The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

—Already far gone. Goodbye, Wilen. The part of me that still remembers whispers it. Goodbye.

  I’m so sorry.

  2.02 G

  The Gold Stone Tribe was mobilized and marching towards a gathering point just outside the High Passes as the sun reached the midway point in the sky. The Chieftain looked up, but declined to increase their pace. They were moving fast enough already, and they had many miles to go.

  They were going towards a gathering of the tribes. Every Goblin tribe north of Liscor had been summoned by the most powerful tribe in the region: the Red Fang Tribe. Such was the power of their Chieftain and the tribe that the Gold Stone Tribe’s Chieftain hadn’t hesitated and set out at once upon being summoned.

  But he still took care not to move too quickly, and his tribe moved with a large scouting perimeter out and all of his best warriors near the center, armed and ready. There was an enemy hiding in this snowy landscape, and it was another tribe of Goblins.

  A big one, too. The Chieftain was no great thinker and Goblins weren’t exactly the most erudite speakers, but they gossiped and news of this sort travelled fast.

  The Flooded Waters Tribe had come north. That normally wouldn’t be a big issue; their Chieftain was nothing special and they were few in number. But something had happened. In less than a week, their tribe had overrun the Jawbreaker, Sword Taker, and Bloody Hand Tribes, slaying or defeating their Chieftains and absorbing their Goblins into the tribe.

  They attacked by surprise and used strange weapons, and their Chieftain could use magic. That was close enough to the Ghostly Hand Tribe to be disturbing, but apparently their Chieftain was also a [Tactician] who could manipulate the battlefield.

  That was disturbing, and the Gold Stone’s Chieftain knew that in any other place, this new, ambitious Chieftain might well become a major power among the tribes in time. But here?

  No. Not here. The Red Fang Tribe had heard about this incursion, and they had taken swift action. The clans were being summoned, and when they moved as one, this upstart tribe would be ground to dust in moments.

  All the Gold Stone Tribe had to do was get to the meeting place soon enough. It was no difficult task; even a Gold-rank team would think twice before attacking the two hundred-odd Goblins travelling across the snowy terrain. And the Gold Stone tribe wouldn’t stay in any one place long enough to warrant an army coming at their backs.

  Even if the Flooded Waters Tribe came for them, the Chieftain thought they might be surprised. How big could this new tribe be? They had to have lost many Goblins fighting three tribes already, and he had three Hobs under his command, and many warriors with equipment seized from Bronze-rank adventurers. They wouldn’t be troubled. They—

  A shrill horn call rang through the crisp morning air, and the Chieftain’s head snapped up. He looked around wildly, and then saw the Goblins.

  A small group of them appeared out of a forest miles ahead of the Gold Stone Tribe. The Chieftain called an immediate halt as his warriors raised their weapons. He counted.

  Forty? No. Fifty Goblins at most, and not a Hob in sight. He relaxed. These might not be all of the Flooded Waters Tribe, but if that was all they could muster—

  One of his Goblin scouts screeched, and the Chieftain’s head twisted. He saw another group of equal side emerging from the left. A hundred, then. Not a prob—

  Another horn call sounded and the Chieftain’s heart sank. He looked right, already knowing what he’d see.

  Fifty more Goblin. A hundred and fifty, and if the same held true for behind, two hundred all told. An equal fight, then. The Gold Rock tribe might be surrounded, but they could still bunch up and break out in any direction if need be. They could—

  Movement. From the front again. The Chieftain saw the fifty Goblins spreading out, so that they formed a thin wall, each Goblin spread out in the distance. He almost laughed. What could they do like that? Each Goblin had nearly five feet separating them; anyone could push through them.

  That’s when the other Goblins stood up.

  They’d been sitting or lying on the ground, and at this distance, had been invisible. But now they stood, the real numbers of the Flooded Waters Tribe. Fifty became a hundred, and then the Goblins ahead of the Gold Stone Tribe parted and he saw the core of their army.

  A different force of Goblins ran towards the Gold Stone Tribe, taking their position on a small mound ahead of them. They were all Goblin warriors, and there were two hundred of them.

  Despair. But the Chieftain had no time to look for a place to escape. He heard a third horn call, long and whining, and then the Goblins raised something. He squinted. It was hard to see, but they looked like…bows?

  Suddenly the air was full of arrows and stones. Goblins around the Chieftain cried out as the deadly hail began falling from all sides. He raised a shield to his face; the old iron rang as several projectiles struck it. The horn call blew one last time, loudest yet, from behind him.

  The Chieftain turned, and saw the enemy Chieftain. She was sitting on a small hill behind his Tribe, surrounded by warriors. And Hobs.

  His heart stopped when he saw the Hobs. Eight of them stared down at the Chieftain. They stood behind a small Goblin who raised a sword that shone in her hand. She screamed, and one of the Hobs raised a weapon. The Chieftain saw a black thing streaking towards his face. And then—

  Nothing.

  —-

  Rags saw the black crossbow’s bolt catch the Gold Stone Chieftain in the chest and grimaced. She’d ordered her Hob archers to take the shot, and she’d also told them to try not to kill the enemy Chieftain if possible. Well, one out of two was good enough.

  She watched as the Chieftain fell, and wondered if he’s survive the bolt. If his Tribe surrendered quickly enough ,they might be able to get a potion down to him. She had more than a few healing potions on her belt and in her tribe’s grasp, and Hobs were tough. He might survive.

  Either way, she wanted the other three Hobs, so she shouted an order and the rest of her archers carrying bows immediately lowered them while the Goblins holding the bullet-throwing crossbows fired on. They had practically unlimited numbers of the hard clay pellets and stones anyways, and it was the best way to wear down their enemy at no cost to either side.

  Rags stood on her hill and watched as the Gold Stone tribe milled about in confusion, Goblins screaming as they realized their Chieftain was down and they were under attack from all sides. She hoped no one would rally them; she wanted this over with quick.

  And indeed, the initial deadly volley followed by the rain of pellets quickly broke the spirit of the tribe. In minutes, their warriors were throwing down their weapons and cowering on the ground. Even the Hobs abandoned their weapons and clustered around their Chieftain, protecting him from the painful barrage. They could count. The eight Hobs that Rags had was more than enough of a deterrent by itself.

  Rags let the Goblins fire for another minute before she blew on the horn again. It took all of her breath, but the effects were immediate and gratifying. Her warriors ceased firing, and moved in with her as she advanced towards the surrendered tribe.

  Things went quickly then; the defeated Goblins knew what to do, and Rags was experienced now. She quickly found the Chieftain and poured a healing potion into the wound in his chest as a Hob helped pull the bolt out.

  That done, Rags looked around. The Gold Stone Tribe Goblins were milling about, tending to the wounded or staring at her Hobs with as much apprehension as envy. She raised her voice, and Goblins immediately scrambled to do her bidding.

  First, Rags organized her new Goblins, separating them. The children and pregnant females she put with the others, while she took any Goblins with archery skills and weapons and added them to her own ranks. Those with useful skills she put in special groups; the best warriors she added to her personal vanguard and the others she assigned to the largest, unskilled group of Goblins she used for every task.

  Then she had the Goblins gather up their weapons, grab their
supplies, and add them to her own. The Goblins leapt to obey as their former Chieftain sat up and poked at his chest experimentally. Rags ignored him, and mentally tallied up her latest acquisitions.

  Nearly two hundred Goblins and four Hobs? That was an excellent outcome, and not least because this was probably the last tribe Rags could hit safely. The Red Fang tribe was calling all the other tribes together, perhaps to absorbed them, but at the very least to come after her. They’d have to retreat soon.

  The Gold Stone Chieftain lurched to his feet and lumbered over to Rags. She glanced up at him, and then pointed to some food her Goblins were dragging out. He nodded, and meekly walked over to eat without so much as a word of protest or moment of hesitation.

  That was the thing about Goblins. The Tribes might fight, but it was customary for a defeated tribe to follow the victor, regardless of what had passed before. Either that, or they left without incident; slaughtering each other as prisoners wasn’t something Goblins did, regardless of how they treated other species they captured.

  Neither was Rags worried about any other Goblin knifing her in the back while she stood in the snow and issued orders. Betrayal and backstabbing was not a Goblin trait, which might surprise Humans and other species. But while Goblins were completely fine with killing an enemy in their sleep, they tended to avoid that amongst themselves, at least within their own tribe. A Chieftain ruled because they were strongest; someone who took that position by cowardice would not lead the tribe well.

  Now, declaring you’d be the next Chieftain and putting poison in the old Chief’s food while they slept? That was fine. Even commendable if no one saw you do it. After all, you’d have every Goblin in the tribe watching out for you and they’d tear you to shreds the instant you got close to the camp. A Goblin who could sneak past a hundred watchful eyes and disappear into the night was a Goblin who would make a great Chieftain.

  Even the newly defeated Gold Stone Chieftain seemed perfectly happy to munch down on the dead Corusdeer her hunters had killed while she reworked his Goblins into her tribe. He had acknowledged her strength and had given in; his tenuous subservience to the Red Fang tribe hadn’t been worth more than his life.

  Rags was relieved of that. This was an easy battle she’d won by virtue of superior tactics and a well-planned trap; but other tribes might have gone down fighting. And best yet, the Gold Stone Chieftain had accepted her. If he’d thought she was completely unworthy to lead, he would have fought her to the very last.

  One young Goblin—well, young by Goblin standards, she was only a year older than he—brought Rags a bone with meat on it. It was hot, steaming, and still bloody. Rags tore into it greedily as her Hobs received the same treatment.

  Another victory! Now that all the complexities were dealt with, Rags allowed herself to feel her accomplishment fully. And it felt good.

  She had defeated a tribe of over two hundred Goblins with no casualties on her side and virtually none on theirs! The very idea of that a month ago would have been too much for Rags. And the fact that she now led over eight hundred Goblins…it boggled her mind. But she’d won, and she’d kept winning after that day in the inn when she’d decided to fight.

  And it was so easy! Rags felt like she was walking on clouds, and her head was almost swimming with the joy of it. In one short week she’d absorbed three—now four—tribes into her own, each one larger than the last.

  It wasn’t due to luck, either. Rags had planned each victory out and reaped the fruits of her labor. She’d defeated the other Goblins with her mind, not just with a sword and overwhelming numbers.

  The other Goblin tribes might have been bigger, but their Chieftains had no concept of strategy. Rags did, and that, combined with her [Firefly] spell and stone bows meant that she could arm nearly every Goblin in her tribe with some kind of ranged weapon, even if it was only a rock.

  Surround them, pummel them, cripple their leader. Attack at night or from defensible positions. These were all basic concepts, but Rags had seen how just one of these factors could turn a battle entirely around.

  Already she’d leveled up several times as both a [Leader], [Tactician], and [Mage]. Rags had done very little fighting herself, so she was still the same level of [Warrior], but she could feel herself getting stronger. A Chieftain’s strength was their tribe; as their tribe grew, so did the Chieftain. And Rags had put the resources of each defeated tribe to good use.

  She’d had more of the stone bows built of course – but the crossbows required specific parts that most tribes didn’t have access to. Fortunately, each tribe she’d conquered had any number of Goblins able to use bows, slings, and in some cases, crude javelins.

  Thus, Rags armed her weakest Goblins with the crossbows. They were best in inexperienced hands; it took time to learn how to sling a stone or fire a bow, but a crossbow was point and shoot and even children could roll the clay pellets.

  She’d taken the best weapons from each tribe’s collection and outfitted herself and her best warriors with them. She and her Hobs all had armor now; and semi-decent weapons. Steel maces, wicked battleaxes and even a magical dagger—Rags felt strong with all her equipment.

  Only her bronze shortsword and shield were the same. There were better weapons of course, but Rags had been given them as a gift by Erin and besides…they were shiny. When she caught the light on her sword, the Goblins were impressed, and that was important.

  And she had Hobs. Hobs! That was the greatest miracle of all. They were devastating warriors and each one was worth twenty Goblins. At least.

  They were twelve now, former Chieftains and the strongest warriors of a tribe the lot of them. They weren’t all fat, like her former Chieftain and the Gold Stone Chieftain were. Hobs could be huge, round creatures, but some were just tall versions of Goblins. In any case, they were all her best warriors, easily the equivalent of any two Silver-rank team of adventurers.

  In terms of Hobs, she had more than even the Red Fang tribe, although that was a poor comparison to make. Rags was well aware that her Hobs were only a drop in the bucket in a larger conflict; they had to be used well or they would be lost, much like a Queen ina game of chess.

  She had no intention of clashing with the Red Fang tribe in any case; Rags had decided to head back to Liscor after this. There they could rest and prepare for future battles in peace. Her new tribe would put her on equal terms with the Watch, or at least make them too big to fight.

  Besides, now Rags was sure she could hunt the more dangerous types of enemies around Liscor. Rock Crabs were still a problem of course, but her Hobs had fought Shield Spiders, and they told Rags it was easy to destroy a nest with few casualties if you had two Hobs and enough Goblins.

  Rags bit into her meal and realized she was at the bone. She began to snap it so she could suck the marrow when she realized all of her Goblins had gone silent. Slowly, she followed their turned heads and saw the wolves.

  As a young Goblin, Rags had heard stories but had never seen Carn Wolves in person. The massive wolves—three times as large as a regular wolf at least and capable of bringing down a horse in a single strike—were deadly enemies to Goblins.

  But there was one tribe that had tamed the ferocious animals, much as the Broken Spear Tribe had tamed the Shield Spiders. This tribe of Goblins had learned to raise the massive wolves and even learned to ride them. With them, and led by their ferocious Chieftain, they had conquered hundreds of miles of territory north of Liscor.

  And here they were, larger than life, watching the Flooded Waters tribe. They’d appeared without warning from her scouts, without a whisper.

  The Red Fang Tribe.

  Sixty Goblins, sitting on the backs of the rust-red giant Carn Wolves, stared down at Rags’ Tribe. A Hob Goblin sat on a massive wolf at the head of the group of riders, holding a red sword in his hand.

  It wasn’t their entire tribe. That was the first thought that came into Rags’ mind after her heart began beating again. This—this was only a scou
ting group. Led by their Chieftain. But they were barely a drop in the bucket compared to Rags’ forces.

  But words cannot lie so easily to the heart, and Rags’ was in her throat and beating out of control. She stared up at the leader of the Red Hand Tribe and saw only strength.

  He was a tall Goblin, but not particularly big for a Hob. He would have been around the height of a normal Human man, but that was not what made him so terrifying. It was his presence. The Chieftain of the Red Fang Tribe practically vibrated with his will to fight and his confidence in his own strength. He bore battle scars all over his body, and his gaze was a lighthouse, a red beacon that swept the Goblins below him.

  They cringed, all of them, unable to meet his gaze. The Chieftain stared down, looking for someone among the Goblins.

  Rags.

  He didn’t find her. Of course. Even armored as she was, Rags was no Hob to tower above the rest. The Chieftain rolled his shoulders and raised his sword into the air. Rags tensed, but the next thing the Chieftain did wasn’t order a charge. Instead, he spoke.

  Flooded Waters Tribe! Send your Chieftain to fight! I challenge her!

  His words boomed down the hill, echoing in the vast wilderness. Rags stared up at him, suddenly afraid. It was a traditional challenge, one she had heard many times when she had been growing up. But it had never been addressed to her.

  Within her tribe, Rags ruled by virtue of her superior intelligence. And she had her black crossbow. Any challenge would have been settled in two seconds and she had always defeated enemy Chieftains with her tribe, as was fair.

  But a challenge? No. Rags stared up at the Red Fang Chieftain and imagined trying to fight him. She couldn’t. He would cut her apart with a single strike.

  But she had to say something. Her Goblins were looking at her, and Rags couldn’t back down. She stepped forwards, discarding the bone in the snow and stared up at the Red Fang Chieftain.

  He saw her then, and frowned. Displeased? She was as far from him in nature as possible. Rags was still young; she was no Hob, and she was not going to accept his challenge.