Chapter 50 – A Misty Tide
We're running out of time, the sun will be up soon, and by then it will be too late to be in position! Harm thought.
I'm trying, Pardew replied.
"Where's Goldbeard? I need to speak to him now," Pardew asked one of the dwarven guards standing by the door to the small storeroom where he had been placed. At least it wasn't a cell. Mante was lying on the floor beside him. A bandage had been provided, but no offer of a healing tonic was made.
The guard turned and looked at him, before looking away again.
"Please, the clan needs to know so they can get in position."
The two guards muttered to each other before one disappeared out of sight. Pardew could only hope that they would relay his message.
"We need to move," Dafu said.
"I know, I know. I've just checked with Pardew. He hasn't heard anything yet," Harm said.
"Doesn't matter. We either move now, or even if they decide what to do, we won't be able to help as we planned, and we aren't charging them by the front. Our only hope is surprise," Luubu added.
Harm sighed, rubbing his brow. He was potentially about to lead his clan into an unmatched fight with no guarantees of support. They could never take the mercenaries on alone; they were just too well-equipped in comparison, even with their additional weapons.
"We could always head back," Dafu shrugged.
Harm glared at his friend. "No. We go forward. Tell the clan to prepare. We move in five."
Dafu just smirked, which made Harm frown. "You manipulative little shit," Harm said, realising his friend had just played him to choose his words not even finished as Luubu disappeared to inform the clan.
Dafu's smirk became a broad grin. "You needed to decide. I just helped; that's all."
Harm shook his head as he turned to the group he would be leading. After he ran the line quickly, checking with them, they stood and followed him. The plan was simple: the clan would sweep out wide and then work in from behind, using the forest and the ground as their cover. The clan would split into three main groups, approximately twenty in each: one on the left flank, one on the right flank, and one from behind. Harm would lead the rear attack when it was needed.
He looked behind and spotted Nathic's group starting to follow; they would be the other half of the rear group. A branch snapped under a heavy foot, and Harm's heart throbbed hearing it. It still rained, and the wind blew, but Harm's pulse still soared with nervous tension. He froze, and the others in the group did so. No sound or movement was heard, and, releasing his breath, they crept forward again. They wouldn't be quite central to the rear; due to the way the path twisted through the valley, they couldn't get perfectly behind them, but as they settled at the edge of the wood, Harm knew it was the best they could achieve. The rain pattered down onto the canopy of the trees before the droplets sought passage through the leaves, still reaching where they crouched. The night was cold, and the wind made it even colder.
The encampment was a couple of hundred feet ahead of them. Torches were burning, and at least two fires were visible amongst the tents that had been erected. This close, Harm could see these men weren't here for a brief battle. They had settled; the blockade of barrels was not just practical, it was also their supplies. They had planned for the long haul until the dwarves' resistance failed them.
It still didn't make sense to Harm why Satil wanted Hillnot; the only reason he could imagine was to gain access to the mines. The current situation explained why Dasir's warehouse had been so full of supplies. Satil had been planning this for a long time, possibly since Dasir's arrival in the valley. This had been no snap decision; to have a battering ram for a town Sallew's size was unheard of.
The group that would attack from the right, as they had been facing them, would have the most challenging task. Dafu and Teras led that group. They needed to cross the path and potentially be exposed as they were. Ideally, they would have gone by the wall and crossed in front of the dwarven gates, then worked out to the right flank. However, without confirmation that the dwarves had agreed to his plan, they couldn't chance it.
He watched Dafu as his group passed behind him through the woods and nervously as they darted across the path individually. Teras wasn't far behind. Harm's heart was in his mouth as they did, all it would take was a focused guard from the attackers to spot them, the ground from the woods' edge to the next undulation was open.
As the last reached the dip, Harm knew they had crossed safely; all they needed to do now was get in position and wait for the signal.
The sound of heavily clad boots echoed across the stone floor before the impressive figure of Goldbeard appeared in the doorway. The two guards sprang to attention as he did.
"Pardew," Goldbeard smiled at the old man.
"Branslow," Pardew returned the smile, using the dwarf's first name. This took the accompanying sergeant by surprise, who glanced at the guards, who both shrugged. This old man knew their leader, not by name but personally.
"It's been a long time," the stocky form of Goldbeard said as he stepped into the storeroom.
"Indeed, I haven't seen you in what must be nigh-on forty years, since that night on the plains."
"Aye, and you looked much younger then."
"I was," Pardew laughed. "How is the fair Helina?"
"She is well. Moaning about my ale intake as usual, and Angelica, how is she?"
"She has passed four years now," Pardew said with a heavy heart.
"I'm so sorry; I hadn't heard."
"No need to be sorry; we enjoyed our time; it was her time to go," Pardew said, crossing himself.
The dwarves at the entrance were now completely confused about the unfolding conversation. They didn't just know each other, they also knew each other's families.
"Aye, well, I'll always remember that fateful night when she cared for us after the attack."
"And look at you. I'd heard the rumours on my visits to town, but seeing you in your ceremonial armour," Pardew nodded his head appreciatively. Branslow wore full plate; every inch of his body gleamed with silver, bar his uncovered head, although a great helm sat resting under his arm.
"This is not ceremonial," Branslow frowned.
"Well, it looks ceremonial compared to the leather armour I can make."
"Come out, let us sit and talk properly," Branslow said, turning.
Pardew knew there was no point in rushing Branslow; if he didn't explain things properly to him, he could easily dismiss his words. It was a trait of many dwarves from Pardew's experience. Everything they considered was viewed from a practical or monetary perspective.
"Could a cleric look at my friend while I share my news?" Pardew asked.
Branslow turned and looked at the injured, pale goblin lying on the stone floor. He paused for a moment before speaking. "Sergeant, get one of the clerics to come check on him."
"Yes, sir," the sergeant responded as Pardew followed Branslow over to a table in the barracks.
"Sit and tell me what brings you here in the middle of the night with a green-skin."
Pardew began his story, explaining what had happened to Harm and where he was now, waiting outside the gates with the combined goblin clans, waiting to support Hillnot from the threat they faced.
Branslow listened intently. His face never showed any emotion, except for one of intense focus. When Pardew had finished speaking, his immediate question was. "And what does he want for his assistance?"
Pardew had linked it to Harm and was relaying details as best as he could, thinking and speaking as he went.
Nothing. I seek no payment. We have a common enemy, that's all. Harm thought to Pardew.
"Nothing. We have a common enemy. I'm sure you have seen the reduction in goblins in the valley. All they wish for is to be left in peace and allowed to live their lives. Harm doesn't seek money or power; he seeks revenge for what Satil has done to him and his family."
"And how can we trust the green-skins? For years, we've dealt with their thievery. And what of their strength? I've never met a goblin who can fight."
"Harm is their leader, their chief, even mine," Pardew said, the comment getting a look of surprise from Branslow. "The man has earned my respect thrice over for what he has achieved with the clan in such a short time. Not just one, but three united, the valley remains untouched since he has. You must have seen a difference? Even in such a time."
Branslow had to agree; the valley had been quiet, no goblins had been spotted in weeks, and he frowned. "I still don't believe that he doesn’t want anything in return for endangering his clan."
"The only thing we wish for is open trade rights. I know you won't accept goblins straight away, but in time, I believe that you can come to see them as I have under Harm's direction."
Branslow sat quietly for several moments. "I may be the town leader, but I can't guarantee that alone. I would need to run it by the council."
Pardew quickly informed Harm. That's good enough for me, Harm said.
"I understand," Pardew replied. "We accept the offer of the council decision."
Branslow nodded. "Okay then. You better tell this Harmonious that we have a potential deal."
Pardew smiled at Branslow. "I already have."
That made the dwarves' brows furrow. "How?"
"Ah. That's something I can't share, not even with you, my friend."
Pardew knew that dwarves kept their own secrets and understood their need.
"Fair enough. Well, the sun's up soon, and we expect them to attack then."
"That's what we believe. You know they have a ram?"
"Aye. The scouts saw it being brought from Sallew."
"You have dwarves out in the valley?"
"No. All are now within the walls. If you think these town walls are falling to that bunch, you're very much mistaken."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Pardew smiled.
Movement had started around the mercenary position before the sun rose. All three groups under Harm's command were waiting for their orders. As soon as Harm had confirmation from Pardew, he relayed the details. Harm had to follow the conversation by picturing the dwarf and interpreting his tone from the words Pardew passed, unable to see his face or reactions.
Harm didn't know what Pardew had done; he had listened to his thoughts, but something in his tone was friendly, as though he had a history with the dwarf. He swore that he would have to get to know Pardew even better than he already did.
The plan was kept simple. As the mercenary and town forces advanced and started their attack, the goblins would respond on their flanks and rear. Harm was still hopeful that the surprise attack would lead to a swift victory. The dwarves were planning to destroy the ram before it even reached the gates. If they did it in the cutting, it would make it even harder for their attackers to reach the gate.
All that was left was timing. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours. The rain stopped falling, and as the sun slowly lifted in the sky, it brought with it a thick, heavy mist. It clung to the land, slowly rolling over the undulating valley floor. Visibility was severely hampered, and in some ways it made Harm feel better, giving them extra cover when they attacked; in others, it filled him with dread. Poor visibility brought errors, and mistakes could easily be made; he didn't want any accidents. The fight would be hard enough as it was.
Shouts broke the morning's silence, the words muffled by the mist.
They're moving, Harm thought as he received five others' responses. He'd configured the choices so that he could hear the leaders constantly, although it was a little disturbing at first. Being able to read their thoughts would allow him to know how things were going in real time. Ensure our troops stay close together; don't let them get separated when we enter.
Harm selected all members. This is the last message you will receive from me unless we are retreating. All prepare to move, and remember absolute silence. When they had been waiting after descending to the valley floor, Harm had ensured that Luubu had checked the goblins to make sure they weren't carrying anything that would give them away.
He switched back to the leader group. Teras and Dafu move forward into position. Luubu, Jillew, move to the dip. Nathic with me as we move to the edge of the wood. As he did, he called Florence to his hand, her familiarity reassuring him.
The shouts were louder, supported by the rumbling of the battering ram along the path: horses whinnied, men moving their armour clanked. They weren't worried about the noise. That would help the clan. Glowing orbs appeared ahead in the mist, and Harm watched as flaming arrows were fired towards Hillnot. The mist was stained orange by the glow from above.
Move, Harm sent. Without speaking, Harm waved his arm forward, and the troops skulked through the treeline. As the mercenaries moved forward, they had left their tents behind. A brief outline of one that appeared and then vanished as the mist swirled.
They kept going; the visibility was so poor that even at the very edge of the woods, they could hardly see ahead. It was no good; they needed to get closer, at least get a view of what was happening. Harm continued forward as the group followed.
Ready, Luubu thought. They had the easiest terrain to cross, and Harm wasn't surprised. Another minute passed before Dafu came through, confirming. He knew now they would be waiting for his command.
A horn pierced the fog, resounding and deep. It wasn't a hunting horn of the town guard; it was the horn of the dwarves. Its deep bass sound thrummed through the air. Harm thought he felt it vibrate in response.
Then the cries began, the thwack of crossbows and bows alike. The mercenaries must have neared the gates. Harm kept moving; he must be as close as fifty feet to the encampment. Nathis gripped his arm, his other hand pointing. Not fifteen feet in front, a man stood facing them, urinating. He was looking down as the mist swirled, and he disappeared from view. Harm nodded, and Nathic vanished in the mist.
He didn't see what happened, but heard the gurgle and wet sound as a weapon was pulled from a wound. Nathic reappeared several moments later and drew his finger across his throat. Harm smiled.
A sound that none had expected suddenly erupted by the gates. An explosion that made everyone flinch. Screams carried through the mist as Harm could see glowing figures running, who had been set on fire. That was all Harm had been waiting for.
Attack, his single thought triggering a devastating response.
An excited voice boomed in his mind as his battle cry left his lips. At last, the god's voice dripped with pleasure.
Whooping and yelling filled the mist on all sides as the goblins charged forward. The few remaining at the tents were dead in moments, the overwhelming number of goblins appearing like spirits in the mist, short swords slashing, hand axes rising and falling.
And the god giggled. My coffers wait to be filled.
A chill swept through Harm; it ran from his head to his toes as he charged into the fray. A man stumbled from a tent, Florence cleaving him almost in two before he had a chance to respond. They quickly covered the distance to the rear of the advancing troops.
His breathing was calm, too calm, and he felt it before he realised what was happening. The roar was that of an animal, not a man, that left his lips this time. The three goblin groups converged, clashing with the disoriented mercenaries from all sides. Screams filled the chaotic, invisible battle.
A goblin staggered towards Harm, a spear through its abdomen. Harm didn't slow and met the unarmed man whose spear it had been. Florence ended him in moments, detaching his head from his shoulders. Harm's eyes burned a brilliant red, and a scream of terror left a member of the town guard whom Harm recognised as he appeared in front of him. The demon, a rumoured beast of terror, had appeared before him.
Harm was lost, his body not his, once again, as he cut and thrust through the enemy ranks. The stench of burnt flesh, hot metal and copper filled his nostrils.
Another horn blast, and Harm heard the cries as the dwarves left the gate. They chanted, slamming their shields with their weapons as they entered the fray.
The screams lessened, and Harm looked around him, the mist still providing its veil. He saw no enemy; a man groaned at his feet, his last victim, whom he had skewered with his beautiful Florence. Her blade dripped with the blood of the lives she had taken. He didn't know how many he had slain.
Retreat, Harm ordered, and as fast as they had appeared, the goblins vanished, returning the way they had come.
We saw some running, so we're giving chase, Luubu said to him.
Harm didn't reply; he didn't move; he stood still, not frozen as he had been previously, although again tortured by what had happened, he couldn't lose himself again.
Slowly, as though it knew it was no longer needed, the mist started to lift. Men crawled, moaned or lay dead. There were at least five goblins among them, and Harm saw the shining armour of a dwarf.
Their move had worked perfectly. They had pinned the men, forcing them forward, unable to form a defensive line or even consider their attackers until it was too late. As though trapped in a barrel, and picked off until it was empty.
He waited, not moving, not threatening, until the dwarves noticed him. His appearance, with wild hair and beard, mixed armour covering blood- and dirt-stained leather clothes, made him stand out among others. It wasn't that which many of the dwarves stared at, fists clenched tightly in their hands; it was the demonic eyes, which still glowed with a fire.
My, that felt so good, the god's voice said as though it shuddered with pleasure.
