Chương 73: The Winged Stag at the Gate

The first thing James heard was the bells. Not the gentle chime that followed a notification when a new structure went up or a skill leveled. This was the ugly sound. The one that had been hammered out of scrap and hung on a crooked beam near the gate because "anything is better than nothing." It rang with frantic, uneven force, as if whoever was yanking the rope had forgotten rhythm in the face of fear. The second thing he heard was shouting. Men's voices cracking. Women's voices sharper.

A child crying somewhere in the longhouse, the sound thin and panicked as if it didn't know yet that the world could become a trap. James blinked into darkness and realized his body had been asleep in a way his mind hadn't allowed for days. The exhaustion had finally taken him, dragged him down without permission. Someone stumbled in the aisle between sleeping mats, knocking a clay cup that rolled and clacked against the floorboards.

Another voice hissed for quiet, then immediately shouted louder when quiet proved impossible. James pushed himself upright, hands searching for his boots. His fingers found leather, but they didn't feel like his hands at first. They felt slow. Clumsy. Like he was trying to operate someone else's body. He got one boot on, then the other, and stood. The longhouse was already in motion, a mass of half-dressed villagers grabbing cloaks, clutching children, shoving sleep out of their eyes with trembling hands.

Faces turned toward the doorway where cold air poured in, carrying smoke, sweat, and the metallic edge of panic. James shoved through, shoulders brushing rough wool and bare arms. He stepped out into the clearing and the night hit him like a slap. Torchlight flickered across frantic faces. Boots thudded on packed earth. Someone was screaming instructions that didn't make sense, and someone else was crying that they were all going to die.

The bells kept ringing, louder now, the sound bouncing off the wall's wooden spine and the stone base beneath it. The wall. James's eyes snapped toward it, and the world tightened. Marla appeared out of the crowd like a runner breaking through smoke. She had Pebble in her arms, the toddler bundled in a blanket and blinking sleepily as if the noise was a strange dream. Perrin clung to Marla's skirt with both hands, knuckles white, his eyes wide and wet. Marla's face was pale. Her hands were shaking.

She still moved like someone with work to do.

"Chieftain," she said, voice trembling but clear.

"We're under attack." James's mouth went dry. He wanted to ask what kind. He wanted to ask where. He wanted to ask whether the gate held. He didn't get the chance. A deafening screech tore across the night. It didn't sound like anything that belonged near Hearthroot. It sounded like metal scraping bone, like a bird trying to swallow thunder. The sound made Pebble bury her face in Marla's shoulder and made Perrin squeeze tighter, as if he could hide inside cloth. James's gaze whipped up to the wall.

Archers were already firing. He saw silhouettes along the walkway, bows drawn, arrows streaking down in quick flashes. More people scrambled up the ladders, their movements frantic and unpolished. Torchlight shivered across their faces. Some of them were elves, their pale hair bright in the dark, their posture disciplined even in chaos. Some were villagers who still looked wrong with bows, as if the weapons were too elegant for their hands. Then a shape rose above the wall.

For a heartbeat it was just a shadow against the sky, huge wings flaring wide, the air around it seeming to darken as if it carried night in its feathers. It leapt, not climbed, and the movement was wrong. Too clean. Too confident. It dove. Two archers were huddled together near one of the wooden platforms, perhaps trying to steady each other or share a quiver. They looked up at the last second and screamed. They jumped. They threw themselves off the walkway like people choosing broken bones over being torn apart.

The creature hit where they had been an instant before. Wood splintered. The platform exploded into shards. The sound was brutal, like a tree being struck by lightning. The beast's talons, no, not talons, something worse, hooked, avian, cruel, ripped through logs as if they were dry twigs. The walkway sagged and snapped, sending broken boards tumbling down into the space inside the wall. James felt a strange, cold grief twist in his stomach. He had built that. He had hauled those logs.

He had measured the joints, reinforced the supports, watched the villagers learn to nail straight, watched the wall rise as a promise. Now it was breaking under a monster's weight like it had never mattered. Havlik was there. James saw him on the walkway near the destroyed platform, broad shoulders braced, rough shield raised. The shield looked ugly in the torchlight, crude and scarred, more slab than craftsmanship, but Havlik held it like an extension of his will.

The creature's flank was exposed for a moment as it tore at the platform. Havlik slammed into it. The shield hit with a deep, satisfying thunk, like metal meeting meat. Havlik followed with a jab of a crude sword, the blade biting into dark feathers and something like hide beneath. The beast shrieked again, a sound full of rage and insult. It recoiled with a violent beat of wings, leaping backward and landing outside the wall in a spray of dirt and sparks from the torches. James stared, heart hammering.

"What is that thing?" he demanded, voice hoarse. Marla shook her head, eyes fixed on the wall.

"I… I don't know." Lumen flashed into view near James's shoulder, glow frantic. The familiar's light flickered in uneven pulses, as if even he was having trouble holding himself together.

"It's a peryton," Lumen said, sounding aghast.

"A winged stag-deer. Antlers like spears. Talons like knives. Shadow essence clinging to it like rot." James's eyes narrowed. Outside the wall, through the gap it had created he could see the creature move, head low, wings flexing. In the torchlight it looked like a nightmare stitched together by a cruel god. Its body had the lean, powerful shape of a stag, muscles rippling beneath dark hide. Its wings were avian, massive, feathered in black that seemed to swallow light at the edges.

Its antlers were not just antlers; they were jagged and hooked, as if designed to catch and tear.

"Omen-beast," Lumen continued, voice tight.

"They're known for dropping a victim's shadow to kill them remotely. They don't just tear flesh, James. They take a piece of you and let it bleed from a distance." James's blood went colder.

"Abilities," Lumen rattled off like he was reciting a list he wished he didn't know.

"Antler Gore. It lifts you, slams you, drops you. Wing Dive, high fall impact. And Shadow Curse." James opened his mouth to ask what Shadow Curse did, but Lumen already answered.

"It drains health without you seeing it," he said, and his glow flickered.

"It reaches through your shadow. It's… it's not supposed to be here."

"What do you mean not supposed to be here?" James snapped. The words came out sharper than he intended, but fear had a way of filing edges into everything.

"Why is it here?" Lumen's light brightened, then dimmed, as if he was thinking too fast.

"They live far to the north," he said.

"Deep in the Manamist Mountains. They need high levels of..." He stopped. Lumen's voice went tight.

"Oh, no." James turned toward him, anger and panic colliding.

"What?" Another screech cut him off, and James's head snapped back to the wall. A section of the western wall shuddered. Then it cracked. The wall's stone base held, but above it, where logs had been stacked and reinforced, the structure crumbled as the peryton slammed into it again. Timber groaned. Nails screamed. A heavy section collapsed inward, sending broken wood down into the village with a spray of splinters. Another hole opened. A widening breach that stared into Hearthroot like an open mouth.

James felt it like a physical punch. All his hard work reduced to jagged edges in seconds. Marla didn't hesitate. She shoved Pebble into Amabel's arms, Amabel, round with pregnancy and wide-eyed fear, who clutched the toddler as if she were suddenly holding the future in her hands. Marla grabbed Perrin by the shoulders, forced him to look at her.

"Stay with Amabel," she ordered, voice shaking with urgency.

"Do not move. Do you hear me?" Perrin nodded, lips trembling. Marla spun and ran toward the breach, and James ran with her, boots pounding the packed earth. The cold night air burned his lungs. He could hear villagers shouting behind him, some calling for weapons, others calling for children, others just screaming because screaming was the only thing their bodies knew how to do. They were intercepted by Irla and Varn. Irla looked like she had woken from sleep and immediately stepped into war.

Her hair was wild, her eyes furious, and she was already scanning the wounded with a healer's cold focus. Varn was beside her, gripping a hammer like he intended to argue with fate using iron. He met James's eyes as they ran, and something grim and familiar flickered in his expression.

"This feels familiar," Varn muttered, and James felt the echo of that first bear attack like a scar being pressed. James's builder-brain, even in panic, began cataloguing. Where are my warriors? He looked for Rogan's tall silhouette. For Kerrin's spear. For Maude's steady hands. For Balin's bulk. For Mairen's calm. He didn't see them.

"Marla," James barked, breath ragged, "Rogan and Kerrin, have they returned?" Marla's face twisted.

"No," she said, voice tight.

"Rogan, Kerrin, Maude, Balin, and Mairen went to the mine to fetch the elemental remains. They haven't come back yet." James swore under his breath. Of course. Of course the moment he finally had a village, the moment he finally had systems and walls and lodges, the moment he finally let himself sleep, the world chose to test him when his strongest were away. He scanned again. Selathi. He didn't see her anywhere.

"Selathi?" he demanded. Marla grimaced.

"On rotation," she said, as if the words tasted bitter.

"Selathi, Inna, Bren, Talar, and Lyrien are out guarding the paths. They're not here." James cursed again, louder, and at that exact moment the wall section at the breach gave up with a sickening crack. The hole widened. The peryton's antlered head pushed toward it like a battering ram looking for a meal. Archers above fired in frantic volleys. Arrows struck its hide and feathers, sticking in like thorns. The creature flinched, but it did not bleed the way a stag would bleed.

It barely reacted to most hits, as if pain was just an annoyance. James saw the disaster coming. He saw the peryton landing inside the village. He saw it leaping onto longhouse roofs, ripping through doors, children screaming, blood on dirt. He did the only thing he could. He called mana. Not Aether Armament. Not the quick, familiar comfort of conjured armor and weapons. He reached for the deeper, more structural skill that always felt like lifting a beam you weren't meant to lift alone. Mana Construct.

He raised his hand toward the breach, fingers splayed, and pulled. Mana gathered like fog, then hardened into shape. A thin wall formed across the opening, translucent and trembling, like glass made of moonlight. It held. For a breath. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Then the peryton slammed into it and James felt the impact through his bones. It was like being punched in the chest by a charging deer. The construct vibrated violently.

James poured more mana into it, reinforcing. The wall thickened slightly, its surface rippling as if it were struggling to decide whether it was solid or liquid. His mana pool dropped hard, fast enough that he could feel it as dizziness behind his eyes. Lumen hovered close, light frantic.

"James, that's dangerous," he warned.

"Mana Construct drains you. You should use Aether Armament. Fight it directly." James shook his head, jaw clenched.

"Not yet," he hissed.

"Not while there's a hole into the village. If it gets inside, we lose control." He turned his head, never lowering his arm, and barked commands as if he could nail panic into order.

"Varn!" he shouted.

"Trell! Protect Irla. Bring her the injured. First priority, the two archers who jumped. Get them treated and back on their feet." As if summoned by name, Trell came running, ugly hammer in hand, face pale but determined. He looked like a man who had been waiting to prove he wasn't just a builder with delusions. Marla was still beside him, breath heaving.

"Marla," James snapped, "I need you to organize the warriors. Everyone who can hold a spear or sword comes here. Call Finni. Call Faelor. Call any elves left in the village who aren't already away. I want every archer on the wall, and everyone else forming a ring around the gate. If the wall fails, the gate becomes our choke." Marla's eyes widened at the responsibility, then she nodded hard.

"Yes, chieftain."

"And after that," James continued, voice tightening, "civilians. Everyone inside longhouses. Lock them. No one wanders. No one panics in the open." Marla didn't hesitate. She ran, shouting orders as she went, voice cutting through fear like a knife. The village began to move. People who had been frozen snapped into motion. Builders grabbed spears. Cooks grabbed knives that would not help but made them feel less helpless. A few older villagers shoved children toward longhouse doors with fierce urgency.

The archers on the wall steadied slightly as more climbed to join them, bows drawn, breathing controlled. James's mana wall shuddered again. The peryton slammed its antlers into it, and the construct rippled. James felt the impact like a blunt strike to his forearm. He poured more mana into it and grimaced as his vision swam. Then the beast screeched and veered away from the breach, battering another section of wall farther down. Logs cracked.

A second hole opened, smaller but growing, and the peryton's antlered head pushed through, eyes gleaming, as if tasting the air inside the village.

"Oh no you don't," James snarled. He raised his other hand. A second mana wall formed, thinner than the first, because his pool was already bleeding away. It snapped into place across the new breach just as the peryton shoved forward. The mana cost hit like vertigo. James's stomach lurched. The edges of the world blurred. He forced his feet to stay under him. The peryton rammed again, and James felt it. Not metaphorically.

He felt the pressure through the constructs as if his arms were the wall and the monster was trying to snap his bones. He turned his head toward the archers above, voice raw.

"What are you waiting for?" he bellowed.

"Fire on the damn thing!" The elves jolted, as if his shout had snapped them out of their own fear. Arrows rained down. Some struck true. Some skipped off feathers. Some lodged in muscle. The peryton flinched, wings snapping open, then beat them hard, retreating a few paces outside the wall. A system notification flickered into James's vision as if the world itself wanted to reassure him in the middle of disaster. Enemy Detected: Peryton - Level: 27 James's breath caught. Relief came first, sharp and involuntary.

Level twenty-seven was high, but it wasn't forty-one. It wasn't an impossible mountain. It was something they could kill with enough coordination. Then fear followed immediately, because Level twenty-seven was still high enough to slaughter half his village if it got inside. He glanced along the wall and saw the problem with brutal clarity. Some of the archers were low level. A few were villagers barely above beginner. Even among the elves, not all were trained warriors.

They could hold bows, yes, but their arrows lacked the weight to truly bite. Their shots were doing something, but not enough.

"Havlik!" James shouted up to the walkway, voice straining.

"Stay there. Hold the line. Wait for reinforcements." Havlik's silhouette loomed against torchlight.

"I can get down and..."

"Not yet!" James roared back.

"If you leave, it hits the wall harder. We need time." Time stretched. For long moments it became a grim loop. The peryton battered. The wall cracked. James patched with mana. His arms burned with strain. His mana drained in a steady, terrifying slide. The archers fired, and some arrows stuck uselessly while others found softer spots and made the creature shriek with annoyance. The two archers who had jumped were dragged to Irla. James saw her kneeling, hands glowing faintly, her mouth moving in sharp instructions.

Varn and Trell stood like pillars beside her, blocking panicked villagers from swarming. Those two archers returned to the wall, faces pale but eyes determined. Then, without warning, an elf archer farther down the walkway swayed. Her bow slipped from her fingers. She collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, landing hard on the boards with a sickening thud. James's heart lurched. He hadn't seen her struck. No talons. No antlers. No dive. Lumen's voice went high with panic.

"Shadow Curse," he hissed.

"It's been draining her. Remote. We didn't even see it." James's skin went cold. Not all damage was visible. Not all wounds bled. The monster was killing them without touching them.

"Trell!" James shouted.

"Varn! Get her down. Now!" Havlik moved instantly, covering them as they scrambled up the ladder. He planted himself between the fallen archer and the outer wall, shield raised, daring the peryton to try something. Trell and Varn hauled the unconscious elf down, moving with surprising gentleness for men holding hammers. They carried her to Irla, who swore viciously and began working immediately. James's mana wall shuddered again. He reinforced. His vision tunneled. He tasted iron.

His body wanted to collapse, but his mind refused. He was the wall right now. If he fell, the village fell. Then footsteps pounded from the clearing behind him, a rush of voices and weapons. Finni appeared first, pale and wide-eyed, staves in hand, hair sticking up as if he'd dragged himself out of sleep and straight into war. His gaze flicked to the breaches, to James's raised arms, to the peryton beyond the wall, and something hardened in his expression.

Faelor came next, limping but upright, face still bruised from the elemental fight, eyes narrowed with irritation at being forced to fight again before his body was ready. He carried his blade with newfound ease, the one James had runed. It caught torchlight and glimmered faintly, as if the ward still remembered being fed mana. More archers poured up the ladders, replacing those who had been firing too long, trembling with fatigue.

Havlik dropped down from the walkway, landing hard in the dirt with his shield already up. James saw their arrival like sunlight cutting through storm. Enough. He could not hold this forever. The wall would lose before his mana did, but it would not be a gentle loss. It would be splinters and screams. He made the decision with the same clarity he used when choosing where to place a foundation beam.

"Gate!" he barked to Varn and Trell.

"Open it long enough for us to get out, then slam it shut behind us. Do not hesitate." Irla looked up from the unconscious archer, fury flaring.

"James..." James didn't look at her. He couldn't afford the guilt. He couldn't afford the argument.

"Havlik," he said, voice low but firm, "you're front. Faelor, behind him. I'll take the other side. Finni, you know your job." Finni's jaw tightened. He nodded once. Havlik's eyes locked on the peryton beyond the wall, and his presence changed. The air around him felt heavier, steadier, as if his very stance was an anchor sunk into the earth. James felt the familiar pull of Havlik's unconventional warrior skill as it activated, subtle but real. Anchoring Presence. The world seemed less likely to shove them around.

Varn and Trell hauled the gate bar free. The gate creaked open, torchlight spilling out into the night beyond. The four of them stepped through into cold air and open space, and the moment they did, Varn and Trell slammed the gate shut behind them with brutal speed, locking it as if they were sealing a tomb. James released his mana constructs. The sudden absence of strain nearly made him collapse. His arms dropped, shaking. He sucked in a breath and tasted relief like water.

He then shoved a handful of the mana leaves Elira had given him into his mouth and started chewing. A faint trickle of mana flowed into his core almost immediately, but it was barely enough to keep up with what he was spending. The peryton turned toward them immediately, as if it had been waiting for the prey to step outside willingly. Up close, it was worse. Its antlers were stained dark with sap and old blood. Its wings flexed with a predatory intelligence.

Its talons dug into dirt as if testing how easily it could tear flesh. James called Aether Armament. Mana gathered around him, forming armor that hugged his body in dense layers, thicker than he would normally make for a fight. He did not trust this monster not to hit like a falling tree. He conjured a spear as well, long and balanced for reach, a builder's answer to a problem of distance. Havlik advanced first, shield raised. Faelor moved behind him with controlled steps, blade low, eyes watching the wings.

Finni hovered slightly back, hands already glowing faintly with verdant mana, roots eager beneath the soil. The peryton didn't charge like a beast. It leapt. Wings snapped open and it surged up into the air, pulling away from them with a single powerful beat. It gained distance fast, circling above, screeching as if mocking their ground-bound bodies. James cursed under his breath. In tunnels, enemies had to come to you. Here, in open space, the monster controlled engagement. It dove.

The air screamed with the speed of it. Its antlers angled down like spears. Havlik braced, shield planted, body steady. Anchoring Presence held him like a nail hammered into earth. The peryton struck. The impact slammed Havlik back a step, but he did not fall. His shield took the worst of it, metal groaning. Faelor slashed upward, blade catching feathers. James thrust with his spear, the tip scraping along the creature's flank.

Then it was gone again, wings snapping, rising out of reach as if their weapons were children's toys. Finni slammed his stave into the ground and whispered a spell. Roots surged up, thick and fast, trying to catch the peryton's legs as it landed for another run. The roots wrapped around one talon for a heartbeat. The peryton tore free with a shriek, burning the roots with shadowy heat that left them blackened and curling.

"Not enough," Finni muttered, voice tight, and James could hear the frustration in it. They tried again. Havlik advanced, shield leading, forcing the monster to adjust. Faelor watched for the moment it dipped too low. James kept his spear ready, shifting his grip, adjusting distance, trying to predict the dive rather than react to it. The archers above the wall were doing more damage than the four of them. Arrows continued to fall, striking wings and hide.

The peryton shrieked each time an arrow found a vulnerable seam, but it did not drop. It kept moving, kept forcing the ground fighters to chase a rhythm that wasn't theirs. Then it dove again, lower this time, aiming for James's side as if it had decided the man with the shimmering armor was the most annoying. James braced, spear angled. He thrust at the last moment. The peryton twisted its head with uncanny speed. James's spear caught in its antlers.

For a heartbeat his weapon was pinned, trapped, and James felt a surge of pure, stupid fear. If the monster yanked, it could rip him forward. If it rose, it could drag the spear and possibly James into the air. Above, the archers hesitated. They could see James, Havlik, Faelor close to the creature. A bad shot could end one of their own. James let go.

He dissolved the spear into mist with a mental command, the mana dispersing instantly, and conjured a new weapon even as the peryton flapped away, screeching in frustration at having lost its prize. A shout came from the wall.

"Chief!" James's head snapped up, and he felt his temper flare. Wicksnap stood on the walkway. He looked like he had been dragged out of sleep by the bell and thrown onto the wall without explanation. His hair was wilder than usual, standing in chaotic angles. His eyes were bright with excitement, as if the attack was a festival and someone had told him his favorite game was beginning.

"The spirits talked to me in my sleep!" Wicksnap yelled, waving his hands as if he were telling a story at a tavern.

"They were very chatty! They told me all kinds of things, once there was a frog who married a..."

"Not now!" James roared.

"Wicksnap, not now!" Wicksnap blinked, offended, then grinned wider.

"No, no, chief, listen! I'm telling you, they told me a secret!" James turned away, forcing himself to focus on the monster. The peryton dove again. Havlik braced. Faelor moved to flank. Finni threw up Verdant Mantle, a layer of living forest mana spreading over them. James felt it settle like a cool, green sheen across his armor, softening the harsh edge of the night. James formed a shield in his left hand, pushing mana into it until it felt dense enough to take a hit.

He could feel his mana pool, already drained from holding the wall, protesting the sudden demand. He ignored it. The peryton barreled down. And then James smelled ozone. His hair prickled on his arms. The air itself seemed to tighten. A thunderous clap cracked across the clearing, so loud it made James flinch despite himself. A flash of white-blue light struck from above. The peryton shrieked mid-dive. The sound turned wet and broken, full of pain that even a monster could not swallow. Its wings spasmed.

Smoke rose off its hide. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, sharp and nauseating. The creature crashed into the dirt with a heavy, ugly thud. Havlik staggered back, eyes wide.

"What was that?" James stared, shocked, then snapped his head toward the wall. Wicksnap was grinning like a man who had just discovered fire. His hair looked even worse now, as if he had been personally insulted by lightning. His eyes were wild and delighted. An archer beside him grabbed his arm because Wicksnap swayed as if his knees had forgotten how to function. Then Wicksnap blinked rapidly, his gaze unfocusing for a moment, and James saw him nearly topple over the wall. The archer held him upright.

Wicksnap inhaled, exhaled, and his eyes snapped back into focus. He pointed down at James as if accusing him of doubting.

"Told you!" Wicksnap shouted gleefully.

"The spirits told me a secret! A new spell!" James's mind struggled to catch up.

"What spell?" he demanded. Wicksnap's grin stretched wider.

"Lightning Strike!" he crowed.

"I think I can cast it one more time!" Electricity danced across his fingertips. For a heartbeat, he didn't look like the village's funny madman. He looked like something else. A conduit. A man touched by forces that didn't care if you were ridiculous or not, only whether you could carry them. His cloak fluttered in a wind that wasn't there. His hair rose as if the sky itself wanted to claim it. Another thunderclap cracked. Lightning fell again, slamming into the peryton's body.

The creature shrieked, half-dead now, smoke pouring off it in thick curls. Its wings twitched uselessly. Its antlers scraped the dirt as it tried to push itself up, then failed. Its shadow, its shadow, seemed to flicker strangely beneath it, like a dying flame. James shook himself like a man waking from a dream. Now. This was the opening they would never earn again.

"Finish it!" he barked, voice snapping back into command. Havlik surged forward, shield raised. Faelor moved with him, blade ready, eyes hard. Finni's roots surged up one last time, not to kill, but to pin the creature's legs and wings enough that it couldn't thrash. James drove in from the side, spear reformed in his hand, but he didn't need to strike. Havlik did. He stepped close, planted his feet, and thrust his crude sword into the peryton's chest with a decisive, brutal motion.

The blade went in deep, and the creature shuddered once, a final wet exhale leaving its body. Then it went still. Smoke rose in thin streams from burned feathers. The smell of char and blood hung in the air. The peryton's eyes, once gleaming with predatory intelligence, dulled into empty glass. For a moment, no one moved. James stood breathing hard, chest heaving beneath aether armor, hands shaking from exhaustion and delayed fear. The archers on the wall stared down, silent.

The villagers behind the gate, those brave enough to watch, stood frozen, as if they were waiting for reality to confirm it was over. Then the world exhaled. A few people cheered weakly, the sound trembling. Someone sobbed. Someone else laughed, high and hysterical, because laughter was safer than screaming. James turned slowly to look at the wall. It was damaged. The stone base held, stubborn and loyal, but above it the wooden structure was splintered in multiple places.

Two breaches gaped like wounds, temporarily patched by nothing but luck and James's mana and the fact that the peryton had chosen to fight outside once provoked. They had survived, but the wall had shown its weakness. He felt that truth settle into him like a weight. Wicksnap's voice carried from above, still full of delighted triumph.

"Did you see?" he shouted.

"Did you see? The spirits are very helpful when they want to be!" James looked up. Wicksnap was being held upright by two archers now, swaying like a sapling in wind. His hair was still standing in wild angles. His grin was fading into something dazed as the shock of what he'd done caught up with him. James's first impulse was to shout at him. His second was to thank him. His third was to demand to know how many more "secrets" the spirits were hiding. He settled for something simpler.

"Get him down," James called, voice rough.

"And get him water before he tries to lightning the ground by accident." A few nervous laughs ran along the walkway. Irla appeared at the gate like a storm given legs, eyes scanning for wounded, mouth already forming insults. Varn and Trell followed, both looking grim and satisfied in that way men did when they had survived a fight that could have killed them. Marla emerged too, face streaked with sweat and fear, but alive.

She looked at the smoking corpse of the peryton and then at the broken wall, and James saw the same thought in her eyes that was in his. This won't be the last. Lumen hovered close, glow subdued now, worry replacing panic. He stared at the peryton's body as if it were a warning sign planted in dirt.

"James," he murmured, "this shouldn't have happened. They don't come this far south. They don't come alone unless something drives them." James swallowed, throat tight. He looked at the corpse again, at the burned feathers, the antlers, the shadow flickering faintly as if the ground couldn't decide whether to keep it. Then he looked at his wall.

Then he looked at the village behind him, longhouses full of sleeping children, the new Healing Lodge still smelling of clean linen, the Greenmoss Den waiting with its moss-wrapped promise, the Heartroot tree rising up like a beacon, the Wellspring Shrine glowing faintly in the distance like a quiet heartbeat. Hearthroot was growing. And the world had noticed. James took one last look at the smoking peryton corpse and felt a cold, uncomfortable certainty settle in his gut. The next problem wasn't this monster.

The next problem was what it meant that it had come at all.