The Wandering Inn_Volume 1, page 661
“Where is the old one?”
The Goblin Lord stared at Osthia and looked around with a frown. She replied numbly.
“He left.”
“Where?”
“Don’t know. He wasn’t who he seemed to be.”
“I know.”
The young Drake woman stared at the Goblin Lord. He shrugged.
“Old Goblin with beard? Very suspicious. Knew too much. Wonder if I’ll see again. Doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“He is Goblin and I am Goblin. We are all Goblin.”
The Goblin Lord was calm as he explained. They were of the same species, so they were on the same side. Osthia stared at him, uncomprehending. That wasn’t how Drakes looked at each other.
Instead of replying, she looked around. The Goblin Lord’s army had destroyed another Human army. Another one. And they were sending soldiers to pillage the city for supplies. At least the rest of the Humans had escaped. And that all begged the question: why?
“What is your goal? Why are you going north? Just for a few Goblin tribes? Or do you want something else?”
Osthia stared challengingly up at the Goblin Lord, ignoring Snapjaw’s glare and the way Eater of Spears looked at her. The Goblin Lord shifted on his throne of chitin, patting his Shield Spider on the head. He smiled at her.
“To survive of course. It is easy. I win three battles and my people live.”
“What? Three battles?”
He nodded calmly and cast his eyes north. The Goblin Lord sat straight as he spoke, the other Goblins hearing his words and passing them on to the others.
“Goblins need a home. Goblins cannot be separate. We are too weak. We are hunted. So I will build one. I will win three battles. One against the Goblins who rebel. Another against the Humans. And a third, defending our home. I will build it in the mountains. And when all three battles are won, Goblins will know peace.”
“Impossible. The Drake high command would never—”
“Drakes? Drakes don’t go north! Drakes don’t trust Humans and Humans don’t like Drakes. If I find a place for my people, one side will send armies and the other one will squabble and do nothing. We will be a thorn for one and good for the other. You know that.”
The Goblin Lord pointed at her. Osthia opened her mouth and stopped. If he settled and made a Goblin city? She could imagine the Walled Cities sending an army north, but surely the Humans wouldn’t think of that as a declaration of war, right? But the last time a Drake army had gone north…
The Goblin Lord raised his voice, addressing his army.
“Three victories. One against Goblins. Then my army is strong. The second against Humans to show them we cannot be defeated. The last to defend a home, to show them that we are here to stay. It is possible! I have an army. I have a people. I have everything you Drakes have, what Humans have. If I am strong, my people will live. And I am strong!”
He raised his arms and his soldiers cheered. Osthia looked around. The Goblins in black armor shouted and cheered in their own language, shouting for the Goblin Lord. For a home.
She was alone among them. And as the Goblin Lord dismounted, as he pointed and his Goblins began to march back to their army, he looked at her. His white pupils surrounded by blackness were too knowing, too intelligent.
“This was good training.”
“Training?”
Osthia Blackwing looked back at the bloody battlefield, at the dead Humans and the undead shambling after the Goblin Lord’s army. She stared at the Goblin Lord, all her fury replaced by…
“Is that what you call it? What you call this? Training?”
“Hmm. Wrong word? Learning, then. I learn. How to hide troops, how to send them here and here. Your Drake [General] and Gnoll [General] taught me how to lead an army. Now I learn how to fight best with one. Learning, always learning. That is what makes me strong.”
He grinned at her. Osthia swallowed hard.
“The Necromancer made you strong. Without him you’re just…”
The Goblin Lord’s eyes flashed and she fell silent. He shook his head slowly.
“Necromancer made me stronger. But I was always strong. Goblins are weak. But we grow. We learn. And we take. From you. From Drakes, from Humans, from everyone. We take and take. And someday we won’t need to take any more. Someday we will be like you. And we will have a home.”
He stared at her and Osthia felt it. Creeping into her heart, like poison. She could deny it, pretend it wasn’t true, but it was. The Goblin Lord was more than a threat. More than a menace. She was afraid of him. And that promise in his eyes. The word he kept repeating.
“Home.”
Goblins had no homes. They were monsters. Savages. Tribal nuisances that had to be put down. Or they had been. Now, the ones in this army were something else. Osthia Blackwing looked into the Goblin Lord’s eyes and he smiled.
“Soon.”
4.47
[Lieutenant] Gershal of Vaunt was an unhappy man. He was not an important man, which factored into his present unhappiness. He was a low-level officer from a small city north of Invrisil. He commanded a group of disciplined but fairly low-level [Archers] and [Swordsmen], and he liked to think of himself as a decent soldier, albeit one who hadn’t fought in any wars.
He and his men fought monsters, patrolled, kept the peace, and occasionally went to aid other cities, usually in suppressing a Goblin tribe or dealing with a monster infestation. They had never been levied for one of the annual battles against the Drakes, and Gershal hoped they never would be. When he’d heard about the Goblin Lord he’d been concerned for the other cities of course, but he’d assumed the Goblin threat would be taken care of long before they got close to his city.
What he’d never expected was to be part of the solution. When the levy request had come from Lady Magnolia Reinhart to Vaunt, the city [Mayor] had panicked. When another request came hours later from Lord Tyrion Veltras, Gershal had known there would be trouble. When two important nobles wanted the same thing, appeasing one and not the other could have terrible consequences, and yet, both requests had demanded a large force be sent, making appeasing both an impossibility.
Vaunt had made the logical choice. They’d sent four hundred [Soldiers] to Lord Tyrion Veltras, who, after all, was known as a battle-ready [Lord] and who would probably return most of the soldiers in one piece. They’d sent Gershal with two hundred of his men to Lady Magnolia.
The sacrificial lamb. Vaunt strode about the camp he’d been assigned to, nervously tightening his sword belt and eyeing the other soldiers and officers milling about. Lines of orderly tents ran in every direction, each one inhabited by an officer from a different Human city.
“Dead gods, what a hodgepodge collection of units this is. Lady Reinhart wants to stop the Goblin Lord with this?”
Gershal groused to himself as he walked past a group of officers dicing and drinking wine together. His throat cried out for a taste, but the [Lieutenant] moved past them. Drinking on duty? That wasn’t a custom in his army.
And that was the thing. Magnolia’s requests had drawn in so many disparate groups of soldiers from across the continent. Gershal was amazed their arrival to the camp just outside of Invrisil hadn’t been a disaster with them all arriving at once. Somehow he’d found there was a space ready for his soldiers to camp and a personal tent. That was something at least. But now he was waiting for orders and impatient with it. So Gershal walked through the camp, looking for anyone he might recognize.
As luck had it, he was recognized first.
“Gershal!”
A woman’s voice made Gershal turn. He saw a woman in armor striding up to him. She raised a fist and Gershal, knowing what was coming, winced as he put up his own.
The sound of two gauntleted fists colliding made several officers look up. Gershal shook out his stinging knuckles and looked at the other officer who’d given him her city’s unique greeting.
“Lieutenant Salvia. I should have known you’d be assigned here. Who did you offend to get this duty?”
“It’s [Captain] Salvia, you dour oaf! I specifically requested to come here—might as well be first to fight the Goblin Lord, eh? How’s Vaunt? Still making cheeses all year? How many soldiers did you send? Two hundred? Three?”
“Two. Half [Archers] and half [Swordsmen].”
“What, you mean those Level 5 [Farmers] who’ve barely trained with a bow more than a month? Poor show!”
“Better than a bunch of [Riders] who spend all their time looking after a bunch of flea-ridden nags all day.”
Gershal and Salvia stared at each other for a second, and then she laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“You don’t change, do you? Come on, let’s have a drink!”
“I shouldn’t. We are on duty…”
“Don’t be like that! There’s no commander about and unless Magnolia Reinhart graces us with her presence in person, we’ve nothing to do but talk. I have a bottle of wine in my tent. Let’s take it out and drink something. Pshaw! This weather’s not warming fast enough for my taste!”
In short order, Gershal found himself sitting with Salvia at a table, drinking cheap wine from equally cheap tin cups. It wasn’t what Gershal would have preferred, but he was too polite to say otherwise.
Besides, he knew Salvia. Her city, Nonelmar, was close to his and they’d gotten to know each other over the years. Nonelmar was more prosperous owing to its richer soil which provided it with grazing pastures and bountiful fields alike, but Vaunt could pride itself on producing some of the best cheeses on the continent. In fact, Gershal had some of his city’s famous cheese with him and soon he and Salvia were sharing slices of the spicy cheese known as Peppermort, exceptionally fragrant and long-lasting. It also went well with wine, even cheap wine.
“Good stuff! I can’t tell you how much I miss your city’s cheeses. I tried to buy some in Invrisil as soon as my soldiers settled in, but you wouldn’t believe the prices!”
“They are high right before spring. You’re lucky you met me—I hear some of our cheeses are going for eight silver pieces per pound at the moment.”
Salvia swore and Gershal smiled, although he was slightly jealous. He hadn’t even contemplated a trip into Invrisil, for all it was a few miles away from the officer’s camp. Vaunt couldn’t afford to pay its [Lieutenants] that much, and a [Captain]’s salary allowed for far more luxuries.
Rather than ask how Salvia had gotten her promotion, which would be polite, Gershal looked around the camp.
“You say your soldiers got here yesterday? We only arrived this morning. Do you think we’ll be waiting long to see what Lady Reinhart does with us?”
Salvia bit into a slice of cheese and sipped some wine, shrugging.
“Can’t say. Your group is one of the last to arrive or so it seems. We’re nearly full in the camps, and the soldiers are restless. Could be we’ll just sit here until the Goblin Lord arrives and if he attacks, we’ll do our bits. Otherwise…”
Gershal frowned, worried. He leaned forwards over the low wooden table towards Salvia.
“She won’t order us into battle, would she? Lady Reinhart has to know that a force like this won’t stand up to a regular army—even a Goblin Lord’s. Without a commander of some sort…”
“She might have one. Invrisil has a few [Strategists] and it’s not like she couldn’t send for a [Commander] from one of the larger cities.”
“Be reasonable Salvia. A local [Commander] is no match for a Goblin Lord. If it comes to a battle, I could see our groups holding the line in the city with adventurers. But an offensive is suicide! Lord Tyrion is gathering an army of his own, and it’s going to be twice as large as this one. Let him take care of the Goblin Lord. Not Lady Reinhart, who is, with all respect, not a general.”
Gershal looked around as he said this. It wasn’t wise to badmouth Lady Magnolia, but he had to state his opinions, which were close to fact in this case. Salvia made a face.
“I know. I know. I have orders not to participate in any assaults on the Goblin Lord unless I’m sure I can pull my boys out safely. And I’ll bet half the officers here won’t commit to an assault either. You’re not alone Gershal—just don’t say it anywhere Lady Reinhart’s people might hear.”
“They’re not here, are they?”
The [Lieutenant] looked around, worried. Salvia shook her head and pointed to a pair of two [Knights] in pinkish-red armor who were striding through the camp.
“Not her people exactly, but see those two. They’re [Knights] in service to Lady Bethal.”
“Oh.”
Gershal knew that Lady Bethal Walchaís and her house were strongly aligned with the Reinhart family. Still, the two [Knights] did little to strike fear into his heart.
“Aren’t those the Knights of the Flower or something? I’ve heard about them. Arrogant hotheads or so I’ve been led to believe. All the more reason why this army lacks cohesion. If I have to fight with those eyesores—”
Salvia kicked Gershal under the table, making him wince and clutch at his leg. She glared at him, tin cup held tensely in her hand.
“Don’t say that within earshot, you fool! The Knights of the Petal take any insult against their [Lady] or their order to heart. They’ve thrashed officers who’ve laughed at them and they’ll break bones if you insult Lady Bethal.”
Gershal shut up. Salvia put down her cup and reached for the wine bottle to refill it.
“They might dress like pink flowers, but they’re the real deal on the battlefield, Gershal. I hear their armor is all custom-made Dwarf work, enchanted by Wistram mages. They’re nigh-invincible against mundane arms and they all have magical weapons. If there’s any group I’d want to be charging into the Goblin Lord’s ranks, it’s them.”
“Oh.”
Instantly Gershal reevaluated his opinion of the two Rose Knights. Dwarf-made armor? His armor was iron, and not exactly top-rate iron at that. He’d be grateful for some high-quality steel, let alone a piece of armor from the Dwarf forges of Terandria. Yet the presence of Lady Bethal’s knights still didn’t assuage his concerns.
“That’s one elite group. But I don’t see any other notable force. By all accounts Lord Veltras has gathered a far larger army—he called for six thousand horse from the Terland family and they sent it! At least a quarter were [Knights], whereas I can count the number of crests here in the hundreds.”
“Yes, yes. I get what you’re saying Gershal. But we were called here to protect Invrisil from the Goblin Lord.”
“I have no problems with that. But doing it alone—”
Gershal broke off, knowing he was belaboring the point. His heart ached for the villages and towns that had already been destroyed by the Goblin Lord. But he was, if nothing else, a pragmatist. Without a true leader—or twice as many soldiers, he feared that any attempt to do battle with the Goblin Lord would only level up his Goblins and create more undead.
He was worried and unhappy, and unfortunately, the alcohol only made his mood worse. Gershal and Salvia had finished half the bottle and were sharing his cheese and her wine with some other officers they’d met when they heard a horn blowing to the east of camp. Everyone looked up.
“That’s odd. They haven’t announced anyone since Lady Bethal and her escort rode in.”
“Might be a small [Lord] leading his soldiers personally. Poor fellow if he is—I doubt he’ll see much battle on defensive duty.”
“Hang on—listen. There are more horns. This is no local lord.”
Indeed, more horns were blowing, heralding the arrival of someone important. Gershal rose to his feet and saw a man on horseback riding through the camp.
“All officers! Assemble at the center of camp! Lady Magnolia Reinhart has arrived in person! She will be discussing the coming battle against the Goblin Lord!”
“Oh, dead gods.”
Salvia paled and Gershal felt his heart jump in his chest. Coming battle? He looked around at the other officers. They were all looking uneasy.
“We’ll—just have to see what she says. Perhaps she intends to hold the city.”
“No problems there. But he said ‘coming battle’. If she wants us to attack…”
“We’ll just have to tell her it’s not feasible. There’s a few [Captains] and some [Lords] among us—they can say it to her face.”
“Not I.”
Salvia looked pale at the idea, and the officer who’d suggested it paused.
“Well, we’ll just have to say it together. She can’t object to all of us stating the truth.”
Silence followed his words. Gershal stopped himself from pointing out that Lady Magnolia Reinhart could do what she very well pleased. If she grew angry at all of the officers present…he sighed.
“We’d better see what she wants.”
“True.”
The officers began moving in a mass towards the center of the camp, where a wooden stage had been placed. Gershal had wondered what it was for—now he realized it was for the Lady Reinhart. He prayed she wouldn’t make the wrong decision.
“Someone has to destroy the Goblin Lord.”
Salvia muttered to Gershal as they walked. Gershal nodded. He’d wrapped his cheese carefully in wax paper and was tucking it into his armor. Cheese. It was a local superstition among his city. A cheese had once stopped an arrow that had gone through a [Soldier]’s armor. Now all of the young men and women who left Vaunt carried a cheese when they went into battle. It was a good field ration and it reminded them of home.
He wondered what the traditions of the villages and cities around Invrisil were like. Gershal felt a pang as he imagined the Goblin Lord’s army laying waste to them. Someone had to stop the Goblin Lord, indeed. But—
Not this army. Not them. They were too small. Gershal closed his eyes. And then he heard a susurration, saw the ranks of men and women parting, and knew Lady Magnolia Reinhart was approaching. He had never met her before in his life, but Gershal knew the rumors surrounding her. She was cunning, deadly, manipulative, and, it was said, cold-hearted as the snow itself. But she had never been called a fool.
