No movement. No sound. The way was clear. As she ran, straining her ears, she felt a growing pinch in her side. It forced her to slow down, but the cramp barely eased up. As she hurried past the object hanging from the branch, she saw it was a simple stick figure of twigs and twine. And there in the dirt, mingled with the tracks of the goblins, were barefoot human footprints.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thistle caught up to the goblin raid near dusk. By then she was out of breath and at a near panic. The ache in her side had only intensified as she trotted and stumbled along.
A pair of guards hissed for her move off the road and past them where they had set up camp among a circle of eucalyptus. She tried to spot the goblins she knew, but it was dark enough that it proved difficult finding anyone. The warriors weren’t bedding down or clearing ground but instead were rubbing mud on their faces and arms from a large, stagnant puddle.
She almost bumped into Preemie as she moved among the raiders in search of Wren. Preemie was likewise applying dirt to his face. His bright eyes appeared to glow and his teeth flashed in an unrestrained smile. His headband had fresh leaves sticking out from under it, making him look like a bird’s nest. At his side, his bow and quiver of arrows waited.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“We’re attacking a village tonight—a big one.”
“How big?”
His smile vanished. “Where were you?”
“That doesn’t matter. Where’s Wren?”
“A hunter examining the village wall stepped on some kind of spike, which went through his foot. I guess Wren’s doctoring him up.”
“A wall?”
“It’s not a big deal. Noe says we can climb it and tear it down. If it doesn’t come down, it can be burned.”
When she rose to leave him, he said, “Wait! Can you check my face? I might have missed a spot.”
Thistle stumbled noisily as she stepped over a nearby hunter’s spear. The goblin was crouched and sharpening the steel tip of the weapon. She was shushed by a dozen others as she rose to orient herself in the clearing.
“Sorry.”
She headed towards the largest cluster of goblins. Noe was in their center, speaking in a hushed tone. Thistle earned a few irritated glances as she wormed her way forward.
Noe stopped talking as Thistle approached. “We thought we lost you.”
“There’s humans on the road behind us. I saw one of them.”
“I’ve set guards to keep watch.”
Thistle felt her throat go dry. She had everyone’s attention. “It’s probably the same human who entered our camp. He was barefoot. The soldiers we killed on the road all had boots.”
“My hunters reported this already. Just the one human?”
“Yes. He hung some kind of effigy in a tree after the last of us passed by. It was a figurine.”
“I know what an effigy is. I don’t like that you’ve fallen behind. We can’t have you wandering off. Now that you’ve given your report, feel free to write it down. But no fire tonight, sage.”
A goblin behind Thistle let out a dry laugh. When Thistle turned, she couldn’t tell who it had been. With the mud smeared on their faces, they looked identical.
“We’re attacking a village with a wall?” Thistle asked.
“She already went over the plan.” It was One Stone’s voice. He was standing just opposite Thistle among Noe’s closest warriors.
Noe waved a hand for One Stone to be silent. “Not so much a wall but a ring of stakes. We’ll be pulling it down in three locations and then setting fire to it.”
“Someone got hurt?” Thistle asked.
“One of Gelid’s stepped on a spike. Enough questions, Thistle.”
“Did the humans of the village hear us?”
“That’s all the time I have for you,” Noe said sharply. “Keep to the rear, Thistle. You may have shown yourself willing, but you’re no fighter and no hunter. It would be best if you stayed here.”
The warriors and hunters made their final preparations. All Thistle could do was watch. As the column headed towards the road, she fell in with the last of them, hoping that no one would object. She tried to find Preemie among them but couldn’t. With their war paint and camouflage, there was an eerie uniformity to the warriors heading off to assault the village. She stuck close to one young warrior who clutched a bundle that trickled a line of smoke.
At least one other goblin near the rear carried a similar pouch. The purses of wrapped leaves held embers that could be quickly ignited.
She concentrated on each step as she kept up, intent on not making a sound as they crossed over dried leaves and branches dropped from the high trees. An acute rush of excitement and dread began to burn within her. This was why they were here—for revenge, to send a message, to murder and drive the humans off. Another human village was about to be attacked. But she couldn’t shake the gnawing suspicion that this one knew they were coming.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The goblin warrior in front of her knew who to follow.
Thistle remained on his heels until she spotted Preemie veer off with one of the groups. He gave her a scornful look but kept quiet. The others were intent on their task. Soon they were creeping along the ground and stepping over the remnants of a section of a wood fence. The goblins in front had taken it down so they wouldn’t have to climb.
Whatever had been growing in the soil must have been harvested recently. Shed stalks, chaff, and tattered leaves filled the tilled lanes of dirt.
Her foot found something crisp that snapped under her weight. A hand stopped her. The hunter motioned for her to stay put and remained with her as the rest of their detachment hurried past. He shook his head slowly and made a vague gesture with his hands. She was confused as to its meaning as he left her crouching there, embarrassed yet eager to continue. She didn’t want to cause anyone to get hurt. But she refused to be left behind.
So she kept moving, placing each step with the utmost care and trying to follow along the path where the last goblin had trod.
There before them rose the village wall. It wasn’t much, not more than ten feet high, but it was enough to hinder their progress. It also appeared to be more than just a ring of stakes. A few fires burned somewhere beyond the barrier, but in the darkness a hundred humans could have stood peering over the wall and the goblins wouldn’t know.
The warriors and hunters had spread into a line, gripping their weapons and crouching like sprinters.
They waited.
Thistle found herself growing more and more apprehensive. Why such a long pause? Each moment gave the village a chance to hear them. But she understood she was no hunter. A hunter would know the precise moment to release the shot.
The sound started in the distance, a rising honking noise that steadily grew in intensity. The commotion sounded like it was coming from the throats of multiple animals. Geese?
Fires ignited on the opposite side of the palisade, backlighting the long barrier and throwing shadows along the ground before the waiting attackers. A burning apple-sized ball flew into the air, arcing towards them. More followed in quick succession. Each landed in the dirt around them with a splash of flames.
The night that had concealed them lit up as the blazing missiles rained down and impacted around them. The missiles looked to be oil-soaked wood pulp wrapped with cloth. They didn’t land with much force, but the line of raiders was exposed as the goblins moved to avoid the incoming projectiles.
Human shouts went up from the village. Then the first arrow struck.
A goblin near Thistle screamed in agony as he collapsed and thrashed on the ground, gripping the shaft that had pierced his chest. More shots rained down around them. The arrows were impossible to anticipate. While the archers were concealed, the goblins were out in the open with no cover.
The goblins around her dove to the dirt even as the tiny fires burned all around them.
“We can’t stay here!” T
histle called.
The nearest goblins looked at her and then at the goblin who had led them to the field. It was one of Gelid’s senior warriors named Rush. He had hit the ground and didn’t appear to be doing anything besides keeping his head covered.
Beyond the field there was a weed-choked pasture where few of the fires burned.
Thistle rose and grabbed the nearest goblin, pushing him in that direction.
“Come on! We’re sitting targets! Move to the darkness!”
“No!” Rush shouted. “We wait for the signal.”
“We can wait over there where the humans can’t see us.”
More arrows plunked down among them. It was amazing that no one else had been hit. The humans of the village couldn’t have been aiming very well. One of the goblins got the injured hunter up and the rest followed as Thistle led them over a fence.
Several shots whizzed past her.
She stomped a fire out and kicked dirt on it until it was extinguished. The other goblins followed suit. With the nearest fires out, they had relative darkness.
“This isn’t the plan!” Rush hissed as he joined them.
More humans were shouting from beyond the wall. Fewer arrows came their way, and then none at all.
Arens crouched next to Rush. “There’s no signal. Are we supposed to attack?”
The wounded goblin was eased down with his back against an erect plank of wood. The markers were everywhere. At first Thistle wondered what kind of crop was grown in the field where they were taking cover. Then she saw the dried flowers laid out around a few of the markers and realized they were in a small graveyard.
Preemie had fallen in behind Thistle. His eyes were wide and he no longer held his bow.
Thistle grabbed his arm and pointed to the wounded goblin. “Help get him back to Wren.”
It took a moment for her words to register. He nodded and with the help of another, he got him up and carried him back in the direction of their marshaling point.
A loud whistle pierced the air. It was echoed by others near the front of the village. A ragged cry went up from several of the nearest goblins. Rush ran forward, waving the rest on. They charged towards the wall.
Thistle got up but hesitated. She could catch up to Preemie and help with the wounded goblin. Perhaps there would be others who needed aid. But as if her legs were no longer under her control, she sprinted in pursuit of the attacking warriors and cut loose with a wild screech that she would never have recognized as coming from her own throat.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The first goblins to arrive at the wall used the butts of their spears to sweep along the dirt. Iron caltrops that had been concealed just below the first line of stakes were uncovered and thrown aside. The goblins then gathered into a cluster, crouched, and boosted others up and over the stakes and onto the wall. Some slid and fell. Others used their fellows as stepping stones and managed to grab hold of some of the planks that formed the barrier. Several of the slats pulled free and soon the goblins had created a breach.
A woman was shouting just beyond the palisade. “They’re coming! More are here!”
Even as a few began to squeeze their way in through the opening, a dozen goblins made it to the top of the wall. These straddled the barrier and began firing arrows into the village.
Thistle made the wall in time to help boost another up towards an opening. She realized it was Arens. Once he pulled himself up, he paused to look down at her.
“Help me up,” she said.
But he dropped away out of sight, leaving her. It was too high for her to jump. She hurried to fall in behind a group pushing their way through a climbable gap.
Inside the village, the goblins scattered down the lanes between the dark homes. If Rush was supposed to be in charge of their detachment, he was nowhere to be seen.
A human woman lay dead next to a brazier of burning charcoal. An open satchel sat next to her that held more of the white bundles of fire projectiles. She clutched a slingshot in one hand.
Thistle headed in the direction of the nearest sounds.
A man was shouting with rage as he swung a mallet to keep a group of goblins away. One hunter feinted with a spear thrust and the man swung, only to be jumped by two warriors from behind who brought him down to the gravel.
Across the lane, a goblin was prying the door of a home open with a spade while children inside wailed.
Flames rose on the opposite side of the village. Cries of pain erupted from a dark street. An unseen woman was begging. Her pleading was cut short by a ragged scream. A goblin began laughing.
Thistle felt as if the wind had left her lungs. She wanted to flee even as a wave of dizziness almost overwhelmed her. She clutched her elbows to keep herself from trembling. She found herself shuffling along the inside of the wall, occasionally leaning against it. All the sounds were too much. Her obligation was to see what was happening, but she couldn’t bear to witness any more.
How would she ever describe this?
At the front gate, a fire burned the massive wooden doors and parts of the wall. A demolished section of the palisade showed where the main body of goblins must have entered. She heard a moan coming from outside. Shielding her face from the flames, she passed through the gate.
A goblin she didn’t know had been propped up on the outside wall. He had an arrow in his throat. He wore a hide chest piece that was dark with blood. She crouched over him and was surprised when he seized her hand. She squeezed his palm.
He stared up at her, the firelight illuminating half his face. Blood lined his lips and he began to cough, wincing with each convulsion.
“Seventeen stars shine up in the heavens,” she sang, pausing to remember the words. “And then came seventeen more. The moon that followed shepherded them forward; and then in the morning they were gone. New flowers bloom as the sun rises skyward; no blossom ever buds the same. Your smile is all I ever cared for; by tonight I’ll see you again. When you left, my spirits were left fallow; but my heart called until your sweet return.”
She continued to sing and finally hum to the warrior until well after his hand had gone limp. And there she knelt until someone came to carry him away.
Seven goblins lay dead before the front gate. Noe went from one to the next and knelt to touch each on the chest.
Thistle still sat where she had found the dying goblin, who was now among the gathered fallen. She kept her knees drawn up to her chest and watched as the warband’s leader made her rounds.
The smell of fire hung heavy in the air. There was smoke, but the village itself hadn’t been burned except for the front gate and a few homes. There were still shouts and cries along with crashes and the sound of things breaking. Goblins within the village were laughing. But the fight was over.
More than a few goblins had wandered outside. Some appeared shaken, others exhausted. One young hunter openly wept at the feet of one of the dead.
Thistle rose and walked past the seven, wishing for more light so she could see their faces. She made a silent vow to remember them. But she had to see all of it for her record. So she went back through the breach and into the village.
Where the second detachment had attacked, a large section of the wall was burned down or torn away. Some of it had been little more than bundles of bound and stacked branches and stakes, readily ignited. Hardly a deterrent. Again she heard the honking sound that had preceded their attack.
White shapes moved about near a shallow pond. They were indeed geese as she had suspected, and they had alerted the humans to the goblins. She discovered a metal lantern on a peg by the front door to a house. Shaking it, she found it had oil in it. She lit the wick using a twig from the smoldering wall.
A pair of goblins were heading her way. One was leading a string of tied goats while the other kept trying to head him off. This one carried his own lamp and was wearing an oversized leather cap that partially obscured his eyes.
“We can’t take them with us,” t
he goblin with the cap said.
The goblin leading the goats paused to tug the reluctant animals along. “Says who? These are larger than any in my village. I’m keeping them.”
“Noe will forbid it. You’ll slow us down.”
“They’ll keep up just fine. You got a pocket watch and some silver. These are my spoils. And if she doesn’t like it, I’ll take them and go back home.”
Both goblins paused when they saw Thistle standing there listening. They hurried past without another word.
Thistle followed a lane past broken-down doors and smashed furniture and pottery. Of the bodies she saw, most were once again women, older men, and children.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound was coming from a structure identical to the chapel in the last village. A few goblins were gathered at the front door and using a bench as a battering ram. The door was intact. The building itself was made of stone. A few brands had been thrown up on the roof but they only smoldered.
Ramus and Chief Gelid stood and watched, neither acknowledging Thistle as she approached.
“It’s not like they’re going to be able to get out if we don’t let them,” Gelid was saying. “Stack enough wood around it and on the roof and something inside will catch fire.”
Ramus nodded. He held a bottle in his hand and he took a drink. Gelid refused when the hunter offered it to him.
“One Stone,” Ramus called. The young goblin hunter came running up out of the darkness. “Gather wood. All right, the rest of you, stop wasting time with that door.”
The gang at the front of the chapel stopped what they were doing.
“Ramus, wait,” Thistle said. When he looked at her, she saw his eyes were bleary. A gash on one cheek bled.
“What is it, Thistle?”
“What objective will this serve? Let them out and drive them off. There’s no warriors here. No one inside is a soldier.”
“Tell that to our dead.”
Goblin War Chief Page 10