by Pirateaba
Already, they had begun to counterattack.
—-
The Goblins in the Flooded Waters tribe weren’t restless. At least, most of them weren’t. They raided roads on a daily basis and clashed with monsters and small bands of Humans regularly. Moreover, they were secure in their semi-permanent home in the forest of tall trees around the lake. Already, the Goblins were beginning to think of it as their base. But more importantly, they were filling their bellies from their raids and they were not in danger, not in want. They were content.
But the Goblins who thought of the future, those who were leaders like Noears, Poisonbite, Redscar, the Rockfall Chieftain, and other Hobs of Tremborag’s mountain thought otherwise. They could tell what their Chieftain wished because they were connected. They were part of the same tribe. And what those Goblins understood was that Rags was…aimless.
“She does not know what to do.”
Poisonbite declared this as she sat with her unit of female Goblins around a fire. She had a few guests. Two Hobs from Tremborag’s faction, Noears, the Rockfall Chieftain, and Redscar. They were just guests. But that they were here, listening, was significant.
Each one had their own agendas. Noears, who was very intelligent and dangerous because of it, played with a spark of electricity, letting it crawl over his hands. The other Goblins looked around surreptitiously.
They were looking for Rags. Or Pyrite. The Goldstone Chieftain was staunchly loyal to her, which might be troublesome if he heard anything. Not that they were doing anything; they were just talking. But in Tremborag’s mountain, talk was dangerous enough.
Here it was…a sign of wariness. Noears flicked the spark into the fire, making it jump, and looked up.
“She is aimless, but not, I think, lost.”
The others nodded at that. Noears continued.
“She does not know whether to stay or go. This is a good place. But not what she wants. She wants to go south. But the Goblin Lord is there.”
“Dangerous.”
Redscar grunted. He wasn’t talkative. He flicked a dagger up and caught the blade between two fingers.
“Should go.”
He wanted to return to the High Passes. Noears scratched at the ragged holes where his ears had been and shrugged.
“Perhaps. But she is—”
He broke off as a Goblin that was known to be too talkative for his good passed by the fire. The other Goblins stared blankly at him and looked around the camp. No Rags. She was snoozing by her fire. And Pyrite? Sitting under one of the gargantuan trees by the lakeside.
Safe. Noears stuck a finger in his earhole and came out with some sticky earwax as he went on.
“Chieftain wants to go back. Goblin Lord is dangerous. So she waits. Not lost, but waiting. For right chance. Smart. I agree, which is why I follow her.”
The Rockfall Chieftain nodded at once. She was a supporter of Rags, which is why her listening here was good. All opinions mattered. But Poisonbite was restless. She was no Hob, but it was the opinion of those around the fire that she had the same rank as one. Just like Noears was the strongest [Mage] in the tribe by far—being small didn’t mean weak. Rags was an example of that.
“Still should do more. Build base here. Raid harder.”
She disliked only robbing travelers on the road, especially since they were growing fewer as of late. Redscar nodded his approval as did two of the Hobs. Noears frowned and looked around.
Rags? No sign of her. Pyrite was on his feet, breaking up a fight between a few Goblins. He grunted, but it was another Hob who spoke.
“Chieftain. Needs fight. Goblin Lord.”
A simple sentence, but one with nuance, as his jiggling leg indicated. The idea of fighting a Goblin Lord was of course, wrong, but if he was like what Garen Redfang had claimed, what other choice was there? He used dead Goblins, raised the dead. And he slaughtered Goblins who did not obey him.
“Should talk first.”
Noears was the first to dissent. Redscar glared, and the argument descended into infighting. It was just talk. They kept glancing over towards Rags, just to reassure themselves she was asleep. And now Pyrite was tending to a fire, sniffing hopefully at a stick of mushrooms roasting by it.
“Chieftain is young.”
“Yes. Needs help.”
Scoffing from other Goblins.
“Help? Like Garen Redfang? Another Chieftain? Two?”
Hand wave, claw clenched into fist. Subtlety, of course not the first interpretation, but a more nuanced answer.
“Not Redfang. But advisor. Someone strong.”
“She is not strong?”
“Not strong.”
All heads turned. Rags didn’t appear to stab them. Pyrite was lifting a Goblin child up, grunting as he peered at a rash. All turned back to the talk.
“Smart, though.”
“Yes.”
Waggled finger. More nuance. Smart is not enough necessarily. Goblins need a daring leader and a cautious one is not as good. However, the raised eyebrow indicated skepticism of this very idea. The Rockfall Chieftain surprisingly spoke up next.
“Good to have mate.”
All stared at her. There, it was said, and by one of Rags’ own at that! Mate. Yes. Have sex. Or rather, have someone who could guide your opinions, a capable lieutenant. Only—
“Pyrite is good.”
Poisonbite said that and all agreed. Pyrite was. He was capable, solid, a good fighter. And he was calm, a perfect second-in-command. What he wasn’t though was aggressive. Noears chewed on his lip and frowned.
“Good, but simple. Has odd companion. Old. Greybeard.”
That was true too. Every head turned as Pyrite bent to talk to a Goblin sitting by a fire next to theirs. Greybeard grinned as he slurped at some soup and chattered to the big Hob. Poisonbite scowled and Redscar looked at her.
“Old Goblin. You know?”
“My unit. Good at running away, better at not be cut.”
She flicked her fingers dismissively and Redscar nodded.
“Never met Goblin with beard.”
“Hah! No point. But if not Pyrite, who?”
Who indeed. All eyes shifted to Noears and Redscar, the most probable choices. Noears shifted and Redscar growled. Neither one was particularly into the idea. It was common knowledge that Noears liked big Hob females, and Redscar liked Goblins who had certain body parts that Rags lacked. Added to that, no one wanted to imagine Rags being swayed by one side more than the other.
And yet—aimlessness. The other Goblins hesitated. Noears grimaced.
“Chieftain must do something.”
“Why?”
Poisonbite rolled her eyes as someone asked that. Her voice was laced with open scorn.
“Because aimlessness is bad, stupid.”
“Really?”
She growled.
“Yes! Why we talking if not?”
She turned angrily to the speaker and her green face went white. Pyrite stood over the fire, crunching on a giant Barkeater Beetle. He waved at the group calmly.
Where had he come from? The other Goblins stared in shock. Pyrite had appeared without them really paying attention from across the camp. He’d snuck up on them like—like a mountain, always in plain sight, but never really noticed. He sat and all the Goblins edged away from him. All save for Redscar, who just looked wary.
“Chieftain is aimless.”
Pyrite’s voice hushed the other Goblins. He nodded and offered the giant beetle with huge mandibles around. No one wanted a bite. He went back to crunching as the beetle’s guts oozed out the back.
“Aimless. Young. No sex. Not Hob. Not warrior. Not going to war and not building base.”
He paused, having summarized the complaints of the others. They waited. Pyrite fished a wiggling leg out from between his teeth and crunched at it for a second.
“So what?”
Every eye was on him. Pyrite shook his head. A voice cackled—they realized Greybeard ha
d appeared at their fire. The elderly Hob was sipping from his bowl and glancing at Pyrite. The former Goldstone Chieftain nodded.
“So what? Young is young. Aimless is temporary. Chieftain is Chieftain. Will grow.”
“So he says!”
Greybeard laughed into the thoughtful silence Pyrite’s words had caused. He clapped Pyrite on the back and the Hob grunted. The old Hob sighed.
“Wait and see? Is good plan if nothing coming!”
“But is?”
Poisonbite had been alarmed at Pyrite being here, but the Hob was clearly as affable as ever despite the…talk. Greybeard on the other hand was a nuisance. She wouldn’t have suffered him if Pyrite clearly didn’t favor him. Come to that, he was always hanging around the old Hob. Poisonbite didn’t see the point. But then, Greybeard only really talked to Pyrite.
Noears wondered what he said as he stared at the Hob. Greybeard looked up, beard soaked with soup, and his eyes flashed.
“Something is coming. Can’t you feel it, younglings?”
The other Goblins stared at him, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. Pyrite stopped crunching his beetle and looked up. Then all the Goblins in the camp heard the horn call in the distance. Rags shot out of the hammock she’d built by her fire and one of the Goblin lookouts perched in the trees shouted. Something was coming.
Humans.
—-
“My, but they are upset, aren’t they? Look at them looking around like ants. Or is that because we’re on a hilltop?”
Lady Bethal Walchaís stood on the hilltop and stared down at the Flooded Waters tribe as the Goblins shot to their feet and began reaching for weapons. By her side Sir Thomast the Chevalier and her husband said nothing. Neither did the ranks of [Knights] dressed from head to toe in red-pink armor. They were her personal order of warriors, known appropriately as the Knights of the Petal or as she sometimes called them, her Rose Knights.
And they were here to kill the Goblins. However, one of the oddities of the scene and probably the reason why the Goblin Chieftain hadn’t ordered the attack was the disparity in numbers. There were several thousand Goblins below. Probably six thousand. Eight? Not all were combatants obviously, but they were enough to become a sea of green. Whereas Lady Bethal had brought half of the [Knights] under her command and left half to guard her fiefdom.
That meant just over forty Rose Knights were arrayed in a line on the hilltop. And yet, Lady Bethal looked unconcerned. Dressed in elegant riding clothes and mounted on a stallion as she was, she might have been out for a ride with her retainers. She peered down towards the Goblin camp and pointed.
“There. That is their Chieftain.”
A small Goblin riding a Carn Wolf and carrying an outsized black crossbow was her target. Bethal clapped her hands and her Rose Knights stood straighter.
“Kill the Chieftain, and destroy as many Hobs and high-level Goblins on your way to her as possible, please. I will allow six to guard me, including you, Thomast.”
He looked at her. Bethal’s tone softened for a second.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. We spoke about this! Or rather, I did. You know it has to be done.”
He stared at her in silence. Bethal’s tone sharpened. Her fingers dug into his arm. Thomast wore no armor; the silk doublet he wore would have fit just as well at the party where he and Bethal had met with Lady Magnolia a few weeks ago. Neither did he flinch as Bethal’s long nails dug into his arm.
For a second the air around Bethal was thorny, and then she was letting go, withdrawing her nails, clearly upset. She brushed at his arm and drew herself closer to the taller man. She spoke softly.
“They are raiders and they slaughtered those villagers, Thomast.”
The Chevalier said nothing, but his silence spoke louder than Bethal’s words. She shifted.
“Yes, they killed off a Goblin tribe. What of it? Magnolia has asked me personally to settle this, and so I shall. These Goblins cannot be allowed to continue disrupting trade, and if they joined up with the Goblin Lord—ah, honor’s end, Thomast! Do you see them using pikes and crossbows? What if all the Goblins fought so? They must end here and now.”
She glared again. He was silent as the wind ruffled his hair. Bethal’s anger collapsed.
“I know! But—oh, Thomast.”
The Goblins had begun forming up into ranks, and the front rank was holding terribly long pikes, while a group of mounted Goblins on wolf back circled through the forest. They were approaching as a single mass, and yet no one interrupted Bethal’s soliloquy. Or was it a monologue? It was hard to call it a dialogue.
“What must be, must be, my love. Do not begrudge me for ordering you this.”
Thomast bent his head and Bethal wept as she clung to him.
“It must be! I—a small wrong, an evil to make the world better for some. So Magnolia says and so I believe. But do you? Will you fight for me, my love, even if I am wrong? Even if the world would judge me so? Would you abandon honor for me? And would you love me after, my heart?”
His arm encircled her body. Thomast bent and whispered a word.
“Always.”
The two stood thusly for a second, and then turned. The Goblins were streaming out of the forest, lining up in formations. Already some were taking ranging shots with their crossbows or slings, but the small Goblin mounted on a Carn Wolf was ordering them to hold their fire. Bethal sighed.
“Let us begin, then. My Rose Knights—advance!”
And they did. The Rose Knights of Walchaís charged down the hill with a roar, crashing into the ranks of the disbelieving Goblins.
—-
Rags had been having a bad day. Indigestion had plagued her from the Barkeater Beetles that Pyrite had convinced her to try, and she was certain someone was talking behind her back. More than that though, she’d felt horribly aimless and out of sorts, feeling the Goblin Lord’s approach and not knowing what she should do. All her certainty about how she would ride out and confront him had melted away.
So she’d been pleasantly surprised by the news of the [Lady] and her small escort. Robbing a rich noble blind and finding out what her magical artifacts did would be a pleasant diversion. So why—why—
Why were they losing?
The thirty or so armored Humans ran straight into the ranks of the twenty-foot-long pikes that Rags had drilled her Goblins with. They could stop a charging group of cavalry and had done so more than once. It was suicide for anyone to run into that wall of spikes. Or it should have been.
The first Rose Knight was struck by two pikes in the chest and shoulder. The Goblins hadn’t been content to wait for him to come; Rags had ordered the charge and they’d rammed into him at high-speed. Impaling speed.
But the tips of both pikes just glanced off his armor. Another one caught him in the midriff and Rags saw something improbable happen. Instead of the armor deforming under the pressure of the blow, the shock of impact travelled down the sturdy pike and made the eight Goblins running with it slam into each other.
The pike had struck the Human in armor head-on and his armor had been the victor. The Rose Knight ran past the pike, the axe in his hands raised. He charged into a Hob and took a heavy mace hit to the head. He ignored it and cut the Hob down with one tremendous blow. Across the line of pikes and infantry, the same was happening. That was when Rags knew she was in trouble.
Enchanted armor! She waved her hands desperately and shouted. Goblins who had been assigned to watch her in the middle of battles picked up on what she wanted and the scrum of infantry around the Rose Knights drew back. They left eighteen Hobs dead and over fifty more Goblins when they did.
So many casualties. Rags’ eyes burned as she raised a fist and clenched it. The Rose Knights looked up as Goblins wielding crossbows—hundreds of them—sitting in trees or line up in formations, loosed as one.
Steel and wood-tipped bolts struck the armored knights from every side in a huge semicircle the Goblins had formed so as not to
hit one another. For a second, the air was filled with so many projectiles that Rags could see nothing amid the splintering bolts and—
The Rose Knights strode out of the hail of arrows, unscathed. Their armor gleamed pink and red with blood. The Goblins stared. Rags’ eyes slowly travelled up to the woman standing with an escort of six knights around her. She could have sworn the [Lady] was smiling at her.
Unacceptable. Rags’ eyes flashed. She raised her voice and shouted as the Rose Knights charged once again.
—-
“Mages! Hobs!”
Pyrite heard the call and knew it was a bad one. It was the only one Rags could make, but it was still a bad one. He shifted as the rank of Hobs around him surged forwards. Pyrite charged forwards and saw a press of huge bodies in front of him, fighting the strange pink knights. But already, Hobs were falling.
Their enemy was too strong.
Magical weapons cleaved through the air, splitting steel shields, emitting jets of fire or in one case, leaving sharp after-trails of light in the air that cut whatever they touched. The Rose Knights were unstoppable. Because of their armor.
It was too strong! And though Rags had had a good idea, the thinking part of Pyrite, the calm part that analyzed everything told him that if an enemy had come here, they would have taken measures against mere strength or spells. Sure enough, the Hobs failed to damage the armor even when they swung with their full strength. And the lightning coming from Noears and the other [Mages] glanced off the armor harmlessly as well when it should have shocked the wearers to death.
Impressive magic. Was it not metal they were wearing? Pyrite’s eyes narrowed as he came face-to-face with one of the Rose Knights in the scrum of bodies. He swung and the Rose Knight raised his shield as he countered with a thrust of his sword.
Bad trade. Pyrite halted his swing and backed up. The thrust missed him, leaving a trail of freezing cold in the air behind it. The [Knight] paused, and then swung again, raising his or her shield.