Goblin War Chief

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “They just want to go home.”

  “That’s enough,” Noe said. “The zealot camp is on high alert and less of an ideal target. My decision is that we assault the bunkers outside of the fort and any of the zealots we catch coming or going. We then drive the Pinnacle men away. They will report that the goblins of Athra aren’t their enemy. Then we prepare for the wrath of the zealot army.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chief Gelid had listened to the new plan without comment, his hard face unreadable behind the war paint. He and his men kept to themselves as they moved out, the chief speaking in hushed whispers. Try as Thistle might, she couldn’t find the opportunity to eavesdrop.

  It was afternoon by the time the goblins arranged themselves near the fort and spread out into three groups. Their approach had gone unnoticed. Both the fort and the bunkers were quiet, but the zealots could be seen occasionally moving inside the log structures.

  The bunkers were built to shield those inside from incoming missile fire from the fort, but the rear entrances were exposed. The zealots hadn’t expected an attack from the rear.

  Gelid led one band to the southmost bunker, and Ramus to the one nearest the road to the east. That left Noe with the bunker closest to the slope and the perch from where the fort could best be seen.

  Thistle crouched behind the waiting goblins and tried to see, but she didn’t want to press forward and risk making a sound. One Stone was nearby. He shivered, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or excitement. A hand signal was passed along. It was time. They were forgoing bird calls. Noe’s group of fifty began to descend towards the dug-in structure.

  As Thistle made it to the edge of the slope, the first goblins attacked the bunker.

  A dozen hunters lined up in a row with their bows. Without a sound, a pack of warriors advanced with spears and knives. At the last moment a cry went up from the throats of the goblins, a ferocious yell.

  She found herself letting out a howl, a raw, bestial sound that joined the frightful chorus of those around her. All the pent-up rage inside her had a voice. It shocked her. She started laughing.

  The two groups charging the other bunkers echoed the war whup. The humans within the fortification screamed. Something metal crashed inside, and Thistle could hear jeering as more goblins pressed towards the front door. The bunker wasn’t large, and Noe ordered the warriors back.

  The last goblins out had blood on their knives. One was limping and had a hand pressed to his side. Others were clapping him on the back, and then he collapsed.

  Thistle slid down to help and got the wounded goblin laid out on the dirt so she could examine him.

  Someone shouted a warning. Smoke rose from somewhere beyond the fort in the direction of the roadside bunker.

  Thistle’s patient tried to sit up but winced. She placed a hand on him. “Don’t try that again. Your part of the fighting is done.”

  He nodded and looked up at her hopefully.

  She unbuttoned his shirt. The garment was soaked through as she peeled it away from his skin. His hands kept going to the wound and she had to move them.

  He was weakening with each moment. “He got me. But I got him better.”

  Another goblin kneeling with them handed her a wadded bandage, which she pressed to the wound. It did nothing to stanch the flow of blood. “You’re very brave.”

  He nodded, grinned, then faded.

  “Do something,” the goblin with her hissed.

  “Even Wren couldn’t save him. What was his name?”

  Before the goblin could answer, an arrow sailed past. Thistle lowered her head before looking about. Had someone in the fort fired at them? But the soldiers within the fort remained hidden.

  From the direction of Ramus’s group and the road, goblins were shouting. A series of sharp whistles sounded.

  “Soldiers! Soldiers!” a goblin yelled.

  “Form up!” Noe cried.

  The goblins moved to follow as Noe raised her bow above her head and waved those around her forward. The goblin assisting Thistle rose to join them. Thistle watched him leave as she gripped the goblin’s limp hand.

  The smoke got thicker. From the fort, several Pinnacle soldiers were peering over the wall. How much trouble had Ramus and his force encountered? The sound of voices and a great clatter only grew louder. She wiped her hands clean of blood. The dead goblin before her didn’t need comfort. And she had to see.

  Around a corner of the fort, a tightly packed platoon of soldiers filled the narrow lane between the trees near the downhill bunker. They were surrounded by goblins. Individual soldiers had been separated from their companions and were fighting with spear and shield against an overwhelming press of goblin warriors.

  Ramus was at the center of it. If he had been a coward when the raiders had attacked her father’s hunting party, that side of him was gone. He smashed a man’s head in with the butt of a spear. He spun in time to see another soldier racing towards him and launched himself towards the human. He knocked the man’s spear aside as they collided. Both dropped their weapons as they tumbled out of sight.

  More and more humans were falling as goblin archers fired into them from the top of the bunker. Volley after volley, the goblin arrows found their marks.

  This was why they were here. This was what they wanted. This was what she wanted.

  A few wounded goblins were dragging themselves away from the fray. Thistle pulled one goblin back who had just lost an eye and got him to cover beside the bunker.

  A handful of humans had grouped up and were trying to link shields and fall back. With their spears they drove the nearest goblin warriors away. One human didn’t make it to the group quickly enough and the archers filled him with a half dozen arrows. But the joined shields of the others stopped the incoming missiles.

  Gelid bellowed.

  He and his warriors rushed the cluster of soldiers. But the zealots kept their ranks tight. Their spears stabbed through a pair of goblins who heedlessly bounded forward to attack. But as the goblins swarmed the flanks to encircle the men, fresh shouts came from a new group of soldiers running up the road.

  The retreating group was bolstered by their comrades and together they formed a solid line. They warded off several attempts of goblins trying to force their way through. Their shields stopped the archers’ arrows. The soldiers kept their helmeted heads down and were no longer falling back. An officer at their rear was giving a clear order: “Hold your ground!”

  Lying in the dirt between the two groups were as many goblins as men.

  “We have to run,” Arens shouted.

  Noe appeared next to him, one of the human spears in hand. “Gather on me!”

  Thistle felt a tug. The desire to be with them, to join the fight, even as she realized these might be the last moments for all of them. The goblin with the eye wound fought to get up.

  She clung to him. “Stay with me.” He nodded weakly.

  The goblins formed up around Noe. It was a loose pack of warriors. Thistle’s brain was having trouble with the numbers. Were they so few now? A handful of Gelid’s fighters were holding the line of zealots in place, but the human officer was urging his men forward. Step by step, the goblins were being driven back.

  “We rush them as one!” Noe cried.

  The goblins attempted to line up even as they were being pressed back.

  A second rank of soldiers rearranged themselves behind those holding the shields. The tips of their spears were raised over the shoulders of their fellows. This was what Thistle had always feared they would have to face. These men were trained, equipped, and unafraid.

  Goblinkind may have forgotten war, but the humans hadn’t.

  The arrows continued to fly but they were only a nuisance to the soldiers. And the hunters on the bunker were running out of them.

  Led by Noe, the goblins charged. The lines collided with a crash as the warriors threw themselves at the spear tips and shields, pulling them down even as th
ey were stabbed. Part of the zealot formation fell to the tide of the smaller goblins. But the second rank proved too effective. With every opening, the soldiers from behind rushed forward, hammering at their foe with precise spear thrusts and filling each breach with their shields.

  The cries of men and goblins rose to a crescendo. Goblins began fleeing. Half of the hunters on top of the bunker were gone.

  Thistle had lost track of Noe. She could still see Gelid and Ramus in the middle of the fight. But step by step they were driven into the clearing before the fort. With the wooden walls on one side and the hill behind them, they would be trapped and cut to pieces.

  She got the wounded goblin up and hurried back towards the hill. The goblin did his best to keep his feet under him, but he was heavy. Then he tripped and brought her down with him. She tugged at him to get him up.

  The zealots pressed forward. Any goblin who got too close was stabbed. The goblin warriors held their own loose formation, but without shields they could only harry the men as they were forced back. At an order from their officer the zealots paused to straighten their shield wall, ignoring their own wounded writhing at their feet.

  Thistle pushed the injured goblin up and he made it to the hill.

  Someone called her name. One Stone was pulling a limp Noe along but was having trouble. Thistle ran to help.

  “What happened to her?” Thistle asked.

  One Stone only shook his head. As they began to scramble up the slope, other goblins overtook them, some sprinting past, having dropped their weapons so they could clamber away. Once Thistle and One Stone got Noe to the base of a tree, Thistle eased her down.

  Gelid was shouting. “On me! On me! Don’t run!”

  One Stone looked at Thistle. He was on the verge of saying something, but the words weren’t coming.

  “Go,” Thistle said. “Fight.”

  He nodded and ran back downhill towards Gelid. He carried no weapon.

  Thistle grabbed a fleeing goblin. “Stop. If you run, we die. This is where we take our stand.”

  But the scared youth tore free from her and continued up the embankment. Others passed her by. The small group still holding their ground with Gelid was struggling to keep formation even as the chief shouted himself hoarse. The humans were on them.

  Motion from the wall.

  A group of eight humans rose as one. They leveled crossbows, took aim, and fired. The salvo cut into the zealots and dropped more than a few of them. The men of the fort ducked momentarily and reappeared with loaded weapons. Thistle guessed the crossbows took time to reload. They must have had more than one each at the ready. Their bolts flew straight and pierced helmets and armor. The enemy below them was exposed and their shields were facing the wrong direction.

  The zealots faltered.

  “Raaaaaa!”

  Gelid and the other goblins let out a fearful cry as they launched themselves into the soldiers.

  The line of zealots broke. Human and goblin tore at each other. One goblin climbed on top of a screaming zealot and began biting his neck.

  The crossbowmen vanished behind the wall to reload, but when they reappeared they held their fire, watching the action below.

  Down in the fray, One Stone was straddling a downed human who was trying to crawl away. He had the man’s metal helmet in his hands and began pounding down onto the man’s head. There were no soldiers who didn’t have a goblin on them. She could hear a young zealot shrieking as two warriors grappled with him and stabbed him between the joints of his armor with their skinning knives.

  Thistle turned from the scene and went to Noe’s side. She was breathing. A lump on her head seeped blood. She needed care, but so many others did too.

  One of Gelid’s band stumbled past in a daze. This one’s hand was dangling from his wrist. The goblin looked pale.

  Thistle rushed to get him to sit next to Noe and then lie back. From her hair she pulled the ribbon Rime had given her that last night before the raiders attacked their village. She cinched it around the wrist. She kept her hands on him as his wound bled. She wished she knew what else to do. Other wounded goblins and humans were crying out for help.

  So many.

  Too many.

  She wished all of them would be silent. But she had to listen. Somehow she would have to tell this story if she survived. What words would sum up such horror?

  The goblin with her began to shift as if he wanted to get up.

  “Easy now,” she said. “The fight’s done for you. Let others do their part. What’s your name?”

  “Kray.”

  “Kray. Tell me about your village. Who’s your family?”

  But the goblin’s eyes drooped.

  “Stay with me. Stay awake. We can’t win here if you go to sleep.”

  She was startled when Kel crouched next to her. She hadn’t seen the broad-shouldered human approach, nor had she heard the gate open. His sword was on a scabbard across his back.

  “It looks like the last of Pater’s men are being driven down the road.” When Thistle didn’t say anything, he added, “My men will help with your wounded. We have a fire in the camp and iron for the bleeders. We have clean bandages.”

  Thistle nodded. “His hand.”

  “Yes. I see. The wound will have to be cauterized. Many men have survived such injuries if they’re treated before they leak out too much.”

  “Then help him.”

  Kel moved to scoop Kray up. “Let’s get him inside. The others too.”

  Gelid was marching their direction. “Get away from him, human.”

  His spear was pointing forward and his face was covered in scarlet. Kel stepped back and raised a warding hand while gripping the hilt of his sword.

  Thistle got between them. “He’s helping. The soldiers of the fort have offered to see to our wounded. Put your spear down.”

  Gelid looked between her and Kel and then down at Noe.

  “Chief Gelid, Wren is the only doctor we have who can handle a wound like this, and he’s hours away.”

  “I’d have my warriors die before letting a human help them. None of my tribe will enter that place with the humans inside.”

  Kel backed off as Gelid crouched next to the wounded goblin. The chief began singing. He muttered the lyrics in a low tone. Thistle wanted to sing along but didn’t know the words. All around the clearing lay other goblins who needed her help. When a group of soldiers from the fort came outside a few warriors almost attacked them, but Thistle intervened.

  “Put your weapons away, all of you,” she said. “They’re not our enemy.”

  Gelid continued to perform his ritual song, his back turned. There were no other officers around. One by one, the goblins closest to her lowered their spears.

  “The offer’s still good,” Kel said. “The gate’s open and my men will do what they can. All I ask is your warriors set their weapons aside as they enter.”

  “Why? Why would you help us?”

  “Because it looks like you’ve taken a side. And there will be more zealots coming. Maybe we’re not friends, but your enemy is our enemy. So we can at least agree on that.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  True to Chief Gelid’s word, none of his warriors joined her inside the fort.

  Thistle couldn’t worry about them for the moment. The fight outside was over.

  She lost track of who else was coming and going as she directed all uninjured goblins unaffiliated with the chief to assist bringing the many wounded into the fort’s courtyard. A pair of sentries inside the gate instructed any goblins holding bows and spears to set them aside by the entryway.

  Ramus was among those able and helping. She was glad to see him and hoped he would take over, but when a goblin asked him whether there was any water, he replied, “Ask Thistle.” With Noe unconscious, there was no one else taking charge.

  Kel monitored the activity as his men aided the fallen. There was no painleaf, but Wren’s poppy paste worked wonders. She used it s
paringly, unsure of the dosage. But some were beyond comfort. As wounds were sutured and cauterized, her fellow goblins’ screams and cries only grew worse.

  No one told Thistle how the battle had concluded. Was this a victory? She counted fewer than twenty goblins who weren’t wounded. How many still stood with Gelid? How many dead remained outside, and what were they to do with them?

  “We need more water,” Ramus said.

  The meager fire and collection of pots melting ice and snow couldn’t keep up with the demand. If the fort had a well, she hadn’t seen it.

  “Get firewood,” she ordered any goblin who wasn’t busy. “And scrounge whatever you can from the bunkers outside.”

  A few just stared at her with blank expressions, but others went to work. Soon two more firepits were brought to life. Some of Kel’s men were already bringing in food looted from the zealots.

  One Stone brought her a bag loaded with shreds of white cloth. “I tore up some of the zealot uniforms that were clean. These will make good bandages.”

  “Good thinking. We’ll still want to disinfect them. See that they’re boiled. We need to bring Wren here. There’s more than we can handle.”

  “What does Chief Gelid say?”

  Thistle looked around at the goblins spread throughout the courtyard. “It doesn’t matter. We need to deal with our wounded and we don’t have time to argue about how. Most of these won’t be able to be moved. Ask him, if you want.”

  Whatever madness had possessed the youth during the fight was gone. He gave an exhausted nod and headed out the gate.

  Above them on the parapet the crossbowmen remained on alert. Other soldiers around the edges of the courtyard weren’t assisting with the wounded and kept their spears at hand. If they decided to attack, the goblins would be massacred. Yet Kel remained near her. He was hands-on with sharing the fort’s meager supplies, making bandages and splints and providing blankets. If taking them in was a trick to murder them, she couldn’t believe they’d waste their resources.

  She approached Kel. “Thank you.”