"Our second message follows," Goblin Idaho announced with formal precision. "Lord Loyes inquires whether Your Grace requires military reinforcement."

  "Absolutely," Ricard Pafaheim declared without a moment's hesitation. "As I've just explained, Godman reinforcements flow endlessly while our own resources can barely muster a respectable fart in response. One glance beyond these walls reveals our desperate shortage of manpower. His assistance should have materialized long before now."

  "To address precisely this circumstance," Idaho continued, consulting his notations, "Sir Loyes has initiated reinforcement preparations. However, a critical prerequisite exists." The goblin raised his gaze to meet the duke's. "You must maintain your defensive position until dusk."

  "By what time?!" The Duke surged forward in his seat, making certain he had heard correctly. "By dusk, my lord," the goblin repeated, slowing his speech for emphasis. "You must hold the Godmans at bay before the gates until twilight. The reinforcements will not arrive before then."

  "You might as well administer the killing blow yourself, venerable sir," Ricard responded with resigned exasperation, hands spread wide. "Sustaining our defense for even two additional hours would constitute nothing short of miraculous."

  Idaho's large eyes narrowed to shrewd slits. "And yet, my lord, I recall you stating mere moments ago that such an estimate was impossible to make?"

  "I meant committing every last soldier, fighting to absolute exhaustion!" the duke clarified with mounting frustration.

  The goblin scratched thoughtfully at his nape. "Naturally, that interpretation was my understanding as well."

  Earl Pip Berlid, who had maintained prolonged silence, intervened diplomatically: "These reinforcements from Lord Loyes—they travel on foot?" He deliberately employed his customary volume, causing both goblins to shrink instinctively. "This very morning I departed the palace with troops and arrived here within mere hours."

  Goblin Halleck suspended his documentation. "They approach via troop transports, my lord, rather than employing your rapid equestrian method. Cynthia possesses few mounts appropriately proportioned for dwarven physiology, and dwarves generally disdain horseback travel regardless."

  "So it is the Gambril Oathsworn who come to our aid?" At the Duke's question, Halleck simply nodded. Ricard reclined against his chair, fingers absently stroking his meticulously groomed mustache. (Dwarven mercenaries possess exceptional combat capabilities—this should provide reassurance.) he reflected silently. (However, their mobilization velocity proves desperately inadequate.) "Unless..." he murmured involuntarily. "Unless we devise some method to endure until twilight." Grand Pip articulated the duke's internal deliberation: "Should we maintain our position until dusk, dwarven reinforcement becomes available. With dwarven support, repelling the Godman assault before nightfall becomes feasible. Following such repulsion, additional reinforcement requests become viable throughout the night. As long as we contain the southerners beyond our walls, ultimate defeat remains impossible."

  Ricard concurred with subtle emphasis. "The logic is impeccable. It sounds remarkably appealing."

  "Aye. A fine sound it makes, but sound is all it is."

  Idaho awaited their definitive response with practiced patience. "There is only one way I can see to truly bog down the Godman advance," the Duke of Pafaheim murmured, his eyes distant. "And that is with sorcery."

  Idaho comprehended the implication immediately, but his brother interjected prematurely: "We goblins possess minimal arcane proficiency, esteemed lords." His earnestness was palpable. "While we utilize magic for subterranean navigation, such ability derives exclusively from the Earth God's benevolence. Beyond this singular capacity, our magical utility proves nonexistent."

  "The Duke's meaning, you colossal fool, is that we are to find him some mages," Idaho snapped, too exasperated even to roll his eyes. Halleck prudently silenced himself and resumed his documentation activities.

  "Lord Pafaheim, do you wish us to secure magical assistance from Saint Asini Academy?" Ricard nodded affirmatively. "Should you possess superior alternatives, I remain receptive."

  "Which specific practitioner would best serve your requirements?" Halleck inquired pragmatically. "Targeted recruitment dramatically enhances operational efficiency."

  Ricard Pafaheim found himself momentarily disconcerted; his knowledge of the institution's magical personnel proved nonexistent—indeed, he had barely recalled the academy's existence mere hours prior. "Their Headmaster," Pip Berlid offered. "I have heard whispers at court that their new leader is a young man of formidable talent…" "Yes, precisely," Ricard seized the recommendation immediately. "Extend our invitation to him." Halleck dutifully recorded the instruction.

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  "Let us proceed, my delightfully obtuse brother," Idaho announced, securing his notations within his compact satchel. "We shall present ourselves at Saint Asini without delay and retrieve Mister Patrick Fort for His Grace's consultation. Subsequently, we'll execute an expedited return to Phyal and deliver comprehensive situation assessment to Lord Loyes."

  "Will the Gambril Oathsworn's arrival proceed according to arrangement?" Ricard Pafaheim pressed with evident concern. "All contingencies remain subject to Lord Loyes's evaluation and directives."

  The duke's expression inadequately concealed his profound disappointment. "You may withdraw, gentlemen." Idaho assumed an impatient posture, hands positioned at his waist, awaiting his sibling's preparatory completion. Halleck moistened his fingertip with saliva, then meticulously adhered two parchment sheets together at their upper margins. His deliberate procrastination suggested reluctance to abandon his recently warmed seating accommodation. "Move your feet, you three-toed sloth!" Idaho snapped, giving his brother a sharp rap on the back of the head. Both aristocrats blinked in surprise.

  Following a series of awkwardly executed bows, the goblin emissaries approached the exit. Conventionally, a guard would facilitate their departure, but none materialized. The diminutive goblins applied considerable force against the substantial mahogany portal. Ricard momentarily contemplated offering assistance while simultaneously experiencing irritation toward his derelict staff. Upon reflection, however, he recognized his habitual self-sufficiency in most matters; consequently, he could hardly fault his subordinates for failing to develop appropriate door-opening protocols for distinguished visitors. Eventually, the pair managed to create sufficient aperture to squeeze through.

  Once beyond the threshold, the goblin brothers removed their weathered felt caps and secured them at their waists, subsequently raising their concealing hoods. "Temporal resources maintain premium value, brother." "Temporal resources maintain premium value, brother."

  After advancing several paces, they observed two soldiers positioned near the battlements, spears prepared in combat orientation. No visible threat presented itself—merely an overturned wooden vessel with its contents spilled across the stonework. "What peculiar activity engages them?" Halleck inquired with visual strain. "They won't open the door for us, but they'll stand out here battling the thin air?"

  "Direct your attention to the liquid accumulation, Halleck." Idaho tugged insistently at his brother's garment. "Observe the water's behavior."

  The seemingly innocuous puddle suddenly manifested vibrational activity, defying gravitational principles as it ascended vertically, coalescing into a rectangular aqueous membrane. Both soldiers, demonstrating remarkable synchronization, retreated without verbal communication until positioned behind the goblin observers. "What unholy manifestation is this?!" exclaimed one guard—the same individual who had earlier impeded the goblins' access to the fortification. "Such unnatural phenomena defy comprehension."

  "...Indeed they do," Halleck concurred solemnly. Reflected in the watery screen, he could see the two panicked guards, himself and Idaho, and the silhouette of the keep behind them. But there was another figure there as well, one who did not belong: a young man, to be sure, but one who carried himself with a steady gait and the proud, unshakeable bearing of an emperor. As this individual emerged from the portal, however, his footing faltered dramatically, instantly dissolving his carefully cultivated impression of nobility.

  "..." Idaho removed his concealing hood and restored his felt headwear to its proper position. Halleck extracted his documentation materials and methodically eliminated a specific item from his task inventory. Both individuals renegotiated the narrow portal entrance to reenter the structure.

  "Moderate your impetuosity, Pip," Ricard counseled with measured patience. "Precipitous military engagement remains premature at this juncture..."

  "If we delay any longer, I fear we will lose Wafflo entirely," Grand Pip argued. "At the very least, let me or my son lead a sally forth."

  "Universal concern regarding Wafflo's vulnerability exists, but current circumstances render every individual combatant irreplaceable..."

  "Ah... distinguished lords," Idaho interjected with a deliberate throat-clearing.

  "Your presence persists unexpectedly?" "They appear to have executed an immediate return, Ricard."

  "Actually, we've successfully completed our primary assignment," Halleck announced, belatedly recalling his headwear deficiency and hastily rectifying the situation.

  The chamber's entrance swung open to admit a visibly discomfited and apprehensive soldier. "My lords, an individual claiming headmastership of Saint Asini Academy requests audience..." His announcement terminated abruptly as Patrick Fort physically displaced him mid-sentence. The guard's alarm manifested in ineffectual intervention attempts. Ricard Pafaheim dismissed the soldier with a casual gesture before addressing the newcomer: "Young man, you maintain administrative authority over Saint Asini?"

  "Affirmative," the youth confirmed, adjusting his shoulder strap while struggling to regulate his respiration. Bella Coren's portal craftsmanship apparently demonstrated questionable precision—or perhaps deliberate malice. Patrick had narrowly avoided interdimensional displacement on multiple occasions. "I am Patrick Fort, Headmaster of Saint Asini Academy, Your Grace."

  Ricard Pafaheim scrutinized the visitor's yellow ceremonial robe and oak magical implement before redirecting his astonished gaze toward the goblin messengers. "How could you possibly achieve such expeditious recruitment?! Did you not depart mere moments ago?"

  The goblin siblings exchanged meaningful glances before sharing identical expressions of self-satisfaction. Idaho executed a nonchalant shrug before responding with casual smugness: "You must understand, my lord," he paused for dramatic effect, "regarding task execution efficiency, goblin methodology frequently surpasses human capability by extraordinary margins."