Gylloth arrived at the farm and came upon the swarming goblins, swinging his heavy sword into their backs, hacking and hewing. Goblins fell in pairs and triples. Limbs flew everywhere. Goblins turning to see this new danger were blinded by holy light. In fear, many took flight, climbing over the dead, grasping and choking and scratching each other to flee. Even as Gylloth made his way through the unruly mass of vicious goblins, many more were still fighting at the farm, bashing in the door or trying to climb through windows.
“There! Take them!” Hedor yelled as his men scrambled to stop the goblins from rolling in. The fighting was close and furious. Hedor and his men were more ferocious than Alfred realized, more so than the boys could be at their age. Even so, Cory and Alfred had trained the boys well. They held together a wall of spears that stopped the goblins countering Hedor and his men. Goblins would fall from spear wounds, blocking the window they were trying to climb through, restricting the space for the others attempting to break in.
All of a sudden a mighty light shined upon them.
“It’s the sun! Goblins can’t handle the sun!” Alfred shouted.
It seemed true. The attack weakened, and goblins fell from the windows, replaced by the bright light.
“How can it be the sun?” Hedor asked. “It rises from the wrong side!”
Alfred and Hedor shared glances and then cautiously looked out the window. Before them was a great radiant armoured knight and his horse, trampling and scattering the goblin army. He was a lone figure, huge compared to the three to five foot goblins. He towered over them, smashing all who haphazardly came within his path. The mounted knight’s only difficulty was steering his horse so as to not break a leg on the unsure footing of so many dead goblins.
“Woooohooo! It’s Gylloth! I know it!” Alfred yelled. The children, though weary, got excited and cheered with great relief. Loranna leapt upon Alfred and kissed his lips so fully and for so long that everyone including Hedor stopped in shock. Many of the exhausted children suddenly erupted with giggles.
Loranna backed off. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, milord.” She was genuinely embarrassed and ashamed, almost to tears.
Alfred stood up a little dizzy but shook it off. “It’s okay, Loranna. Don’t worry. Come on! We must help Gylloth!” Alfred rushed outside and yelled, “Spears forward!”
The boys ran out and made a line of spears.
“Archers! Form up!” Alfred yelled.
Loranna and the other girls rushed out to form their lines behind the boys. “One, fire!”
Arrows flew at nearby goblins. Most were disoriented by the brilliant light or were trying to clamber out of the wretched mound of fallen goblins.
“Two, fire!” Loranna yelled as the few remaining goblins fell by arrows, even before Gylloth could get to them.
The goblins were scattered across Derhman's land. Many riders regrouped beyond the field and the bright light. They yelled out with howls of anger and blew their war horns. There were still many left, rushing about the fields and in the dark forests. They gathered around the half dozen goblin riders. Though worn and tattered, they were the toughest of the lot and still had fight in them.
Gylloth came before Alfred and lifted his helm visor. Alfred returned the visor salute with a modern salute of a bare hand. Gylloth noticed the array of spearboys and archer girls. He then quickly glanced at the massive spread of goblin dead. He smiled and nodded one last time to Alfred.
As he turned, Gylloth yelled “For the king!” and then charged headlong into the gathering goblins.
“No! Gylloth!” Alfred cried and ran after him.
Hedor rushed up, stopping Alfred. “We must go, sire! He has given us a chance! Everyone, to the castle!!!”
Hedor did more than insist. He stared defiantly, almost with vile contempt, at Alfred. Hedor understood the severity of the situation and would use whatever means necessary to get Alfred and the others to go, as it was their only chance to survive.
He pushed them with much force, knocking them over and picking them up again, tugging and pulling them, exhorting them to leave immediately.
Molger carried two of the smaller exhausted ones. Other bandits carried or pulled whomever they could, running through the forest and along the farm roads toward the castle.
Alfred cried quietly, hobbling along as best as he could, frustrated by each thrust Hedor committed upon him. Alfred glanced around at everyone and realized, more fully, how exhausted and injured the children were. His adrenaline began to decrease as he considered how terrifying the goblin army trying to reform still was and how far they still had to go to get to safety. He knew Gylloth was charging alone to save them, charging to break, or at least slow down the goblins’ resolve before they could muster their forces. He knew Gylloth was sacrificing himself for them, to give them as much time as possible to escape. After surveying their group, Alfred feared they had little chance of making it back to the castle several miles up the road. He began helping to push the children forward, not daring to look back toward the howling goblins.
Peering from the castle wall, Verboden could just see the faint light of his spell upon Gylloth and hear the distant sounds of a horse galloping and a knight yelling and goblins screeching. Verboden yelled from the wall at the people in the castle, “He rides his last ride! Get as many carts and mules as you can down that road!”
“Are you mad? Has casting your spell enfeebled your mind?” Abedeyan responded.
“Nay, old warden,” said Verboden as he rushed down from the castle wall. “He is giving Alfred one last chance to escape!”
Hedor and the bandits, though physically fit, were worn down from carrying and pulling the wearied children. There still had a few sloping hills to ascend to get to the castle. Though utterly exhausted, the bandits trudged along, breathing heavily. They pushed on by sheer will, knowing they must save the children’s lives and their own. They would fight with everything they had till their last breath.
Loranna and the girls were quite skilled, more than Alfred could have imagined. Using the goblin bows, they continued to outperform the goblin archers. Periodically, a few came out of the forest to attack them. Somehow the goblins chose the wrong night, for the moon glowed much brighter then even on a full moon, making them easy targets for Loranna and the girls. Goblin archers would miss and quickly find themselves being fired on, meeting their end.
Loranna glanced up at the moon and saw a face within the glow, an old bearded face that seemed to be looking down upon her with tenderness. She knew not who it was or if it were a dream brought on by her exhaustion. She had no time to think on it as she saw shapes moving within the shadows of the forest. The goblins were catching up to overtake them as the men and children hobbled toward the castle.
Alfred noticed a few other untouched farms. “We could hide in there!”
“No, don’t stop! To the castle! It’s our only chance!” Hedor spoke with heavy breath, carrying one of the younger boys.
A small group of goblins rushed from nearby woods. Loranna and her girls fired just as they drew near. All but one fell. Cory and Wilden rushed with their spears. The goblin turned to flee but was killed where he stood. So fatigued, Cory and Wilden began using their spears as walking sticks.
Gylloth charged around and around, hacking at groups of goblins, throwing many into the air with his powerful swings. Though his blade became dull and though many arrows were stuck in his back and in his horse, he felt no pain. All he felt was the warmth of the light. The goblin riders were enraged by his strength and the brilliance of his aura of light. As soon as Gylloth charged one side, the riders would yell at the fleeing goblins on the other side to resume attacking him. Most of the goblins that were left were archers. They fired more arrows into Gylloth’s back with seemingly no effect.
Eventually, however, the light faded from Gylloth, and the pain of death came. He fell from his horse, as it had one last neigh before it died. Gylloth tumbled to the ground, arrows snapping as h
e rolled to stillness. Goblins rushed up. Gylloth hacked one impetuous rider and its boar as they neared. The rest backed away in fear. Then another rider, the biggest, came up with his spear and thrust it from a distance, finally ending the life of the fallen knight, Sir Gylloth.
Hedor and his men had managed to get them halfway, but even they could not hold up much longer. Several were lagging, holding children up as best they could. Many began falling from pure exhaustion, no longer having the strength to stand, let alone walk. They had worked all day preparing defenses and had fought many goblins. Now, after several miles running up a long slope and carrying children, the bold effort had become too much.
Hedor turned to see a long line of his men with children. They were spread out down the road with some stopped and others hardly moving. He tried in vain to lift some up, but all were utterly drained.
“Go, Hedor. Go on,” one bandit exclaimed with heavy hoarse breathing.
“Come on! Come on!” Hedor tried to push them on, but he too was losing the will to press forward.
Alfred sat on the ground, leaning against his spear. Loranna and the other girls came up. She tried to lift Alfred, tears streaming down her face. She had no strength and so huddled beside him, holding his arm.
Goblins mustered along the road. They pointed at the weakened bandits holding the children. They howled to alert the rest. A few goblin archers shot wildly, arrows landing near the bandits and children. Many of the wearied children cried, huddling within the feeble protection of the arms of the bandits.
The remaining goblin riders on their boars rushed up to the front of their advancing group. They roused each other in the perverse joy of blood lust, each slapping and cajoling the other. Who would be first to charge? Who would be the first to kill? It didn’t matter. They just wanted to finish off the group. As soon as one kicked his boar forward, the other two would quickly catch up. Yelling in glee, the goblins came in for the final kill.
Their enthusiasm quickly faded. “How could it be?” they wondered. Racing down the road was that horrible knight on his horse—the one they just slew. He was advancing at an incredible speed, coming straight at them. They shrieked in fear. One panicked and turned his boar, only to crash into the other, causing both to go down. The third stopped and reeled about riding his boar over goblins. In a panic, they all began to flee, scattering into the nearby forest.
Alfred gazed with wide eyes, pointing, lifting Loranna up to look. “It’s Gylloth! He’s alive!”
Hedor looked up. The glowing knight’s speed was so fast that he was already upon him. Hedor fell to the ground, trying in vain to avoid the inevitable trampling. But Gylloth and his mighty horse merely passed through Hedor and the rest of the group. It was as if he were but a vision.
Alfred, very near the fallen Hedor, saw that Gylloth was translucent. He was a ghost of his former self. Alfred realized this was not Gylloth, or at least not the one Alfred had hoped to see.
Verboden, whipping a mule, came quickly down the road on a cart. He leapt off when he was near.
“Quickly, help the children get on! Quickly!” Verboden helped the bandits carry the children to the cart.
With renewed strength from the hope that they might make it to safety, Hedor lifted many, piling them haphazardly into the small cart. Verboden gave the reigns to one of the exhausted girls and slapped the mule into action. Up the hill it went.
A larger wagon appeared with Abedeyan driving it. “Come on, men!”
Alfred, Loranna, Cory, Wilden, Hedor, Molger and the rest climbed in with what strength they had left. Abedeyan turned the wagon around and, as quick as a farmer’s wagon could go, went up the hill to the castle.
Verboden stayed for a moment watching. “The ghost of Gylloth! Never did I think I could call such a spirit. Holy indeed was he, a true knight!” He then ran to the castle.
Though Gylloth’s ghost swung madly and raced after the goblins, hot on their tail, driving them into sheer terror and panic, it could not actually harm any of them. They did not understand, caught in such fear. When he swung, they fell as if cut or sliced. But they would slowly get up, realizing they were unscathed, concluding that they had been lucky and ran off. It never occurred to them to report their good fortune to each other before they fled.
Gylloth’s ghost galloped into the dark forest where the goblins hid and scattered them further. His glowing spirit passed effortlessly through the thick trees and bramble. This went on until the sun rose, when Gylloths’ ghost faded at the first rays, far from any man’s eyes, far from Verboden or Alfred’s eyes, deep within the dark forest beyond the hills.
Chapter Twenty Five: Fevers and Fears
Though all were safe, fear still permeated the group. They were surprised that so many goblins had come in this raiding party. How many more would there be when an army of goblins came?
The sun rose as they reached Grotham Keep. Caring for the wounded was a somber affair. Though the bandits had many gruesome cuts and bruises, the children’s wounds were more frightful. From large gashes to vast skin scrapes and piercing splinters, the children felt the pains wracking their fatigued bodies.
Not realizing it, one boy had nearly lost a finger. He was drenched in his own blood and never realized how deep the cut was because of his sheer exhaustion. Lady Nihan stitched it up and secured it with bandages so quickly that the brave boy whimpered only once. Lady Nihan and her seamstress maidens tore cloth and cleaned wounds, bandaging them as fast as they could. All had a wound or two. All were bruised, scraped and utterly worn.
“Children fighting? What will become of us?” Lady Nihan said under her breath.
Their mothers and fathers were frightened for their children and angry at Alfred. They could not fathom why he had placed their children in front of a goblin horde where they could have met a most horrible death.
Alfred was unaware of the tumultuous uproar of the parents, for he lay in bed with a heavy fever. Loranna, weak and bearing several wounds herself, sat beside him and dabbed his face with a wet cloth.
Abedeyan tried to appease the angered farmers and peasants, but eventually he grew angry too – outraged at their impudence. He lost control. “What insolence! This is your king! He gave you refuge in his castle! Stop your crying! Stop this nonsense!”
This further enraged the farmers and peasants. Lady Nihan came and pulled Abedeyan away. The air was full of defiance this cold brisk morning.
Verboden did what he could to heal the children and bandits. He was already weak from the events of the night, from the holy prayer for protection that he bestowed upon Gylloth the Knight to the subsequent summoning of the knight's spirit, which allowed the group to return safely to the castle.
Verboden, weary, stood outside the Great Hall staring up into the dim morning sky. Above, at a distance, hovered a cloaked figure. It was not frightened by Verboden, as it waited patiently in full view. It was Death, floating in tattered black robes, veiled, with a great black crusty sickle.
“You have Sir Gylloth. Take no other,” Verboden whispered. Death was patient, floating high above, silent and foreboding.
Abedeyan came out in an angry huff. As he pulled out his pipe and began to smoke it, he noticed Verboden and walked to him. “Well, how goes the healing? Are all going to make it?”
Verboden did not answer as he stared intently up into the sky. Abedeyan looked up and saw only dark gray clouds. Abedeyan blinked, unsure of what Verboden was looking at.
Death slowly moved, turning. Verboden uncrossed his arms and put them down. He stood like a soldier ready to face an enemy. He alone knew the enemy was Death, and he was prepared to meet it head on. But Death did not come down. It turned slowly and floated away, gliding into the mist. Verboden gave a sigh of relief and then noticed Abedeyan standing next to him, looking with trepidation.
“Yes, Abedeyan, all will make it.”
Abedeyan took the news well, puffing heavily on his nicely carved wood pipe. “Good, good.”
When the fog and mist rolled out that morning, the farmers went to see what was left of their farms. To their amazement and wonder, all but four were intact to some degree or another. Derhman’s farmhouse where the battle took place, though severely battered, mauled, stuck with hundreds of arrows, and surrounded by hundreds of dead goblins, was still standing.
Derhman clambered through the dead, rotted, piled carcasses of steaming goblin goo and ooze to his farmstead. Goblin dead in the sun did not fair well at all. Seeing all that had transpired there, he was as proud as ever and full of glee. He was in awe at all the cuts and hacks upon his home and all the arrows and spears scattered about. He stood in the doorway, turned to face the dazed onlookers and slapped the frame of his doorway with prideful joy. A split second later the house crackled. Then came moans and groans from creaking wood. Like a house of cards with hundreds of goblin arrows in it, the farm came tumbling down.
At first Derhman was shaken by each loud creaking. Then, when the farmhouse fell, he was completely dismayed. In the end, though, he was proud that at least the door frame, which he had made all himself, still stood. He smiled as he brushed off a bit of dust from the frame.
Broggia and Boggin, standing in front of the crowd of astonished farmers and peasants, were amazed at Derhman’s wonderful attitude. They smiled and clasped hands and leapt in jubilee about the vast mounds of dead goblins.
Eventually they settled down and picked up goblin weapons and armour to take back to the castle. The farmers stayed away from the goblins, fearful that there may yet be a live one that could leap up and attack.
As the sun continued to shine bright that day, the dead goblins melted and shriveled up. Putrid steam and vile liquids oozed from the piled carcasses. Big nasty flies swarmed and larva spewed forth from rotting flesh.
Young Boggin quickly got sick from the stench. It didn’t bother old Broggia at all. He cackled with joy as he pulled out weapons and armour, piling them on a cart.
“What a treasure—goblin armour, goblin bows and swords, blades and axes! Look here, you bickering cantankerous fools! You’ve got axes by the scores, good light axes that even the children could wield for cutting wood and bramble! And here are some other good sharp ones. They are made crudely, and yet, made very well! Just a bit of sharpening and better than new!” Broggia easily used a goblin axe to hack at the rotting flesh of the goblins’ limbs to get to more armour, metal caps and weapons.
Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1) Page 19