The eastern patrol returned before noon with mud on their boots and nothing else.
No blood.
No bodies.
No trophies.
Just confirmation.
"They're moving parallel to the wall," one guard reported, pulling off his helmet. Sweat darkened the collar of his tunic. "Not retreating deep. Not advancing either."
Bradley stood beside Captain Hadrik at the long wooden table in the barracks.
A charcoal map lay spread between them—fields sketched in thick lines, treeline marked in smudged arcs, corrections layered over older assumptions.
Hadrik tapped near the eastern ridge.
"Tracks here. Then here." His finger shifted closer to the goat pens. "Closer each night."
Bradley leaned slightly over the map.
"Patterned?"
"Too early."
Which meant he had noticed it too.
By mid-afternoon, three farmers arrived at the gate.
Two missing chickens.
One claiming he saw "eyes in the brush" after sunset.
The story changed slightly with each telling.
Fear traveled faster than hoofprints.
Near the well, two guards argued in low voices.
"We're short two tonight."
"Then shorten the northern circuit."
"And leave the storage barn unwatched?"
The argument ended without resolution.
Fatigue had begun to speak in place of discipline.
Bradley returned to the map.
"May I?" he asked.
Hadrik stepped aside without comment.
Bradley traced the charcoal marks.
Eastern treeline.
Southern brush.
Livestock enclosures.
"Any tracks west of the wall?"
"No."
"North?"
"Twice. Scattered."
Bradley studied the spacing again.
"If they intended breach," he said evenly, "they would test gates. Drainage cuts. Blind corners."
Hadrik folded his arms.
"And you believe they are not?"
"I believe they are measuring us."
A few guards nearby slowed their movements.
Listening without appearing to.
"They appear," Bradley continued. "We increase patrol. They withdraw. We relax. They shift."
Hadrik's jaw tightened slightly.
"Goblins are not scholars."
"No," Bradley agreed. "But hunger repeats."
That settled the room into silence.
Bradley tapped near the goat pens.
"They press livestock. Not walls."
"Why?"
"Because goats don't shoot back."
A faint huff escaped one of the younger guards before he caught himself.
Hadrik looked at Bradley more directly now.
"What do you propose?"
Not dismissal.
A test.
Bradley considered carefully.
Patrols were stretching thinner each night. Farmers were guarding their own pens. That meant less sleep. Less trust.
"We alter the visible pattern," Bradley said.
"How?"
"Reduce eastern patrol visibility for two nights."
The reaction was immediate.
A guard swore softly.
Hadrik's eyes hardened.
"And invite them closer?"
"Yes."
"You would bait them?"
"I would observe them."
The room grew still.
Bradley continued calmly.
"If they are measuring response time, let them commit to it."
"And if they breach the fence?" Hadrik asked.
"Then we engage from prepared positions inside, not exhausted patrols outside."
A younger guard stepped forward.
"And if there are more than six?"
Bradley met his gaze.
"Then we learn."
"That is not reassuring."
"It is preferable to guessing incorrectly."
Silence again.
Hadrik leaned over the map.
"You reduce visible patrols. Increase hidden archers."
"Yes."
"And farmers?"
"Warn them quietly. Reinforce fencing. No announcements."
Hadrik studied him for a long moment.
"If this fails, it fails in front of them." He nodded toward the courtyard.
"I understand."
"And your father will hear of it."
"I expect he will."
Hadrik's mouth twitched faintly.
"Two nights."
Decision made.
Not rank granted.
But responsibility accepted.
The change moved through the guards quickly.
Not that they were bait.
Only that something was shifting.
Bradley felt it in the way glances lingered a fraction longer.
Not respect.
Assessment.
Near dusk, he walked the inner perimeter.
The reinforced fence posts stood darker where new timber had been set into earth.
Farmers worked without speaking much. Thicker wood always looked heavier when purchased reluctantly.
A small boy stood behind the fence, watching him.
"Will they come tonight?" the boy asked.
"Yes."
The boy swallowed.
"Will you stop them?"
Bradley considered.
"We will answer them."
The child frowned, uncertain whether that meant safety.
Bradley did not clarify.
Preparation was more honest than comfort.
Night settled slowly.
Torches burned dimmer along the eastern wall.
Archers waited behind stone merlons, bows unstrung but ready.
Bradley stood beside Hadrik atop the watchtower.
The forest was a black edge against darker sky.
For nearly an hour, nothing moved.
Then—
A shift in brush.
Low shapes sliding from treeline to fence line.
Three.
Then five.
Small.
Quick.
They moved in bursts, stopping often.
Testing.
One reached the reinforced post and tapped it with a crude blade.
Another crouched near the corner where shadow deepened.
"They're checking the changes," Bradley murmured.
Hadrik did not respond.
A sixth shape appeared.
Then a seventh.
More than the earlier sightings.
One leapt lightly against the fence, measuring height.
Another slipped toward a blind angle.
"They split," Bradley said.
Hadrik lifted two fingers.
Archers drew.
The first arrow struck cleanly through the nearest goblin's shoulder.
It shrieked, high and sharp.
The second arrow missed.
The remaining shapes scattered immediately.
One paused long enough to drag the wounded one partially toward brush before abandoning it.
No pursuit.
Hadrik did not give the order.
Measured response.
The body was retrieved cautiously.
The fence held.
The reinforced posts showed shallow scoring where crude blades had scraped.
Seven.
Not random.
Bradley exhaled slowly.
"They escalated," Hadrik said.
"Yes."
"And you expected fewer."
"Yes."
Hadrik glanced at him.
"You do not appear unsettled."
"I am adjusting."
Below, farmers gathered near the courtyard edge, whispering.
The goblin's body lay covered near the gate.
Visible proof.
Fear and reassurance intertwined.
Hadrik rested his forearms on stone.
"Seven means coordination."
"Yes."
"They will return."
"Yes."
"And not for goats."
Bradley looked back toward the treeline.
"No."
Silence stretched between them.
"You understand this does not end with fences," Hadrik said quietly.
"I do."
The wind shifted again, carrying faint forest scent across the wall.
Bradley studied the dark where the shapes had vanished.
They had learned something tonight.
So had he.
He turned from the parapet.
"Tomorrow we adjust."
Hadrik's gaze lingered.
"You are certain."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because they are."
No flourish.
Only recognition.
The pattern had moved.
Which meant the next test would not resemble the last.
Bradley descended the tower steps slowly.
His arms still ached from sparring. His legs held a dull fatigue that did not fade.
Good.
Weakness clarified urgency.
The courtyard felt smaller under torchlight.
Voices lower.
Eyes sharper.
They had killed one.
The forest had counted seven.
Next time—
It would count differently.