As we got tossed around again in the back of a troop transport, I couldn’t help but remark to myself that trying to get over the ditches outside the fort walls in this was awful. Ellen groaned as she picked herself back up off the floor of the carrier. The last ditch was deep and tossed her a foot into the air, her head barely missing the stone ceiling.

  I leant forward and gave her a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. Before we’d entered the transport, Ellen said she’d hold on to the underside of the seat to stop herself from flying around so much. Ellen glared back at me and Nora, who was also patting her shoulder, before she spun and tossed her ire at the aranae warriors that rode with us. None of whom even slightly reacted to the bumpiness of the carriage ride, their legs keeping them firmly anchored to their seats.

  The mood in the carriage as we rode across the rough terrain at breakneck speeds was dour. No one spoke, including the aranae, each of us trying in our own ways to come to terms with the mortal danger we were about to be in. Personally, I couldn’t stop myself from coming back to how pointless this would be, over and over.

  If the spiress’ [Scouts] were to be believed, we faced an army of goblins, thousands strong, with a force barely more than a hundred strong and a choke point. Not to mention that rather than engage in skirmishes with the enemy Sylvi wanted us to build and hold an entirely new fortification under constant attack.

  Even if we held this new line, we’d have to return to the fort at which the goblins could simply attack at will. To me, this reeked of a commander unused to being in the weaker position, and it was going to cost her valuable lives. While a large part of me wanted to reject the orders purely based on foolishness, the larger part of me recognized the chance at glory this battle represented. Anything other than a rout was an incredible success.

  This battle was a chance to spread the name of not only myself and my party members, but Ylena and the Cult’s as well.

  When the drivers wheeled the carriages into place and the back doors lowered to form ramps, all hundred and seventy-five people sent on this fool’s errand streamed from the transports like a kicked hive. Helle exited her transport like a storm manifested. She moved like lightning up and down the forming line, her voice a thunderclap as she shouted out orders both in her native tongue and in the Trade Tongue. The teams of centipedes that had pulled the carriers were unhooked and led away from the carts under guard by three laborers each.

  Once the centipedes were clear, Helle moved her troops. Ellen and I were front and center where the gap in the wall would be with a group of warriors introduced to us as [Brood Guards]. Nora, slightly behind us, with a group of ten scholars to act as caster support.

  When we’d left the fort, I questioned why a gap was even going to be left in the wall. It’d been a general complaint for myself not meant to reach the ears of anyone but my party. Gunilla had still heard me somehow and answered that the spiress intended to have this wall be the start of a new fortification.

  The answer baffled me and I’d been about to ask why she would leave a gap in the wall then, but even on Gunilla’s strange features, I could tell when a commanding officer wanted me to shut my mouth. Once we were as alone as we could be, I’d complained to Maggie about the folly of this plan. She’d shrugged and said.

  “Right now, you’re a mercenary. It isn’t your job to tell your employer how to command. Your job is to kill whoever they point you at.”

  It was a casual comment, but it’d also helped to point out a flaw in my thinking. This wasn’t my land. I had no stake in who controlled the fort at the end of my contract. I was so used to fighting for the freedom of my people that I’d forgotten. My only roles while we were down here was to win glory for the Grace Mother, kill who I was told, and make sure my party mates survived the field. I was a tool, a hammer, and hammers do not ask why a nail must be driven in.

  ~~~***~~~

  Invisible hands of mana shaped the stone of the tunnel so that it formed around and between the carriages that drove us here. Teams of laborers brought along with us dotted the line; first they idly played with the stone beneath the transports, making it warm and liquid enough to stir like a dense stew. Once they reached some threshold, the laborers used magic of some school to pull the rock from the earth and fill in the modified carriages and the space between them.

  The process looked so playful that it felt as if it should’ve been silent, like a kid playing with blocks. Yet, it was anything but. The sound as the stone ground against itself, stretching and tearing, echoed off the walls and back into the now empty ditches where the stone originated. The cacophony vibrated my chest. Stood my hair on end, and made my teeth ache. The carriages themselves positioned, so they shaped a ‘v’ to better funnel goblins to the center.

  At first the teams of laborers all moved stone at the same pace, but as the process went on, the teams to my left pulled ahead. By the time those on the left finished two-thirds of their wall, the teams on the right were barely beginning to pull stone from the earth.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The sound of the two teams working in tandem was loud enough that at certain points, I feared I would go deaf. However, even over the immense racket I could hear it when a new sound joined the harmony.

  It was vaguely familiar and even through the din, I could tell that an instrument of some kind made that noise based on the way the sound changed tunes. Yet, the music was unlike any I’d ever heard before. It was harsh rather than melodic, like all the strings of a lute snapped at once. However, rather than the terrible jumble of sound, my comparison would have made the noise blended together into a raucous harmony that sent further shivers down my spine.

  Helle’s hurried demeanor adopted a worried countenance, and her effort redoubled when she heard that sound. Before this, most of her orders came in the Trade Tongue, an extension of whatever order had the spiress and her advisor speaking the language while we were present, but now she commanded in her own language. I couldn’t understand a word of what she said. I only knew that whatever it was, sounded harsher than her tongue already did. Uniformly, whoever was on the receiving end of her verbal lashings quickened whatever they were doing.

  I did not know what Helle was saying, or exactly what the instrument was, but I knew what they meant. I called Nora and Ellen over to me, and would have called Mika over if he wasn’t integrated into the teams of laborers constructing the walls. Last I’d seen of him, he had fifteen [Brood Guards] surrounding him as he inscribed his new runes series on the wall. I looked to see if I could spot him while Nora weaved through the crowd.

  When I finally caught his eye, he was too far away to say anything to, so I gave what I thought was an encouraging smile, which, by the return smile, he seemed to appreciate.

  When Nora got to us, I pulled the two of them into a tight huddle, my hands lightly gripping both of their shoulders. While the aranae seemed disinterested in us, I had no intention of letting freely hear what I was about to say.

  “I doubt Helle is going to bother giving us a pre-battle speech or any words of encouragement, so I decided to give it a try.” I said, not feeling as confident as I hoped I sounded. Back home, I never gave the big emotional speeches. That had always been Silvia, who’d acted as my right hand when I was in control of a squad.

  “I know we haven’t known each other terribly long, but I’d like to think the four of us friends.”

  “We are.” Ellen interjected while Nora gave a nod and a nervous look through the gap between shoulders towards the goblin cavern.

  “I don’t know much about you all yet, but I do know you both have families and loved ones to return to. If you’ll accept some advice from me, I suggest you meditate on the reasons you’re excited to go home before the battle begins.”

  “Why?” Ellen asked, slightly guarded.

  “Little trick I learned to make myself fight harder. Hard to go home if you’re dead.” I said.

  Both of them were quiet for a moment, during which I decided to be a little presumptuous and continue a tradition I’d had with my old squad. I wrapped the women up in a deeper hug and briefly pressed my forehead to both theirs before I broke the hug.

  That tradition, both now and in the past, was never about attraction, platonic affection, or familiarity; instead, I’d always done it to have some human contact before I engaged in something deeply unhuman.

  Not to say that combat wasn’t a human thing to do, it certainly is. We were animals once too, and skirmishes and brawls are things of nature. Open battles, like the one we were about to participate in, where cavalry will charge and lines of people smash into each other, trading lives for inches of land, was deeply unnatural. That hug was something I’d started doing as a kid to fight the isolated feeling of being in a battle.

  I left Ellen and Nora is different states of confusion to return to the position Helle gave me at the very center of the line of [Brood Guard] who would hold the gap with me. By the time I’d limbered up and put my helmet back on, I could see the first signs of goblin activity on the far side of the tunnel.

  All I could make out was vague blurs that darted rapidly across the canvas of the cavern mouth. At the sight of goblin movement, I felt this battle’s first fluttering of nervousness. Looking out at the tunnel mouth, surrounded by a species I’d only seen for the first time a week ago and in completely unfamiliar terrain, I felt for the first time since leaving the forest that today could truly be the day I die.

  With the idea of death looming large in my mind, I wondered what I was doing here. Hundreds of kilometers away from everything and anyone I’d ever known or loved. I could feel my nervousness growing like the first sprouts of Spring’s planting at the thought.

  I kept my eyes locked on the cavern's mouth as a lump formed in my throat and my breath quickened. I glanced to the sides and felt the walls creep in on me, my vision darkening. Not willing to let the others see my weakness, I looked down, only to be greeted by the symbol painted across the chest of my armor. The black, open palmed hand of Iona rested within the purple tear drop of Grace Mother.

  The sight sent an onslaught of memories at me. Days, weeks, months, years of suffering and sacrifice to be forged into the perfect weapon for my goddess. Visions of blood shed and pain bared. I thought of all the people who began the same training as me, only to die along the way.

  Regina, who I’d grown up alongside, dead on the forest floor after she collapsed from exhaustion when we were eight. Faces best left forgotten flashed across my vision as memories of the consequences for failure and capture returned. I thought of Eric, whose skull was split in twain during a raid on a nearby cult’s orchards. His wound had been healed, but his eyes never recovered their spark. I thought of Julia, who’d been a driving reason I chose stone carving. That way, I could add decorations onto her new leg. Gradually, through quickened breath, the faces transitioned from those lost to my family.

  I thought of my mom, her kind yet strong hands holding me as I wept. My body wracked with phantom pains for weeks after I’d been returned. I thought of Rebecca. Her roguish grin transformed into pure joy as she stared down at our newborn. Iona’s face appeared to me, a demi-goddess and pillar of the faith. But to me, she’d always been my older sister.

  Her amber eyes reassuring me as I picked up Helena for the first time. Her frost blackened hand gently correcting my form as she taught me a martial style she’d designed for me. I thought of Ylena; a source of safety and warmth in even the most grueling periods of my life. She was not only my goddess, but my grandmother. A kindness I would spend my life repaying.

  Eventually, all the faces faded until one remained. Helena’s. I remembered holding her for the first time, surrounded by family. Terrified that my red stained hands would hurt her, terrified that I’d be unable to love her, terrified that I’d be unable to connect to my own flesh and blood.

  Sitting in the [Midwife’s] house, in a chair next to Rebecca’s bed, as she looked on at me holding our daughter for the first time. My doubts fell away, and I realized one thing. I would love nothing as much as I loved Helena. My love for her was a millennia old redwood next to the saplings of all my other loves.

  As thoughts of my daughter filled my mind, the walls receded from around me and light fought back the black that encroached on my vision. I focused on that, on my love for her. Standing there, I felt for the first time, certain that it did not matter what happened here. I would make it home to Helena. I would see her grow up. She would have her father there. There was no man, beast, or divinity that could stop me from returning home.