“Well,” drawled Zenith, “This is quite the pickle we’re in, idnit?”

  Ten children huddled in a shed, their weapons pointed at the gaping door, partially ajar due to the corpse halfway through it.

  “Anything you care to share with the class, Rather?” asked Sterling tightly. The boy huddled to the side of the door, within lunging distance.

  “Yeah. The Hobgoblin on the ceiling can predict our moves.”

  “You swapped Acuity for Mana for a combat skill?” cried Effie, “I hadn’t even considered doing that!” She swayed from her position on top of Civility’s shoulders, standing with an arm on the wall for balance. The boy in question stared at his feet, focused on his balance, face red from the neck upward.

  “Smart move,” said Earnest. “It’ll suck if you’re ever a [Mage] later, of course. Really shoot yourself in the foot, if you did that.”

  “Shut up, both of you. Dalliance. That may have saved our lives.” The understatement clearly bothered them both.

  The sound of the tin roof flexing as the wind gusted, a drawn-out groan, punctuated his statement. Dalliance didn't feel saved.

  "What do we do now?" asked Zenith. She looked like he felt.

  "Well, it's not like it's not perfectly obvious," said Prudence, her voice tight with grief. "We stay here. If it comes in, we kill it. There were four, now there are two. There are ten of us, and two of us are really good fighters—"

  "Thank you," Sterling said automatically.

  Effluvia gave him an incredulous stare. "Don't mention it."

  "So it's two of them against the two of us," Prudence finished, ignoring them.

  Earnest shook his head. "Three, I think." He looked at Dalliance. "I know one doesn't usually ask, but what—"

  "No," said Dalliance.

  "Darn. Well, can you fight?"

  Dalliance wasn't much for speaking in front of people, and stammered for a second. "I . . . I can shoot a bow."

  “Not that anybody’s had much luck with that so far,” Zenith noted. The blonde girl had apparently lost her club somewhere, but had a long wooden paddle scavenged from the work site in her hands. It looked like a definite upgrade.

  "He can also dodge arrows," Effie added dryly.

  "Sometimes," Dalliance admitted, turning to show them the proof. The dark fletching of an arrow stuck out from the back of his hip.

  "Dalliance!" Circe gasped and rushed forward. "Why didn't you say you were hurt?"

  "It . . . didn't seem important."

  "Our early warning system’s health isn't important?" Sterling's voice was sharp. "I was just starting to think you were intelligent."

  "Cut him some slack," Earnest said. "He's lost a lot of blood, probably."

  Dalliance barely heard them, his world narrowing to the horrifying sensation of cold fingers spreading across his hip. There was a brisk, businesslike tug. Pain, white-hot tendrils flashing up his back and down his leg, arced through him as Circe yanked the arrowhead free.

  "You don't want it healing in place, silly," she said.

  Dalliance realized he was screaming and forced himself to stop. He couldn't do anything about the tears streaming down his face.

  "So, if it comes in, we kill it," said Civility flatly. "If we last 'til morning, our parents will kill it. If we don't last until morning . . . well, they'll kill it then, too."

  “That's true,” Dalliance admitted, his stomach twisting at the action of talking, “But I wish you hadn't said it out loud. Until that moment, they had tomorrow to hope for. Now . . . .”

  Now there was only this.

  A low chuckle answered from the darkness outside the door.

  Effluvia's reaction was instant. An arc of lightning blasted through the doorway, illuminating nothing but swirling fog.

  A dark, grating voice echoed from the gloom. "My choice is simple," it rasped. "Die unavenged, or avenge my kin and hope to live." It was no choice at all, and they all knew it.

  A wet thump echoed from the threshold.

  Something dark and meaty began to roll slowly across the floorboards, coming to a stop near their feet. It took several revolutions in the flickering torchlight before they could recognize Steadfastly's face, still attached to what was left of his neck.

  Prudence screamed.

  Zenith stepped between Prudence and the head, kicking fallen sacks over it to obscure Prudence’s view. Dalliance felt a rush of gratitude—it hadn’t looked human anymore.

  "So, what was that you said?" the hobgoblin's voice mocked from the darkness. "'Ten of you left'?"

  Prudence’s mouth opened, a retort ready on her lips, but Charity stomped hard on her foot, silencing her.

  She may have just saved Woebegone, Dalliance thought, making a mental note to get him to thank the girl if they ever got away. It couldn't hurt to have classmates who liked each other.

  "Are you trying to scare us?" Dalliance called out, his voice surprisingly level. "It won't work. We're not coming out."

  "No," the voice agreed. "And I'm not coming in." There was a pause. "But there are many ways to skin a cat. I think we'll find the classic method for removing pests from small spaces works perfectly well."

  Dalliance wasn't the only one who understood the implication, but he was the first to act. He pressed his nose to a crack in the back wall of the shed and sniffed.

  Woodsmoke.

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  The crackling of flames was suddenly audible to everyone.

  Clever.

  The hobgoblin's voice called out over the sound. "You act as though I have nothing to fight for. I have a hearth. I have kin."

  "Kin to a hob," Effluvia said icily. "We know where goblins come from."

  Dalliance had no idea where goblins came from.

  “Posture all you want, monster,” Zenith told it, her face set, “You're still going to die.”

  He saw a brief gleam of teeth in the growing light from outside and brought his bow up, nocking an arrow.

  It was no good. His [Prediction] had worn off, and his first attempt to reactivate it failed. He fumbled, lowering the bow. Wait. How could he have seen its teeth?

  Oh. He realized it in a flash. The reflected light from the fire.

  He would have only seconds before it realized he could be seen, too.

  He was running out of Acuity. Every time he matched predictions with the hobgoblin, the strain grew until it felt like his thoughts were wading through mud.

  [Prediction successful!]

  The goblin outside cackled. Its ghostly form was already shifting, dodging the shot he was lining up. It was reading his aim as he took it; any shot he took the time to aim would be a wasted shot. He could see his own cloud of ghostly arrows collapsing toward the center, and he could see the hobgoblin's future self sidestep it.

  Too slow, he thought. It sees me aiming.

  But what if there was no "aiming"? What if the moment he saw the shot and the moment he took the shot were the same? A single snapshot of intent and action, too fast to be countered.

  He drew his bow, his eyes unfocused, looking not at the hobgoblin but at the swirling cloud of possibilities in his mind. He didn't track it. He didn't lead it. He waited for the one brilliant, perfect line to appear in the chaos.

  There.

  His mind, his muscles, and the arrow all moved as one. There was no conscious thought, no pause between seeing the path and letting the string go. The entire act of aiming and firing happened in the space of a single heartbeat.

  It was a shot the hobgoblin could only have perceived after the arrow was already in the air. Too late.

  [Prediction successful. Four (4) experience points awarded for exceptional use of the Prediction skill. Your understanding of Prediction deepens. Perhaps some which watch were impressed?]

  A wet thud echoed from the darkness, followed by a heavy slump. The hobgoblin's form was just visible in the light of the growing fire.

  A headshot, from full draw.

  [A fine kill. Two (2) experience points awarded. By questioning your limits, gain knowledge.]

  [Maximum banked experience points! Two (2) experience points reallocated. Might and Spirit have been improved. Banked points: six (6): Remember that frugality is its own reward.]

  He hurriedly upgraded his Wit. Overflow was bad.

  "Just one left," Earnest said, slapping him on the shoulder. "That was damn fine shooting."

  “I refuse to believe you’re that good of an archer on your first day,” Charity said, her voice suspicious.

  “He wasn’t,” said Effie. “That good. That’s skill use. And it seems to take him a while to set up.” She glanced at him thoughtfully. “I’m wondering if he’s found an application for [Memorize] that I haven’t yet.”

  Keep guessing, he thought impishly, despite the circumstances.

  The smoke was getting thicker.

  "So, how scary is the other one?" Civility asked, his voice low. He was looking at Dalliance.

  "He means for us, not for you," Earnest cut in, nudging Dalliance. "You can just dodge them."

  Dalliance shook his head, the movement weary. "I'm not that good. I'm hurt, and my focus is spent. Or close enough to it."

  "Well, we'd best make this count then," Sterling said, taking charge. His voice was urgent. "We get across the field. Flank it, wherever it is, and just . . . don't die. I'll charge if I see it, and we'll all find somewhere that isn't on fire to hide. Yeah?"

  Dalliance nodded. "One more time," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I can try. But after this, if it even works, someone will need to cover for me. I'm going to faint afterwards."

  He could already feel it—the crushing cost of running his Acuity dry. It was a strange, bone-deep exhaustion that had nothing to do with his wounds and everything to do with absorbing so much experience in a single night.

  "I'll take you," a quiet voice said. It was Mallow, her face pale in the firelight. "Need Ma to look at you anyway."

  "Doctor's orders," Earnest shrugged. “I’d volunteer otherwise, you know I would.”

  “Sure. Fine. So we’re ready? We know what we’re all doing?”

  "If I see him," Effluvia promised, "I'll touch him off like a candle." She gripped Civility's shoulders for balance and hopped down. "Thank you," she told him, brushing herself off. Then she leaned in with a conspiratorial smirk. "And I promise I won't tell anyone that happened."

  The larger boy looked relieved, though Dalliance felt this was somewhat poor sportsmanship on her part. His focus was wandering.

  [Prediction] flared to life one last time. Dalliance knew with a bone-deep certainty that this was it; he wouldn't be able to cast it again tonight. He saw a storm of potential futures, but his exhausted mind could only grasp a few scattered threads.

  Rush across the open field? Die.

  Cross the cement to the sand pits? Die.

  An arrow . . . shot from above?

  The realization hit him, sharp and clear.

  "It's on the roof," he said flatly, and nearly collapsed.

  Earnest let out a short, incredulous bark of a laugh. "What a stupid place to be when you’ve set a building on fire."

  "New plan," said Effie.

  She started blasting.

  Arcs of raw lightning slammed into the shed's ceiling, turning wooden shingles to ash and smoke. The air filled with the smell of ozone and burning timber. It didn't take long for a scream to come from the roof above—a shriek of agony, abruptly cut short.

  A moment later, a heavy thud landed on the sand just outside the doorway.

  [A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Three (3) experience points awarded. Do not discount your contributions to others.]

  Cautiously, they stepped out into the smoky air.

  "So, how long?" Earnest asked.

  Dalliance looked at him, confused. "What?"

  "Until you faint."

  Dalliance did the math in his exhausted mind. "Nine . . . no, eight minutes."

  "A ten-minute skill, then," Sterling observed, his tone detached. "That narrows it down." He paused, looking directly at Dalliance. For the first time, his voice held no trace of arrogance, only grudging respect. "That was very impressive. An excellent choice of skill. I will tell my father."

  That wasn’t the favor he thought it was, Dalliance reflected. Having the local knight know about the anomalous abilities of a farmer’s son seemed more likely to draw attention than anything else.

  He slumped to the floor, knees suddenly too shaky for standing.

  "We'll have to carry him," Earnest said.

  Before anyone else could react, Prudence stepped forward and slung Dalliance over her shoulder in a fireman's carry. The movement was confident and practiced, like she was lifting animal feed.

  "Get Woebegone," she told Civility. "We're moving."

  And they did.

  As the world faded to black, Dalliance's final thoughts were not of strategy, or survival, or the fallen. They were, however, profoundly embarrassing.