by Bill Mays
“Makes sense,” Mani was unsure of how to take this news. The fact that the Drackmoorians were joining forces with goblin-kin was one more sign that Meiron did not have any intentions of losing this war.
“Plus, goblins could easily conquer the settlements not fortified with trained soldiers,” the ranger speculated. “I spotted no friendly soldiers in this town either.”
“What troubles me is how do they control them, and why take the risk?” Dalia sounded confused. “Those sporadic little creatures do not seem to be an organized or trustworthy ally.”
“Anyone with extra food, a bit of coin, or a strong arm could control the little vermin,” one of the younger soldiers, a man by the name of Rolf, reasoned.
“Yes, but using goblin-kin to bolster their numbers will undoubtedly bring disfavor from the surrounding lands. Does this Dark Lord feel so secure in his conquest as to ignore his outward appearance to the civilized realms of the area? Is there no threat of aid from your neighboring countries? If he is unconcerned, maybe there is more to this invasion than we know.” Dalia looked for a response. The lady had a good point and no one had an answer.
“So, why don’t we help them? We’ve dealt with several bands of the little uglies,” Arianna suggested dismissively as she brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. The priestess remained withdrawn from most of the conversation. She knew next to nothing about war or battle for that matter. “I mean we do have all of these big strong men here and their -- swords.” The tall woman cast a suggestive look over the soldiers, lingering on their stocky knight commander.
“Don’t be foolish, girl! We don’t even know how many of them are out there,” Ganze chided. “They travel in droves you know, like rats in the sewers.” Arianna ignored the man as usual, even though she did think it amusing that he would speak poorly of rats since he resembled one so closely.
“He has a point,” Cuthbert, chimed in again. “There are only six of us, seven if you count the ranger.”
The man spoke to his commander and failed to include either Ganze or the women in his count. Dalia said nothing, but Arianna was a little offended. Not that she considered herself a warrior, far from it, but she could be of some use.
“There are ten of us here, if you count Ganze,” the priestess corrected as she folded her arms across her ample chest.
“Nine of you then,” Ganze voiced and then returned his attention to Coal. The bird was enjoying the petting as usual.
“By my estimation, there are about a hundred of them out there, give or take a few,” Flade grinned. “The troop is strengthened with a few marguls and led by maybe three or four Drackmoorian soldiers. I think we could route them with proper planning.”
Arianna’s resolve wavered a little after hearing the actual count, but she quickly recovered. She did not want to appear doubtful of the soldiers’ abilities. “I agree!” She cheered. “What exactly is a margul again?”
“Big ugly hairy goblins,” Rolf explained with a smile. “I say we make them pay!” All but one of the five soldiers threw in their allegiance to the task. The last man remained silent.
“Suicide!” Ganze mumbled.
Mani looked to the ever-stoic and wise lady. “What do you say, my lady?”
Dalia was quiet a minute and then answered evenly. “I’m not sure I agree with jeopardizing our mission, but I will lend my sword to the fight, if that is your decision, sir knight.”
“Alright then,” Mani grinned eagerly, “Let’s hear your plan, ranger. After all of this skulking about, I’m anxious to cause some damage in the name of the queen.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Since late the night before they worked furiously to fortify their small town. Now it was nearing dusk again. Barst berated himself for not listening to the council’s request for a sturdier wall some six-months past. At the time, it seemed a waste of manpower and supplies. Now, things had changed drastically. As Mayor of Timbre, Barst Durgen had his work cut out for him. He silently cursed his own strong will and bullheadedness. He was a tall, muscular man with a dark head of curly hair and a full beard to match, both tinged with white. Years of working in the town’s main trade strengthened his body and his resolve. This was his home. These were his friends and his family.
“I’ll be damned if I’ll just hand our lives over to those scum!” He cursed under his breath.
He had to remind himself that the council agreed with his suggestion wholeheartedly. Some of the loggers spotted Drackmoorian spies nearby in the woods. He was a fool to think the war would not reach his streets. Timbre was not a mining town and it was not a center for trade. Nor was the small logging community home to any of Kandair’s many soldier outposts. They were not big fans of King Airos Allustare. Barst hoped and prayed that much alone would be enough to spare them the attentions of Drackmoore’s march. The mayor did not know of the raiding parties, few did. Word was not traveling well along the back routes of Kandair these days. If he had known of the goblins, of the raiding, of any of the terrible stories his distant neighbors had suffered, Barst would have acted differently. He would have fortified the wall, and he would not have convinced the townspeople to turn away Queen Kathraine’s offer of aid. Hindsight was always better, he reminded himself. There was no point in second-guessing his decisions now. His people needed a sound leader for what was inevitably headed their way. He scanned the progress and suppressed a shudder. The work moved slowly. Would they be ready in time?
Nearly ninety-five members strong, his community was a hearty bunch, but they were not warriors. Every axe and bow they could scrounge up was being used. Several of his archers lined the small platforms they hastily constructed behind their eight-foot wooden walls. The single lookout tower held two of the town’s women. The women of Timbre were working in shifts as lookouts and watching the children. Everyone was doing what he or she could, but the atmosphere was tense. Their scout came running from the forest to the front gate shouting an alarm.
“They are coming! They are coming!” The youth cried frantically.
Barst sucked in a deep breath and ordered the gate open. His hands trembled and his heart felt as if it would burst through his shirt. He moved to meet the scout, while shouting orders for his defenders to ready themselves.
“Close that gate and bar it! Archers at the ready! Shoot any soldier who advances into the clearing! And people, keep your heads down. We don’t want to lose anyone.”
The scout was Brenden Reedmeyer, a young man Barst had known since the boy was a child. He was the fastest person in town. Fear stained his youthful face.
“What did you see, son?” Barst was almost afraid to ask.
The scout swallowed hard and locked gazes with the mayor. “There are goblins!” His voice trembled as he spoke.
“Goblins … are you sure?”
“Yes sir!” The boy panted. He was out of breath.
“But, I thought you spotted soldiers yesterday?” The mayor was trying to think through the ramifications of this news. A force of goblins would be an entirely different situation than Drackmoorian soldiers.
“We did, but they are using goblins as their troops.”
“Those sick bastards!” Barst was feeling queasy.
It was worse than he thought. Soldiers they could possibly bargain with if need be, but not goblins. The little monsters would not stop until the town was completely looted and, most likely, destroyed.
“Go and warn the others! Kill any goblin they see. Let none breech the wall or we’re done for.” The young man nodded fearfully, and then sped down the center street in town crying out the news of the pending raid. Barst gripped his axe tightly. “If it’s a fight they want, it’s a fight they’ll get.”
He barely finished the thought when the lookouts in the watchtower began screaming down their warnings. The women were in a panic. The gasps and grumblings running through the archers did not sound good. He had to reach a platform so he could see what they were up against. He hurried to take a p
eek over the wall. What he saw put the fear into him, too. All about the fringes of tree cover were those beady yellow eyes. It was hard to see them clearly in the fading light of day. Every so often, a goblin would poke its head out and look around. Some were in the trees some were on the ground. How many were out there he could not be sure, but the boy was right, there were a lot of them in various shades of green, yellow, orange and red.
“What are they waiting for?” He sighed nervously. “Archers, prepare to fire at the first sign of attack.”
The mayor looked up and down his thin line of bowmen. They were all scared. Some were too young, others too old. One of the women was here as well, little Jillian, the serving girl from the inn. She had grown in the last couple of years. She was probably a better shot than them all, he mused. Maybe that would balance out for her father who stood next to the girl. Old man Pandle was blind as a bat and older than dirt, but he owned a bow and refused to stand down. He proclaimed an oath to defend Timbre no matter the cost. His wife was buried here after all. A few of the stronger men were bow-worthy, but they needed as many capable fighters at the ready as they could muster should any of the creatures breech the wall. He glanced at the inn housed in the center of town. They had relocated the children there. It was the safest place they had available with the most rooms, and there was a straight shot to the docks from the building. Timbre stood beside the Nell River. There were a couple of rafts ready in case an escape was necessary. Only a few would make it by that route and so it was a last resort. Who knew if the settlements downstream still stood for that matter? They could just be sailing to another death. At the moment, Timbre was their best chance for survival. The sounds of the bowstrings thumping sent Barst’s heart racing.
“Gods help us,” he mumbled to himself as he moved to direct his people in the fight for their lives.
Goblins moved in from all three exposed sides on the small logging town of Timbre. Their numbers consisted mostly of the more common red skins, but yellow forest and green night goblins were present, too. Marguls led the charge from each direction with about forty-five or so members to a group. The creatures were screaming out randomly in their own language. The jumbled result of their shrieks was a maddening sound. The giant, vicious, hairy goblins, for that is what the marguls looked like, each carried a massive spiked club as a weapon. They stood taller than a tall man and half again as broad with sharp teeth, big canine-like ears, and very hairy bodies. Mostly they had black hair, but some were brown or even rarer red-haired. There was a wicked intelligence in their amber eyes that was lacking in their smaller cousins. Their shouts and commands were unintelligible in the goblin tongue. Luckily, the grounds around the town wall had been cleared of most trees. Those were the supplies used to build much of the wall itself. This clearing gave the townspeople a small amount of time to pick off a few of the charging goblins before they reached the walls. Fifteen archers, five at each wall, were not nearly enough to stop or even slow the attack. To their credit, the bowmen did well for not being trained soldiers. Though they missed more often than not, their efforts were solid. Jillian took down more than her fair share as was expected and her near-blind father even managed to slay one of the attackers. Shouts of alarm came from everywhere. Here and there, a goblin managed to scale the wall and find his footing inside the town. The loggers were ever ready with pole, club, or axe to cut them down quickly.
“Barst!” One of the more sturdy axe-wielding men shouted to get the mayor’s attention. “There is a struggle at the front gate! We need help!”
Barst cursed under his breath as he grabbed two of the men nearby and rushed for the entrance to town. Everywhere help was needed. There were just too many of them. Goblin cries rang out from every direction as the little humanoids exploited any weakness in their defenses. The marguls were hoisting, and in some cases tossing, the small creatures over the wall. As the mayor rushed by the stables, two crude arrows struck. One hit the roof of the structure. The other stuck in the ground nearby. They were goblin-made missiles and worse yet, they were on fire. The few horses began to whinny and panic at the smell of smoke. The raiders did not seem to care if they destroyed the town just for the chance to loot it -- idiots! Before the mayor could react, he spotted several of the women and older children forming a line with buckets of water from the swift-moving river. He was proud of his community. They were all working together for whatever that was worth. Brenden, the town runner and scout, made his rounds alarming everyone to the situation. He was headed back to be of some use to Barst when a stray arrow pierced his back killing the boy instantly. The fire spread through his clothing quickly.
“Damn them!” The mayor cursed as he ran for the front gate, “They will pay for this!”
He arrived in time to watch a nasty-looking margul force the large door inward, batting three men aside in the process. The front gate fell open completely. The creature was over six and a half feet tall, with several, bone-jewelry face-piercings for decoration and one of those massive spiked-clubs in his hand. A stream of the little red goblins poured in about his legs. The minute monsters began shrieking as they immediately engaged the men trying to close the gate.
“Scatter the goblins! Focus on the gate! Get it closed or we’ll all die!” Barst shouted to the men he had brought with him. The sturdy mayor rushed forward with axe raised. “I’ll slow the big one.” Even as he said the words, he was wondering how he was going to do that exactly.
- Chapter 5 -
A Call to Arms
A bright flare of pink light was the signal that everyone was in place. The blinding flash caused the three goblin archers on the east side of town to drop their weapons and shriek as they grabbed their eyes. Goblins were not fans of bright light, probably why they had waited until dusk to attack. The gruff Kandairian soldier, Tanford, took the head from the nearest goblin’s shoulders with a powerful stroke of his sword. A quick reverse strike took down another of the blinded creatures. The final goblin archer was downed just as quickly by Dalia’s polished blade.
“Damn that felt good! Bring on some more!” Tanford exclaimed as he wiped the blood from his sword on one of the little bodies.
“Do not get carried away,” Dalia reminded him, “We are to strike at the stragglers then take cover. There are far too many of them for an open fight.”
“And we’re on the wrong side of the wall,” Arianna added as she stepped from her hiding spot behind a big tree. The priestess watched the dark trees around her nervously for any more enemies. Her hand still glowed a faint pink with glittering sparkles falling as she moved.
The trio ran quickly back into the trees. A small band of the little humanoids headed their way. The bright flash had gotten most everyone’s attention. Arianna’s signal flare was even visible from inside the town walls. Some of the townspeople feared there might be a mage among their attackers. The goblins were thinking the same thing of the townspeople. All in all, it created a little confusion, as was intended.
* * * * * * * * * *
The three Drackmoorian soldiers were just as shocked to see the bright flash coming from the eastern tree line. They waited just under tree cover outside the front gates to the south of town. The humans reluctantly headed the raiding party. They did not enjoy this assignment for various reasons. The goblins were hard to control on a good day. The creatures barely got along with one another. Basically, the men had to refer to the marguls and they in turn dealt with the little mongrels. The marguls were a whole other issue. The big brutes did not care much for human orders and so the challenge was set for the soldiers. Only the promise of rewards and the threat of the Dark Lord kept the creatures contained. If not for that, the men feared they would have been a goblin meal long ago. This was their third assignment with the rebellious troop. The prior two targets had been Kandairian soldier outposts. In both instances, much blood had been spilled before their victory was reached. To their credit, the Kandairians fought well but there always seemed an endless supply
of the goblins to throw at them. Goblin tactics were simple, overrun the enemy with sheer numbers. This was the first time they had moved against a settlement of such size, though. Timbre was not a large town, but it was much more than a ten or fifteen man outpost. Its thick wooden wall was the biggest hindrance. It did not matter, though, for no defending soldiers had been spotted among the town’s populace. It was just a matter of time before the untrained resistance fell before their onslaught. After their victory, they would send word to the main forces and Drackmoore’s soldiers would arrive to claim the town. Any surviving villagers would be under their rule. The goblins were not so good at leaving survivors, though.
“What was that?” One of the soldiers asked of his two co-captains.
“I saw it, too, a bright flash of light,” the second and youngest Drackmoorian soldier gasped.
“Let the fodder deal with it,” the third man shrugged it off. He spoke quietly just in case the four goblin archers nearby happened to understand him.
“Do you think there is a spell caster among the townspeople?” The first man sounded a little worried.
“Maybe, but under these numbers, he won’t last long. Those people don’t stand a chance,” the third soldier assured them.
“Are you sure this is right?” The youngest soldier questioned. The youth looked nervous and confused. “I mean enemy soldiers are one thing, but innocent women and children? Why must we attack this settlement if there are no soldiers present? They don’t pose any threat.”
“Not that again. This is war!” The third soldier countered. “I don‘t want to hear another whiney word about right or wrong! It‘s not like we are killing them ourselves. Blame it on the goblins if it helps you sleep better.”
“… But these people aren’t challenging our forces … They probably don’t even care about the Dark Lord or Drackmoore,” the youth mumbled angrily.