Rurran's breath misted in the cold dawn air as he moved through Threeburrow's scattered paths.

  The settlement looked smaller in daylight—a collection of rough timber frames and stone shelters huddled against the mountainside. Smoke rose from a handful of chimneys. Goblins moved between structures, hauling water or tending small fires. A few kobold younglings chased each other near the southern burrow entrance, their laughter thin against the wind.

  It should have eased him but it didn't.

  Rurran's copper eyes swept the perimeter—checking sight lines, counting movement, cataloging threats. Old habits. The kind that kept packs alive when the world wanted them dead.

  A figure emerged from the eastern treeline.

  Rurran shifted direction without breaking stride, intercepting the scout before he reached the center.

  "Report," Rurran said.

  The gnoll—Varrik—stopped and straightened. His fur carried snow and the faint scent of frost. He'd been out since before dawn.

  "No sign of Rurrak or the goblin younglings," Varrik said, voice low. "Tracked as far as the eastern ridge. Found their scent near the herb thickets, but it goes cold past the ravine."

  Rurran's jaw tightened. "How long?"

  "Six hours. Maybe more."

  His ears flattened slightly

  "Anything else?"

  Varrik hesitated. "Tracks. Northeast ridge, half a mile out. Draugr. Fresh. I counted Twenty sets, maybe more—hard to tell with the snow."

  "Moving toward the village?"

  "No. Circling. Like they're hunting."

  Rurran's ears angled back, the fur along his neck prickling. "You see them?"

  "No. Just the marks."

  "Good." Rurran's voice stayed even. "Get inside. Eat. Rest."

  Varrik nodded and turned toward the gnoll burrow.

  Rurran stood alone in the cold, watching the eastern treeline.

  Twenty draugr. Maybe a small horde.

  Rurrak and two goblin younglings somewhere in the snow.

  He exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to loosen.

  Don't assume the worst. Not yet.

  But the worst had teeth. It always did.

  Rurran descended into the central hearth chamber.

  The warmth hit him first—fire and bodies, the familiar scent of shared space. Kraggir sat near the coals, tail flicking as he scratched marks onto a flat stone. Trade tallies, probably. The kobold's focus never wavered.

  Ygrana knelt by the fire. Her yellow eyes tracked Rurran the moment he entered.

  "Varrik's back," Rurran said.

  Kraggir looked up. "And?"

  Rurran crossed to the hearth and settled against the wall, letting the heat sink into his bones. "No sign of Rurrak or the younglings. Trail went cold past the eastern ridge."

  He shifted against the stone wall, watching the firelight play across their faces. Kraggir's claws still rested on the stone tablet. Ygrana's expression remained unreadable, but her hands had gone still.

  Rurran let the silence settle, then continued. "Varrik found more than just cold trail. Draugr prints. Fresh."

  Kraggir's tail froze mid-flick. "How many?"

  "Twenty sets, he thinks. Hard to count with the snow." Rurran's voice stayed measured, but his ears had flattened slightly. "They weren't heading toward us. Circling. Like they're hunting."

  Ygrana's yellow eyes narrowed. "A horde?"

  "Could be the start of one." Rurran's claws flexed against his knees. "Or just strays drawn by warmth. Either way, it's not nothing."

  Kraggir stood slowly, stone dust drifting from his hands. "How close to Rurrak's trail?"

  "Too close."

  The fire crackled. Somewhere deeper in the burrow, voices murmured—low, unbothered. Safe.

  Rurran kept his gaze on the flames. "If it's building into a horde, we'll know soon enough. They don't stay quiet long."

  Ygrana's jaw tightened. "And if Rurrak's caught between them and the ridge?"

  Rurran didn't answer immediately. He didn't need to.

  Rurran gave a long sigh and leaned forward, deciding to try and change the subject. "Matron. You still sensing it?"

  Ygrana's eyes shifted. "The strangers?"

  "Yes."

  She nodded slowly. "Still coming. From the east. Should be here soon."

  Rurran's jaw tightened. "How soon?"

  "Hours. Maybe less."

  Kraggir stood, brushing stone dust from his hands. "Timing's bad."

  "Timing's always bad," Rurran muttered.

  Ygrana rose, bone charms clicking softly as she straightened. "The strangers aren't draugr. The tremor feels… different."

  "Different how?" Rurran asked.

  She hesitated, choosing words carefully. "Not hostile. But not harmless either. Power moves with them—controlled, deliberate. Like leylines pulled taut."

  Rurran's ears angled forward. "Merchants? Raiders?"

  "Unknown."

  Kraggir's gaze shifted between them. "What do we do?"

  Rurran exhaled, considering. "If Rurrak's still out there, he'll head back when he can. The younglings too. Best we can do is keep the perimeter clear."

  "And the strangers?" Kraggir pressed.

  Ygrana's voice stayed quiet. "We meet them. Carefully."

  Rurran grunted. "Meet them how? Open gates and hope they're friendly?"

  "No." Ygrana's yellow eyes hardened. "We watch. We assess. If they mean harm, we seal the burrows. If they bring trade…" She trailed off.

  "Then we talk," Kraggir finished.

  Rurran's claws flexed against stone. "If the power's strong enough for you to sense, we prepare for the worst. We surround them before they reach the village. No matter how powerful, preparation gives us advantage."

  Kraggir's tail stilled completely. "Opening with hostility? That's how you start wars, not trade talks."

  "It's how you survive," Rurran countered. "We control the meeting. We set the terms. If they're peaceful, we ease off. If not—"

  "Then we've made enemies we didn't need to make," Kraggir said sharply. His copper eyes flicked toward Ygrana. "Matron?"

  Ygrana's bone charms clicked softly as she shifted. Her yellow eyes moved between them—measuring.

  "I understand both positions," she said quietly. "Caution keeps us alive. But fear makes enemies of friends."

  Rurran's ears flattened. "And trust gets throats cut."

  "Not always."

  The fire crackled between them.

  Before anyone could speak again, footsteps echoed from the tunnel entrance.

  Another gnoll scout burst into the chamber—breathing hard.

  "Rurran," the scout gasped. "Movement. Eastern approach. A wagon."

  Rurran straightened immediately. "How many?"

  "Can't tell from this distance. But it's big. And it's heading straight for us."

  Kraggir's claws scraped stone. "A wagon? Not raiders, then."

  "Maybe not," Rurran said. "But maybe something worse."

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Ygrana stood slowly, her gaze distant. After a long moment, she exhaled.

  "Rurran's right," she said softly. "We prepare. We surround. But we do not strike first."

  Kraggir's tail lashed once. "Matron—"

  "I said we do not strike first," Ygrana repeated, voice firm. "But we will not be caught defenseless."

  Rurran nodded once. "Good enough."

  He turned toward the tunnel, voice rising. "Everyone inside. Now. Warriors to me—goblins, gnolls, kobolds. Everyone else, get below and stay there."

  Movement erupted throughout the burrows.

  Footsteps scattered. Voices called out—sharp, urgent.

  Rurran moved toward the entrance, his mind already mapping positions.

  The perimeter came together quickly.

  Rurran crouched low in the snow, his body pressed flat against the frozen ground. The white cloak Kraggir's people had sewn blended seamlessly with the terrain. Around him, twenty others did the same—scattered in a wide ring, invisible to anyone approaching from the road.

  Spears. Bows. Short blades.

  Enough to hold ground if things turned bad.

  Rurran's ears swiveled, tracking the distant crunch of hooves and wheels.

  Steady. Wait.

  The wagon emerged from the treeline.

  Big. Pulled by something massive—a creature Rurran didn't recognize. Antlers. Broad shoulders. Too large to be an ordinary beast of burden.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Five figures.

  No—six, counting the wolf.

  A violet-black wolf that moved like shadow given form.

  Rurran's breath stilled.

  What in the frozen hells is that?

  The wagon rolled closer.

  Two on the bench—a man and a younger figure. Behind them, shapes huddled in the bed. And flanking the sides—

  Rurran's copper eyes locked onto the tall figure on the left.

  Armored. Cloak billowing. He skill told him that what he had in his hand was a weapon—something sleek and angular that didn't look like any weapon Rurran had ever seen.

  And on the right—a woman. Grayish green skin. Tusked. Massive warhammer resting against her shoulder.

  The wolf prowled beside the wagon, its fur rippling with faint violet light.

  Rurran's claws dug into the snow.

  Too late to back out now.

  He waited until the wagon reached the center of the ring.

  Then he stood.

  Around him, the others rose as one—twenty figures materializing from nothing, weapons drawn, forming a loose circle.

  The woman with the warhammer didn't flinch. Her hand shot up, fist raised.

  "We're surrounded."

  Rurran's ears angled forward.

  Smart.

  The tall armored figure shifted immediately, weapon rising. The wolf phase-stepped closer to the wagon's flank, its form shimmering.

  The man on the bench—older, calm—spoke quietly. "Where?"

  The woman didn't answer.

  She didn't need to.

  Rurran stepped forward, spear lowered but ready. His voice carried across the snow.

  "That's close enough."

  * * *

  Marron's boots hit the snow with a thud as he descended from the driver's bench. He kept his movements slow, deliberate—hands visible, posture open.

  Behind him, Snow Tusk shifted nervously. Tanna murmured something calming, and beast steadied.

  He swept his gaze across the ring of figures. Twenty, maybe more. Spears, bows, blades. Positioned well. Professional.

  The tightness in his chest loosened slightly.

  Marron glanced left. Mazoga stood motionless, warhammer drawn and ready. Her amber eyes tracked every movement.

  Doc had moved to the wagon's left, weapon raised but not threatening. Fish prowled beside him, violet light rippling through her coat.

  Between the three of them, they could cut through this.

  But we don't need to.

  Marron exhaled slowly. He turned his head just enough to catch Mazoga's eye.

  "Be ready," he said quietly. "But let me handle this."

  Mazoga's jaw tightened. After a beat, she nodded.

  Doc didn't speak. He simply lowered his weapon a fraction—just enough to signal his acceptance.

  Marron straightened, hands visible. Open.

  The tall gnoll with the spear stood ahead of the ring. Leader. Had to be.

  Marron pitched his voice to carry. Keeping it calm and respectful.

  "Greetings, friend. My name is Marron. I lead this trade expedition."

  He gestured toward the wagon.

  "With me are Mazoga"—he nodded toward the orc-kin woman—"and Doc." His hand swept toward the armored figure. "Behind us, Bran and Tanna." He pointed toward the bench and the woman beside Snow Tusk. "And Calen, seated on the wagon."

  The gnoll's ears swiveled. Listening.

  Marron kept his tone steady. "We carry one injured. A gnoll—Rurrak, I believe—and two goblin children. Brikka and Sivvy."

  At the mention of her name, Brikka scrambled upright in the wagon bed. She waved frantically.

  "We're okay! Rurrak's alive! The paladin saved us!"

  Marron winced internally at "paladin," but he didn't correct her.

  The tall gnoll's posture shifted immediately. His spear lowered slightly. His copper eyes locked onto Brikka.

  Then flicked toward the covered form beside her.

  Marron watched the tension bleed from the gnoll's shoulders.

  Good.

  Before the gnoll could respond, movement flickered from the right side of the ring.

  A kobold emerged—slate-blue scales catching the light. He spoke quickly, voice pitched low. Marron couldn't catch all of it, but the tone was sharp. Annoyed.

  The gnoll's ears flattened. He growled something back.

  The kobold's tail lashed once. Then he stepped forward, brushing past the gnoll entirely.

  His yellow eyes locked onto Marron. Bright. Curious.

  "Apologies for the rough welcome," the kobold said, his voice carrying a warmth the gnoll's hadn't. "I'm Kraggir. Foreman and trade representative of Threeburrow."

  Marron's chest loosened another notch.

  Trade representative. Perfect.

  He inclined his head. "No apology needed. We're strangers approaching your home. Caution makes sense."

  Kraggir's tail flicked again—less agitated now. "You said Rurrak's injured?"

  "Badly," Marron confirmed. "We gave him medicine, but he needs rest. Without it, he won't recover."

  Kraggir's expression tightened. He turned sharply, calling toward the ring.

  A smaller kobold broke formation immediately, sprinting toward the hillside.

  Kraggir turned back. "Our Matron will prepare. Come. Let's get him inside."

  Marron nodded. "Thank you."

  The ring began to dissolve. Warriors lowered their weapons, stepping aside.

  Marron exhaled slowly.

  First step cleared.

  The wagon lurched forward as Tanna guided Snow Tusk through the gap. Mazoga fell into step beside the wheel. Doc and Fish flanked the opposite side.

  Bran walked quietly beside the wagon. Calen peered over the edge of the bed, eyes wide.

  Ahead, the hillside opened into a narrow entrance—part tunnel, part gate.

  Kraggir walked at the front, his pace quick but controlled.

  The tall gnoll fell in beside him, spear still in hand. His gaze lingered on Rurrak's covered form.

  Marron studied the settlement as they approached.

  Stone and packed earth, barely visible against the hillside. Hidden. Intentionally so

  Outcasts.

  His instincts hummed.

  The wagon passed through the gate, and the cold mountain air gave way to Faint warmth.

  Marron's mind was already working.

  Ygrana reached the wagon bed before Kraggir finished talking, one gnarled hand gripping the wooden edge.

  The human's voice continued behind her—smooth and practiced. She ignored it. Brikka and Sivvy were all that mattered right now.

  Brikka spotted her first.

  "Matron!" The girl's voice cracked with relief.

  Sivvy scrambled closer, clutching his satchel. His eyes were wide, frightened.

  Ygrana studied them both. They had a few scratches and bruises but they were alive.

  "What happened?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended.

  Brikka spoke quickly. "We were gathering herbs near the ridge. Frostroot and snapvine. Rurrak was watching us." She swallowed hard. "Then the draugr came."

  Sivvy nodded frantically. "Lots of them. Ten, maybe more. Rurrak fought them off, but—" His voice broke. "He got hurt. Bad. We had to run."

  Ygrana's chest tightened.

  She glanced toward the covered form. Rurrak's scent—blood and sweat—lingered in the air beneath the furs.

  Brikka continued, her words tumbling out. "We tried to get away, but they followed us. Two of them cornered us. Rurrak fought them, but he was too injured. They wouldn't stop." Her hands twisted in her scarf. "We were going to die."

  Ygrana's jaw tightened.

  "Then the paladin came."

  Ygrana froze.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  "What?"

  Brikka nodded quickly. "He came out of nowhere. Had a glowing sword. Killed a draugr in seconds. His wolf helped too—she destroyed the other one."

  Ygrana's pulse hammered.

  Paladin.

  She'd never seen one herself. But she knew what they were.

  Champions of the empire. Holy warriors.

  But they were no friends to goblins.

  Her gaze snapped toward the armored figure standing beside the wagon. Tall. Silent. Weapon sheathed but still visible.

  The wolf prowled beside him, violet light rippling through its coat.

  Her throat tightened.

  Why would a paladin save goblin children?

  "Matron—"

  The voice pulled her back.

  Ygrana turned.

  A broad-shouldered man stood beside the wagon. His tunic was dusted with snow, his hands large and steady. Beside him, a younger boy—nervous, but watching carefully.

  The man's presence settled over her like a hearthfire.

  Calm. Grounded.

  Ygrana blinked.

  Her chest loosened.

  His class.

  She smiled faintly despite herself.

  "Is there anything we can do to help?" the man asked. His voice was low. Respectful.

  Ygrana studied him for a moment. Then she glanced at the boy.

  "Yes," she said quietly. "Help me carry Rurrak inside."

  Behind her, she heard movement.

  Yarrik—one of the gnoll guards—stepped forward. His spear was still raised slightly. "Matron, you can't—"

  Ygrana raised one hand.

  "Enough."

  Her voice carried across the tunnel.

  Yarrik stopped.

  So did the others.

  She turned, meeting each of their gazes. Gnoll. Goblin. Kobold.

  "These strangers saved our children," she said firmly. "They brought Rurrak home when they could have left him to die." Her yellow eyes swept across the ring. "They are here as friends and allies."

  She paused.

  "Not enemies."

  Silence filled the tunnel.

  Then, slowly, Yarrik lowered his spear.

  The others followed.

  Ygrana turned back to the broad-shouldered man.

  "Thank you," she said simply.

  He nodded. "Of course."

  Together, they moved toward Rurrak's still form.

  Ygrana watched Thessa settle the last of the furs around Rurrak's still form.

  The young goblin's hands moved quietly—checking over the Rurrak one final time.

  Rurrak's breathing was steady now.

  Thessa straightened, her gaze flicking nervously to the strangers standing near the entrance. The broad-shouldered man. The boy beside him.

  Ygrana stepped closer.

  "Thank you, Thessa."

  The young goblin ducked her head. "Of course, Matron."

  Ygrana placed one hand on her shoulder. "Stay with him. Watch for fever or tremors. If anything changes, send word immediately."

  Thessa nodded quickly. "I will."

  Ygrana turned toward the two strangers.

  They stood quietly near the doorway, giving Rurrak space. The boy—Calen—shifted his weight but didn't speak. The older man remained calm, his hands resting loosely at his sides.

  "Come with me," Ygrana said simply. "Rurrak needs rest."

  The man inclined his head. "Understood."

  Ygrana moved toward the exit, then paused near Brikka and Sivvy.

  The two younglings sat against the wall, watching Rurrak with wide eyes.

  "Go," Ygrana said gently. "Find your families. Let them know you're safe."

  Brikka hesitated. "But—"

  "Now."

  Her tone left no room for argument.

  Brikka rose slowly, pulling Sivvy to his feet.

  "There will be a council meeting tonight," Ygrana continued. "You'll tell everyone what happened. But for now, rest."

  Sivvy nodded quickly.

  Brikka lingered a moment longer, then bowed her head. "Yes, Matron."

  The two younglings slipped past her into the corridor.

  Ygrana watched them go, then turned back to the strangers.

  "This way."

  She led them through the tunnel, her staff tapping softly against the stone floor. The air grew colder as they moved away from the deep burrow.

  Ygrana stepped into the cold air beyond the entrance, blinking against the brightness.

  Kraggir stood near the wagon, speaking quietly with the merchant. The armored figure—the one Brikka called a paladin—remained beside the massive antlered beast.

  The large woman leaned against the wagon bed, arms crossed. Watchful.

  Yarrik and the other guards still lingered at the edges, uncertain.

  Ygrana swept her gaze across the group.

  Then she stopped.

  "Rurrak is stable," she announced. "He will recover."

  Relief flickered across several faces.

  Kraggir exhaled slowly. "Good."

  Ygrana planted her staff in the snow.

  "Now," she said firmly. "We talk."

  Rurran's ears swiveled toward the eastern ridge, then back. "Not out here. If there are more draugr moving through the area, we shouldn't stand exposed."

  Kraggir nodded. "Agreed. Matron, the central hearth?"

  Ygrana studied the strangers for a long moment—the merchant, the armored figure, the massive woman with her warhammer.

  Finally, she nodded. "Bring them inside."

  The large woman shifted her grip on her warhammer but didn't lower it. The merchant's eyes flicked toward her, silent communication passing between them. Still wary. Good. So am I.

  Ygrana's gaze drifted to the armored figure as they moved toward the tunnel entrance.

  The children had called him a paladin.

  But paladins served the Empire. They hunted heretics and monsters. They didn't save goblin younglings in the mountains.

  And they certainly didn't travel with void-touched wolves.

  Her bone charms clicked softly as she studied him. The way he moved. The weapon at his side. The wolf prowling at his heel, violet light rippling through shadow-dark fur.

  Everything about him whispered wrong.

  Ygrana's fingers tightened on her staff.

  What are you really doing here?

  Thank you for reading!!

  Chapter 62 Drop friday