Goblin War Chief

by Gerhard Gehrke

  One of the rear guard said, “No lingering.”

  One Stone motioned for the guard to go on. “We’ll catch up in a minute.”

  “What is it, One Stone?” she asked a little too sharply. She had a cramp in her side, her stomach was protesting the lack of lunch, breakfast, and anything else resembling a true meal for longer than she could remember, and she thought she might fall by the wayside at any moment and sleep for a week, zealots, wild tribesmen, freezing temperatures, and coyotes be damned.

  It was the first time she had ever seen the cocksure young hunter stammer.

  “I want you to be with me.”

  She paused to digest the words and wondered if she had heard them right. “What?”

  His mustard skin turned almost brown as he blushed. “When we go back to Boarhead. I’ll need help. You’re smart, smarter than me or anyone else I know.”

  She let out a small laugh that she immediately regretted. “I haven’t decided if I’m going back.”

  “What do you mean? Of course you’re going back. Where else will you go? Our raid is done. Noe won’t want you in Mire Linda. I don’t understand.”

  “There will be our wounded to care for. Right now, I can’t see past that.”

  “It’s Wren, isn’t it?”

  “Why does it have to be anyone? Where’s all this coming from?”

  “I thought…now that you were no longer wearing Rime’s ribbon…”

  She put a hand to her loose tangles of hair. “I used it as a bandage. It doesn’t mean anything. Rime and I weren’t exactly engaged.”

  “Then why not me?”

  “Because I don’t like you,” she said gently. “Don’t give me that look; you know what I mean. If you’re the new chief, then you’ll have your pick. There are survivors from Thousand Groves who will need a place to go. You might discover you won’t have time for a wife. Besides, we’ve never done more than share village songs together.”

  “It’s because Rime had your eye.”

  “Rime was sweet. Is sweet,” she said with a sigh. “He might come back, him, along with Spicy. Don’t talk about Rime like he’s dead. We don’t know that. And even if he does return, I’m so far from thinking about marriage that it might as well be talking about flying to the moon.”

  “I could order you.”

  She jutted her jaw out towards him. “Then order me.”

  The hunter on the trail ahead whistled and motioned for them to follow.

  “One Stone, if you’re going to be chief of anything, you’ll need to do better than this. Everything you say from the moment you agreed to becoming Boarhead’s leader carries weight. You have responsibilities beyond your own needs. And so do I. And when the time’s right, I’ll come back home. I can’t make any more promises than that.”

  She caught up to Wren and took over at the back end of the litter. The goblin carrying the front didn’t seem to register the change as he trudged along at a steady pace. The patient they were carrying was clutching tight.

  “You missed all the excitement,” Wren said. “Chief Gelid and Noe had it out. He took his handful of warriors and went off. I only caught part of it. Of course, he left his wounded for us to take care of.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “There are more villages south of the fort.”

  Thistle thought about what she knew of the geography. “From what I’ve heard, some of those are towns with walls.”

  “Yeah. Gelid knows that too. He doesn’t seem to care. But Noe didn’t allow any of the others to go with him. Your buddy Arens is still with us.”

  “We have our first split, then.”

  “But Noe held her ground. Said we were done and it’s time we went home.”

  The news should have made her happy, but for the moment it just underscored how far they had traveled and how far they would have to go to make Athra.

  “What took you so long to catch up?” Wren asked.

  “Busy morning. I had a fort to curse, a human envoy to resurrect, and a marriage proposal to turn down.”

  “Is that all? I’ve been dealing with a pebble in my shoe, but we haven’t slowed down enough for me to take it out.”

  “What a wise goblin. Noe would have you thrashed for stopping.”

  Wren smirked as he limped along beside her. “I doubt it. Lately she’s letting just about everything slide. So…One Stone. He’s the one for you, is he? Or did you tell him you’re putting your name forward as chief and you’d take him on as consort?”

  “Can we get through today? I’m not ready for another conversation on the topic of my love life.”

  “I thought that’s how you goblins in Boarhead liked it, all flowery words and songs and ribbons. We savages in Thousand Groves just knock the targets of our affection over the head and drag them back to our hovels. Boom, married, no fussing with poems.”

  The goblin at the front of the litter gave them both a strange look.

  Wren and Thistle laughed until someone shushed them.

  “We’re going to be okay,” Wren said.

  Thistle nodded. How simple it would be if her only decision was which suitor she would allow to woo her, like a child’s tale where dragons were evil and goblins good and champions saved their sweethearts. Humans never appeared in those stories.

  He nudged her. “I want to hear you say it.”

  “What?”

  “That you believe we’re going to make it—you, me, all of us.”

  “How much of your medicine have you taken?”

  “Enough to keep walking for another day. Now say it.”

  She adjusted her grip on the litter. “All right. We’ll make it. We will, if we try.”

  Wren didn’t press her on what she was planning to do once they made it to Mire Linda. Certainly there was plenty of work to be done as a doctor’s assistant. The wounded would require ongoing help for the months to come, as some of the injuries were grievous.

  Boarhead was no longer her home. She decided that within the first couple of days of their return journey. She waited for an opportunity to speak with One Stone, to smooth things over from their last uncomfortable conversation, but the young hunter avoided her.

  Noe also proved unavailable. Thistle wanted to know where she stood in her eyes. But each morning as they broke camp, the warband leader went off with a few scouts and wasn’t seen again until night.

  Thistle got up before dawn five days into their trek and made her way to the stream near their camp. Like the last several mornings, it was below freezing. When Noe rose and came down for a wash, Thistle was waiting.

  Noe spotted her immediately. “You breathe too loud to be out here away from camp.”

  “It’s the only way I could get you alone.”

  “Go back to camp. Our voices will carry.”

  “There’s no one out here and I’m speaking soft enough.”

  Noe crouched by the water and splashed some on her face and neck. Then she scooped up a few handfuls and drank.

  Thistle squatted beside her. “I thought you should know what I’m planning.”

  “Why should it concern me?”

  “I’ll be staying in Mire Linda.”

  Noe paused only for a moment. In the poor light, her face was difficult to read.

  Thistle tried to keep the shiver out of her voice. “I’ll be assisting Wren. So unless you or Chief Valens object…”

  “That’s up to Valens, isn’t it? You may think you understand how things are with me and my husband or within our village. You’re wrong. But we don’t need a sage. If you decide to play nurse for the winter with your boy Wren, then Valens will provide shelter and whatever you need. Like I said, what you do is not my concern.”

  “You made it your concern when you told Wren to steal my journal.”

  “Both failed. I suppose if I shake you down myself, I won’t find it. I suppose you’ve curried favor with one of my hunters who’s holding it for you. I’ve given up trying to control you. Write
what you will.”

  “I was wrong to criticize you. But you were wrong to ignore me.”

  Noe rubbed more water on her arms before rising and shaking droplets from her hands.

  “Noe, your village looks to you. And when word spreads about what we’ve done, all Athra will. You’re more than a chief over a village ever was. You say we don’t need sages and that they hide when trouble comes. I didn’t hide. There’s a role for us.”

  “I’m not objecting to your presence if you stay in my village. I’ll turn no goblin away. But I don’t have to keep you in my company.”

  “I want more than that. You wanted to start a war with the humans. We’ve done that. Now we’ll need to communicate with the other villages throughout Athra. Come spring, we’ll need reinforcements to patrol the lands near the sea. We’ll need to account for how we use resources. What if each village to itself is no longer an option? I want access to your library so I can learn how we did it in the past. There might be lessons for us in how the humans have governed themselves.”

  “You certainly have a lot planned. Right now, I’m going to take my scouts out and make sure we don’t get ambushed when we move out this morning.”

  Thistle sighed.

  “Why couldn’t you have gone to Firebloom with the others?” Noe asked as she turned away.

  “Because this is my work. This is what a sage is supposed to do.”

  “Last I heard, you were only an apprentice.”

  “I’m learning as quickly as I can.”

  Noe didn’t linger. She returned to camp to gather her scouts and pass along the day’s orders. Athra was close and a storm was coming. Winter was upon them. In the cold days to come, Thistle knew they’d be tested beyond anything they had faced during Lord’s raid on Boarhead or their own attack on the humans around the sea. Her people needed to be strong. Goblin women like Noe would set the example. But Thistle saw no chance of victory without wisdom.

  Goblin lore passed its stories through song. In songs they reminded themselves of their identity.

  But it was in the writing of their sages that they preserved the details of their history, where they could treasure their victories and learn from their mistakes.

  Thistle resolved to do just that.

  Epilogue

  To the ruler of Pinnacle:

  I, Thistle, humble sage in service to Athra and the goblins of the hills to the north of the Inland Sea, send my greetings.

  Our people and yours have never met face to face. But while the distance is great, it is not so wide that we don’t share common cause and concern.

  Our greatest wish is to open peaceful relations between us.

  We have a shared foe in Pater the Zealot. While our desire is for the Empire of the Inland Sea to respect our sovereignty, it has become necessary for us to respond to years of provocation with force. They have held our kind as chattel. Their hunters journey onto our land as if it were their own.

  While we do not know the facts of your dispute with the Empire, we assure you that we would welcome the opportunity to examine your grievance and weigh its merit.

  Your authority stretches to North Fort. We consider this the boundary between us.

  If any future envoy is to be sent, please remain on the road nearest the shore of the sea until we can receive such a visit properly. Any incursion inland without goblin escort will be misconstrued.

  All relations must begin somewhere. This letter is my people reaching out to you in friendship.

  It is my personal and fondest desire that the bearer of this letter, a sergeant under your command, return to you in good health.

  Thistle

  The Sage of Athra

  ***

  Foam and sleet floated on the brackish water lapping onto the muddy shore.

  The goblin scout had become preoccupied with a rich cluster of whelks living beneath a large rock and didn’t notice the outline of a boat until it was sailing straight at him. He stumbled as he waded back to dry land. Figures were moving on the forward deck of the vessel.

  Athra’s scouts had seen no sign of zealot soldiers for weeks. But here, now, at this spot, the invasion War Chief Noe had warned them all about was happening. Reprisal wasn’t going to wait until spring. The humans were there for their revenge.

  There was no one to signal. He had to run before he was intercepted so he could deliver the warning.

  He pushed through the rushes and scrambled up the bank, where he paused among a line of juniper bushes. A sound carried on the cold breeze. Voices. Children’s voices, and some of them goblin.

  Even as all his instincts prodded him to run, he turned to watch the boat as it emerged from the low mist clinging to the surf.

  Human sailors were bringing down the sails as others clustered along the bow in preparation for their landing. On the back deck he saw goblins. They were indeed children and they were racing about as if at play.

  Slaves. Had to be, he reasoned. Why else would they be on board?

  But human children were moving among them.

  A man at the center of the boat barked orders. He then leaned down to a goblin who was standing on a crate near the mast. The goblin pointed towards the shore as the bow touched ground. The man nodded and patted the goblin on the shoulder. They consulted together, not as master and servant but as equals.

  The scout strained his ears.

  A new voice boomed, deep and guttural. “Is this cursed voyage at an end?”

  The form that rose next to the mast was large and serpent-like.

  No. It wasn’t possible. The scout had seen the creature once before, when rescuing Thistle and her brother, and he had hoped he would never see it again.

  The dragon.

  The dragon was here with a boat full of humans. None of it made sense.

  All the scout could think to do was run.

  Thanks for reading Goblin War Chief. Please take a moment to leave a review or rating.

  Spicy and Thistle’s adventures continue in part five of the Goblin Reign series, Goblin Pariah.

  For updates and free short stories in the Goblin Reign universe, visit gerhardgehrke.com.