Four more lycanthropes emerged behind the twins, forming a loose circle around the goblins.
Moontrail.
Not what they had expected from this expedition.
And certainly not welcome.
One of the oldest peoples to inhabit Durim, strong and unwavering in their values.
You didn't greet the Moontrail with pleasantries. You greeted them with grit.
Any less, and you might become their next snack.
His father, Farkas, had taught him about the Moontrail, having encountered them only a handful of times throughout his decades of scouting.
Their clan came from the eastern forest, far beyond Guram's patrolled lands.
They had not wandered here accidentally.
"You're in our territory," Vargis said. "Surely the Moontrail understand this isn't something we can overlook."
The female's amber eyes shifted from Wraith to the twin-bladed goblin. Her gaze briefly passed over his low mohawk, the golden rings hanging from his ears and the two dark-green sabres held at his sides.
"We know."
"How many was it?" her brother asked. "Four markers?"
"More like three," she corrected. "The first had nearly rotted away."
"That still counts."
Vargis angled his blades in front of himself.
"So you knowingly entered Guram land?"
The female finally looked him in the eye.
"Yes."
Wraith stepped forward.
Green mana twisted around his crooked staff, causing the flames within the skeleton's empty eye sockets to flare. The hem of his dark robe dragged across the moss as his presence turned cold and furious.
"Fantastic. That saves us the trouble of deciding whether your deaths would be an unfortunate misunderstanding."
The other Moontrail hunters raised their weapons.
Two carried longbows, while the others held a hooked spear and a pair of curved axes. Fur bristled across their arms and shoulders as the loose circle tightened.
Wraith offered them no courtesy or elegance. As court mage of Tribe Guram, he could not overlook the affront.
The male twin's smile widened, exposing the sharp canines beneath his dark muzzle. He shifted his greatsword from his shoulder and leaned forward, practically raring to go.
His sister remained still.
"We didn't come to these lands for Guram," she said. "Something appeared at the centre of the forest yesterday. Our Moon-Seer sent us here after conversing with the night."
Vargis glanced towards Wraith.
The necromancer's mana stopped circulating.
If the Moon-Seer had personally sent them, this was more than a pack testing Guram's borders.
"This isn't a territorial dispute," Wraith said.
Vargis frowned.
They certainly seemed prepared for one.
But he remembered his father's words during his training.
If the Moontrail haven't changed into terrifying beasts, and their still playing with you.
It means that they've not decided to kill you.
Yet.
There were not enough of them to challenge Guram without reason.
It seemed they had also noticed the store—or at least the power surrounding it.
"Its mana reached the eastern borders," the female said. "Half our clan woke when it arrived. At night, the Moon-Seer discerned it to be worthy of our attention."
Wraith turned towards the centre of the forest.
"And what did this..." His lip curled slightly. "Moon-Seer discern?"
The female's pointed ears twitched.
"Are you mocking our seer, necromancer?"
Wraith simply stared at her.
She clicked her tongue and leaned one shoulder against a nearby tree, her claws pressing into its bark.
"What she discerned was a presence bearing the mark of dimensional space."
Wraith frowned.
"That would explain it, then..."
Not all beings are from the world of Duris. Those bearing the mark of dimensional space are those who have travelled here from separate dimensions.
This didn't mean they were always powerful.
Some races like the Celestines come and go.
Others appear for more mysterious purposes.
But this would explain where the will inhabiting the barrier has disappeared to, and it would also make it much harder to pressure them.
In their meeting, violence cannot be the outcome.
The female pushed herself away from the tree.
"You know something?"
A small smirk pulled at Wraith's lips.
"And why would I tell you? You're still standing on our territory."
The twins glared at him.
"You're..." Her tail flicked sharply behind her. "So insolent."
"Can I kill them?" her brother asked.
"Shut up, Rosco."
Rosco's ears lowered. His greatsword dipped towards the ground as a quiet whine escaped his throat.
Vargis' eyes narrowed.
Rosco? Where do I know that name...?
Wraith sighed.
"Calm down. If it gets you off these lands, then I'll happily tell you."
He turned his staff within his hand. Green mana followed the movement, winding around the dark wood in thin coils.
"Our Head Scout was the first to investigate the disruption. It is connected to humans."
The Moontrail reacted immediately.
The fur along the hunters' backs rose. Fingers tightened around weapons, and several lips peeled away from sharpened teeth.
Rosco's greatsword stopped swaying.
His sister's playfulness vanished entirely.
"From what we can tell," Wraith continued, "the humans do not intend to cause harm. More importantly, whoever was protecting that place is gone—for now."
His staff struck the ground.
"The barrier remains, but the presence controlling it has disappeared. I was sent to discover what changed."
Vargis looked towards him.
So that's what he's doing.
Wraith was misleading them.
He had not mentioned the store, its merchants or the reason Tribe Guram wanted to establish trade. Instead, he had focused their attention upon the human presence.
Why?
The Moontrail pack were no longer grinning.
Humans were a wound their people had never allowed to close.
Their kin had once been taken in the same chains that claimed Golgorath's daughter. Families had been separated, enslaved and forced to fight for those who considered them beasts.
Kin was everything to the Moontrail.
Their packs were brotherhoods. Their clan was their entire world.
To them, Golgorath's March had not merely been a revolution.
It had been pure revenge.
"Humans," the female murmured, her amber gaze falling to the forest floor.
Anything involving Durim and humans would drag Moontrail from their isolation.
Rosco nudged her arm.
"Raska."
She snapped towards him.
"What?"
Rosco jolted backwards, but his attention remained fixed upon the trees.
"The beasts." He pressed one hand over his nose. "They're acting strangely. There are too many scents. I can barely separate them."
Raska's head lifted.
The four hunters fell silent.
Vargis dropped into a crouch and pressed his palm against the moss.
At first, he felt nothing as he stilled his breath.
Then came a faint vibration.
Another followed before the first had left.
His fingers sank deeper into the damp ground as dozens of uneven impacts began to overlap. Some were light and rapid. Others struck with enough weight to make the roots beneath him tremble.
Cold sweat formed along his brow.
Wraith looked down at him and sighed.
"How many, Vargis?"
The vibrations intensified.
Vargis rose, tightening his grip around both sabres.
"Too many to count."
Branches shook somewhere beyond the clearing.
"We need to stop arguing and take defensive positions. Now."
The Moontrail did not need to be told twice.
Rosco's warning had already been enough.
The six threw back their heads and howled in unison.
Their amber eyes ignited.
Bones cracked beneath fur and flesh as their bodies expanded. Shoulders broadened, spines lengthened and jaws forced themselves forward into powerful snouts. Thick coats spread across every remaining patch of exposed skin.
Within moments, they stood several feet taller.
Their ankles lifted from the ground as their legs twisted into the powerful hind limbs of wolves. Clawed feet tore into the moss beneath their increased weight.
Whatever resemblance they had possessed to humans disappeared.
Vargis understood why travellers spoke of full lycans as monsters from children's nightmares.
A flock of small birds burst from the canopy, scattering westward. Leaves rustled violently as branches shook beneath the approaching flood.
The barrier around the store might still have existed, but the will behind it had disappeared.
Everything driven from the centre yesterday was now returning to reclaim its territory.
All at once.
Wraith gritted his teeth.
"You had one job, Vargis!"
A shrill cry tore through the canopy.
Branches snapped as wild currents ripped through their leaves.
Vargis' gaze darted upwards.
A windhawk.
It plunged through the broken canopy, its narrow wings folded tightly against its body. Pale-blue mana spiralled around its hooked talons, sharpening the surrounding air into invisible blades.
It darted straight for Wraith.
Vargis moved.
His left foot planted against the earth as he twisted. His right sabre flashed upwards in a dark-green arc.
Steel tore through feather, flesh and bone.
The windhawk split across the chest before its talons could reach the necromancer. Both halves struck the ground, scattering blood and severed feathers across the moss.
Vargis didn't even look back.
"Not the time, you old corpse."
Wraith clicked his tongue.
"Tch."
He pointed his staff towards the mutilated windhawk.
Sickly green mana poured from its tip like a wailing spirit before plunging into the remains.
The windhawk's blood darkened, then began to glow.
Thin tendrils stretched between both halves of the corpse. Flesh dragged itself back together as bones clicked into place and torn feathers crawled across exposed muscle.
Its head jerked upright.
Green flames filled its lifeless eyes.
The undead windhawk spread its crooked wings and launched itself back towards the canopy.
SCREEEE—
More cries answered from above.
The two Moontrail archers leapt into the surrounding trees, their claws carving into the trunks as they climbed. Within seconds, they had taken positions among the branches with arrows already nocked.
The spear-wielder and axe-bearer moved to opposite sides of the clearing.
Rosco drove his greatsword point-first into the ground.
Raska tossed her daggers into the moss.
Their claws lengthened as they lowered themselves onto all fours, ready to meet the approaching beasts with fang and muscle.
Wraith gestured towards the porter skeleton.
It dragged the trade goods behind the thickest tree before turning back towards the clearing, green fire burning within its sockets.
Vargis raised both sabres.
"See the problem with windhawks..."
Blood ran down the side of his face. Feathers clung to his low mohawk, his shoulders and even one of his golden earrings.
"They can't die without making me look like a butchered chicken."
The undead windhawk broke through the canopy.
Green light flooded Wraith's eyes as he borrowed its sight.
For a single moment, nobody moved.
Then Wraith's expression changed.
His smirk disappeared.
The connection snapped.
Something struck the undead windhawk above them.
Its ruined body crashed back through the branches without either of its wings. It slammed into the centre of the clearing and rolled across the bloodied moss.
Vargis' joke died with it.
A tree fell somewhere ahead.
Then another.
Then five at once.
The ground bucked beneath their feet as countless bodies forced their way through the forest.
Wraith tightened both hands around his staff.
"What did you see?" Vargis asked.
Before the necromancer could answer, the entire treeline exploded.