Hunter's Moon Read online

  Tormjere threw himself down, barely avoiding the arrow that whistled past his head. The goblin with the axe jumped at him with a wild swing at his head. Tormjere twisted onto his back to bring his sword point up, and the creature impaled itself on the blade.

  With no time to stand, Tormjere rolled towards the last creature. The goblin swung its bow like a club, smashing it against his back and snapping the weapon in half. Tormjere kept rolling despite the pain and crashed into the goblin’s legs, bowling it over. With a final kick, he sent it screaming over the edge.

  He started to get up when another arrow skipped off the roof beside him. Goblins atop another building a block away had turned to fire at him.

  Tormjere scrambled for cover behind a short chimney. As he huddled behind the not-quite-tall-enough barrier, he got his first look over the walls surrounding the baron’s stronghold.

  The keep was perhaps four stories in height and crenelated at the top, though there were no defenders to be seen on the ramparts. All appeared to be along the wall or below in the bailey that encircled a handful of structures. Squat, squared towers flanked the main gate to his right, but they failed to match the height of many of the surrounding homes. Most of the goblins had given up on scaling the walls and were now attempting to hack their way through the thick wooden gate. Their small axes weren’t the most effective choice but given enough time they would gain entry.

  To Tormjere’s left, a smaller group of the creatures were attempting the same at a small steel door in the wall. The soldiers inside seemed unable to prevent either attack.

  Tormjere couldn’t fathom how the unorganized goblins had ever made it beyond the city wall like this.

  He shouted to get the attention of one of the soldiers on the wall.

  “Why are you on the roof?” the soldier yelled.

  “I need to get inside!”

  “Go back to your house!”

  “I’m a Ranger! I was told to…”

  The soldier turned and shouted something behind him before Tormjere could finish. A moment later, an older soldier with grey at his temples appeared on the rampart.

  “What word, Ranger?” he called.

  “I was told to offer aid as I can,” Tormjere shouted back.

  “How many are at our gate?”

  “Near two dozen, but there’s only a handful at the postern to my left.”

  “Can you take their mind off the door from there?”

  “I think so.”

  “Do it,” the man said before turning to issue commands.

  Tormjere reached for his bow, only to discover it missing. He frowned but had no time to look for it. He scooped up one of the goblin’s bows still laying on the roof and sent arrows flying at the cluster of goblins outside the small door. Though few found their target, the creatures scattered for cover.

  As soon as the banging stopped, the door swung open and soldiers rushed out into the street.

  Tormjere tossed aside the bow, slid through the hole in the roof, and ran back down the stairs. When he reached the street, however, he found the postern sealed again and the soldiers attacking the goblins outside the main gate.

  He ran to help, certain that this was exactly what Drex had told him not to do. Neither as large nor as well armored as the soldiers, he stayed to the periphery of the conflict, striking down any of the creatures that tried to circle behind them.

  The battle rapidly descended into a confused melee. One of the men fell with a deep cut in his leg. Another went down from an arrow. The goblin defense stiffened unexpectedly, and the soldiers were pushed back.

  The main gate was thrown open behind them, and more soldiers rushed into the street. Evenly numbered but now outmatched, the goblins broke and ran.

  Bodies littered the street. The soldiers quickly lifted the wounded to their feet as arrows continued to fall around them.

  Tormjere got an arm under the man with the cut leg and helped him hobble inside before the gates slammed shut. The courtyard was aswirl with activity. Orders were shouted, and soldiers were rushing about in response. Arrows were no longer falling inside the walls, but whatever respite they had earned was unlikely to last. Struggling under the weight of the larger man, he eased him down against a wall.

  Before he could seek a healer a roll of cloth was shoved into his hand.

  “Bind that wound!”

  Tormjere jumped to obey. He wrapped the strip of cloth around the gash in the man’s leg and tied it off. The man grunted in pain but clenched his teeth and clapped Tormjere on the shoulder in thanks. A shadow fell across them as Tormjere finished, and he looked up to see the older man he had spoken to on the wall.

  “You choose an opportune time to join us, young Ranger,” the man said, extending his hand. “Sergeant Vaunton.”

  “Tormjere,” he said, still breathing heavily. “We were on patrol nearby and came to aid as we can.”

  Another soldier pulled the injured man to his feet and led him back to the wall.

  “What did you see? We’ve heard nothing since the attack started and we locked the gates.”

  “The gatehouse to the north was overrun, but they left no one to occupy it. I saw some looting.”

  “A raid then, but a big one.”

  “Seems likely,” Tormjere said, remembering Drex’s earlier appraisal. He took a long drink from a waterskin that was handed to him. “Word has been sent to Bendin for help. Another Ranger is checking your outer walls and should return here as well. I was told to report to Lord Halthon.”

  “His lordship isn’t here. He was attending a meeting this morning at the smith’s guild hall. Squire Browlan has a mind to go retrieve him, so I suggest you hurry along with his squad over there.”

  Tormjere looked to where a two-wide column of men was assembling by the gate. “Do you have any bows?”

  Vaunton turned and shouted across the courtyard. “Jarreth, fetch one of the spare bows. Run man!” He turned back to Tormjere. “Every archer we had left us a week ago, but some equipment remains.”

  The soldier named Jarreth came rushing back and handed Tormjere a bow and quiver full of arrows.

  “Luck to you,” Vaunton said, and then shouted, “Squire Browlan! The Ranger’s with you.”

  Browlan wore the same red and yellow tabard as every other soldier there, but his mail hauberk and crested helm stood out from the simple gambesons of the other men. He looked sideways at Tormjere and frowned, then waved him to the back of the line.

  Browlan signaled, and the gate was opened once more. The squad ran clumped together beneath raised shields with Tormjere ducked down behind them, trying to keep up. Arrows bounced off the street stones around them and stuck in the wooden shields with solid thunks. He pressed tightly against the man in front of him, hoping the goblins would miss him entirely amidst all the bright colors.

  Browlan shouted something Tormjere couldn’t make out and the squad turned left onto a narrow, winding street. The arrows stopped as soon as they had turned the corner, and the men lowered their shields and picked up the pace.

  It wasn’t long before shouts rang out ahead as goblins attacked from an intersecting route. The soldiers forced their way forward and clogged the street, and Tormjere could do little but watch from the rear. He kept his bow at the ready, constantly checking over his shoulder, but there was little he could do.

  When the fighting was finished, one of the soldiers didn’t get up.

  “Forward, quickly now!” Browlan shouted.

  Tormjere fell in at the back of the line again, thinking unhappy thoughts. He had made better time through the town on his own, and hadn’t gotten anyone killed in the process. He didn’t even know where they were going.

  “What’s the guild hall look like?” he asked the man in front of him.

  “Red-tile roof with lots of chimneys,” the soldier said without breaking stride. “We’re almost there.”

  The squad took a sharp right and burst into a market square, immediately landing ami
dst general chaos. Isolated pockets of townsfolk fought against the goblins, who were equally disorganized. Windows were smashed, carts overturned, and smoke hung in the air. Across the square, the guild hall’s heavy stone walls looked almost as formidable as those of the keep. Multiple streets emptied into the square, but the squire didn’t seem the type to post a rear guard.

  Tormjere shouted to Browlan, trying to get his attention. “I’ll wait here and provide cover when you come out.”

  Browlan led another charge directly across the square toward the guild hall without giving any indication that he had heard.

  Considering it unwise to stand alone in the middle of the street, Tormjere looked for a place to hide. He spied a balcony with a good view of the area, attached to a house that looked to have been looted already. Tormjere entered through the broken door and made his way up to the balcony. Decorative pots filled with flowers lined the railing, their fragrance mixing with the smoke and his own sweat to create a strangely pungent aroma.

  In the middle of the square lay the body of another of the soldiers from the squad. A few feet away a farmer died beneath a swarm of goblins. Tormjere almost loosed an arrow in an attempt to save him, but he might need them more when they found Halthon. As he watched another townsman die, he hoped the baron was worth it.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Browlan and the rest of the squad emerged from the guild hall. They ran straight across the courtyard again, this time with Halthon ducked down in the middle beneath the soldier’s raised shields.

  Goblins noticed, and one blew a long blast on a horn.

  Tormjere let fly, silencing it as it took a breath to blow again. He shot at two others that had turned towards the baron, sending them scrambling for cover. After the squad passed beneath him, he shifted his aim and sent several arrows into goblins fighting the townsfolk.

  His conscience mollified, Tormjere hurried back down the stairs and ran after the squad. He was down to only three arrows, and he hoped they wouldn’t be needed for their return to the keep.

  They went back by way of the same streets they had used to get there. Luck was with them this time, as they encountered no goblins.

  That luck ended as they turned the final corner.

  “The Baron approaches! Open the gates!” Browlan cried.

  The goblins, who until now had remained unaware of their return, reappeared on the rooftops and came rushing into the street.

  Tormjere considered putting an arrow in the squire, but instead he stopped and drew a bead on one of the goblin archers above. Just before he let fly, the goblin pitched forward and fell from the roof, an arrow protruding from its back. The one beside it was struck an instant later.

  Tormjere looked over his shoulder to see Drex running towards him. He sent his final arrows at the roof to provide cover, then sprinted with the other Ranger into the safety of the keep.

  A Problem of Priorities

  Baron Halthon collapsed against a wall, gasping for breath, his eyes shifting rapidly around the courtyard. His puffy face was red and splotchy, and heavy sweat ran down his clean-shaven cheeks. Tormjere thought it would be ironic if the man survived the assault on his town only to expire from the run.

  “Where is my wife?” Halthon asked as soon as he could breathe.

  “Safe in her chambers with your children, my lord,” Sergeant Vaunton said. “We’ve over twenty men defending the keep.”

  Browlan stepped forward “I made certain they were secure before coming to get you.”

  “Well done, Squire,” Halthon said.

  Tormjere wondered how getting men killed by running in a straight line through the battle, twice, could be considered a good thing.

  “I regret that we were delayed by the attack here,” Browlan replied smugly, “but I am relieved that I could assist in your safe return, my lord.”

  “There is more to do,” Halthon said. “What is our disposition throughout the city?”

  Vaunton looked at Tormjere. “The Ranger knows it best, my lord.”

  All eyes were suddenly on Tormjere. He had never spoken to anyone in the nobility and didn’t have a solid grasp on where the goblins were, other than everywhere.

  “We discovered the goblins across the river and followed them here, my lord. We found the north gate was open and the doors were never barred. I made my way here and assisted with the defense.”

  They all seemed to be expecting more, but he could think of nothing else to add.

  Drex stepped forward to save him. “My lord, it is likely that at least three hundred goblins attacked from the north and west but do not appear to be fortifying any position. I checked the other gates and found them in a similar state. Those who defended them are dead, and the gates open.”

  “How could that happen?” Halthon asked.

  “Perhaps some treachery, my lord,” Browlan answered. “It seems unlikely for all three gates to have been lax in their defense at the same time.”

  “We must beat these things back, out of the city!” Halthon said, shaking his fist.

  Squire Browlan shook his head. “My lord, we lack the manpower for an effective counterattack against that many.”

  “I will not sit secure behind my walls while my town is ransacked and our people huddle in fear,” Halthon said. “We must be forceful against these creatures.”

  Tormjere doubted the effectiveness of the idea but found himself liking the Baron’s attitude nonetheless. Even if they emptied the keep, there were not enough men to drive hundreds of goblins from the city.

  “Very well, my lord,” Browlan said. “Sergeant! Two squads of five, one Ranger with each. Secure the market and river gates. Leave the forest gate open so they have a way out. I need to know where and how many they are.”

  “Alright, get your kit together!” Vaunton shouted. He continued barking out orders as he organized the men.

  “My lord, if I may,” Drex said, stepping forward. “Would it not be best for us to slip outside the wall and see if more goblins approach?”

  Halthon’s previously friendly tone disappeared. “I am well aware of your purpose, Ranger. You may answer to our king, but this is my town that is under attack. The king demanded my men for this war and was given them, so I doubt he would object to your aid in this matter.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “When the town is secured you may return to your duties. Squire Browlan, please join me in the hall so we can make plans.”

  Browlan gave them both an annoyed look as he followed Halthon into the keep.

  Drex pulled Tormjere aside. “This is not how we should be used, but we’ll make the best of it. The market gate is the one to the north that we came through earlier. Be cautious. The goblins may expect some counter and begin to quit the city soon. They doubtless have trailbreakers already in motion.”

  He paused thoughtfully. “Or not. This is an odd raid. They aren’t trying to occupy the town, nor do they seem exclusively bent on plunder. Goblins don’t raid just for sport.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Stay safe. And be back here before dark. Then we’ll scout south and blaze a trail for the reinforcements.”

  Tormjere glanced up at the sun, surprised that, for all they had done, it was not yet past midday. He turned to find his squad, refilling his empty quiver as he made his way to them.

  The gate was opened, and with a final wave to Drex, Tormjere hustled outside once more. The wind had shifted, and a haze of smoke now filled streets that were previously clear. The soldier in charge paused at the first street corner. After peering left and right, he turned and beckoned Tormjere forward.

  Tormjere moved beside him, and saw it was the same soldier who had brought him a bow.

  “You came this way earlier?” Jarreth asked. “Any idea where they are?”

  “They were scattered but seemed more concentrated in the middle of town. The gatehouse was empty, and I didn’t have to fight until I reached the keep.”

 
“Alright. Stay close on me and shout out if you see anything.” He turned to the squad. “We’ll be safer in the gatehouse than in the open. Move fast and stay alert.”

  Tormjere slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his sword as he followed. There would be little need for the ranged weapon until they reached the wall.

  They came to a crossing and turned right, past a burning house. Should the flames jump to the neighboring buildings they would quickly become more dangerous to the town than the goblins, but the squad couldn’t stop to extinguish them now. Bodies lay in front of a leatherworker’s shop three buildings down. The squad continued past them as well, but hands tightened on weapons.

  The next bend deposited them in a small square where three streets came together. Jarreth pointed across to one.

  Tormjere heard running feet and raised a warning hand, but by then it was too late. Men and goblins entered the square at the same time, both headed in the same direction.

  “Line right!” Jarreth shouted as the goblins attacked.

  Tormjere was jostled aside as the soldiers formed a hasty shield wall. The goblins responded by splitting into two groups that sought to swarm around the ends of the defensive line, and it disintegrated almost as soon as it formed. Jarreth entered the fray alongside his men, shouting curses and encouragement in equal amounts.

  Tormjere stayed beside Jarreth, striking at any goblin that made it past the soldiers. They squad managed to fend off the goblin’s initial attack, and rapidly gained the upper hand. Their counterattack was swift and violent, and the goblins fled once half their number had been slain.

  Tormjere took a survey of the squad. None of the men had been lost, though many had sustained injuries in the melee.

  “This way, now,” Jarreth said, intent on reaching the nearby gate.

  Tormjere began to follow, then stopped abruptly as a burning tingle crawled up the back on his neck, as urgent as it was unexpected. He looked over his shoulder down a narrow thoroughfare. It was quiet, and empty but for the pale moon hanging low in the blue sky. But something was definitely wrong.