“Send Hunters for the girl,” he urged. “I should stay.”

Through the mass of bodies, Twelve caught sight of Victory, her face strained. “Guardian, respectfully, I must disagree. Your battle strength is exactly what is needed to retrieve our lost student.” Her voice rang with authority and a murmur of agreement swept through the assembled Hunters. “You are faster than our snagglefeet and will catch up with the girl before we would. We Hunters are more numerous than you: we can collapse the tunnel and secure the lodge more quickly than you can.” An edge of frustration crept into the weaponsmaster’s voice. “My logic is sound. I don’t understand why you’re still here. Nothing like this has happened since the Dark War—our response must be a hammer blow. Guardian, you are that blow!”

Yells of mixed agreement and dissent rose, shivering the wooden door beneath Twelve’s fingers.

“SILENCE!” roared Elder Hoarfrost.

The hubbub of voices died down immediately. Twelve inched farther into the room to hear what he said.

“We’ve got one girl’s word there were goblins ’ere. None of ye lot saw ’em. Our Guardian didn’t see ’em. None of the reliable students saw ’em. Grinkeling gimlets! What Twelve says doesn’t make sense. There ain’t no more goblin mages—the witches of Icegaard set it so that could never happen again.”

Twelve felt a dull flush flood over her face and her hands clenched into fists. Did Elder Hoarfrost really think she was lying? On her shoulder, Widge growled softly.

“Silver trusted the girl,” Victory replied evenly. “She would have listened to her.”

“Silver is dead,” Hoarfrost said shortly.

In the silence that followed, Victory’s quiet words rang clear. “I trust her.”

For a moment, all Twelve could hear was the pounding of her own heart. A warm, liquid feeling spread through her at Victory’s words.

“This fits with a pattern of evidence,” a voice called out a moment later. “The winter wolves, the snarrows, all the supposedly seasonal creatures we meet are now dangerous year-round. Dark creatures are more problematic than ever before and wraith possessions are higher than they’ve been for centuries. There has to be a reason behind all of this.”

A shy voice called out, “Should we send word of the attack to Icegaard?”

Sounds of derision reached Twelve’s ears. “The witches? What are they going to do?”

The same voice rose again, defensively. “They might know something we don’t. They might help us find the girl.”

“We ain’t heard from the witches in decades,” Elder Hoarfrost said, “an’ I don’t reckon they’ll be bothering themselves to help now.”