When Goblins Rage (Book 3) Page 20

  There was a scuffle of stones, and a man appeared at the base of the rubble. A small white cloth held in his fingers. He waved it, an amused expression toying at his mouth. But he figured he had every right to be amused. Because he saw only a beaten enemy.

  “Greetings up there,” Storrson called. “Mind if we have a chat?”

  “Mind if we cut your throat?” Pad called back genially, dusting himself off.

  “Hush, Pat,” Sharpe said. He looked down at Storrson. “What do you want?”

  “Peace,” the young soldier returned. “And to save your souls, of course. To that end, all we want is two things. Well. Two people, actually. We want the mage and the girl. We know they're here. And if you give them to us, we'll allow you to live. A fair bargain, if you think about it.”

  Nysta headed slowly up the rubble, violet eyes searching the young soldier's face.

  “Mage?” Sharpe frowned. “There aint no spellslingers here.”

  “I don't believe you. You're lying. They must be here! They were seen heading in this direction. There's no other town around for days. So, if they're not here, then you know where they are. Now. Give them to us. The General grows impatient.”

  “I'm telling you, you southern piece of trollshit,” Sharpe's voice lashed out like a snake. “There's no fucking spellslingers here! If there were, do you think we'd have died like this? We'd have had him on the fucking wall sending fireballs at the fucking lot of you.”

  “We did wonder,” Storrson admitted. He shrugged. “Then they must be hiding somewhere like the rats they are. I suggest you find them. And bring them to me.” His eyes suddenly caught the elf's, and he pointed at her. “You can also give us the Tainted one. I owe her. I want her bound and gagged immediately. Do this, and some of you may live to see tomorrow.”

  The elf rolled her shoulder, feeling the pain blossom. Said evenly; “Want to come up here and try that shit yourself, feller?”

  Before Storrson could spit a reply, Count Steel stepped up beside Sharpe and nodded to the young soldier. A weary greeting. “You know me, Storrson,” he said slowly. “And you know the kind of man I am. Now, I don't know what you want with the Long-ear. I think that's between the two of you. But you should go back to your father and tell him Lord Sharpe spoke the truth. I vouch for this. There's no mage here. There is only what you see. Tell him to turn around. Leave this place in peace. There's no need for more fighting. Haven't we all lost enough friends today?”

  “You can't give me orders anymore, Steel,” Storrson sneered, making it clear he was deliberately avoiding the title. “You are Unaccepted. You surround yourself in the Tainted. Your word means nothing.”

  “Unaccepted,” the Count snorted, shocked by the tone directed at him. Sharpe had to grab the man's arm to stop him from rushing down to kill the young soldier. “I never needed to be Accepted in the first place, you tiresome shit! My blood was always pure. Not like yours!”

  “Leave,” Sharpe snapped at the soldier, cutting them both off. His voice was brittle. “Leave now. And stick your demands up your ass.”

  “Use both hands, my friend,” Eli advised. “You look the kind who is a very big asshole.”

  A smattering of chortles made Storrson redden with anger. He swept his furious gaze over them all, pausing longest on the elf. “You will regret this. All of you. I will see you dead before the sun is high in the sky.”

  “Goblins!” Bill shouted. Everyone looked up to see him pointing out toward the trees. His voice got more excited as he went on. “It's fucking goblins! My Lord, look! They're attacking the wagons!”

  He capered along the wall, trying to get a better look at something the rest of them couldn't see. Storrson shot her another venomous look and scampered away. Boe stepped close, lifting his hand to shield his eye from a small crack of sunlight spearing down from the clouds.

  The elf loosened Break Even free in its sheath and prepared for the worst.

  “Goblins?” Boe looked incredulous.

  Bill let out a whoop of pleasure as he scooted down from the crumbling wall. “The goblins are coming,” he cheered. “The goblins are coming!”

  Boe frowned, looking sideways at her. “You think he's right?”

  “I reckon something's got him excited.” The elf said. “But given it was him up there, I'd expected eagles.”

  “Eagles?”

  She rubbed at the scar on her cheek, moving forward to see what was happening outside the gates. Drawled; “On account of him being Bill, Boe.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  More snow drifted lazily from the sky, but it would not do more than lay a fine dust of white across the mangled bodies and ruined gates.

  The elf climbed the debris, moving past those too exhausted or too shocked to move.

  Found herself in the broken mouth of the gates with only Eli at her side.

  Looking out at chaos as the Grey Jackets, ranks obliterated, were now in the role of defender as they ringed three heavy wagons. Storr shouted orders, the enchanted sword waved above his head as he wrestled to control his mount.

  Goblins.

  Dozens of them. Almost as many as the Grey Jackets themselves.

  Shooting in and out of the fractured army like swarms of wasps.

  Eli ran his fingers through his hair, amazed at the sight of so many goblins. “I am not complaining, my friend, but didn't your little goblin tell you there were only ten of them?”

  “You heard what I heard, feller.”

  “That's more than ten.”

  “Lot more,” she agreed. “Figure I didn't ask the question right. I asked how many. He told me ten. Didn't figure he meant mobs.”

  The air cracked, and a sucking sound beside her made her step away quickly as Quietly launched himself from the shadows. He giggled, splayed across the rubble like frog. Looked up at her with his glowing green eyes and nodded happily. “Bloodhand,” he greeted her. “We say we here. We here now. Change plan, though. We get here and no thieves at gate, so we not send three. Hunt thieves instead. Hope it not bad thing?”

  The elf wanted to laugh. Not with humour, but relief.

  “No, feller,” she said. “Reckon it ain't a bad thing at all.”

  Lord Sharpe slid down beside Eli. “What the fuck is going on? Is that really an army of goblins?”

  “Well, it ain't the cavalry,” Nysta murmured.

  Quietly licked his lips. “Bloodhand? We go now? Big thief has sword. Me not like sword. It bad thing. Hurt many goblins. Bloodhand help kill Storr?”

  Something shimmered down her spine. A cool icy finger.

  “You know, I am thinking,” Eli began.

  “Used to tell you not to do that, Eli,” Sharpe said, all trace of hate gone from his voice as the battle made the men forget their enmity enough to remember their past bond.

  The weasel-faced man grinned. “You used to talk a lot of shit, Lord Sharpe. But this time I am thinking we are standing here where it is very safe. Of course, there are a lot of dead Caspiellans beneath our boots. But it seems to me there are a lot of live ones out there. And those goblin bastards look like they are having a lot of fun, don't you think? It is not polite of them to kill all those Grey Jackets. I am sure they were ours. Is this not right? We did start killing them first, after all.”

  Sharpe sighed. “Yeah. We did.” He turned to the others who were slowly picking their way across the debris. “Well, you bastards? Are you coming? Or am I gonna gut the lot of you right here for the cowards you are?”

  “Ready when you are, sir,” Pad called cheerfully.

  “Bill?”

  “Here!”

  “Ready the charge.”

  Bill nodded once before turning on the ragged group of fighters. He began pushing those still able to stand into a semblance of order, his tone leaving no room for disagreement.

  “Bloodhand?” Quietly was still squatting beside her, looking up.

  She nodded. “I heard you, feller. Reckon I owe you for now. Maybe owe Sto
rr, too. Could be time to talk shop.”

  The goblin flashed a nasty grin. “We kill thief now. He bad thief. He-”

  “No need to convince me, feller,” she said, spitting the taste of acrid magic from her mouth as the cleric's magic glowed in the distance. “I'm sold.”

  Storr's hideous sword flashed in the distance. A goblin howled as the icy blade sheared through its body. A scream of absolute agony.

  Quietly scowled. “He kill Gouge. Gouge good goblin. He go into Hall and be warm forever. We go. Go now.”

  “Bill? All ready?” Sharpe called over his shoulder without looking.

  “Sir!”

  “Pad? Sound it out.”

  Pad pulled his own sword. Looked around. Grinned. “Alright. You think you've had it hard so far? Well, that's nothing to what we're about to do. I know not many of you are trained to this kind of thing. But you're all hard bastards, to be sure. You fight like snakes, you do. I know, because I've seen you. Now, there's a wee smattering of Grey Jacket bastards out there who haven't quite been taking us seriously. They think we needed a few little goblins to come along and get our knickers out of the fire. Well, we ain't about to take that, are we?”

  “No fucking way, we ain't,” Flin growled, her voice ringing out clearly. She blushed brightly when all eyes turned toward her.

  Grinning, Pad winked at her. “That's the spirit, Flin. Now. Keep together then, lads. Lasses. Look to each other's backs, and we'll be fine.”

  “And someone kill that fucking cleric,” Sharpe said. “I'll give ten gold to whoever brings me his fucking guts.”

  “That's no fair reward,” Count Steel put in. “I know this man. He has none to bring you.”

  Laughter cracked the fear, and Sharpe gave the Count a nod as he recognised the man's motivation was to help calm the nerves of those who were now feeling the need not to run toward the fighting, but away from it. “Then, bring me his head.”

  “All ready?” Pad called.

  No one needed to say anything.

  Hicks gave Hudson a quick embrace, his face determined. “I'll be back in a minute,” he said.

  “You better.” Hudson squeezed his words between his teeth, still pressing against his side. The old woman was there, threading a needle and grinning wickedly in preparation for what was going to be an uncomfortable moment for the young mercenary.

  “Ready, dearie?” She asked.

  “Get on with it, you old witch,” Hudson scowled.

  Flin limped closer to the elf, deftly spinning the spear in her hands. She seemed to like the weapon now.

  And Nysta waited, watching goblins and Grey Jackets slaughter each other.

  Eli shot her a look filled with humour. “I'll race you, my friend,” he said. “We shall see who kills this man who leads them.”

  “Move out!” Sharpe roared, setting the pace forward. Easy, at first.

  Slow, building both strength and determination.

  Then, as they drew closer, he quickened. A jog.

  A run.

  Then charging in full sprint, sword high, screaming wordlessly as they smashed into the rear of the Grey Jackets. The line melted in front of them on a wave of steel and crimson.

  Swords were everywhere. And as many snarling goblins as Caspiellans.

  The elf's eyes flicked this way and that. Her ears practically shut out all sound, and instead a low ringing filled her brain with noise.

  Too much, she thought. Heart hammering in her chest. There was too much chaos.

  She'd never fought like this. She was made for alleys. For inns.

  For stealth kills in the dead of night.

  Not fighting for her life against an army.

  “Shit,” she spat, killing a shrieking soldier with a half dozen quick strikes to his chest. Break Even, a slender blade, punched through the mail rings and pierced cartilage, bone and heart.

  Quietly slid along beside her, his small knife used with surgical precision. He slashed at the backs of knees and then across throats as his victims stumbled to the ground. Giggling loudly, the goblin weaved through the mess of desperation, calling out the names of other goblins. Urging them forward.

  “It Bloodhand!” He shouted. “Bloodhand fight for Eventide! Kill thief!”

  And the goblins took up the cry. “Kill thief! Bloodhand fight!”

  The swollen cries disoriented her almost as much as the actual battle. She reeled this way and that, almost drunkenly. Hands moving with instinct.

  Ripping. Stabbing. Slicing. Tearing.

  She lost Break Even to an axeman, the blade jerked from her grasp as he writhed to the ground.

  Feeling lost within a storm, she drew Ethics Gradient. The blade was broader, longer, and heavier. She used it like a machete, chopping through outstretched arms and into exposed cheeks.

  Blood and magic. The acrid stink washed over her, causing her to gag.

  “The cleric!” Sharpe pushed forward. “Kill the bastard! Bring me his fucking head! Come on, you useless pieces of shit! Kill them! Kill them all!”

  Pad shoved a soldier in the chest, sending the Caspiellan cartwheeling aside to where a few goblins eagerly pounced and began sawing off his arms. They cackled as they worked him over, with two of them fighting over who could take the ears.

  Bigshot wobbled into view, a deep gash above his eye dribbling blood down his cheek. He saw her and grunted. Nodded at Quietly, who slashed the legs out from under a grizzled-looking Caspiellan.

  The man struggled to skewer the little goblin as he fell, but Stormer appeared out of nowhere with a ferocious screech and brought her heavy goblinknife down with such force it split his helm and went clean through his skull.

  She used her foot to hold the head in place so she could wrench the horrid blade free.

  Brains and gore slopped at her feet like offal from a bucket.

  She didn't notice. Just stood there, a feral grin wide on her face.

  “Stormer!” Quietly cried gleefully. “You best there is!”

  Beaming, the female goblin hefted her goblinknife proudly. Looked at Bigshot and lifted her head as though she'd won something deeply significant. “I best there is.”

  “Yeah,” Bigshot scowled. “Now be best there is somewhere else.”

  He snatched at Quietly, leading the little goblin deeper into chaos.

  Nysta followed, though she didn't know why. She felt drawn to the little goblin as if an invisible chain bound them together. He looked back once and flashed her a smile, but otherwise spoke quickly to the goblin leader.

  She didn't smile back.

  Eli was ahead of her. She could see him swinging the axe of his. Heard him shouting at Sharpe. “Come on, Lord! Don't want to be left behind again, do you?”

  “Fuck you, Eli,” Sharpe struggled against two soldiers. Buried his sword in one's guts while his long arm desperately seized the throat of the other. He squeezed, his powerful grip twisting hard. The elf didn't hear the neck snap, but the soldier dropped quickly.

  Flin skirted her position, spear flashing out. For some reason, Spoonfed fought in her wake. The goblin's face was serious. His mouth a flat line. As someone reared up behind the girl in an attempt to drive his sword into her back, the goblin leapt fast.

  Goblinknife met mail armour. And chomped through without effort.

  Flin twisted around, sensing what was happening behind her.

  Dragging the heavy weapon free, Spoonfed whirled away, allowing Flin the room to drive the spear through the screaming face.

  The Count, surrounded on all sides, suddenly shrieked above the rushing sound of chaos. Nysta saw him rise above them all, held aloft by the plunging swords which ripped up through his torso. Seven of them. His eyes searched the heavens for something only he could see, then settled oddly on hers.

  He seemed to nod before his body went limp. Tears of pain and loss streaming down her face. What he was trying to say, she couldn't guess. But her heart froze for just a second.

  Flin caught the mom
ent and glanced at the elf. “You knew him?”

  “Didn't know him from Adam,” she said, shaking her head. Then looked around. She'd lost Quietly. “Shit.”

  Three goblins, streaked in blood and wearing matching grins, exploded from the ragged line of Grey Jackets. For a moment, the elf could see the narrow path of bodies they'd left behind.

  The middle goblin held a saw-toothed goblinknife whose teeth clung to strips of flesh like grotesque ribbons.

  His face looked different to the other goblins, thanks to a series of scars which made it look like his skin had been melted to wax before being stretched back over his skull.

  In the distance, one of the wagons was burning. Smoke billowing and the crackle of wood roaring above the noise.

  The three goblins lashed out, forming a small circle into which the Grey Jackets didn't want to press. More goblins broke through the Caspiellans to join them. “Bloodhand!”

  The strange-faced goblin walked up to her as if there was no fighting around him. As if the whole world belonged to him. When he spoke, he stuttered erratically.

  “I He-He-Headroom. Looseto-t-toof Mob. Quietly say you g-go that w-way.” He pointed off to his left. Scratched his head. Changed his mind and pointed right. “N-n-no. Th-th-that way.”

  “You sure?”

  “Uhhh, I sh-sure.” Headroom's grin didn't make her feel any easier.

  “You better be, feller,” she said, the icy ball in her belly shuddered. The chaos was overwhelming her senses. “Or you'll be seeing me twenty minutes into your future.”

  She couldn't see a way to get through the fighting. But she bared her teeth and moved fluidly. Knives bringing death to the first few Caspiellans in her path. Then Headroom shouted from behind her; “B-b-b-bloodhand! Bloodhand ki-ki-kill thieves!”

  “Bloodhand!” The shout echoed in her ears as more goblins hooted cheerfully, their voices a shrill chorus lapping at the mad screams of the dying.

  Boe staggered in front of her, a broken swordblade sticking through his throat. He looked at her, not recognising her. Reeled in a circle, his own sword still in his fist.