From the thunderous impacts against the wall, to the monster's guttural roar, to the chaotic cacophony of panicked shouts and thundering hoofbeats—barely ninety minutes had passed, yet for those huddled within the Six Hoofs Tavern, time had stretched like an eternity. Irene had lowered all the reed blinds, allowing only the thinnest slivers of sunlight to penetrate, barely enough to preserve their connection to the world beyond.

  "In the gods' names, what is truly happening out there?" The clerk, though closest to the window, had wedged himself beneath the table, his head pressed hard against the floorboards. None possessed any certain knowledge of the situation--or perhaps more accurately, none truly wished to ascertain it. Since the bone-chilling bellow of the Rock Troll, many had fled the tavern in terror, only for most to come scrambling back moments later, frantically securing the door behind them. Few had glimpsed the monster itself, though many had caught sight of Godman soldiers establishing positions near the breach. With many homes situated closer to the wall than the tavern, they had sought sanctuary with the Kadenford self-defense force and the Monster Slayer for good reason. "Unclear," the female Monster Slayer replied, her eyes narrowed to slivers that matched the gaps between the reed slats, her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding outside.

  "The wall has fallen," gasped a middle-aged man, still struggling for breath, one hand clutching his heaving chest. "Soldiers everywhere... bearing unfamiliar standards." Each phrase emerged between labored breaths, whether from his desperate flight or overwhelming fear.

  "I remember that crest, clear as day," a younger man interjected, thumping his chest for emphasis. "A great dog's head. No mistaking it--such emblems are rare indeed..."

  "You've never set foot beyond Kadenford's walls--what sights could you have seen?" the older man scoffed. "And what I witnessed was no dog's head, but a device of three crossed swords."

  Roche the dwarf intervened before the pointless dispute escalated further. "The fact remains that the West Wall has been breached. But," he cast a provocative glance toward Carnegie, "isn't this precisely when the Kadenford self-defense force should prove its worth?"

  Carnegie fixed the dwarf with a venomous glare, but the rising chorus of voices throughout the tavern drowned his protest. "He speaks the truth! This is the very purpose of your existence," bald Forlin crowed, emboldened by the farmers' vocal support, his face alight with malicious glee as he confronted Carnegie. "Go forth now, Lord Carnegie! Drive these invaders from our soil--defend your city, and your kingdom!"

  Surprisingly, Carnegie appeared to master his fury through sheer force of will. "Is that right?" he growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Then surely you'll accompany me."

  "Oh!" Forlin's eyebrows shot upward, transforming his already cunning eyes into perfect circles of mock surprise. "Most regrettable, but I'm no longer affiliated with the self-defense force. Surely you recall—I was just expelled for refusing to violate a monster female before an audience."

  Carnegie's fist launched with explosive force, but Roche proved quicker still. The dwarf encircled the militiaman's waist with powerful arms, using astonishing strength to slam both the man and the massive oaken table to the floor. Simultaneously, Forlin's farmer companions dragged him back from the confrontation. "This isn't the time for petty squabbles," Roche declared, his unflinching gaze locked with Carnegie's rage-filled eyes. "Our true enemies are the Godmans who have already penetrated that magnificent wall."

  "And it won't be long before they breach this tavern too," Irene's words cut through the rising tension, striking even the enraged Carnegie dumb. "Mounted soldiers have halted outside our fence. Your militia doesn't possess cavalry, I presume?"

  One of Carnegie's companions shook his head decisively. "Impossible. We've never been issued mounts—only personal horses." "Nor could they be House Penlico's men," another added. "Their forces are concentrated at Hilltop Fort."

  "Then Godman troops have arrived," the Monster Slayer confirmed, continuously adjusting her vantage point through the narrow opening. "But their banner..." Her ominous pause stretched every nerve to breaking. "Not three swords. A dog's head."

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  "I told you it was a dog's head!" the young man exclaimed triumphantly. A black-feathered arrow whistled through the window, piercing the blind with deadly precision before embedding itself in the table before him. Ignoring his terrified shriek, Irene jerked away from her vulnerable position. "Everyone down," she commanded sharply.

  "Sons of whores and curs," Carnegie spat onto the floorboards beside his feet, even as he was forced to crouch lower. "What now?"

  Irene hesitated momentarily. "You're asking me?"

  "Yes, you, bitch." Carnegie's lips twisted into a feral grin. "What brilliant strategy have you devised?"

  "What's yours?" the Monster Slayer countered. She had anticipated his anger at her evasion, but none came. "I'm contemplating a direct charge—taking those miserable bastards head-on."

  "Don't be a fool," Roche cautioned. "I recognize your propensity for recklessness, but this surpasses even your usual madness. Listen to those hoofbeats, those Godman voices. At minimum, ten armed men await us."

  "Thirteen," Irene corrected, her head briefly appearing then vanishing from the lowest gap in the blinds. "Four mounted, nine on foot. One rider carries a lance with something impaled upon its tip, though I couldn't discern what..."

  The dwarves, Roche and Banli, exchanged glances, their faces draining of color simultaneously. They began a hushed, urgent exchange in Dwarvish, an archaic tongue seldom heard amongst their kind since the Elves had established the Common Tongue as the lingua franca. "What secretive muttering is this?" Forlin demanded irritably. Carnegie silenced him with a withering glare.

  "My lady," Roche addressed Irene with grave concern, "are you absolutely certain you observed a dog's head insignia?"

  "On those gathered outside?" After receiving the dwarf's confirmation, she nodded. "Indeed. An enormous black dog's head emblem."

  "Then we are finished." Banli collapsed against the wall. "Our deaths are assured."

  "Silence your coward's tongue," Carnegie snapped. "Dog's head or three swords—it matters not. I harbor no fear."

  "On the contrary, you should tremble," Roche countered, having regained his composure. "Those men belong to House Friez—the black dog's head is their ancestral crest..." Another black-feathered arrow hissed through the opening, thudding into a decorative shield mounted on a support post. "Remain calm!" Irene's authoritative command quelled the rising panic among the tavern's occupants. "Continue, dwarf."

  "Roche will suffice," the dwarf managed a strained smile. "House Friez stands infamous among Godman nobility for their exceptional brutality. Merciless, bloodthirsty, bereft of all human sentiment. Chronicles tell that during Godma's southern conquest, House Friez fielded merely two thousand soldiers—yet over one hundred thousand souls perished by their blades. Most victims were civilians, not combatants." The defiant spirit visibly drained from Forlin and his companions, who now huddled together in naked terror. "And that lance you glimpsed? Almost certainly what those deranged butchers employed during the Monowe Massacre—their infamous 'Girl on a Lance'."

  Raucous, chilling laughter erupted from beyond the walls, followed by the distinct murmur of unsettling conversation.

  Roche hesitated, casting a concerned glance toward Madam Frantans, reluctant to continue with her youngest child present. Only when Kitty had gathered her little sister close, the child's face buried protectively against her chest, did the dwarf proceed. "The Friez... they took a noble maiden from Monowe, and starting from between her legs, they impaled her upon a lance, parading her through the streets as if she were a battle standard." The dwarf's head bowed in grim revulsion. "Such atrocities could only be perpetrated by beasts in human form."

  The self-defense force member Carnegie stared at the dwarf, struggling to fully comprehend such depravity. Yet the wild rage had gradually drained from his expression, replaced by glacial determination. "I will slaughter every last one of them," he declared, his voice devoid of its earlier heat, yet filled with a cold certainty. "They are defiling our women."

  Disregarding the mortal danger, Irene pushed the blind aside enough to observe. The girl out there could not have been much past twenty, her loins and thighs a horrific crimson blur. Stark naked, the spear had pierced her from her sex, exiting somewhere below her throat, yet her posture, by some ghastly miracle, remained eerily upright. Irene's gaze fixed upon the girl with terrible intensity, an arrow whistling past her face without breaking her concentration. The girl's features remained indistinguishable beneath an exquisitely crafted black veil, delicately pierced with the pattern of moonfire blossoms. (Monsters.) The thought seared through her, her entire body trembling with a barely contained fury. (Monsters.) She felt the sting of hot tears gather at the corners of her eyes, born of outrage and a profound grief.