Little War, Part 3: With Sword In Hand

The axe came down hard, but not hard enough to split the haft of the spear Thaniel was now using as a shield. He brought his foot up into the creature's chest and kicked him back hard. He snapped what was left of the spear in half and reached for the chained shield on his back. The creature was already scrambling backwards and getting up on its feet, readying to strike another blow.

 

  “Ger tooshnen bri keh toroonen, Frithta!”

 

“Yeah, yeah...” He contemplated chucking what was left of the spear, but it was an all or nothing strike. Instead he pulled his shield in tight around his shoulder and head making it impossible for him to get decapitated with an axe like that. “Where's the Sage?”

 

  “Nashting-nen keh taloh Sageta!” the goblin spat on the ground. Its footing suggested it was about to rush forward. Than took the momentum away from him and leaped forward with the shield, knocking the wind out of its lungs. In the split second it took for the creature to realize what Than was doing it already had a spear piercing its heart. He twisted the spearhead and let it and the goblin fall to the ground. The goblin's mirrored set of eye-lids retracted as it let out a final gurgle. It was dead.

 

Another goblin stumbled out of the tree-line holding Than's sword. That explained where the horse went. “Give me the sword, take the rest, and go.”

 

  “Shook ka ger bladin ne ger chogen...”

 

  “I know you speak Trade, just throw down the sword and go away.”

 

The goblin struggled to flex its vocal cords so it could speak the human tongue. “Bladin is taken...Frithta go away...all is fair in kaggen...” it pulled his sword with its hilt wrapped in chains from the sheath. It was a well made sword for a well made Frith, so it was far from home in a some ratty goblin bandit's hands.

 

“You're not armed,” Than pulled the bloody broken spear from the dead goblin's ribcage with a splurch.

 

“I...took your bladin...Frithta is the one without bladin...”

 

Than charged forward stopping short five feet away causing the goblin to rail back in shock. He threw the spear as hard as he could towards the goblin's chest but the cur was able to clumsily half hop out of the way. Than closed the distance and pushed the goblin back against a tree trunk with his shield and held him there.

 

“Drop...the sword...” Than struggled to hold him in place. Goblins weren't heavy, but they were unnaturally gifted in squirming. After thrashing against the trunk the sword fell to the dirt with a thud. He struggled to pick it up while holding the goblin in place at the same time, so he let him go. The green thief bounded off like some cat being taken to bath.

 

It took Than a few minutes to find the horse and a few more minutes to get the horse back to the camp. The sage was waiting for him, tossing dirt on the campfire. “You're still alive then, Sage...” said Than.

 

“Ah, so they didn't ride towards the farmstead. Good,” the old sage wiped his hands on his tunic ignoring the frith's remark.

 

“Goblins don't ride horses, they eat them...” he tied the reins to a low hanging branch. “But one of them is still alive and he'll definitely get to the farmstead before us.”

 

“Damn,” the sage moved towards the tent to pack it up.

 

“There's no rush, Sage. They already know we're here.”

 

With a mighty huff of disappointment Sage Faren let the tent fall out of his hands to the ground. “Do we head back to Tannerel then? Ask the Greatlord for a few more men?”

 

Than smirked, “You must be an important man to ask a Greatlord to borrow a few knights. Why not go to Ovelan and ask the King himself?” He nodded towards the tent, “Keep packing that up. We're not heading back to Tannerel just yet.”

 

“I don't follow, sir. The surprise is gone, and,” the sage fell silent as he unhooked the rest of the tent pegs, “I'm useless in a fight, if you haven't guessed.”

 

“I know who these pups are,” Than began breaking the rest of the small camp. “They're goblins from a birthing-tribe, not a warband. No one's taught them how to fight yet. The worst thing they'll do is run away, and they won't get very far..”

 

Faren seemed impressed and pleased with this and merrily went about picking up the odds and ends of the camp.

 

The sun was still high, which meant most of the goblins would be sleeping aside from the one on watch. The sage's mule had died after they'd set out, which meant sharing two bodies, a tent, tools, and food for three weeks on one very beleaguered horse. Between a few inconspicuous rocks and bushes along the trail they hid what they knew they didn't need to kill the remaining four goblins, and charged ahead.

 

A swathe of country north of Tannerel had been empty for five years after a goblin warband carved its way through the farmers' fields. The warband had since been dispatched by an army of King Connoch's finest sent from Ovelan itself; the abandoned villages and farms still lay there for the taking but had few willing takers. Goblin birthing-tribes still squatted in the forests and took every opportunity they could to see how much they could get away with.

 

The discarded hamlet they were riding through had probably been just large enough to be given a name and a mayor before the warband arrived. The countryside was slowly digesting the former houses and mills; tufts of long green grass poked through the rotting wood and stone foundations. At some places one could tell where the goblins had ravaged through and where the human inhabitants had simply left as quick as they could. But for the most part the village was clean in the same way that a skeleton in a nest of rats is clean, scavenged beyond any use to anyone.

 

The Frith stopped the horse just short of a small wood shack. A symbol had been slathered above the door in red war paint. “There, what does that look like to you?”

 

The sage craned his neck. “Territorial markings...one of the local tribes...”

 

“No, no, no, what does it look like?”

 

Faren squinted. “A...an eye?”

 

“A fish. The Red Fish. It's the tribe our goblins belong to...the Red Fish haven't had access to a warband in ages, which means their adults are probably too stupid to know which end of a hammer to hold.”

 

“Mmhhm...”

 

“Which means that the one fat goblin you're hunting down is probably the only one worth worrying about...”

 

“Hmmm...very good, very good...”

 

If the sage was impressed by this knowledge he didn't show it. He just stared blankly off in the distance.

 

Than rolled his eyes and drove the horse onward. If the Sage's Tower in Tannerel had wanted him specifically to act as guide and guard then why did this one act like the frith they'd hired was an unnecessary expense?

 

It wasn't long before they reached the outskirts of the town and came upon a well. He halted the horse. “You know much about poisons, sage?”

 

A few 'hmms' and 'hahs' had to escape his mouth before Faren could answer. “It's not my Order specifically. But if you're asking if we should drink from that well, I'd advise against it.”

 

Than sighed, “Yeah, that's what I was afraid of.” He kicked the horse again. “I was hoping you'd have a powder on you that would turn green if it were in poisoned water or somesuch.”

 

“That would be the Order of Smoke who'd have something like that.”

 

“And what order are you?”

 

The sage went silent. Than couldn't see his face but he knew the old man was hesitating. “The Order of Glass...study of stars and ley-lines and such. I'm afraid I know next to nothing about anything useful at the moment...”

 

“Well if I should need you to throw some bones and read my fut-”

 

“STOP THE HORSE!”

 

“...fine.” He brought the horse to a trot. There's never a need to make a horse throw you off itself for sake of haste.

 

The sage dismounted before the horse entirely stopped and tumbled in the dirt. He scrambled over to a tree and crouched down to examine something. Than took his time. If the sage felt comfortable enough to be safe then there was nothing to worry about.

 

“There...you see the wound? Damn it all!”

 

“What are you...oh...”

 

What he was looking at was a goblin. A dead goblin, specifically. It had been decomposing and nearly blended in entirely with the background. If it weren't for the sage shouting in his ear it would have been as innocuous as a tree or a fence-post. But what was most odd about it was that a six foot long steel harpoon had impaled it to an oak. Three of the six feet of steel was sticking out the other side of the tree.

 

“Damn, damn, damn...”

 

“What in the hells could...what...what is strong enough to do that? An ogre? This far south?”

 

“It's no ogre, Frith. It's not an ogre, or a giant, or magic, or anything like that.”

 

So the truth was out. “...I see.”

 

Sage Faren wiped his brow and stretched his arms. “It's a weapon. Sage constructed. I should think they only had the one harpoon though.”

 

“Well I should hope so!”

 

“And if they do have more than one...then before this is over you'll see a very strange thing indeed.” The sage was back on the horse before the frith. His purpose had been renewed and it showed in his eyes and the way he held his hands and head.

 

It seemed an awkward topic to bring up, but Than had been involved in this so he held the right to ask. “What kind of weapon is this?” he climbed back on the horse and they were off.

 

“I wouldn't like to say!”

 

The sages were a quiet lot. Very secretive. They rarely talked about their business unless you were learning as a student in one of their many towers, and even then there were certain things only the more advanced in their orders were allowed to know. “I need to know...” the horse was at a full gallop now “in case I get impaled to a tree!”

 

“If you should see a steel harpoon heading towards you, do your best to move out of its way!”

 

There were only four goblins left to Than's knowledge. Two more pups, one fat veteran, and the fat veteran's retainer. Only the last two were any real threat unless Than or Faren did anything reckless or stupid. If that lot had met up with the Red Fish then things would've gotten more complicated, but not impossible to handle.

 

It took him back to the days when he was barely a man of thirteen. They'd tested the new recruits against a number of birthing-tribe simpletons they'd captured in a raid. It was the first time he'd drew blood aside from childhood fistfights. His first kill had sunk its teeth into his shoulder before he'd woken up to the situation and cut it across the chest. He was never sure if it was the lack of skill in birthing-tribe goblins or that he'd thrown all hesitation against them the moment he took his first, but he'd never feared them since.

 

In all truth, they were making good time. Goblins could run fast and long but they may just beat the thief who took his sword to the farmstead. When he'd return to the Frith's Hall in Tannerel he'd nominate the horse to be given a laurel wreath or a medal. Regardless of the horse's valor, it was being run ragged and needed a good rest and a drink. He prayed that the river next to the farm still ran clean for all their sakes.

 

The road had finally run out, or rather, it had finally been run over. The encroaching weeds and tall grass had nearly swallowed it, leaving only a semblance or the idea of a road left in the dirt. He was never sure if Farmer Dogan was still alive after being relocated, but he was sure he'd have given up the ghost if he knew the state of his farmstead.

 

The only green left in the field were the leaves of the trees; everything else had succumbed to yellows and browns. The wood walls of the house and the stables were splintered, frayed, and peeling. The roof of the barn was sunken as if a giant happened by to sit on it. Whether it was the weather or the goblins that had demolished the Dogan Farmstead, Than couldn't say, but above its doors was painted a bright red fish.

 

He veered the horse left along a fork in the road. He'd spent three years in the lands north of Tannerel. The marches of Wheatshire and Tallenham were sparsely populated before the goblins ransacked it. He'd spent his days tracking down the occasional robber or whipping an adulterer at the behest of a local lord. He wasn't sure when his duties as a frith changed from administering justice to protecting the villagers from goblin raiders. It all happened so seamlessly. One day he was shooing off goblin pups from stealing Farmer Dogan's onions, the next he was lighting warband catapults ablaze during the Battle of Harvenfall, not one day's journey from where they now rode.

 

The goblins hadn't seen them, that much he knew. The hill behind which they now trotted was high and long, covered in dry grass. Not much further down the barely visible trail would be a forest clearing and a small river.

 

Far up ahead he saw a shivering bush produce a scrawny green goblin, which bounded on all fours up the hill. It paid them no mind though, as it scrabbled like a squirrel climbing a tree. It was the thief who took his sword, and it was too far ahead of them to be captured or killed, but for their sake at least it seemed too single-minded in its task of getting back to the farmstead to even notice them. They were like animals in more than one respect. He'd seen a tapestry once in a Sage's Tower depicting all the creatures of the world which were blessed with intelligence; in one forgotten corner lurked a goblin, barely above the intelligence of a pig. Than had met a few smart goblins in his time though (he'd even met a few smart pigs) but unfortunately all those meetings would involve one person or another bleeding to death.

 

When it finished leaping over the lip of the hill the sage finally spoke.

 

“Did it see us?”

 

“No, it's too focused to think,” Than kicked the horse into a full trot again.

 

It wasn't long before the coolness of the forest washed over them and they stood beside the river.

 

“Would you happen to know which poisons goblins use?” the sage knelt down to study the water, although examining it up close did little more good than make him look important.

 

“No idea...but unless there's a rotting corpse at the river's head I doubt drinking from it would do us harm.”

 

Even still, Faren gave him a worried look. For a man who knew so much about the world he could certainly be thick where it counted. It was a moot point regardless, since the horse had already begun drinking while they were staring down the river.

 

Than tried to lead the horse away but it seemed intent on resting and suddenly became very stubborn. It didn't matter at this point, so he tied the reins to a branch and let it be. They wouldn't need her services again unless they were traveling home or running from a horde of goblins hiding in the barn.

 

“So...we're here,” the sage continued to stare at the river, his hands resting on his legs.

 

“Yes, we are.” He pulled his sword out and tightened one of the chains on the hilt so it wouldn't rattle.

 

Faren craned his head up at the canopies of the trees looking either for goblins or answers. “I shall need to tell you about this weapon.”

 

“I asked you before on the road. I recall that you 'wouldn't like to say' much about it.”

 

He looked grave. “You must promise me, frith, on your goddess that you will never speak of what you see to anyone.”

 

Than sheathed his sword. “Yeah I promise.”

 

“Say the words with sword in hand.”

 

He unsheathed his sword again, brought out the shield from his back, and gave a mighty sigh. “I, Thaniel Laborne of the Frith, with sword and shield in hand, swear an oath before my Lady of Justice that I shall never speak of the sage's weapon to anyone but the high-strung sage in question,” he sheathed the sword again, “how're those words?”

 

Faren frowned but there was little to be done about it. “This weapon which the goblins have is...explosive. Or rather, it uses our explosive powders-”

 

“Like in your fireworks.”

 

“...yes, like in our firework displays. It focuses the energy and momentum from those powders into a narrow tube. Inside the tube is a harpoon, or little pellets, or...anything that would survive that sort of blast, which is then propelled with great force wherever the tube is directed,” he looked as though he were telling a dirty shameful secret but at the same time seemed very excited about it.

 

“Is this thing easy to handle?”

 

“To a goblin? Yes. But it's not easy to load with new powder.”

 

“Where did they get the weapon in the first place?”

 

It was like staring down a whipped pup. The sage even fidgeted with his hands. “There's no reason not to tell you I suppose, since you could deduce such on your own, but one of our number has...gone rogue. We have reason to believe he traveled through the area and was waylaid by a warband.”

 

Than snorted. “There's no warbands around here. If he got caught by a tribe then-”

 

“Regardless,” continued the sage, “he either made the weapon or simply handed it over in exchange for his freedom. The warbands actually have the knowledge of how to make the powders themselves, but they're too simple to use it properly.”

 

“So this new weapon he constructed, is there any weakness to it?”

 

“It's an old weapon...to the sages anyway. We don't revel in constructing such...things. I suppose if you could get it wet, but like I told you on the road, try not to stand in front of it. The wielder likely has one shot, that is if they even have a second harpoon loaded.”

 

With the ease that can only come from a frith veteran he slid the heavy shield again onto his back and stretched his arms. “I suppose that's that then. Little else to be said.”

 

“Leave the fat goblin alive, if you're able. I could use a few answers and it'd be a shame to waste him.”

 

The water wheel beside Dogan's mill had ceased to move in the five years it was out of service. It stood impotently in place, covered in some parts by mold and other parts by mushrooms. Than peeked his head inside the bare window and found a bucket. This was going to be simple. He filled it to the brim with the river's rushing water. After setting a few feet out he turned his head back and looked at the wheel again. It was barely holding onto the mill itself. A simple push would probably collapse it. If it weren't for the jittery goblins with a fire-spewing weapon in the barn he'd run over and kick it himself. He couldn't say why but it would feel so satisfying to do so.

 

He arrived at the edge of the tree-line and was staring at the back of the barn when the sage came trotting up behind him. Faren was about to speak but Thaniel put his finger to his lips and pointed up a tree. The shuffling goblins could be heard from outside before their voices came through in their guttural language. The heaviness of their footsteps and the clattering of whatever they were up to in there gave away that they were unaware of the two grown men climbing the tree outside. Perhaps the most delicate part of the journey thus far came from getting the bucketful of water up the tree.

 

Three branches upwards, and Thaniel was within leaping distance of the window. The collapsed roof gave enough light to see inside, but what places weren't lit up by the evening sun were now pitch black.

 

“Kaleh sah fo ger barntet.”

 

“Frithta nashneenen ger tow?”

 

“Relam ga shotanden falet Frithta bardeen!” the third voice was much deeper and older than the others. It held the weight of decades worth of service in an experienced warband. The goblin veteran.

 

The sage below him seemed scared witless, but on the other hand, anxious to get this over with. He knocked on the Frith's boot and asked for a hand up to his branch, but Than held his hand up to stop him. There was only reason enough for one of them to be killed stupidly today.

 

“Gerash telah go bundertet! Gah Rah!” the veteran was angry.

 

An unsure pigeon-toed goblin wandered into view in front of Than, he was holding a thick goblin-length pipe. He seemed scared of the veteran's voice and flinched whenever he spoke. It was only after wandering in and out of view for a few minutes that Than realized that he was clutching the sage's weapon.

 

He readied the bucket of water and steadied his feet on the branch. It would have to be a precise singular movement.

 

The goblin stood with his back to him.

 

“Oh, sod this...” Than pulled out his sword, let the bucket fall to the ground, and leaped into the window. The goblin squealed in shock when Than's foot came down on his spine hard, letting the weapon fly from his claws and land through a hole to the floor below.

 

“FRITHTA! FRITHTA!” the goblin veteran bellowed from beneath him. Footfalls and the clattering of old wood let Than know that he didn't have much time.

 

“Sorry,” said Than as he pierced the squealing goblin's back.

 

The two goblins were armed, but it was easy to tell at a glance that only one of them was dangerous. The first was covered in scars and holding a curved axe with a head larger than it had any right to be. Its teeth were snarled in anger and it was ready to kill. The veteran's retainer. The other goblin held a rusted knicked sword it probably picked up from a dead soldier years ago. It held it like it was on fire and looked more at the retainer than at Than himself.

 

“Frithta goulida!” shouted the retainer.

 

Than pulled his shield out and charged forward.

 

He immeidately blocked an axe blow and parried a rusted sword. He swung and missed at the one but bit into the shoulder of the other. A glance from the axe's blade grazed his stomach, but he was able to kick the retainer in the groin. The rusted sword struck his back, which gave him a shock, but the blow was too light to do more than bruise him. He brought his sword down hard enough to nearly cleave the frightened goblin in two.

 

Their count of goblins was off by at least one. Another goblin came up the stairs. Its eyes were wide and full of fright. It was the thief from before, who tentatively clutched a club in his hands and shook from head to toe. Behind him came the heavy steps of the fat veteran. Its beard was long, white, and unkempt, and its skin was yellow with age. He shouted angrily to the thief and urged him onward.

 

“SARET GER TOTANNEN! GOULIDA SHOTAN!”

 

The retainer pushed aside his shield and kicked Than in the chest and onto the floor. The wind was knocked out of him, but there was no time to recover. He brought his shield up to his face and felt the blow of the axe come down hard. If it were any lesser shield it would have split. The retainer stood over him and readied a second blow, probably to his sword arm. Than threw aside the shield and sat up to hug the legs of the goblin, throwing him off balance. It was enough to bring the creature toppling down. The veteran bellowed on and stomped his feet.

 

Than hurriedly reached for his sword, but took the time to crush the retainer's wrist beneath his foot. It squealed like a demon and tried to squirm out of reach. He brought the sword down hard against its collarbone, cleaving halfway down its ribcage. It looked more confused than hurt as the life vanished from it.

 

The veteran had disappeared down the stairs to the floor below, but the thief stood in the corner in shock. Goblin blood coated the upper story of the barn, and three of his comrades were dismembered by a single man. Than caught his breath and chuckled before pointing the sword at the goblin's head. The club it held fell from its hands which went up in a sign of surrender. Than brought his shield up to his face. This wouldn't have been the first goblin to attack him after surrendering, but it wasn't going to be his last.

 

“GER TOSHNEN FAR FRITHTA SHOTOON!” came the veteran's voice from the stairway.

 

The thief seemed more afraid of the fat veteran than it did of Than and ran on all fours out the window. He ran to see if the sage was alright. The sage looked shocked and off in the distance, confused at the retreating goblin. He looked up at Than and held his thumb up to show he was okay. Than turned his attention to the stairway.

 

There was only one goblin left and it was the most experienced of all. The second story was too far away from the first for his comfort as far as jumping went, so the stairs were the only approach. He picked up the retainer's axe and studied it for a second. It was covered in knicks and scratches but there was a discernible count along the haft that told of the number of men it killed. Sixteen.

 

He slid it across the floor and let it fall through the hole which the weapon had fallen through earlier. The veteran let out a surprised grunt.

 

Not a second later Than came leaping down the stairs with his shield up above his head.

 

“TOOSHNEN TOROONEN FRITHTA!” the fat aged goblin leveled the sage's weapon directly at his head. It had been loaded with a wooden goblin spear tipped in iron. There was no time to dodge. No time to think.

 

A black cloud exploded from the weapon with jets of flame bellowing out of each end. The din was loud enough that Than's ears began to ring. Suddenly he was confused as to what he was doing there, and felt like he was walking underwater.

 

The first thing he heard when his sense returned to him was the cursing of a very angry fat goblin at his feet. He'd heard enough of the goblin language to understand the basics, but he was pretty sure the squirming veteran covered in splinters with a long steel shard embedded in its stomach was using curses from a dozen different languages.

 

“Sage! Get in here before he bleeds out!” yelled Thaniel. He could hear well enough again, but his own words sounded muffled and strange.

 

“My lord that was loud!” came a voice from the barn door. He ran quickly over to the dying goblin. “Where's the weapon?”

 

“All over the barn, ask your questions sage, there's no telling how much time he has.”

 

“Ah! Here it is!” He skittered over to a pile of debris in front of a clear set of blastmarks where the weapon had misfired. “There! On the hilt! That's his mark, the bastard!”

 

“GER TOONEN RAH TEN...GOULIDA, FRITHTA!”

 

The sage came to his senses and walked over to the goblin. It clutched its stomach and was breathing heavily.

 

“Do you speak Trade?”

 

“They all speak Trade,” replied Than.

 

“Quiet, frith! Goblin, listen closely. Ter ragnen fathtola bannen sageta rohtas...”

 

“Do not...speak my tongue...manling!” Than was more surprised that the goblin was willing to speak than that the Sage spoke his language. “I...will...piss on you all...in hell!”

 

“Where is the man who brought you this weapon?”

 

The goblin tried to spit in Faren's face but it landed weakly instead on his tunic. Thaniel gripped the steel shard in its stomach and twisted.  “RAAAAAGH! FAHSSEN GER TOOSHNEN SHOTAN!” The goblin could do little but grip Thaniel's arm tightly. The sage shot him a poisonous look.

 

“The man who gave you this weapon,” continued Faren, “I wish to kill him. He betrayed me.”

 

The goblin's breath rattled and he coughed up a fair amount of blood. The fury in his eyes could set the barn ablaze. “Get you then...to Gratham...kill him...” he spat out another mouthful of blood, “...then yourselves...I'll meet all of you...in hell...”