I plug my ears up as Mills's staff level their muskets through the firing loops and let fly with another thundering salvo at the goblin invaders, smoke spewing from the muzzles of their guns. The men then withdraw the muskets and retreat back into the camp to reload as another group of gunners takes their place at the wall, ready to fire. It all looked very impressive, a well drilled force doggedly defending their position. On the surface at least.

Unfortunately, the illusion falls apart the moment you start paying the slightest attention.

The salvos from Mills's side are ragged, the men clearly not used to firing in sequence with each other. Instead of delivering a single overwhelming wave of lead at the attackers, the workers fire a weak stream of shot at their targets, too puny to frighten an attacking army into retreating. The muskets are old and clearly discarded surplus, forged without sights and equipped with pistol grips rather than stocks to brace with. My guess was that those guns had accuracy that verged on atrocious. And Mills's men kept fumbling about when they reloaded their weapons, a clear show of how amateur they were. Any sensible enemy could take advantage of the lengthy gaps between salvos and close the distance to the camp.

Which brought to mind the pertinent question, why was the camp still standing?

I frown, looking through the binoculars Mills had handed to me, the man himself standing slightly behind me, pacing about furiously and overwhelmed with anxiety. Mills had been right to panic and send that urgent summons for me at Robeur Keep. As I scrutinize the baying horde of monsters gathered in front of the camp, it was clear that the goblins were back, and back with a vengeance. The horde before us was at least five times larger than the initial invasion force Christina and I had thrashed. If the goblins attacked in earnest, Mills and his staff would not see the end of the day. The only bright spot was that there was no goblin warlord leading the horde, at least none that I could see yet.

"Incoming!" one of the gunners shouts at the top of his voice and everyone scatters, seeking shelter under the makeshift wooden shields.

I squeeze in beside Mills under the wooden slats protecting one of the tents and we watch the arrows fall all over the place like raindrops. Well, raindrops that could kill, I mentally correct myself as some rando screams as he is skewered through the stomach.

"See? Things are really bad Mac." Mills moans in distress, "You need to drive the goblins back. Its the only way this camp will survive."

"Yeah. I got it." I grunt as we emerge from cover once the rain of arrows from the goblins stops, "Your muskets are doing squat against the monsters. We would run out of gunpowder and shot before a dent is made in the goblin army."

"So get out there and do something!" Mills nearly screams before restraining himself, "Drive them back the way you did the last time!"

"Mills, I've said this before, but it bears repeating." I sigh, "Relax. Things are under control. I just have some matters I need to confirm before -"

"How is any of this under control?" Mills shrieks, drawing the attention of the men around us. I quickly dismiss them with a wave of my hand. The last thing I want is panic spreading through the camp like a rot.

"You said both sides have been exchanging fire so far, correct?" I ask, going back to watching the goblin army using the binoculars.

"Yes? What about it?" Mills confirms, wiping the sweat from his brow with a dirty handkerchief.

"That's the weird thing." I explain, "If the goblins wanted you all dead, they would have charged the camp before I even arrived. Instead they've been hanging back and trading pot shots with you. "

"Uh, I suppose ..." Mills trails off uncertainly and I see him glance about the camp, worry on his face. He really needs to take my advise and relax more. Lighten up a little.

"It could be a siege?" Mills finally suggests, "Wait until we start dropping dead from starvation then finish us off? Goblins are smart enough to do that, aren't they?"

"Well, yes." I concede, "But the positioning of the goblin army is all wrong. They're standing right in front of the main gates while both sides poke at each other."

"So?" Mills demands mulishly, "It doesn't change the situation."

"If it was a siege, the goblins would be spread out to surround the camp." I bite my lip in consternation, "They've done nothing of that sort here. I rode in with your messenger without any problems at all."

"Fine. Fine." Mills harrumphs unhappily, "I get the point. But the fact remains that we need to get rid of the invading army. And you're the only one here that can do it."

Just as I am about to answer my employer, I catch something just at the corner of the binocular's field of view. Swiveling about, my stomach drops at the sight I had been dreading to see.

"Damn it. Should have realized our luck wasn't so good." I curse, taking in the several Order conscripts openly standing among the goblins, no longer bothering with the rags they had originally used to obfuscate their identities the first time round. That confirms it, the Order is involved and I need to get backup before they spring whatever they've been planning on the camp. I immediately dart for the Loaner which is still carrying my baggage.

"Are you ready to attack now?" Mills asks hopefully.

"No." I demur, reaching into the Loaner's saddlebags and pulling out my writing implements, "Situation has changed. I'm calling for support from Robeur Keep."

"Support? What for?" Mills quizzes, fidgeting nervously.

"The Order is out there." I state while dashing out a message to administration, "Probably leading the goblins."

"Those are just conscripts though." Mills points out.

I ignore him and concentrate on completing the quick letter. I know Mills wants the job done quickly, but its my life on the line here. I'd rather have a team of knights at my back when facing some unknown situation, no matter how much the client badgers.

LARGE GOBLIN PACK. ORDER OF IMPARTIAL JUSTICE SIGHTED AMONG GOBLINS, POSSIBLY LEADING WAR PACK. REQUEST SUPPORT.

There, that should do it. I sign the short message with a flourish and hand the parchment to Mills.

"Get this sent back to the Keep." I instruct, "Tell them its urgent."

Mills summons the messenger who traveled here with me and hands the parchment over distractedly. The messenger salutes and disappears in the fracas of the camp.

"So, what are we supposed to do now?" Mills queries, worry all over his face, "Just wait?"

"Just so." I nod agreeably, "Your defenses are in no danger. The Order is clearly not willing to actually engage yet, so we have time to call for reinforcements. All we need to is -"

My speech is suddenly cut short by a completely unexpected sight. The mass of goblins begins to part, marching in neat, well drilled lines, giving me an unobstructed view of the Order conscripts. And in each conscript's hand is a light blue tablet, glowing with magical glyphs. Goblins marching as a disciplined army would be strange enough, but as the conscripts manipulate the glyphs on those tablets they carry, the entire army seems to respond, maneuvering about with near mechanical precision. The archers are withdrawn and the ranks align themselves, creating a long narrow corridor smack dab in the middle of the army. The goblins growl and bicker as they march, but there's no shows of defiance against the Order conscripts. In fact, the goblins barely react to the conscripts' presence.

"Shit." I mutter, "Should have waited to send the message."

My hunch had been correct. The Order did have something up their sleeve. Something totally new and never seen before. Did they have the means of controlling monsters?

This is big. If the Order really could control monsters, it would effectively change everything. The Order would undoubtedly become the strongest of all the Knightly Houses with an army of monsters at their beck and call. And since monsters kept naturally spawning in the Beyond, the Order could command an infinite number of fearless, superhuman troops. My stomach churns as I realize that I had just stepped into something far, far above my pay grade.

From the ranks of goblins strides a powerfully built human, dressed in a leather combat jacket like myself, with a sword hanging by his hip and the man's face completely hidden by a baclava. But what really draws my attention is the pouch hanging loosely over the man's back, suspended by a rope looped around his torso. The man stands like a mountain, with both feet spread apart, surveying the camp.

Order Sword Master.

That's the only thing the man could be. The baclava obscures the man's face, but I sense his eyes boring into me, taking my measure. The Order sword master gestures at one of the goblin archers, who nocks an arrow.

Before firing straight at me.

My training takes over, casting the spells needed to boost my reflexes out of pure instinct. The magic seizes my muscles and nerves in the nick of time as my arms snaps up, catching the arrow just as it flies within a hair's breadth of piercing one of my eyes. There's a low rumble of awe throughout the camp at this display, but I pay it no mind, too busy unfurling the piece of parchment wrapped around the arrow's shaft.

"No. Damn it." I whisper. All my hopes of waiting the crisis out had been dashed in a single fell blow. Or more accurately, through a message written on a single piece of paper.

"LET IT BE KNOWN, the ORDER OF IMPARTIAL JUSTICE, representing the HOUSE OF RAHM, challenges the HOUSE OF RAHM to a CONTEST OF ARMS over this piece of land. Send despatch of YOUR CHAMPION post haste, failing which FORFEIT all claims over this land. Failure to uphold the courtesy of this CONTEST OF ARMS entitles the ORDER OF IMPARTIAL JUSTICE to use any and all force to claim this land, REGARDLESS of cost or casualties.

Be informed and take note."

Mills reads the message aloud from behind me, looking over my shoulder. An undercurrent of fear ripples through the camp. Neither Mills nor his staff have the ability to fend off an enemy sword master. And the message was clear. There was going to be a fight, one way or the other. The only choice the camp had was whether the fight embroiled just one champion or everyone inside.

Mills clasps me by the hand hard, eyes earnestly looking at me. And I know what he's about to say without even hearing it.

"This is it then. Best of luck, Champ."