The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  It was half a request, half an order. And the Hob shouldn’t have said it, but if he did, it meant others were thinking it. He stared down at her, silently. Rags looked expressionlessly at him, and then around.

  More than one Goblin pretended to be asleep, but she realized she had a watching audience. Well, it didn’t matter. Rags looked at the Hob and slowly shook her head.

  She wouldn’t die. But she wouldn’t surrender either. Not without one last try. She wasn’t going to sacrifice her entire tribe though; she wouldn’t be worthy of a Chieftain if she were willing to do that. Her Goblins had to trust in her.

  But the Hob was insistent. He locked eyes with Rags, and she felt the hairs on her body rising. He wasn’t going to back down, and she couldn’t as Chieftain. She eyed him. He wasn’t wearing armor, but he was still bigger and stronger than she was. He was three times her size, at least.

  The two Goblins stared at each other silently, and the tension in the air rose another level. The Goblins stopped pretending to be asleep and sat up. They knew what was about to happen.

  The Hob spoke.

  Challenge—

  Rags dove and rolled as a fist missed her head by inches. She grabbed the crossbow she’d been sleeping next to and fired. The Hob gurgled and fell back, clutching at the shaft in his chest. The other Goblins stared as he collapsed onto the ground. He tried to raise one hand, fell back, and died.

  It took Rags a long time for her beating heart to cease. She left the Hobs’ body where it lay; they might use it as food, or not. They had to keep moving. But her head was full of…regret. It shouldn’t have come to that.

  None of her Goblins looked at her, although she’d acted in accordance with their traditions. It was a fair fight, at least by Goblin standards. They knew she had the crossbow, and Goblins don’t believe in fair fights. Or rather, everything is fair since a fight is never fair. But it was still bad, for a Chieftain to have to kill her Hob.

  Rags made her tribe move, and before long they were attacked again. They fought off the Red Fang’s attack and Rags continued onwards. One last try. All or nothing.

  She spoke little that day, only a bit to her Hobs. They stared at her silently, and nodded when she insisted. But when she turned her back she could feel their eyes on her.

  Again and again the Red Fang riders surged into her Tribe, but this time their tight formations made it harder for the warriors to stay and engage. Rags took down another rider and two wolves with careful shots, but her ammunition was running low and none of her other Goblins could penetrate the wolves’ thick coats.

  They’d reached the very edges of Liscor when they made camp that night. They were just past the cave leading into the dungeon when Rags decided to make camp. Silently, her Goblins got to work as Rags planned out her last stand. She knew the area well; it was only a day’s journey away. They could make it, perhaps late if they had to fight off more attacks.

  She went to sleep, worrying, dreaming. Was she making a mistake? No—she had to become strong.

  But. But. Should she have given in?

  No. Yes. Rags tossed and turned. One last try. What did she have? A final jar of Erin’s acid. Boom bark that the Red Fang’s Chieftain wouldn’t go near. And knowledge of the terrain.

  Rags closed her eyes. She was a Goblin. She was not weak. She would show the Red Fang’s Chieftain her strength.

  She slept.

  When Rags woke up the next day, all her Hobs were gone.

  —-

  It was midnight when the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe finally halted. The Chieftain of the Red Fang Tribe watched them set up in a small valley, but not to sleep. He’d nipped at their flanks all day, slaying Goblins, but their small Chieftain hadn’t reacted as normal. She’d forged ahead, until she reached this place.

  He could see why. The valley was a natural trap of the terrain. It would be harder for his riders to get away, and if they were surrounded—but of course there was a second reason as well.

  The Chieftain shook his head. He was disappointed, but he would show the small Goblin the true nature of Goblins here and now. He waited, his fifty riders poised and waiting around him as their wolves sniffed and pawed at the snow. They could sense it too, no doubt.

  The Goblins in the valley began to spread out, forming a large circular formation, warriors with shields and swords facing outwards while archers and women and children armed with a few slings and the odd crossbows waited in the middle.

  It was a pitiful formation, one that failed to rise to the stories he’d heard about the small Chieftain’s cunning. But then, it was all she had to work with.

  Her Tribe had lost more than half their numbers last night, and all of her Hobs had gone with the Goblins. And by the looks of it, they’d taken most of her bows, slings, and new crossbows. All this Goblin had left were normal arms. She didn’t even have enough pikes to form a proper defense, not that they would have slowed his riders anyways.

  The Red Fang Chieftain shook his head. Time to end this. He raised his hand and his riders tensed. But then the Goblins below began to make noise.

  It was the small Chieftain who started it. She stared up at him and began to bang her sword on her buckler. She shouted—a faint voice in the vast emptiness of the rolling plains. But then other Goblins took up the same call.

  They began to shout and stomp the ground, rattling their weapons against metal. They screamed at the wolf riders as the Red Fang Chief stared down at Rags. She met his eyes.

  Well. Perhaps there was some Goblin in her. It wouldn’t save her, though. The Red Fang’s Chieftain unsheathed his sword and raised it high. It ended tonight. They would break her will with this.

  The Chieftain took a breath of the cold night air and roared at his warriors as their mounts howled with him.

  We ride!

  The Red Fang warriors shouted and followed their Chieftain as he leapt down the slope. The Red Fang Chieftain was shouting as he sped downwards on his giant wolf, eyes locked on the small Chieftain’s. He couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed.

  He’d really expected more of her.

  —-

  Rags watched the Red Fang Chieftain charge and held her breath. This was it. This was all she had left. Her depleted tribe stood at her back, loyal till the end. There were still enough of them to win. If they could just stop the riders for a second. If—

  The Red Fang Chieftain roared as he came down the slope, and Rags felt a chill far colder than the cold air. He was coming. Her sword was sweaty in her palm, and her heart was beating too fast.

  But the Chieftain was coming at her in a straight line. Rags watched his wolf dash through the snow, raising a cloud behind him. He hadn’t noticed.

  She held her breath. One more step—

  The Red Fang Chieftain kicked his wolf, and the huge animal turned, and leapt left, avoiding the hidden pit full of Shield Spiders. It was casual, almost contemptuous how easily he skirted the pit, urging his wolf right to avoid a second one, and then running around a third.

  Rags stared at the Red Fang Chieftain, shocked, as he dashed between the Shield Spider pits without even disturbing the snow covering each trap. Despair was in her eyes, and as he halted in front of the ranks of her Goblins, he shook his head. He looked almost regretful as he raised his sword and his riders howled, charging towards her front lines.

  Die, small one.

  Rags let the look of shock linger on her face for two more seconds, and then grinned. The Red Fang’s Chieftain blinked. She raised her hand and clenched it into a fist—

  And the ground shifted.

  Behind the wolf riders, the snow-covered Shield Spider pits fell away. The Red Fang riders turned, confused, and saw Goblins. The Red Fang’s Chieftain turned, and his eyes widened as he realized the true nature of the trap.

  Shield Spider pits. They were easy to detect even without [Dangersense]. Any living Goblin knew how to spot them. But then, Shield Spiders weren’t much of a threat to a proper tri
be. All you needed to clear out a nest was a bunch of Goblins with long weapons. Oh, and a few Hobs of course.

  They were all there, all of Rags’ Hobs and half of her tribe. They stood in the pits, Goblins all armed with bows and slings and crossbows. They fired into the wolf rider’s backs and sides as more climbed out of the pits and charged the rider from every side.

  Rags shouted a command, and her warriors charged as well. Her archers began to fire, and the Red Fang riders found themselves surrounded on all sides.

  The Red Fang’s Chieftain narrowed his eyes at the Shield Spider pits. He realized the problem instantly. In those shelters, Rags’ archers could continue firing without any fear.

  Unless of course his riders went in after them.

  The Chieftain pointed, and shouted. One of the wolf riders jumped his wolf into a pit and then screamed. His Carn Wolf screamed too; they’d both impaled themselves on the thick wooden stakes planted around the Goblin archers.

  Rags grinned, and for the first time, she saw the Red Fang’s Chieftain hesitate. But then he turned to look at her, and she saw not a glimmer of fear in his eyes. Her smiled faded. No. He wasn’t going to…

  Any other Chieftain would have surrendered, or tried to flee. But the Red Fang Chieftain just narrowed his eyes, and then raised his sword. He pointed, and shouted one word.

  Charge!

  His warriors didn’t hesitate. Fifty Goblins riding Carn Wolves crashed into the ranks of hundreds, and began to cut their way through. They didn’t stop.

  A Red Fang warrior screamed as he lashed out with his sword, riding his Carn Wolf into the Goblins. He struck wildly, ignoring the countless hands that tried to pull him down.

  A Hob buried an axe in his Carn Wolf’s head. The Red Fang warrior went down, but was on his feet in an instant, fighting with his sword even as countless weapons pierced his body. With his last moments he ran forwards and ripped a Goblin’s throat out with his teeth.

  Goblins fell back as the Chieftain swung his sword, cleaving through multiple bodies with one swing. He didn’t even look around as he struck; the blood flew in his wake as he charged straight at Rags.

  She had the black crossbow at her side. There was only time for one shot. Rags sighted down the bolt, and fired once. The Chieftain’s Carn Wolf howled and collapsed with a bolt in its neck. But the Chieftain just leapt off its back and cut Goblins down as he ran towards her.

  Rags was shaking. Her blood was fire. But she didn’t run. She tossed the black crossbow aside and raised her sword. It was time.

  Challenge.

  In the snowy night, Goblins fought and died. Mounted Goblins on huge wolves fought against a vast number of Goblins, bleeding, dying, but killing scores for each Goblin pulled off their wolf. And in the center of the fighting and dying, two Chieftains found each other.

  Rags and the Red Fang’s Chieftain had nearly a hundred feet separating them, and countless bodies in the way. But they ran as if they were both alone in the world, eyes locked on each other.

  They charged at each other through the mud, each one screaming. Two kinds of Goblin raised their swords as their tribes cleared out in front of them. They met in fury and fire, one dodging, retreating, using magic and cunning. The other raged, running through fire, attacking, slashing.

  Two Goblins, each with a vision of the future. And as they locked blades, both Chieftains stared into each other’s eyes and for a second, their hearts beat as once.

  They both felt it. They heard the voice echoing in their souls as they struggled for purchase on the slippery ground, in each beat of their hearts as their struck at each other.

  This. This is Goblin. This is our nature.

  It was a scream of a thousand lives, a thousand memories of Goblins who had lived and died before them. It rang in their ears, coursed through their veins.

  This is Goblin. This is what we were born to do.

  Rags saw a bare foot flash towards her chest and blocked just in time. She felt the impact—as she landed ten feet away. Her arm was broken. She uncorked a potion with her teeth and poured it over the bone, holding it in place as the Red Fang Chieftain charged.

  Another potion. Rags downed it and pointed. Fire burst from her fingers and struck the other Goblin in the chest. He roared as the flames burned him but ran on.

  Thunder. Rags ducked and rolled between his legs as the Red Fang’s Chieftain sliced at her. He missed, but turned and cut down three Goblins as they ran at him. A Hob tried to get in his way; the Chieftain ran him through without looking in his direction.

  The voices in Rags head urged her on as she raised her sword, and she knew the Chieftain could hear the same words.

  Fight. Fight! FIGHT. Fight or die! Kill or die!

  They charged, for the last time. But as they did, Rags heard another voice. It was quiet, but it spoke in her mind, a younger voice, from twenty-odd years ago. The voice of a King. It whispered to her.

  This is not who we are.

  It made her falter. Rags hesitated as the other Chieftain screamed at her. She heard the voice in her head, louder than the rest.

  Remember.

  And she looked up at the Red Fang Chieftain—

  And rolled into one of the pits.

  It was close enough that Rags made it nearly to the center as she fell into it. She saw the wooden stakes rushing towards her, horribly sharp—

  And felt one brush against her side. But she was small, and the burning pain was no worse than the impact of falling. Rags scrambled to her feet, and saw the Chieftain. He was standing on top of the pit, eyes on fire.

  Coward!

  He leapt. She knew he would. The Goblins around her scattered, but Rags waited. She felt the impact, and saw the Chieftain roar in agony as a stake struck him. But he was slashing at her before she could blink.

  Her shield—

  The impact tore through the metal, ramming Rags against the dirt wall of the pit. She fell down, stunned, as the Red Fang Chieftain walked towards her.

  You.

  He coughed and yanked the wooden spear out of his side. He looked at his blood, and then reached down and seized Rags. She kicked feebly as he lifted her into the air, reaching at her belt, feeling the world go dark.

  The Red Fang Chieftain raised his sword and then looked around. His warriors were falling, dying. He was alone in the pit with Rags, but already Goblins were approaching with bows and arrows. He had lost, but Rags was dead.

  How? How are you so small but able to do so much?

  Rags met his eyes. She felt the cold glass in her palm. She gritted her teeth, and rasped.

  I am Goblin. I am small. But I look down upon you all.

  Then she raised the jar and smashed it above both of them. The acid rained down, covering both Rags and the Chieftain. They screamed, and Rags fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

  Burning. Pain. Death.

  Rags couldn’t see. She could barely think. But her hands fumbled at her belt, reaching for her only salvation. The glass was cold, and she broke it on her face, heedless of the shards.

  Pain. But suddenly her melting skin was also healing. Rags felt her skin burning away and regenerating at the same time. She screamed, a raw sound, and broke another potion over her head, washing away the acid.

  The pain continued, searing into her memory and soul. But eventually, it faded enough for her to be part of the world again. Rags sat up, screamed, and then stood up.

  She had to—she had to—

  The Red Fang’s Chieftain was lying on the ground, silent, smoking as the acid ate away at his flesh. Rags stared at him. She hesitated, and then uncorked her last potion and poured it over his head.

  The wisps of dissolving flesh ceased. Rags saw flesh begin to grow over bone, and prayed she wasn’t too late. But then she saw the Chieftain sit up, and then stand and reach towards his own belt.

  A second potion grew back muscles and flesh, and then he was standing over her, healed, and silent. The Chieftain of the Red Fang Tr
ibe looked down at Rags, but it was she who spoke first.

  I won.

  He stared at her. Then the tall Hob shook his head.

  Won once. Will not happen twice.

  Rags shrugged.

  Once is all. No second time.

  For a second, she thought the Chieftain would grab his sword and run her through. His face was blank, expressionless, eyes fixed on her face. But then taller Goblin grinned, and winced as flesh began to grow around his lips.

  Is enough. You are Chieftain. Red Fang Tribe will submit.

  He raised his fist and roared into the night sky.

  Flooded Waters Tribe is strongest! Stop fighting!

  Around the valley, Goblins slowly lowered their weapons, and even the handful of Carn Wolves stopped moving. The Red Fang Chieftain climbed out of the pit, and repeated his words to the shocked Goblins. His surviving warriors hesitated, and then took up the call. Rags’ Goblins echoed the shout, and then the night was full of voices. Rags stood in the center of it, listening to the roaring.

  The Chieftain looked at Rags, serious now.

  You have won. You were strongest, Chieftain.

  Rags thought about this. She looked at the dead, the many dying, and thought about all that had passed. And then she looked at the Red Fang Chieftain and smiled.

  Liar.

  —-

  It was not fair. You let me win.

  That was what Rags said after the battle had ended and her Goblins were either recovering or clearing the dead. She stared at the Red Fang Chieftain as he squatted near a fire, not wary so much as curious.