by Kumo Kagyu
The goblins beat cruelly at the sides of their mounts, pushing them onward.
“GROOROGGR!!”
First, they would deal with the captain. Then, the oarsman. Then, they would climb aboard and finish the job.
The goblins grinned and laughed, imagining the panicked faces of the elves. The sight of the prideful forest people spilling their guts upon the deck would be delightful indeed.
The dark imaginings made the goblins grasp their weapons that much tighter. They carried crude stone spears and arrows, along with slings. Primitive though the weapons were, they were more than potent enough to take a life.
“GGRO! GRRB!”
The guard yowled calamitously, and the other goblins clicked their tongues. He was getting too full of himself. They would have to correct that later.
“GRORB!”
“GGGROORB!”
Ignoring the yammering guard, the goblins held their weapons at the ready, drew their bowstrings tight.
The guard complained about this with gusto, but when he found that no one was listening to him, he glumly raised his own hand spear.
Spurring on their mounts, the goblins began their attack.
They aimed in the general direction of the creaking boat; there was no leader to coordinate their offensive.
“GORB! GBRROR!”
Nearly half the arrows that came raining down simply splashed into the water.
Some, though, not only the arrows but also the spears and sling-stones, managed to connect with the rower.
“!”
The fiend was dead! That was the collective thought of every goblin there. Some even cheered.
But…
“—?”
Without so much as a quiver or sound, the rower continued to row.
Had the attack not been intense enough? Or had the oarsman, by sheer good luck, avoided fatal injury?
Taken aback, the goblins nonetheless prepared for another attack. But in that instant:
“One…!”
A warrior in grimy leather armor leaped into their midst and slashed the guard’s throat.
“GBBOOROB?!”
The monster screamed and crumpled, and Goblin Slayer kicked him out of the way, into the river.
The ensuing splash was the signal.
“Bbffah!”
The signal to the second ship being pulled behind the first one.
This ship, whose sides were protected by defensive shields and which had the blessing of the wind sprites, was totally unaffected by the arrows.
High Elf Archer threw off the fur covering that had been concealing the vessel and stood from where she had been hiding behind the armor.
“You stinking, stupid, ugly little—! How dare you come so close to my own home!”
Still on one knee, she brought her great bow to bear in an elegant motion and loosed three bud-tipped arrows simultaneously. They flew through the air with a whistle.
“GOOB?!”
“GROBO?!”
The bolts pierced the eyes and throats of goblin riders, throwing them from their wolves as if they were already drowning. High Elf Archer’s impeccable technique was not in the least affected by the swaying of the boat or the fog that obscured her vision.
Her long ears twitched, taking in every sound on the battlefield.
“Orcbolg! They’re coming from the right!”
In lieu of an answer, she heard a goblin cry, “GBOR?!” and she nodded in satisfaction.
“I’ve gotta say, though, preparing a whole second boat just to distract them with the similar sounds seems like a waste of time…”
“True, it needed Dragontooth Sailors and everything,” Dwarf Shaman grumbled, drawing his ax and peeking out from behind the shielding for a better look.
The two Dragontooth Warriors, who had been dressed in overclothes and placed on the leading boat, continued to row faithfully even in the face of the attack. Arrows and spears had passed through their largely vacant bodies, or occasionally lodged in a bone.
“Oh, but we have to reduce our speed…” Priestess put her pointer finger to her lips even as she huddled down and clung to her sounding staff. “Goblin Slayer’s on the shore and everything.”
“Mm. I shall go ashore as well, so please do convince them to slow.”
Ready with a Swordclaw in hand, Lizard Priest cried: “Hrrraaaaahhhahhhh!” and flung himself toward the goblins on the shore, his tail flailing, crushing the neck of the first monster he encountered.
Priestess cried out and grabbed hold of the shielding as the boat rocked with the force of his leap.
“Can’t you jump a little more quietly?!” Dwarf Shaman demanded. Then he called to Priestess, “You still aboard?”
“I-I’m okay!”
Priestess and Dwarf Shaman were mainly supposed to stay out of the way, so their job was to deal with any goblins who happened to get onto the boat.
“Huh, don’t you worry. I won’t let them get…anywhere near us!” High Elf Archer’s posture wavered not an inch as she let loose another three arrows.
Three screams followed. Her archery bordered on magical.
“Nine… Ten!”
“GROOBOO?!”
Goblin Slayer had jumped ahead into the mist, and now he swung his shield to the left, trusting to luck to strike something. The polished and sharpened edge tore through a goblin’s face.
He moved again, relying on the scream to guide him, piercing the creature’s throat with his sword.
The monster waved its arms, trying to pull the sword out; Goblin Slayer kicked it away and grabbed the dagger from its belt.
He flipped the dagger into a reverse grip as he heard the howling of wolves coming closer. Even as he did so, his left hand searched through his item pouch and came up with a leather strap with stones tied to either end.
“Hmph.”
He let the strap fly; it spun, skimming the ground, and from somewhere in the fog came the yelp of a wolf.
“GORB?!”
There followed the sound of something collapsing to the ground, and a goblin’s shout.
The bolas had wrapped themselves around the legs of one of the bestial mounts.
Without pausing, Goblin Slayer jumped in that direction, cutting the throat of the goblin who had fallen.
To him, there was scant difference between the darkness of a cave and the limited visibility of the fog.
“Ten and one.”
Thus, it was Goblin Slayer who held the advantage when jumping into the maelstrom.
After all, the goblins could hardly tell who was friend and who was foe. A careless swipe of a weapon might strike an ally. Unlike in any cave, it was difficult to rely on numbers to overwhelm the enemy.
Not that any one goblin was especially concerned about what happened to the others, but they did hate to lose a shield that might have protected them.
“…A patrol, or perhaps a random encounter.”
“GOROOB?! GROBOR?!”
“So you agree?”
Lizard Priest kicked down one of the riders then grabbed the wolf by the snout and tore open its jaws through sheer strength.
Being in combat made him sound happy, but it was the blood all around that quickened the thinking of the lizardman.
“If this is supposed to be an ambush,” Goblin Slayer said, shredding the spine of the rider on the ground and muttering “Twelve” as a muffled scream sounded. “They lack offensive power.”
As he stood up, he launched his dagger into the fog, provoking a shriek.
“We can’t let any of them get home alive.”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Were we ever going to?”
Lizard Priest swept out with his tail, slamming a goblin behind him against a tree, shattering its spine.
Thirteen. Six, maybe seven remaining. Goblin Slayer grabbed a spear at his feet.
“In that case…”
He raised his shield and advanced, deflecting the poisoned dagger of a goblin hidden in the mist, striking o
ut with his spear.
He could feel it hadn’t sunk deep enough. Instantly, he pushed with the polearm to keep the monster from moving then smashed its face with his shield.
The creature fell, its forehead shattered, and Goblin Slayer came with it to crush its throat.
Fourteen. Goblin Slayer extracted his spear from the dead monster.
“…we should finish this before the fog clears.”
And that is exactly what they did.
§
“…I wonder if the flowers are blooming?”
The murmur came from Priestess, shortly after the party had defeated the goblin riders.
The only sounds were the rush of water, the creaking of the oar, and five adventurers’ shallow breathing.
As they got farther upstream, even the animals that lived in the trees seemed to be holding their breaths.
The sun climbed higher and the mist began to dissipate, but the thick vegetation all around them cast dark shadows. Brightness did not return, and there was something eerie about it all, as if they were entering the depths of a cave.
Maybe that was why Priestess responded to the unexpected and ever more noticeable sweetness in the air the way she did.
Priestess clung to her sounding staff, but High Elf Archer shook her head. “I dunno, but…I’ve never heard of a flower that smells like this.”
“Their territory is close,” Goblin Slayer said calmly, keeping his hand on the weapon he had stolen from the goblins. It was a club that appeared to be a shaved-down tree, and it had gruesome dark-red spots here and there. The splatter was from when it had been used to crush the heads of people—and goblins.
Ultimately, more than twenty goblins and their mounts lay dead in the river. They couldn’t have left the corpses out in the open; too much chance they would have been discovered by another group. And there was no time to bury them.
Anyway, if the corpses washed downstream, they wouldn’t be noticed by the goblins upstream…
And the carnivorous fish in the river would probably get rid of the bodies for them.
This had given Priestess some pause, but Lizard Priest had told her it was a form of burial in its own way.
“The mist is beginning to clear. Perhaps we should be making ready.” That same Lizard Priest was now trying to see as far through the fog as he could. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed one of his two Dragontooth Warriors, the one that had been piloting the boat. The skeletal sailor pulled up the oar and sat down, hugging it.
“It would be no small trouble if they were to discover us by the sound of the paddling.”
“Oh, should I pray for the Silence miracle…?” Priestess asked.
“Not yet,” Goblin Slayer said, shaking his head. “We’ve already used Dragontooth Warrior twice, and Swordclaw once.”
The helmet turned to Lizard Priest as if seeking confirmation, and the cleric gave a great nod.
The party had a total of seven miracles. Now they had four left, and the only magic available to them all belonged to Dwarf Shaman, who could manage another four, as well. The party was blessed with considerable magical resources, but it was still important to keep track of how many miracles and spells were available.
In addition, Silence by itself was no guarantee that they would avoid combat.
“Keep saving your miracles.”
“All right.” Priestess felt she hadn’t been much use in the earlier battle. She nodded unenthusiastically. “…?” Then she blinked, rubbed her eyes, and peeked out between the shields guarding the boat.
“Ho, careful now,” said Dwarf Shaman, taking hold of the girl’s waist to support her.
“Of course,” Priestess said, looking around wide-eyed.
She had seen a slender shadow rising through the mist.
It wasn’t a tree. Its silhouette looked far too strange to be vegetation.
Standing alongside the riverbank, the misshapen thing looked almost like the prey of a butcherbird, impaled on twigs…
“…Is that a…totem?!” A gasping cry escaped Priestess’s throat.
It was a corpse. The earthly remains of someone who had been pierced through, from between their legs to their mouth.
Being left out in this warm, damp place, they had begun to rot, their juices expanding to the point that now they looked barely human. Judging by the rust-eaten armor, it had been a woman. The corpse had been so badly mutilated by bugs, though, that now it wasn’t even clear what race she had originally belonged to.
“Ugh…!” High Elf Archer felt herself about to retch but forced down what threatened to come up.
It was obvious why the goblins had exposed the corpse.
Cruelty.
A bold declaration to the world that this was their territory, and a brutal mockery of any who might dare to impinge upon it.
They simply wanted to see any interlopers terrified, panicked, mad with fear, or at least enraged.
Why else would they put up a trophy like this, an object at the gates that served no defensive purpose?
“Was she skewered alive, or mounted on that stick after death…?” Lizard Priest asked, glancing around as he brought his hands together in prayer. “…At the very least, she has had the good fortune to remain a part of the natural cycle.”
The reason for his broad gesture became clear: there was more than one totem.
There was a forest of them.
Corpses impaled on sticks lined the riverbank like trees along a roadside. Some were only bones; on others, the flesh had not yet begun to rot.
Some bore a panoply of fresh scars, while others had swelled almost comically with gas.
Some of the corpses appeared to be merchants, while others bore ornaments that made them seem like adventurers.
How many had been killed?
How many had been made the playthings of the goblins?
“Ergh…” Priestess put a hand to her mouth, and who could blame her? She crouched down, her face pale, while her sounding staff clattered to the deck.
“Hrrrgh…!” Clinging to the side of the boat, she emptied the contents of her stomach into the river. What had finally done it was the realization that the sweet smell she had wondered about was the stink of the rotting corpses.
For a year and a half now, she had witnessed the goblins’ cruelty and had become somewhat inured to it, but even she couldn’t stand this.
There was a series of splashes as she vomited into the water.
“Here, chew on this. And have a drink of water.” Dwarf Shaman rubbed her back gently.
“…Ur…urgh. Th-thank you…” Her voice was faint, her throat burning.
With both hands, she took the herbs and water he held out to her, chewing the leaves gently.
“…So is this what’s gonna happen to us if we lose this fight?” High Elf Archer must have been feeling just as bad as Priestess, because her always-pale skin was now absolutely bloodless. She spat out a curse. “This is no joke.”
“I agree,” Goblin Slayer said. “It is not a joke.”
The cheap-looking metal helmet stared straight ahead.
There, in the mist, a strange shape rose like a mountain.
The thing appeared as a dark shadow in the white fog.
Unexpectedly, a fetid wind came up, pushing the mist away.
“…Huh,” High Elf Archer said, her lips still tight but her tone terribly even. “So that’s the One That Stops the Waters…”
How to describe this thing?
It was made of great chalk blocks, a temple or a shrine—or perhaps a fortress.
The elegant structure, which had stood since the Age of the Gods, was now worn away, covered in moss and vines. Yet the construct, built to dam the river, hardly seemed like the sort of ruins that goblins would find amenable.
“It was right next door, lass. You really didn’t know about it?”
“Hey, this was Mokele Mubenbe’s territory.” High Elf Archer pursed her lips and flicked her ears as if remonstratin
g with Dwarf Shaman. “Maybe the old people of the village knew about it, though. Maybe my sister had even heard about it.”
“So you really didn’t know about it,” Dwarf Shaman teased, provoking an angry hiss from the elf.
Their argument was just as energetic as ever, and perhaps that was deliberate. After the terrible sight they had just seen, anyone would want to shift the mood.
“What we have to worry about now is the goblin fortress,” Goblin Slayer spat, looking around. “Stop the boat. The fog is lifting.”
“Aye, aye,” Lizard Priest said, gesturing a quick instruction at the Dragontooth Warrior. The skeleton brought the little craft closer to shore.
Goblin Slayer put a hand to the club at his belt and knelt down beside Priestess.
“What do you think?”
“Er… Wh— What do I think?” The blood had drained from her face, and she was shaking her head listlessly from side to side. “We have to…do…something…”
“Yes.”
“If we…j-just leave this…”
“Yes.” His voice was quiet like hers, but not weak. “We will not just leave it.”
Priestess swallowed heavily. Goblin Slayer saw her hand go to her armor, and he picked up the fallen sounding staff. Priestess gripped it to her chest with both hands, as if in an embrace, then got unsteadily to her feet.
She forced herself to relax her stiff facial muscles and glanced at his visor.
“…Because…they’re goblins.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “They’re goblins.”
“Hold it, Beard-cutter.” Dwarf Shaman heaved himself ashore as the elven boat came soundlessly to the bank. He skillfully tied the boat up, securing it to a nearby tree. “Like you said, the mist’s clearing. And it’ll be night soon. Sneaking in is going to take some doing.”
“In that case—” High Elf Archer tried two or three times to snap her fingers but ended up just clucking her tongue at the pitiful fp fp sound she got. “…In that case, I have an idea!”
§
Some time later.
The party crept like a train of shadows under the illumination of the twin moons.
Through the undergrowth, pushing aside leaves and branches, they kept their weight low, moving as quickly as they could.