It was evening, and, at the fringes of the bandit camp, the waning light painted red every leaf and branch.

Huddled on a platform built between the branches of a large tree, two bandits guarded one of the paths that allowed safe passage through the trap maze. Both were swaddled in coarse furs and held covered lanterns and horns for sounding the alarm in case of emergency.

The two were in a bad mood. Doing the sentinel meant passing a cold night in the woods with nothing to do apart from staring at shadows. Not like they would complain: the last to do so had ended being flogged by the boss in front of everybody. Thankfully, they had food and waterskins full of beer. It tasted like piss but at least it would help to keep them warm.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the red-tinted air. The two went stiff, listening intently. The whistle formed a precise series of signals. The duo relaxed: it was the signal their boys used to make themselves known. One of the two got up and whistled back. The reply arrived swiftly. It seemed that Gus and his men had finally returned.

There was a silent stand-off as the two guards exchanged nods. Eventually, the younger of the two threw down a rope ladder and started descending, grumbling and cursing under his breath. The other sank back into his furs, thinking pleasant images of new loot to add to the pile. Who knows, maybe this time he’d manage to snag something without the boss noticing…

From his perch, he watched as his comrade jumped to the forest floor and ran toward a group of figures that had appeared from the rising gloom. There was an exchange of words, then the sentinel turned around and ran right back.

Frowning, the bandit stood up.

“It’s Gus and the boys,” his comrade called from beneath. “They’ve got some injured and need help to carry them.”

The bandit’s frown deepened. Injured? The assault was supposed to be a smooth affair. Who were the morons that managed to get injured?

Leaving the warmth of his furs with supreme unwillingness, the bandit scampered down the ladder. Together with his comrade, he jogged to the waiting group. Between the cowls they wore lowered on their faces and the rising shadows, he didn’t quite recognize the lot of them; but Gus, with his massive paunch and the constant wheezing, was unmistakable. In the light of twilight, the man’s red complexion positively glowed.

“Well met!” He called, cheerfully raising his lantern. “Blood for money, eh?”

His dark humor was received with a wave of smiles and small chuckles. Only Gus seemed wildly at unease, the fat man nodding with a strained smile while passing a stained rag over his sweat-covered forehead.

“Yeah yeah,” he babbled, “the dangers of the job, am I right?”

The bandit was off-put by that reaction. He exchanged an incredulous look with his comrade. The quartermaster had always been the boisterous, overbearing type. What was wrong with him now?

Maybe realizing their surprise, Gus was quick to speak again.

“Come on, don’t make me lose time now,” he said, his attempt at sounding assertive ending only in a weak stammer. “I have been walking all day…”

The guards exchanged another look but obeyed. It was an open secret that the Arrow had sent out the quartermaster to make him cool down. The most disenchanted, or maybe the most realist, said that the boss even hoped for the fat man to end up lame or even dead. Maybe that’s what had happened. It’d explain that sudden change of attitude. Well, it wasn’t a bad surprise after all. It would make getting some extra wine easier at the very least.

“Who’s the moron that managed to get shanked?” The bandit asked while he and his comrade walked to the group. “I bet it is Prill. It is Prill, right?”

Gus didn’t answer right away, and when the bandit asked again, the fat man jumped as he had just been stung.

“W-who? I mean, yes, it was him, yes yes…”

The bandit’s surprise redoubled. The quartermaster had to have been shanked pretty bad. Damn, he sounded like a scared girl!

“Hey, what’s up with Gus?” He murmured. “Did he get his dick cut off or something?”

He didn’t recognize the man he had spoken to, but the armor and the badge qualified him as one of the group without a doubt. Martin, maybe? He couldn’t be quite sure.

“It would have been difficult,” the man replied with an ironic smile. “How were they supposed to find it under all that lard?”

The bandit needed a moment to register the joke, and when he did he repressed a laugh.

“Oh, right! It’s better than armor with all that…”

Not him nor his comrade had noticed that, as they got close, the group had subtly fanned out to surround them. He never saw the blades that unerringly found the weak spots in his leather armor and then his heart. While he died on the spot, his comrade managed to cry out in surprise. There was a confused struggle, that ended as quickly as it had begun.

While the men dragged the corpses out of the way, one of them walked to a cringing Gus.

“Do that again and see what happens,” he hissed, grabbing the quartermaster by the collar.

“I-i tried my best!” The fat man squealed. Despite the height difference, he all but squirmed in the man’s grasp.

Tur gave him a good shake. “Do better,” he commanded. “The only reason you’re still alive is that we have a use for you. Keep this shit up and maybe we’ll change idea, got it?”

Blanching, the fat man nodded furiously.

“How many more guard posts there are yet?” Tur asked, pushing him away.

“Two”, Gus replied quickly. “Only two more to go before the camp.” He hesitated, massaging his neck while sneaking glances toward the cowled men dragging away the corpses. “But when this is all done, you’re letting me go, right? Y-your Master said so…”

“Think about that when this business is done,” Tur rebuked him. “Get back in line now.”

Gus didn’t dare to talk back.

The group kept making their way through the woods. Aside from the guidance of their prisoner, they had their own maps and so, even in the waving light, they found easily the hidden signs showing the right path to follow. As they advanced, they scratched marks on the trees, marking the way more clearly for the bigger group that followed. Discretion was for them, the vanguard; the main part of their group was to move as quickly as possible.

They passed the second post without problems. Gus invented another excuse to have both bandits come down from their perch and the Gremlins made short work of them.

The Gremlins were tense but held themselves in check. That was the first big mission the Master entrusted them with, the first that saw them deployed in such numbers. Many of them felt the importance of the moment, and that the Master’s plans depended on their actions didn’t help them to feel at ease. Still, the same reason pushed them to a degree of focus and discipline that would have been difficult to find even in elite human troops.

“Don’t disappoint me”, those were the words the Master had sent them off to, and the image they presented was for the Gremlins worse than death. They considered the Master nothing short of their Maker-God and would die rather than to provoke his displeasure. It was more than fealty, it was n instinct ingrained in their beings the same way the need for sleep and eat was. The Master’s word was law, his wishes everything. If they didn’t worship him, it was only because the Master himself had shut down any attempt to do so. In a way, they were simple creatures, seeing the world as an orderly place divided between absolutes. That same simplicity could make them into truly terrifying beings.

As they trudged in the wood lit by the twilight, they didn’t joke, didn’t even whisper between themselves. Each of them was completely focused on their task, a silent soldier doing what he had been brought in the world for. Together, they were as a band of fanatical zealots, a pack of attack dogs ready to do the Master’s bidding, without respite, questions, or complaints.

Silently they advanced, eliminating the guards quickly and without a sound. The operation began well.

The problems began when they reached the last post.

Gus was exchanging words with the bandit that, answering his call, had jumped down to meet the group when his nerve broke. The fat man had obeyed his unhuman captors as much as he had been able to, hoping against hope that they would actually let him go once everything was said and done. He cared not for the other bandits. He had nurtured dreams of replacing the Arrow, but in the end, for him, his own survival came first and foremost. Still, the more they advanced toward the camp, the more fear and doubt spread their roots inside. Eventually, they got the better of him.

The fat man exploded into a shriek, dashing past the stunned guard and frantically screaming that enemies were at the door. He was downed a moment later by an axe to the back, but the damage was already done.

Despite the surprise, the bandit still on the tree platform acted quickly, bringing a horn to his lips and blowing in it. A thundering sound ripped through the twilight-enshrouded woods, only to be cut off sharply as the bandit was nailed by a javelin.

Tur cursed, ripping his sword free and letting the corpse of the bandit he had stabbed slump down. In the distance, he could hear more horns pick up the first call. That was it for the surprise.

Snatching his own horn from the belt, he sent three loud notes ripping into the sky. He smirked as he was answered by the same sequence a couple of moments later.

“Well, good news, boys!” He called. “Turned out that the boring part is done and over! Time to get to the fun!” Unsheathing his scimitar, he lifted it in the air, the magnificent weapons’ blade taking a reddish hue under the light.

His soldiers followed suit. Cloaks were thrown aside to reveal armors; shields were unslung, blades were unsheathed.

His Warriors were at the lead of the group, weapons at the ready. Huk wore his usual downcast as he grasped a large two-handed axe. Sela’s expression was focused as she twirled her twin axes with easy movements of the wrists. Fret and Tad wore the same grin as they nocked arrows at their bows.

“Come on!” Tur called. “For the Master!”

He was answered by a wave of cheers and the clangs of weapons beat against each other.

He led the group of bloodthirsty Gremlins through the woods. With the need of caution out of the window, they moved quickly through the underbrush, and soon they were on sight of the defenses of the bandit camp.

An irregular palisade blocked the way, looking like it had grown with the forest rather than being constructed into it. A robust double door flanked by two small towers marked the entrance to the camp.

Figures peeked from behind rough wooden battlements and, as they advanced, the Gremlins heard shouts and curses. A moment later, arrows and stones whistled through the air.

“Shields!” Tur ordered, raising his own.

His soldiers obeyed instantly, forming a wall with their shields. They did so just in time, as projectiles thunked against them.

“Hey, weren’t they supposed to be slower than this?” Tad asked, hiding behind the shield wall. He jumped up, loosed, and then crouched back down. The bandit he had briefly aimed at jumped as the arrow planted in the wood a palm away from his arm.

Tur was thinking the same. Surprise lost or not, those bandits seemed to be awfully ready to receive them. Has something alerted them at our arrival?

“It doesn’t matter!” He declared. “Let’s go!”

As one, the group followed his lead as the Gremlin moved in a course parallel to the palisade. The sharp turn had to take the bandits off guard, as their shouts turned to surprise and their arrows flew without hitting their targets.

Moving in a tight formation, the group quickly made its way through the underbrush. Some more arrows thunked against shields or whistled in the air but they were few as the bandits struggled to redeploy.

Eventually, they reached a point in the palisade where, because of the soil being replaced by hard stone, the ditch defending it didn’t reach.

“Go!”

At Tur’s command, the shield wall opened to let pass five soldiers, two of them armed with sturdy ropes. They threw them, sending the nooses at the end to latch on two of the logs forming the palisade.

“Pull!” Tur commanded as the shield wall deployed to protect the wall breaking attempt.

The ropes tensed. The men grunted as they put all their weights in. The first sharp tug sent the noose tightening; the second had the wooden beams creaking ominously.

More arrows and a stone hit the shields, thrown by a trio of bandits manning a wooden rampart close by. A Gremlin grunted as he was hit in the shoulder. He faltered, lowering his shield.

“Hold yourself together!”

The wounded drew back, one of the priests moving to see at his wounds, and the Gremlins tightened their ranks, plugging the hole.

“Come on!” Tur shouted.

The men with the ropes redoubled their efforts. Just as the beams started to sway, a sudden clamor reached the group.

They cheered as, in the distance, the main body of their small army charged out of the woods and, amidst the cries of dismay of the bandits, against the doors of the camp. The five hulking Urs led the way, their armors all but impervious at the arrows and stone that were thrown against them. They were armed with heavy axes and soon the doors trembled under their heavy blows.

They smashed at it with wild abandon while their smaller brethren grouped behind them, covering themselves with their shields and throwing arrows and slinging rocks against the bandits on the battlements.

Pelted, some of the defenders slumped, projectiles sticking out of their bodies; one toppled over the battlement and fell to the ground. The rest took cover, and their fire slackened.

Buoyed, the Urs kept up their assault with renewed vigor. There was the sound of splintering wood as the doors gave way under the assault. The hulking soldiers smashed and kicked out of the way the broken remains and forced their way in, bellowing. With a triumphant cry, the Gremlins followed, streaming inside the broken doors.

The group cheered but Tur, and another pelting of projectiles, was quick to remind them of their work. The five Gremlins tugged and pulled at the ropes, hissing and grunting as they put everything they had into it. The beams creaked, even swayed, but still refused to budge. On the other side, shouts and stomping of feet could be heard.

“Goddammit!” Tur cursed. That wasn’t working!

“Stay here! I’ll be right back!” He said, and in a flash he was gone, running toward the rest of their contingent.

Tense minutes passed as the Gremlins worked the ropes and tried to stay covered. Thankfully, the main assault had diverted the bandits’ attention and the fire upon the group had slackened considerably. Still, the Gremlins kept launching tense glances toward the shattered doors, from which the clamor of battle came. They longed to join the fight.

Eventually, Tur returned. Still, what provoked a wave of cheers from the Gremlins and of cries of dismay from the bandits was what came in his wake. Another ten Gremlin warriors ran behind him, two of them leading along with a beast out of a nightmare. The Otyough was the size of a warhorse and twice as large. He bounded atop four stout, crooked legs, his massive maw opened to reveal rows after rows of blade-like teeth and a warty tongue the size of a wooden beam. The large tentacle with the eye cluster turned around excitedly as the beast panted and blubbered, and the handlers had to rein it by tugging at the chains it carried affixed to its stout neck with a collar.

There was a quick exchange of words, and the Gremlins passed the ropes to the handlers. The Otyugh was decked with a saddle-like contraption from which sheets of cured skin fell to cover its warty sides. The handlers affixed the ropes to it, then goaded the Otyough, jabbing it with pointy sticks and shouting.

Surprisingly obedient considering its aspect, the beast got to work right away. Turning away from the palisade, it planted its feet into the ground and started to pull, grunting, snorting and making some other, less identifiable sounds. Where it had resisted the assault of five Gremlins, the wooden beams swayed and creaked under the weight and strength of the disgusting creature.

The Otyough pulled hard, and the beams gave a sharp crack. Between the cheers of the Gremlins, the ground holding the palisade gave way, and the two beams came down together with a cascade of dirt.

“Let’s go!” Tur commanded. Still, before he could order the Otyough forward to enlarge the opening, Sela was already crossing the breach.

She was thrown right out of it a moment later, a javelin sticking from her chest.

The girl was caught by her comrades, the others rushing to form a wall of shields against the rain of projectiles that came from inside.

“Moron!” Tur shouted, rushing to her side. “Who the fuck told you to go in first?!?”

The girl, still clutching one of her axes, wore a pained expression.

“I am sorry, chief,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“Spare me, goddammit!” Tur threw a glance toward Dara, the priestess already examining the wound. He felt a flood of relief when she nodded.

Tur raised his head to find the rest of his Warriors clustered around. It had all happened so quickly that they still wore surprised expressions as they watched their wounded friend.

This is war, he thought bitterly. That’s how it happens.

“Come on!” He barked, jolting them out of their reverie. “No time to waste now!”

The Gremlins steadied themselves. The objective came first than any other concern. And then Dara had her capable hands on it already. Sela would live.

“Send in the Otyough!” Tur bellowed.

The two handlers, already having freed their charge from ropes and chains, goaded him forward. The gremlins moved aside to let him pass.

A large, furry mass flew out of the breach, smashing against the advancing beast and sending it staggering back in a flurry of shrieks. The Gremlins had to scurry out of the way as the Otyough danced around like a drunkard, a Dire Wolf clinging at its corpulent bulk.

Tur cursed. They even had the Dires already in position? Had someone tipped them off their assault? But how? There weren’t supposed to be any fugitive from the caravan raid!

“Whatever…” He grumbled. He turned to the handlers, that were confusedly trying to help their rampaging charge. “Kill that wolf and free the Otyough!” He ordered. After leaving a couple of guys to help out too, he had all his soldiers amass to the breach in assault formation.

“Come on!” He called, taking place right at the front. A stone thunked against his shield, but he ignored it. Behind it, the three remaining Warriors assembled together with the two Priests.

Tur grimaced. They weren’t even a step in and he had already lost two soldiers.

Whatever. The Master will have his prize.

“Charge!”

Picking up their leader’s warcry, the Gremlins charged into the breach.