"And why haven't you offered names?" the knight in boiled leather retorted. "They're holding a crossbow—a repeating one," the plate-armored knight reminded his companion tersely. "We're knights, one hundred percent Godma-forged."

  "Knights of Godma," Fendi echoed skeptically. "You could have concealed your cloaks anywhere. I need something more convincing."

  "A shame I'm not the banner-man," the leather-clad knight said with a smirk. "Else I'd plant the standard right in your eye socket..."

  "Enough of that," the armored knight cut in sharply. "Here." He produced a shield from behind his back.

  "That's not the Three Sacred Swords of Godma."

  "We hold our oaths to Duke Duke," the armored knight said, his patience wearing thin. "I have no time to school you in the vassalage of Godma. Your turn. Identify yourselves."

  Fendi Firshield sensed further delay would only worsen their position. He signaled Sorin not to press the issue. "We're refugees," he ventured cautiously.

  "Don't waste my time with games, dwarf," the leather-clad knight cut in. "Refugees don't travel armed with repeating crossbows and short swords. We're here to help you, dwarves. We know you're responsible for breaching the wall."

  "You're reinforcements from Godma?" Sorin asked eagerly. "Why in the world didn't you say so immediately!"

  "Aye, we should have. But it's hard to speak plain with that gods-damned repeater pointed at your guts, isn't it?" He fixed Sorin with a hard stare. "Don't complicate matters. Our journey here was difficult enough."

  Fendi lowered the crossbow slightly, though his finger remained poised on the trigger. "How did you locate us?"

  "Instinct."

  "I said no games, knight," Fendi warned. "This bolt is still loaded."

  "One of your own told us where to find you," the armored knight said, nodding towards Sorin. "A redhead, like yourself. Beard too."

  Sorin Durin's short sword nearly slipped from his grasp. "Is he—"

  "Likely dead by now. When we discovered him, he had an arrow in his back, clinging to his last breath."

  A primal urge to scream and destroy everything surged through Sorin Durin. "And the others?" Fendi asked, his voice carefully controlled.

  The armored knight shook his head solemnly. Though Fendi had anticipated this response, accepting it proved more difficult than expected. "None survived?"

  "None that we saw."

  Sorin Durin sank to his haunches, hugging his knees as tears began to flow. "I understand this is deeply painful," the knight offered, with something resembling genuine sympathy. "And I regret your loss. I would grant you time to mourn... but the Cynthians won't extend such courtesy."

  "What course should we take now?"

  "Make for the southern encampment—Duke Dear's command headquarters. You'll join the next supply caravan returning to Crivi. Every hand is needed; the entire army stands at war footing."

  "Were we successful?" Fendi asked abruptly. "Successful?"

  "The wall."

  "Oh! Indeed." The armored knight's mouth curled into a satisfied grin. "You dwarves exceeded all expectations. The breach could accommodate a Titan Giant with room to spare. We can discuss details while traveling. Where are your remaining companions?" His gaze swept the area. "Surely there were more of you?"

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  Fendi Firshield found himself wanting to trust the knight, yet something held him back. A wrongness prickled at him, a doubt about these two sudden knights. He made a subtle gesture to the twins and the mother with her children, hidden in the underbrush, signaling them to remain concealed. His mind raced, trying to identify the source of his discomfort. "You should summon the others immediately," the leather-clad knight insisted. "We travel as one group. Those who journey alone become prey for Cynthia's black riders." Finally, Fendi recognized the critical inconsistency—(there are only two of them.)

  "What of your own companions?" he countered. "Why do they remain hidden?"

  "Companions? Ah... as you can see, we're alone. As I mentioned, we're severely understaffed. Tell me," the leather knight frowned deeply, "why such suspicion? Is this typical of dwarven nature?"

  "In commerce, few hesitate to swindle you out of a few extra coins." (If they truly were reinforcements, two would be absurdly inadequate.) Amidst his uncertainty, Fendi made his decision. "Just the two of us."

  "I've already told you that you can trust us," the armored knight sighed with exaggerated weariness. "But your numbers don't align with our intelligence. Our orders specified protecting eight dwarves and four humans. We recovered only three dwarf corpses near Wyrm Ember—adding the red-haired one makes merely four. We aren't fools. Let's dispense with deception and stop squandering precious time."

  As Sorin Durin opened his mouth to speak, Fendi cut him off. "They're dead," he declared with unexpected certainty. "We encountered black riders during our journey."

  The knights and dwarves locked eyes, each measuring the other. The armored knight evaluated the statement's veracity in an instant. "That's truly regrettable," he offered smoothly. "May they find peace in death. Their service to Godma will be commemorated. Now, we must depart. Before we leave, surrender your travel permits." Noticing Fendi's suspicious glance, he added: "Have no concern. Those parchment scraps are no longer necessary. From here to Crivi, you'll travel under Godma's military protection. Your safety is assured—I personally guarantee it."

  With evident reluctance, they produced their passes. Fendi caught the flicker of surprise in the knights' eyes as he fished the parchment from the depths of his beard. "That appears correct," the knights murmured to each other. "Mount up now. The journey to southern headquarters is considerable."

  This moment proved pivotal. Should they mount the horses, Fendi Firshield intended to reveal their companions' location as a gesture of good faith. He kept hoping Sorin Durin would recognize his signals, but the younger dwarf remained lost in grief, repeatedly wiping away tears. (The boy is too fragile,) he thought. Though he felt the urge to weep himself, he recognized this was not the moment for such indulgence.

  The knights swung down from their saddles. "Here, let me give you a leg up," the armored one offered, gesturing Fendi closer to the horse. With sudden clarity, Fendi realized the knight intended to lift him onto the horse—which would expose his back completely. Worse, far worse, were the lumpy sacks tied to the saddles, leaking something dark and sticky, matted with unidentifiable hair. He deliberately stalled.

  "Hurry now, turn around so I can lift you," the armored knight urged with growing impatience.

  Finally, from the corner of his eye, Fendi glimpsed the knights' true intent. The leather-clad knight—the consistently hostile one—was silently drawing a dagger to dispatch the despondent Sorin Durin. Fendi Firshield raised his crossbow instinctively.

  He had no opportunity to aim properly—the armored knight seized the weapon's frame with surprising speed. The dwarf wrestled to break free, but earned only a brutal kick to the gut that sent him sprawling five paces back. Then came Sorin Durin's muffled cry of pain.

  From their hiding place, the mother clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream, while her son nearly choked on the twig between his teeth. Blue Rascal and Green Varmint called out Sorin Durin's name in horror, each instinctively grabbing the nearest weapon—Blue a carpenter's hammer, Green a hand axe. "Stay back!" Fendi shouted, doubled over in pain. "Run! Now!"

  In that moment, the mother experienced courage she never knew she possessed. She nodded frantically, hands already gripping the reins. This would be the first time she'd ever ridden alone. The dwarf twins adamantly refused to remain on the wagon. Though she made no effort to dissuade them, when she spotted her son grabbing a wooden stick as a makeshift weapon, she nearly lost consciousness.

  "You must not follow us, Nate," Green Varmint told him firmly. "But I have to help somehow!" the boy protested.

  "Your concern honors us, Nate. But this isn't your battle to fight. This is our struggle—the resistance of dwarf-kind." Blue Rascal gripped his shoulder with solemn intensity. "Your own war lies somewhere in your future. Now go. Your mother needs you more than we do." With those parting words, they left him standing alone.

  That moment of parting stretched, feeling like a lifetime to Nate. Only when his mother urged the horses forward did he truly comprehend this was farewell—a separation with no hope of reunion.

  Along their directionless journey, Nate repeatedly wondered why fate hadn't made him a dwarf. His mother, for perhaps the first time in her life, felt profound gratitude that they had been born human.

  Only when the sounds of combat had faded completely did she finally hear the infant behind her begin to cry.