The carriage ride to Kerren takes around eight hours. Whilst the main city was well paved, the surrounding countryside was less so.

We set off early in the morning just as the sun rose. A messenger had been dispatched ahead of us to relay the plan to the Lord of Kerren. Two hundred Sons of the Sword marched behind the carriage, while another forty-five rode on horseback in the vanguard ahead of us.

The remaining five had been used as outriders and sent ahead of the main convoy to provide reconnaissance.

An endless stream of evergreen trees and rolling hills lolled pass the window as we rocked back on forth on the bumpy country road. A lovely fresh breeze with the smell of wet grass wafted through the carriage. The suspension was rather springy and whilst it did dampen most of the impact from potholes, it was beginning to give me motion sickness.

Asha and Torg were sat on the upholstered red leather seats opposite me. Asha was busy reading one of her many books whilst Torg was staring out at the countryside.

Besides me sat Eredo who was clad in auburn leather armour with intricate stitched patterns. He was one of the battlefield leaders of the Son’s and was around to advise on deployments and formations.

I had taken advantage of the long journey time to contemplate how to put distance between myself and danger.

The official plan was to reinforce the City of Kerren before the goblins could reach the gates. With the additional manpower of the Sons, the combined might of the city would be over six hundred. More than enough to comfortably see of the goblin army of four hundred. Or so I was told.

I was in the middle of a relaxing nap when a banging at the carriage door woke me.

“An urgent report.” A breathless outrider called, handing a scroll to Eredo without leaving his saddle.

Eredo nodded at the rider who dug his heels in his horse and sped off.

“What news?” Torg asked as Eredo read the scroll.

“The outriders have spotted the enemy. Six hundred approximately. They are headed towards the city as expected.” He explained in a deep voice.

“That’s more than we expected.” Asha stated the obvious.

“The number wouldn’t make much difference.” Torg added.

“Agreed.” Eredo said.

Just the opportunity I needed.

“Torg, the map.” I motioned.

Torg pulled out a rolled map from beneath his chair and placed it on the table between us. He unrolled it and took a couple of books from Asha’s pile to secure the edges.

Asha glared at him in annoyance.

“The city is here,” Eredo stabbed a stubby finger at a symbol of castles circled in red. He then moved his finger to the northwest, “the outriders spotted the enemy around here, about a day away.”

“What is this?” I said, pointing at a small symbol of a goat.

“That is the village of Dirtacre. A hilly farming community of goat farmers with a nice tavern.” Torg added, smiling for a second before carrying on. “It is of little value.”

That was interesting. This village was far enough away from the city to avoid most of the fighting and, as Torg pointed out, held little value to the goblins. Yet, it was just close enough to be a plausible strategic play.

“Eredo, take the main force to the city as planned. Torg, Asha, I want to go here.” I said, pointing at the village.

“As you wish my Lord.” Eredo agreed.

“Give me five of your best men.” I added, thinking it would sound more impressive.

Eredo nodded.

“Asha, we shall prepare some magic to support the defence.” I ordered.

“As you wish, master.”

“Asha.” I pronounced her name slowly.

“Sorry, Kai.” She grinned.

“Torg, fancy a drink?” I joked.

***

Dirtacre was a lovely little village. Lovely if you like goats and dirt that is.

Surrounded by a sea of green, the village consisted of several thatch roofed buildings and wonky wooden fences. The main pathway was a mix of beaten mud and fallen leaves that combined in a sort of slurry.

Hundreds of white and brown goats stumbled around the pens attached to the buildings I assumed were farms.

At one end of the village there was a large, thatched building that had a welcoming warm glow. The sound of chatter and singing seeped out. It was the local tavern, ‘The Hairy Peach’.

As we arrived at the village, the local elder greeted us warmly and invited us into the Peach. We briefly discussed the reason for our visit, although not wanting to cause a panic, I was vague about the goblin location.

“I see. We have been fortunate; our village has not been attacked for many years.” The village elder puffed on his pipe.

“Hopefully it will remain that way.” Asha said with a smile.

We were sat around a wooden table filled with steaming stews and other local delicacies. The prize of the table was a roasted goat head, complete with fur.

“Gosh you really like those. Shall I get you more oysters?” A happy waitress asked.

“Yes please.” Torg mumbled between chews. He had taken a particular liking to the fried goods.

“Amazing that you have fresh oysters out here.” Asha said with glee.

“You should really try some.” Torg motioned towards a bowl of crispy balls.

“Those aren’t oysters.” I said plainly.

The elder laughed.

“Whatever they are, they are delicious.” Torg took another into his mouth.

“How many fighting men do you have at your disposal, Grant?” I asked.

I was keen to improve my chances of survival and the more bodies between me and goblins the better.

“Twenty or so young, strong men. Eight older men, willing and able.” Elder Grant replied.

“Seriously, how do you make these? They are soooo creamy.” Asha said with excitement whilst reaching across the table for more oysters.

The elderman looked at me and we smiled.

“Goat balls.” He said with a smirk.

I held two fingers out and did a snipping motion.

Asha audibly spat out a mouthful of half chewed goat balls into a handkerchief. In response the elderman let out a mighty laugh.

“Don’t care. They are great.” Torg said, eating yet another.

Suddenly, one of the Sons of the Sword appeared in the door of the tavern, brushing rain off his overcoat. He approached us with urgency.

“My Lord, a rider approaches.” He said.

“Invite them in. We have plenty of oysters for everyone.” The elderman replied.

“My Lord,” The Son said again, nudging his head to the side, “a rider approaches.”

“Torg, Asha, let’s go.” I ordered.

Outside, the Sons of Sword stood in formation. A gentle, misty rain fell. The Son’s made room for me to pass through and then encircled me as I moved forward.

In the middle of the road ahead I could see a giant wolf, as it stood, its claws were sinking into the ground. It had grey and black wiry fur that ruffled in the wind. Ragged leather straps were wired around the beast and attached to a makeshift saddle.

Atop the beast a green, muscular man type creature snarled. He wore light, braided armour and a shield with a brown smear. He jabbed a wooden spike into the ground with a grunt. The small white flag on the top fluttered in the wind.

“I am Nugget of the Skidder Boys Clan. Son of Chief Skab. I demand to speak to your chief.” He snarled in a gruff voice.

“That would be me.” The elder stepped forward but Torg held out an arm to stop his advance.

“This is Lord Kaiden. He is a mighty warrior and leader of our group.” Torg motioned towards me. What a prick.

“Little human, listen carefully. We demand you surrender the fearsome ones. Do so and we shall let you leave unarmed. If you refuse, we will burn your village to the ground.” He commanded.

“The fearsome ones?” I asked, looking around for answers.

“You have until sun rise. Choose wisely, little human chief.” He said plainly before turning his wolf and riding off at pace.

As I watched Nugget vanish in the distance, the terrifying sound of several horns being blown could be heard.