by Bryan Huff
“And that one’s Snivel,” Hob groaned. “Don’t waste your time on him.”
Hob was surprised to see Snivel there. Only the biggest, meanest goblins seemed to have earned places in the Sorcerer’s army. Brute must have literally carried Snivel through the Clobbering for him to have made the cut.
For a moment, the human and goblin lines faced off in tense silence, bracing for what was to come. Then Captain Fist leaned out over the battlements and addressed Brute directly.
“Turn back now!” she warned. “Or face ’ze full might of Valley Top!”
Her voice echoed across the plateau, sending a stir through the goblin ranks. Some of them were nervous.
Brute, however, wasn’t nervous at all. “We’ll turn back, once we’ve got what we’ve been sent for!”
He grabbed the roll of parchment from the crow’s beak, unfurled it, and held it aloft. Edric’s face stared up at everyone over the gate. It was one of the wanted posters!
“The Prince!” Brute bellowed. “We know he’s in there! Hand him over, and we’ll leave! Don’t, and we’ll flatten the city and everyone in it!”
A collective gasp rose up from the humans along the wall.
Hob slipped completely behind the battlements. Everyone nearby stared at him in shock, including Captain Fist. She grabbed him, and pulled him back from the edge of the wall, so they were both out of sight of the goblins below. She knelt, bringing them face to face.
“What is ’ze meaning of ’zis?” she hissed.
“You tipped them off, didn’t you?” growled the Spring Chicken, rushing over to join them.
“How could I have?” Hob snapped. “I’ve been with Edric since we got here. Just ask him.”
The trio turned to the guardroom. They saw Edric still inside, gagged and bound to his chair. The distressed look on his face told them he’d heard Brute’s demands too.
“I do not need to ask,” said the Captain, finally. “But if it was not you, ’zen how? How did ’zey get ’zat poster? How do ’zey know he’s here?”
Hob wasn’t sure. He understood why everyone suspected him; the goblins would’ve needed a spy inside the city to spot both a wanted poster and Edric himself. But how could any goblin have made it back to the army so quickly? Then it dawned on him.
“The crow!” Hob gasped. “The crow must have taken them the poster! Told them Edric was here! Told them the city was unprepared, open to attack!”
Once more, the humans stared at Hob incredulously. But he was sure he was right. Suddenly, he remembered the crows perched on the flag lines around the fountain in the marketplace. They’d flown off right after Edric’s identity had been discovered! And they must have seen all the wanted posters in town! If even one of those crows had been the Sorcerer’s pet—the one now sitting on Brute’s shoulder—it could have flown a poster straight to the passing goblin army, told them of the Prince’s whereabouts, and even delivered a message from its master.
“The Sorcerer has special crows that act as his messengers,” Hob explained to Captain Fist. “Some must also be his spies! And that’s one down there! I think, in one way or another, the Sorcerer ordered this attack! He must want Edric as a hostage! Or worse!”
Captain Fist stared at him in stunned silence. She pulled him close so their eyes locked. Her gaze was piercing. But, as much as Hob wanted to look away, he would not.
“Tell me ’ze truth,” she said.
“I am.”
Fist stared a moment longer, and then released him. She stood, and strode back to the battlements.
“We will never surrender our Prince!” she called down to Brute and the goblin army. “We will fight you to ’ze last!”
A nervous murmur rippled through the human line along the wall. Down on the plateau, the sound of shifting feet and clinking armor signaled the goblins were growing restless.
“Hear that, boys?” Brute hollered with glee. “They wanna fight!”
“yeahh!” the goblins roared.
“So, what are we waitin’ for?” Brute finished. “attack!”
“attack!” the goblins roared.
And just like that, the battle began. No level of resistance could have scared the goblins off. They were bound and bent on capturing Edric or destroying Valley Top.
As Captain Fist, Lieutenant Buckler, and the Spring Chicken prepared to meet the first wave of attackers, Hob returned to his crenel. The goblins streamed toward the wall in a howling, black mass.
While they had no ladders with them on their march, many hurled up large grappling hooks fixed to the ends of long ropes. The hooks caught in the battlements faster than the human defenders could throw them back down, and the goblins began to climb.
A team of goblins also attacked the gate below Hob. Some pried up the portcullis with strong arms, while others hustled forward carrying a heavy old log they’d found, and used it as a battering ram. bang! bang! bang! The makeshift ram shook the oaken doors.
All around Hob, townsfolk rushed out of the tower archways and up to the battlements to drop rocks on the battering ram goblins. The rocks clanged off their helmets, sending half of them stumbling away dazed. The rest dropped the log and fled. The townsfolk cheered, and hurried back to their posts along the wall.
By then, the first goblin climbers had reached the top of their ropes.
Hob was helpless. His sword had been taken from him, and his hands were bound behind his back. He crouched behind the battlements, trying to stay out of sight and out of harm’s way.
Luckily, the human defenders on the gate-platform drew all the attention. Captain Fist and Lieutenant Buckler sprang into action, crossing swords with every one of the goblins who climbed onto the platform, knocking a series of them back off the wall, and kicking down their shared grappling hooks. Hob had never imagined a pair of fighters could work so quickly and efficiently. They moved together with practiced ease, covering each other’s blind spots and attacking in concert. The Captain, especially, made her opponents look as though they were standing still. For his part, the Spring Chicken rushed about, finally given an outlet for his rage, but never succeeded in reaching any goblin before the Captain or Lieutenant had already dispatched it.
Hob looked up and down the length of the wall through the archways in the watchtowers. The city guards at the front parapet met the goblins sword to sword. Scattered archers shot arrows into the sky. And brave townsfolk rushed forward to drop rocks on the ascending goblins. As the rocks struck helmet or breastplate, they sent many climbers crashing back into the throng. But more always rose to take their place. Soon, hundreds of goblin warriors were mounting the wall.
The city guards fought them valiantly and managed to knock a few more back down. But, eventually, the guards were overwhelmed and forced away from the parapet, allowing the goblins to pile onto the wall-walk.
Beside Hob, Captain Fist spun, kicked a goblin in the chest, and sent him screaming from the wall. When she turned away, ready to engage the next attacker, she found Lieutenant Buckler there instead. They had cleared the gate-platform for the moment.
“Take the Prince, and run,” Buckler panted. “We’ll hold them as long as we can!”
Without hesitation, Fist hurried for the guardroom.
Just as quickly, she stopped.
One look through the archway told Hob why. Edric’s chair was empty, and his ropes lay split upon the floor. He was gone!
Hob searched the length of the wall for any sign of the Prince. But all he saw were signs of impending human defeat. The city guards could retreat no farther from the parapet, having backed into the lines of townsfolk behind them. The townsfolk brandished their makeshift weapons in an effort to look intimidating, though their faces betrayed their fear. And the goblins stalked forward, clutching their own crooked weapons, ready for a fight. The two sides were only a sword-length apart. In seconds, there would be bloodshed.
Then a voice cried out from somewhere above. �
��Stop! I surrender!”
Everyone froze.
Hob’s eyes followed the voice to the top of the watchtower on his left. Edric stood there, perched on the battlements, an abandoned grappling hook caught in the crenel between his feet, and bewildered city guards lurking a few paces off to either side.
“Hold!” Brute cried. “It’s him! It’s the Prince!”
Both lines on the wall held. A confused silence settled over the battlefield, as everyone wondered what to do next.
Captain Fist broke it. “Grab him!”
The city guards tried to catch Edric, but they weren’t fast enough. As they lunged, he dropped from the side of the tower.
Hob’s stomach leapt into his throat. But as Edric fell, he caught the rope attached to the grappling hook. He swung to a stop halfway down the tower with his feet braced against the stones, out of reach of the guards above and the goblins below.
“If I turn myself over, you’ll leave Valley Top unharmed?” Edric called down to Brute.
“No!” Fist shouted in horror. She tore across the wall-walk over the gate, into the archway in the left watchtower, and up the stairwell inside.
Buckler followed at her heels.
Everyone else anxiously awaited Brute’s response. Taking care to remain hidden, Hob peeked through his crenel again, toward the spot where Brute still stood before the gate. Brute exchanged glances with several other large goblins gathered around him. Most of them nodded. A second later, Brute turned back to the Prince.
“We came for you, not the city!” Brute declared, clenching his jaw as he struggled to contain his disappointment at having to cut the battle short. “Orders ’re orders!”
“Then, here I am,” said Edric, allowing himself to slide the rest of the way down the rope.
As soon as he came within reach of the goblins below, they seized him and dragged him down into their midst. He vanished for a second, and then reappeared in the arms of two burly goblin warriors, who marched him straight over to Brute.
That was when Captain Fist emerged on the watchtower. It was all Lieutenant Buckler could do to keep her from swinging down the rope in a fatal attempt to go after Edric.
“No!” she screamed. “No!”
Brute smiled as the two goblins holding Edric stopped before him.
“Put him on the war-hog,” Brute said. “And tie him up good and tight. We’ve got a long way to go.”
The goblins worked fast. One held Edric in place on the war-hog. The other pulled out a rope, and tied Edric’s hands behind his back, looping the rope through an iron ring on the back of his crude saddle. Finally, Brute took the war-hog’s reins, turned, and began to lead it away across the plateau.
“march!” he bellowed.
Once more, the army on the plateau parted before Brute and closed in behind him. And Hob, Fist, Buckler, and the rest of the humans over the gate could only watch as Brute, Edric, and the war-hog were swallowed up by the ranks.
At the same time, goblin attackers poured back over the battlements along the wall, rappelling down their ropes, and rejoining the great mass on the ground. And, with a great deal of clatter, the whole army managed an about face, marching off again down the switchback road. In minutes, the last lines had passed into the clouds and out of sight.
Chapter Fifteen
After the Goblins
Edric was gone. In his place, he left only crushing silence and stillness.
The night, by then many hours old, had taken on a harsh chill. Hob shivered, unable to so much as cross his arms for warmth with them tied behind his back. Yet, his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t make sense of what had happened, couldn’t accept it. He felt sick, almost faint.
At some point, Captain Fist returned from the tower, stepping up to the battlements between Hob and the Spring Chicken. Lieutenant Buckler and the rest of the Royal Guards returned next, gathering behind her, anticipating her next command. But Fist said nothing. She just stood with her eyes fixed on the sea of shifting clouds below.
After a time, the city guards and townsfolk along the wall began to stir. The initial shock was wearing off, and they grew restless.
The Spring Chicken leaned out past the Captain to glower at Hob. Though he had enough sense to remain silent, his eyes spoke for him: This was YOUR fault!
Hob averted his gaze.
“How?” hissed Captain Fist, breaking her vigil at last.
She swept around to peer back into the guardroom. The broad archway at the front framed Edric’s empty chair perfectly, almost mockingly. It was the only thing you could see in the dim light within.
“I freed him.”
A figure stepped into the archway, facing Captain Fist. It was Lady Isobel! She had been hiding around the corner, just inside. In her hand was the knife she’d used to cut Edric’s ropes. She dropped it, and it rattled on the stonework at her feet.
“He asked me to,” Lady Isobel went on, stepping out onto the wall-walk. “I had to! For Valley Top! For my people! No more hiding up a tower. This city needs a leader.”
Instinctively, Lieutenant Buckler and the other Royal Guards moved to arrest her.
Captain Fist stood still. She stared at Isobel, seething, but was forced to swallow the better part of her rage. “Stop!” she said, before Isobel was arrested. “’Zis is ’ze Lady of Valley Top. We shall not lay a hand on her.”
Honor bound the Captain. She’d been up the tower; she knew who Isobel was. The Royal Guards had no clear authority to punish the Lady in her own city. It would have divided the Kingdom and done nothing to bring Edric back.
The Royal Guards retreated, forming a circle around Captain Fist, Hob, the Spring Chicken, and Lady Isobel.
Meanwhile, the voices of the townsfolk rose up:
“The Lady of Valley Top?”
“Can it be?”
“The curse is broken?”
Those within earshot were quick to abandon their posts along the wall. They squeezed in through the archways in the watchtowers above the gate, and gathered behind the perimeter set by the Royal Guards. All were eager to catch a glimpse of their mysterious Lady, suddenly free.
“The curse has been broken!” declared Lady Isobel, from the center of the crowd. “By that goblin!” She pointed to Hob.
This declaration caught Hob off guard. His instinct was to look away, as if he were being accused of something unpleasant. It took him a second to realize what she had said.
“Oh, yeah,” he admitted. “I guess it kind of was.”
Low gasps and hushed chatter emanated from the crowd.
“Foolish children,” growled the Captain, turning her back on the scene. “Reckless.”
Again, she stared out into the clouds where her Prince had disappeared. A change had come over her. She leaned forward, almost hunched, on the battlements. Though she remained proud and strong, she seemed deflated—like a stately flag on a windless day.
Hob wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he actually felt for her. After all, Hob too mourned Edric. The Prince had given his life to save the city—a heroic act. But Hob couldn’t see the glory in it, only the loss. Edric had spared Valley Top a single battle, but in the process had surrendered his life, his quest, and possibly the larger war. Fist was right; he had been reckless.
A disturbing thought entered Hob’s mind then, unwelcome and unbidden. Had Edric’s sacrifice actually been a desperate means of escape—a way to go out a hero, instead of a “screw up,” as he’d feared? Had it all been about the loss of the book? If so, then Hob deserved the Spring Chicken’s scornful glances—it had been his fault!
More secret doubts followed. Was Hob every bit the evil monster the humans thought him to be—and perhaps worse, for not recognizing it? In his selfishness, had he sent Edric straight into the clutches of the Sorcerer? Was there any way for him to set things right?
“You have to let me go!” Hob blurted out, before he could stop himself.
“I don’t mean go go,” he said, rather unhelpfully. “I mean, go save Edric! I can do it. Or at least I can try. I’ll get closer than any of you. They’ll see you. They’ll smell you. You’ll never get anywhere near him. I’m the only chance he’s got!”
At first, Hob’s claims were met with silence. There seemed to be a collective holding of breath as everyone waited for the Captain’s reply. Fist straightened up, and stared down at Hob, once more the imposing figure he’d come to expect. Her dark eyes seemed to see everything and reveal nothing. Hob had no idea what she was thinking … but she wasn’t saying “no.”
“I’ll join the army,” he continued. “I can still catch up, if I leave now.” He paused, suddenly realizing the inherent, fatal risk involved. “I-I just need something to hide my face. If the other goblins recognize me, they’ll kill me.”
More silence. Captain Fist continued to stare. Hob met her gaze stubbornly. If he wavered at all, she wouldn’t believe him.
It was Fist who broke. She knelt, drew her knife, and cut the ropes that bound Hob’s hands. Then she stood and scanned the crowd. Her eyes stopped on a small, scrappy figure—a young man who had answered the call to arms in what were clearly a few pieces of hand-me-down armor. His helmet, breastplate, and shield were all ancient and beat-up, but they would suit a goblin nicely.
“You! Your armor, now!” Fist demanded. “Give it to him.”
The boy obeyed without question, stepping out of the crowd, through the ring of guards, and toward Hob. Off came his helmet, revealing shaggy brown hair and ruddy cheeks. By the looks of it, the boy was even younger than Prince Edric.
