Goblin War Chief

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Goblin War Chief

  by

  G. Gehrke

  Copyright © 2019 Gerhard Gehrke

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording, or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Published by Lucas Ross Publishing.

  Author website: gerhardgehrke.com

  Edited by Brittany Dory at Blue Minerva Copyediting

  Cover Design by Abbyanna.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  Chapter One

  Spicy,

  I’m addressing this to you. You may never read it because you might be dead. But I can’t believe that and won’t. Because if I lose you too, I might not be able to keep going.

  You lying your way into the dragon’s service wasn’t fair. You saved me when I should have been the one who saved you. That’s what big sisters are for. So wherever you are out there, I’ll pray to the moon, the Divine Mother, and whatever other god will listen.

  Come back.

  And in case you actually ever see this, I’ll be sure to use small words. Because reading was never your strong suit.

  That’s a joke.

  But you have no idea what kind of goblins I’m traveling with.

  —Thistle

  Thistle crept forward with the line of goblin hunters.

  The ten of them paused to crouch at the edge of a row of pines. Before them, a farm complex sat in the center of an open pasture ground, its three cottages, barn, and sheds all shrouded in darkness. The humans had quit for the day and now it appeared they had blown out the last of their candles and gone to sleep.

  The quarter moon above slid behind a cloud.

  Noe, the leader of the band, waved them forward.

  Silent as foxes, they rose as one and the line advanced, climbing a low fence and walking silently over the needlegrass and sedge that thrived within the muddy field. Each held either a bow or a spear. No one so much as whispered as they spread out.

  Thistle adjusted the short spear in her grip. She was unaccustomed to the weapon and had never hunted anything besides rabbit and other game she could hit and stun with a stick. A weapon like the spear would be used for boar and large prey. Or for fighting men.

  Some twenty sheep perked up as the goblins closed in. They began to murmur and bleat. A few seemed to want to climb their fellows as they clustered in the far corner of the corral.

  Noe pointed to the corral’s gate.

  One of the goblins, Ramus, veered off and worked to untie a knotted rope. Once it was undone, he swung the gate wide. A few sheep slipped past. Thistle clicked her tongue and waved more of the animals on. Another goblin got behind the animals and clapped his hands. The sheep obliged and soon the whole flock stampeded towards the opening. Ramus stepped aside to let them pass, and the animals scampered off into the night.

  Noe hissed to get Thistle’s attention. Then she pointed to the stone ring of a well.

  Thistle climbed the fence and removed a sack she carried around one arm. A bucket tied to a looped length of twine sat on the well’s lid. She set the bucket aside and pushed the lid away, revealing the shaft and the water below. The well’s precious contents would be the only reliable source of drinkable water for the farm. She opened the sack to reveal a pair of dead raccoons. Both had been caught in snares, the cords still around the animals’ throats. Their tongues dangled, their eyes wide. They reeked and she could hardly wait to free herself of them. Yet she hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” Noe hissed.

  “Nothing.” Thistle dropped the sack and its foul contents down the well with a splash.

  Others of the party advanced on the first home, where a man was now shouting.

  “Who’s out there?”

  A figure appeared at the door holding a lantern.

  The goblins attacked. They swarmed the man, shoving him down and sending the lantern crashing in the doorway. A pool of flame ignited, illuminating the scrawny human as he feebly swatted at the air around him to ward off the three goblins who evaded him as they bounded into the home. A woman began screaming.

  The man scrambled to his feet and stumbled past the taunting hunters. Another pair of goblins were striking the outer walls of the cottage with the butts of their spears. A naked woman burst out through the door and ran in the same direction as the man. In the growing firelight, their footprints were visible in the light coating of snow covering the ground. The goblins around the cottage jeered as she fled.

  “Get the barn,” Noe ordered.

  Two goblins complied, entering the largest of the farm buildings. After a moment, an orange glow rose up from within. A few of the sheep that had found refuge nearby bolted as the goblins emerged.

  Thistle hurried to follow Ramus. He was jogging towards the two cottages on the far side of the compound.

  A goblin ahead of them tore open the shutters of one cottage. Candlelight burned behind a drawn curtain. Ramus picked up a piece of firewood off a loose pile and hurled it through the glassless window.

  A child inside screamed in fright.

  Ramus let out a barking laugh. He grabbed another piece of wood. Before he could throw it, Thistle stopped him.

  “They’re scared. We’ve done what Noe ordered. It’s time to leave.”

  Ramus was an older goblin with golden skin and deep-set eyes. He was one of the two goblins from Boarhead who had survived the ill-fated hunting pa
rty that had been intercepted and cut down by Lord’s raiders right before the humans had come to their village. He and her father had been friends.

  Thistle was tall for a young goblin woman and Ramus stared at her, eye to eye, as if just now noticing her.

  “We’re not supposed to get into a fight,” she said. “They might have weapons.”

  As if punctuating her words, a woman in a nightshirt and fur-lined wrap emerged with a sling, which she loaded with a stone. She stepped away from the house and began to spin her weapon in the air. But before she could loose her rock, an arrow struck her.

  Arens, the second hunter from the ambushed party, loaded another arrow and finished the woman off. The child inside the cottage continued wailing.

  Ramus gave Thistle a shove. “If you’re not here to fight, get back with the wounded.”

  Thistle’s cheeks felt hot. The two hunters were her seniors, and both had hunted alongside her father for many years and might have even been there when he died. She had yet to hear the story about what had happened to her father. Neither had been willing to talk about it since her rescue and both spurned her when she asked. After all, she was still an unproven youth, with her child’s name, and no skills as a fighter or hunter to speak of.

  But she had been the sage’s apprentice, the one Lord had taken captive. Her actions had spared a dozen Boarhead residents from execution. And with Sage Somni now dead, she was the closest thing her village would ever have to a sage.

  Arens went to retrieve his arrows.

  More of the goblins appeared, moving to surround the last cottage. One set a torch to ignite a bale of straw set against one wall.

  “We’re supposed to scare them away, not kill them,” Thistle said.

  Before either of the goblins could say anything, she moved past them and entered the cottage. A boy sat huddled at the foot of a bed clutching a blanket. He had his eyes clamped shut and was whimpering.

  Ramus had followed her to the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  She grabbed the boy and hauled him to his feet and led him out past Ramus. Arens looked at her and then the boy, an expression of confusion on his face. She shoved the young human in the direction the other adults had run.

  “Go.”

  She turned to face both the hunters. Neither said anything as the boy stumbled and ran off.

  “There. We’ve done what Noe ordered.”

  Arens nudged Ramus, who shrugged him off.

  Ramus shook his head in disgust. “You weren’t there, girl.”

  “And neither of you were in Boarhead.”

  He grabbed Arens by a sleeve and led him across the field. “Let’s go catch one of their animals before they all scatter so we have something to eat.”

  The fire had caught the eaves of the cottage. Thistle went back inside. Using the candle, she searched the place. She was surprised to find a hutch and a stool. A cubbyhole held a stack of brown paper. On several pages were lists of numbers and what she presumed were dates written in a column. A recorded metric of some kind—the weights of animals? She couldn’t tell.

  Beneath the stack she discovered a bound notebook and a charcoal pencil.

  “What are you doing in there?” one of the goblins asked. “The roof’s on fire.”

  “Seeing if there’s anything worth taking.”

  “Leave it. We’ve spent too much time here. Get out now. We’re burning it all.”

  Thistle nodded and pocketed the notebook and pencil. Before leaving, she blew out the candle and took that too. The other goblins outside were lighting anything that would easily burn. They didn’t seem to notice as she left.

  A scream punctuated the silence. It was a human woman, her voice echoing in the distance. The sound didn’t repeat. Thistle waited and listened, but one of the departing hunters urged her along.

  The rest of the band followed, with Noe and Ramus at the rear.

  Soon, all of them gathered at the edge of the meadow with the horses they had captured from Lord and his mercenaries. There they paused to watch it burn.

  Chapter Two

  “You said we would scare the humans, not murder them.”

  Thistle was hurrying to keep up with Noe, who strode ahead of the others, ever on point as the column of goblins marched along in the night. They numbered over twenty now, having met up with those who had kept watch on the coast road, eyes open for any human soldiers while the others had made their raid on the farm.

  “Those were just farmers—a family with children,” Thistle said.

  Noe gave a dismissive wave. “They had weapons. We could have murdered them all, and that’s what we should have done. This is a warband, not a peace party. We let some of them go.”

  “But the scream. I heard—”

  “Be silent, Thistle. We have a ways to go and must be quick and quiet. There are humans on this road who will hear your complaints.”

  Thistle looked around at the shadowy scrubs as if expecting to see humans hiding there.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, just quiet. Now fall back with the others.”

  Noe went on ahead, alone, as Thistle paused to allow the other hunters to pass her by. Ramus and Arens both gave her sharp looks, but neither said a word. No one made a sound. The goblins were once again phantoms traveling west along the upper shore of the Inland Sea.

  They found a place to camp behind a sandy berm well away from the road. Noe placed watchers on four sides of the camp while the main body hunkered down and caught a few hours of sleep. Once the sky brightened, most of the goblins began to dig in the mud along a trickling stream. Tiny fingernail-sized crabs could be found there, which they popped into their mouths and munched with little joy.

  Thistle made a face. She was adept at gleaning, as every goblin was from childhood. Her mother and father had trained her from an early age to eat whatever she could catch that wouldn’t be saved for later. Bugs, mollusks, fungus, grubs, and crustaceans were all part of their diet, complementing the game and rice and other farmed grains and vegetables. But nothing plucked from the freshwater streams near her village of Boarhead had tasted so nasty.

  Eating the tiny crabs was like licking a piece of iron dipped in rancid mud. But she ate. Something about the wriggling, crunchy morsels reminded her of how different she and the goblins were from the humans. When she had been taken prisoner, she had observed how the soldiers under Lord’s command would eat their meat and game and cooked porridge and hardtack, but they had complained of hunger when there were so many things around them that were free for the taking.

  How such finicky humans had become so numerous was a mystery.

  A goblin not much older than she crouched next to her. He had green skin and freckles. He rinsed off a few crabs and began eating them noisily. While she didn’t recognize most of the warband who had rescued her, as only two were from her village, he looked familiar.

  He offered her a palmful of crabs. “I hit the mother lode. Mine, I’m sure, taste sweeter than the ones wallowing in your patch of mud.”

  “They’re all the same.”

  “That’s where you’re mistaken. See, these ones with the tiny eyebrows taste like strawberries.” He popped one in his mouth and crunched down. “And this one?” He took a whiff. “Floral. Honey and almonds with pear notes.” This crab he placed on his tongue as if to savor it before chewing.

  Thistle offered a weak smile. She accepted the remaining crabs and ate them while trying not to think about the flavor.

  “You’re the girl who talked to the dragon. We haven’t actually had a chance to meet.”

  “And you walk with a limp. What happened?”

  “Bruised tendon in my heel. Took a fall when fleeing Thousand Groves.”

  Thousand Groves was the neighboring village to Boarhead. According to her brother Spicy, it too had been razed and its citizens slaughtered.

  “How did you make it all the way out here?”

  “A lot of running, or as
best as I could manage. I went back into my village once I saw most of the soldiers leave. A few of the humans had stayed behind. I watched as they rounded up the refugees arriving from Boarhead. When I saw what they did to them…”

  One of the hunters made a dove call. The goblins gathered themselves and their weapons.

  The freckled goblin held his last crab out to Thistle. “You’ll need your strength.”

  “It’s all right. I couldn’t eat another. Why don’t you take care of yourself so you don’t fall behind?”

  Thistle brooded.

  She knew what she had heard during the raid on the farms. The woman’s scream.

  Something had happened to those who had fled. She wanted to speak with Noe again, but there was no opportunity to talk during the day as they pressed on and traversed the grassy lowlands. They kept the sea and the road in sight but avoided traveling on it.

  Occasionally a signal from ahead would be passed along, causing all to hide and remain still, only to proceed minutes later without any indication there had been any danger. No humans were around but there were signs of their presence: cut tree stumps, cart tracks, and the hoofprints of horses.

  She knew there were goblin villages around the sea. According to the report, Lord’s party had massacred the residents of a hamlet they had found on the eastern shore of the sea. She wondered how the other goblins in the region managed to get along with the local humans.

  Every time she tried to advance up the column to catch up to Noe, she was ordered back by one of the hunters. Finally in the late afternoon they were ordered to stop. A cutting wind blew down towards the sea. They found shelter under a grove of pine trees. Noe and over half the hunters were nowhere in sight.

  Ramus and Arens were nearby and both appeared eager to go forward over a rise in the road, but they held their position.

  “What is it?” Thistle asked. “Why have we stopped?”

  Arens looked at Ramus, who sighed before answering. “A couple of farms with humans.”