Oriel dropped out of the gray sky like a thrown knife, wings flaring. Ari's eyes cleared from the far look she wore when she rode the hawk's sight.
"They're close," she said, voice tight. "Two dozen at least. Wolves on the flanks."
"How long?" Brennar's hand closed around his axe.
"Less than an hour."
They pushed harder down the rutted road. Smoke stung Rowan's nose before he saw the village—thin threads leaking from thatch, not yet fire, not yet screams, but close.
The square was already shaking apart. Women clutched children. Men shouted at nothing. An elder waved his arms toward the meeting hall with no one listening. Faces went pale when they saw Rowan's group, as if unsure whether help had arrived or more trouble.
"We don't have time for speeches," Brennar barked. "Anyone with arms, grab them. Spears, axes, shovels—I don't care. You stand or you die."
People scattered. A few thick-handed farmers snatched up wood axes and pitchforks. But most were bent backs and soft shoes, old men with shaking hands, boys with faces too young, mothers with babies pressed to their chests. One lad no older than Toren gripped a rusted spear that seemed heavier than he was.
Rowan's stomach tightened. "We can't hold with this," he muttered, mostly to himself.
A woman cried out, sharp with fear, "There aren't enough weapons! How are we supposed to fight soldiers?"
The words ran through the crowd like cold water. Brennar swore under his breath. For once even his grin was gone. "They're too many," he said, low. "Even with me at the front…"
Ashwyn moved.
The old Warden stepped forward, staff tapping stone. His voice was calm, steady, and it cut through the noise. "If iron is lacking," he said, "then we use what the forest gives."
He drove his staff into the earth.
The ground shuddered. From cracks in the dirt, roots burst up thick as wrists, curling and weaving. Vines climbed and knotted themselves around outer walls, crossing doorframes and alleys. Bramble surged in thorned ropes, stitching the gaps. Even the well's stone lip breathed ivy that tightened like a belt. In breaths, a living wall circled the village's edge—a low, green fortress that creaked and settled like a waking beast.
Gasps rippled across the square. Some villagers crossed themselves. Others whispered of spirits. Rowan simply stared, awe rising like a chill.
"Stay within the green," Ashwyn said. "The forest will hold what I command."
Ari's voice snapped clean through the hush. "Bows. Do we have bows?"
People glanced at one another. A woman raised a shaking hand. Two older children stepped forward—small, but steady.
Ari nodded, already stringing her own. "You three, up on the wall. You don't need strength, only calm hands. Aim for eyes and throats. Nothing else." To one boy, she added, "Breathe on the count—not before."
The fear didn't vanish, but it found shape. Directions. Tasks.
A growl rolled in from the fields.
Yellow eyes slid out of the treeline. One wolf, then two, then the whole pack, shoulders high as a man's chest, jaws wet and ready. Shadows moved behind them where men drove them on.
"Hold fast!" Brennar roared, setting his stance. "They'll test the line before they test us!"
The wolves hit the wall.
The first slammed into the bramble and howled when thorns found meat. Another tried to slide around, but Pan erupted from the shadow of a hut, teeth flashing; it vanished again before blood hit the ground. High above, Oriel stooped and raked a wolf's eye. The beast spun blind, snapping at air.
One found a thin patch of vine and forced through. Rowan stepped to meet it. He dipped his harpoon's tip into his pouch; water slicked along the prongs, clinging, sharpening. The wolf lunged. Rowan thrust short and straight. The spear bit deep—deeper than iron alone—and the weight of it dragged the beast down. He yanked free, breath sharp.
Another came, and Brennar met it with a laugh that held no joy. His axe rose and fell. Bone parted. He shoved the carcass clear with his boot. "Next!"
Arrows hissed. Ari's bow thrummed, each shot quick and sure. "Left flank!" she called. "Eyes high! Behind the bramble!" The woman and boys at the wall did as told—awkward at first, then steadier, the string's snap less shaky with each draw.
Nyx flickered where the shadow was deepest. A raider archer at the trees had time for one scream before her knives found him. She was gone again before his body hit the roots.
The treeline itself answered Ashwyn. Bramble—the wolf—padded out of the vines and launched, jaws closing on a raider's throat. Antlers crashed through leaves beside him as the stag—Eldros—charged, throwing wolves aside like brush. Villagers cheered without meaning to, voices changing from fear to fire. Spears jabbed through green gaps. A wood axe hacked down at a muzzle that thrust too close.
For a heartbeat, Rowan believed they might hold.
Then the raiders stepped out.
Dark armor. Locked shields. Spears leveled in a neat hedge. They did not rush. They advanced. Boots thudded in time. No shouts. No wild charge. Trained.
Rowan's chest went cold.
Speartips punched into the green. The wall flexed and lashed back, vines snapping shafts, bramble threading grips, but the line behind the shields kept coming, step by step. Wolves pressed at the edges again, worrying at thin places. A few raiders split off and took knives to the vines, sawing hard. Others raised bows; arrows rattled off the living wall, but some slipped through and thudded into doors.
Ashwyn's staff shook in his grip. "They push with weight not their own," he growled. "Corruption guides their feet."
"Then we push back harder," Brennar spat, and waded to the weakest gap. Rowan slid in at his shoulder, frost crawling along his harpoon's edge with a hiss.
"Keep your hands steady!" Ari called to the wall team, loosing and nocking in one smooth rhythm. "On my mark. One—two—loose!"
Above, Oriel circled, fierce and sure. Below, Pan flowed like smoke, dragging a raider into shadow with a wet grunt. Bramble tore into the flank of the spear wall; Eldros struck it broadside, antlers cracking a shield like dry wood.
The bramble wall groaned. One thick vine snapped and fell in a spray of thorns. A wolf wriggled through the sudden gap; Rowan met it, steel and ice together, and it went still at his feet. He didn't have time to feel anything about it.
A spear jabbed through a seam and sliced Brennar's arm. He didn't even look. He hooked the shaft with his axe head, yanked, and slammed the raider into the thorns until he stopped moving. Blood ran dark down Brennar's wrist. Lyra shouted his name; he waved her off without turning.
"Right!" Ari's voice cut through the clash. "Shields lifting—eyes!"
Her next arrow took a man in the throat where iron didn't cover. The woman beside her swallowed and copied the angle. The boy breathed on the count and his arrow struck a cheek seam with a shocked cry.
Still the line came.
Rowan's arms burned. He set his feet anyway. In, strike, out. He felt the water along his blade listening for his hands, ready to bite when he asked. He tried not to ask too much.
The raiders' boots thudded in unison, closer, closer. The green shivered. The fortress held, but only just.
Then Ari's voice cracked sharp across the din, bright with sudden certainty:
"I've found their leader!" she shouted from the wall, eyes narrowing as Oriel's sight burned through her. "He's entered my range!"
Rowan followed her gaze though he couldn't see what she saw—only the dark beyond the trees, a faint glint of a helm, a shape that moved different than the rest. Heads turned along the barricade. Hope shivered through the line like a held breath.
If the head of the snake fell, the body might break.
Rowan lifted his harpoon higher. Brennar bared his teeth. Nyx slipped deeper into shadow. Ashwyn's knuckles whitened on his staff.
The green fortress groaned around them.
The battle was about to change.