by M E Robinson
“The snake,” Eric mouthed.
Jun nodded. “Alistair?” he mouthed back.
It was Eric’s turn to nod. Jerking his head towards Astrid, the two shared a moment of wordless communication before Eric turned away, leaving Jun to his devices as Eric stared hard at Grimarok.
“Surrender now, and perhaps I’ll consider granting you all the mercy of a quick death,” Grimarok uttered, his harsh voice grating at the ears of the militia.
Seeing some of the militia members wavering, Eric stepped forward.
“As if we’d listen to the words of a backstabbing coward like yourself. Attacking from behind like a common thief - no wonder your mount let itself get killed. Anything’s better than being under a spineless mongrel like yourself,” cried Eric, striding forward to the front of the militia.
Seeing him, Grimarok’s eyes lit up in recognition.
“Ah, well if it isn’t the sneaky little thief I killed in the forest. I’m surprised you can talk of honour when you snuck around like a common thief yourself before dying beneath my blade. I suppose that’s the best thing about you otherworlders though, we get to kill you twice,” Grimarok sneered, running a finger along the edge of his bloody sabre.
“Hmph, it’s you who’s going to die, Grimarok. You and all your goblin subordinates. Surrender now, and we may grant you the mercy of a quick death,” Eric replied, throwing Grimarok’s words back at him.
“You would decline my mercy? That’s fine, I will enjoy killing you, little half-elf,” Grimarok growled. “All forces, charge the invaders! Show them what it means to enter a goblin’s den.”
With a ferocious battle cry, the goblins charged, their clawed feet kicking up ashes and dirt as they neared the militia.
“Buy me some time. I need to fight Grimarok alone,” said Eric, turning to the rest of the militia.
“Can you win?” Mark asked carefully. His robes were torn and bloodied, and a long gash ran the length of his right arm, preventing him from using his mace properly.
“I can,” Eric nodded with conviction. “Just keep the goblins from overwhelming me.”
“Alright, we’ll do our best,” Mark replied, echoed by Ryan, Griffin, and the other surviving militia members.
With a battle cry of their own, the militia met the goblins charge, as the fighting resumed, even more vicious than before.
Stunning a goblin with a pommel strike, Eric stabbed his athame into its neck, dispatching it and locking eyes with Grimarok, as he moved towards the enormous hobgoblin.
“Hmph, so you do have some guts after all, little thief,” Grimarok uttered. “No matter, you shall die like the rest.”
“It’s you who’s going to die today, Grimarok,” Eric replied, activating Dashing Cut as the goblins between them cleared a path for the two fighters, allowing their leader to move towards the overconfident half-elf.
With an agile movement, Eric’s blade flashed through the air, his falchion slashing accurately towards Grimarok’s forearm as he arrived in front of the enormous hobgoblin. Raising his shield, Grimarok blocked Eric’s strike, launching a slash of his own at the half-elf, who dodged to the side, the sabre whistling harmlessly past as Eric stabbed his athame into Grimarok’s leg.
Letting out a low roar, Grimarok slammed his shield into Eric’s face, causing him to stumble backwards as Grimarok pursued. Ducking underneath a heavy slash, Eric quickly threw himself into a roll, rolling to the side to avoid another shield bash as Grimarok advanced. Raising his leg, Eric kicked downwards, preventing Grimarok’s leg sweep as his booted foot slammed into the hobgoblin’s shin. With a pained look, Grimarok took a step backward, leaning backwards to avoid taking a slash to the throat from Eric’s falchion.
As all this was happening, the battle raged on around the two combatants. The militia fought desperately, each doing their best to stay alive as the goblins poured forth, throwing themselves in endless waves towards the beleaguered militia. Not a single militia member remained free of injury. Although the healers were doing their best, some injuries were impossible to fully heal. Tanix had somehow survived the loss of his arm and now cast Flaming Spheres into the ranks of goblins with his remaining hand, adding to the smoke and ash that filled the air. Griffin had taken several sabres to the body, but still remained standing, as Mark desperately cast healing spells on whoever needed them the most, doing his best to keep everyone’s health above zero.
With a primal roar, Grimarok used a skill, his blade dyeing itself a crimson red as it descended towards Eric at a ferocious speed. Paling, Eric dodged backwards, avoiding the brunt of the blow even as his healthbar diminished drastically.
He has way too much power in every single strike. Even a single skill could kill me if it connects, Eric thought grimly as he twirled the Quickwind Dagger between his fingers. If he wanted to win, he needed to do so soon. While the militia was still just barely holding out, there was a limit to how far adrenaline and fear could take them. Once the first fighters started to collapse, the rest would soon follow.
Steeling his resolve, Eric stared towards Grimarok. The hulking hobgoblin had taken a few solid hits so far on top of the small amounts of damage Owin’s squad had managed to inflict upon him. However, his healthbar was still overwhelmingly healthy, with more than forty percent remaining. In comparison, Eric’s own was down to twenty percent. At this percent, Grimarok wouldn’t even need a skill to kill, a single hit from that enormous sabre would do the job.
Exhaling slowly, Eric pictured his path to victory in his mind, the steps he’d need to take clearly unfolding in front of him as he pictured Grimarok dead at his feet. Twirling the athame between his fingers one last time, Eric flipped the athame into his right hand, tossing the falchion to his left hand as he looked Grimarok in the eye.
Wordlessly, the two fighters rushed towards each other, one a slight, slender half-elf wearing leather armour, and the other a hulking brute of a hobgoblin, looking more like a walking tank than a living being.
As Eric dashed forward, runes appeared beneath his right hand at a dizzying pace, rune after rune appearing with a pale glow. As Grimarok approached, his sabre began to glow once more with that crimson light, as he brought it down in a brutal, diagonal slash.
Twisting his body, Eric jumped up and over the strike, launching himself towards the hobgoblin. Grabbing Grimarok’s shield, Eric used it as leverage, propelling himself over the hobgoblin as he continued to cast. Reaching the apex of his jump, Eric buried his falchion in Grimarok’s neck, the blade digging deeply into the hobgoblin’s left shoulder and causing him to let out a roar of pain. Using the sword as a handhold, Eric pivoted, leaving his falchion deep inside the hobgoblin as he twisted around and over the hobgoblin’s right side.
With a feral roar, Grimarok turned, delivering a fearsome backhand behind him as the half-elf landed, his athame still moving as he drew more runes in the air in front of him. Not stopping his movement, Eric slid under the fist, using his left hand as a support as he turned his momentum into a legsweep, his leg hooking Grimarok’s own.
Thrown off balance by his backhand, Grimarok fell, crashing heavily to one knee. With a growl, Grimarok pushed off the ground, a fell, crimson glow enveloping his sabre as he sent a rising diagonal slash towards Eric.
However, Eric was ready for it. Remaining low to the ground, Eric leaned backwards, as Grimarok’s sabre soared overhead, shaving hairs from his beard as it passed by. Quick as lightning, Eric bounded forwards, his athame rising like a viper from the grass as it streaked towards Grimarok’s exposed throat. With a vicious cry, Eric lodged his dagger in Grimarok’s jaw, his adrenaline pounding as he stared into the eyes of the hobgoblin, who for the first time this fight, showed fear.
“Goodbye,” Eric whispered, casting the spell he’d been preparing for the last few seconds.
With a roar of wind, Grimarok’s head disappeared in a hail of wind and blood, Eric’s spell literally decapitating the fearsome hobgoblin. As a rain of gore showered the
goblins behind where Grimarok’s now headless body stood, Eric withdrew his dagger, watching as Grimarok’s body raised its sword as if to strike.
Remaining in the ready stance for another two seconds, Grimarok’s enormous body shuddered briefly, before finally toppling to the ground with a might crash.
Throwing back his head, Eric let out a primal roar.
“Grimarok is dead!” he shouted, his voice piercing the din of battle and bringing the combatants to a halt.
With disbelieving expressions, the goblins looked at the body of their terrifying leader, the hobgoblin who had led them to so many victories. Lying there with his head missing, a shiver seemed to go through the goblin ranks, as they stared at the motionless corpse of their commander, as if hoping he would jump to his feet and continue the fight.
Not missing the opportunity, Eric pointed towards the goblins. “Kill them all!” he roared, feinting a dash towards the goblins.
That was all it took, seeing the one who had killed their commander rushing forward, the goblins broke ranks, screaming and pushing as they scrabbled to be the first to escape.
Seeing this, Eric charged for real. His falchion had broken when he’d buried it in the hobgoblin’s shoulder, forcing him to grab Grimarok’s sabre from his corpse as he passed. He began to cut down as many of the fleeing goblins as possible. Following his example, the rest of the militia followed suit, dyeing their weapons in goblin blood as the goblins retreated in a panic. As the goblin retreat turned into a full-blown rout, Eric turned, Grimarok’s sabre held aloft as he captured the attention of the remaining militia.
“To me, militia! We must save Captain Alistair!”
At this, the remaining militia roared their support, following Eric as he led them towards the opposite end of the encampment where the sounds of battle still continued.
Alistair and the scouts had managed to hold on well. Despite the ambush and loss of a significant portion of their troops, the scouts’ training along with Alistair’s commands and strength at arms had allowed them to survive the brutal fighting.
As Eric and the others arrived, they dove into the fray, cutting into the goblins’ rear as the goblins attempted to break the shield wall. Panicking, the goblins were treated as the nail, while Eric and the militia acted as the hammer, slamming the goblins into the anvil that was Alistair’s unit.
Fighting their way through, the militia cut through dozens of goblins before the goblins could reorganize themselves and turn to deal with the new attackers. By this time, Alistair had already recognized the chance that the militia had given him. Instructing his men to fight their way through to Eric’s group, the platoon joined together as a whole once more for the first time since this nightmare had begun, driving the goblins before them as they got into formation.
After ten minutes of brutal fighting, the battle was done. The goblins had been routed and the Crowsea Platoon was victorious. But at what cost? Eric wondered sadly to himself as he gazed upon the bodies of the fallen. Nearly two thirds of the platoon had fallen in the battle. While many of the militia were otherworlders and would respawn after their time in Elysium, the scout unit and several of the adventurers were not so lucky, with many lying dead, and many more nursing severe wounds. However, the mood amongst the battle-hardened scouts was not somber, but rather upbeat, as they celebrated their close escape from total annihilation.
Chapter 44
As the thrill of victory wore off, the platoon got to work, cleaning up the bodies of the dead, searching the remaining tents and buildings, and taking care of the wounded. Moving through the battlefield, Eric wrinkled his nose. Something that he thankfully hadn’t noticed during the battle was the smell. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, as the corpses of goblin, human, elf, and dwarf alike smoldered in the remnants of the goblin base.
Closing the eyes of Gorin Greatarm, Eric hung his head sadly. They had truly messed up today. While the battle had been a success, if they hadn’t been caught off guard by the goblins ambush, would their losses have been anywhere near this bad?
“You did all you could. This is just what war is,” said a voice from behind him as a hand came to rest on his shoulder.
“I’m surprised you’re alive,” Eric said bluntly.
“I don’t feel like I’m alive, if that’s any consolation,” Owin smiled weakly. An enormous bandage ran the length of his torso, covering the horrendous wound he’d received from Grimarok’s sabre.
“This battle shouldn’t have been so hard. We got caught off guard too easily,” Eric said, swearing as he rose painfully to his feet.
“Alistair was afraid of this. That’s why he wanted to attack earlier. And it’s also why he took as many precautions as he did.”
“Precautions? Like what, charging blindly into a goblin base?” Eric spat caustically.
“Like using scouts to ensure there were no goblin armies lying in wait. Or distributing the Witches Brew he obtained from the Mage Morningstar to his officers. Or fighting two hobgoblins at once despite being retired for almost a decade now,” Owin said lightly, raising his brow at Eric.
“Witches Brew?”
“That explosive I used. We had three flasks of that, and another three of Wizards Fire. Without those, there’s no way we would have won the battle today,” Owin explained.
Eric sighed, “I just wish I could have done more. That we could have done more.”
“You took on a hobgoblin lord in single combat and you want to do more? Gods above, I’d hate to know what your idea of taking things in moderation is,” Owin joked.
“You know what I mean. If I was stronger, I could have done more, I could have saved more of them.”
“You can’t save everyone. Wylls’ death was proof of that. But you can be thankful for those you could save. As for me? I’m fairly sure I owe you a second drink,” Owin said with a smile.
Eric smiled back. “Just a second? I’m fairly sure you owe me like five.”
“Deal,” Owin said with a laugh. “I think that’s the Captain calling me though. We can talk again later.”
With that, Owin turned, heading over to where Alistair stood along with his surviving lieutenant.
With a sigh, Eric returned to his grisly task, hauling Gorin’s body as carefully as possible towards the centre of the encampment where a large pyre was being formed using the remains of the base to create a bed of timber upon which to lay their fallen companions. Laying Gorin’s massive body gently upon the pyre, Eric surveyed the fallen. Many of the faces were those he recognized, having watched them fight in the tournament only the day before. Griffin, Mark, Rob, Soren Gunnarson, Gorin Greatarm, Turk, Aria, Mikasa, Zwei, Tamira, Alexnir, all of them lay motionless on the pyre, alongside more than two dozen of the scouts. Even now, bodies were still being hauled over to the pyre and laid down to rest.
Off to the side, Alistair’s surviving lieutenant was arguing with the captain.
“Are you sure we should be laying the otherworlders alongside our fallen? They’re just going to disappear and resurrect anyways. Why should we bother sending their spirits to the gods?”
“Without the otherworlders, we would all be dead. Despite the fact that they can ressurect, they all fought with honour and valour alongside us. Even if it’s only temporary, we should treat them as equals and send their spirits to the gods alongside our fallen brothers and sisters,” Alistair explained, his tone brooking no further discussion.
Falling silent, the lieutenant watched as the final scout was placed upon the pyre, bringing the total dead up to seventy-two.
“It’s time,” Alistair said gravely.
Walking forward, Alistair looked at the remaining twenty-two members of the platoon. Not a single one remained unharmed, with various severe injuries visible on even the least wounded of the survivors. The atmosphere was gloomy as scouts and militia alike stared at the faces of those who’d fought and laughed alongside them only an hour before.
“Soldiers of Crowsea plat
oon, raise your heads,” Alistair said, his deep voice permeating the surrounding air.
Slowly, the surviving fighters began to stir, looking up and taking in the scene of their captain, standing bloody but unbowed in front of them.
“We’ve won the battle, and yet you’re all acting as if we stand defeated. Would your brothers and sisters in arms be proud of you for the way you’re acting now? Would they, who willingly gave their lives to protect what is right, think any the less of you for surviving this hellish battle?” Alistair demanded, his voice echoing throughout the empty compound. “No! So raise your heads! Stand proud, brave soldiers of Crowsea. For when the bards tell our tale, you need to be able to remember this moment, when the heroes of Crowsea Platoon stood against the combined might of half a thousand goblins and emerged unbowed! Soldiers of Crowsea, do not bring dishonour to our platoon, but instead act with honour as we remember those who have given their lives so that Novanalba may be safe!” Alistair roared.
As one, the gathered soldiers roared back, their voices mingling in the air as they cheered for their victory, letting out the rage and adrenaline of the past hour of fighting.
Seeing this, Alistair looked on solemnly. “Now, to those who sacrificed themselves. Let us send them off not with heads hung low, but with voices raised, as they go to join the gods in their great halls. Let us commend their spirits to Arawm, and Maser, and any other god willing to accept these brave soldiers. For though they have perished, their spirits shall live on inside of us.”
Alistair fell silent, nodding to his lieutenant who stepped forward with a grave look. Igniting a torch, he held in his hand, he touched the flames to the edge of the pyre, stepping back to watch as the fire spread through the wood, enveloping the bodies of the fallen.
Heads raised, the surviving members of Crowsea Platoon looked on silently, their heads raised as they watched their comrades disappear into smoke and ash. As the flames consumed their bodies, tears began to roll down the cheeks of the soldiers, looking resolutely forward as they gave their fellows the respect they were due.