Goblin War Chief

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “We’ve taken our toll on them a dozen times over. The ones who live will carry our message that they aren’t welcome near Athra.”

  Gelid grunted as he leaned on his giant spear. “This girl from your village needs to learn her place.”

  Thistle ignored him. “Are we going to slaughter every human we meet, even if they’ve stopped fighting?”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Ramus said. “You’ve had your say as to how things should be, and you’ve been heard. But this is the work we must do.”

  “Is it? This isn’t warrior work or hunter work. Even I know we wouldn’t shoot a doe. Our kills must serve a purpose.”

  Gelid signaled one of his warriors over. “If you won’t control her, I will.”

  Ramus held up a hand for him to wait. “Thistle, the humans will warn others if they’re allowed to live. That should be obvious.”

  “Surely some already escaped. And when they hear of this…”

  “They’ll fear us,” One Stone said.

  “They’ll do more than that. They’ll strike back at us. Match cruelty for cruelty. We have to set a limit somewhere. We’ve already made a statement by coming this far. How much longer can we continue as winter sets in?”

  “Longer than they can,” Gelid said. “We’re stronger and better suited to living out away from the comforts of our homes. They’ll freeze. We have food. They’ll starve as we drive them off. This talk is a waste of breath and time. If you had an objection, you should have spoken at council.”

  Thistle tried to control the quavering in her voice. “I’m not objecting. I’m making a suggestion. If the humans see that we can show ruth, it might temper a response. And while we’re busy with their chapel, we leave ourselves open to attack from any soldiers who might be nearby. You need to see to your warriors. Without guidance, they’re falling out to loot.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Ramus said. “We have wasted a lot of time.”

  “Agreed,” said Gelid. “Ramus, marshal the warriors out in front of the village.”

  Thistle felt the tension ease. But then one of Gelid’s men took her by the arm. Gelid gave a nod and the goblin led her away. She watched helplessly as more wood was brought to the chapel door.

  “You can’t do this!” she cried. But Gelid had turned his back to her as he watched the preparations continue for the fire.

  Ramus and One Stone followed as she was taken through the village. Out front, Noe remained by the dead and appeared not to notice Thistle calling her name. Thistle’s escort kept his hold on her and waited alongside her as the calls went out for the warband to gather.

  She was panting now, out of breath, and tried one last time to jerk free before sagging in the warrior’s grip.

  Soon the rest of the goblins were leaving the village, some loaded down with spoils and captured livestock. The thickening smoke grew.

  Ramus nudged the goblin holding Thistle and he released her. When Ramus tried to speak with her, she turned away.

  Noe’s voice cut above the noise. “We’re done here. Gather your weapons and the dead. Help the wounded. We leave nothing but ashes.” She was first to head off into the trees, leaving the other goblins to carry out her orders.

  Thistle could barely feel the world around her as she plodded towards the fallen goblin she had watched die. She nudged another aside and grabbed his feet. The other goblin moved to the dead soldier’s shoulders, and together they bore him along with them.

  She tried not to think about the sounds that carried from the village. Fresh flames had caught more of the buildings and the fire would surely spread to the rest. The muffled cries were impossible to ignore. They followed her as the column retreated into the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A whispered alarm went from goblin to goblin.

  Thistle and the goblin helping her with the dead warrior stopped as the raid went into high alert. Goblins were rushing everywhere but the darkness made it hard to tell what was going on.

  When she tried to ask what was happening, she was shushed.

  A series of whistles pierced the dark, followed by an interminable silence.

  All Thistle could think was that more human soldiers had found them. But men rarely traveled or did anything else at night. The goblins around her clutched their weapons and waited until a bird warble was passed along the line. The signal meant it was clear, but no one was moving.

  Up ahead, she could hear Noe whispering. She was having an urgent discussion with Gelid.

  Thistle set down her burden and went forward. She had to push past a circle of waiting goblins.

  “We’ll look for tracks in the morning,” Noe said.

  “But we’re a sitting target now and they know where we are,” said Gelid. “The fire will draw more unwanted company and we’re too close to the village.”

  Noe muttered a string of curses.

  “What happened?” Thistle hissed to Ramus.

  “While we were attacking the village, the humans stole our horses and supplies.”

  “What about Wren and the wounded?”

  “They’re all fine,” Ramus said. “They didn’t hear anything. Whoever the thieves were didn’t make a sound. Now hush, daughter.”

  “We continue south,” Noe said. “Eyes and ears open. No noises.”

  “Some of the wounded shouldn’t be moved,” Wren said. She couldn’t see him among the gathered goblins.

  “We don’t have a choice. Carry those who can’t manage. We leave no one behind.”

  “What about the dead?” Thistle asked.

  “Leave them. We can’t take them with us.”

  A few goblins whispered among themselves but quickly went silent. Each village had its own custom on handling those who died, but leaving them out for the animals to find was vulgar.

  Noe snapped her fingers. “That’s enough. Gelid’s warriors are on point. Move out.”

  A few goblins lingered by the seven dead who now lay on beds of leaves and grass. The silent mourners were brothers, fathers, and sons. Thistle vowed to record the names but became preoccupied with assisting Wren.

  Three newly wounded goblins needed to be carried. There was no time to fashion more litters so they were carried on the shoulders of others. Preemie proved willing to be one such bearer.

  The burning village provided a point of reference and soon the orange glow was well behind them. As the raid moved, a new order was passed down from Noe. The captured livestock was to be slaughtered on the spot. The animals were making too much noise. There were no complaints as the command was carried out.

  Thistle hurried past where two goblins were butchering the prize goats taken from the village. She couldn’t bear to hear the sounds of the knives at work.

  Wren shouldered his bag of medical supplies and hobbled after her. He had enough spring in his step that she knew he had to have been partaking of his medicine.

  “What happened in the village?” he asked. “I can’t get anyone to tell me.”

  “More of the same. We can talk in the morning.”

  “How did we lose so many?”

  Thistle was walking next to an unsteady warrior with a wrapped wound on his head. The goblin needed steadying. She kept a hand on him for a while until he managed on his own. Then she fell back with Wren and spoke in a hushed tone.

  “They were ready for us and we didn’t know what we were getting into. After our scout was injured, they were on alert. What would you expect would happen now that word has gotten out about what we’re doing?”

  “Don’t get mad at me.”

  “I know, I know. That’s why we’re here. But we blundered into that village as surely as a rabbit into a snare. If Noe had taken the time to make better observations and count defenders, maybe we wouldn’t have lost anyone.”

  “You don’t know that. This is all new to us, going to war.”

  “But it’s not new. We’ve been at war before. It’s just been forgotten. We’re learning by making m
istakes our forefathers might have made.”

  Wren gave a derisive laugh. “So we should all be better students of history.”

  “Keep your voice down. I’m mad enough as it is. Why are you so upset?”

  He was quiet for a while as they marched. Then she saw he was wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  Wren took a moment to compose himself. “We lost eight, not seven. I was trying to take out an arrow from one of our wounded when something started bleeding that I couldn’t stop. It was too dark to work, but even if it wasn’t, I didn’t know what to do. I never learned his name.”

  She placed an arm on his as they marched. “I’ll learn the name. Someone will know.”

  He nodded.

  The more she turned over the evening’s events, the more roiled her thoughts became. “The geese.”

  “What?” Wren asked.

  “There were geese at the north side of the village that alerted the defenders. We could have spotted those and known they would have made noise. Who’s to say that we might have saved at least one of us from dying if we would have avoided them?”

  The raid left the road at a turn marked by a boulder. A rocky slope proved easy to follow. They climbed up to a den of stones that made for a defensible location. Thistle and Wren assisted those wounded who moved the slowest to settle in to find a place to sleep.

  Thistle was tired of walking and thinking and wanted nothing more than to find her own spot. She lost track of Wren in the gloom. Most of the flat ground was taken, so she settled in among the raised roots at the base of a spruce with many low branches. It would be morning in a few hours, maybe less, and she wanted to catch whatever sleep she could before they moved on.

  She flopped down on her blanket and tried to ignore the hard lumps beneath her. She felt herself drifting off, perhaps even fell asleep, but a moment later a hand clamped on her ankle and hauled her across the ground.

  Noe stood above her. When Thistle tried to rise, the woman shoved her down.

  “I’ve heard you’ve been challenging my leadership.”

  “What? I…no!”

  Noe struck her. The blow caught her across the cheek and rattled her skull. As Thistle clambered away, Noe straddled her and held her fast in a headlock.

  “You think you can do a better job? You think I wanted any goblins to die back there?”

  “I don’t know what you heard. I didn’t say anything like that.”

  A hand slapped her ear. Then Noe lifted her only to push her down. The world was spinning. Her ear rang. She scrambled wildly, trying to escape. Noe caught her in the gut with a savage kick.

  There were whispers nearby. The others—why weren’t they doing anything?

  She braced herself for another blow but it didn’t come. She drew her legs up to protect her belly and put a hand over her head.

  Noe crouched before her. “Travens. Bindle. Juniper. Nash. Old Branch. Falesh. Weytens. Those were their names. Record them for your accounting.”

  “There was one more,” Thistle gasped. “One of the wounded died.”

  “Then he too will be remembered.”

  Thistle attempted to sit up but her spinning head wouldn’t allow it. She spat dust. “Why didn’t we know about the geese?”

  “The humans already knew we were coming.”

  “They knew we were out there but didn’t know we would attack tonight. All we had to do was scout the entire village.”

  “I’ve heard enough out of you. You’re poison to our band. You’ll assist with the wounded and stay out of my sight.”

  Noe moved off. Thistle waited for a long moment before crawling back to her blanket. She fought to calm herself but it was impossible. So she focused on the names, repeating them until they were firm in her memory.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The light of the sun hurt her eyes. Moving caused her to ache. All she wanted to do was lie still and never stir, even as the hard roots beneath her dug into her side.

  It was later in the morning than she had imagined they would stay in camp, but she was grateful for the extra time to recover. She didn’t want to think about Noe, about the events of the night, about anything. But she had the names of the fallen she needed to record.

  It took effort just to sit up. The nearest goblins were staring. The confrontation and beating at Noe’s hands hadn’t gone unnoticed. She ignored them as she pulled her pack close.

  Wren approached with a full, dripping waterskin. She accepted it and drank as much as she could until the icy water began to make her cough.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said. “I would have done something. Your face…”

  She put a tentative hand to her swollen cheek. “I guess we were talking louder than I thought last night on the road.”

  “You have to be careful what you say.”

  “Duh.” She winced as she felt her lip. There was a crusty scab. “Shouldn’t you be looking after your patients?”

  “Looks like you’re one of them now.”

  Her hands trembled as she took her notebook out. The nib of charcoal was difficult to hold. But she scratched the names down.

  “The wounded goblin who didn’t make it. Do you know his name?”

  “Sutter.”

  She wrote his name. The list of eight dead said nothing about who they were, where they were from, or anything about their families. But as she ran over the events of the attack on the walled village, she hesitated. Where to begin?

  “You need to rest. Have you eaten? We’re going to be moving soon.”

  “No one’s given me anything.”

  He took her waterskin away and left her, only to return with a glistening cut of meat. “It’s goat. We couldn’t cook it but someone at least slathered it with salt.”

  She accepted the meat strip. “Is it safe to eat?”

  “I guess it’s about as safe as anything else we’re doing. I haven’t had any, so you’re on your own.”

  After taking a small bite, she fought the urge to gag. In Boarhead, they ate their meat roasted or well preserved and cured. She knew game meat could be consumed raw, especially by younger goblins showing off, but it wasn’t considered desirable and she had never tried it. She handed the meat back.

  “Give it to someone who’s hungrier than me.”

  “You can’t afford to be picky out here.”

  “You sound like my mom. There was always a reason to eat everything set before us. ‘It’ll be a hard winter and you need some fat on you.’ ‘Do you have any idea how much trouble went into putting that on your plate?’ And my favorite: ‘There’s children in other villages who’d kill to be in your place.’”

  His face warmed into a smile. “It is going to be a hard winter.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m going to eat raw goat meat.”

  “Suit yourself. I could use your help with the wounded if you’re up to it.”

  She blew charcoal dust from the page of the notebook before closing it. Then she gathered her gear and went to catch up with Wren and do what she could to be a cheerful assistant.

  They stuck to the game trails that snaked along the wooded hills and kept well away from the road. Through a few breaks in the trees, several farms came into view. Thistle kept her ears open for any reports from the scouts, but no news was passed along to her. Their procession moved through a swath of stumps where the humans had been chopping down hundreds of trees.

  A few of the others helped with the injured. Since the horses were gone, anyone who couldn’t walk needed to be carried or helped to limp along. But at least they now had a few litters.

  They hiked ever higher until there were no signs of any humans.

  Noe ordered a stop.

  Thistle guessed it was midday, but there was no sun visible in the white sky. She tried to keep an eye on Wren. He was working tirelessly every time there was a pause, changing dressings and providing water to those in his care.
>
  She crouched next to the goblin she had been assisting. He was a knobby-faced hunter who had lost all his hair except for the long red locks on the back of his head. He kept passing out. The goblin’s face was swollen and glistened with sweat. His jaw appeared out of alignment. When he had been awake earlier, he had coughed out blood, alarming Thistle. Wren put her at ease, explaining the blood was all coming from his mouth. The hunter had lost half his teeth after suffering a blow from an axe handle.

  At the moment, the goblin lay with his eyes clamped shut and his lips moving as if he were trying to speak.

  She stroked his head until he calmed down and slept.

  Sheets of snow started to drift down. It spread across the tops of the trees and blanketed the stony hillside above them. Flurries descended between the branches.

  Wren had a bundle of stained bandages in his hands. “Give me what you’ve got. There’s a good stream nearby.”

  She handed over the strips of cloth she had changed from her own patient. “It’ll be cold tonight. What’s the plan with the wounded?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If we set up some kind of shelter, we could make sure they’re cared for.”

  Wren just stared at her blankly.

  “I want to make my patient some soup so he can eat something.”

  “That will mean a fire.”

  She rose and went to find one of the senior warriors. Many of the goblins were bundled up and taking the opportunity to nap. Gelid was holding some kind of meeting with a sizeable group of his clan along with a few others. Noe wasn’t with them. As Thistle came closer, One Stone rose to stop her.

  “They’re not to be disturbed,” he said with his lisp.

  “We need a fire. I want to prepare some broth.”

  One Stone looked at the older goblins.

  “You can either interrupt them and ask, or you can give me permission,” she prompted. “It’s snowing and daytime. No one will smell the smoke of a small fire.”

  Preemie was crouched nearby. She hadn’t seen him since the start of the attack on the walled village. He dutifully avoided eye contact.