by Ember Lane
“But!” Merl growled.
“Hold on, Merl, let me get my words out. You imagined your mom all yer life, so that’s the mom you got, okay?”
“Okay,” Merl said, tears glazing his eyes. It meant he could carry on as normal, and normal was good. “What about my dad?”
“Did yer dad look after you? Did he feed you and give you a bed fer the night? Did he school you and teach you how to herd sheep?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’s yer dad, and if you end up having two coz you got real dad too, well that makes you the luckiest son-of-a-bitch that ever did live.”
Merl sniffed and snorted. “Sounds good.”
“Fine. Now you two kiss and make up an’ we can be on our way. Unless I’ve gotta remind you that there’s a whole world of dead’uns out there waitin’ to kill us.”
Merl pushed himself up. “Sorry, Billy. I’m sorry I beat on you.”
Bill grabbed three apples from the back of the monster truck. “Reckon we deserve an apple each.”
“Reckon we do,” Merl agreed.
“Don’t forget our four best friends.” Frank nodded at the horses, front and back.
Smoke rose from the fields, and the clatter of battle rolled toward them. Billy pulled the monster wagon to a standstill, and Frank stood. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward as if the few extra inches might make things clearer.
“What is it?” Merl asked.
“Billy, get movin’,” Frank barked. “Someone needs a hand.”
“With zombays?” Billy called up.
“Worse, damnable goblins.”
Merl’s heart pumped fast. His whole body shook. “Filthy goblins,” he growled.
Billy set the horses galloping, and Frank called for Scaramanza. They turned off the main trail and over a rickety wooden bridge, straight toward billowing smoke. Frank screamed at the top of his voice. A knee-trembling, blood-curdling cry, the like of which Merl hadn’t seen before. Merl wondered why Frank hated Goblins so, but reckoned he was about to see Frank truly battle for the first time. He was about to see Frank fight angry.
“Billy! Pull up by those hay bales. Both of you, grab shields. You need shields against goblins, coz they’re stabby, stabby bastards. Merl, use your ax to chop their spears. Billy, hook ’em with the scythe, but hook ‘em hard, mind, they’ve tougher skin than zombays.”
Merl hated damnable goblins. They lived under Three Face Mountain too, and in winter—when things were tough enough anyway—they’d sneak out at night and rustle their sheep. Dirty goblin bastards.
“What do you know about goblins?” Frank asked as they readied themselves.
Merl slid his arm into the leather shield holds and tried to get it to feel right, but the first strap was too far past his elbow and made crooking his hand way too hard. “Do I really need a shield?”
“Merl,” Frank continued. “First thing you need to know about goblins is their eyes don’t work so well in the daylight. You know what they do? They use spears, so that way they only have to stab out. So yes, you need a shield. Second thing you need to know about dirty goblins is that they are cowards. They only attack when they know they’ll win. What does this all mean? It means we go in fast, hard, and noisy. We aim to drive them away, not fight ‘em. Got it?”
Merl and Billy nodded, and Frank let out another mighty cry. “Billy, drive us to battle!”
Billy clambered up onto the wagon’s bench. Merl and Frank hung onto the sides, ready to jump off.
They headed down the trail, through the fields, and toward the burning farmstead that was a few hundred yards from a big, dark forest. At least a dozen goblins surrounded the stead, blocking any escape. They hooted and hollered and seemed completely oblivious to Frank, Merl, and Billy. “Looks like the battle’s already lost,” Frank muttered. “Far enough, Billy! Let’s go!”
Frank jumped from the wagon and charged forward like he was deranged. He hollered. Merl hollered, and behind, Billy roared his guts out too. With Scaramanza held aloft, Frank tore into the goblin ranks, slashing down at the little green bastards. Merl flanked him, hitting out with his ax. The speed of the goblins took him by surprise, and his first attacks were beaten back as the goblins spun around to face him. Their spears thrust out. The first one caught him. A searing pain immediately radiated from his side, and the damp heat of welling blood filled him with doom.
He yelped in pain, then growled in anger. A whole bunch of text flashed red inside his head, stopping him in his tracks. “What do you mean? I don’t know what you mean!” he cried out in anguish, not understanding the words. Now fired with the rage of pain, he redoubled his efforts and cleaved a helmet-clad head, forcing the ax through the thin, tin helmet. Green ichor splattered upward, and the despicable green creature glared at him before its red eyes rolled upward and a putrid, yellow liquid belched from its fang-laden maw.
Ripping his ax free, he stumbled backward. Billy swept his scythe across the goblin ranks, lopping heads like the goblins were filthy zombies. Frank was beating on every green bastard he could see, but now they were close up, there were a lot more of them than had been apparent from the road. Screams of desperation bellowed out from the farmstead, and Merl could see the dirty green sods had barricaded the door in.
He pulled himself onto the stoop, wincing in pain, and buried his ax in the closest goblin’s neck.
“No, Merl!” Somewhere in Merl’s head he heard Frank’s scream, but he knew he had to get the people out. He knew they were being burned alive. Staggering on, he chopped at the next goblin, fending off a thrusting spear and pushing the little creature back with his shield. Tearing his ax free, he thumped it into the goblin’s horned helmet, snapping one horn and creasing the metal straight into the bastard’s brains. The goblin fell. Merl fell.
Rolling away from the dead goblin, Merl slipped his shield from his arm. His strength drained as his wound bled, but he tore at the planks and barrels that were blocking the burning farmstead’s door. Broken, flaming wood cut and burned his hands, but he ignored the pain and tossed all aside before eventually yanking the door open. He was promptly shoved out the way as the trapped folk burst out. Merl stumbled back, fell and banged his head on the floor.
He tried to get up, but he had absolutely no energy left and his head was a dizzy as a dune dogs. Smoke curled around him, and he began to cough his guts up.
“Merl!” Billy cried, and he stared down at Merl. Billy grabbed his friend as the flames licked around Merl’s head. Billy pulled him out, jerking Merl up, and they both catapulted off the stoop onto the hard ground of the farmstead’s yard. Billy slammed into Merl, knocking the wind right out of him for good measure.
“Hell, Billy!” Merl gasped. “Goblins! Dirty goblins!”
“All gone, Merl. Scared away by a mad sheepherder who stormed straight through them. Na, they gone, Merl. They’re hiding in the forest watching.”
Frank knelt by Merl. He tore Merl’s tunic open. “That’s a mighty nick you got there, Merl. Here, have some water. Drink it down, Merl. Drink it down.”
A dark shadow fell over Merl as his vision blurred in and out. A stranger stood over Merl. The man was battered and bruised but smiling brightly, well, bright-ish, when you took into account his browny yellow teeth. “Thank you, thank you, and thank you.”
Merl wiped his blurry eyes as the man continued talking. “Little bastards came outta nowhere, an’ before we knew it, we was fending them off for dear life. They backed us into the farmstead and torched the bloody place. Foul, evil bastards.”
“How many of you survived?” Merl heard Frank ask.
“Just us six left.”
Frank let out a long sigh. “They know you’re weak. I thought they’d take a bit longer to get the courage up to start skirmishing, but in broad daylight, shit! This is bad, bad news indeed.”
“On top o’ the other?” another voice complained. “Whole world’s gone to shit, an’ now we got these foul beasts to worry about.”
Merl felt his strength returning. He pushed himself up on his haunches, wincing just in case. He expected a bunch of pain to come, but was surprised when it didn’t. Frank stared at his wound. “Seems a little better, musta just been a scratch.”
“Oh, I don’t hurt so much, n’ when I do, tend to heal quite fast. Bit o’ food n’ water, and I’m normally as right as rain.”
“Well that’s incredible, Merl, absolutely incredible.” Frank kept staring at Merl’s wound.
“Where y’headed?” the first farmer asked. “Grey’s the name, by the way.”
“West,” said Frank. “Straight into the thick of it.”
“Why?” Grey asked.
“Reasons that we simply can’t ignore. You?”
“Might try Three Valleys.”
“Gone. We’ve just come from there, but I might have somewhere else for you to try.”
Merl ambled back to the monster wagon while Frank directed the survivors to Morgan Mount. There was no real need to explain, Frank had daubed the directions on Three Valleys’ town wall, but Merl supposed it passed the time of day. He opened up the back of the wagon and helped himself to an apple, tossing Billy one as he ambled up. “Thanks fer savin’ me, ‘n all, and I’m sorry about yer eye and stuff.”
“It’s okay, Merl. I figure we gotta stick together, an’ if we stick together, that means we can’t be holding stuff like a bag fit to burst. I gotta say, I still got stuff in my bag.”
Merl looked at Billy. He’d known him long enough to pick up when Billy had things on his mind. Things always weighed heavy on Billy, and Merl had decided long ago that Billy didn’t have many brains, so if something was on his mind, it stopped him from thinking of other things. “Why not just spit it out?” Merl said. “I’ve done falling out with you. Ain’t your or my fault the zombays and goblins came, now is it?”
“No, no it ain’t, but it’s about your dad. You gotta remember that I looked up at him like my dad too.”
Merl felt his anger grow again, but he tried to push it back down. He’d already heard the worst thing Billy could say, so this thing must be easy. “Tell me.”
“Well, I heard it too, and so did Frank.”
“What are you talkin’ about, Billy?”
“I’m talking about in the backroom when he was a zombay. I’m talking about then.”
“When he said he wasn’t my dad?”
“Yeah.”
The puff went out of Merl, and his shoulders sagged. “I know. I know he wouldn’t have bust his guts just to tell me what was plain to see.”
“So, you think…” Billy clearly hadn’t got a clue what to say next.
“I think my dad was still my dad, just like Frank said. But… I think my real dad is still out there, somewhere.”
“You a lucky bastard with two dads.”
“I’m the lucky bastard having you and Frank as companions.”
Frank came ambling over. “Let’s turn this wagon around and get back on the trail.”
Merl tossed him an apple. “Sure thing, Frank. Sure thing.”
Frank stared up at the low, afternoon sun. “And Billy, best to keep off the chivers’ cheese if we’re gonna sleep in the wagon tonight.”
“Makes no odds,” Billy replied, taking up his position on the bench. “I can rip a stinker with or without chivers’ help.”
8
They found themselves a little farmstead on the southern side of the valley, far away from the goblin-infested forest. It had a zombay-free well and a stable for the horses, and only four undead lumbering around aimlessly. The trail leading up to it was perfect too. It had a clear view down to the river, and grazing grass on either side. Merl rustled a lamb for their dinner, and Billy found a vegetable patch out back. Frank sat staring down the trail up while sharpening every weapon they’d salvaged to date.
When they were done and fed, Frank gave them each a lesson in sword fighting, and Merl took note. He’d seen the error of his ways when he’d attacked the goblins. A hand ax would only get him so far, but against anything better than a lurching zombay, it was little use at all.
He tried a half dozen different swords, and eventually settled on one. Slowly but surely he began to get used to it, and then he started parrying Frank’s strokes, almost knowing where they where going to land before Frank had even struck. More lines of text flashed up in his mind. He didn’t recognize a single word, but then they were gone before he could really take note of it, and it also put his mind off what he was doing. He received a thunk on the head for hesitation as the flat of Frank’s blade gave a painful slap to remind him to concentrate.
Merl knew things were changing, and not just in the world, but inside him too. He’d always been a skinny rake, but now he felt… fuller. Not of the belly, though, it was his muscles. They appeared more defined, or more to the point, he actually had some. He wasn’t as skinny as a rake any longer, but he wasn’t far off.
Frank let them rest when dusk bit its last chunk out of the day, and by that time Merl was shattered. It was about that time the flames started appearing over by the forest, and then they began dotting the valley both up and down from their farm.
“Goblins,” Frank hissed for the second time that day. “They’re torching all the farmsteads.”
“They want us gone and gone fer good,” Billy muttered under his breath.
Frank grabbed one of the timber uprights and shimmied up it like it was a ladder. He was soon standing on its roof. “Whole valley’s on fire. This is bad, very bad.”
“What are we going to do?” Merl asked, watching in horror as more fires were lit and some fields started catching too.
“I do know one thing,” Frank said, jumping down and landing with a thud. “We’re not going to fight our way outta this one.”
“So, what are we gonna do, like?” Billy asked.
“What any man would do when he has no hope of winning. We run.”
“I’ll get the wagon loaded,” Billy said, but Frank shook his head. “A few flaming arrows and we’d be done for—burned alive like they tried with those folks earlier. No, we take the horses and head for the hills. Let’s push the wagon into the stables, and when we come back this way, we’ll know where it is if the stable still stands. Can you both ride?”
Billy and Merl nodded. Riding was second nature to farmers and mountain folk, and though Merl hadn’t done a load of it, he’d ridden enough. By the time they’d pushed the wagon into the stable, the fires had reached the river and were spreading out from its crossing. They mounted their horses and raced off into the fields behind the farmstead. The moon hung high, and the stars twinkled, but the deep blue sky was lit with the flames of a hundred burning farms. Smoke reached across it in long, thin, chilling fingers.
Frank galloped ahead, towing the spare horse. Merl followed and Billy took the rear. They tore through the fields and up into the low pastures, splashing through tiny streams lit silver with the night. He weaved up the small valleys without stopping, eventually turning west once they’d reached a long escarpment.
The pounding hooves cracked the silence, and Merl was sure that the goblins would be able to hear them easily. Frank pulled up by a large, rocky bluff the color of midnight. He tethered his horses to a tumbled boulder and scrambled up the promontory. “Them dirty goblins will be tired for days,” Frank said. “The foul things don’t like hard toil.”
Merl just caught the tail end of Frank’s words but had heard enough to know they meant trouble. “What are ya thinkin’, Frank?”
“I’m thinking that this is all one goblin tribe’s work, and I’m thinking if we leave the chieftain be, then everyone will be in trouble, including the girls.”
If there was one thing that could have swayed Merl into doing something reckless, it was mention that Portius and the other two were in trouble. “What are we going to do?”
“We st
ink up and go kill the bastard.”
“Stink up, kill who?” Billy asked, gasping for breath.
“The girls are in trouble,” Merl blurted out.
“Hold on, hold on,” Frank said. “All sit and take a load off. First things first, we gotta work out the timings. Then we gotta track a route.”
“And stink up?” Merl asked.
“Goblins might have bad eyesight, but they can smell a human from across a valley. We stink up. Bit o’ horse manure over us, and we’ll be right as rain.”
Merl didn’t like the sound of that, but he also didn’t like the thought of dirty goblins gutting him, either. He nodded, pretending to understand all.
“What’s the timings?” Billy asked.
“Well, goblins are nothing if not predictable,” Frank stated.
“Nothin’ if not stinky, filthy beasts,” Billy added.
Frank cast him a glance. “Predictable. Like for instance, if they go on a burning, have a big battle, or get some great plunder, they always follow a pattern. They go home. They celebrate, oh how they celebrate, and then they fall down exhausted, drunk and done fer. Now, if we’re going to kill the king, exactly when do we want to walk into the goblin village?”
Merl could see the sense in it. There was clearly only one right answer. “Got it,” he said.
“Tell me, just so I know you have, Merl…”
“When they’re good and drunk and snoring like a Three Face bear after eatin’ a big beehive.”
“Exactly then,” Frank agreed. “Now, as day is night and night is day to them, when are they likely to get as drunk as a sailor on his first night in port?”
“Tomorrow,” Billy said.
“Tomorrow,” Frank affirmed. “Tomorrow, when they think the whole valley’s dead. I’m going to sleep for a while. Choose between you who takes first watch.”
Ten minutes later, all three were asleep under the stars. Billy had his snoring head on, but Merl was too tired to care. It seemed like it had been rush, rush, rush since the minute he’d met Frank. When his eyelids clamped firmly shut, his dreams were as busy as ever. He woke at exactly the same point too, and saw Frank staring down at him.