The discovery of Herbert's abandoned repair materials transformed their despair into a surge of purposeful activity. The dilapidated boat, once a symbol of their shattered hopes, became a project, a challenge to be overcome. It was a race against time, against the encroaching darkness, and against the ever-present threat of the Goblin King's army.

  Jett, ever vigilant, volunteered for lookout duty. He positioned himself on a small rise overlooking the approach to the riverbank, his keen eyes scanning the forest, his ears straining for any sound that might betray the presence of enemies. He was their early warning system, their shield against surprise attacks, allowing the others to focus on the crucial task of repairing the boat.

  Roland, surprisingly, took the lead in the physical repairs. He shed his heavy plate armour, revealing a sweat-soaked tunic beneath, and set to work with a practiced efficiency that belied his noble status. It turned out that the knight's upbringing had included more than just swordplay and courtly manners. His family estate had encompassed extensive woodlands, and he'd spent his youth learning the practical skills of carpentry and woodcraft from the estate's workers.

  "A knight must be self-sufficient," he explained, as he hammered a reinforcing plank onto the boat's bow. "He can't always rely on squires and servants. He must be able to repair his own armour, mend his own tack, and, if necessary, build his own shelter." To help minimise the noise of the repairs, Roland used a combination of cloth and leather to wrap around the tools and area of the boat he was working on. This made the repairs harder and take longer, but more importantly safer with less chance of being discovered. A worthy trade-off.

  He worked with a focused intensity, his movements precise and economical, his hands surprisingly deft for a man more accustomed to wielding a sword. He selected the best planks from Herbert's pile, discarding any that showed signs of rot or weakness. He measured and cut with practiced ease, shaping the wood to fit the contours of the boat's hull. He hammered nails with a rhythmic precision, each blow driving the metal home with just the right amount of force.

  Julia, meanwhile, took the opportunity to rest and recuperate. The Silence spell, while brief, had still taken a toll on her mana reserves. And the upcoming journey down the treacherous Hammer Falls would demand all her strength, all her skill, all her concentration. She found a relatively quiet spot near the riverbank, away from the noise of the repairs, and sat in a meditative posture, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. She focused on replenishing her mana, drawing energy from the surrounding environment, visualizing the flow of magical power filling her inner reservoir.

  Caspian and William, lacking Roland's carpentry skills and Julia's magical expertise, assisted with the more mundane tasks. They mixed tar, the thick, viscous substance smelling strongly of pine and smoke, and applied it to the seams of the boat, sealing any cracks or gaps that might allow water to seep in. They cut strips of leather and used them to reinforce the joints, adding an extra layer of protection against the pounding force of the rapids. They worked diligently, silently, their efforts fuelled by a shared sense of urgency, by the knowledge that their survival depended on the seaworthiness of this rickety vessel.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  As the hours passed, the boat slowly began to transform. The gaping holes in the hull were patched, the cracked planks reinforced, the weak points strengthened. It wasn't a perfect repair job, by any means, but it was a significant improvement. The boat, once a symbol of despair, now represented a fighting chance, a testament to their collective ingenuity and determination.

  Once the physical repairs were complete, it was time to test Julia's magical contribution. They gathered around the boat, watching as Julia explained the mechanics of the Reinforce spell.

  "The enchantment creates a temporary barrier," she said, her voice clear and concise. "It's like an invisible shield, deflecting blows and strengthening the material beneath. But it's not permanent, and it requires mana to maintain. The larger the area I cover, the more mana it consumes, and the shorter the duration."

  She demonstrated, casting the spell on a small section of the boat's bow. The wood shimmered faintly, a subtle distortion of the air, a visual manifestation of the magical energy flowing through it.

  "I can shift the focus of the spell," Julia continued, "moving the barrier from one area to another. But it takes time, about fifteen seconds, to fully transition. So, I'll need warning. Someone will have to tell me where to concentrate the protection."

  William, his mind already racing with possibilities, volunteered for the task. He'd been practicing with EMMA, honing his ability to analyse data, to predict outcomes, to anticipate threats. He would be their eyes and ears, their early warning system, guiding Julia's magic, ensuring that the Reinforce spell was always focused on the most vulnerable point.

  They conducted a series of practice runs, William shouting out random directions – "Front!", "Left!", "Right!", "Back!" – while Julia shifted the focus of the spell accordingly. It was a challenging exercise, demanding both speed and precision. Julia had to react quickly, adjusting her mental focus, re-directing the flow of mana, while maintaining the integrity of the enchantment. William had to anticipate her movements, provide clear and concise instructions, and keep track of the ever-shifting variables.

  After several attempts, they found a rhythm, a synergy, a connection that allowed them to work together seamlessly. William's calls became more precise, his timing more accurate. Julia's responses became faster, her control more refined. They were learning to trust each other, to rely on each other's skills, to function as a single, cohesive unit.

  Caspian, observing the practice runs with keen interest, made a surprising suggestion. "Julia," he said, "could you teach me the Reinforce spell? I may not be a warrior, but I have some magical aptitude. Perhaps I could provide backup, reinforce a secondary area, or take over if you become fatigued."

  Julia hesitated, considering the request. Teaching a spell, even a relatively simple one like Reinforce, took time and effort. And Caspian, while intelligent, was a novice in the art of magic. But she also recognized the potential value of having another mage on board, someone who could share the burden, provide an extra layer of protection.

  "It's a basic enchantment," Julia said, "but it still requires practice. We don't have much time, but... I can teach you the fundamentals. The incantation, the rune visualization. It's up to you to master it."

  And so, while Roland continued to oversee the final stages of the physical repairs, Julia began to instruct Caspian in the art of the Reinforce spell. The prince, despite his initial awkwardness, proved to be a surprisingly quick learner, his scholarly mind grasping the theoretical concepts with ease.

  To test the effectiveness of their combined efforts, Roland, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, grabbed a heavy hammer, one of the tools they'd been using for the repairs.

  "Stand back," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's see if this 'magical reinforcement' is worth anything."