“I’m hungry.”

Clouse gripped his yew bow tightly, breaking his hawk gaze from the clearing between the fort and forest to glance at York for an instant. “Should’ve eaten at mealtime.”

York’s stomach gurgled again. “I ate what I could. But the cook put piles of mushrooms in everything. I hate mushrooms!”

“Get used to ‘em.”

Frowning, York turned his stare toward the cropped clearing below the high wall of the fort. “Why?”

“’Cause they’re mostly what we eat here.”

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, York’s stomach gave a slight lurch. “Why?”

Clouse sighed. “’Cause we can grow them easily inside the fort. The more mushrooms we eat, the less often we need to go out to hunt and forage. The less we need to do that, the less we expose ourselves to the creatures. You’re new here. You’ll get used to it. This is your first day garrisoned here. Give it time. When this place was first manned, before the creatures showed up, we only used the mushrooms as an occasional ingredient. But after they came…”

Watching the tree line, York asked, “So the cook puts mushrooms in everything?”

Clouse nodded. “Saves other food supplies, like I said.”

“Wonderful…”

The wavering, echoing note of a gong abruptly vibrated through the air, followed by another and another.

Clouse started. “They’re here!”

Pulse throbbing, York darted his gaze over the trees and clearing. He saw nothing. “Where?”

Beside him, Clouse’s lean frame was rigid, yew bow grasped in a white-knuckled grip. His shadowed eyes were locked on the tree line. “There!” He drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it.

A shudder traversed the wooden planks of the wall and catwalk as the gates were thrown wide. Two dozen soldiers, dressed in their green uniforms, armed with long swords, ran toward the trees, shouting.

“I don’t see them! Where are they!” York could hear uncertainty and confusion mingled with fear in his voice as he felt his heart pumping faster still.

Clouse raised his bow. York glanced around to see the other archers along the wall doing the same.