Goblin War Chief

by Gerhard Gehrke

  A goblin shoved Thistle aside. He pushed at the second gate, trying to open it. It was one of Gelid’s warriors.

  “No!” She grappled with him and managed to pull him down to the ground even as he fought to pry her arms off. But now another goblin was at the door and shoving it open.

  She bit the hand that was grabbing her arm and tackled the second goblin. He began punching at her as she clung to him. The first goblin backed away as Kel strode inside. His dark figure loomed over Thistle and the other goblin warrior. Kel lifted him off her and threw him outside as easily as if he had been a pesky rooster.

  The sergeant slammed the gate shut and dropped the bar. Someone in the nearest tower was ringing a bell.

  “Who’s still up there?” Kel called as he jogged to the center of the courtyard.

  The ringing stopped. “It’s Private Hal, sir. Simon’s with me. What’s going on? The tribals are out there!”

  “Buckle down. No one gets over the wall.”

  A heavy thump came at the gate. From outside, the horde’s collective hoots and cries resonated as the tribesmen pressed in at the front of the fort.

  Thistle faced one of the goblins who had tried to open the gate. He had backed away and was joined by a group of three of Gelid’s warriors who had recovered their spears.

  Noe stood just behind them, her bow in hand. “Move, Thistle.”

  “Kel, look out!” Thistle cried as the goblins charged.

  She had never seen anyone move so fast.

  He spun and blocked a spear thrust, stepping inside the warrior’s reach. The other two had to move back but were hampered by the other goblins gathered nearby. Kel smashed his elbow into the closest warrior’s face and then thrust his sword forward into the throat of the next. The goblin collapsed, gurgling. But Kel kept moving. The third goblin had adjusted his grip and tried for a short stab upward. Kel drove the pommel of his sword into the goblin’s face with a loud crack. The warrior crumpled. The goblin with the broken nose staggered away.

  Noe was drawing back on her bow, an arrow set to fire.

  Thistle grabbed a plate that lay in the dirt at her feet and flung it. It upset Noe’s shot and the arrow sailed into the wall of the fort. Thistle threw herself at the war chief and they crashed to the ground. Even in the faint light, Noe’s eyes shone with rage. Noe was much stronger and she wrestled Thistle onto her back. She had dropped her bow and produced a knife. As Thistle tried to press her away, the blade’s point inched towards her throat.

  The flat of Kel’s sword clobbered her. Noe fell on top of Thistle. Thistle fought to shove her off.

  Kel was doing a slow turn, his sword pointing outward. “Step forward and face me.”

  But none of the other goblins dared move. None of them held weapons. Two of Gelid’s warriors were wounded. The other was dead or dying.

  “Stoke that fire,” he said. “We need light.”

  A pair of goblins moved to add wood to the firepit.

  The pounding at the gate became a solid thump-thump-thump as a heavy object was driven against the heavy planks.

  Thistle gathered the dropped knife and bow as Noe moaned and struggled to sit up.

  Wren was at the dying warrior’s side, holding the goblin’s hand. The nearest firepit returned to life, throwing off enough light to see. Two guards were visible on the parapet to the right of the gate. They fired their crossbows and ducked down as stones and arrows whizzed overhead.

  “We can’t see what we’re firing at,” one said. “Our oil…”

  Kel’s attention remained on the goblins around him. “We’re out. Get down here with your crossbows. When the gate breaks, fall back to the hospital. I’ll delay them.”

  Thistle grabbed a lamp and lit it at the fire. Most of the goblins were retreating to the edges of the courtyard. The tribesmen outside sounded like hundreds of hungry coyotes. Kel and the few soldiers who remained stood no chance.

  In their frenzy, would the tribesmen stop their slaughter once the humans were dead?

  She shoved the lamp into Wren’s hands. “Follow me.”

  The goblin Wren had been comforting was dead. He looked confused as she grabbed the fallen goblin and pulled the body behind her.

  “What are you doing?” Wren asked.

  She ignored the question as she dragged the body to the ladder. Wren moved to help, pushing from beneath with his free hand. One rung at a time, they hauled him up. The two guards she had seen had already descended to the courtyard.

  “Get down from there!” Kel said.

  Wren hesitated but she motioned for him to push the body to the top of the parapet. She took the lamp from him. Beneath her, the wall vibrated as the gate buckled.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Wren crouched next to her. “What are you apologizing for?”

  “I’m not apologizing to you.”

  She hoisted the dead warrior over the top of the wall, where he hung limp. A rock sailed past her, narrowly missing her head. She knew if she ducked, she would lose all her nerve and wouldn’t stand back up. Upturning the lamp, she dumped the oil over the body and lit it on fire.

  “Stop!” Wren said.

  She heaved the burning body over, where it landed in the midst of the tribesmen clustered around the gate. A group of them carrying a log they had been using as a battering ram dropped their burden and moved back as they looked at the corpse in naked fear.

  “Away from here!” Thistle cried. “This fort is under our protection. Curses and plagues be upon any who attack us.”

  There were so many of them in the shadows. Tribesmen began shouting up at her. But no more stones and arrows flew.

  In the light of the stoked courtyard fire, she knew she was silhouetted and would make a perfect target. She searched the shadows of the tribesmen but couldn’t see if Dust or Jacob was with them. Their cries began to die down. After a moment they went completely silent. Even as the fire on the goblin corpse guttered and went out, the tribesmen began to withdraw.

  She let out a sharp breath.

  A pair of sentries were in the closest tower. One raised his crossbow but his companion stopped him. Both men appeared barely able to stand, yet they weren’t visibly injured. Thistle guessed they were among the sick who possessed enough strength to stand watch.

  She strained her ears against the night. Soon came whistles, followed by bird calls. But all were distant sounds and, for the moment, the attack was over.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  “They’ll be back,” Wren said.

  Thistle nodded. “Whatever spell they believe we have on us won’t last. Maybe it’s already gone and we lost it when they saw us fight and die alongside them at the zealot camp.”

  “But did you have to do what you did?”

  Thistle climbed back down to the courtyard. “Worry less about what we’ve done and help me figure out what we do next.”

  He came down the ladder and pressed close when he spoke. “You want to save a few humans and not make new enemies. But now it looks like we have a new enemy we didn’t have before.”

  “We don’t know what we have with the tribesmen. Chief Gelid’s out there somewhere and his new allies won’t be pleased. It’s time he realized he’s playing with fire.”

  “When he hears what you did…”

  Kel had rounded up Noe and all five of Gelid’s warriors who were inside the fort. They were gathered near the fire, where a pair of armed soldiers watched them.

  “How did you get your weapons?” Kel asked.

  Noe stared back at him defiantly. None of the prisoners spoke. The rest of the goblins were all grouped together near the stable under the watch of two more of Kel’s men. As they had entered, the goblins had been disarmed and their bows and spears placed in a cubbyhole. Thistle peered inside. Most of the weapons were still there.

  Private Jody raised a lantern and hurried over. “Back from there. Move over with the others, you and the doctor.”

  Thistle raised
her hands to show she was unarmed. “Sergeant Kel? The weapons were taken while your men were bundled up from the cold. They’re sick and half-asleep. But don’t blame this attack on all of us. Like you, we’re divided.”

  Noe was staring daggers at her.

  Kel cradled his sword in his arms as he moved towards her. “What happened outside? Why did they stop attacking?”

  “The tribesmen are superstitious of goblinkind. I don’t pretend to understand it. But they fear us. I don’t presume to hope that what I did will make them leave.”

  “Perhaps we will have to burn more of you to make that happen.” The humor she had seen in his face was gone.

  From the other side of the wall, a click-clack sound of branches being struck together began. The noise only grew. It sounded like sticks were being smacked against trees and spears beaten against the ground.

  Click-clack. Click-clack.

  The steady rhythm didn’t waver. The tribesmen hadn’t gone far, and now it sounded as if they were there to stay.

  “They did this before,” Kel said. “They’d keep it up all night as if to get under our skin.”

  “Did it work?”

  “We’re still here.”

  Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.

  Kel motioned to the goblins by the stable. “I want every goblin here by this fire. Come on. All of you.”

  It took a moment for some to comply, as more than a few required others to carry them. The guards watched carefully, with nervous hands gripping spears and crossbows.

  “Sergeant Kel, what are you doing?” Thistle asked.

  “You too. I’m sorry, but we have to keep an eye on you until this resolves.”

  With his sword he drew a line around the goblins. “We don’t have a place to lock you up. But if you step over this line, you’ll get hurt.”

  “We’re helping you,” Thistle said. “We’re caring for your sick. I stopped the attack at your gates.”

  “Maybe that’s the case, but I’m not deaf. I hear the signal whistles of your kind and know something’s not right. Right now, if you want me to trust you, you’ll stay put. I don’t have the time to tie the lot of you up. We don’t have enough rope. Now mind the line.”

  After Kel had left them, one of Gelid’s wounded hissed, “Traitor.” Streams of blood were running from the nostrils of his ruined nose. “You’d favor human over your kind.”

  She bristled but tried not to let it show.

  The goblin warrior didn’t let up. “You’re a snake who’d eat its own children. A choking weed. May your womb rot. If only the raiders had slain all of your village to keep your stain from spreading throughout Athra.”

  “Enough,” Noe said. “Save your breath. Save your warmth. Be quiet and listen, all of you. Because this will be over soon.”

  The purr in the goblin leader’s voice held the confidence of a hunter certain of her prey. Thistle’s father had taught his children to never show such disrespect to even the simplest of game. So many things could spoil a shot, and a skilled hunter would do everything in their power to eliminate even the smallest oversight that might cause a miss. Sound, smell, and every obstacle between the shooter and the game needed to be considered.

  Thistle felt certain that Noe hadn’t expected to be able to take the fort from the inside. Had she thought the humans would kill them? Would that have spurred the tribesmen on to swarm over the walls when they heard the goblins within being murdered?

  The alternative was that Noe had a death wish and wanted to die alongside her warriors with no thought to what her actions might trigger.

  Wren crouched next to the wounded warrior who had been insulting Thistle. “It’s broken. This will hurt.”

  Before the warrior could prepare himself, Wren placed his hands against the goblin’s face and with a pop straightened the damaged nose. The warrior groaned. Wren gave the man a drop of the painkiller from his bottle. In moments the warrior settled down and began breathing calmly.

  The night beyond the walls brightened. At first Thistle thought a late moon was rising, but no, the light was coming from all around them. On the hillside, a fire now burned. Soon another dozen were flickering and illuminating the high branches of the trees.

  The cadence continued to echo. Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.

  But then above the rhythmic clamor came bird whistles. The familiar hoots and trills could only mean one thing: Gelid and the rest of the warriors from the zealot camp had arrived. And Noe’s smile grew broad.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  A soldier in one of the towers cried out in pain. He came limping to the top of a nearby ladder and almost fell as he collapsed on the platform.

  Thistle stood and waved her arms so the guards around the goblins would see her. “Let me help him!”

  A nearby guard was one of the humans who had been helping in the infirmary. While the man didn’t know Thistle, he’d know Wren and would have seen him assisting those who were sick. She took Wren’s arm and, before he could protest, led him over the line in the dirt Kel had drawn. There they waited.

  No one fired.

  “The doctor and I are going to get that man down.”

  The guard from the infirmary appeared lost as he looked for direction. Finally he raised a fist and signaled the others. “Go on. Help him.”

  She and Wren climbed halfway up the ladder and managed to bring the dangling soldier down to the ground. He was out cold. A guard came to assist and with Thistle carrying his feet, they brought him to the infirmary. A massive wound marked the left side of his face. The eye above the contusion wept red.

  Either a partially deflected arrow or a slung stone, she guessed.

  They got him laid out on a blanket thrown on the floor. There were no open beds.

  Kel appeared at their side and waited for Wren to make his assessment.

  “Concussion. He’ll live.”

  The odor in the ward was worse than ever. The sheets and bedclothes needed changing. After getting the fallen sentry settled, Wren looked around helplessly at the other sick and wounded humans.

  “Kel, let us continue to help these men,” Thistle said.

  He dismissed the guard. “You took a chance getting my man down from the wall. Thank you.” He settled in on a stool by the infirmary entrance. His sword remained in his arms. The sergeant slumped wearily as he considered the two goblins.

  Thistle refilled a lamp and lit it. Wren wasn’t waiting. He moved to a patient who was enduring a coughing spasm.

  “When your people attack, will they take prisoners?” Kel asked.

  Thistle shook her head.

  “It’s probably better that way,” Kel said. “When it comes to my men, be sure to make it quick.”

  “It doesn’t have to end like that. I can still try to hold them back.”

  “I hear them out there, your kind alongside the tribesmen. When they discover I have fewer than ten men watching the walls, they’ll come. The only reason we held the tribals and zealots off last spring was because we still had Lord and his company with us. Some of my best were still alive.” He sighed. “It’ll be dawn when they come, or just before.”

  Thistle didn’t know what to say.

  “I also heard the words your fellow goblins said to you,” he continued. “Perhaps you need to think about sneaking out of here to save your own skin. You know the way. My men can lower you down.”

  “I’m not leaving. But you might make it out. Take the last of your men who can still go. I can create a distraction at the front.”

  “Ha. A big lump like me doesn’t sneak. And I won’t leave anyone behind. We’re surrounded. It’s no good. My boys fought well. We obeyed our orders.”

  “If…” she began. She licked her lips. “If you did happen to make it out, will you remember that not all of us goblins wanted to hurt you?”

  “I know now your people are as complicated as mine.”

  Wren finished his rounds. He sat with his back against the bed
of a patient who suffered from the shakes. The soldier’s hands twitched as he slept. In moments, Wren’s head was tilted forward and he was snoring softly. Kel continued to sit upright by the door, but his eyes were closed.

  Thistle had lost sight of her bag but knew it was out by the fire. Following a hunch, she went to Wren’s satchel, which he kept clutched at his side. When she ever so gently opened it, she confirmed what she had suspected. He had taken his medicine back.

  With great care, she took a bottle. He didn’t stir.

  Thistle went outside to the fire. She added the contents of a bucket of drinking water to a pot which held a ham bone and the remnants of the last batch of broth. There were enough embers for the contents to slowly simmer as she waited.

  When it was ready, she poured a cup. Her feet crunched on the snow as she crossed the courtyard. The air was still, carrying the click-clack from beyond the walls perfectly. Most of the goblins waiting within the circle were awake as she brought the cup to them. Above, a guard shifted in place, no doubt to keep warm. She could only hope the guard remembered Kel had approved her to be away from the others.

  Thistle handed the cup to one of the wounded. “Everyone gets a sip. Pass this along, as it will be the last of it for a while.”

  He accepted it, sipped, and passed it along.

  Before Thistle could depart, Noe spoke. “You haven’t betrayed us, have you, sister?”

  “You know I haven’t. We want different things from this. I don’t want any more of us to die.”

  She left before Noe could reply. She went to make another cup. This one she prepared for Kel.

  He was trying to make himself comfortable on the stool when she handed the broth to him.

  “The sun rises soon,” he said. “Save it for the sick.”

  “You’ll need your strength. All of us will.”