by RW Krpoun
“Now off to the skiff and its back to the camp,” Kroh got a flame to catch from the sparks he was striking with his flint and steel; lighting a candle from the burning tinder, he clipped a cigar and lit it. “We did a fine job on those engines.”
Henri glanced across the river to the blazing outlines just visible through the trees. “Yes; now all we have to deal with is a few hundred Goblins.”
“Fine with me,” the Waybrother observed cheerfully, blowing out the candle once his cigar was drawing properly. “I like a good fight.”
Bridget let fly with another lead bullet and ducked behind a tough old stump while she fitted another ball into place. The Goblins weren’t trying to press home anywhere, they just sniped, threw rocks, and heaved larger stones into the stake belt to uncover knee-breaker holes and the stake-lined, waist-deep man-traps scattered around the perimeter. They kept moving just beyond the reach of the torch-light, making accurate fire difficult, and harried the blazes out of the defenders. They were taking losses doing it, of course, but they had litter teams standing by and Healers waiting at the edge of the woods, so very few wounds would be fatal; this attack, as Henri would say, was just a bit of slap and tickle before the wedding night.
Suddenly three walls of fire erupted on the south tree line, roaring upward for a half-dozen seconds before winking out, leaving the vague outlines of three war engines traced out in dancing flames. All around her the defense posts garrisoned by Badgers or Dwarves erupted in cheers and shouting; after a moment, the loggers joined in, unsure of the significance of the fires but willing to believe it boded no good for the Goblins. The Goblins were startled by the flames in their camp, and those harrying the south line of the camp were suddenly back-lit by the walls of fire; Bridget smashed two off their feet with well-aimed slung bullets before the flames winked out.
The fires in their camp killed the Goblins’ interest in harassing the Badgers; within minutes they pulled back to the tree line, setting fire to the Dwarves’ cranes as they retreated. The defenders gave them another roaring cheer and a rousing chorus of cat-calls and jeers. A few minutes later the word was passed for Badger officers to report to where Durek had made his stump-seat. The advocate was glad to see Henri, Rolf, and Kroh there, the raiders having returned to the camp in a skiff that had been one of three carefully hidden on the west bank weeks ago. “Nice work,” she smiled at the wizard, who grinned back.
“Piece of cake, none of us took a scratch, and we even bagged a couple Goblins in the process. It was expensive in enchanted goods, though.”
“It was worth it,” the Captain announced from his seat, taking control of the gathering. “I’ve a tally in, we lost three loggers killed and eight seriously wounded, they didn’t know enough to keep their heads down for the most part; Evarts is disbanding the torch-squad and using them to fill the gaps. A few very minor wounds amongst the Dwarves and Badgers, but nothing worth mentioning; armor and experience kept them safe this time. Now, next time they’ll come for us without anything held back, shamans, war beasts, everything. Elonia says she thinks they’ve some Trolls, which is very likely, they had two when they fought us last year. I’m thinking of setting up a special detail to do some Troll-hunting if we can spare the people.”
“The trouble is, we always end up using too many officers on jobs like that,” Janna objected. “We need to keep them in the fighting positions to steady down the troops.”
“True, you have to balance the loss of leadership against the advantage of a handful of the best operating together,” the Captain nodded. “In any case, we’ve some time to think about it. The Spider will mount another night attack, and I’m willing to bet they’ll wait until tomorrow, that will give them time to rest their troops, discuss what they’ve seen on the first attack, and snipe at us for a day. There’s roughly six hundred jugata out there, which shouldn’t be enough to crack this camp without war engines or enchantment.”
“Of course, they’ve got the shamans,” Axel pointed out. “And Trolls, plus other war beasts, the sight of some of which will put the loggers in a panic. It is possible they’ll get into the camp.”
“And that’s where they’ll die,” Kroh snarled. “In camp or out, they’re still Goblins, cord armor, spears, wicker shields, and small axes, nothing special. So long as we hold every other fighting position the reaction groups can push out any jugata that make it in. I hates Goblins, killed dozens of ‘em, I have.”
“That’s the spirit,” Durek grinned. “Haakon’s people are game, and nothing the Goblins will throw at them will surprise them. So long as the Badgers and Dwarves hold our positions, we can win this. And we’re selling the loggers short, I think; some may run, but most will buckle down and fight. We will win this, you can count on that; when the fight is over the Phantom Badgers will still be standing.”
“Most of ‘em, anyway,” Arian muttered to Janna, who jerked her chin in agreement.
Chapter Twenty
The seventeenth dawned bright and clear without a second attack or any overt move by the Goblins except harassing arrow fire. Inside the camp the defenders rested, tended to household chores, and planned for the fight to come. A detail of loggers ferried over the three corpses and buried them in the town’s cemetery, using the three skiffs stored in the camp. The harassing arrow fire tapered off as the sunlight allowed Badger archers to return fire, but an hour didn’t pass without an arrow or two winging its way into the compound.
“Tonight’s the night,” Kroh stated with great finality. “They’ll come at us with everything they’ve got, try to get over the abatis and mix it up inside the camp where darkness and numbers can come to bear.” He tipped a little melted polish from the can he had been heating over a candle onto the toe of the boot in his lap, then vigorously applied a polishing rag.
The others sitting in position One listened and nodded; Kroh was a good judge of Goblins, and could smell an upcoming fight the way a shark could smell blood in the water. “It’ll be rough for a while,” Rolf agreed, carefully working the point of one of his dirks on a fine whetstone. “They’re serious about getting rid of New Fork.”
“It’s a workable plan,” Starr observed from where she lay on a foundation-stone. Hefty infusions of bilberry tea and the application of leeches at key spots had reduced the swelling until she was able to open her eyes wide enough to see without much pain, although her face was still puffy and bore an amazing pattern of brown, yellow, and puce patches. She was lying with her head higher than her feet and a cool wet rag across the bruised area in an attempt to further reduce the effect of her injury. “If they wipe out our camp it will deter new expeditions for the next few years, and could force the evacuation of Badgerhof.”
“True, but that’s where their plan is fundamentally flawed,” Maxmillian said as he carefully worked oil into the leather of his arm-bracers. “New Fork’s demise means nothing in the long run, nor does the loss of Badgerhof: the extension of the Burgen Road will open this entire area for settlement, and gives the Imperial government an investment to protect and the means to protect it. If they want to gain some ground, they ought to hit the road-head.”
“Not with two companies of Imperial Legionaries guarding it,” Kroh grunted, lighting a cigar off the candle. “Two hundred and forty well-armed veterans are a bit more than they want to tangle with. Of course, we’re probably too much for them to go against as well, as dug in as we are, but we’re the safer bet.”
“If they hit us with everything they’ve got, they’ll take a beating, win or lose,” Rolf observed. “Either way I bet they never recover.”
“It’ll be their last hurrah,” Maxmillian agreed. “Just like all the other keibas in Imperial lands, they’ve been ground away in an unequal struggle. The problem was that each tribe acted on its own, no real unity; the Empire simply picked them off one at a time.”
“It’s different out on the Northern Wastes or the Blasted Plains,” Starr said from beneath her face-cloth. “Out there they�
��re organized better.”
“That’s because there are Orcs there,” the historian pointed out. “Goblins from different keibas won’t follow each other’s leaders, but they’ll follow a tough enough Orc or cultist leader. The Empire will have a tougher job taking over the Wastes than it ever did the southern lands.”
“For one thing, the forest Goblins could always run north to the Wastes,” Rolf pointed out. “That’s one reason why the Spider keeps weakening. But north of the Wastes are the ice fields, no place to go. The Empire will have to kill every Orc and Goblin before they subdue the north.”
“Works for me,” Kroh announced, to general agreement.
“How do the loggers look?” Starr asked.
“Ugly, for the most part,” Elonia drawled, raising a chuckle.
“Better than I hoped,” Maxmillian answered the little Threll. “They’re holding up pretty well under the circumstances. Evarts is firmly in control, and their backs are to the wall, so they’ll fight hard, I expect. They’re upset over the lack of hard drink, but that’s to our advantage.”
“They won’t be too willing after the next attack and they get a taste of combat without armor,” Kroh grinned evilly. “But if we break the next attack hard enough there won’t be a third.”
“Three attacks seems to be the way of things,” Maxmillian said. “Probe, assault, desperate last-try.”
The Seeress finished sharpening her blades, oiled them, and sheathed the weapons, working calmly and quietly while the conversation flowed and ebbed around her, deriving a quiet pleasure from the camaraderie. Finished with her melee weapons, she inspected her new crossbow. The weapon, one of a matched pair captured from the Graveur brothers, was a custom-made crossbow of master-level quality, exceptional design, and the very best of materials. The weapon’s bow was made from strips of a wyvern’s talons, each strip exactingly cut and positioned with the others before being fastened together with a glue made from the creature’s marrow and other substances, and encased in an expertly-formed sheath of the toughest wyvern wing-hide. The body of the weapon was carved from rata wood, better known as ironwood for its hardness and durability, the toughest wood to be found outside of Threll forests. What was exceptional about the design was that it was that extreme rarity: a one-handed crossbow, commonly called a hand crossbow. The bow was just over a foot across, and the weapon itself was only nineteen inches long, but still capable of propelling a half-sized steel-shafted bolt with a light crossbow’s force and very nearly the same range. For more accurate fire, a matching ironwood stock could be attached to the weapon with steel pins.
Hand crossbows were a novelty, or rather, ones that actually were capable of combat damage were; the capture of the two weapons had aroused considerable interest within the Company, but few Badgers were interested after exclaiming over the workmanship and materials as a common light crossbow was just as deadly and used standard-length quarrels. Elonia had been issued one as it went well with her role as a light combatant and knife-fighter; Axel had been given the other as his need for a cane made carrying a full-length weapon difficult. The Seeress had had a number of bolts modified to accept poisons, and had practiced with it, both with the stock attached and one-handed until she was thoroughly familiar with it.
An arrow flashed overhead and rattled through the branches of a nearby tree. “They keep wasting arrows, they won’t have enough to support the attack,” Kroh blew a smoke ring.
“They’ll have enough, they always do,” Rolf shrugged. “But you can’t take a fortified position with missile fire or magic; it’ll come down to cold steel, just like it always does.”
“Yep.” Kroh nodded, grinning. “We’ll have plenty to do, lots to kill.”
As the sun slid below the horizon the Goblin camp began to seeth with activity, and sniper fire picked up again. Durek walked the perimeter, personally checking that every torch-holder had a fresh, unused brand in place and more in reserve, and that every defender was in place. The Badgers and Dwarves were steady, but the loggers were obviously nervous.
The battle began an hour after full dark, starting with a spirited exchange of magic between the Spider shamans on one hand and the combined efforts of Axel and Henri on the other. After months of careful study Axel had decided to employ the weaker of the two enchanted staves that had been captured in the raid on the White Necromancer the year before, as things were too finely balanced to pass up any available advantage. The stronger of the two staves had to remain out of the fight, however, as the Lieutenant wasn’t finished researching its various quirks and abilities.
The exchange between the magicians was difficult to follow: there were flashes of odd colors near each group, flickering bursts of sparks, a few brilliant beams of light darting back and forth, and a great deal of no visible activity at all. After twenty minutes of this a tired-looking Henri reported to his Captain that the shamans had been successfully neutralized, and that he and Axel had exhausted their stores of magical energy as well. Durek was far from displeased with this outcome: as the defender, the removal of magic from the coming battle was to his advantage.
Twenty minutes after Henri’s report the noises from the surrounding tree lines prompted Durek to order the torches lit, and as if waiting for that act as a signal, the Spider attacked. The main attack, some three hundred jugata supported by packs of war dogs and four Trolls, was aimed at the south line; groups of a hundred jugata each harried the north and east walls to keep the defenders on those sides pinned down and to exploit any weaknesses.
On the south line there was none of the prancing around just outside the stake belt hurling missiles and abuse as there had been on the first, probing attack; the Goblins charged across the open ground, slowed as they entered the stake belt, losing warriors here and there to the leg-breaker holes and man-traps, and closed with the defensive positions.
Bridget smashed a jugata off his feet with a one-ounce lead slung bullet as he tried to scramble over a abatis and reloaded her sling. She was commanding position Fourteen again, and her position was in the thick of it as the Goblin main force closed with the defenders. The Goblins they could handle within their chest-high defensive positions, and the war dogs were useless to the Goblins until a breach in the camp had been made, but the Trolls were what concerned her the most; she could see them lumbering forward now, two pairs just entering the stake belt, one pair coming towards her position and the other heading for Thirteen, their Goblin handlers clucking about their charges like a hen with a single chick.
The Trolls were massive humanoids with bodies that seemed too squat for their nine-foot height, their overly long limbs and lack of necks giving the impression that they were some form of wood tick that had learned to walk upright. Their rubbery gray-green hide was covered in patches of blue-ish scabby growths that were they tested, would be found to contain a very high percentage of powdered stone; Trolls, like sharks, have little or no bone structure, being mostly cartilage and sinew at birth. By ingesting powdered stone and gravel, young Trolls generate a rocky skeleton and an outer armoring of stone-impregnated flesh. Given their rugged frames, height, two hearts, insensitivity to pain, long reach, and tremendous strength, Trolls were exceedingly dangerous foes, a list of assets which was only balanced by the creature’s rarity and bone-deep stupidity. Four was the most Bridget had ever seen in one place at one time; the big creatures were once solitary forest creatures, but now virtually all lived in Goblin servitude as mobile war engines. These were Forest Trolls, a bit taller and less tough than Mountain Trolls, but tougher than the smaller Swamp Trolls, the latter eating less stone and rarely growing taller than six feet.
Her slung bullet caught the nearest of the pair heading to her position square in the chest; the creature staggered a bit in mid-step, gashing its shin on a stake, and then resumed its forward movement, having taken and shrugged off a blow that would have crushed a Human’s chest. Cursing, the advocate canted a series of control words and gestured: a half-dozen rings of fl
ame appeared around the Troll, each a yard out from his body; seconds later they constricted, burning deeply; the massive humanoid hurled its club aside (which knocked three Goblins down) and howled as the rings burned deep into its flesh, but when the fires winked out, leaving deep charred grooves in the creature’s hide it shook itself and again resumed marching forward.
Between Bridget’s attacks and its partner stepping into a man-trap the Goblins had missed, the two Trolls facing Fourteen were the last pair to reach the defense line. The pair heading towards Thirteen, unhindered by missile fire as the loggers had no ranged weapons, reached the defensive position and, ignoring the wounds inflicted by frantic loggers, swept the defenders away from the front of the position with mighty swings of their massive clubs. Those loggers who survived this initial onslaught immediately fled as Goblins swarmed over the position’s outer walls.
The Spider’s entry into the camp was far from certain, however; a six-foot wall of fire suddenly engulfed the two Trolls and their handlers as Henri used his sling to send a Orb of Warding into their ranks, and Reaction Force Two, led by Janna, roared into and around position Thirteen. The Badger Serjeant used her blade’s powers twice at the point of contact, cutting down a Pa and a veteran jugata as the reaction force’s counterattack closed. This was the crucial point, she knew: the Goblins had knocked a breach into the camp’s line but had not occupied it with an organized force nor were there reserves immediately to hand to exploit the opening; a determined counterattack could expel the intruders and seal the breach if pressed home with sufficient force.
In the darkness, half-lit by the perimeter torches and a couple storm lanterns carried into the area by the reaction force, the two forces clashed, the Goblins desperately trying to hold the newly captured position long enough to consolidate and invade the camp, and the defenders striving mightily to eject them. Rolf, as Janna’s second-in-command, was in the thick of it, fighting with every bit of skill and strength he possessed; the reaction force only held nine Badgers counting Janna and himself, plus twenty-four loggers of questionable ability, although he had to give them credit for courage.
