Goblin War Chief

by Gerhard Gehrke

  She placed a finger on her lips. “I can’t. You’ve seen me inside. I’m with the others. I have a message for Kel.”

  The guard vanished. She could hear his gruff voice as he spoke with someone. A few minutes passed where her plan unraveled in a dozen different ways in her mind. Then a rope came down. She gripped it and realized her fingers were numb. But arm over arm, she hauled herself upward. When she got close to the top, two soldiers grabbed her and pulled her over. They gave her a quick pat-down and went through her pack.

  “No weapons,” one of them said.

  “Explain yourself.” It was the guard who had been asleep in Kel’s chamber.

  She was trembling so hard she couldn’t speak. “Kel,” she managed. “Take me to Kel.”

  “He’s asleep. Tell me.”

  She shook her head. “It’s an emergency. The other goblins mustn’t know I’m here. Our leader Noe…did she deliver a letter to him?”

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I can’t. This is for your sergeant to hear.”

  The young man looked at her for a moment before helping her inside the tower and down the ladder. At the base of the ladder was a section of courtyard where several of the goblin wounded were huddled together. A few able-bodied warriors were among them, some of them Gelid’s.

  Had any of them heard her enter? There were so many. Yet the humans were noisy. She could only hope the goblins had become less vigilant as they rested and fought off the cold.

  The guard went on ahead towards Kel’s chamber. Thistle kept her head low and followed, avoiding all eye contact.

  A goblin stepped in front of her. “Thistle?”

  It was Wren who blocked her path. He was holding a steaming cup of something that smelled of broth.

  She moved to step around him. “Shh. Keep quiet.”

  “They’re looking for you.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She led him to the doorway of the room the soldiers of the fort were using as their infirmary. The stench within the fort was the most amplified there. No goblins were nearby.

  His voice was strained with excitement. “I can’t get anyone to tell me anything since Noe and a group of warriors came back. I thought something happened to you.”

  “Noe attacked the zealots. The tribals helped. Chief Gelid and Arens tried to capture me. Gelid’s next plan is to get the fort to surrender with a fake letter that Noe wrote. The humans leave in the morning, and we slaughter them.”

  Wren stood silent for a moment. “That would end this.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. We’d be betraying the humans who have taken us in. We’d be making an enemy of the men who might be our allies.”

  “So what would you do? Warn them? They’ll kill us. Did you miss the fact that we’re right in the middle of their fort? Did you think any of this through?”

  She fought to keep her voice down. “Of course I thought it through.”

  A human pushed past them with a bucket that stank of dung. He went to dump it into the pit privy near the stable.

  “By the ever-blessed moon,” she sighed.

  “What?”

  “You’re right. I can’t just tell him.”

  Wren grinned. “Sound the horn and blow the whistle. Beat the drums, because Thistle here has admitted she doesn’t have all the answers.”

  “Keep it down. I never said I did. Are you going to help me or not?”

  “That depends on what you’re planning. I don’t like Gelid any more than you do. But he and Noe got us this far. We’ve given the humans a reminder that we won’t be their victims. I won’t hand you over to him, but if I believe you’re going to undermine what we’ve accomplished, I’ll sit on you myself until this is over.”

  “My brother used to try that. I was always stronger than him.”

  The human with the bucket trudged back into the infirmary. Wren and Thistle followed him inside. There were around twenty beds, and all had men lying in them. A pair of soldiers were acting as orderlies. They paid the two goblins no mind. She recognized Wren’s handiwork among the patients in the way the dressings were wrapped around injured limbs and the splints set onto broken bones. But most of the men within the infirmary suffered from no wound.

  Wren grunted. “They get sick so easy. They stay sick. They spread their disease back and forth to one another like a game of hot stone. But then they show resilience by not dying.”

  “We’re not that different.”

  “We’re not the same, either. Stay in here until you figure out what to do. None of our kind comes in here. Some of those hunters out there will smell you if you’re not careful. Have Private Erikson or Henry here come get me when you have a plan.”

  She was surprised to hear he knew some of the humans’ names. Wren left her at an empty bed and moved among the stricken humans. He pulled the sheet up over one trembling man as if to tuck him in. At the next bed, he produced a candle from his bag, lit it, and inspected a sick man who was sitting up and appeared to be suffering from stomach pain.

  Kel’s attendant leaned in the doorway with an arm over his nose. “Hey, gob. It’s like I said. The sergeant’s asleep. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’ll wait,” Thistle said. “Let me know when he wakes up.”

  He studied her for a moment before ducking back outside.

  Was this it? Had she risked the last shred of her good standing with her own kind just to hide and let Noe’s plan lead them to ruin? Was Wren right in thinking that if Kel knew, their own people would be murdered?

  No, she decided. She had to trust Kel. To take the risk that he was intelligent enough to see what was on the line. Not all the humans were evil, and she hoped he’d reach the same conclusion about goblinkind.

  Walking softly, she headed back outside.

  Kel’s attendant was by the center firepit and crouching next to Noe. He then pointed in Thistle’s direction. When Noe looked over, Thistle saw murder in the goblin woman’s eyes.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The tight cord binding Thistle was cutting into her wrists.

  She had been hauled into the empty stable, which had been denuded of all its contents. Planks from the walls and roof had been removed, presumably to be used for firewood. It was a skeleton of a structure the humans had no further use for.

  One of Gelid’s warriors threw her to the ground before leaving her alone with Noe.

  Thistle tried to sit upright. “You can’t do this.”

  Noe crouched before her and pushed loose strands of hair from Thistle’s face. “If all you wanted to do was tell me that, why the subterfuge in sneaking into the fort?”

  “Because I thought Gelid’s men would stop me from seeing you.”

  “You’ve certainly upset him. He sent word he wants you punished. The question is, what should I do with you? You’ve gone from being an unwelcome voice of dissent to…what? Are you a traitor now, like he says? Do you no longer believe in our cause? You’d warn the humans of our plan?”

  “Do you know that Ramus died at the zealot camp? How many more, Noe? There’s barely enough left to help our wounded return home, and you’d throw them into another battle? And one that we don’t even need to fight?”

  “What makes you think we’re the ones who will do the fighting?”

  Thistle got herself upright. “Why would the tribesmen risk themselves? There’s nothing to be gained here.”

  But Noe didn’t answer. Thistle caught a whiff of wine on her. Thistle guessed if she was sober, she would never have hinted that the tribesmen were part of her plan.

  The humans from the eastern mountains were poised and ready and numerous enough that the fort’s defenders wouldn’t stand a chance once they left its protective walls. Perhaps Noe believed there would be no more lost goblin lives.

  Noe removed the notebook from Thistle’s pack. She had already ordered Wren to burn it and now it was in her hands. With the written record of their raid gone, only the living eyewitne
sses to her deeds could pass on the events of their war with the humans. Noe scoffed as she read.

  “You don’t miss much in your telling.”

  “It’s the truth. But it’s not finished. There’s the next chapter, once I get paper. It all depends on what you do now.”

  “Still trying to incite me to fall in with your dreamy notions of peace with men. You have two options here, Thistle. Live long enough to be silent when the songs are sung, or, if Gelid has his way, be among those we mourn.”

  “We don’t kill our own kind,” Thistle said softly.

  “I knew having such an innocent soul along would be a mistake.” Noe put the notebook down and began to look at the picture book of morals taken from the chapel. “What’s this?”

  “It’s what we become without our sages.”

  Noe took the picture book with her as she departed. Thistle was left alone to wriggle and squirm until, exhausted, she slumped against a support beam.

  The fire in the courtyard dimmed. The goblins slept. The human soldiers on the parapet above hunkered down and grew still as more snow fell, with flurries descending through the missing roof slats. She had lost all sense of time. How many hours until dawn? Was Noe’s threat of execution more than a drunken attempt at bullying her?

  She rolled to the ground and closed her eyes in a vain attempt at sleep. If only she could retreat into the bliss of unconsciousness, but the pain in her wrists made it impossible.

  Soft footsteps approached. She couldn’t make out who was standing over her. Her breath caught as she feared it might be Gelid or one of his warriors. No ceremony, no fuss, just a knife across her throat like an animal.

  “No…”

  “Calm down,” Wren whispered. “I’m getting you up and out of here.”

  He eased her up and freed her wrists. Her arms were stone and it took a few moments before she could feel any semblance of sensation below her shoulders. As he tried to help her stand, she pulled away and felt around for her pack. The notebook lay on top of it where Noe had left it. Thistle snatched it and her pack up.

  He mouthed something to her she couldn’t make out and pointed outside the stable. Multiple goblins were close by, curled up in their blankets. That none of them had come to aid her filled her with a growing rage she fought to ignore.

  He led her past the slumbering figures. One wrong step would result in an alarm. They made it to the infirmary.

  “I have a place to hide you. The men stash their dead in a cold cellar beneath this room. It will only be for a few hours until I can bring you outside. That won’t be until after…after what happens, happens.”

  “Wren, I have to warn them.”

  “No. This is the only way I know how to save you.”

  She planted a kiss on his cheek. “This is what I have to do.”

  She left him standing in the doorway as she again crossed the yard and headed towards Kel’s chamber. Then she froze in place. A goblin near the center firepit sat up. She held her breath as he looked about.

  Some of the human soldiers were pacing about near the front gate in an obvious attempt to keep warm. It was enough of a distraction. The goblin watched them for a moment before settling back down. She waited a moment before easing past the last of the sleepers and ducking into the doorway.

  She couldn’t smell if there might be a sentry. Her nose was ruined by the abundance of foul odors. Perhaps that was what kept her from being identified by the other goblins.

  A sharp voice rose from the chamber ahead, where candlelight flickered. The door was ajar and she saw the backs of several soldiers.

  “There’s no saving them,” the voice said. “We’ve gone over this backward and forward. The gobs here are a blessing from the Mother, and if we don’t take this chance, it means we all die.”

  Thistle recognized Kel’s voice speak next. She stepped closer to listen.

  “We don’t abandon our own. That’s why this is no option.”

  Another soldier spoke in a low grumble. “We only got a few meals’ worth from the provisions the gobs brought us. It’s already freezing. I can feel it in my bones, Sarge. This will be a bad winter, one for the books. We won’t last another week. You know this. It’s a hard fact. We leave a message for the zealots to care for the sick and those who can’t make it. Throw them on their mercy.”

  “Not with the tribals out there,” Kel said. “I don’t know which rumors are true and which aren’t, but there’s no way we can trust them. I won’t let our men fall into their hands. I wouldn’t let that happen to you. Will you let it happen to Gaspar? Or Little Stu? Or Barnes? Because they won’t be walking home with you or anyone until they get stronger.”

  “There’s no getting better from the shakes when you have nothing to eat,” the sharp voice said. “You’d have us all dead, Sergeant Kel.”

  “We’re still alive, private.”

  The conversation was over. Thistle backed away into the shadows as the soldiers emerged, bundled in their blankets.

  “Hopeless,” the grumbly voice whispered. “It’s like you said. He won’t budge.”

  “We had to try,” the sharp voice said. “We owe him that much. Grab your packs, boys. Meet by the gate. Has anyone changed their mind?”

  No one said anything.

  “We’ll draw a glyph of hope and luck for them once we’re clear.”

  They moved out into the courtyard. Thistle waited a moment to make sure no one else was leaving. Then she headed through the door.

  Kel was leaning over the table, his broad frame slumped. He reached as if to snuff out the candle but paused when he saw her. “It’s late.”

  Thistle pushed her hood back. “It’s me. This is an emergency. You can’t trust the letter from Captain August.”

  “How would you know about that?”

  “I was at their camp this afternoon. He’s dead and didn’t write that letter. The tribesmen attacked them. They have a large force out there, more than I can count.”

  “What proof do you have?”

  “I wasn’t able to take the practice letters. But someone was trying their best to copy his handwriting and signature. You can send your own scout to confirm the men who serve Pater are all dead, but I’m guessing even now the fort is surrounded. They were looting the camp and taking the horses this afternoon, but Chief Gelid somehow convinced them to stay and attack you once you leave the fort.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Why are you telling me this?”

  She paused before answering. “Because I believe my kind and your kind might have a chance.”

  “You’re holding something back. What do you have to gain from sharing this information? Was it a mistake taking your people in?”

  “No. What you did was an act of mercy and kindness.”

  “How can I know if any of this is true? And why is it that you’re the one talking to me and not your leader Noe?”

  Before she could answer, someone outside whistled. It was a crude signal, and not from a goblin.

  “I guess no one’s getting any sleep tonight,” Kel grumbled as he grabbed his sheathed sword from the peg it was hanging on.

  Thistle hurried to follow, acutely aware that the goblins outside would now be awake and that she would be seen.

  “The gate!” a guard above them called.

  A cluster of soldiers stood gathered in the darkness at the fort’s entrance. The gate stood open. The men held spears and shields and wore large packs.

  “You men stand down!” Kel shouted.

  “I’m sorry, Sarge,” the soldier with the sharp voice said. “But we’re leaving. You can catch up with us and join us, but I know you won’t. This is our chance. They said we can leave. We’ll send for help. But we won’t stay here to starve to death.”

  Kel strode towards them as the soldiers filed outside. “It’s a trap, private. There’s no truce to keep the tribals from attacking you.”

  But even as he moved to intercept his men, they brushed past him and marched o
utside. Their bootsteps crunched in the snow as they exited the fort.

  Kel didn’t follow.

  “Sarge?”

  “Close the gate, Jody.”

  After a final look at the shadows of the departing men, Private Jody pushed the gate shut and slammed down the crossbar. He was the last of the gate guards. The others had departed. Thistle couldn’t tell how many sentries remained at their posts on the parapets and towers.

  A sharp cry rose from somewhere outside the fort. It was a wild sound echoing all around them. The call was joined by more voices, dozens, and then many more. The hill above the fort was alive with men making animal sounds. The yips and howls rose into a furious, chaotic wail.

  The soldiers of North Fort had stepped outside of its protective walls, and Thistle understood too well what would come next.

  The tribesmen weren’t waiting for dawn to begin their attack.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Kel ran to the gate and began pushing it open. “Back inside!”

  “They’re coming,” Private Jody said.

  He was right. Thistle could hear the snapping of underbrush as scores of feet bounded downhill towards the group of departing soldiers. All pretense of stealth was abandoned. The tribesmen had their prey before them, exposed.

  Thistle tried to pull the gate shut. “They’re coming!”

  She couldn’t budge it. Kel had planted a foot down like a wedge.

  “Back away, goblin.”

  At the clearing where the road met the fort, a mass of moving shadows collided with the small group of soldiers. The soldiers had frozen in place. They were engulfed by the wave of tribesmen. There was a crash as stone weapons were driven down onto shields, helmets, and skulls. Screams and cries of pain were drowned out by the chorus of feral voices.

  Kel was poised to run out to help his surrounded men.

  Thistle grabbed his cloak and tugged at him. “There’s too many.”

  The swarm of fighters continued to surge around the soldiers. In seconds the last of them was knocked down. The tribesmen began to batter the fallen.

  Two tribesmen wearing tattered fur garb and brandishing hand axes broke off from the melee and headed for the open gate. Kel slipped his sword free and threw the scabbard down. His blade was long and he gripped the handle with both hands. He stepped out and in two sweeping motions cut both men down.