Tears of Liscor, page 13
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
Pyrite’s legs buckled a bit as he tried to move forwards. He stared at them, shocked. He was tired. But he couldn’t fall. If he fell, the tribe would all see it. And their wavering morale would vanish. He had to stay strong. But he was so tired. Pyrite yawned as he looked around. Where was Rags? Did she have orders? Where was—
The weary Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe were so tired that they didn’t notice the small shape standing on the back of one of the wagons. It was only when they heard the voice that they looked up. They saw a small Goblin standing there. She was holding something. A shortsword. It blazed with fire. The Goblins stared. Rags held the blazing sword aloft. She shouted.
“Goblins!”
The Goblins and Hobs turned to look at her. Rags ignored the horns blaring. She had eyes only for her tribe. And they had eyes only for her. Rags was tired. Her body was sore. But she stood tall. She pointed her sword ahead.
“We move! I am Chieftain! I have a plan! Follow it! Follow me! Redfangs to me! Hobs, to me! Pikes! Get crossbows! We move!”
She pointed ahead with her sword. It was probably the wrong direction. But the Goblins stared at her, and their weary bodies grew lighter. They moved faster, shedding sleep.
It wasn’t a Skill. Rags hadn’t taken their fatigue away. But she’d replaced it with something. As Rags leapt from the back of the wagon and onto her waiting Carn Wolf, she saw the Goblins staring at her. She sat on the back of her mount, tall as possible. She had to be there. She had to be seen. The Goblins watched her. Their Chieftain. And Rags raised her sword.
It burned. A useless flaming spell. But the fire caught the eye. It was no good for fighting. But it was good for other things. As Rags saw Redfang Goblins hurrying towards her and Quietstab leading Hobs her way, she smiled. A Chieftain had to be strong. Had to be smart. But most of all, they had to lead.
“Come. We have big plan.”
“What plan, Chieftain?”
Quietstab grinned up at her. Rags smiled back.
“Big plan. But first we run. Redscar, send riders ahead! I want forest.”
The Redfang Goblins raced ahead as the tribe began to move. Rags kicked her wolf in the sides, and it loped forwards. She could hear the Goblins beginning to chatter, wondering why she wanted a forest. They sounded hopeful. They trusted her to do something that would hurt the Humans. And Rags knew her plan would work. It was just—
Well, it felt familiar. It reminded her of what Velan had done. Rags’ smile slipped a bit as she rode ahead. Kill the Humans. And they would kill her people for this. As Goblins do.
As Goblins always did. But what other choice did she have?
“They started it.”
Rags whispered the words and tried to figure out why they sounded wrong.
——
Lord Pellmia was tired. He rode his warhorse in the center of his command of riders, yawning and cursing the early hour. Sunlight was beginning to shine down on the earth, and it was too damn bright for his tastes. Pellmia glanced around, for once resenting the way the sunlight bounced off of the polished helmets and breastplates of the soldiers riding next to him.
He was leading the vanguard of the forces Lord Tyrion had entrusted to him. Around him, he could see men and women surging up and down on their mounts as they rode after the Goblins. They’d had a later start than the tribe, but they still had to be up quick so they could follow.
It was a necessity. Yes, Pellmia could send smaller detachments of riders ahead to ‘guide’ the Goblins in the direction he needed them to go, but the threat only worked if he could back it up. If he only sent his scouts ahead and tarried just an hour, the Goblins could easily overwhelm the smaller groups of riders and make a break for it. And that would be unacceptable. Pellmia had promised Tyrion he’d be at the meeting spot by the sixth day, and he’d be damned if he broke that promise.
The problem was that he was tired. So were his men. Three days of pursuing the Goblins was hard on anyone, and even mounted, it was hard to keep both horse and riders rested.
“Those damn Goblins.”
Pellmia muttered as he scratched at the stubble on his chin. Moving them wasn’t the same as herding sheep. Not that Lord Pellmia had ever done that. But this was a trick and a half. The Goblins kept moving ahead of the Humans, and they ran from his soldiers and when his [Mages] lobbed spells at them, but they were always changing directions slightly. Leading his forces through terrain that was unfavorable for horses, making things difficult to keep the encirclement of them.
Pellmia had to keep his [Scouts] moving ahead constantly to make sure they weren’t headed towards something that would allow them to lose him. Twice already, they’d tried to hide in caves or summit rocky hills. Both times, he’d had to force them to move by sending his forces in. He had to get them to move at the speed he required, but also keep them alive.
That was the tricky bit. It was one thing to run a quarry to death. But Tyrion wanted live Goblins, and they were incapable of keeping up a breakneck pace forever. They needed water, food, rest. Pellmia had tried to give them the bare minimums of all three so they didn’t get any ideas. He’d been proud of the way he moved them along, which was why he’d been so incensed to hear about Gilam’s skirmish with the Hobs yesterday.
“You were supposed to keep him away from the Goblins, Kilmet.”
Pellmia snapped irritably at his personal retainer and old friend. Kilmet had been a village boy when Pellmia had been a lad. The two had decades of friendship between them, to the point that Pellmia sometimes joked that Kilmet was his second wife. But they were still master and servant when all was said and done. Kilmet, drinking a weak stamina potion to wake up, bowed his head.
“I’m sorry, Pellmia. But the boy’s hotheaded and eager for a fight. I can’t order him to stay back.”
That was true. But Pellmia was grumpy and didn’t want to hear it. His bones hurt, and the thrill of being on campaign had left him after the second day.
“You should have. He’s only Level 20! A pair of Hobs could dice him up, armor or not. And he’s not had any practice in battle. One Hob nearly did for him already! When I was his age…”
“You could wrestle a Hob with one hand and drink two flagons of ale with the other, all before breakfast. Yes, sire. But Gilam’s been in your shadow for years. He wants to prove himself.”
Pellmia grimaced. That was true too.
“He can do that without risking his neck. Or going behind my back! I have to maintain discipline. I can’t do that if my flesh and blood is defying my orders!”
Kilmet sighed through his nose.
“What do you want me to do? I can’t stop him, Pellmia. I couldn’t stop you, and your son’s not going to take me giving him orders.”
“He should. You’re my right hand!”
Lord Pellmia growled angrily. Kilmet smiled. He had grey streaks in his hair, and his face was wrinkled. He still had a scar down one arm from where he’d saved Pellmia from a rampaging Corusdeer on a hunt gone wrong.
“Right hand or not, your son’s chafing at the bit, Pellmia. He needs freedom. Perhaps it would have been better to let him ride with the other nobles as escort.”
“And have him pick fights with those hotheads? The last thing I need is for him to get hurt or kill someone in a duel. Young [Lords] and [Ladies] can’t be left alone unsupervised.”
“Funny. That’s not what I heard you saying when we were that age. I distinctly recall you ordering me to help you lose your father’s guards so you could have a nighttime rendezvous with a certain Lady Eskaria—”
Pellmia coughed, coloring. Kilmet smiled, and the [Lord] laughed after a while.
“True! Ah, Kilmet! Why couldn’t you have had a son so Gilam could have what I had in you? Instead—”
Kilmet’s smile vanished. He stared ahead as the [Riders] and [Knights] in front turned left, following a road.
“It’s just fate, Pell. Your son—he’ll be a good lord. He just needs time.”
“He needs to listen to you.”
Pellmia moved his stallion closer. He didn’t bring up Kilmet’s child again. He shouldn’t have, [Lord] or not. He’d helped Kilmet bury the poor thing. Overcome by guilt, Pellmia looked around.
“Where is he now? I’ll scorch his ears off and tell him you’re in command.”
Kilmet coughed.
“He’s with the scouts. Ahead. Too restless to stay with the vanguard. I gave them strict orders not to let him get close to the Goblins, and there’s a pair of [Knights] in that group. They won’t let him do anything untoward.”
The old [Lord] nodded, relieved.
“Maybe that’s the solution. Put him with the [Knights]. They won’t tolerate him ordering them about, and they’re solid. Where are the Goblins now?”
“Passing through a forest.”
The old [Manservant] pointed ahead. Pellmia frowned and blinked his eyes. He rubbed at them angrily.
“Damn. Couldn’t we have forced them to go around?”
“We’d lose an hour or two doing that. It’s not a large forest, but it’s wide. Our riders won’t lose them, Pell.”
“They’d better not. We’re two days away from the meeting spot, and I can’t imagine Veltras will be late. He offered me three casks of his personal stock if I made it there on time.”
Kilmet whistled.
“He wants those Goblins there badly, then. Did he say why he’s driving them with such a fury?”
“No, but anyone with a brain can tell where we’re going. Straight south. The real question is why he spared so much effort for this group. The Goblin Lord I can see, but a tribe of less than ten thousand? This group is tricky, but what was the point? Unless he was more concerned about that [Emperor] fellow than—”
Pellmia was interrupted by a bout of coughing from Kilmet. The [Lord] frowned.
“You alright, Kilmet?”
“Fine, sire. It’s just a bit of smoke.”
“Smoke?”
Lord Pellmia stared ahead. And then he saw it. A dark plume of smoke rising ahead of them. From the forest. He frowned. Then he saw someone galloping back towards him.
“Lord Pellmia! The Goblins are in the forest! They’ve set part of it aflame!”
“Damn!”
Pellmia cursed, and Kilmet signaled the column of riders to swerve out of the path of the smoke. The [Lord] growled, feeling the stinging in his eyes worsen despite the fresher air.
“Of course they would do that. That damn little Goblin’s their Chieftain. Veltras warned me about her. They’re trying to slow us down. It won’t work. Have five of our [Mages] with water spells ride ahead and douse the flames. And tell the scouts to move the Goblins faster! We’ll catch up.”
“Yes, Lord Pellmia!”
The rider turned her mount and rode ahead faster. Pellmia looked at Kilmet.
“Looks like Gilam will have a bit of excitement. Come on, I don’t want the Goblins to have time to set more fires. I can’t imagine how they found the time to set these ones. Do they have spellcasters among them? I only saw the lightning mage.”
“He probably did the fire setting. Lightning can do that.”
“Yes, but—”
Pellmia paused as he saw the rider galloping back.
“What now?”
“Lord Pellmia! There are more fires starting!”
“Well, put them out—”
“We can’t! There are hundreds! The entire forest is going up! Lord Pellmia, the Goblins—”
Pellmia saw a black haze coming towards him; he turned his head, spluttering and coughing as the horses whinnied. The riders slowed. When Pellmia could see again, he froze.
“Dead gods.”
The single smoke trail had multiplied. Now, dozens of areas were bleeding smoke. As Pellmia watched, he saw a red glow begin to spread between the trees. Kilmet stared, a wet handkerchief over his mouth.
“Fire. How did they—”
A roar made all the Humans jump. Pellmia saw a shower of sparks fly up from deeper inside the tree line. The red glow intensified. Now, the forest blazed from a hundred different spots. Smoke was rising everywhere. Lord Pellmia stared around in horror. How had the Goblins done it? They hadn’t time to start a fire, let alone gather enough fuel for this!
Then he saw a Goblin amid the trees. It was riding away from them, holding its blade aloft. The blade was steel, but it burned. One of the [Mages] cried out.
“Enchantment! The Goblins have enchanted blades! That’s [Burning Blade]!”
Several mounted [Archers] raised their bows, but the Goblin disappeared before they could loose. Pellmia turned to the [Mages].
“Stop the fire! Summon some rain!”
“We can’t! We’re not [Weather Mages]!”
“Then douse the fire with water!”
The [Mage] raised her hands.
“From where? We can’t conjure enough! The forest is burning! We have to go around!”
Pellmia nearly tore his mustache off.
“Those Goblins will have nearly an hour’s head start on us! Damn, damn—fine, turn the column! We have to catch them!”
He whirled his mount, about to use one of his Skills. But Kilmet’s voice stopped him.
“Pell!”
“What?”
The [Lord] looked back, harried. Kilmet’s face was pale as he stared into the burning forest.
“Gilam was with the scouts! He hasn’t returned! He must be inside the forest!”
Lord Pellmia felt the blood drain from his face. He stared into the forest.
“No, he rode out. Didn’t he?”
Kilmet looked at the [Scout]. The woman hesitated and then shook her head.
“I’ve not seen any of the riders. They would have exited the forest the instant they realized it was on fire, but—”
Pellmia didn’t listen to anything else. He charged his warhorse forwards, ignoring the cries from the others. He rode towards the forest, coughing, staring into the inferno. Now, fire was licking from the treetops. It had yet to reach the outermost layer, but Pellmia could hear a terrible crackling and snapping from within.
“Gilam!”
“Pell!”
Kilmet caught his friend before Pellmia could charge into the blaze. Pellmia swung his fist, and Kilmet staggered but held on. The Lord was shouting as the others caught up.
“Gilam! Where is he?”
“I’m sending a [Message] spell!”
The [Mage] had a finger to her temple. She stared into the fire and then pointed.
“There! East! They’re inside, trying to get out!”
She galloped her mount to the left. Pellmia followed her, heart pounding wildly in his chest. He saw her draw rein and back up her mount. The heat was making the horses shy away from the forest. But then she pointed.
“There! Someone give me a hand! [Wind Blast]!”
She pointed. Another mage cast the same spell, and the rush of air cleared the smoke and fire for a second. Pellmia spotted a distant group of shapes on horseback racing through the flames.
“Gilam! Clear a path for him!”
The [Mages] looked at each other, but then they began casting water spells. Pellmia stood up in his stirrups. He and the other riders began shouting, trying to attract the attention of the scouts. Pellmia could see their heads turning. He saw the riders turn towards them. And then—
And then they appeared. Dark shapes moved in the burning forest. The riders halted and then began to ride the other way. Pellmia stared. Then he saw them more clearly. Bounding shapes. Goblins on wolfback. And running behind them, Hobs and smaller Goblins armed with pikes.
The Goblins were moving. They charged through the burning forest, following the riders. Following Gilam.
“He killed a Hob yesterday.”
Kilmet’s voice was quiet. He was staring into the blaze. A burning branch fell from one tree, sending sparks flying upwards. The forest was turning into an inferno that not even magic could put out. Pellmia saw the riders fleeing. But the Goblins were surrounding them. He pointed with a shaking hand.
“Forwards! Don’t let them—”
“No! It’s a trap! Don’t let Lord Pellmia enter the forest! Stop him!”
Someone grabbed him as he tried to kick his warhorse forwards. Pellmia fought the hands. He screamed as true terror flooded his chest. His boy was in there. He drew his sword, and the hands fell back.
“Gilam! Stop! Don’t touch him! Gilam! Gilam!”
——
Rags stood at the edge of the forest. Her lungs hurt. The smoke half-blinded her, but the wind was blowing north. Away from her. Behind Rags, her tribe was moving far away from the burning forest. Goblins clutching burning weapons and sticks put them out and turned to stare at their handiwork.
They were impressed. So was Rags. Her [Burning Blades] spell had worked even better than she’d thought. Yes, it was terrible for use in battle, but free fire was free fire. And this—
This was a lot of fire. The forest roared as if it were alive. The fire sounded like a distant wind, but the burning and breaking trees sounded like thunder. Rags stared into the orange glow. It looked like death in there.
Good. At least two groups of Humans were caught in the blaze. They’d followed the Goblins into the forest, tried to stop them from setting fires. Now they were trapped. Rags could see them fleeing. She’d sent some of her Redfangs and Hobs in. They’d trapped the Humans. They couldn’t stay long—the fire would kill everything inside. But the Humans might still get away. And he was in there. That young Human.
“Chieftain?”
Pyrite stood by her side. Rags looked at him. She nodded.
“Hurt them.”
The Hob nodded. He eyed the fire and looked around.
“Can fight for five minutes. Then probably have burning death.”
Rags nodded.
“Five minutes good. Healing potions ready. Small group goes in. You stay back in case Humans attack.”
