He trailed off into the outskirts of the village, only a couple of houses and a barn separating him from the forest. The fog swallowed the trees, marking the border between the camp and the forest. Between the safety of the fires and the unknown.

Just as he was about to turn back, something caught his attention. He dismissed it as a tree, another of the fog’s tricks. But when he looked again, he was sure that the shape had moved. It had the form of a short man wearing a hood over his head. The person didn’t move, but he saw the outlines clearly. Veran drew his sword slowly, crossed the forest border, and moved toward the shape.

“Who is there? Show yourself!” - the general yelled.

But this unknown watcher wasn’t the only thing that came out of the fog. From inside the trees, he saw another shape right next to the hooded figure, then another, then another. Large burly figures appeared from the mist, illuminated by the fires behind Veran. Bigger than any men he’d seen, taller, with long fingers and pointy ears. Suddenly Veran felt dwarfed by them. Their number grew with each second, appearing everywhere around him.

They were getting ambushed, and he had made a mistake in allowing the battalion to remain here. Without wasting another moment, the general turned around and sprinted to the houses yelling with all his voice. Even if they put an arrow in his back, at least someone will hear him.

“Ambush! We’re getting ambushed! To arms!” - he yelled, running through the houses, slamming his fist against the walls.

Another soldier on watch looked at him with wide eyes, then yelled as well. In seconds, the yells caught on like wildfire, and the silent camp turned into chaos. Men stumbled to the ground, searching for their weapons in the dark. One of them screamed as he fell into the embers of a campfire. A soldier tried to get his breastplate on while a scared horse threw another off its back. A third gripped his spear tight while a dark wet spot grew on his pants.

They were all out now. They couldn’t see well but organized themselves by the sound of swearing, the song of steel, and the rattling of spears.

Veran yelled orders, but this wasn’t a battlefield. There were no ranks, no formations. No command tent to oversee the battlefield. This was a siege, and you could only hope that the men would not give in to the terror of the night. Even holding a weapon, pointed in the right direction would be enough.

Those things in the fog could be on top of them any minute now. If they were caught like this, it could be the second slaughter this village sees. But no battle shouts came from the forest, and no arrows flew above them. They still had time. Spears and shields filled the gaps between the buildings. They were good choke points to hold off the attackers. Some archers climbed on the roofs, while others stayed in the back. Veran heard the sound of tens of arrows getting knocked. The few riders they had mounted their steeds, ready to ride out and flank the attackers once contact was made.

They yelled a battle roar, more to breathe courage into their hearts than to scare the enemy. Then came the silence before a fight. Two hundred men, lined in formation, waiting to see what their gods had in store for them. Heavy breaths and impatient yells broke the silence.

“Come on, you bastards!”

“Where the hell are they?!”

But nothing came charging at them from the trees. Their spears remained pointed at the forest, and the shields protected them only from the lazy spray of rain. When they ran out of patience, the general sent their scouts into the fog. Expecting to hear screams, the whole battalion took a collective sigh of relief when they reported there was no one in the forest. No signs of attackers, no trails, no footprints. They were all alone.

“But I saw them…” - Veran whispered to himself as the soldiers lowered their weapons and returned to their tents.

Some believed the general. They took his vision as an omen, a warning. Others saw only the insanity of an old soldier who was hit in the head far too many times. No one slept in the camp that night. While Veran had an uncomfortable conversation with Ozren, a joke aimed at the wrong god sparked the fires of hatred in the camp. There were fights in the ranks, and one boy was killed. His name was Malek.