Nowhere to Run

by Elliott Kay

  Aware of the few companions outpacing him, Scars looked over his shoulder to check on the rest. Most of the bugbear and hobgoblin toughs paced or closely followed him. Teryn was only a few steps behind. Running on shorter legs, DigDig and Yargol trailed along with a few armed goblins—until DigDig stopped at the sight of a goblin woman carrying a child.

  “Mama?” he blurted.

  She was almost past him, but whirled at the sound of his voice. Her eyes went wide with shock. “Dag? What—what are you—?”

  “No time!” Scars called back.

  She gasped with a sudden thought. “Oh gods, you didn’t get fired, did you?”

  “What? No,” DigDig protested. “No, I didn’t… wasn’t fired…”

  Scars continued on. No one could blame family for taking care of their own. Virtually everyone here had that in mind in one way or another.

  Human voices and the clang of metal up ahead guided him toward the fight. From behind the next tent came a horrified yelp and a crash, along with the neigh of a horse. “Bugbear!” another human shouted. “Get that bugbear! Get—urk!”

  The rush of hooves warned Scars of approaching danger to the left. A hobgoblin scrambled for her life, trying to get out of the way. Another hobgoblin came flying back from impact with a horse Scars only now saw. Its rider wielded a blazing torch instead of a blade.

  War Cloud rushed for the horse shoulder-first, colliding with the side of its chest to push it off its path. Though he fairly bounced off again, his rash move saved both hobgoblins from being trampled. The rider grabbed for the horse’s mane with his free hand, as much to steady himself in the saddle as to get the horse under control. The torch fell from his grip.

  It was more of an opening than Scars needed. The dagger at his belt came out faster than his sword would, and he didn’t need extra reach when he had such momentum. Scars leaped the final step to attack the rider, tearing into him over the hip with his blade. He caught the collar of the man’s leather armor with his other hand, pulling him down as much by weight as strength. The horse shrieked, but soon broke free to tear off running on its own. The rider lay bleeding in the mud.

  Scars spun around, abandoning the dagger in his foe for greater concerns. They were at the edge of camp. Tents burned, bodies laid in the dirt, and the injured crawled away while others ran. He didn’t see many horses. The bandits had the time and numbers to drive deep into the camp, but they didn’t. Ruck and his bugbears were only the vanguard of help; others would surely follow.

  The bandits had well over a hundred riders. They could have gone deeper into the camp to do far more harm by now if they’d wanted. “Spread out, watch for a trap!” Scars bellowed. “They want to draw us out! Don’t fall for it!”

  On his feet again, War Cloud grabbed the nearest bugbears to slow them down. “That way,” he said, pointing left instead of forward. “Circle around. Protect first, smash second. Watch for archers. Go.”

  Scars expected an argument. Instead, the camp toughs took off precisely as War Cloud told them. “How am I the one in charge?” Scars asked. “They listen to you.”

  “You’re the tactician. Quicker on your feet. I’m just good at shouting.”

  They were among the last of the tents now. Torchlight reflected off the leaves of tall trees looming ahead. Together, Scars and War Cloud prevented a headlong rush out into the open, yet plenty of fighting remained. Arrows and crossbow bolts whistled through the air. Some pierced tents and others drew screams. None struck among the defenders as they rounded the last tents.

  Bandits on horseback crisscrossed the short stretch of open ground between the edge of the camp and the thicker tree line not far away. Only a handful of goblin folk with weapons came out to fight. Largely unarmed, the rest fled.

  One horseman in the foreground leaned back with a torch as if to hurl it into the camp, only to be yanked from his saddle by strong arms covered in dark fur. “Scars,” Shady Tooth called. “We have dead goblins here.”

  He understood her meaning. “Then no more patience,” he shouted back. As much as he wanted to rush out into the fight, Scars had one of the few ranged weapons available. He brought his dwarven crossbow to his shoulder to find a target among the archers farther away.

  Others pitched in at the front. Ruck came off his feet in a wild swing at the nearest horseman. His blade smashed right through the bandit’s attempt to parry, taking the man clear out of his saddle in an ugly fall. The victor of the clash landed with little grace, but also without injury.

  “Agnad!” shrieked a goblin voice to the right. A horseman burst from the edge of the tents, dragging a goblin by a rope. Another goblin tried to chase after him, clutching a limp and bloody arm to his side. “He’s got Agnad!”

  War Cloud rushed out to intercept before the goblin finished his plea. His sword glowed once more with the blessing of his goddess. Running at full speed, War Cloud hurled his blade through the rope dragging the helpless goblin. Agnad tumbled to an abrupt stop. The horseman continued on, looking back in shock as War Cloud caught up to the wounded victim.

  Scars focused on his aim. He couldn’t pick targets at this range, but the horsemen were close enough together at the other side of the field to give him plenty to shoot at. His bolt sent one mounted archer tumbling from his horse. Another fell beside him, struck by an arrow from Teryn now right at his side. She’d only just caught up and already taken out one of the enemy. Scars was a proficient marksman; Teryn had far more talent. She had another arrow nocked and flying by the time he realized what she’d done. He pulled back the crank on his dwarven crossbow, readying another bolt, but he didn’t get it to his shoulder. Sudden thunder at his side warned of bigger concerns.

  “Look out!” he shouted, yanking Teryn out of danger by her hood.

  The save proved disastrous for the horseman. Determined to make the kill, he leaned too far out as Scars pulled Teryn away. He fell from his saddle, tumbling to the ground in a loud and embarrassing mess.

  “How many are there?” asked a new voice beside Scars. Karana was at his other side now, out of breath but holding a mace and shield.

  “Plenty,” he grunted. “We need archers. Anything that shoots. Right away.”

  “And I just dropped my bow,” Teryn fumed, back on her feet. “Where could it—?”

  “By your foot, on your left,” said Karana. “Here, I’ll watch your flank.”

  “What the—how are you here?” blurted a human voice. The fallen rider shouted at the top of his lungs, “Barret! It’s her! I’ve found Pri—!”

  Teryn tore her sword from its scabbard and lunged at the bandit in a single motion. Her blade found his throat before he could mount any defense or even make it to his feet. Even after he fell, she jammed her blade into him a second time. Assured he wouldn’t rise again, Teryn turned back to get her bow. She glanced only once at the hobgoblin mayor with wide, urgent eyes. “What?” she asked.

  “I’m watching your back,” said Karana, looking Teryn over again. “You shoot. I’ll take care of anything close.”

  “Right,” Teryn grunted. She picked up her bow.

  Ignoring the exchange at his side, Scars assessed the battlefield. Shady Tooth, Ruck, and a couple other bugbears had the remnants of the bandits’ vanguard more or less handled. Several were already on their way back across the field to their own lines. Arrows from the main force continued in a sporadic rain, bringing down a couple of the armed goblins at the front and one of Ruck’s bugbears. More arrows fell close to War Cloud as he gathered up the wounded goblin in his now glowing hands for a desperate run back to his line.

  The blast of a horn rose out among the bandits: one note, then two, then another long note. Most of the horses moved forward, spears and blades evident amid the light of scattered torches. It seemed only the archers would stay behind.

  “Yargol!” Scars called out. He dearly hoped the magician had caught up. Muscle and steel were not enough to turn this back. Yargol’s shorter legs and smaller fr
ame weren’t built to keep up with the likes of bugbears, nor was he made for racing, but magic could make all the difference. Scars needed him badly.

  Something rushed past him, low and solid and faster than Scars could track. “We’re here,” Yargol panted, still several steps away. His staff glowed, pouring out a powerful wind that rushed past Scars and Teryn to carry along the last of their crew to take the field.

  DigDig crossed the foreground with unnatural speed. Sorcerous winds pushed him beyond his own pace, bending grass and kicking up dust in his wake. He passed Shady Tooth and the other bugbears, intercepting and passing even War Cloud at the farthest point of the battle.

  Nothing stood between him and the charge of bandits. Spears and swords descended while thundering hooves threatened to trample him without so much as slowing down. Clear of War Cloud, the lone goblin came to a halt all alone in the killing ground.

  Roaring with his little voice, DigDig stabbed his shovel into the ground with all his might, stomped on the back of the shovelhead, and pulled.

  Earth and rock exploded before him in a wave, rippling up and out along a line to DigDig’s left and right. Charging horses and their riders disappeared behind the torrent of soil. Cries of shock and confusion rang out from behind the curtain of earth as it came to ground. A second later, horses burst through the cloud, some riderless and others carrying shocked and confused men—all of whom collapsed at DigDig’s feet. Still others broke left and right on the other side of the cloud, carrying their riders away.

  “Come on!” Ruck yelled. “Get ‘em! Let’s go!” He rushed forward, drawing along many of his toughs beside and behind him. Shady Tooth joined the mob, though she angled for DigDig’s position rather than making a straight dash for the enemy.

  At the camp’s edge, Yargol leaned heavily on his staff beside Scars. The magician gasped for breath. “He didn’t explain. He only asked…if I could…make him fast. I had no idea.”

  “Can you manage anything more?” Scars held Yargol up by the shoulder. “Even a little flash or fire could add to their worries, but if it’s too much…?”

  “It’s necessary,” Yargol agreed. Though still leaning on his staff, he straightened. Willpower fought back fatigue. He reached back with one hand to conjure flaming shards of ice, hurling them two by two across the field. At a glance, the missiles struck nothing of consequence, but that wasn’t his goal. No one wanted to be on the wrong end of magical flames.

  The brief flashes of light from his magic revealed the sudden change to the battlefield. Where open ground had stretched out before the trees thickened on the other side, DigDig now stood all alone. From his sides, a trench now ran in either direction. Displaced earth created a sharp rise in the ground before him to parallel the trench.

  A handful of riders climbed out of the trench, some still on their horses, others abandoning theirs. On the other side, horses without riders fled while unsaddled bandits tried to recover. A few among those still on horseback shouted orders in an attempt to recover and reorganize. Arrows flew in from the remaining body of bandits farther back, striking down a pair of Ruck’s toughs and forcing DigDig to dive into the trench for cover. None of the bandits tried to cross the rise or the trench itself.

  The horn from the remaining riders blew with a single note repeated three times, sounding a full retreat. Shouts of triumph rose from Ruck’s toughs. At the edge of camp, Scars found his relief short-lived. One look at the bodies and burning tents behind him provided plenty more challenges for the night.

  Chapter Four

  “Survival is a full-time job. Not everyone made it through the winter. Nobody came out here prepared to build anew. We had only what little we could carry while everything else was taken by our former neighbors. Most of the tents you see come from an orc family of sailmakers who got thrown out of the southlands with the rest of us, and they fought like hell to take the last shipment of canvas out with their wagon. Lost everything else from their business.” Karana leaned back in her chair, casting her gaze down to the small table that served as her desk. Holes and stains marred the wood. “Even this was salvaged from an old campsite near here. Nobody got to go back home for their furniture.”

  Other pieces of salvage decorated her small hut: a wagon wheel repurposed as a shelf against one wall, an oil lamp that hadn’t held glass in decades, even an oar put to service as a brace for the roof. Karana’s hut didn’t display any extravagance. Her cot was no larger than any others seen in the camp. Someone went to considerable effort to clean and straighten the salvage as much as possible, which spoke to pride if nothing else.

  Karana sat behind scraps of paper and a crude map of the area. Ruck loomed behind her, arms folded across his chest. A couple of other camp leaders crammed into the space behind her desk in an assertion of their prominence, but didn’t speak. They seemed to be present mostly for the sake of being seen. On other side of the table, the newcomers crowded together, making the hut feel even smaller.

  “We need the obvious things: food, blankets, medicine, clothes, and tools. Some of us have decent weapons, but most folk have nothing more than clubs and sharp sticks. As a village, we’re defenseless. And we obviously have plenty of threats. But that’s all just to stay alive until tomorrow and hopefully the next week.

  “This farm never recovered from the blight that drove out the owners a couple decades ago. We could figure out what might grow and get it producing again if we had seed, but that takes time. Until then, we’ve got cleared space and the barn is still intact, at least. We’ve got plenty of wood. Plenty of clay. The river has us set for water. Add all that up and you might think we’ve got a chance for something out here. The truth is building anything feels pointless, and that might be the worst part of all this.

  “We’ve all been kicked out of at least one home already, and some have been through it more than once. Almost half this camp came all the way from the southlands. I’ve got whelps about to become adults who’ve been on the move their whole lives. The king will keep pushing, or his people will do it for him. We can’t stay here and we’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  “Eastford has everything we need,” Ruck added sullenly. “We also know what will happen if we go take it.”

  “This place isn’t far from either of the borders. Are they still closed?” asked Scars.

  “Oh, they aren’t closed,” Karana scoffed. “Go west and you’ll find Velic asking the same of us as they’d ask of any human immigrant: an oath of fealty to their queen and a flat tax of about enough gold to buy a nice home in the capital. Not too many goblin folk have that kind of coin lying around. But if you can cough it up, they’ll accept you. To the north in Nivoen, they ask only a mere four years’ indenture for citizenship—if you’re healthy enough to suit the border captain. It’s a fair guarantee your indenture will be spent in their army, or hard labor at least. An awful lot of goblin folk have bowed to it. Orcs, too. My sense of it is Velic offers a fairer deal. They only gouge you once and it’s over.”

  “I’d turn the other way if it’s between those two,” said Teryn. She stood a step behind Scars, largely quiet through the conversation. “Dostin is working hard to build close ties with Velic. They’ve hardly batted an eye at what he’s done to your people. Nivoen hasn’t done much more than lodge some diplomatic complaints, but at least they aren’t thrilled by all this.”

  “Is that so?” The mayor eyed Teryn thoughtfully. “Either way, one still needs to live through that indenture to see if they honor the bargain. Like I said, nobody has the kind of coin Velic demands. The borders are all heavily patrolled, too. A few of us might sneak across, but not a group this large. And the elves sure as hell aren’t taking us in, even if we took the journey all the way across northern Theralda to get there. So we’re all stuck here—for as long as ‘here’ lasts.”

  Scars looked over his companions. Their sentiments were clear on their faces. “We’ll help with what we can,” he said. “This crew has some resources your camp p
robably hasn’t seen lately.”

  “You’ve got a magician and a healer. We’re shy on magic of any stripe here. And there’s whatever you did to conjure up that trench,” Karana added. She looked past the companions in the front to DigDig. “Can you put that shovel to constructive use?”

  “Planned on it,” he replied, straightening proudly.

  “We need to talk on our own,” said Scars.

  “And rest?” Teryn asked. “Sorry, but I’m exhausted.”

  “I can’t offer anything more than space, but you won’t have to worry about wild animals or bandits sneaking up on you,” Karana replied. Then she frowned. “I can’t offer much in the way of money for your help, either.”

  “This comes down to survival for all our people,” said War Cloud. “I think we’re a bit past demanding payment for pitching in.” Behind him, Shady Tooth let out a quiet grunt of disgust, but she said nothing.

  “That’s more or less the same line I used to get this camp going. Still use it every day.” She gave a curt nod of gratitude. “Rest up. Glad you were here tonight.” Karana held her peace while her guests emptied out of her hut, but spoke up again once fewer people would hear: “Scars, wait a minute?”

  He lingered at the door, closing it behind himself once they were alone. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Oh, I’ve got questions for days.” She nodded at the door. “I’ll settle for this tonight: Who’s the girl and what’s her story?”

  “Is it so strange for humans to help us?”

  “We’ve had help from some. Might all be dead by now if it hadn’t been for some old human neighbors slipping us food and supplies through the winter. But even that’s a step shy of taking up arms for us. Only seen that a handful of times. It stands out. Also makes you wonder.