'It's true. I've seen it with my own eyes.'
'But goblings don't amass in hordes. It's unheard of.' The Captain leaned over the table to pour himself a glass of wine. 'Exactly how many goblings are in a horde?'
'I didn't perform an exact count. Just take the largest number you can imagine and double it. Then double that for good measure.'
The Captain frowned, gulped down his wine, performed the mental calculations, and frowned deeper. 'I'll organize an evacuation immediately.'
'Very good. And I've already formulated some battle strategies that should help. I'll begin drilling your men in the morning.'
The Captain squinted. 'Perhaps you misunderstand. I'm talking about a complete evacuation. Soldiers included.'
'The soldiers will be staying.' The White Knight spoke with quiet authority. It was not a command so much as a fact shared with the unenlightened Captain.
'Surely, you can see that this is a small fort. We aren't a match for such a force. I've got only five companies.'
'Five hundred will have to suffice.' Again, he said it as an indisputable truth.
'Not these five hundred. These are the five hundred worst soldiers in the kingdom. Most of them haven't seen a battle. Those that have are alive only because the death maidens weren't paying close enough attention. That's why Fort Stalwart was commissioned in the first place. It's not a fort. It's a dumping ground for all those soldiers barely competent enough to avoid dishonorable discharges. It was deliberately put here because this is where nothing ever happens.'
The Knight said nothing. He stood tall. His face betrayed not a hint of despair or fear.
'You see my point?' the Captain asked.
The Knight still said nothing.
'This is a horde. A gobling horde. This requires the best men available. Or at least not the very worst.'
'Those men are not here,' the White Knight observed.
'We'll send for them.'
'By then, it will be too late. The goblings will have pushed deeper into the realm, and once the horde is entrenched, it will be nearly impossible to get rid of. I fear the damage they'd inflict in the meantime.'
'I fear the damage these men might inflict on themselves with their own swords.'
'Five hundred men will be enough,' the White Knight said. 'I've seen the destruction this horde has wrought on the ravaged countryside. I've been tracking it for months, always too late to mount a defense. Now that I finally have the opportunity, I won't throw it away. I have pledged my honor that the rampage ends here.'
The mark on the Knight's forehead shimmered. A wisp of magic glowed around the Captain's heart, where a man's courage is found. The fear fell from his face though it didn't disappear entirely.
'I'll talk to the men in the morning. There won't be a soldier within twenty miles by the afternoon, I can assure you.'
'I shall speak with them. They'll see the importance of standing up to this threat.' The White Knight smiled. 'I can assure you. Good evening, Captain.'
Looking very tired, the Captain slumped into a chair. 'Good evening.'
The Knight exited the office. I wanted the beetle to follow him, but an insect's mind can only hold a thought so long. It flew from the window before I could whisper another command. I ended my spell and returned to looking through my own eyes. Or Newt's own eyes, but they were mine for the moment.
The White Knight stood not ten feet away, and he had quite obviously glimpsed me even hidden away in the shadows.
I'd been caught, and I panicked. I turned and ran right into a wall that I'd forgotten. I lost my balance and my sense of my duck's body and fell over.
Gentle hands righted me. The touch burned the demon in Newt's flesh. They released me to my unsteady webbed feet.
'Easy there, duck. Watch where you're going.'
I glanced up at the Knight. He smiled, and I nearly forgot myself and smiled back. Normal ducks couldn't smile, and I caught myself. It helped that I was throwing up.
I felt terrible. My stomach convulsed. My eyes watered. This was only half of what Newt had suffered. I didn't truly puke. I just spit up a mouthful of foul dribble that rolled up my throat and out my bill.
'Still feeling poorly, I see.'
I raised my head and glanced into those dark eyes and ears made for nibbling. My nausea grew. I suspected this was quite normal, the kind of nervous stomach one feels when smitten.
'I think we should get you home, duck.'
He swept me up in his arms. I felt ill, but not quite as ill as before. Newt's body was developing a tolerance, even if my nervous stomach was still swirling. He held me close, despite the risk of fowl vomit. He was very warm, made to seem even warmer by the chill in the air.
I was a creature made to dwell in darkness. Darkness is cold, and cold is how I preferred to be. A good chill is subtle, comforting without being obnoxious. Heat is rudely invasive, but in the Knight's arms, I discovered the first good warmth I'd known. Even through the flesh of Newt's duck body, it filled my mind with carnal tingles. This could only lead to trouble. Even seeing him, I realized, had been a mistake. I should have jumped from his arms and flown away. I snuggled closer, resting my head against his chest. Wrong or not, I couldn't leave his warmth. I told myself this was a small indulgence, that as long as I was using Newt's body, there couldn't be any lasting harm. I almost believed it too.
The Knight inquired as to my ownership from two passing soldiers.
'That's the witch's duck, sir,' the first replied.
'I thought the witch's duck had fangs,' said the second.
'Ducks don't have fangs.'
'Not normal ducks, but I would think a witch's duck would. And eyes that glow in the night. And claws on the feet.'
'Hers doesn't have any of that. I've seen it up close a dozen times. It's just a duck. Snooty little beast, but very normal otherwise.'
'How can a bird be snooty?'
'If a bird can have fangs, I have no problem believing it can be haughty.'
'So it does have fangs.'
'No, it doesn't. Although, thinking about it, I see your argument. A witch has no business associating with a snobbish, normal duck.'
The White Knight interrupted to ask where the witch lived. Then he left the soldiers to their discussion of what sort of ducks a witch should associate with.
'At the very least, it should be black,' the first observed before we fell out of earshot.
The Knight carried me through the settlement. He stroked my neck and spine. An urge to burrow into his chest and curl up in the damp heat inside his heart came to me. Should I ever actually touch him while I was an accursed woman, I couldn't imagine what I might do.
We arrived at my tent far too soon and not soon enough. The White Knight bowed to Sunrise. Then, much to my pleasant surprise, he bowed to Gwurm. He didn't bow to Penelope, but I think we would have had he known her alive in her fashion.
'Is this the witch's tent?'
Sunrise nodded. 'There you are, Newt. We've been looking everywhere for you.'
'Is the witch in?'
She hesitated, although she hid this behind a pleasant smile. 'One moment. I'll fetch her.'
I was too distracted by the Knight's firm, yet soft, embrace to realize this for the mistake it was. Sunrise went into my tent. Whispers were exchanged within. After a very loud grunt from Sunrise that I couldn't quite decipher, they emerged.
Newt scowled. I don't think I'd ever used my face to scowl before, and I made a note to never let it scowl again. It was a shade too hideous. Even a witch should take care to not overdo her ghastliness. It was a horrid
