Goblin War Chief

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “This is why you’re not in charge. This is something no sage would understand. This isn’t about food or security, it’s about our reputation. Imagine if we destroyed this fort. Pater will have to recognize us. So would Pinnacle’s archduke. And our warriors will see that we can accomplish something the humans can’t.”

  Thistle shook her head in frustration. “You’d risk goblin lives for some symbolic victory?”

  “And you wouldn’t. This fort is too close to Athra. What’s to stop another raid from coming once the humans settle their differences? I’m tired and growing frustrated with you. You’re dismissed.”

  Thistle stood her ground. “What’s our goal here?”

  “For every human to know that to set foot in the goblin homeland means death.”

  Noe grabbed Thistle by the back of her shirt and hauled her down the length of the longhouse. She unceremoniously plunked her down near the altar. Several goblins snickered. When Thistle tried to get up and follow, a hunter blocked her way and pointed for her to sit.

  She watched helplessly as Noe marched back down to the storeroom and closed the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Arens, Wren, and a few others brought the wounded into the longhouse at dawn.

  The hunter who had been keeping an eye on Thistle didn’t stop her when she went to help get them settled. She fetched water and changed bandages and was relieved that the dead humans had all been removed sometime during the night.

  She kept a close eye on the storeroom. She had slept some, so she didn’t know who had come and gone and whether the prisoner still lived. Once the wounded were situated, Wren found a place on the floor and collapsed.

  Thistle sat near him. “I’m still mad at you.”

  “And I’m exhausted.”

  “We have a human prisoner from Pinnacle. Noe may have killed him. We’ll have every human hating us.”

  “I can’t keep my eyes open. You want me to declare that you’re right and everyone else here is wrong? Fine. You’re right. Take your prize and leave me be.”

  A few of the goblins were picking over the leftover food. The wounded appeared content to soak in the warmth as they bundled up on their litters.

  Thistle watched Wren for a moment. “Look at them, Wren. They’re following Noe because they haven’t tasted defeat. We’ve been lucky. I saw Lord and his men fight against the dragon. Even when they should have retreated after it wiped out a third of them, they attacked the creature again. We’re underestimating our enemy. Goblins are not soldiers. We’re farmers, artisans, crafters, and young boys. One Stone earned his first hunting kill just before Lord attacked Boarhead, and you expect him to fight trained soldiers? That’s who we’re going to face if we continue.”

  Wren placed an arm over his eyes. “Can you pretend I’m listening?”

  “This is important.”

  “Then write it down. Your pack is here with my bundle.”

  She realized she had left her pack behind during the night assault on the longhouse. She went to grab it and saw everything was still inside. Her fingers were tinted with black ink from taking notes during the interrogation. She opened to the last page that remained blank but found she didn’t know where to start.

  “If we burned this place and its food, we wouldn’t have provisions to continue,” she said. “Then we’d have to go back home.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Whatever you do, leave this part of the floor out of it.”

  Chief Gelid stomped into the longhouse and barked at the nearest goblin. “Where is she?”

  The goblin pointed to the storeroom. Gelid pushed past him and threw open the door. Thistle set aside the notebook, where she had yet to write anything, and hurried to follow.

  “We have contact with a force of soldiers,” Gelid said. “They’re camped some ten miles from here. Their numbers are hard to tell. It looks like they’ve been there for a while, but we need to act now before they decide to leave.”

  From inside the storeroom, the prisoner coughed.

  He still lived. Thistle let out a sigh, not realizing she had been holding her breath.

  Other goblins gathered around her, pushing to get close.

  Noe’s voice was clear as she gave Gelid her orders. “Then gather the raid. The wounded will stay here. We finally have a fight that will make them mark this day. Each warrior takes a day’s rations and water.”

  She emerged to survey the faces of the waiting goblins. “Officers out front in five minutes.”

  Thistle fell in as the senior goblins moved towards the exit.

  “Not you,” Noe said. “I’ve heard enough of your counsel. Your duty is to the injured.”

  Gelid shoved Thistle to the side as Ramus and the officers went outside. A pair of Gelid’s warriors kept her from following.

  At the opposite end of the longhouse, Wren had stirred from his slumber. He was crouched over a goblin who needed assistance sitting up. She went to help. The goblin spat blood into a rag. Spittle dripped from his mouth and ran down his chin. Thistle grabbed some water and found a relatively clean cloth hanging from a peg. She moistened the cloth and helped wipe the goblin clean. They got their patient resting on his side until his breathing grew calm.

  “You’re a mess,” she said to Wren. And he was. His hair stuck out at all angles. He had scratches on his skin, no doubt from the late-night trek, and he was visibly sagging. “Get some sleep. I’ve got them for a while.”

  Wren didn’t argue. He returned to his blanket.

  She watched him and the other patients sleep even as the rest of the warriors and hunters made their way outside, responding to the bird calls of their officers. Then silence followed. Except for Wren and the wounded, she was alone.

  There would be no stopping the next battle. Noe and Chief Gelid had their own inertia, as unstoppable as the sun rising or the seasons changing. And if the warband perished without her there to witness it, the lives of two hundred goblins would vanish like the morning mist.

  She rose to look outside.

  The raid was gone, having moved off without a sound. From inside came the hard hack of the goblin who had been spitting blood.

  She closed the door to the longhouse and set the bar across it before hurrying to help him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  North Fort is Pinnacle City’s closest outpost to Athra. Pinnacle’s relationship with the human communities is contentious, but it remains unknown whether this is a recent development in their history with the rise of Pater the Zealot.

  Our warband’s encounter with the tribesmen from the eastern mountain region marks a third group of humans of which we know little. Their presence appears to be motivated by money or other compensation, but these people too have something which drives them.

  We are only minor players on this stage. I fear we are unprepared for the consequences of inserting ourselves into a situation we don’t fully understand.

  What is goblinkind to any of these factions of men but something to be feared, exploited, or ignored?

  “Is every word we say going down on paper?” Wren asked.

  He stoked the fire. A pot with water hung over it. The five wounded goblins were all nearby, having been washed and fed. The heat within the longhouse was stifling.

  Thistle tapped the pencil on the paper. “I have just a little blank space left. If you have something worth saying, keep it brief.”

  “How about opening the front door to let some fresh air in?”

  “We have to assume there are other humans about.”

  “They won’t set foot near this place after seeing the bodies we dumped outside,” Wren said. “And what about the prisoner?”

  Thistle put her notebook away. “If it were up to me, I’d let him go.”

  “What did Noe say?”

  “She didn’t say anything. I thought she was going to kill him.”

  Wren set the iron poker aside. “And I’m sure you objected.”

  “He’s not even from around
here. He’s as young as you or me. It’s clear the Pinnacle men who remain in their fort had nothing to do with Lord and what happened to us.”

  “That doesn’t make them good.”

  Thistle went to the front door and double-checked the bar set across it. There was no peephole or any other way to see outside. The shuttered windows had also been sealed.

  Wren hobbled after her. “Did you hear me? You don’t know what they do to goblins down in their big cities. There are worse things than what you saw happened to Papa.”

  “You don’t have to remind me,” she said. “The children from Boarhead…the mercenaries were talking about selling them.”

  “So why are you so keen on treating these humans with kindness?”

  “Because it’s what I do. And it’s the smart thing to do.”

  “And that’s what you are, isn’t it? Smart. Smarter than me or Noe or all the other mouth-breathing goblins that breathe the same air as you.”

  The wounded goblins were all watching and listening.

  “Why are you attacking me?” Thistle asked. “How much of that tonic are you taking that you don’t see the obvious? If we make all of them into enemies, we lose. And I’m not smarter than anybody else. That’s not fair.”

  Wren looked like he wanted to say something else.

  She felt her eyes sting but fought back the urge to cry. “You haven’t held back yet. Why stop now?”

  His voice was soft and measured. “You’ve been through as much as any of us and probably more. You deserve to know the full picture. Noe asked me to do something that I’ve decided not to.”

  A chill went through her body. “What?”

  He hesitated. “She wanted me to take your journal and burn it when you were next asleep.”

  “I don’t understand. Why?”

  “She didn’t say. It’s pretty obvious she’s making mistakes. Her officers know it. But no one else will step up because they know they won’t be able to do a better job, not even Chief Gelid. But Noe’s also keen on not having you record everything she does wrong. You show her up at every turn and don’t give her room to back down. Every time you talk to her, you kick her pride in the teeth. Setting it all on paper will make sure others will learn about her every blunder.”

  “That’s not the point of what I’m doing here.”

  “If you haven’t figured it out, she’s got as big an ego as you.”

  She wanted to punch him. He was doing exactly what Spicy would do to provoke her to say or do something that would get her in trouble with their mother.

  Forcing calm into her tone took effort. “What are you suggesting, doctor? I use the last page of my notebook to deliver a flowery report, absolving Noe of all her blunders? Pretend we haven’t been acting as cruel as any human?”

  “It’s too late for that. But if I were to guess, she’s going to have to deliver a big victory so no one will care what it took to get there. A day’s worth of food means she’s expecting either to win or that the raid won’t ever come back to Athra alive.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Wren followed her into the storeroom, where the prisoner was still chained. The man rose to face them, his eyes wary.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” Thistle said. His expression didn’t change. “I intend to set you free of your chains. Do you think you’re well enough to travel?”

  The prisoner nodded.

  “What are you doing?” Wren mouthed.

  She began to search the room. A cabinet was mounted to the wall near the half table. Inside hung a set of three keys on a ring. Wren hovered behind her.

  “Leave me alone,” she said. “This is my decision.”

  “It’s also your death. Noe will be livid.”

  “Seeing as how I’m nowhere close to being on her good side, does it really matter?”

  “This makes no sense. There’s a difference between defying her and open rebellion.”

  “Wren, you’re safe here, as are the goblins in your care. With the prisoner gone, that’s one less worry. And maybe you’re wrong about Noe. She didn’t give you instructions on what to do in case she didn’t come back. Surely she’d want us to return home. She didn’t say anything about him, did she? But there’s a chance I can do something to show some of the humans that we can be allies as well as enemies.”

  She unlocked the prisoner’s feet from a ring set in the wall and then freed his ankles.

  “What’s your name?”

  “David, son of—”

  She interrupted him. “David’s fine. I’m getting you out of here. The chains stay on your wrists, for now. You might be able to escape or overpower me otherwise. So if you want to survive out in the cold, you’ll need me. I’m going to set you free, David. All you have to do is guide me to North Fort.”

  Both David and Wren looked at her with open surprise.

  “But the enemy army has it surrounded,” David said.

  “Then we’ll have to be careful and quiet. You have five minutes to bundle up and pack food for yourself. No weapons. Wren, watch him.”

  She ignored his protest as she pocketed the keys and went back to the main room. She opened Wren’s bag of medical supplies. Inside were bandages and dried moss and a kit of tools, including scissors. Of the wounded with them, none needed urgent care. He had several bottles of the medicine he had been imbibing since she’d met him. She left one bottle by his sleeping blanket and took the rest.

  Her own blanket went around her shoulders. From one of the wounded, she took a pack and emptied it. The reclining goblin looked at her with curiosity.

  “I’ll bring it back when I can.”

  Then she headed to the storeroom and loaded up with food.

  Wren’s protests still echoed in her head as she and David trudged through the ankle-deep snow along the trail where the warband had gone. He would be essential for any kind of introduction, even as the rest of her plan remained nebulous.

  She could only hope that Wren wouldn’t follow. He had the wounded to care for. If he rationed his medicine, he would have enough to last a while. But Noe had abandoned them without any real prospect of their being able to return home if the raid was wiped out. Either the wounded would have to travel under their own power, or they would eventually be overtaken by whatever humans would come after them. If the longhouse was part of the zealot’s supply chain, it wouldn’t be forgotten, and the goblins inside would be killed.

  With each step, a nagging doubt grew in her belly that her choice was the wrong one and leaving Wren and the injured was a betrayal. She could go back. They could somehow manage to get the wounded moving, and take enough supplies and head home. Or, maybe, Noe and the others would return victorious. Thistle would be shamed for her disobedience and for questioning the raid leader, but wasn’t that a small price to pay for such a happy outcome?

  But Wren’s assessment rang true the more she considered it. Noe was bent on some grand symbolic gesture that would claim the lives of all who followed her. But with no one surviving to witness such a sacrifice, all those deaths would fade like smoke. The humans would know the goblins were a threat. Athra would be a target for retribution.

  David proved an eager guide. He hurried along ahead of Thistle and paused every time she fell behind. But he was loud, crunching on snow or weeds with each step. He coughed frequently. Even his breathing was too loud as he was constantly winded. But he remained eager and impatient.

  They traveled all day, only stopping once to eat and drink. That was when she noticed David wore no shoes. He had been wearing some when they had departed the longhouse.

  “What happened?”

  “They fell apart a mile back. It’ll be okay. My soles are tough. I always got into trouble with the sergeant for not wearing my boots.”

  “This is no good. You’ll get frostbite.”

  She had him sit while she went through their gear in order to fashion something to protect the man’s feet. The flap to Wren’s bag would serve as a p
air of soles. There was enough cordage to tie strips of cloth from one of their blankets, and he would have two makeshift shoes. She drew her small knife and began to saw at the leather.

  When David attacked, she barely had time to flinch. The blow landed on the side of her head and knocked her down.

  “Wait, no!”

  He was holding a small pry bar and he swung it again. It caught her on her arm as she tried to deflect it. She managed to start crawling and as he hovered over her, raising his weapon to strike again, she slammed him in the foot with her knife.

  He howled. He was hopping away into the snow, trying to keep balance while bending to grab his foot.

  Thistle fought to keep her own balance as she stood.

  David paused to face her. His eyes were wild and she thought he would charge. If he did, she might manage to cut him, but he was larger and stronger. But surely even with his foot wound he would catch her if she fled.

  His eyes went to her bag of food. He snatched it. Then, after looking about as if there were other goblins he had to contend with, he ran. He kicked up snow with each stride as he broke ground off the trail. He raced down a slope and vanished through the trees.

  She listened to his fading footsteps.

  Her breathing came hard. She let out a gasp and settled to the ground. Her body was trembling and she couldn’t stop it. If he returned, he could easily kill her. If any of the goblin warriors could see her, they would know she was a fool for losing her prisoner, and a coward to boot.

  Witness the naïve girl who thought she knew more than her elders. But what was she really but a weakling outsmarted by a half-starved human, an incompetent with delusions of importance because she could read a little better than the rest of her tribe?

  David wasn’t coming back. He had expertly exploited her mercy.

  There was enough daylight that she could return to the longhouse before dark. Wren would keep what she had done to himself. The wounded goblins, probably not. She could return to play her role as Noe had ordered. Help the wounded. Maybe it was Noe’s way of saving Thistle.