He startled his guards when he came stomping out into the depressing haze only worn by the pre-dawn sky. Without waiting for the goblins’ reaction to his early rising, he began walking. He had no destination in mind, but his feet took him away from the sea and towards the Red Cap camp. His body and mind limped along in a fog of exhaustion, yearning for only the basest needs of sleep, food, and companionship, everything he had just fled. A quick, near delirious laugh escaped his throat and Padric could not help but shake his head. A witch, a frightened girl and a willing thrall. If only he could add a husk to his royal household of slaves and spies.

Much of the camp still slept, the goblins crammed inside decrepit field tents. A few stirred about, fetching water or relieving themselves, while others sat huddled around the cook fires, staring blankly into the thick, white smoke. Padric picked his way along, shivering without the cloak he had left in the longhouse. He marveled at the sheer number of goblins and remembered the fear he felt when only a fraction had come screaming into Hog’s Wallow, thirsty for blood. Wherever this army was pointed, they needed to be warned and Padric plied his brain for a solution, but met with failure.

As he and his escort approached the edge of the camp, the Meadow began to lose the battle with the hills and rocks that invaded most of Airlann. Sentries stood watch, looking away from their sleeping fellows and into the bank of fog running rampant across the world before the sun appeared to chase it away. Padric noticed a sizable group of Red Caps standing ready near something large. As he approached, he saw it was a heavily laden wagon. The shapeless load covered in sailcloth and tied down with heavy rope. Four sleepy oxen were yoked to the wagon and the two goblins that sat on the driver’s bench were impatiently listening to instructions from a Red Cap on the ground.

“We puttin’ heel to ground on the morrow,” he lectured. “And affer we’s thru with Black Pool, we on to you, so no tarryin’! Got to get them with the rest and made ready.”

At least fifty Red Caps, all armed with billhooks and poleaxes, stood around the wagon waiting to march, but Padric strode past them without a care, the hopelessness in his heart making him bold.

“Oi there!” the commander shouted, jumping between Padric and the wagon.

Padric took a solid step forward, shooting his arm out to grasp the goblin by the front of his iron studded jerkin. He pulled him roughly forward, until the bulbous nose almost touched his own.