TWELVE

The carriage rattled over the rough forest path as dusk deepened, the woods around us growing darker and more ominous with every turn of the wheel. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the shadows stretched long and gnarled, like skeletal fingers reaching from the trees. Alistair, ever vigilant, had his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his gaze sweeping the encroaching gloom. William and Jonathan, though younger, mirrored his unease, their shoulders tensed, their expressions grim. I, too, felt the shift in the atmosphere, a prickle of warning crawling up my spine. The cheerful chirping of day birds had long since faded, replaced by the hoot of an owl and the unsettling rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth.

Suddenly, from the inky shadows between the ancient trees, guttural snarls and shrill, chittering cries erupted. The sound was raw, primal, and instantly recognizable. Goblins—dozens of them—leapt into the clearing, their grotesque forms barely visible against the twilight. Their eyes, like pinpricks of malevolent yellow light, gleamed with savage hunger. They brandished crude weapons: chipped stone axes, jagged iron spears, and gnarled wooden clubs studded with sharp splinters. Their snarls grew ferociously, a wave of guttural sound that promised violence.

"Hold fast!" Alistair barked, his voice a sharp command that cut through the rising panic. He drew his sword with swift, practiced precision, the steel hissing as it left its scabbard. The other men, without hesitation, leapt down from the carriage, weapons ready. William clutched a heavy warhammer, its head gleaming dully in the fading light, while Jonathan held a well-worn battle-axe, his knuckles white around the hilt. They formed a protective circle around the carriage, their backs to the sturdy oak panels, their faces set in grim determination.

The clash was brutal and sudden. The goblins, driven by sheer numbers and a feral hunger, surged forward. Steel clanged on steel, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the forest. Grunts of effort and curses filled the air, mingling with the goblins' high-pitched screeches. The stench of sweat and blood, already thick, began to permeate the cool evening air. The goblins were relentless, pressing in from all sides, their crude weapons striking again and again. The men fought with fierce precision, Alistair a whirlwind of flashing steel, deflecting blows and cutting down the snarling attackers with lethal efficiency. William swung his hammer in wide, devastating arcs, sending goblins sprawling with bone-jarring impact. Jonathan's axe bit deep, each strike a testament to his strength and desperation.

Despite their skill, the sheer volume of attackers began to tell. The circle wavered, individual fights becoming more desperate. Panic, cold and sharp, began to rise in my chest. From within the carriage, I could only hear the sounds of battle, the cries of the goblins, the grunts of the men. A deep, primal fear, a fear for their lives and for my own, seized me. Before I fully understood what I was doing, before conscious thought could intercede, I threw open the carriage door and stepped out into the chaotic clearing.

"Stay back!" I warned, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. The sight of the swirling melee, the flashing weapons, the sheer brutality of it all, fueled a desperate surge of power within me. It felt like a deep well had suddenly opened, a raw, elemental force that thrummed beneath my skin. With a surge of that power, I thrust my hands forward, and the ground beneath the goblins heaved and cracked.

A deep rumble vibrated through the earth, and then, with an explosive force, ancient roots burst from the soil. They were thick, gnarled things, like the grasping fingers of a giant, twisting and wrapping around the goblin attackers. They coiled around their legs, their torsos, immobilizing them in a tangle of organic bonds. Screeches of surprise and rage erupted from the trapped creatures. At the same time, rocks, rough and jagged, lifted from the forest floor as if by an unseen hand. They hovered for a moment, glinting in the faint light, before crashing down with blunt force, scattering the remaining goblins. Some were struck senseless, others screamed and scrambled away, their frenzied retreat hastened by their fear.

The sudden shift in the battle, the unexpected display of power, brought the fighting to an abrupt halt. William and Jonathan, their weapons still raised, exchanged stunned glances. Their eyes were wide with disbelief, their mouths slightly agape. Alistair, though still poised for battle, had also paused, his gaze fixed on me, a flicker of something unreadable in his usually stoic expression.

When the last goblin fled into the deeper shadows of the woods or fell, groaning and twitching, silence settled over the clearing. The only sounds were our heavy breaths, ragged and strained, and the distant, fading screeches of the fleeing creatures. The air, though still carrying the metallic tang of blood, also held a faint, earthy scent, like disturbed soil after a storm.

Neither William nor Jonathan spoke a word about what they had just witnessed. They continued to stare, their expressions a mix of awe and bewilderment, their weapons slowly lowering. It was as if the shock had rendered them momentarily speechless. Only Alistair, once he was certain the immediate threat was gone, approached me cautiously. He waited until we were a little removed from the others, the still-tangled goblin forms a silent testament to what had transpired. His expression was unreadable, a carefully constructed mask, but his eyes held a new, unfamiliar glint.

"Your magic," he said quietly, his voice a low rumble, barely above a whisper. He wasn't accusing, but there was a weight to his words, a demand for understanding. "That was… unexpected."

I met his gaze, my own heart still pounding from the adrenaline of the moment, the lingering hum of power still vibrating through my veins. I said nothing, unsure what to say or how much to reveal. How could I explain a power I barely understood myself, a power that had surged forth unbidden in a moment of desperate need? The truth was, I wasn't even sure how I had done it, only that I had.

Without another word, a silent agreement passing between us, we resumed our journey. The remaining hours of twilight passed in an unusual quiet. The men, though they avoided direct eye contact with me, cast furtive glances my way, their earlier awe slowly morphing into a more cautious curiosity. We pushed on until nightfall, when we finally settled in a small clearing, deemed safe enough to rest for the night. The lingering aura of the battle, and the unexpected revelation, hung heavy in the air.

Once the carriage was stopped, I gathered herbs from the surrounding undergrowth, their familiar textures a small comfort in the strangeness of the evening. Then, using my earth magic, I wove simple sleeping tents from sturdy vines and pliable earth, shaping them into snug, surprisingly comfortable shelters for the men. The process was intuitive now, a silent language between myself and the land. After that, I prepared a modest dinner by the crackling fire we'd managed to start, the flames casting dancing shadows on the trees.

As the men ate in silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the rustle of leaves, I caught Alistair's glance once more. This time, his expression was still curious, but the restraint was more evident, a deliberate holding back. The unspoken question hung between us like a fragile thread, thin and delicate, yet undeniably present. It waited for the moment it could be addressed, for the right time and place to unravel the mystery that had just unfolded. The night had changed things, irrevocably.