Tears of Liscor, page 36
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
“You have a plan, Lord Tyrion?”
“I do, Lord Yitton. I intend to send the Goblins and our watchers a message.”
Yitton glanced sharply at Lord Tyrion as the man calmly surged up and down in his saddle with his horse.
“A message, Lord Tyrion? Of what kind?”
Tyrion looked back at the older man and almost smiled.
“The simplest of messages, Yitton. The kind even Goblins understand.”
——
“Can’t win with spells. Bad idea.”
Pyrite grunted as he jogged along with Reiss, Rags, and a cluster of the other high-ranking Goblins in both her tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army. The Hob pretended not to notice the glares both Reiss and Noears gave him.
“Why not? I can weaken Tremborag with death spells.”
“Can try.”
Eater of Spears nodded as he stumped along. Smaller Goblins and Hobs stared up at him as they ran around him. Both Rags’ tribe and Reiss’ army were marching far ahead of Tremborag’s tribe, and quickly too. The Humans had pushed them hard, and the Goblins were tired despite it being just past midmorning.
Rags wasn’t tired. Her mind was buzzing with ideas. The impromptu war council was deliberating hard about how to attack Tremborag successfully. She looked at Pyrite.
“Why no spell?”
“Bad idea.”
Pyrite ducked as Snapjaw threw a pebble at him. He rumbled and explained as he fished out a speckled blue egg and began to eat it raw, shell and all. He offered one to Eater of Spears, who took it with a grunt of satisfaction and popped the entire thing into his mouth.
“Tremborag is old Hob. Very strong. Knows how to fight adventurers. If [Mage] casts spell, may hurt. Won’t kill. Then Tremborag comes and tears head off. Very quick.”
He gestured at Noears and mimed the very action. Noears felt at his head, looking concerned. Reiss frowned.
“I could fight Tremborag myself.”
“Could try.”
Pyrite glanced impassively at Reiss. This time, Snapjaw growled and leaned out of her saddle, ready to punch Pyrite. Poisonbite tugged her back, and Reiss frowned. It was Rags who nodded.
“Too risky. Can’t have one or two. Better to have Reiss fight Garen.”
“Why? Goblin Lord not strong enough?”
Snapjaw challenged Rags angrily. She just shrugged.
“No. Garen too annoying. Reiss stop Garen. That easy. Hard part is get Tremborag alone. How about—”
She glanced up and frowned. So did the other Goblins. They turned as they heard a horn blaring behind them. Only, it wasn’t a Goblin horn. It was coming from the Humans riding behind them.
The difference in sound was minimal as both Goblins and Humans made the same instrument. But it was the oddity of the sound that bothered Rags. She stared as first one horn blew and then two, then a dozen.
And then a hundred. The advancing line of cavalry stopped as all four Goblin tribes halted and stared back at the Humans. The flanking parties of Humans riding to either side of them paused as well. Rags stared as, in the distance, she saw the lines of Humans part.
“What’s going on?”
Reiss stared hard at the Humans. He looked around, and Rags saw his undead Shield Spider crawl towards them. No one else moved as Reiss swung himself up into his saddle for a better look. Rags saw the Humans part. And then someone appeared between the lines of riders. A flash of golden hair. And a silver bow. Though she was far away, Rags could see the figure had pointed ears. And when she looked up—
Fear. It ran through the Goblins like a physical thing. They shuddered as they remembered. Golden hair. A bow. A fallen King.
Elia Arcsinger. Kingslayer. She stood at the head of the ranks of Humans. And someone else rode up to join her. A man with dark hair, his armor gleaming. He looked like any other Human in one sense, but Rags recognized him.
Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] regarded the mass of Goblins ahead of him. Rags could see Reiss reconsidering his vantage point and swinging himself down into the safety of the mass of his warriors who surged forwards to put themselves between him and Elia. But it was not at the Goblin Lord that Tyrion looked. His gaze swept past Reiss, past Garen who sat on his Carn Wolf, teeth bared. He looked at Rags first, and she felt a shudder. She thought that Tyrion was smiling, but she couldn’t see his expression so far away. And then the [Lord] looked down at the sprawling tribe of Goblins, half of whom were sitting, imitating their Chieftain.
Tremborag, Great Chieftain of the Mountains, sat on the ground, footsore, furious. His skin was healed, and the crossbow bolts had been plucked out, but his gaze was still malevolent fury as he stared at Rags. He ignored Tyrion Veltras and the Humans, his back a solid mass of contempt. He was not afraid of them, or so his posture said. So he never saw Elia Arcsinger raise her bow. He never saw the arrow.
It struck Tremborag in the back. A single arrow, fired hundreds of feet. It flew straight and true and embedded itself in Tremborag’s flesh, just above his shoulder. He howled, more from shock than pain, and whirled. His eyes widened as he saw Elia Arcsinger lower the bow, and his hand reached up, trying to grab the arrow.
“She shot him?”
Reiss’ voice was incredulous. The arrow had struck the Great Chieftain precisely, and Rags couldn’t imagine she’d missed. But it hadn’t done more than wound Tremborag slightly. Frankly, it wasn’t even a good shot if the half-Elf had been trying to kill him. But as Tremborag yanked the arrow from his back and stared at the red, dripping point, Rags felt terribly uneasy. She looked up and saw Elia Arcsinger turn away. And Tyrion Veltras pointed.
At Tremborag. The Great Chieftain froze, his expression outraged and confused at once. Another person, a woman, a [Mage], stepped up beside Tyrion. Rags watched her, feeling her pulse thudding in her ears. She saw the [Mage] link arms with two others, a woman and a man, and then saw the fire.
This was how she spun the fireball. Out of air, a wisp of fire appeared, a thin tendril. Then it thickened, curled in on itself, and another strand appeared. Like yarn, it knitted itself together, twisting into a ball of fire, only this ball was ever-shifting, the cords of flame shifting around together. And the blaze grew until the fireball was as large as the woman, larger, as large as a horse. Larger still.
The Goblins watched in silence. Tremborag slowly got to his feet. He stared at the [Mages], incredulous. Rags stared at him and then at Tyrion. At the Humans. They were all looking at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain looked around. Now, the fireball was floating overhead. He backed up a step, his face written with incredulity.
He did not want to believe. He did not want to know. But it was too late. The [Mage] let go of the others’ hands and pointed. The [Siege Fireball] shot forwards, a blazing inferno as bright as the sun. Tremborag turned. He began to run. The Goblins around him ran too. Rags heard not a word from them. They just ran, streaming away from the spot. And then the fireball touched the earth where Tremborag had been as the Great chieftain tried to flee. Rags saw a flash—
Then she felt something kick her in the chest. Hot air blasted Rags’ face, and she heard cries as the Goblins were bombarded with light, heat, and sound. When Rags could see again, she saw Tremborag lying on the ground. He was alive. He’d dove to avoid the blast. As he got to his feet, shakily, a horn blew. Rags turned and saw the Humans advancing. Only, it wasn’t a steady trot.
They were charging. [Mages] standing behind the ranks of Humans on horseback began throwing spells. Crackling lightning and shards of ice rained down from the sky as the earth broke underfoot. Goblins screamed and ran, but Rags stayed where she was. So did her entire tribe. Because the onslaught was not aimed at them. The center of the storm, the one figure that the Humans encircled, cut off from his tribe and threw spells at was the huge figure, the Great Chieftain of the Mountain.
Tremborag.
He looked around, bellowing in fear and fury. He turned to run, but a line of [Riders] and [Knights] cut him off. He shouted for his Goblins, but his warriors who rushed to surround him were blown to pieces, feathered by arrows, cut down by swords. Tremborag roared. He turned and saw the watching Goblins, the three tribes who stared at him.
Tremborag went still. His eyes went to Reiss, who stood amid his warriors, his face impassive, to Garen Redfang, who looked shocked. And then to Rags, who met his eyes. Tremborag looked back at the Humans who were attacking his tribe, sending his warriors fleeing further and further away from their Chieftain. He looked around and saw Tyrion Veltras, riding towards him. And then he knew.
——
“They’re going to kill him.”
Reiss breathed the words incredulously as he watched Tremborag’s tribe disintegrate before his eyes. The Mountain City tribe had scattered in the face of the first spell. Now, they were trying to reform, but the wave of Humans that crashed into their backs forced them to keep running. Spells hammered the ground, enforcing the imminent threat of death behind them. The Goblins turned and ran, but they could hardly ignore the bellowing voice behind them.
“Warriors to me! Protect your Chieftain! Ulvama! Kerist! Qent! Where are my Hobs?”
Tremborag shouted, running, thrusting aside Goblins, trying to put anything and everything behind him and the Humans racing to cut him off. He was fast, and he barreled through a rider and horse, knocking both aside, though the impact made Tremborag stagger. He ran forwards, trying to get away. But the Humans were aimed only at him.
“They are going to kill him.”
Noears stared at the scene with amazement and delight. He and the others watched as Tremborag’s tribe fled towards them. Rags could see tens of thousands of Goblins streaming away from Tremborag. Few turned despite his shouts. And those that did—died.
It wasn’t a fair battle. It wasn’t even a battle. If a Goblin or Hob turned to strike or cast a spell, a [Knight], a dozen [Knights], would ride down on them and hack them to shreds. Or a [Lord] would use an artifact, or an adventurer loose an arrow, or a [Mage] a spell. No matter what Tremborag said, no matter how he threatened and ordered, he couldn’t force his Goblins to turn and fight that.
“Stop! Obey me! Turn and fight for your Chieftain! Fight for your tribe!”
Tremborag caught a Goblin warrior who was fleeing. He stared at the Goblin’s terrified face and then hurled her at the oncoming Humans. The Goblin disappeared with a scream beneath the oncoming horses. Tremborag looked around desperately.
“Ulvama! My Hobs!”
There they were, fleeing ahead of him. Tremborag roared at them, and for a moment, they turned. Ulvama with her staff, the Hobs wearing their precious, looted gear. They looked back at their Great Chieftain as he labored to run after them. Tremborag raised a claw, calling. Imploring.
And the Humans were behind him. Surrounding him. They formed up at his back and on his sides, creating a passage edged by steel. They held their position there, daring the Goblins to run back. There was a clear path between them and Tremborag. But if they went back—the Goblins of the Mountain City tribe stared at the lines of Humans. They looked at death, and death looked back.
Ulvama stared at Tremborag. He looked at her, his face desperate. It was an expression few of the Goblins in his tribe had seen. They looked at their Great Chieftain. And then Ulvama turned away.
She was the first. Then one of the Hob lieutenants turned his back. And then a warrior. And then a child. Tremborag stared as his Goblins turned and began streaming further away.
All of them. Ulvama, his Hob sub-Chieftains, his warriors—they fled as the Humans raced past him on horseback. They pursued the Goblins, chasing them towards the other three tribes that were watching Tremborag. And then the Great Chieftain was alone. He stared around at the Humans. They watched him, faces hidden behind visors, masks of hatred. But they didn’t attack.
More movement. Tremborag started, whirled as the Humans in front of him parted. He stared in disbelief as the lines of Humans moved aside, giving him a path towards the Goblins to the south. He looked in disbelief at the Humans and then narrowed his eyes. A trick?
No. The Humans drew back, waiting. Tremborag turned as a man in armor rode up behind him. Lord Tyrion Veltras drew his sword and pointed past Tremborag, towards the waiting Goblins. The Great Chieftain turned and saw his tribe staring back at him. Along with the other Goblins. A [Fireball] exploded over their heads, and the Goblins started, began to run. South, again.
Then Tyrion pointed at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain met his eyes, snarling, defiant. But Tyrion didn’t order the attack. Instead, he raised one hand and shouted an order.
“Advance at a trot!”
The Humans around him moved. Their horses began to trot forwards, at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain backed up. He turned and looked at the Goblins moving swiftly south. Then he looked at the Humans, advancing behind him, slowly. And then it became clear.
They wanted him to run. To run until he fell. Tremborag’s claws clenched. Red fury rose in his eyes, and for a second, he turned back to the front ranks of Humans. For a second. Then the fury dimmed. He looked back at his tribe, so far away in the distance. And he turned and ran.
——
At first, it was one mile. Rags and her tribe raced across the rocky landscape until it turned to grass. Then it was two miles. She heard the scream of spells overhead, saw her tribe start to mix with the other Goblins running. They couldn’t help it. The Humans drove them onwards faster than they ever had before. Rags saw the wagons jolting as the animals strained to keep up, saw Goblins trip, fall, and be trampled or blown to bits.
And then it was five miles. Six? She lost count. The Goblins slowed after a time. The frantic pace eased. Because the Humans weren’t chasing them. Not just them. It was the figure in the distance, always a thousand feet or so behind, that they were concerned with.
Tremborag. He ran as hard as he could, his body heaving with effort. He stumbled and fell and got up, he gasped for air. He ran, but the Goblins ahead of him were always out of reach. The Humans forced them to keep away from the Great Chieftain. And he was tiring. Of all the Goblins, he was the largest. And his footsteps grew ever slower, his breathing harder.
He collapsed after the eighth mile of running. The Hob fell to his knees as the Humans slowed to a snail’s pace behind him. They threw spells over his head, blew their horns. But he could run no further. Tremborag panted, so dehydrated that the sweat had stopped rolling off his body. He looked behind him and saw the Humans approaching slowly, so slowly, at a leisurely walk.
Like hunters moving in for the kill. Tremborag turned and bared his teeth.
“You damned Humans. You think that this—”
He tried to heave himself up and failed. Tremborag sprawled onto his back. He stared up at the sky and made a noise. It might have been a growl of frustration. But it sounded like a sob.
“Like this? Like this? Without my tribe? Those cowards—like this? Impossible. I cannot die here. Not like this. It should have been—I should have—”
He scrabbled at the grass and dirt, trying to pull himself up. He stared at the Goblins, who’d paused to look back at him, no longer hounded by the Humans. Tremborag stared at his tribe, at the faces in the distance. He tried to shout, but his lungs were too exhausted.
“Damn you. Cowards! Traitors, every one! I am your Chieftain! I am Tremborag! I—”
His voice faltered. Tremborag sagged. He stared at the Goblins. They made no move to help him. They watched as the Humans drew closer in the distance.
All except one. She kicked her Carn Wolf forwards, ignoring the warnings of her tribe. She raced past the Goblins who tried to catch her. A small Goblin riding a Carn Wolf. Tremborag’s eyes widened as he saw Rags riding at him.
She had a black crossbow in her hands, a short sword and buckler at her side. Her eyes blazed as she stopped her Carn Wolf in front of Tremborag. She raised her crossbow.
“You.”
“Me.”
Rags agreed softly. Tremborag stared at her. Then he pushed himself up. He sat back and laughed.
“So! The child comes in the moment of my death. Not Redfang or the slave, but the child. How pathetic. How fitting, isn’t it? For this?”
He waved a claw back at the Humans. Rags narrowed her eyes. She raised her crossbow and aimed at Tremborag’s chest.
“Didn’t come here to talk.”
“No. You came to kill me before the Humans did.”
Tremborag grinned at Rags, his chest heaving painfully. He tapped his chest.
“Well? Go on. Shoot me. Kill me! End the Great Chieftain of the Mountain here, child! End it! I have outlived our last Goblin King! I have built my tribe, seized the home of Dwarves, and seen the rise and fall of legends! End it with one pathetic little piece of wood and metal. And ride away until it is your turn. Know the truth.”
Rags raised her crossbow.
“Truth? Truth is that Humans won. You die.”
Tremborag laughed hoarsely. He sat forwards, his shoulder drooping. The Great Chieftain looked beaten as he shook his head.
“You think so? This—this was never about Humans. This was about Goblins. About pride. About our destiny.”
The small Goblin paused. Rags had been aiming carefully, choosing her shot. She stared suspiciously at Tremborag.
“Destiny? What destiny? This is your fault. You lose mountain, fight Reiss. You run, now Humans kill you for trouble. You die.”
Tremborag chuckled.
“You think so? This started—all of this started with that damned Goblin. Greydath. You met him. You know what he’s capable of. Do you think he couldn’t have stopped the Humans? Or—or challenged Reiss to battle? Or led the tribes? But no, he stayed in my mountain. Hidden. It was only when you appeared. You and Redfang and the slave. When you came, he had no more use for me. So—it ends.”
He gestured around aimlessly. Rags frowned.
“Greydath did? How?”
