Goblin War Chief

by Gerhard Gehrke

  She looked at him with concern. The color was gone from his face. Deep lines underscored his eyes.

  “We’re going to slay every human we meet,” Arens said.

  Ahead of them, One Stone and Preemie both appeared to walk a little taller.

  In a hushed voice, Thistle asked, “Do you truly believe we won’t survive?”

  Ramus shook his head. “That’s not what I said. We might be fortunate to not even encounter any human soldiers. My grandfather died in the Old War. There were no songs because no one wanted to remember.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Is it? Some sorrows should pass. When we first met Noe and she told us there were survivors from Boarhead held by the humans, I felt hope. Then when we realized it was children they had captured, my mind changed. What horrors would they see? Better a quick death. When we found you I pitied you because I feared you would be changed. My heart is glad that you live. It means your father, Carus, and your mother, Day, have one child who will continue. I don’t understand what madness possessed either you or your brother to offer yourself to that monster dragon. Spicy is lost to us. But you live. And now to see you trick Noe into making her take you on this raid? I am saddened.”

  “I didn’t trick her. I belong here.”

  “Then your story will die with the rest of us.”

  The fresh hoofprints preceded the goblins and it wasn’t until evening that Thistle realized the horses were their own. Four animals were laden down with bags of dried fish, berries, mushrooms, and meat along with sacks of rice.

  Her stomach grumbled as she hadn’t eaten anything all day. But her curiosity about the animals and the wealth of food stores moved her to approach the goblins who led the horses into what would be their camp for the evening.

  “All of this is from Mire Linda?”

  The goblin with the shaggy hair parted it and looked her over. “Some, yes. From the Dillings clan, too, as well as Sunrise Farm, and the fish from the ponds up on the Fallen Ridges.”

  “I don’t know these places. I’m from Boarhead.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard.”

  “And where are you from?”

  But before he could answer, Noe came marching up along with Chief Gelid and a few other warriors.

  “It will be a cold camp,” Noe told the goblin with the horses. “Dry rations for the warriors.”

  “Any signs of the horsemen?” Thistle asked.

  Noe ignored her. She ordered a group to set watch on three points around the glen where they would bed down. Tired goblins filed in and picked out places where they would sleep. But Noe was tireless as she rounded up a select group of volunteers for an unspecified assignment. When she had selected a dozen goblins, including Ramus, she had them gather away from the others under a willow tree. Each carried a bow and arrows or a spear, and nothing else.

  Thistle moved to join them.

  Noe scowled. “We don’t need you here.”

  “If I’m to do my job, I want to hear your instructions.”

  “That’s not part of the plan. Valens ordered I take you, nothing more and nothing less. Leave.”

  Thistle felt her face burn. Even though she wanted to reply, she returned to camp. Were some goblins avoiding eye contact with her? She could only imagine what Noe must have said about her. She wasn’t wanted. She waited in a line along with the warriors as they received a handful of dried berries and a salted fish for supper. But when she finally made it to the front, the shaggy-haired goblin waved her away.

  “None for you,” he said.

  “I just want my supper like the rest.”

  “This food is for the warriors only.”

  “I have a place here by order of Chief Valens.”

  The slightest smile crossed the shaggy goblin’s face. “No order of his will be ignored. But he didn’t say anything about feeding you.”

  “I’ll tell Noe.”

  “Of course you will.”

  She stormed out of the line and headed down towards where the raid leader had gathered her dozen volunteers, but they had departed. A pair of sentries watched the path and the dusky gloom beyond.

  “They’re gone?”

  A sentry nodded. Then he motioned for her to return to camp.

  Thistle dragged herself back and found most of the soft ground was taken.

  “Psst,” Wren hissed. He waved her over. When she plopped down next to him, he handed her his fish.

  “You’ll need to eat,” she said.

  “I packed my own bag with as much as I could. I can spare a fish. The quartermaster’s a real cretin.”

  She wanted to object further but was too hungry. She devoured the fish and only wanted more. Was this part of Noe’s strategy? To discourage her in every way possible?

  Arens was sitting on his blanket with One Stone and Preemie settling in nearby. Noe hadn’t selected any of them. The older goblin hunter was staring at them.

  “You might not be making any friends being nice to me,” Thistle said.

  “What am I supposed to do, let you starve to death? Looks like you could use a few pounds on you. Just tell them I’m fattening you up.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Then get me some berries too. I’m famished.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The raid is well provisioned. Without taking a count, I estimate over thirty bundles of food, which could not have been procured in the short time in which we returned to Mire Linda.

  From the comments of the quartermaster, I can safely surmise that this was all prepared by messenger even as we began our return from Mother Mountain. Another possibility is that the food was arranged even before that, as if our raid had been planned ever since word of the human incursion into Athra spread.

  This is all Noe’s doing. It is by her will alone that this expedition is underway in its current form.

  Judging by her actions, abilities, and language, Noe is not only intelligent and educated, but an able leader.

  I reserve judgment as to her capabilities as a military commander.

  They discovered the soldiers’ next camp the following morning.

  Word had been brought from Noe’s nighttime scouting party that the raid was to follow quickly. A detail of goblins stayed back with the gear and animals as the rest moved out.

  Thistle shouldered her own light pack and fell in with the advancing body. No one stopped her. She was hyperaware of her footing, cursing Preemie’s words from the day before, and almost tripped several times as they ran through the early morning gloom.

  It was either excitement or the cold, but she was trembling. Her stomach grumbled. No one had shared breakfast with her and there had been no time to forage. Lord’s troop had always prepared breakfast.

  There was little to see where the humans had bedded down, but the smell of burned wood along with animal and human waste was obvious even to her untrained nose.

  “Hurry.” The whispered order was passed along from hunter to hunter.

  Ramus waited up ahead and was waving the advancing goblins forward. They were rushing across low grass that grew on sandy soil. Everyone kept their heads low as there were no more trees.

  “Spread out,” Ramus said, and signaled for half the goblins to his right and half to his left. He directed Thistle to his side. She crouched behind a goblin who was peering over a low dune. The rank scent of the sea and mud was in the air. Dawn rose ahead of them and the sunlight was blinding. The unmistakable sound of horses came from nearby.

  The humans hadn’t ridden far.

  A goblin trotted past, almost scurrying on all fours. “Wait for the signal.”

  Had there been a plan? She crept up the dune to see, but Ramus grabbed her.

  “Stay put,” he whispered.

  The band of goblins remained crouched and poised as if they were runners about to set out on a race. Hands adjusted their grips on spears and arrows were seated on bows. Ramus was licking his lips. Then came the warble of a quail. The goblins respo
nded by clambering over the sandy rise. Thistle tried to pull free from Ramus.

  “No,” Ramus said. “Not you. Wait with me here.”

  He held her tight as the cries of men and goblins upturned the morning quiet. Even as she strained to listen, her sense of time eluded her. It might have been seconds or minutes. Noe’s voice rose above the others, sharp commands over a growing clatter. A human was shouting curses. A neigh and hollow thumping hoofbeats echoed around them. A horse with rider bounded over a nearby dune and raced past. A man clung to the neck of the animal. He had arrows in his back. A pack of goblins charged after him but the horse was too fast. One warrior fired an arrow but missed, and all too quickly the animal and its rider were out of range.

  A ragged whup went up from the archer, which was carried by the others. Soon the entire company was cheering.

  Thistle and Ramus climbed to the top of the dune. The goblins stood around a scattered group of soldiers lying dead on the ground. One of the horses twitched and groaned next to them, an arrow having pierced its neck. A hunter killed the suffering beast, but it took a long moment for it to stop thrashing. Several of the goblins were poking the slain humans. Noe stood just beyond them and was examining a fallen goblin.

  It wasn’t one of their party.

  The goblin woman on the ground wore a simple brown dress now soaked through with dark blood. A few huts were nearby along with nets and boats. A small goblin village, but there were no other goblins in sight.

  “What happened to her?” Thistle asked.

  Noe pointed to one of the men. A stained short sword lay in the grass nearby. She closed the dead woman’s eyes. “Something for your record book.”

  Thistle felt her stomach squeeze. Taking a moment to close her eyes and draw in her breath, she forced herself to survey the scene. Counting had always helped to calm her. She saw ten dead men and one goblin. Five of the soldiers’ horses were clustered not a stone’s throw away, their eyes wide with fear.

  One of the goblin warriors stood watch over a boat. He waved Noe over and Thistle followed. Four goblins were huddled together, an old man and three girls. One of the girls had pissed herself while another sobbed uncontrollably.

  “Why were the humans here?” Noe asked.

  None of the goblins spoke. The girls screamed when Noe grabbed the old man and hauled him to his feet. He blubbered and made no sense as he tried to answer. She shook him.

  Thistle rushed forward and peeled the man away from her. He was barely able to stand on his own strength as he trembled. She helped him sit on his boat, then crouched before him. Noe loomed behind her and let out an exaggerated sigh, but Thistle ignored her.

  “You’re safe now,” Thistle said. “The humans—what did they want from you?”

  “My wife. My Daisy.”

  “Is that her name? The men killed her. I’m so sorry. But we need to learn who they were and why they were here.”

  He sobbed and his head drooped. She had to steady him to keep him from collapsing.

  “Are these your children? They still need you.”

  “Useless,” Noe muttered.

  Thistle didn’t know whether she was referring to the old man or her. She clasped his hands in hers and spoke softly. “Your wife’s name is Daisy. She’ll be mourned and remembered. My name’s Thistle. I’m from Boarhead. You may have heard other humans came through Athra and killed many of us. We need to learn who these men were. What’s your name?”

  He was shaking his head. “They were asking about goblins who had attacked some farms. I didn’t tell them anything. I didn’t know.”

  “Who do these men belong to?”

  “Pater. They’ve always left us alone. Why did they attack us? Oh, Daisy. Oh, Daisy.”

  She drew him into an embrace and held him as he shuddered. Noe was marching away. The other goblins sifted through the men’s belongings, stripping them of much of their gear. The horses were gathered. But more than a few of the warband just stood and stared at the carnage.

  Finally she pulled herself free from the man. The raid was about to move on. She caught up with Ramus.

  “What about the goblins living here?”

  His face was grave. “We have nothing for them.”

  “Can’t we leave them the horses for meat? They’ll have to flee. When more soldiers come—”

  He cut her off. “More men will come. We can’t save them if they won’t help themselves. But these poor goblins aren’t why we’re here. Go ahead and tell them to head into Athra. But they won’t go. We’ve tried over the years to keep our kind away from the Inland Sea. But some have always thought we could live near the humans.”

  “I never knew this.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Somni never taught things he didn’t feel were important. Ask yourself, daughter, what else was he not telling?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  We’ve met and murdered human soldiers who belonged to Pater the Zealot.

  This was a successful ambush with no losses. While some are heartened and eager for more, others are sickened even with this one-sided victory over a squad of humans with armor, weapons, and horses.

  We have little to offer the goblins we’ve encountered. To say we liberated them isn’t truthful. Pater’s “empire” stretches a good way down the length of the Inland Sea. Our band has no chance of toppling it.

  If anything, today’s action, once word gets out, will declare our presence.

  Promise, the sign near the village read.

  Thistle hadn’t known the name, only that the village was there, the closest human settlement to Athra that was more than a few farms clustered together.

  Just how many humans lived there was anyone’s guess.

  They were two days’ travel from the site of the ambush where they had killed the soldiers. She could see the gray waters of the sea through a line of redwood trees. The late morning sun remained concealed behind the high clouds. A persistent icy wind made her shiver.

  The goblins clustered on either side of the road, hunkered down in the weeds and among a growth of acacia. The edge of the village was visible, where pigpens lined the outside of a row of hovels. White smoke streamed from several mud chimneys. The sound of chopping wood could be heard from somewhere nearby. But there were no alarms and no shouts.

  The only ones who detected the goblins’ presence were the jays and finches, which had fallen silent since the raid had arrived.

  Wren was hurrying towards Thistle, his limp pronounced. She rose from her place at the rear of the line of warriors to help and escorted him next to Preemie and One Stone.

  Even though they had been silent, a few hunters shot her an accusing stare.

  Hand signals and whispers were passed down along the opposite side of the road.

  Half the goblins began to creep away, moving slowly through the thick scrub. Chief Gelid was leading half the raid around the village.

  A few moments passed before Noe gave a nod.

  Ramus hissed, “Form up.”

  The goblins in front of Thistle advanced to form a line along the pasture ground. Some were out in the open and would be visible to anyone in the village who happened to look. Ramus held a palm up to Wren and Thistle. They remained crouched together at the base of a tree and watched in silence. As the last of the goblins got into position, a few twigs snapped and footsteps crunched. Each sound made Thistle flinch. There was no indication any of the humans heard.

  She realized she was holding her breath. An ache was building within her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

  Wren was clenching and unclenching his jaw.

  Noe advanced out in front of the others. She clicked her mouth and waved an arm forward.

  Thistle felt the rush of excitement as almost a hundred goblins rose and began a slow walk towards the village. She had to stifle a shout. Her exhilaration was a heady mix of joy and anger and fear impossible to tamp down. She was supposed to be here as an observer, that was all. Her eyes would s
ee and her pencil would tell this tale without passion. But it proved impossible.

  She broke from cover and jogged to catch up, ignoring Wren as he hissed for her to come back.

  The nearest pigs spotted the hunters and began a loud chorus of squealing. They raced as a group from one corner of their long pen to the other as the goblins moved past.

  The warriors and hunters sprinted to the closest homes and took cover as they peered into the village. The ones with bows had arrows nocked. One goblin was boosted by another and slipped in through the window of a nearby home.

  The shriek that followed broke the spell of silence.

  Goblin spearmen whooped and howled as they charged. Panicked cries rose from the village courtyard. The archers stood in place and began to discharge arrows, pivoting and firing again and again as panicked humans were now rushing past in every direction.

  Thistle found herself right behind Preemie, who had his own bow ready, but the boy wasn’t firing. His eyes were wide as he took in the scene before him.

  A human woman stumbled past, an arrow in her side. A warrior caught up to her and dragged her to the ground where he shouted at her. Her wild sobs were cut short as the goblin drove her through with his spear.

  More humans spilled out into the spaces between the huts. Some stood in shock and were knocked down by the charging goblins. Other fled, and soon a rush of men, women, and children were fleeing towards the eastern edge of the village.

  A piercing cry erupted in that direction from beyond a large central house that was painted white. They were goblin voices. The other half of their force was now attacking right where the majority of the escaping humans were running.

  Preemie sounded like he was hyperventilating. Thistle placed a hand on his shoulder and eased him down to the ground, where they squatted together. They both had been on the receiving end of such an attack, as had One Stone.