When Goblins Rage (Book 3) (25 page)

She twisted painfully to get a view of the inside of the fort.

The gate had fully collapsed on top of the ram, and the wall above was completely torn away. Where the gate had been was now a mountain of stone rubble and twisted bodies. Wet blood lapped at dust. Twisted metal bars speared upward. The metal bones of the fort had finally been broken.

The force of the collapse had not only bent the heavy iron frame which had formed the gate, but had torn it to pieces.

She could see the bright glitter of armoured men beyond, frozen by the brutal collapse. Thought she saw Storr, mounted and unmoving beside his precious wagons. But they were quickly swallowed by the mist of dust still settling across the debris.

And then Sharpe's fighters swarmed the mound.

They attacked the wounded, knowing they had one chance before the Grey Jackets recovered themselves enough for a rescue. Before their cleric could make the desperate act meaningless.

“Nysta!” Eli shouted. He waved up at her, grin spreading madly across his face. He sounded delighted to see her. “Nysta! They ran like the cowardly bastards they are, but they're coming again soon, my friend. We need you down here. Not up there. If you stay up there, you will only miss a very good fight indeed!”

She groaned, probing one of her ribs. It didn't seem cracked, but it was certainly bruised. She sucked a pained breath and looked for a way down. The ramp had been torn away from the wall and was lying in ruin.

With a sigh, she judged the height.

Figured it was going to hurt, but dropped off the wall anyway.

And she was right. It hurt.

Her shoulder, already in pain, hit one of the broken stones as she rolled. And her knee thudded hard enough into the ground that it trembled, sending waves of numbness up her leg.

“Fuck.”

Flin helped her to her feet, the spear in her hands dripping blood.

The elf winced. “Obliged,” she told the girl.

“It's worse now,” Flin said. “Before, we didn't know how many there were. But look. Look out there. Look how many there are. And now the gate is gone. Now there's nothing to stop them.”

Pad emerged from the ruin, a boyish smile on his face. “Well,” he said. “That didn't quite go as I'd have liked now, did it?”

Sharpe, a crazed look in his eyes, reeled around on top of the mound. He looked lost. Perhaps the carnage had loosened his sense of bearings, she thought.

He looked down at his sword. So coated in blood it was, it seemed the blade was made of it.

“Are you thinking of going somewhere,
Lord
Sharpe?” Eli asked calmly. “There is no way out from this one, my old friend. You cannot run from this fight like you did the other. Now, I saw you fight. You did very well. Almost the man Eli remembers. But I will not let you run. Not this time. This time, you will die with us here. Because this one time more, Eli will fight for you. For the King of Tannen's Run. Whose kingdom is about to fall.” His tone was mocking, but there was a note of sympathy in his voice, as though unconsciously he still held a small spark of respect for his former leader.

Sharpe looked around at the rest of them, taking in the exhaustion. The fear. The desire to escape.

He saw Hicks, trying to stop the blood from rushing too fast from Hudson's side. He'd caught a vicious swipe which had nearly opened his belly. His face was pale. Eyes fogged over.

But he'd live.

Provided they could hold the town.

He saw the elf, still looking stunned, her left arm hanging loose from her damaged shoulder. Flin, at her side, blood leaking from a vicious cut to her leg. If the girl survived, she'd never run fast again.

Boe stood beside Count Steel, both fighters covered in blood. Some their own. They wore similar grim expressions, but neither looked ready to run.

A few more guards and mercenaries scattered about. None of whom was unscathed. All looked tired. Dirty.

Eyes haunted by pain and doubt.

Turning, he saw the Grey Jackets through the dust.

Still numbering more than sixty. And even if many of them weren't as seasoned as the mercenaries and guards left in Tannen's Run, it was a fool's fight, and he knew it. They were outnumbered and now the gates were down.

He clenched his jaw tight before speaking.

“You can mock me, Eli,” he said, loud enough for the rest to hear. “Mock me all you like. But the Deadlands wasn't made for the weak. It was made for the strong. For those who can take what they want if only they can keep it. At the moment, this land is lawless. A land of fighters who don't know what to fight for. All I wanted, Eli, was to give them a reason. Give them something to fight for. Give them pride, maybe. And what's a better reason to fight for than a home? Me and you, Eli, we ain't got any pride left. We're what happens if you don't have a reason to fight. Now, you can believe me or not believe me, I don't care any more. But I didn't walk out on you in Trollspit. Sure, I wasn't in the cave when you got hit. Before any of you were awake, I'd headed further up the mountain for a better view. Tried to find a way out for us all. When I got back, I found everyone dead and Asa's assassins everywhere. How do you think I felt, Eli? Not being there while my friends were cut down by the Emperor's bitch of a daughter? Knowing all I could do at the end was hide in the dark like a coward? But what the fuck else could I do? I couldn't attack them on my own. I felt like shit, Eli. And the Dark Lord knows I've had to live with that since. If I'd have been there at the beginning, Eli, I'd have died with them. I wouldn't have run. Just like I won't run today. So, you stand up here with me. Close. And you fight with me. And tell me at the end if I'm the kind who'd run from a fight. Even one we know we're gonna lose.”

There was a scuffle of stones, and a man appeared at the base of the rubble. A small white cloth held in his fingers. He waved it, an amused expression toying at his mouth. But he figured he had every right to be amused. Because he saw only a beaten enemy.

“Greetings up there,” Storrson called. “Mind if we have a chat?”

“Mind if we cut your throat?” Pad called back genially, dusting himself off.

“Hush, Pat,” Sharpe said. He looked down at Storrson. “What do you want?”

“Peace,” the young soldier returned. “And to save your souls, of course. To that end, all we want is two things. Well. Two people, actually. We want the mage and the girl. We know they're here. And if you give them to us, we'll allow you to live. A fair bargain, if you think about it.”

Nysta headed slowly up the rubble, violet eyes searching the young soldier's face.

“Mage?” Sharpe frowned. “There aint no spellslingers here.”

“I don't believe you. You're lying. They must be here! They were seen heading in this direction. There's no other town around for days. So, if they're not here, then you know where they are. Now. Give them to us. The General grows impatient.”

“I'm telling you, you southern piece of trollshit,” Sharpe's voice lashed out like a snake. “There's no fucking spellslingers here! If there were, do you think we'd have died like this? We'd have had him on the fucking wall sending fireballs at the fucking lot of you.”

“We did wonder,” Storrson admitted. He shrugged. “Then they must be hiding somewhere like the rats they are. I suggest you find them. And bring them to me.” His eyes suddenly caught the elf's, and he pointed at her. “You can also give us the Tainted one. I owe her. I want her bound and gagged immediately. Do this, and some of you may live to see tomorrow.”

The elf rolled her shoulder, feeling the pain blossom. Said evenly; “Want to come up here and try that shit yourself, feller?”

Before Storrson could spit a reply, Count Steel stepped up beside Sharpe and nodded to the young soldier. A weary greeting. “You know me, Storrson,” he said slowly. “And you know the kind of man I am. Now, I don't know what you want with the Long-ear. I think that's between the two of you. But you should go back to your father and tell him Lord Sharpe spoke the truth. I vouch for this. There's no mage here. There is only what you see. Tell him to turn around. Leave this place in peace. There's no need for more fighting. Haven't we all lost enough friends today?”

“You can't give me orders anymore, Steel,” Storrson sneered, making it clear he was deliberately avoiding the title. “You are Unaccepted. You surround yourself in the Tainted. Your word means nothing.”

“
Unaccepted
,” the Count snorted, shocked by the tone directed at him. Sharpe had to grab the man's arm to stop him from rushing down to kill the young soldier. “I never needed to be Accepted in the first place, you tiresome shit! My blood was always pure. Not like yours!”

“Leave,” Sharpe snapped at the soldier, cutting them both off. His voice was brittle. “Leave now. And stick your demands up your ass.”

“Use both hands, my friend,” Eli advised. “You look the kind who is a very big asshole.”

A smattering of chortles made Storrson redden with anger. He swept his furious gaze over them all, pausing longest on the elf. “You will regret this. All of you. I will see you dead before the sun is high in the sky.”

“Goblins!” Bill shouted. Everyone looked up to see him pointing out toward the trees. His voice got more excited as he went on. “It's fucking goblins! My Lord, look! They're attacking the wagons!”

He capered along the wall, trying to get a better look at something the rest of them couldn't see. Storrson shot her another venomous look and scampered away. Boe stepped close, lifting his hand to shield his eye from a small crack of sunlight spearing down from the clouds.

The elf loosened
Break Even
free in its sheath and prepared for the worst.

“Goblins?” Boe looked incredulous.

Bill let out a whoop of pleasure as he scooted down from the crumbling wall. “The goblins are coming,” he cheered. “The goblins are coming!”

Boe frowned, looking sideways at her. “You think he's right?”

“I reckon something's got him excited.” The elf said. “But given it was him up there, I'd expected eagles.”

“Eagles?”

She rubbed at the scar on her cheek, moving forward to see what was happening outside the gates. Drawled; “On account of him being Bill, Boe.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

More snow drifted lazily from the sky, but it would not do more than lay a fine dust of white across the mangled bodies and ruined gates.

The elf climbed the debris, moving past those too exhausted or too shocked to move.

Found herself in the broken mouth of the gates with only Eli at her side.

Looking out at chaos as the Grey Jackets, ranks obliterated, were now in the role of defender as they ringed three heavy wagons. Storr shouted orders, the enchanted sword waved above his head as he wrestled to control his mount.

Goblins.

Dozens of them. Almost as many as the Grey Jackets themselves.

Shooting in and out of the fractured army like swarms of wasps.

Eli ran his fingers through his hair, amazed at the sight of so many goblins. “I am not complaining, my friend, but didn't your little goblin tell you there were only ten of them?”

“You heard what I heard, feller.”

“That's more than ten.”

“Lot more,” she agreed. “Figure I didn't ask the question right. I asked how many. He told me ten. Didn't figure he meant mobs.”

The air cracked, and a sucking sound beside her made her step away quickly as Quietly launched himself from the shadows. He giggled, splayed across the rubble like  frog. Looked up at her with his glowing green eyes and nodded happily. “Bloodhand,” he greeted her. “We say we here. We here now. Change plan, though. We get here and no thieves at gate, so we not send three. Hunt thieves instead. Hope it not bad thing?”

The elf wanted to laugh. Not with humour, but relief.

“No, feller,” she said. “Reckon it ain't a bad thing at all.”

Lord Sharpe slid down beside Eli. “What the fuck is going on? Is that really an army of goblins?”

“Well, it ain't the cavalry,” Nysta murmured.

Quietly licked his lips. “Bloodhand? We go now? Big thief has sword. Me not like sword. It bad thing. Hurt many goblins. Bloodhand help kill Storr?”

Something shimmered down her spine. A cool icy finger.

“You know, I am thinking,” Eli began.

“Used to tell you not to do that, Eli,” Sharpe said, all trace of hate gone from his voice as the battle made the men forget their enmity enough to remember their past bond.

The weasel-faced man grinned. “You used to talk a lot of shit,
Lord
Sharpe. But this time I am thinking we are standing here where it is very safe. Of course, there are a lot of dead Caspiellans beneath our boots. But it seems to me there are a lot of live ones out there. And those goblin bastards look like they are having a lot of fun, don't you think? It is not polite of them to kill all those Grey Jackets. I am sure they were ours. Is this not right? We did start killing them first, after all.”

Sharpe sighed. “Yeah. We did.” He turned to the others who were slowly picking their way across the debris. “Well, you bastards? Are you coming? Or am I gonna gut the lot of you right here for the cowards you are?”

“Ready when you are, sir,” Pad called cheerfully.

“Bill?”

“Here!”

“Ready the charge.”

Bill nodded once before turning on the ragged group of fighters. He began pushing those still able to stand into a semblance of order, his tone leaving no room for disagreement.

“Bloodhand?” Quietly was still squatting beside her, looking up.

She nodded. “I heard you, feller. Reckon I owe you for now. Maybe owe Storr, too. Could be time to talk shop.”

The goblin flashed a nasty grin. “We kill thief now. He bad thief. He-”

“No need to convince me, feller,” she said, spitting the taste of acrid magic from her mouth as the cleric's magic glowed in the distance. “I'm sold.”

Storr's hideous sword flashed in the distance. A goblin howled as the icy blade sheared through its body. A scream of absolute agony.

Quietly scowled. “He kill Gouge. Gouge good goblin. He go into Hall and be warm forever. We go. Go now.”