears filled with the noisy dance of leaves in the breeze. The howling wind acted as the trees’ orchestra.

It made for a nervous ride with the trio constantly trying to peek into the forest flanking them. Yet, the thick boughs of green cast dark shadows that left far too much to the imagination and not enough to see.

“So, do you have any tips about fighting goblins?” Elizabeth asked.

Frances pulled her horse to a stop. “Elizabeth, are you trained in mounted combat?”

“A little,” Elizabeth said with a wince.

“Then I would suggest you dismount. Goblins are really short and staying on a horse could be dangerous,” Frances said. She smoothly kicked her leg over her saddle and dismounted.

As she landed her boots slapped against the paving stones that made up the road that ran between Kwent, all the way to Erisdale. In peacetime, the road formed part of a highly lucrative trade route between the Kingdoms of Erisdale and Alavaria. The war had turned the road into the axis of the Erisdalian-Alavarian frontline.

“Don’t panic, or charge at them,” added Martin from his horse, his spear raised and ready. “I can trample over any groups of goblins as my warhorse is trained. You have to protect Frances on foot.”

“Got it.” Elizabeth hefted her war hammer. “Do you see the convoy yet, Martin?”

Martin peered down the road which slowly stretched across from him, snaking down under the shadow mountains and cutting through the woods that dotted the mountains lower slopes.

The road that snaked through this pass led into the Erisdalian county of Leipmont. In the distance, he could see a slowly rising dust cloud. He followed it down to a group of wagons.

The knight checked the position of the sun in the sky. “I think they’re late, but they’re coming. I give it two hours before they’re here.”

“Oh, well, at least they’re fine,” said Elizabeth, her grip relaxing.

Frances frowned, her eyes still scanning the trees around them. “Martin, do you think we should go ahead and join with the supply caravan?”

Martin pursed his lips. “Good idea. I don’t like just sitting here in the open road like this with just three people. We’re almost seven hours riding away from the camp too.”

“Weren’t our orders to meet with the supply caravan here, though?” Elizabeth asked.

Frances thought back to what Earl Darius told them. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything in their orders forbidding them from not intercepting the caravan.

“I’m going to mirror message Bernard, Earl Darius’s court mage and aide-de-camp.” Frances reached down to her a pouch on her belt and pulled out the hand-mirror that Edana had given her for her fifteenth birthday. With practiced ease, she opened the clasp and flipped it open so she could see her own reflection.

“We’ll cover you,” said Elizabeth, moving to take up a position behind Frances. Martin nudged his horse so he was shielding Frances from the front.

Frances blinked and found herself smiling. “Thanks.” She took a deep breath, focused her eyes on the mirror, sang while imagining Bernard in her mind. Clear, chiming notes filled the air and were carried by the wind into the blue sky.

The face ruddy, the blonde-haired man faded into existence on the mirror, replacing her reflection.

“Ah, Frances, is there a problem?” Bernard asked in a raspy voice that belied his complexion.

“A small one sir. We’ve reached Westfall Pass but the caravan is significantly late. We can see it approaching. With your permission, we would like to head to meet it.”

Bernard frowned. “How far away are they?”

Frances glanced up at Martin. “Martin, how far away?”

“Two hours march,” the knight said. He was loud enough that Bernard’s expression in the mirror morphed into one of annoyed disbelief.

“Seriously? I’m going to have to ask Earl Forowena to start knocking heads together. Alright, if that’s the situation, go ahead and join the caravan. Thank you for informing me,” Bernard said wearily.

“Thank you, Master Bernard,” said Frances. She closed her mirror and pocketed it.

“Right, let’s get going,” said Elizabeth, walking to her horse.

Frances nodded and made for her mare as well, though, she kept her wand in hand.

She had just grabbed the saddlehorn of her mare with her free hand when she caught a glint of light in the forest in front of her.

Frances didn’t think, she whipped her wand up and sang the E note. The note rang like a booming bell and reality warped to the image she held in her head, causing a compressed blast of wind to crash into the underbrush, flattening bushes and foliage to reveal a goblin.

Frances’s spell hit the two and a half feet creature in the chest and flung it backward. He slammed into the tree, eyes rolling inside its skull. The spell also knocked a short arquebus—an early gun that she had increasingly seen used by both fae-kin and humans—from his grasp. It had been its polished barrel that she’d seen.

In an instant, howls filled the underbrush, and Frances screamed, “Ambush!”

But even as she began the spell for a shield, arrows flew from both sides of the forest. She screamed out another note, trying to call upwind to knock the arrows aside, but she felt shafts slam into her back and front. She felt no pain as goblin bows were small and not powerful enough to pierce her quilted jacket, but the small shafts stuck to her jacket like someone had glued a bunch of wooden skewers to her.

“Frances! Oh my God!” Elizabeth screamed, rushing to her friend. Her horse and Frances’s had bolted and were running for the camp.

“I’m alright! Get your visor down!” Frances exclaimed. Elizabeth slapped her visor down as Frances looked around for Martin. “Martin? Martin!”

The knight was fighting with his horse, which was bleeding from several arrows embedded into its skin. Grunting, Martin scowled. “I’m fine! We need to run—”

Two cracks cut through the air. Elizabeth screamed from behind her. Martin’s horse whinnied and collapsed, the knight flailing as he was thrown from the saddle. Squealing war cries filled the air and Frances could see the foliage ruffle. Martin was thrown clear and was pulling himself up already, so Frances spun around to see Elizabeth.

Her friend was clutching her left arm, wide-eyed, as blood trickled down it, painting the chainmail red. “Frances, um, I think I’ve been shot,” Elizabeth said in disbelief.

With her left arm, Frances reached into one of her pouches and pulled out a roll of bandages. With her right arm, wand still in her hand, she pried open Elizabeth’s fingers. It was a graze, the chain mail was ripped open but she could see a gash rather than a hole. “Hold still!”

Frances pressed her wand to the wound and sang a quick motif, a less powerful, but shortened version of a wound-mending spell that she’d committed to her memory. Skin knitted quickly over the flesh.

“They’re coming!” Martin cried out, sword in hand.

Goblins swarmed out from the trees. Frances counted ten, no, twenty and they kept coming. They were short, the tallest was around three feet, but they all held spears and nasty looking daggers. They wore an assortment of protective gear, ranging from quilted gambesons to small breastplates, and from leather caps to pot helmets.

“Back to back!” Martin snapped.

Elizabeth and Frances scrambled to Martin, and they formed a rough triangle as the horde rushed towards them.

Elizabeth blocked a goblin’s stab with her wooden shield. She instinctively lashed out with her warhammer. The goblin tried to jump back, but it wasn’t fast enough and the hammer’s flat smacked it on the pot helmet’s head. The thin steel caved in and the goblin collapsed in a heap.

She stared at the corpse through the slit in her visor. She’d just killed a living thing. What would her parents think? What would her God think? What would her friends think...

“Elizabeth!” Frances screamed. A cone of fire-filled Elizabeth’s vision and the three goblins that were charging at her were engulfed in flames, their spears and axes falling to the ground. The screams of the goblins dancing in the fires stunned Elizabeth. It was like a movie, but she knew it was all too real.

Frances grunted, drawing Elizabeth’s attention, and she realized that not only were there a pincushion’s worth of arrows sticking out from her friend’s quilted jacket, but a goblin had also stabbed a spear into her shin.

Even as blood poured from her right leg, Frances trying to kick the goblin away with her left leg, whilst somehow still singing.

Elizabeth was moving before her feet realized it. Her warhammer swung and caught the goblin in the back, crushing his skull. “Frances are you—”

Frances raised her wand over Elizabeth’s shoulder and a bolt of lightning spat from her brownish-purple wand. The thunderous boom deafened Elizabeth’s ears and a white-hot beam of plasma spat from the wand through the wave of advancing goblins, cutting a swathe through them. Many were thrown away by the force of the lightning, whilst others screamed and fell, burning or smoking.

“I’m fine! Watch Martin’s back!” Frances cried out from between clenched teeth. Elizabeth blinked and ears still ringing, she spun around just in time to see a goblin going for Martin’s back. She smashed the little green fae off his feet with her shield boss and immediately faced the next goblin.

“Frances, Elizabeth, talk to me!” bellowed Martin. The goblins were trying to crowd him, keeping just out of the reach of his arming sword, before rushing him, two or three at a time. Wielding his sword in both hands, Martin used quick chops and cuts precisely aimed to parry before quickly dispatching the goblins, allowing his chainmail and plate armour to take the hits. With his vision limited by the slit in his visor however, his ears filled with the roar of his own blood, Martin couldn’t really tell how his companions were doing.

“I’m fine, Frances’s leg is hurt,” said Elizabeth. From the corner of his visor, Martin saw her swing with inhumanly fast speed at a goblin, who managed to raise his spear to block. However, Elizabeth's hammer smashed through the wood and crushed his chest.

Martin quickly had to turn his attention back to his front. Four goblins were facing him, spears at the ready, but they were just staying out of his reach. He stepped forward and they danced back. He took a step back, the goblins scurried forward.

“They’re keeping me occupied but I can’t get at them without exposing you!” Martin cursed.

He heard Frances cry out a tune with a slow, swaying, almost dance-like melody. The road shook, the paved stones trembling. Martin could see the goblin’s eyes widen, and their mouths drop open with disbelief to reveal small, uncannily human-like teeth. He resisted the temptation to turn around, but he did move his head slightly.

Martin was met with the sight of a curved wall of packed earth intermixed with stone from the road that blocked Frances and Elizabeth off from any goblins. It was taller than ten feet and insurmountable to any goblin. The only opening was in front of where he—in all his armour—was standing.

“That is brilliant,” said Martin. He turned back to the goblins, smiling, and they, as if sensing his grin, slowly backed away. They still had their weapons ready and were glaring at him, but they didn’t advance.

Elizabeth's voice was cracking with worry. “Frances, you’re hurt." Martin froze, and worry coursed through his veins.

“Elizabeth, I’m fine. Help Martin hold the corral. I need to call for reinforcements,” Frances said. There was a strain in her voice, but also the strength to it that reassured Martin as he watched the goblins.

“You can't teleport us out, right? You said you just learnt the spell?” Elizabeth asked.

Frances shook her head, whimpering, "Sorry."

Martin sighed. Well, at least the goblins were still staying back, which was just fine with him. However, Martin suspected that the goblins were planning something.

“Whatever you’re doing, Frances, hurry, please. They’re up to something,” Martin said.

“Maybe they’re waiting for backup? Oh God, what do we do? We’re surrounded,” Elizabeth asked, taking a place to the left, and behind Martin.

Frances yanked out her hand mirror. “We’re going to be fine,” Frances said with practiced calm. She could remember how worried and afraid she was when she’d rescued Edana in what seemed like ages ago. Frances knew Elizabeth did not need to hear her worry, or hear the throbbing pain that pounded up her leg, sending tingles into her fingers. She wasn’t hurt fatally, but she knew the wound was deep.

She flipped the mirror open and sang for Bernard. His face swam into view and before he could ask, she spoke.

“Being ambushed, pinned down at Westfall. Goblins, two score at least. Please send help!”

Bernard’s eyes widened and he stared at her in silent horror for a second, until he shook himself from his stupor. “I’ll send some light cavalry. It’ll take some time, though, so hold on!”

A crack whipped through the air, the sound lashing Frances’s ears and making her snap the mirror shut. She spun in an attempt to find the source of the sound.

Martin was reeling back, one arm clutching his chest. He hit the ground with a heartrending thud, and his sword fell clattering onto the road’s stones.