Goblin War Chief

by Gerhard Gehrke

  He worked the cup in his large hands. “Did I tell you I bought a house? Right in Pinnacle. I never thought I’d be able to afford it on a soldier’s salary. I lived in it for six weeks before we were sent up here.”

  “Any family?”

  “Just me. I hear the other men talking about their wives and kids and their problems and I thought, ‘I don’t need any of that.’ But it’s what keeps many of my men going, thinking they’ll make it to return home.”

  “What keeps you going?”

  “Dull routine and getting to bark orders at slackers.”

  “That’s the last of the broth. Don’t let it get cold.”

  As she walked from bed to bed, she saw most of the soldiers continued to slumber. She sat next to Wren and drew his blanket up over a shoulder.

  At the entryway, the cup clattered to the floor. Kel rose on shaky legs, but then collapsed with a thud.

  Wren sprang awake. “What happened to him?”

  “Shhh. Help me move him.”

  He opened his satchel. The light was dim, but he produced his bottles one at a time and felt around as if he had lost something. “I thought I took the medicine away from you. Now there’s a bottle missing. What did you do?”

  “What I had to. Grab his legs.”

  Kel was heavy enough that they had to drag him by the shoulders. No one in the infirmary stirred as they hauled him past. At the end of the long room was a hatchway that Thistle knew led to a cellar. It was where the men of the fort placed their dead. She had gone down into the fetid space just once, but it was perfect for what she had in mind. Together they lowered him as far down as they could before letting go. Kel landed with a thud.

  Thistle hurried to fetch her lamp but paused at the doorway to the courtyard.

  The crashing of sticks from the forest outside had stopped. The eerie silence only lasted a minute before it was interrupted by a shrill cry. This was followed by a swelling chant accompanied by the renewed click-clack clatter.

  The dark sky had taken on the color of a shallow stream. White streaks of clouds would soon turn gold as the sun rose.

  The tribesmen would attack at any moment, and they were making no attempts at surprising the defenders of the fort.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  She blew out the lamp. Her work beneath the floorboards was finished. Using her feet, she covered the trapdoor as best she could with the straw on the floor. There was nothing else to do but wait. Her heart had never beat so hard.

  Wren took her hand as they listened to the chaos outside.

  Shouts rose from just outside the fort. The wild yell of the tribesmen reached a new crescendo as they charged the wall. Hard thumps sounded on the roof of the infirmary as rocks and arrows rained down.

  “They’re inside! They’re inside!” a soldier in the nearest tower cried.

  Screams of rage and pain followed, and then hard footfalls on the parapets. Something crashed and splintered outside the doorway. A soldier was begging for help.

  “We can’t just hide here,” Wren said.

  Thistle stopped him from leaving the infirmary. “You won’t be safe. There’s nothing we can do. If Gelid’s with them, our people will be okay.”

  She saw something like relief in his eyes. He was scared. She felt it too. Whatever Kel was afraid of from the tribesmen might happen to them. Her reassurances to Wren were hollow words.

  A tribesman with a skull of white on his face stepped through the open doorway, wielding an axe.

  Thistle sprang at him, raising both arms and screamed. “Get out! This room is protected!”

  The man was panting heavily, his eyes wide and wild. He screamed back at her, a defiant yell that frightened her, but then he ran off. The scene repeated itself as more and more tribesmen passed by the doorway as they ransacked the fort, one or more bursting into the infirmary at a time only to be turned back. Wren joined Thistle in shooing them off.

  “It’s working,” Wren said giddily. “I can’t believe it’s working.”

  Someone began smashing in one of the shuttered windows. Thistle left Wren behind and ran outside. Tribesmen were everywhere. Armed goblins, too. The gates stood wide open, one halfway off its hinges. A human soldier, mercifully unconscious, was being dragged outside by his hair.

  At the shutters, a bald tribesman with rings piercing his cheeks was hacking away with a hatchet.

  Thistle clapped her hands as she moved towards him. “Get back. Get away. Leave this place alone!”

  The man turned on her. Blood smeared his mouth. He bared pink teeth and charged. She stumbled backward, raising her arms to ward off the blow. A pair of other tribesmen stopped the bald man. They began arguing in crude words Thistle couldn’t follow.

  Someone grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. It was Chief Gelid, his face lined in crimson streaks.

  “Thought I’d forgotten about you?”

  He set his spear down and struck her with the back of his hand. The blow dazed her but he kept his vice grip on her arm. The tribesmen hurried away.

  “Throwing in with the humans? Turning on your own kind?”

  Her cheek stung. She threw off his hand and backed up until there was no place to go. Gelid picked up his spear and closed in on her before pausing to look at the infirmary.

  “And what’s this? Their sick and dying in here? How is it the smell of this place doesn’t burn your nose?”

  Thistle wiped blood from her lip. “The men of Pinnacle helped care for our wounded. We’re aiding theirs who have fallen ill. They need to know we understand mercy and reason. No one here attacked our homes.”

  “You were at council in Mire Linda. You knew this was no mission of mercy.”

  He motioned for two of his goblins to seize her. She struggled but they were stronger. Other goblins entered the infirmary as she was led towards the gate.

  She could hear Wren shouting. “No! They’re under my care!”

  She twisted and jerked to see what was happening but couldn’t break free. Once outside she was thrust to the ground, where one of Gelid’s warriors hovered over her. She tried to rise and he kicked her back down. The smile on the warrior’s face broadened as she struggled to get up again.

  “Why are you enjoying this?”

  He didn’t reply. She fought back tears. All she could feel was hate for Gelid and Noe and any of the others who were assaulting the fort. A collective whup arose from the tribesmen inside. Perhaps there were goblins who were joining their howl of victory. A few tribesmen outside the walls added their own voices. Some were standing guard near a group of Pinnacle soldiers who knelt in the dirt, their hands bound behind their backs. The man who had been dragged out earlier was among them.

  Noe crouched next to her, a bow in hand and an empty quiver on one shoulder. “It’s over,” she said flatly.

  Thistle couldn’t bear to look at her. “You wanted to die in there, in battle, fighting the humans, didn’t you? Why not find more arrows and attack the tribesmen? And after that, we can march through all of Midsea until we’re ground to dust.”

  “I said it’s over. Now we go back home. You return to Boarhead and we never have to see one another ever again.”

  “Will Gelid allow me to return?”

  “Gelid’s not in command.”

  “And you are?”

  Noe let out a sigh. “You’re safe. You’re returning with us. Once you’re back, you can write whatever you will about me, when you’re not busy fighting off hunger and trying to plant so you have something to harvest and trade come spring.” She handed over Thistle’s pack. Thistle had left it in the infirmary. “Where’s your notebook?”

  “Gelid stole it,” she lied.

  “Did he now? I’m going to ask him. I want it. Nothing good will come from you undermining our accomplishment. This is a victory, Thistle. We took down the fort that the zealots couldn’t. They’ll fear us now. They’ll stay clear of our lands. And the men from the mountain will remember we fought together.�
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  “These men feared us before. Now they see we’re vulnerable.”

  Noe rose and slung her bow.

  “Wait,” Thistle said. “Maybe we’re not done here. While it’s true we’ve taken their fort, we can’t just abandon it. This place won’t burn easily. Why not mark it with runes? I know enough of them. That will discourage the zealots from ever using it and act as a reminder of what happened. And let me and Wren bury the dead. Give me that, at least. If ever another man from Pinnacle comes here, they’ll see we honored their fallen.”

  “You never quit, do you? Interesting idea. I’ll consult with Gelid. But for now, stay put.”

  A goblin warrior escorted Wren out through the gates. He had a swollen eye. His escort struggled to keep him from falling as they walked. Thistle got up to help and eased Wren to the ground.

  “What happened to him?” Noe asked.

  The guard shrugged. “Fool doctor. After you left, he fought to keep us out of the hospital.”

  “If I found out you did this, I’ll have your skin.”

  Noe left them but they remained under guard. Wren leaned heavy on Thistle as she sat with him. His body shuddered as he wept.

  “We tried,” she whispered. “We tried.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The fort didn’t burn, but not for lack of effort on the part of the tribesmen.

  They started a fire at the base of a tower. Black smoke rose but the flames never took, and they appeared to have exhausted all the easily found dry wood during the night. The ground around the fort was sodden.

  An argument broke out between the tribesmen leader, Jacob, and a few of his subordinates who might have been his officers or actual brothers. They looked quite similar. They all kept gesturing towards their captives. After some shoving, an agreement was made. About half of the tribesmen took the prisoners and got them moving down the road.

  The rest departed throughout the morning, many of them loaded down with weapons and anything else they could carry. They dutifully avoided looking at any goblin. After the tribesmen had gone, the morning grew quiet.

  Thistle hadn’t made any attempt to flee. She was resigned to the fact that she’d have to face Chief Gelid again. Noe hadn’t returned with a response to her request.

  Wren was asleep against her. She hadn’t stopped him when he took a dose of his medicine.

  More of the warband wandered outside. Thistle tried to decipher their expressions. They looked tired, but more than a few stole angry glances in her direction, only to turn away when she made eye contact. Finally Noe emerged, along with Chief Gelid. A detail of his warriors were assisting with the injured who couldn’t walk.

  Noe marched straight for Thistle. “We’re going home.”

  “What of my suggestion?” Thistle asked.

  “Make your runes. But leave their dead. There’s no time to dig graves. Then hurry and follow. If you tarry, you’ll be left behind.”

  “I want Wren to help me.”

  “He’ll be busy with the wounded. I’ve assigned One Stone to stay here with you until you finish whatever it is you need to do. He’ll protect you from any of Gelid’s warriors, but I’ve given explicit instructions you’re to be left alone.”

  “You think I need protection.”

  Noe’s lip curled into the faintest smile. “You’ve irritated him.”

  Thistle watched her leave.

  Wren had woken up and heard the exchange. “Just come with us now. Your plan…”

  She gestured for him to be silent and squeezed his hand. “Go. Care for our fallen. They need you. I’ll catch up.”

  He hurried to walk alongside the litter of a goblin who had been one of the first hurt. The procession made its way to the slope. They would be taking the game trails and keeping away from the road. The route would be more difficult, and Thistle wondered if it was to avoid the zealots or to keep clear of the tribesmen who, as had been proven, could change their minds unexpectedly.

  The notion of having to fight such people was troubling.

  One Stone appeared at her side and waited impatiently. “Noe said someone might try to hurt you.”

  “Yeah. It’s not you, is it?”

  He let out a laugh and then looked at her with confusion.

  She sighed. “Relax. Dumb joke. I’m glad to have your company. This shouldn’t take long.”

  Using muddy ash and sticks, she demonstrated a mark she had seen Lord’s soldiers use around their camp, but she made an adjustment. The soldiers believed in luck. She inverted the rune, remembering that their alignment, when changed, altered their meaning. With a few strokes of the muddy stick, she marked the gate.

  What was once luck would now be a curse.

  “Put this on the gates and walls. As many as you can. Up on the towers, too.”

  “Where are you going to be?” One Stone asked.

  “I’m getting all the inside doors.”

  He studied the mark and went to work.

  Bodies lay about in the camp where they had fallen. This had been no battle but a slaughter. She drew several runes before moving to the infirmary. She braced herself before entering.

  It was as she had feared. Everyone inside had been murdered in their beds, some as they tried to rise and flee. It was impossible to step around the broad pools of sticky blood.

  She couldn’t help but look at the men’s faces. Eyes were locked open in terror. The defenders of the fort had come so far, endured so much, been sustained by the efforts of their companions, only to find brutality in their final moments.

  “Are you okay in there?” One Stone called. He was just outside a window where the shutters had been torn away.

  Was he spying on her?

  “Are you done with the outside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then go up on the parapet. Mark each tower.”

  She heard him ascend the closest ladder. She imagined Noe had put him to the task of watching her in case the notebook once again appeared in her possession.

  She had to hurry.

  The trapdoor that led to the cellar lay open. Her breath caught. No doubt the tribesmen would have found the makeshift morgue. If they had gone down to desecrate the dead, Kel might have been discovered.

  She and Wren had only taken a few minutes to try to maneuver other bodies to conceal him.

  She descended into the dark space but didn’t want to light a lamp even if she could find one. The musty aroma mixed with the reek of old and new blood had become such a backdrop, she barely noticed it. She moved towards where Kel lay under three of his fallen comrades.

  He appeared undisturbed. She pulled the corpses away and put an ear to his chest. Heard nothing. She probed his neck with her fingers in search of a pulse. The dose she had given him of Wren’s poppy paste had been a wild guess. She knew she had poisoned him, and it might have been enough to kill him.

  His hand fell on hers. She almost cried out. He jerked her close, his other hand seizing her hair.

  “What…did you do?” he asked, his words thick and slurred.

  “Saved you. They were coming. Someone had to live.”

  “My men.”

  “They’re gone. I’m sorry. But you still have a chance to make it out of here. I hid your sword down here.”

  His grip tightened. She yipped and thought her scalp might tear free from her head. “What do you mean, gone?”

  She couldn’t stop the flow of tears. “Dead. Those who could walk, they took with them.”

  “Who? Your people?”

  “No. The mountain tribesmen.”

  He let her go.

  She fell against one of the corpses next to him. “I couldn’t save the others. The ones in the hospital—they murdered them.”

  He struggled to get up but collapsed. He was grasping about, as if looking for something to hang on to, but the wide cellar had nothing to hold. She pulled the sword free from its hiding place beneath another dead body and handed it to him. He used it to get up.<
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  She remained kneeling. “Do what you have to do. Everyone is gone. But the zealots will return. You’ll have to hurry. Go home to Pinnacle and your house.”

  “I can barely stay standing.”

  “That’ll pass.”

  He was breathing heavy as if trying to catch his breath. “Don’t worry, little goblin. I’m not going to hurt you.” He began feeling around at his shirt. He pulled the notebook out from under his belt and held it up to the meager light coming down from the trapdoor. “What is this?”

  “Something you’ll bring with you back to your city. Share it with those who will want to know what happened.”

  “You know I can’t read, right? My corporal does that for me.”

  Thistle let out a laugh. “No, I didn’t know that. Take it with you. It’s important.”

  “My men,” he said, and then he collapsed to the ground. He fought for a moment before his head dropped back. He was asleep, but now he was breathing audibly.

  Thistle placed his sword and the notebook in his arms. Then she climbed out of the cellar. One Stone was squatting nearby.

  “I thought you were taking too long,” he said.

  She tensed up. How had he moved so quietly through the infirmary without her hearing?

  “What did you hear?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I won’t say anything. I don’t care about your notebook or why Noe wants it destroyed. I don’t care about whoever you have hidden down there. Right now, I just want to go back home.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Goblin feet had turned the game trail leading from the fort into sludge.

  Thistle found more than one dropped bandage stained brown with dried blood. The packhorses Gelid had captured from the zealots left piles of manure and no one was bothering to try to cover the tracks. The warband’s procession was no longer following the dictates of stealth but was favoring speed.

  It wasn’t until noon that she and One Stone caught up. A hunter at the rear ushered them forward.

  Wren was holding up the back end of a litter as they ascended a rocky incline. As Thistle moved ahead to help, One Stone stopped her.