A chill spreads through the forest, as a low mist roils and dances across the mossy floor. A group of small goblins stomp through the darkness, their night eyes letting them pass through without a torch to give them away.

  They wander around in search of food, or fight, or entertainment in the form of eating or fighting. The clang of armor and sheathed weapons echoes out into the forest as they pass, the group outfitted in crude metal abominations cobbled together by sheer coincidence and the miracle of chances.

  Goblins, being who they are, are much too stupid to design tools beyond a branch to smash skulls in or a thick piece of bark to block attacks with. But with enough breeding and random mutations, a goblin is born with an uncanny urge to take raw metal and heat it up.

  And if the goblin horde is large enough, another goblin might be born with the urge to take heated up metal and bang it into shape. Then, another goblin is born, with the inexplicable urge to put metal bits on its person, wearing them as armor.

  Then, those goblins go out to join groups, who leave the horde to scout and fight and bring back resources. A group that, inevitably, gets wiped out, due to the fact that goblins are, without a doubt, some of the weakest monsters that can be found out in the wild.

  But sometimes, one of those goblins in the group that’s wiped out survives, thanks to the metal coverings it has an inexplicable urge to wear. And those goblins return to the horde as survivors, often mating and passing on their genetic code to the next generation.

  On and on this cycle goes, generation after generation, until eventually, those crude metal things start to resemble armor and spears, and their fighting starts to resemble stances and tactics.

  Give a horde long enough, with enough food to feed and breed off of, and who knows what they could be capable of.

  Which is why, when this group of goblins hears a stick snap, their formation turns as one, shields up and ready for whatever might be coming for them.

  Which saves most of their lives, as a blade of sharp wind digs deep into their shields, the metal screeching and bending from the force, flinging them back into each other with a cry of pain and indignation.

  They jostle and bang against each other aggressively, as they untangle limbs and weapons from the pile that they landed in. Now standing, they scan the darkness once again, searching for whatever attacked them. The one in front peers into the mist around him, his eyes squinting as he tries to pick out anything moving in the inky darkness.

  He sees a blob move, a tiny glow around it, and calls out to his allies, the group screeching at the top of their lungs and charging towards it with all of their speed. They lower their spears at the thing and it starts moving out of their way, the thing glowing brighter as they get closer and closer to it. The lead goblin licks its lips in anticipation for the fight to come, as well as the meat that it’s surely going to be able to consume soon. It can’t remember when it was last given the privilege to eat fresh, warm meat. It’ll savor the taste as long as it can. It pictures it vividly in its little mind: Itself, sitting on a pile of fresh meat, while the Queen pampers him as he deserves.

  So busy is this goblin with his delusions, that he misses the scream of one of his party mates, as a much larger and much more silent shape snaps a beak down on its head, crushing it in one bite and dragging it off into the mists without another sound.

  The lead goblin finally gets close enough to see its next meal, and is delighted to that find it’s a small man-shaped thing. He remembers eating man once, when he was much younger. His mouth salivates at the thought of eating it again.

  He lets out a blood-curling war cry, lowering his spear some more and putting on a burst of even more speed. His spear tip digs into the ground, halting the weapon mid-step and the goblin with it. The goblin falls to the ground in pain, the wind knocked out of it, as another wind blade careens over its head and cuts down his friends in a bloody spurt of viscera.

  The goblin takes a moment to catch its breath, its brain not able to comprehend what just happened. It looks around at its friends and finds that only two more remain, the rest having disappeared at some point or are lying dead on the ground around it.

  The goblin gets up, hyperventilating. It’s never been in this situation before. It doesn’t know what to do. Its brain is far too small for it to be able to come up with a plan around this.

  But something deep down within the goblin’s DNA knows just what to do in this situation. A mutation that saved its father’s father’s father’s life sparks to life inside it, activating for the first time.

  Thus, the goblin raises the small horn to its lips, and blows for backup.

  And the glowing blob in the mists lets out a chuckle, as all of the goblins in the area start to swarm to his call, coming to his aid.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Emily repeats this process over and over, with Blue’s help, gathering more and more goblins to chase her. She cuts down a small amount, then lets them call for backup. The call is carried down to the goblin town, and more reinforcements arrive, starting the cycle anew. Whenever she feels like the horde has grown big enough, she calls for Blue, using the beautiful new saddle to race ahead of the group before she draws them to her once again.

  Minutes pass like this. Then hours. The night grows chill, as the mist coalesces into frost on the ground and foliage around it, the witching hour swiftly arriving. The dark becomes impenetrable even to the Goblin’s keen eyes, as all of a sudden, the last horn blare reaches the goblin town once again.

  And the Queen is awoken.

  ======================================================================

  The forest lights up with the lights of a thousand torches, the command sent down the lines to gather the troops and hunt down this threat with impunity. A massive line stretches from the goblin town to the source of their woes, ever growing larger and larger.

  High above the forest’s canopy, flying through the sky as easily as a bird, moves Raymond, the Wind Archmage himself. He chews on his mustache in worry, as he tries and fails to tamp down his nervousness.

  The meeting with the other Archmages went poorly. His scouting of Wrenfall’s king went just as badly, his every attempt at getting close enough to spy on the king was met with him coming to on a random street, smiling and talking jovially about what a lovely day it was to anyone who was nearby. His hope that he could gather some insider support was met with more than one meeting that would have ended in his death and betrayal, if he wasn’t a cautious man by nature. Nothing he did came even close to making an impact.

  Feeling dejected, Raymond decides to do the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life, instead:

  Finally go and visit his sister and niece, regardless of how much she might still hate him. He deserved a break, dammit. And what better way to spend a break than with his only family?

  He runs through tactics in his head as he stares down at the dark forest below him, considering what he’s going to say to her and how he’s going to react to her anger. Will she try to hit him? Will she scream? Will she cry and welcome him with open arms? What will he do if she did?

  As he’s pondering all of this, he notices that the forest below him is growing… Lighter. He stops in midair, hovering there on silent magics, as he follows the light until he can see a great, orange glow in the distance.

  “What the…?”

  He flies closer, following the trail, his confusion slowly and surely turning to dread as the sounds of the forest below him come to life.

  The sounds of thousands of feet, marching in step.

  The flicker of thousands of torches, held by tiny green hands.

  And the rumble of weapons, all clanging together.

  Raymond watches in horror, as the largest line of goblins that he has ever heard of, marches through the night - on a war path that can’t be stopped.

  ==============================================================

  Emily lets out a loud sigh, as she tugs on Blue’s sack before sliding off of the saddle with relief. It’s made a massive difference to her ride comfort. And Blue even has reins now, so she can steer him much more easily!

  “Good job, boy. You make me proud.”

  She pats him on his fluffy side in congratulations for a job well done, looking up at his hooded face, a tiny pinprick feeling of pride and joy cutting through the numbness. She vows that the moment this is all done, she’ll give him a nice, big hunk of salted meat. Maybe even a whole cow, if she can convince her mom.

  She looks down from the cliff she’s standing on to the camp below it, the FOB quiet but alert, the occasional soldier walking through the narrow rows of tents. The whole thing being tucked up against a cliff was such a stroke of luck for Emily, for multiple reasons. But the main reason, right now, is because she should be able to see the exact moment that…

  There!

  With her heart fluttering, she spots it: A lone goblin, hesitatingly walking into sight of the camp, its steps wobbly and unsure about what it’s seeing. It lets out a small cry, before rushing the gate, taking three steps before the archers on the wall spot the little critter and pepper it with arrows.

  Emily lets out a hiss of sympathy, as it collapses to the ground, speared through like a porcupine. It struggles for a moment before going still, its life snuffed out just like that.

  The archers chuckle to each other, satisfied with the slight bit of entertainment. Goblins might be a nuisance, and if the camp is discovered, a goblin horde might try to take them on. But only if there are any goblins left to relay the camp’s location back to the horde. And even then, what could a tiny goblin horde possibly do against their army?

  Emily watches intently, her breath held, as the archers lower their bows again and relax.

  And the forest lights up with the glow of torches, as the rest of the Goblin horde surrounds the camp, the march of boots growing louder and louder and louder. They stop in place, as archer locks eyes with horde, and horde locks eyes with the camp.

  Before a horn is blown, echoing out into the night.

  Which is picked up by another, further away.

  And another…

  And another…

  And the horde shifts forwards as one entity, taking a step closer to the camp.