Chương 49: The Horde is Back

A shadow loomed over the board. Two knights galloped down the queen's side in furious defense of their general's honor. Before the game, Robin had offered Una a pawn. She hadn't taken it well. Now the board was a mess of potential forks and trades he couldn't afford. They looked up from the carnage and saw Dr. Suarez standing over them.

"Could we speak in my office, please?" she asked. Robin's first impulse was to say, " No thank you." There was no reason to go into that office. He was better now. The aspiration was over. He'd done his time lying flat to put pressure on the puncture site. The procaine had already worn off. He knew that soon, a nurse would come over, take his blood pressure, and declare he wasn't vasovagal, and send him home. For two days, he and Una would both have the same stiff gait; then it would go away.

It was all routine now. He looked at Una, wondering what she knew. She held up her palms, she was surprised too.

"It's about your labs," Dr. Suarez explained. Her face was hard and her eyes were pained. It was a short walk to her office, but his mind ran for miles. Please just be about the sunburn, he hoped. He'd covered up on their hike and put on sunscreen, but his skin was still so sensitive. The back of his neck looked like he'd been slapped. They all sat down. He looked at the wall of patients in remission. His picture wasn't there yet. Please please please. It wasn't about the sunburn. The horde was back.

*"They are numberless," Brendan the Emissary breathed. The hills were ablaze with campfires. Like locusts, the goblin horde chewed up the forest, felling thousands of ancient trees to feed their bonfires and build their engines of war. The land would not recover for generations. Goblins flooded into the Valley of Six Mists in a river of whipping banners and glinting spears. At the rear, drivers whipped forward a chained menagerie of strange beasts: wyverns and manticores, hydras and basilisks, ogres and trolls.

Units scrambled to stay ahead. Any who drew too close were liable to get gobbled. Shamans swaggered forward in feathered entourages of drummers and dancers. Young goblins crowded close and tried to snatch a fetish or a feather and steal a piece of magic for his own. Bodyguards beat them back savagely, but there were more hands than clubs. Only a powerful aura could hold back the grabbers. Every march, there were a few pretenders whose power was feigned or waning.

They were found out, mobbed down, and gleefully torn apart. On the flanks, Wolf Riders loped forward in snarling packs to keep the outer mobs from wandering away. Above, hosts of bat-riders swooped over the horde, bombarding the troops with insults and dung. The Maja had laid out his march like a great flask, bottling in the volatile mixture of rival tribes until they were ready to erupt at a target. It would not be long. A foul wind blew through the vale, rank with smoke and unwashed bodies.

The clamor was incredible, a non-stop din of cackling, shrieking, screaming, snarling, and arguing. Here was the might of Blakabaa the Maja, the greatest, craziest Warlord the world had ever known. Here was his numberless horde, unmatched by any other force. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. High on the side of Blagg Mountain, the leaders of the Heartbroken Brigade stood on the Moon Gate together. They looked out at the green rot that had overtaken Sparfydl and despaired.

Clan Bla'Claw had come at last.

"It will be a glorious death," Yureg the Whirlwind announced. Burbak Breakbow grunted, in rare agreement with the Windsworn. High Priest Brendan blanched, but offered no alternative. A fool could see they were doomed. That revolting green sea of Goblins would crash against their defenses again and again until they broke through. The southern ramparts were still incomplete. They'd lost too many soldiers during the costly victory at Lastgate. They could not check the horde for long.

"I don't have enough men. Even if we still had our cavalry, the entire Imperial Army could not stand against them." Brendan the Emissary shook his head and mopped a sheen of sweat from his tattooed scalp. Scripture spiraled around the High Priest's skull, elevating lines of praise to the Imperial Seal of the Emperor that covered his crown. There could be no doubt who he served.

"You'll find out, soon enough. Anvillan is next, once the gobbos take the Bore and arm themselves with Bluebane Steel," Burbak opined. Bobbert let out an exasperated sigh. He'd spent so much time securing this shaky alliance with the Empire.

"Goblins can't work Bluebane," Brendan insisted.

"Wrong," Sufferen the Mastersmith barked and caught them all off guard.

"Dead wrong. They can and they've done it before. Mail and fine blades may escape them, but they know enough to beat out arrowheads in the thousands. Put a Bluebane bodkin point on a Goblin shaft and it'll punch through your overwrought Imperial plate like it's made of paper. Your knights won't survive a single volley. Ask the savage what my arrows did to the Chaos Legionnaires," Sufferen boasted.

"Our bowmen shot through the Chaos filth two at a time," Yureg grinned. He took 'savage' as a compliment. Brendan the Emissary looked for someone to assure him he was right, but he had no toadies here. The leaders of the Heartbroken Brigade would not tell him what he wanted to hear. At last, he simply shook his head.

"That cannot be allowed."

"Nor can it be prevented now. Do you remember me, priest? A year ago, you gave me the Emperor's reply to our plea for aid at Dagbellow Dell. You named us rebels and spat on our offer of alliance. With even one company of Halberdiers, we could have stopped the gobbos cold. Now, see what you have wrought."

"Enough!" Bobbert stepped between them.

"The past is done. Focus on the problem. We cannot possibly hold Blagg Bore. Nor can we allow it to fall into goblin hands."

"Then glory awaits." Yureg stared out at the horde. King Hymoinier eyed his wild grandson with worry. Since his comrades were slain at the Battle of Lastgate, Yureg had grown more and more eager to join them in the eternal war-frolic of Gloriafyn. Every move the Whirlwind made shuddered with portents.

"No," Bobbert refused.

"It's useless to make a stand, we must retreat."

"No retreat!" Yureg bellowed. Burbak had nearly shouted the same, only respect for the Reconciler checked his tongue. Bobbert waited, scouring Yureg with his uncanny stare. The warrior's huge chest heaved, but the presence of Hymionier restrained him.

"Hilg, what of the efforts to undermine the entrances?"

"Not enough time to do it right and it's no use anyway. Even if we collapse the mine, Blakabaa's got unlimited labor. It's just a matter of time until they dig it out. Once we withdraw, we will never get the Bore back," Hilg opined. Burbak and Sufferen nodded with respect for the master sapper.

"Do we all agree, the mine is lost, no matter what course we take?" Bobbert asked. All agreed, even the Emissary. Burbak wondered where Bobbert was leading them.

"And do we agree that losing Blagg Bore is the worst possible outcome for all of us?"

"Aye," Sufferen said. The Dwarves rumbled agreement. They'd learned the same bitter lesson, ages ago.

"Then we are of one mind. There is no better alternative. I have cut a deal that will allow our force to escape, strike a terrible blow against Bla'Claw, and deny them the mine indefinitely. But there is a terrible price." Hymionier and Bobbert shared a woeful look. They were conspirators now, bound by guilt and sorrow.

"Wait," Brendan the Emissary held up a scarred hand. The Unyielding Hammer Seal of the Imperium was branded on his palm.

"A deal with who?"