Goblins at the Gates

by Ellis Knox

  The path wound past an immense boulder that hid the farmhouse which lay just beyond, down a final slope. The main house was surrounded by a low adobe fence pierced by a simple gate flanked by twin statues of Demeter. Just outside the gate was a large dog, a young girl, and a goblin. The dog was attacking the goblin, or trying to. Every time it charged, the monster swung a long arm, claws curved. It had connected at least once, for the dog was bleeding from a front shoulder. The girl joined the attack.

  “Cac,” Julian muttered as he broke into a run.

  “Wait!” Avitus cried as Julian darted past him. “You’re not strong enough! I can’t make you invisible, damn it!”

  Julian paid no heed but kept running, trying to outrun his pain. As he neared the goblin, he pulled his sword as he ran. Julian sprinted, but the girl was quick. She leaped.

  The goblin was quicker. It slashed at her, one long arm sweeping around. It caught her full in the body. She caromed to one side, hitting the ground hard, crying out as she fell. The attack gave the dog an opening. It lunged and caught the goblin by one leg.

  Julian closed the remaining few yards and ran his sword into the goblin’s flank, stabbing upward. The beast crumpled. The dog savaged it then, realizing its enemy was dead, drew back. Still snarling, it placed itself between Julian and the fallen girl. Its eyes rolled, showing white at the edges. Its mouth was covered in saliva and blood, which dripped from yellow teeth.

  “Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!” the girl screamed. Julian looked at her. She tried to get up, yelped, fell back, then cried out again, “He won’t hurt you! Good dog! Here, Bucephalus!”

  The dog edged toward the girl. Julian stood, sword in hand, above the goblin, panting hard. The pain was starting to catch up with him. Avitus came running up.

  “Are you hurt, girl?” Julian asked.

  “Oh, Bucephalus, you brave dog,” the girl said. Then she looked to Julian. “He’s hurt, can’t you see?”

  “Listen to me,” Julian said firmly, “Are you hurt?”

  “Yes, I’m hurt. It hit me.”

  “I mean, can you stand? Can you run?”

  “Yes.” The girl got to her feet carefully, looking all around. “Why?”

  “Was there just this one? Are there others?”

  “No, just this one. He was in the house.” She frowned. “Why are you just standing there? My dog’s hurt.” She sounded more petulant than angry.

  “There are others,” Julian said. “Goblins don’t travel alone.” He looked around quickly. He took in the bare hillside, the farm, the tall poplar trees, the big willow standing over the little stream.

  “Come on,” he said, “we have to hide.”

  “But …”

  “Not now. There are more. They will kill us if they find us. Hide now.”

  He motioned, not willing to put a hand on her with the dog nearby.

  He led them to the willow tree. It was over thirty feet tall, with an enormous drapery of weeping branches that trailed right down to the ground. Julian put an arm in and parted the leaves like a curtain.

  “Why not the house?” Avitus asked as he went inside.

  “First place they’ll go,” Julian said. “I’m chancing they won’t think to look inside a tree.” He paused and looked at Avitus. “Where’s the donkey?”

  “Damn thing wouldn’t run.”

  Avitus knelt and waved the girl inside. The dog refused until its owner called.

  “Here, Bucephalus. Good dog.”

  It obeyed, and Julian followed after.

  The willow made a canopy over them, the leaves so thick only a diffused green light shone through. The air inside was still and hot. The stream made a liquid whisper around the willow’s roots. The ground was damp and soft.

  Julian weaved suddenly and knelt. He pretended to have done it intentionally and spoke to the girl.

  “What’s your name?” he whispered.

  “Petra,” she replied, also in a whisper.

  “Hello, Petra. My name is Julian and that’s Avi.”

  “This is Bucephalus.” She stroked the dog’s broad head. “He’s hurt.”

  “We’ll help, but first you must listen. Goblins are coming. If we are completely silent, and very lucky, the goblins won’t find us. Do you think you can be silent until they are gone?”

  She nodded.

  “Bucephalus must be quiet, too. No growling.”

  “No growling,” she told the dog. Then to Julian she said, “We have hidden from the claw monsters before.”

  Julian’s eyebrow went up and he glanced at Avitus, who shrugged. Julian swayed. Avitus frowned, expecting to see his master topple over at any moment.

  “All right,” Julian said. “From now on, until I say, make no sound at all.”

  “Wait,” Petra said. She knelt beside the dog and whispered at its ear, then stood again and nodded.

  They waited. The dog was panting, so Petra brought water to him in handfuls. She also washed the blood from his jowls. Julian used a bit of cloth to clean the wound, which was not deep. He was still at this when he heard the thump and scrape that marked the peculiar gait of the monsters. He put one hand on Petra’s shoulder, but she had already frozen in place, her arm around the dog’s neck.

  The sounds grew louder. Julian tried to guess at their number, but could only conclude there were several. Merely standing was too nerve-wracking, so he tried to guess where they were, to keep them in front of him. Thuds and scrapes marked them as still outside the house. Soon, though, the goblins went in. There followed a racket as they moved through the rooms. Julian glanced at Avitus. Both men had swords at the ready.

  The sounds inside came back outside. A shape appeared at the leafy curtain. Julian looked worriedly at the dog. He could see its hackles rise, but it remained silent.

  The setting sun shone down the little valley, silhouetting the goblin. It stood in profile, outlined so clearly he could see its tongue slither out from its mouth. That same bright sunlight was, he knew, shining brilliantly on the willow’s leaves, making of them a shimmering wall.

  Heartbeats trudged by. The air was so thick it was more fit to drink than to breathe. At any moment the dog might move, the girl might cry out, the goblin burst through. Julian felt as if he stood on the edge of a knife balanced at the edge of a cliff.

  The goblin moved away. A moment later, thuds resounded from all around. For an instant, Julian’s brain screamed, but in the next breath he heard the sounds recede. The goblins were leaving.

  When they were barely audible, Petra looked up at him. He put one finger to his lips. He waited until the sounds had faded into silence, then waited some more. Then he peered between the leaves.

  “All right,” he said at last. “They’re gone.”

  The four emerged from the willow’s canopy into the long, golden slant of the sun. Julian could see no movement anywhere, no telltale cloud of dust. “Come on,” he said, “there may be food inside.”

  The farmhouse was a single-level home, much like thousands of others across Thrace and Moesia. This family was wealthier than most, with tile rather than thatch for a roof, a simple portico over the entrance, an arch supported by columns at the front gate. The fine wooden door stood open, hanging askew with deep gouges on its surface.

  Petra did not move. Her eyes were still wide, her fists clenched at her sides. Small shudders ran through her. Avitus knelt beside her.

  “You hungry?”

  She nodded.

  “Food inside, maybe.”

  After a moment, she gasped, like a swimmer coming up for air. Bucephalus leaned into her.

  “Food?” she said.

  “Sure,” Julian said. “If not, we have some. If we can find the donkey.”

  She moved at last, in small steps. She looked up at Julian. Her hands unclenched.

  They eyed one another as they ate, though. The girl looked suspicious, which Avitus thought showed good judgment. She was small and rather thin, but something about her sp
oke of toughness and endurance. He did wonder about that dog.

  “Are you a soldier?” she asked, eying Julian.

  Julian shifted uncomfortably, as if he were sitting on something sharp.

  “I used to be,” he said. He poked at the fire, watching orange sparks drift upward.

  She cocked her head. “What happened?”

  He placed another stick onto the flames. “I lost my army.”

  “Oh,” she said, “that’s too bad.” She reached over and scratched the dog behind one ear. “That’s what happened to Bucephalus, too. He lost his army.”

  “He’s a war dog?” Avitus asked.

  “Uh huh.” Then, after a moment, she added. “I saw an army, once.”

  Julian said nothing. The dance and crackle of the fire was soothing. It helped quiet the roar of thoughts that churned inside him, but the girl’s voice cut across it.

  “It was back home.” She raised her head to explain. “In Hadrianopolis. Before.”

  She did not have to explain before what.

  Avitus put two small logs on the fire, which now burned a warm yellow, and rocked back on his heels. He looked at her, so small, like a bit of flotsam washed up on the brown shore of the dog.

  “You saw the Imperial army?”

  “Uh-huh. You never seen so many soldiers. And horses. And spears and banners and helmets and tents and oh, it was grand, it was.”

  He shook his head.

  “What? It’s true!”

  “I don’t doubt you,” Julian said quickly. “I was there, too.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes. I was one of those soldiers.”

  “Oooh. Maybe I saw you.”

  “Maybe. I left early.”

  “Not me. I stayed up on the wall—we ain’t s’posed to be there, but I got a secret place.” Her chin tilted up a little.

  “I bet you do.” A smile crept onto Julian’s face, then vanished quickly, as if startled to be there.

  Petra’s lower lip thrust out. “I do so. I got four, and one so secret nobody knows it, ‘cept for Bucephalus.” She patted the dog on his back. His big head rose, surveyed the room once, then eased back down again.

  “I watched until the whole army marched away,” she continued. “It took a long time. I was going to wait till they came back, only they didn’t come back. Only the monsters came back.”

  “They’re called goblins,” Julian said.

  “Goblins.” Petra said the word as if tasting it. Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t like that word.”

  Avitus said, “You were there when the goblins came?”

  She nodded.

  “How did you escape?”

  “I left,” she said with a shrug. “Bucephalus helped. He killed two of them. The city was on fire.”

  “Then what?”

  She looked at Avitus with the disdain of youth. “I kept going, ‘course. Then I met you two. Say, is he all right?” She nodded in Julian’s direction.

  “He’s sad,” Avitus said.

  “Why?”

  “Many of his friends have died.”

  “Oh,” Petra said. “Mine too, I guess, only I don’t have many.”

  “Where were you going, before we found you?”

  She brightened visibly. “Constantinople.”

  “That’s a good plan,” Avitus said.

  “I’m going to find my mother.”

  “She’s in Constantinople?” Avitus asked. “Not in Hadrianopolis?”

  “Ain’t nobody in Hadrianopolis no more, I s’pose. But my mama went to Constantinople with a man. He’s a soldier—but not in the army,” she added hastily, as she realized the implication of that. “He’s in the City Guard or something. I bet.”

  “Is he your father?” Avitus asked gently.

  “I don’t think so. It was a long time ago.”

  Julian exchanged glances with Avitus.

  “Anyway, I’ll find out soon, I bet.”

  Julian moved closer. The fire was strong and no longer needed tending. It threw light in wide shimmers across the room. He faced Petra, who was now sitting up.

  “We are going that way ourselves,” he said.

  Avitus glared his displeasure.

  “To Constantinople?”

  “Yes.”

  “How far way is it? I’ve been walking for days.”

  “More days,” Julian said. “I’m not really sure where we are, but I’m guessing about halfway between Hadrianopolis and the City. So, still a long way to go, and no idea where the goblins are.”

  Petra shivered. She put one hand on the dog, who sighed deeply.

  “That’s a bit blunt, don’t you think?” Avitus said.

  “This is no time to be delicate,” Julian said. “Besides,” he nodded at Petra, “she’s tough. Anyone can see that.”

  Her head lifted a little at the praise.

  “You bet,” she said, “and Bucephalus is strong.”

  “And you are both brave,” Julian went on, “but there are many goblins. We have to get to the City before they do, or the gates will be closed.”

  “I can climb walls.”

  “Not these walls. These are not broken down. And they are so high, even goblins cannot jump over them.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure as sure. I’ve seen the walls, and I’ve seen goblins jump.”

  “Good.” Her face hardened. “That’s good.”

  Avitus had had enough. He leaned over to Julian and whispered, though not very quietly. “We can’t bring her.”

  “Petra,” Julian said, “go fill your water bag. You’ll need it for the journey.”

  “I already … oh,” she said. “Come on, Bucephalus. The old people want to talk about us.” She managed to emphasize both “old” and “people” equally. The dog followed.

  “We can’t bring her!” Avitus repeated without waiting for her to get beyond hearing.

  “I know,” Julian said.

  Avitus recognized the tactic. “Then why tell her where we are going?”

  Julian leaned against the wall of the hut.

  “We need to find the donkey,” he said. “I’m not strong enough to carry much.”

  “I don’t much like the idea of wandering the hills looking for it,” Avitus said.

  “Nor do I. Like as not, the goblins have found it by now anyway.”

  “Bucephalus can carry a pack. He’s strong.” Petra was in the doorway.

  “You were told to get water,” Avitus scolded.

  “I already got water.” She tilted her chin up at him.

  “Disrespectful girl,” Avitus said.

  “We can go then?”

  “We can’t,” Avitus declared, as firmly as he could. To Julian he said, “She is only a child. Think where we are going!”

  “I cannot leave her, Avi. Not her, not anyone. Not again.” He faced Avitus squarely, his features in shadow. “You say, think where we are going. I say, think where we are.”

  “She should go into the mountains, get to a safe place.”

  “There are no safe places,” Julian said. “There are only places to stand and fight.”

  Petra yawned.

  “It’s late,” Julian said. “We should sleep. We need to be away from here by sunrise.”

  Petra nodded, then settled into her dog. Julian waited, watching until her breathing slowed.

  “Would that I could drop off so fast,” he said after only a couple of minutes.

  Avitus barely glanced at the girl and her dog.

  “You need to eat,” he said to Julian. “Meat.”

  “I know,” Julian said, his voice suddenly weak. “I will. But this girl, she’s important.”

  “She’s just a stray orphan.”

  “She’s a little fragment of Rome, Avi. Like the farms we’ve seen, like the army, like this farm. I am tired, Avi, but even more I am tired of retreating. I’m tired of giving up pieces of Rome to these beasts.

  “So, no more. I’m not losing anyo
ne else, not even another donkey.” He chuckled at that, but it sounded distressingly like a wheeze.

  “That’s enough, master,” Avitus said. “Lie down. Sleep.”

  Julian laid down, but he was still restless.

  “Avi, I’ve got a notion.”

  “Sleep, master.”

  “I need to talk to you about it.”

  “Not now.”

  “It’s …” His voice grew thicker. “… Crazy idea … a gamble ….”

  “Quiet.” Avitus put his hand to Julian’s forehead. The fever had not returned, but his master’s skin was clammy.

  “Concerns you, too.”

  “I know, Julian,” Avitus said. “I know.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The Villa of Rullianus

  The company of four left at sunrise. Avitus gave them some bread and apricots. They walked along at a good pace, which encouraged him. His master tried to shoulder one of the packs, but soon had to give that up. The one shoulder hurt him too much, and the weight on the other merely aggravated the wound. Petra took the pack and, with a little work, managed to strap it to the dog.

  They stopped to rest many times. Each time, Julian stood for long minutes staring westward at the dark shapes moving in the distance. Sometimes the shapes were so far away, only their dust cloud showed. Those were the better times. When the goblins themselves could be seen, the girl shrank away and hid her head in the dog’s heavy flesh. At these times, Julian declined to rest, pushing everyone to keep moving.

  Avitus took the heaviest pack and told himself he was glad to do it, though by the end of the day he was tired and sore, and had to force himself to build a fire and prepare food. He was a little surprised to find himself grateful for Petra’s help as she ran off to fetch water and firewood. Julian slept poorly that night, crying out more than once, waking everyone.

  Petra tried more than once to get Julian to talk to her, but for all her chirps and smiles, he did little more than nod or grunt in response. At last she gave up and turned her attention to Avitus.