Blood of Liscor: Book 8, page 7
part #8 of Wandering Inn Series
“Not enough!”
Her voice was too high-pitched. The Goblins shifted. Bethal didn’t blink.
“It is all I can offer. Please, Chieftain of Goblins. If my [Knights] are truly alive, show me. Offer me goodwill and I will return it.”
“They live.”
“Show me. Let me see them. And I will offer you peace. A boon. Protection from other Humans. Safe passage. Whatever you wish.”
Her words were soft, tempting. Desperate. Rags saw that in her as well. Bethal spoke quietly as Rags fought.
“There is nothing to be gained from killing me. The cost would be too high. But if there is a chance—are they truly alive?”
The crossbow was heavy. Rags lowered it slightly.
“Yes.”
“Are they close? Unharmed?”
“Man is. Female ran. She—”
Rags heard a horn blare in the silence. She jerked. The Goblins around her raised their weapons. The mare danced, and Lady Bethal turned as the [Knights] and her husband moved forwards. She looked north, back the way Rags and the Goblins had come.
“What was that?”
Rags didn’t know. She heard the horn blow again frantically. Three short blasts. A distress call! She looked at Bethal, suddenly afraid.
“What you do?”
“Nothing.”
The woman looked taken aback. Rags lifted the crossbow and saw the man’s grip on the rapier shift. Pyrite lifted his axe. Bethal held up a hand.
“I swear it! On my house and name!”
Rags held her gaze. She turned. Redscar was looking back. The horn blew again, and another one blew desperately. Redscar snarled.
“Chieftain. Trouble.”
They had to go. Rags hesitated. She looked back at Lady Bethal. The woman was watching her. Rags pointed.
“Redfangs! Move!”
The wolf riders dashed into the forest, howling. The Goblins on foot shifted. Rags leaned out of her saddle and snapped an order.
“All go back! Fifteen Hob and half crossbows stay!”
The warriors rushed backwards, leaving only a handful of Hobs and a lot of Goblins with crossbows. They kept their weapons trained on Lady Bethal. Rags turned—Pyrite grunted and pointed. She nodded. He ran. She turned to one of the Hobs in charge and lowered her voice.
“Aim at her. If attacked, run.”
The Hob nodded, glancing at the frozen Humans. Rags sat back upright and snapped at her personal escort.
“Ride!”
She kicked her wolf, and it leapt into the forest, following the Goblins running around her. Rags turned her head back and saw Lady Bethal staring at her. For a moment their gazes locked, and then Rags was racing ahead, running. The camp was only a short distance away. What had happened? What—
She burst through the trees and saw shadows flickering through the trees. No light. Just shadows. Flickers of light caught her attention—burning embers from scattered campfires, fallen torches—but no light. She heard Goblins screaming, heard the pounding of hoofbeats—
Hooves? Goblins rode wolves! She turned and saw a Goblin scream as a shadow passed by. A dark shape slashed, and Rags saw a sword flash. The Human rode past her, trampling a Goblin. Not one Human. Many Humans! They rode, shouting and cutting down Goblins around her, too fast to track in the near darkness. She heard them screaming.
“Laken! Laken and the Unseen Empire!”
“Riverfarm!”
“Follow the Captain! This way!”
She saw a rider in full steel armor whirl and turn. He cut a Hob across the face as the Goblin ran at him, and the riders following him speared the Hob. The armored rider pointed, and the Humans on horseback charged forwards again, running over Goblins and Hobs alike.
But that was wrong! Rags gaped. Where were her warriors? They should be in formation, fighting! There couldn’t be more than a few hundred riders here at most! Where was—
“[Light]!”
Rags called a ball of searing white light into being and threw it up. The shimmering orb flew up through the trees and cast the shadows into relief. Rags looked around and saw what she’d failed to see before. There was something in the trees, drifting past her.
Fog? Mists? No. Smoke. It was dark black and green and drifted at head-height through the trees. It was thick, and Rags saw it was cutting off over half the camp. The riders streamed away from it, cutting down the Goblins in the clear space. But in the smoke? Where were the others?
Rags saw a group of Goblins stagger out of the smoke. She urged her mount forwards, shouting at them. They were armed! Warriors! She raced towards them and saw them staggering. Falling? Rags stared as, one by one, the band of Goblins collapsed. Half fell, coughing, grasping at their throats. The others weakly tried to raise their weapons, covering their eyes.
Their eyes? Rags saw something leaking from a Goblin’s eyes. He screamed, a rasping, choking cry. He looked to her—and an arrow sprouted from his chest. Rags jerked. She heard a whistling sound, and beneath her, her Carn Wolf howled. An arrow had pierced his side! He jerked, and Rags heard more arrows thud into the ground. She looked in the direction of the archers, but saw nothing.
They were under attack! Archers, poisonous smoke—and the cavalry. Rags couldn’t see the Redscar warriors, but she could hear howls, spread out in the darkness. How were the Humans seeing? She searched for her warriors, her organized units and saw nothing.
“Rally!”
Rags screamed the word. She raised her hand and shot another ball of light into the air. Her Carn Wolf howled, and she saw more Goblins moving towards her. Some were in the poisonous fog. They stumbled out, blind, coughing. And Rags saw the mounted Humans turn.
“Rally! Form line!”
She shouted at them, reaching for her sword. The Goblins ran towards her, many falling, and Rags saw something flicker overhead.
Arrows. One flashed by her chest. She jerked and felt something strike her mount in the head. It fell, and Rags cried out as her Carn Wolf crashed to the ground. She rolled away and saw the light above her head go out. Someone had ended her spell.
Thunk. Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk—
Goblin screams. Rags struggled up, looking around wildly. She didn’t see the Goblins. She heard more arrows landing and ran desperately. Something was ahead. Rags saw the air darken and jerked backwards. The poison! It was drifting across her camp. Had the Humans put it there? Where was Pyrite? Where was—
“Chieftain!”
A voice amid the screaming. Rags turned and saw a Hob running towards her. He had a spear, and his eyes were wide. He couldn’t find anyone in the darkness. She gasped to see him.
“Come! Must get light!”
She ran towards him. The Goblin opened his mouth and then turned. He snarled; Rags saw a shape amid the trees. She heard a shout and saw a black rider flash past her. He cut, and the Hob in front of her fell, gasping, clutching at the axe stuck in his chest.
“No.”
Rags ran towards him. The Hob grabbed at the axe as the Human on the horse cursed and rode on. He grabbed the axe as Rags stopped. She fumbled at her belt. Healing potion. She had to have—
“Chieftain?”
The Hob’s lungs were filling with blood. He pulled the axe free before she could stop him. She heard a wet, tearing sound, and then silence. She lifted the potion and saw the limp body on the ground.
“Wait.”
She reached for him, but there was nothing there anymore. Rags slowly corked the healing potion and stood back up. She looked around. She could hear more shouting, see more riders moving through the darkness. Arrows were landing. The poison was moving.
“Rally! Rally here!”
Rags screamed the words, searching for Goblins in the darkness. But there was no one around her. It was as if the Humans had brought madness with them. Rags saw Goblins fleeing into the poisonous smoke, running from riding Humans, shooting back wildly at the archers they couldn’t see. It was chaos. She was alone.
Alone. Rags shouted but no one could hear. The poison mist was drifting through the camp, covering staggering Goblins trying to run. Arrows flew around her, cutting down the Goblins emerging from the poison. And in between the poisonous fog were the riders, galloping, scything down her people. Turning, wheeling.
Humans. They were killing her tribe. Where had they come from? They weren’t Bethal’s people. Rags felt—shocked. Something beyond shock then reached her core. Her head rang. She stumbled, looking for her people.
A poison cloud at her back, the riders ahead. Only the dead around her. Rags raised her head and saw them at last. A flicker of light. A group of Humans far away, aiming their bows. And a cauldron—many bubbling pots and Humans fanning the smoke, blowing it their way. They loosed another volley, and Rags heard the Goblins scream. Then the black riders raced past her, cutting down a group of Goblins that tried to form a pike formation with a third of their number.
Oh.
They’d ambushed them. Just like they’d done. Somehow, the Humans had known they were there. Rags nodded. That made sense. She looked around. It was the same. They’d come for her tribe, come for her. She hadn’t expected it. But that was what was happening. They had come and were killing everyone.
Rags felt—pain. Pain, and hurt. But nothing else. She looked inside her heart for anger. She looked for rage, reached for it and found nothing. Because, in her soul, in her inner self, nothing in Rags was surprised. She looked around at the blood. At the silent bodies.
Look at them. All of them. The small ones curled up to the adults. By poison, by blade, by arrow. It was all the same.
This was how things were. Again and again, for years and centuries. Forever. This was what they did. Rags slowly reached for the crossbow she’d tied to her back. Slowly, awkwardly, she drew it and looked around.
The riders streamed past, shouting. Rags raised the crossbow and aimed. She pulled the trigger and felt it kick against her arm. One of the dark shadows fell and a horse reared. Rags mechanically felt at the quiver at her side. The horses rode past her, turning, cutting.
Place the bolt. Cock the crossbow. Rags lifted it and turned. Again she pulled the trigger. Another shape fell.
They were turning. One pointed his sword, and Rags knew there was no time. She raised her hand and fire flew. It struck a horse, and Rags saw the rider flailing as the animal screamed.
This was how it happened. Every time. She saw the Humans charging, heard the cry. She held her ground. Her finger shifted; another rider fell, burning.
A Human in armor was leading them. He rode towards her, his face obscured by a dark steel helmet. Rags pointed at him, and the flaming arrow struck his chest. Too weak; he rode through it. He had a sword in his hand. Rags reached for hers.
Sword. Buckler—she fumbled and dropped it. The rider lowered in his saddle. She thought she could see his face through the helmet. She heard a word as he leaned down. She swung and heard the rushing air, felt her blade bite into the horse. And then she heard his voice as he cut her chest.
“So small.”
It was a whisper, lost among the screaming. For a moment, a frozen moment, Rags looked up and saw his eyes. And then the blade cut into her chest. Rags twisted with the impact, her grip loosening on her sword. The horse screamed as her blade was ripped from her hand. She blinked and looked at the blood streaming from her chest. The rider wrenched his sword, and the world blurred. Rags stumbled, and she saw him kick his stallion. He raced past her. She heard Goblins scream around her as she sank to her knees.
“Oh.”
Rags clutched at her chest. Blood dripped between her claws. She wavered and felt her knees give. She lay down, staring at the sky.
Her chest was wet. She felt tired. Cold. There was nothing in her heart. No fury. Not enough hate to make her reach for the potion at her belt. She should never have expected anything more.
The Humans rode past her, whooping, shouting war cries, cutting down the Goblins that fled. Ignoring her. Another body on the ground. Rags wanted to tell them to stop. She hadn’t started it. She hadn’t killed the lady. She’d tried—
But they’d killed the Human army. The ones chasing Goblins. And these Humans knew. Or did they care? They were cutting down children and Goblins with no weapons, laughing, screaming. The poison cloud drifted over Rags’ head, and she felt her lungs burning.
This was what they did. Rags closed her eyes and coughed once. She thought—
——
“Chieftain!”
Pyrite turned and shouted for Rags. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness. The darkness was nearly perfect in the forest. All of the campfires were scattered. The torches had been knocked over, and the Humans were riding through the forest, cutting Goblins down!
How could they see? How could they know where each Goblin was? Could they see in the dark? The Hob saw a flash, and an arrow landed close to his foot. He shouted.
“Shields!”
The Goblins around him instantly raised their shields. He heard thudding impacts and then a scream. A Goblin fell in front of him. He looked around wildly.
“Where?”
There was no vision! No order! Black and green smoke was obscuring half the forest. Pyrite had sent a scout into it, and the Goblin had begun choking halfway in. Poison of some kind. The riders were dominating the other half—they were bearing down on any group of Goblins. There were only a few hundred of them, but they’d scattered the Goblins’ formations. Pyrite had arrived with a group of pikes, crossbows, and Hobs to find nothing at all.
“Where are Redfang? Where is Rags? Where are warriors?”
He shouted desperately. The Goblins around him looked around wildly. Nothing. There was howling from Carn Wolves, but it sounded like it was coming from inside the black smoke. On the other side? Pyrite looked around. Arrows, riders—what was the priority?
He heard a howl from his left and saw a Redfang warrior on a Carn Wolf charging. Alone. He had a bloody blade and was headed towards a cluster of shadows—
No wait. Those were Humans! Pyrite’s vision picked out a dark group with bows and a few flickering fires. A group of Humans, archers! They shot the charging Redfang warrior and his mount dead as Pyrite watched. They had set up in front of three black cauldrons belching smoke.
Cauldrons. Pyrite’s eyes widened. He pointed at the burning vats and shouted.
“Poison! Follow!”
The Goblins around him charged after Pyrite as he ran through the forest. The Humans with bows noticed him running and called an alarm.
“Hob charging! Loose!”
Pyrite heard the bows sing and raised his arm, covering his face. He felt something strike him in the chest and roared as the burning pain filled his shoulder, but the arrow had lodged in his fat; another struck him in the belly, another in the arm. Missed his head. Pyrite lowered his hand and saw the Humans in front of him. To the side were the pots. Pyrite lifted his battleaxe. He swung, and the Human [Archer] fumbling with her shortsword disappeared. Pyrite felt the impact as his battleaxe sheared through her and roared.
“Back! Back!”
The Humans screamed as Goblins charged past Pyrite. The Goblin line rammed into them with pikes, impaling the Humans as Pyrite swung again. The [Archers] fled, shouting in panic.
“Fall back to the horses! Retreat!”
“Follow!”
Pyrite bellowed at the Goblins. He saw a Hob kick over a pot and swung at the other two, knocking the cauldrons to the ground and spilling whatever was inside. Smoke shot up as the flames were doused; Pyrite coughed and felt his eyes and throat begin to burn. He staggered away and coughed before shouting an order.
“Bad smoke!”
The Goblins heard him and avoided the poisonous fumes. They chased the Humans, cutting down half as they scrambled onto their horses tethered nearby. The Humans fled, and Pyrite called them back.
“More archers! More pots! Find!”
There had to be. He roared at the Hob who’d kicked over the pots, and he and six other Hobs led another group of Goblins back through the forest. Pyrite ran ahead, snapping the shafts of the arrows, bellowing.
“Light! Light!”
They needed to see! A Goblin grabbed a piece of wood and tried to stoke the fire the cauldrons had been burning on. He lifted a torch, and Pyrite, remembering his axe, swung it into a tree, bellowing.
The tree caught alight as the enchanted axe set it aflame. Goblins rushed forwards with branches and sticks, and Pyrite pointed. The riders were still circling the camp.
“Charge!”
The Humans had spotted the Goblin warriors and charged towards them. Pyrite roared and raised his axe. The first Human had a spear. It was leveled at Pyrite’s chest. The Hob charged forwards and then dodged right at the last moment. Into the path of the horse! The startled animal reared, but Pyrite didn’t give it a chance to strike him with its hooves. He swung and felt an impact. The rider and horse fell, and Pyrite kicked. The Human took the blow in the chest and fell, gurgling. More riders came at him. Pyrite swung his axe, roaring.
“Pikes! Wall!”
The Goblins around him remembered their training and set their pikes. The horses ran into the pikes or tried to turn, and the riders crashed into the Goblin formation. Hobs and Goblins armed with axes and swords ran between the pikes and fell on the immobilized riders. Pyrite roared and advanced, his axe cutting down Humans and horses alike.
“Break away! Retreat!”
A panicked voice signaled a second retreat. Pyrite shouted for the Goblins to not pursue. This wasn’t important! They had to find others!
“Light!”
He roared again, louder. The Goblins snatched up branches. Pyrite saw another group of Humans loosing arrows and ordered another charge. This time, the Humans ran before he could close the distance.
“They’re reforming! Get away!”
“General Wiskeria’s ordered the retreat! Move to the rally point!”
“Take down that Hob!”
Someone shouted from the left. Pyrite spun and saw an armored Human bearing down on him with a group of mounted Humans. He swung, and the Human cursed, pulling his mount away to avoid Pyrite’s strike. He rode past Pyrite, hacking down a Goblin, and Pyrite cut down a Human trying to strike him.
