Tears of Liscor, page 105
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
Klbkch broke off. One of the Soldiers had struck the first trebuchet with something. Zevara saw a blossom of fire. Soldiers fell back, some burnt, as the trebuchet began to go up in flames. She heard a cry of celebration as the Soldiers streamed towards the other trebuchets. Another fell, the counterweight striking the ground as a Soldier climbed up and ripped a bolt out. A third splintered as its frame was broken. The Watch was cheering—
And then Zevara saw a hail of arrows cut down the Antinium. A [Fireball] blew a knot of Soldiers apart. At a distance, she could see adventurers and Human [Soldiers] advancing under the cover of mage fire. The Soldiers turned to this new threat, but they were surrounded. Cut off. They made for a fourth trebuchet, and another spell blew them to bits.
“No—”
Zevara watched in horror as more Antinium poured out of the hole, and then other tunnels appeared. But the element of surprise was gone, and the Humans had been waiting. The Antinium burst out of the ground and were cut down in moments. Zevara saw them making for the trebuchets—and failing to scratch the huge devices.
“The Antinium are falling back.”
Klbkch announced calmly as the last of the black bodies fell. Zevara turned to him.
“You can’t! The trebuchets—”
“—are too well guarded. We have lost too many Soldiers attempting to do more damage. More would simply waste lives the Hive does not have. I am sorry.”
The Drake looked back. The Humans were destroying the Antinium bodies, sealing the tunnels and blasting the fleeing Antinium. The trebuchets were still there, most untouched by the fighting. Out of two dozen odd trebuchets, the Antinium had gotten a seventh of them.
“No.”
But there was nothing to be done. Klbkch and Zevara turned as the Drake [Mage] spoke.
“The Humans report—accidental contact with an Antinium patrol. They regret to inform—no survivors.”
“Then it’s over. We can’t destroy them.”
Zevara sank down. Klbkch nodded. He was so cold. So calm, even for him. Zevara stared at the Antinium.
“We must hold the walls.”
That was all he said. The impossible. Zevara looked back. She saw the trebuchets loading and knew they would keep firing. Minute after minute, hour by hour. Day after day. She closed her eyes. Then she turned to the [Guardsmen] and adventurers.
“Prepare yourselves!”
They looked up. Zevara drew her sword. She pointed down at the Goblins, who had watched as the boulder struck the city. Only a few missiles landed around them, and even then, they rarely struck even an outside formation. Zevara stared down at the Goblins and shook her head.
“They’re coming.”
Across the wall, the Drakes and Gnolls drew their weapons. The adventurers armed themselves. The Goblin Lord’s army was beginning to march. They surged forwards across the Floodplains.
“She is still there.”
Klbkch stared down at Erin. She was still shouting, still waving her flag. He turned to Zevara.
“We must rescue her.”
“How?”
Zevara stared at Klbkch. He had shown no emotion when the Antinium had died by the hundreds. But now he looked—worried. Klbkch had no answer. And the Goblin Lord’s army was coming.
Like an army of green and black. A horde came at Liscor’s walls as more and more cracks appeared. The walls were coming down. Piece by piece, but it was happening. Each time an enchanted boulder struck the wall, it chipped or fractured the stone.
And the gates were already being forced open. The metal had bent inwards rather than completely failing, but the tears in the metal were already wide enough to let someone squeeze through. And more and more boulders fell every few minutes.
“Fill those gaps! I don’t care if you have to knock down every house in the city, just do it!”
Zevara screamed at the Workers and [Builders] below. She could see Embria mustering her [Soldiers] and the Pallassian reinforcements around the gates. Bracing. But there were so many Goblins. And as they came, they began a chant.
“Goblin.”
It was one word. But it came from countless throats. The Goblins said it once, and then again, a rolling chant.
“Goblin.”
And then it was a roar. They shouted it, and it was thunder.
“Goblin!”
A sound to drown all others. A scream. They were coming. Zevara looked across the walls and saw Relc spinning his spear, Tkrn and a knot of Gnolls setting themselves, Falene pulling herself upright. And onwards the Goblins came, towards that small figure on a hill.
Erin.
“They’re moving.”
Klbkch stared across the Floodplains. Zevara was about to tell him that was obvious, until her eyes saw what he did. She looked back and saw them.
——
“Stop, stop shooting!”
Erin screamed at the distant army of Humans. And then at the Goblin Lord’s army. She heard the booming of their drums and the chant.
“Goblin.”
It deafened her. How could one word contain so much anger? But it was what they were. Hated, despised, hunted. That was Goblin. And the army in front of her embodied that. They came towards Liscor, rolling across the hills and valleys. Erin lifted her flag, but it was so heavy.
“Would you just—stop? Please?”
Her voice faltered. Erin sank down, leaning on the pole. It was no use. She bent her head. She could stop nothing. Do nothing. She had been useless from the start. Who would stop for a flag? Who would put down their arms for peace?
No one. That was the truth. Not Humans, not Drakes, nor Goblins. None of them would stop. And in that sense, it truly was useless. Except, perhaps for another kind of Goblin. The Goblins who watched and saw a person they recognized. Some had known her for a night. Others for a while. Perhaps, as Erin had thought, a single night made no difference. But a night could make all the difference.
Someone climbed the hill next to Erin. A foot trod through mud, and a stranger grasped the flag. Erin opened her eyes. Her gaze swam with tears, and she saw a figure standing over her. He was green, taller than her, and red war paint crossed his arms, his cheeks. His ears were pointed, and his eyes crimson, dark as blood. When he smiled, his teeth were pointed. And yet, he was beautiful in his own way. And he was no stranger. He was her friend.
Headscratcher lifted the flag from Erin’s loose grip. He lifted it over his head, high into the sky. A white flag. A symbol. He grinned down at Erin, and she blinked the tears away.
“Nice flag.”
For a moment, Erin couldn’t speak. She looked up at Headscratcher. He waved the flag, the sunlight flashing off the golden axe at his side, the armor he wore, and the flag. She blinked at him and then pointed accusingly at his chest.
“I thought you were leaving!”
Headscratcher paused. He looked down at Erin and shrugged.
“Was going to. But then saw this.”
He pointed at the flag. Erin looked at it. She sniffled.
“Well, it didn’t do anything. You should run. We should both run.”
“Why?”
The Hob looked confused. He scratched his head, which suited his name. Erin pointed at the Goblin Lord’s army.
“Because of them!”
The army had halted in its tracks. Headscratcher stared at the army and shrugged.
“Could. But could stay. Could fight. That what we talked about. Goblin Lord. Bad Goblin. Could fight him. All of us.”
“But you didn’t. You chose to run.”
Erin looked at Headscratcher. He smiled again.
“We did. But then saw you. Heard you stay. So we changed minds.”
“Who did?”
“We did.”
“Who—”
And then Erin saw someone else climbing the hill out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw a familiar Goblin carrying a guitar walk past her. Numbtongue grabbed the flag with Headscratcher. He looked down at Erin.
“Hi.”
“Numbtongue?”
Not just him. A pair of Goblins walked past Erin. Shorthilt and Badarrow. The two stepped into place. Badarrow checked his bow and then grabbed part of the pole. So did Shorthilt.
“But I thought—you were a—”
“Sneaky Goblins.”
Shorthilt winked at Erin. And a fifth Goblin trudged up the hill. He wore chainmail that shone in the light. His cloak of wine billowed in an imaginary wind. And he smiled when he saw Erin’s face.
“Rabbiteater.”
“Saw flag.”
The Hob bent down and offered Erin a hand. Dazed, she took it, and the Hob hauled her up. He walked forwards towards the flag and put a hand on it. The five Hobs lifted the flag into the air. Erin stared at them.
“You guys came back? Why?”
Headscratcher shrugged.
“Heard you were going to fight. Heard you were going to stay.”
“I—yeah, but, no, but—who told you that?”
The Hobs looked at each other. Numbtongue answered at the same time as Rabbiteater.
“Somebody.”
“Pebblesnatch.”
Numbtongue scowled. He kicked Rabbiteater in the shins. Rabbiteater swore. Erin looked at them.
“She told you I was going to fight? I wasn’t. I—I was trying to stop the fighting. Not start more!”
Headscratcher looked confused. He pointed up at the white banner.
“But you have flag.”
“Yes! A white flag!”
“Right. Nice color. But turn red very quick.”
“That’s not—”
Erin stared at the flag. Then she looked at Headscratcher and the others. She took a deep breath.
“Headscratcher, white flags aren’t the same as other flags. They don’t mean it’s time for war. They’re a sign of peace. You don’t fight under them.”
The Redfangs looked at each other. Headscratcher’s jaw dropped. He looked at the flag, then Erin, and then back again.
“Oh.”
“Oops.”
Badarrow agreed. He seemed amused, because he slapped Shorthilt on the shoulder and chortled. The other Hob grinned. Erin looked at them. The five laughed. They’d made a mistake! They laughed and grinned as if they knew some giant joke.
“What’s so funny? We should run! It’s all over. The Goblin Lord’s going to attack, and we’re going to die.”
“Really?”
Headscratcher looked down at Erin. She nodded.
“There’s no hope. There’s too many of them.”
Shorthilt cast a dismissive glance at the Goblin army.
“Not that many.”
“Yes, that many! How are you going to try and fight them? There are six of us and a million of them!”
“More than six.”
“No, Numbtongue, not more than—”
Erin stopped. She looked suspiciously at Numbtongue. Then at the other Redfangs. They were all laughing, grinning at something. Behind Erin. She slowly looked at them and then felt a tingling on the back of her neck.
“Wait. Was it just you who came back?”
“No.”
“How many, then? How many decided to turn around?”
The question stumped the Goblins. Rabbiteater started counting. Badarrow shrugged. Numbtongue and Shorthilt exchanged amused glances. And Headscratcher smiled. He let go of the flag and walked over to Erin. Slowly, he turned her around.
“All of us.”
And there they were. They walked up the hills, across valleys. Small Goblins. Hobs. Warriors riding Carn Wolves and horses. Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe. Cave Goblins. Young and old. Tall and short. Not one single tribe, but three. And they moved together.
The Goblins streamed past Liscor. Past the startled defenders who braced themselves. They returned, laughing and pointing. Up at her. At the flag. At the five Hobs who stood around it. And they waved at her. They knew her name. The Goblins marched in front of Liscor, ignoring the falling stones. They formed a wall in front of the Goblin Lord’s forces. An army.
“What…”
Erin was lost for words. She saw familiar faces among the Goblins. Redscar, riding proudly ahead of an army of Redfangs, old and new. Poisonbite, marshaling both male and female Goblins. Noears, surrounded by the Goblin magic-users. Spiderslicer, raising a sword over his head. Countless faces, all looking up at her.
“We came back. Don’t tell them for wrong flag.”
Headscratcher beamed at Erin. She turned to him, full of elation and despair.
“But you’ll die!”
“Might.”
He shook his head. Erin pointed at the Goblin Lord’s army. They were all staring, confronted by this strange sight. Reiss held still, uncertain. He recognized the Redfang tribe. And Rags’ Goblins. But who were the strange grey Goblins? Where was their Chieftain? The five Hobs?
“This isn’t your fight! You don’t have to be here!”
“No. It is.”
Numbtongue stepped forwards, leaving the other three with the flag. He pointed at the Goblin Lord and then at Liscor. Zevara stared down at the army with Klbkch. The walls of her city were beginning to crumble. No army of Drakes could save Liscor. All were too far away. But an army had appeared. It was not one she would have ever looked for. But it was there. And she prayed, without knowing how and with no one in mind. She hoped for salvation.
And there it was. Numbtongue smiled as he looked at Liscor.
“Not our city. Nor our people. And Humans—we don’t care what they do. But you stayed. So we stay. The Goblin Lord is ours. And he is wrong.”
“Not Goblin.”
Badarrow let go of the flag. That was all he said, but it was condemnation and judgment itself. The others nodded. Erin looked from face to face.
“But what are you doing? Are you going to fight?”
“We followed you. Thought you were going to fight.”
Shorthilt gave the flag to Rabbiteater. The Hob stared at his friend as Shorthilt went over to Erin. The reserved Goblin drew his sword. It shone as he pointed at the silent army. Past it, at Tyrion. The [Lord] of the Veltras family stared. Jericha dropped her wand.
“Where did that army come from?”
If you hadn’t been there, you’d never know. If you hadn’t seen it, how could you tell? Across the world, eyes locked on a Goblin army, conjured from the ground. Was it there to join with the Goblin Lord? Was it another ploy of Tyrion Veltras? Something the Drakes had cooked up? Niers Astoragon’s eyes locked on the young woman. She was gesturing, shouting at Shorthilt.
“But you’ll die!”
“We are Goblins. We die.”
Shorthilt shrugged fatalistically. Erin slapped his shoulder, and he winced. Headscratcher punched Shorthilt in the back, and the Hob turned. He pointed.
“Goblin Lord is bad. Liscor is—okay. And you.”
He looked at Erin. She stared at him and then looked around. The Goblins looked up at her.
“Me? What about me?”
Shorthilt tilted his head.
“Do you want to fight? If yes—we fight.”
He gestured with his sword. The young woman looked at him.
“Just like that?”
“Mhm.”
Erin stood on the hill. She looked down at the army in front of her and then turned. The Goblin Lord’s army lay before her. Uncertain. Even the trebuchets had stopped firing.
“But it’s too much to ask. How could anyone ask that? Why would you do it?”
The Hobs looked at each other. Rabbiteater, who’d been struggling with the flag, gave up and threw it down the hill. He stomped over. Erin looked at him as the [Champion] shook out his shoulders and gave the others a dirty look. Then he gazed at Erin. He beamed.
“We like you.”
She waited. But that was it. Rabbiteater had said his piece. He stood with the others, grinning happily at Erin. They were all smiling. They looked so at peace. But her knees shook. Erin looked at them. She looked at the Goblin Lord.
“If you fight—”
You die. She’d said it enough times. And they knew. The knowledge was reflected in their eyes. It was the same truth all the Goblins waiting had in their eyes. You didn’t need to tell Goblins about death. But still, they waited. Erin wiped at her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. How could she ask? How could anyone ask that? She looked back.
At Liscor. At the city. It looked smaller, now. Cracked. Fire burned in one spot. The people on the walls stared down at her. Erin saw faces she recognized. She thought of her friends. Selys, Krshia, Mrsha. She looked at her inn. And then she looked ahead.
The Goblin Lord’s army was advancing slowly. Their drum beat rolled, and they chanted. But it was uncertain. Erin stared at them. She looked past them at the army bearing down on Liscor. They’d raze the city. Bring it low. And that was something she’d tried to stop. With words. And now someone had come. Under the banner of peace, they’d gathered. But it was for her. And to her they looked. Erin looked at the five Redfangs. Her voice trembled.
“Hey. Can I ask you a favor? A big one?”
They nodded. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Shorthilt, Numbtongue, and Rabbiteater waited. Erin took a deep breath.
“I, this—it’s not your fight. Not really. And it’s so much. How could anyone ask? But—but this is my—my home. Those are my friends.”
Erin pointed back at Liscor. She was crying again.
“They won’t run. This is their home too. If they die—they’re my friends. You know? And you are too. All of you. I love you all so much.”
She looked from face to face. The Hobs smiled, waiting. Erin gestured at the army in front of her.
“I don’t know this Goblin Lord. I don’t know Tyrion Veltras. But they sound like jerks. If I—if I try and stop them, will you help me? Please?”
She looked at them, despairing. Her eyes were red. And her cheeks were still wet. Tears dripped down her chin, along with some snot. She wiped her nose. The Hobs looked at her. Erin Solstice was the most beautiful person they had known. Human or Goblin. And she had asked them for a favor.
The five Redfangs looked at each other. Seriously. They glanced from face to face, nudging each other, checking their gear, their armor. Then they put their hands on Headscratcher’s shoulders. They nodded to him, and he moved.
