The night passed uneventfully, a fact for which both Malcolm and Sven were grateful. After long days of traveling, and all the trouble in Toehalla, a good night’s sleep was much needed. Exhausted, they slumbered long into the morning, basking in the cool mist blowing off the river.

Like the night before, Sven managed to skewer a fish, which was promptly grilled and devoured. Although the meal was simple, it felt as though it was a king’s feast. Malcolm savored each bite, shuddering as he remembered the green wafers from the day before.

It was early afternoon by the time they finished their meal and set off for the town. For the first few miles, the river wound its way beside them, but eventually it curved away from the path, leaving them in the wide, unbroken hills. A few small trees desperately held on to life, their trunks twisted at strange angles, and bark stripped from the nibbling of rabbits and mice.

Tall grass covered the rolling expanse, swaying in the wind like a sea of green. Crickets hung unto the blades, chirping as Malcolm and Sven brushed past. At places, the grass grew far above Sven, forcing the Goblin to push his way through tufts.

“Nasty, toeless greens!” Sven grumbled as the vegetation tickled his nose. With a swift motion, he drew his dagger and hacked at the clump, sending bits of grass flying. Malcolm quickly backed up, Sven’s dagger nearly slashing his shin. After a second or two of chopping, the Goblin wiped his blade and returned it to its sheath.

Without a sound, Sven continued on, as if nothing had happened. The grass lay mangled at his feet, the juices beginning to seep out of the stems. Glancing back at the missing patch, Malcolm followed, this time leaving a bit more room, in the event that Sven decided to maul more of the meadow.

As they drew nearer to Bullhaven, the thin dark line of a forest appeared to their right, curving its way closer as the miles passed. Emerging from their homes in the tall pines, flocks of small birds fluttered around the ground, pecking for worms. As Malcolm and Sven drew near, the birds darted into the air circling the travelers with angry chirps. Malcolm tried shooting a few out of the sky, but his arrows flew harmlessly past.

By mid-afternoon, they rounded the crest of a hill and Bullhaven rose in the distance. As it sprang into view before them, they both stopped for a second, stunned. What was once a quaint frontier town had been transformed into a fortress.

Large wooden walls constructed of whole trees had been erected around the town, encircling the majority of the buildings. Their branches wove together, creating a mesh of wood.

Hundreds of tents had also sprung up around the wall, their tan cloth fluttering in the light wind. Divided into neat rows, they curved around the front of the town in a semicircle. The thin line of a road cut through the center of the camp, weaving between the tents on its way to the main gate.

Soldiers patrolled the crude walls, their armor glinting in the mid-day light. Shouts and the clanging of shovels rang across the hills, as workers rushed to dig a long ditch around the front of the camp. A small bridge had been constructed over the ditch, allowing people and carts to get in and out of Bullhaven.

To the side of the encampment, paddocks of horses, sheep, and cows grazed on the lush hill grass. Fences had been constructed, cutting the open land into square enclosures.

Malcolm and Sven just looked at each other, shocked. Those must be some of the soldiers I saw the last time I was here! Malcolm realized, as he scanned the sight ahead of him.

The last time Malcolm was in Bullhaven; on a scouting mission for Sven, his visit had been interrupted by the arrival of soldiers from Craighold, the northernmost fortress. The castle had recently fallen to the northern tribesmen, who were currently streaming into the area.

Now it appeared that King Edvard had converted Bulhaven into a new stronghold in the hopes of dispelling the invaders.

As Malcolm watched the sight before them, Sven opened one of his pouches and removed a thin cloth hood, which he slipped over his head. Made of the same rough tan cloth as the Goblin’s tunic, it was constructed from a half dozen fabric pieces poorly stitched together with thick thread. Two long sleeves streamed down from the bottom of the hood, which the Goblin carefully inserted his arms into. The hood and sleeves neatly covered any exposed skin, giving him the appearance of a hooded child.

Once the cloth was all sorted out, Sven nudged Malcolm towards the town. “You best be goin’ first. I’d be drawin’ too much attention.”

Malcolm nodded, and then set off down the hill. Sven followed close behind, keeping his head low. Soon they reached the cobblestone road into town, joining the many groups streaming into the city. Sven did his best to stay behind Malcolm, obscuring his face from passersby.

The road was mostly full of farmers and fishermen from the neighboring towns, many of them bringing their wares into the city for trade and sale. Horses pulled carts full of vegetables and wares, their hooves clomping on the stone. Now and then, the crowd would part as a group of soldiers marched past in perfect formation, their polished armor shining in the sun.

Tall and stern, they bore tall wooden shields, emblazoned with King Edvard’s emblem; a blue sky with a rising sun. Long chainmail shirts clinked with each step and their sheathed swords slapped against their thighs.

As the road entered the encampment, the true size and scale of the army became apparent. Hundreds of tents stretched as far as Malcolm and Sven could see, and thousands of men milled around, many of them fletching arrows, sharpening blades, or sparring.

Near the wall of the town was a makeshift stable, barely more than a large tent. Grooms and farmhands streamed in and out, leading horses or carrying gear. Glancing inside as he passed by, Malcolm could see the dimly lit tent was littered with saddles and horse armor, as well as an endless hallway of empty stalls. The not-so pleasant smell of livestock wafted out in copious amounts.

At last, Malcolm and Sven made it to the main gate. Built into the wall, it was flanked by a half-dozen guards, who scanned the crowd with careful attention. They tightly gripped long spears, and short swords hung at their waists. Every so often they would pull someone aside, for the purposes of checking their cart or basket of goods. The crowd grew hushed as they passed through the entrance, the conversations resuming once they were safely inside Bullhaven. He thoughthe

Sven inched closer to Malcolm until he was practically walking on the human’s heels. Slowly the pair of them passed through the gateway, tense as the guards’ eyes passed over them. A deep commanding voice rang out behind them. Malcolm turned, looking for the speaker. A nearby guard was weaving his way through the crowd, gloved hand outstretched towards Sven. Tall and burley, his armor bulged around mountains of muscle. A thick black beard hung down from his face, giving him the appearance of a bear.

“You there!” He shouted again. “State your business!” He stopped in front of Sven, miming removing a hood. “No hoods. Take it off or get out!”

“We sincerely apologize sir.” Malcolm said cautiously. “But you see, my…” He glanced a Sven for a second, thinking. “…brother… is just green with sickness! We came here for medical supplies.”

The guard glared at the hooded Sven carefully. “It don’t matter. Hood off or get out!” he reached down to pull the cloth off Sven’s head, but Malcolm’s hand stopped him.

“I forgot to mention! My poor brother is horribly disfigured! He wears the hood to avoid attention. We would really prefer it to stay on.”

“If you insist.” The guard huffed reluctantly. “However per town law, I will still need to look under, to verify your story. Before Malcolm could react, the guard bent his head down, attempting to peer under Sven’s hood.

Just as the guard’s face was level with Sven’s, the Toe Goblin let out a loud, grating cough. Bits of spittle shot into the guard’s face, sanding him reeling back in shock. Several people nearby hurried away at the sound, covering their noses. The guard began furiously wiping his face and beard, glaring at Sven with rage.

“I’m terribly sorry sir.” Sven said, raising his voice to a shrill, childlike squeak. “I just can’t be controllin’ it sometimes.” He coughed again, doubling over for dramatic effect.

“Fine. Keep the hood!” The guard said angrily. Then directed at Malcolm; “Make sure this little fiend’s illness doesn’t spread! The last thing we need right now is an outbreak!”

Malcolm nodded his understanding. “Thank you sir! We won’t be in town long...” The guard cut him off with a wave.

“Just stop blocking the path and get on with your business!” He shouted, weaving back through the crowd towards his post. Glancing behind them, Malcolm could see a large mass. People jumped up and down, trying to see the cause of the hold up. A few farmers frowned as their horses stamped the ground impatiently.

“Sorry!” Malcolm shouted behind him as he ushered Sven down one of the many winding streets. Dirty roads zigzagged between houses with little planning or organization. Keeping to the shadows, Malcolm and Sven ducked into an alleyway. Piles of broken pottery and horse dung coated the ground, squishing and crunching under their shoes.

Once they were safely hidden from view, Sven raised his hood a little, allowing him to look around.

“A child?” he snapped. “Was that really the best idea you was thinkin’ of?”