by Ryan Peter
Sephobwe's message proved true. As the contingent from Fort Maghtani neared the Meadow, they saw scores of torches alighting nearby dunes. It appeared that these were coming from south, east and west.
“What are these?” Turrik asked.
“I am speechless!” Arsheen said. “And I pray that I am wrong! But these seem, to me, to be goblin hordes!”
“Surrounding the Meadow!?” Poiternium cried.
Arsheen glanced at him wide eyed and shrugged his shoulders.
Behind them, the dunes under the star-full sky glimmered with a light that was racing through them, the light ascending upwards and downwards as if the desert itself had changed into a golden, rampant sea. With alarm they made further haste to the Meadow to be greeted by Tarkanyon and Chrisolian who rode towards them.
“Quick!” shouted Tarkanyon as soon as they were in earshot. “A horde from the south is gaining! Hurry!”
The goblin's spurting trumpet sounded from the west, followed by the east. The Outlanders and Arsheen’s men streamed next to the walls of the Meadow — the best way in was still through the south gate, but a southern trumpet sounded and they knew that it was almost time: the goblins would be upon them.
Indeed, as they came around to the gate the goblins flung themselves into battle, snarling and shooting poisoned arrows, a smell like rotting flesh poisoning the air. The Outlanders smacked some of them down easily enough with their bo’s, but those who were at the rear began to suffer as the goblins from the east began to close on them as well.
The gate was opened as Chrisolian commanded for arrows to be shot from inside the Meadow. Their order had already been followed, the fourth round of arrows already being shot under Cadell's command.
“We hold them off!” shouted Cadell to his own.
The other Outlanders flew out the gate and created a bubble around those who were entering in. They were joined by Turrik and Poiternium and Arsheen, while the others went inside. Cadell stayed inside to command his bowmen. But, soon, he joined them on horseback with some of his knights.
They enlarged the bubble, dodging arrows and spears being flung at them. Once all were in the Meadow they retreated and closed the gates, forming a wall of bowmen who shot through the archway and created enough firepower to prevent the goblins from approaching further.
The goblins waited for the full strength of their armies to converge. Inside the Meadow there was confusion and panic. No one had expected this. Arsheen was befuddled, murmuring how he had never seen or heard of this in all his life. Outside the goblins snarled and blew their trumpets, but they would not come closer. Not yet.
“They do still fear the Meadow,” Tarkanyon said as he observed them. “But I am unsure for how long.”
Far in the distance, towards the south, great wooden catapults were being drawn towards them. The goblins were waiting and soon enough they would launch their most defiant attack.
Inside the Meadow they commanded and organised the bowmen as the catapults drew nearer. Then the time came. The catapults were close enough to bombard the walls, but not yet close enough to be reached with arrows. There was a flash and flicker of many torches around the catapults and then a giant ball of flame caterwauled through the air. The first was joined by many, like falling stars shooting through the night sky. Slowly and ominously the fireballs landed amongst the Meadow, setting trees and plants ablaze.
“They may be afraid of the Meadow, as it stands!” Tarkanyon shouted to Drius who was with him. “But, if it stands in flames -- what then?”
Drius' eyes widened as he realised their predicament. “They are larger in number,” he said. “And now, we see, carry greater weapons! But I see no recourse except to battle them bravely and straight. Otherwise, we shall all burn here in the Meadow!”
Tarkanyon let off a cry and leaped towards Cadell and Arsheen to inform them of what they had realised. Although he didn't doubt that they had already realised it for themselves.
Indeed, they had.
More fire shot through the sky, joined by smaller flashes of light – fire arrows. Now it seemed clear: the goblins intended to set the Meadow to flames and ruin. Tarkanyon could not believe it for this would place them at an official war with the Twins and, probably, the nomad tribes as well. It would result in genocide.
Their choice was difficult. If they stay in the Meadow they would burn with it. If they attack the goblins straight on they would be outnumbered. But there seemed to be no other option except the latter.
“We have no choice,” he said to himself and resolved it in his mind. Cadell and Arsheen looked at him with dread as he spoke to them of his thoughts. They gathered their horsemen and quickly decided on their plans. It was too late to assail the catapults. They now had to target what seemed to be leaders. But squeezing all through the gate at once would make them weak. Tarkanyon suggested they open the gate and try to drive the goblins into their own trap of fire.
They agreed, and opened the gate, but the goblins did not move, waiting for them to exit first.
“Charge!” Tarkanyon cried, the Outlanders coming out first to create another bubble for the horsemen to pass through. Cadell then followed, his knights swiftly behind. Then, out came Arsheen, followed by the Dernium warriors and many of Arsheen's men. Not all came out, the bowmen still stayed where they could to provide cover. Others stayed inside to force goblins that were driven in through the gates further into the fires.
Many of the goblins did indeed fall for their trap. Trees, blazing and glimmering with yellow and red, creaked and fell down - killing many of either side. Some jumped into the water but the oasis was not deep enough to provide sufficient cover from the falling trees and the flinging arrows and spears of either side.
The outcome was not clear, but the goblins started pulling back to draw them further out.
But then another trumpet echoed through the desert. The goblins began to cuss and scream. Loud, piercing and clear it boomed.
“That horn!” Arsheen shouted. “That horn! It is the horn of nomads!”
Courage came upon the men and cheers emanated all throughout the battle. The goblins were confused. Torches alighted the eastern dune and the shouts of men bellowed. Nomads – the greatest enemy of the goblins – had come.
And amongst this nomad tribe was Gerald of Dernium, having found renewed courage and fervour. For he had heard news of his friends throughout the desert from fellow tribes. Dersanna had agreed to provide passage to the Meadow, but the tribe was further inspired to do so when they found goblin tracks. Their enticement to the battle increased all the more when they heard the ghoulish shout of the goblin war-trumpets — and once they had seen the rising flames and blazing light of the burning Meadow they were provoked to a frenzy. The fierce warriors of the desert had come, and could not have come at a better time.
The goblins sneered and snarled, angered and bewildered by the new turn of events. Their sickly horns sounded weakly and they began to disengage from the battle, some running in panic, others still fierce and resolute in the fight. They were now no longer united and their ranks began to crumple.
It was only a few moments before the goblins and nomads crashed into each other, the clang of metal against metal echoing into the clear night sky, further terror and fear reverberating all throughout the goblin ranks. Quickly those of the Meadow took advantage, the Outlanders cracking their bo's against the heads and bodies of the foul creatures, the others swinging and reeling their scimitars into sickly goblin flesh. Victory was imminent. Even the smell of them began to weaken. Shouts of joy began to erupt from different pockets of men, and the nomads returned the shouts with equal fervour.
Tarkanyon was engaged with a particularly tall goblin that appeared to be some form of leader. Its armour was an assortment of different pieces of armour it had no doubt picked up through the years from victims. Its helmet didn't fit too well on its head, sticking a little above the forehead. On the top of the bronze helmet was a spike, which it had attempted to
drive into Tarkanyon once or twice when charging for him. It fought very well, Tarkanyon thought, thrusting its spear quickly this way and that to counter Tarkanyon's blows. Tarkanyon wasn't quite trying to kill it as he wanted to glean information from it. But all he ever got in reply to his questions was a grunt or a snarl, with the goblin occasionally spitting at him.
“I shall cut you down or I shall let you go free, goblin,” Tarkanyon said to it, blocking another blow from its spear. “If you tell me what the hordes are doing then you shall go free. Otherwise this shall be your last hour.”
It spat at him again but this time managed to get him in the face. Disgusted, Tarkanyon wiped the spit away and held his breath. He didn't want to smell it.
He shook his head and lunged at the creature, knocking its helmet clean off and then thrusting the tip of his bo into its chest. It fell down to the ground, frantically jabbing its spear towards Tarkanyon, who grabbed it while hitting its hand with his bo. As it yelled it let go of the spear. Tarkanyon flung it away and sat ontop the creature, trying his best not to breathe in the putrid smell.
“Now, you tell me, what are the hordes doing? This has been an open act of war. All of the desert people shall now hunt for your kind. You shall be brought to an end at last.”
With incredible speed it tried to bite at Tarkanyon's arm but he was quick to respond. He cracked his bo on its cheek and swore at it.
It snarled and snorted, saying, “The age for the ghoblein will come!”
Tarkanyon frowned and smacked its other cheek with his bo. “The age of the goblin? What do you speak of?”
It wrinkled its flat large nose and spat at Tarkanyon again. Tarkanyon cursed and then dealt it the death blow. Quickly he got up, wiping the spit from his face and feeling a little nauseous with the thought of it. Uncharacteristically he spat on the goblin and then felt ashamed at his own barbarity.
Chrisolian was running up to him. “It is the last of them, the rest are fleeing!” he said as he neared. “But the fire in the Meadow is beyond control! We must salvage what we can and leave!”
Tarkanyon looked up at him and nodded. Then in one last burst of anger he cracked his bo on the dead goblin's skull. This could be their downfall.
There was no time to waste. The fire in the Meadow was unbearable as they all tried their best to salvage what they could. The men of Iza-Kiêrre and the nomads wailed and cried as they watched the flames soar higher and higher. Many of them stood or kneeled aghast while some even lay flat on the ground with sorrow.
Cadell and Gerald were elated to see each other but there was no time to talk. There was no time for introductions either as each leader did what was necessary to get things moving.
Meanwhile Lelemla, who was standing at the highest part of the fort, watched the night sky lit up with fire from the direction of the Meadow in horror. His heart knew what had happened and all his men with him. He awaited news and finally Sephobwe's messenger arrived, handing him another piece of paper. Wide-eyed and with his hands shaking with anger he opened it.
General,
We mourn for the wickedness that has prevailed. For, those who sought protection at the Meadow drove those of the foul race into it and set it aflame. My spies have informed me of such. Indeed, the foul race attempted to drive them out with fire, but the Outlanders and those of Dernium only enraged the fire to destroy the goblins. My heart aches as general Arsheen and even a tribe of nomads did not stop them from doing this wicked and evil thing.
You may decide what is just.
Lelemla let off a mad cry and punched the air before sinking to his knees. “Oh, the Pearl of the Desert! Our crown and joy! In ashes! In dust!” he wailed. His men joined him.
Throughout the rest of the night the sobbing continued at the Meadow until the stars disappeared and the gray colour of morning approached.
It was time to leave. Smog enveloped the Meadow. Bodies of goblins were strewn everywhere inside and outside, but those of the men who had died had been buried — as many as could be found. With heavy hearts and in a deathly silence they departed on their journey to Iza-Kiêrre. Tarkanyon thought of his mission — was it all now in vain?
Slowly the sun rose and brought with it a glimmer of joy into his heart, for only a moment. Chrisolian, rubbing his beard, turned to Tarkanyon and looked at him gravely.
“Morning is breaking,” he said.
“It always is,” said Tarkanyon.
THE END OF BOOK I
TO BE CONTINUED IN “WHEN TWINS WAR: BOOK II”
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Discover other titles by Ryan Peter
When Twins War: Book II
Your Single Happiness
Holy Sin
The Butcher's Shadow (coming soon!)
ryanpeterwrites.com
