Matthew Nesheim
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Chapter 22: Lefty and Feathers Make Friends
🕑 Added 2023-10-20 03:00:11 +0000 UTCPart One: A Brief Detour Inside the Mind of a Goblin
Fatlip hadn’t had this much fun since … well, he couldn’t remember. So far tonight, he had killed a goat, set fire to a haystack, scared several children, and helped disembowel a farmer. All that and the night was still young.
Their old boss, Ikzurash the Lich, had neglected them after forming an alliance with some of the local human tribes. Many of his brethren had been reduced to working the mines while others had slunk off into the woods to form small raiding parties or simply meandered about as wandering monsters. Now things were starting to look up. They were under new management. Someone who looked after them. Someone who treated them fairly. Someone who used words like ‘tribe’ and ‘reward’ and ‘pillage’ all of which were appealing to Fatlip and his fellow goblins.
The goblins had always known there were far more of them than there were humans in Sommerdale. What’s more, they had never lacked the motivation to go after the humans. In fact, Fatlip himself remembered the elders propositioning Ikzurash several times to conduct raids on the local villages, only to be rebuked for reasons like “There’s a treaty” and “I don’t think you understand the political ramifications of what you’re saying. All of which the goblins had taken to mean that Ikzurash had lost his nerve.
Then Vevic arrived and everything changed.
It was not as if the Tribe of the Bloody Foot had been anything to sneeze at before. Just a few days earlier, the lot of them had successfully raided the village Harva and razed the place to the ground. Fatlip had been a part of that one. It had been fun, but it had been nothing like their conquest of Ikzurak’s fortress. That had been glorious. He had helped kill two guardsmen, burn several buildings, and then had done some unspeakable things to an ewe that he still didn’t feel comfortable talking about, but if given the chance, he might consider doing so again. In fact, the woman they had cornered now looked like just the kind of person Fatlip wanted to try that on again. If, that is, she was still alive and if she wasn’t, well, he might think about that too.
“Chalmer and Cakestealer, take the left flank,” Fatlip command. “Fishbone and I will take the right.”
“I don’t remember anyone putting you in charge, you ugly ass,” Chalmer snapped. “Seems to me that I should be the one calling the shots.”
Seeing their distraction, the mother put her pitchfork through Chalmer’s belly. As his rival fell to the grass, Fatlip laughed. “See? Now if’n any of you other two get any silly ideas, you’ll be just askin’ for the wench to do you in the same. See?”
Fishbone and Cakestealer growled as they nodded. Without another word, they spread out around the mother and her two children, keeping the family trapped against the wall of the barn.
The problem, Fatlip mused, is that she’s got that long pointy thing and we’ve only got the short pointy kind. Indeed, only Chalmer had been armed with a spear and now he was dead. And Chalmer’s goblin spear wasn’t nearly as long as the woman’s pitchfork. If he had the goblins, Fatlip might just back up and shoot arrows at her until she was dead, but then she’d be a corpse and he didn’t particularly want a corpse right now, did he?
Just then, as he was thinking about how he was going to separate the woman from her weapon, something small, white, and quacking waddled up beside him and bit him in the leg.
“Ow! Whut?” he cried, jumping back.
The duck, it’s face a mask of cold fury, looked up at him with two steely black eyes.
“Off with ye!” he said as he stabbed down at the bird.
The duck, too quick for his sword, jumped over the blade and took off in the air. Fatlip growled and turned back to the woman, only to find that she had fallen to the ground and was covering her children with her body.
“What in the nine hells are you …?”
Before he could finish his sentence, a wave of fire washed over him and his two compatriots, melting their skin and flesh right down to the bone.
Part Two: Escape Along the River
“Here miss, allow me,” Lefty said as he helped the woman back to her feet. “I saw you struggling and sent my familiar in as a distraction.”
Feathers glared.
“He’s quite brave you know,” Lefty continued, “for a duck, that is.”
“That you, sir,” the woman brushed back her hair. She was petite, brown haired and pretty. So pretty, in fact, that Lefty had to remind himself they were the middle of a burning village overrun by goblins. Beside her was a boy and a girl, each around early grade school age. The boy had a stick in one hand as he clung to the hem of his mother’s dress.
“Anyway, we should get going,” he said. “The docks are over there and if we’re lucky, there might still be a boat we can sneak aboard.”
“But sir,” the mother said, “my daughter is missing and we need to find her before we leave.”
Lefty looked out at the village. The battle, if you could call it that, was going poorly and looked to only get worse. The few watchmen who remained were either surrounded, dying, dead, or fleeing toward the river. And every building they could see was either destroyed, collapsed, or burning.
Despite his better judgment, he asked, “Where … uhm, where was your daughter last?”
The mother pointed behind her, “She was inside the barn. We got separated when everything caught fire and the goblins rushed in.”
Next to them, the barn itself had become and inferno. Lefty could see through the window that everything from the hayloft to the stables had caught fire. If anyone is inside there, they’re either dead or about to be.
Again, ignoring his better judgment, he found himself circling around to the barn door. Feathers by his side, he scanned the inside of the barn and was surprised to see the shape of a person huddled in the middle of the barn, surrounded by smoke and flame.
“Cordelia!” the mother cried from beside him.
Feathers quacked, lowered his head, and began waddling toward the figure. Lefty, seeing his companion, motioned to the woman to stay put and then, not believing his ears, he said, “Wait here, I’m going to go get your daughter.”
The mother said something but it was lost in the sound of the fire. He followed the duck and together they found a path that led through the fire. However, not halfway through, a pair of cross beams fell from the ceiling and cut them off. Lefty tried to kick them out of the way, but the tangled mess of flaming wood was too heavy. Then he looked up and saw a band of goblins enter through the other side as they converged on the girl.
“Cordelia!” He cried. “Over here!”
The girl looked up, but before she could move, the goblins were on top of her. She screamed as they carried her away.
“Cordelia! No!” The mother screamed.
Lefty retreated back to the doorway as Feathers flew beside him. Grabbing the mother by the arm, they circled around to the corner of the barn where they saw a small horde of the goblins had gathered on the other side. There were dozens, maybe even a hundred of the little green warriors gathered around a small band of prisoners they were ushering away.
Seeing the mother mustering the courage to scream again, he grabbed her over the mouth and dragged her away. For a moment, she fought him but then gave in. Then he, the mother, her two children, and Feathers all made for the shore.
Running across a road, they climbed over a fence and then dashed across an open yard. Passing a well, a watchman lay dying there with an arrow in his chest. When a pair of goblins ran out from behind a wagon, Lefty hit them with a [Flameblast] spell, killing one and sending the other running. Then, after they ran through a grove of trees, they emerged at the edge of the shore where they could see the docks ablaze with fire and covered in goblins, men, and blood.
It was a desperate scene. Barrels, logs, and tack were stacked at the end of the two largest docks in an attempt to barricade the goblins, who were both climbing and fighting over the barricades and wading through the water to flank the men on the docks. Meanwhile, those few villagers with weapons were holding their position behind the barricades, fighting back to back and trying to hold the goblins off as the women and children were being herded onto the boats.
Lefty, Feathers, and the family crept through the trees that lined the river until they came to a stack of logs. There, they took cover as they assessed the situation.
Feathers was the first to quack softly.
“You know, I was thinking the same thing …”
Feathers quacked softly again.
Lefty nodded, “Agreed. If we can just get close enough, we can use the shallows …”
Then the mother tapped him on the shoulder, “Who’s in charge here? You or the duck?”
“Ah …” Lefty’s eyes traveled from woman to duck and back to the woman. “… it’s … ah, it’s complicated.”
“I see,” she said.
With a final quack, Feathers led them out from the log pile. Waddling quickly along the shore, the duck passed the first dock, ducked under a rope, and then turned and hopped into the water. Lefty, who had taken up the rear, helped the mother herd her children into the shallows. Their goal was the next dock, which, unfortunately, just happened to be surrounded by goblins. Lefty, however, had a plan. Wading through the water, he tucked his staff under his shoulder, rubbed his hands together, and began reciting the incantation.
“Somnomum solamnun solanus,” he said as he pointed his right hand like a gun at one goblin, then another, and another, and another, as one by one they fell over asleep. When he was done, there were eight goblins floating face down in the water, unconscious.
“Quickly now, this is our chance,” he cried.
Breaking into a run, he grabbed the little girl and charged through the shallows. Behind him, the boy, older and stronger than his sister, clung to his mother’s hand as he ran. Reaching the dock, Lefty set the little girl atop the platform and then reached back for the boy. On the dock, a pair of men were ushering the last of the survivors onto a small fishing raft and the moment they saw the children, they gabbed both boy and girl and tossed them on board.
Then a goblin rose up out of the water, spear in hand. Before he could bring his staff around to defend himself, the cold iron bit into his side. He keeled over as a flash of steel passed over his head and cut the goblin down. Then four strong hands grabbed him by his shoulders and lifted him up. When they set him down, he found himself sitting at the edge of the raft where the woman he had rescued was ripping strips of fabric off her dress to use as bandages.
Feathers landed next to him as the boy and the girl settled in next to their mother. As Lefty watched the brown haired woman bind his wounds, he thought, You know, maybe I could get used to this hero thing …
