Prologue
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It was a stormy night at Hammerfoot Post, rain pummelled the roof of the barracks and thunder rumbled from over the mountains. Captain Ordin stood watch atop the battlements, his helmet slick with rainwater and his limbs weary from the night’s work. The outpost was situated at the foot of The Glass Hammer, a mountain on the fringe of the Southern Range, and was one of many high-priority posts on the Kingdom’s southern border. Ordin was the captain of the 10-man squad situated here, and was on specific orders to protect the nearby hamlets from invading dwarves. Crossbow loaded, he gazed watchfully over the downs, ready to fire at the slightest of movement.
 
From the main watchtower, Declan, Ordin’s second-in-command, approached the Captain, his cloak held above his head to shelter him from the rain. Declan leant into Ordin’s ear and whispered a message quietly. Without taking his eyes away from the downs, Ordin nodded and dismissed Declan with a flick of his wrist. As the soldier returned to the tower, Ordin noticed a silhouette moving along the rim of a hill just north of the outpost, where the downs grew shallower. Resting his cheek on the crossbow, Ordin took aim at the silhouette and pulled the trigger. After a whip of wind, he heard the deep thud of the arrow lodging itself into the soil.
 
Cursing under his breath, the Captain turned and grabbed an arrow from his quiver. Turning back to the downs, he was met with the grinning, bearded face of a dwarf warrior. Before he could cry out to the rest of the outpost, the dwarf dragged Ordin over the battlements into the jagged rocks below. As more and more dwarves began crawling over the wall, they drew axes and hammers from their sheaths and crept their way into the main watchtower, killing the men of the Outpost one by one, filling the air with cries and screams from the soldiers. When the last man had been silenced, the dwarves cried their own calls of victory, signifying their claim of the Outpost.
 
Chapter 1
 
As I approached the tree-woven gateway of the village, the soothing smell of rich, pumpkin spice weaved itself through the air and around my body. The sound of rushing water told of a small stream winding itself between the trees. Pressing on through the gateway, I could see forges and furnaces wonderfully crafted from smooth, shining stone, recognising them as the Forest Children’s fabled silver forges. Past the forges, the path approached a round, cobbled square encircling a fountain carved from marble so bright that it made my eyes water just to look at it. As I reached out to feel the shimmering waters of the fountain, my mind was flushed with memories of better times from my childhood, before I left for the army.
 
However, I didn’t have time to dwell on those feelings, for I had important work to do. With a strong stride, I left the fountain and walked up the beech-lined path towards the Great Tree, home of the Children’s leader, The Wise Man of the Woods. Taking a deep breath, I rapped my knuckle against the oaken door, and waited for the tremendous boom of the Wise Man’s voice.
 
Before long, it came. “ENTER!” bellowed the voice from within the tree. Cautiously, I opened the grand double doors and bowed before the Wise Man. His face was almost entirely covered in hair, and his large stature was cloaked in a beautifully decorated green robe. “Your Majesty,” I began, unsure of how to address the Wise Man, “I have come to deliver a message from the commander of the North Sector of the Dwindledon Army, Our people are in dire need of aid in our defence against the dwarves of the southern mountains. Just two days ago, one of our outposts in the South Downs was invaded and claimed by dwarves working for Gorin, strongest of the Mountain Kings. We have asked the Elves of the eastern forest and they have declined; would you help us in their stead?” after a minute of thinking, the Wise Man replied.
 
“AND WHAT SHALL WE GET IN RETURN?”
 
“You, and all children of the forest, shall be allowed unintruded entry into the Kingdom of Dwindledon.”
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“AND WHAT IS IT YOU REQUIRE?”
 
“We wish for your 100 best soldiers, sword or bow.”
 
“WE REQUIRE MORE THAN MERE HOSPITALITY, MY FRIEND!” I could tell that I was going to have to work hard in order to win the Wise Man’s favour.
 
“I have nothing to give, but I am able to request a meeting with the King for you.” “THIS IS GOOD. TELL YOUR KING THAT I WISH FOR A MINIMUM OF 1000 GOLD PIECES”
 
“He will know.” I replied.
 
Chapter 2
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After leaving the village, I found my way back to the main road and followed it south to where the Plains met the Forest at Brambleneck River.
Then, I followed the guard path east towards the outpost.
 
In recent years, the Kingdom of Dwindledon had grown significantly, its borders expanding to cover almost the entire of the Great Plains. In addition, its territories in the South and West had begun encroaching on enemy lands more and more. This had warranted the construction of various Outposts, built on borders between kingdoms and in locations of high enemy activity. When I joined the army at the humble age of 15, I had been stationed on the largest of the woodland border outposts, named Thorngulch Post after the nearby Thorn Gulch, a Spinesnout war camp. There, the major threat that warranted protection was the Spinesnout clan of Thornlings inhabiting Thorn Gulch.
 
During my 4th year as a soldier, I was moved to the smaller, less important Riverside Post, on the banks of the Brambleneck, where my diverse linguistics could be put to better use in holding up relations with the Forest Children. Upon arriving at the Post, I realised just how little concern the Commanders had for it. I shared the Outpost with only 4 other soldiers: Lloyd, the self-proclaimed captain of the group, with an ego as big as a mountain; Holly, who spent all her time by the river or, when she could, across it studying plants and animals; Doug, a towering mass of muscle with little to no intelligence or will to fight; and Kald, a veteran from the South Front, and the only soldier competent enough to hold a Crossbow correctly.
 
I continued walking along the guard path towards the Outpost, watching the waterfowl as I did. The guard path ran parallel to the merchant’s road, between it and the river. The path itself was no more than a dirt track carved into the bank just high enough not to flood during the wet months. Around 100 yards from the Outpost, the road splits off and marches south towards Fort Gildren, leaving the path to turn sharply left towards the Post itself.
 
As I walk the final trudge towards the Outpost, I see Kald in his usual position atop the watchtower, ready to warn the others of threats that will likely never come. As I approach, he calls to Doug, who must be in the courtyard, to open the gates and let me in. Judging by the series of loud crashes and heavy thuds, he must be rather excited about something. Just before I reach the gate, it swings open fast enough to stun a man, and I’m scooped up in a bear-hug of raw human strength.