54
The tide had turned, the grey forms of the goblins rushing back to the jungle’s edge, leaving hundreds of dead in their wake. The remaining orcs bellowed orders, but even they had moved to a safe distance, and could not prevent the goblins from hurrying back into the safety of the rainforest. Far above, Ignatius roared again, the enemy demons beating a hasty retreat. Clearly the Ahool had been the most powerful among them.
Despite it all, what horrified Fletcher most was that yet more goblins seemed to be appearing, shouldering their way past their fleeing companions as they left the trees and rallying around the immovable form of the Phantaur. Who knew how many more lurked within the foliage, just out of sight?
As he sat up, Fletcher realised his shield had protected him from the backdraft of the explosion, though thankfully most of the bamboo tubes had held together, directing their contents out of their open ends. But some of the wooden tubes had shattered from the explosion, flinging projectiles in every direction, including at him. This damage, combined with that of the javelins and spears, meant the shredded shield was barely worth resorbing when he eased his battered body from the ground. He did so anyway – his reserves were nearly empty.
By the time he made it back to the Foxes, Blue and his gremlins had vaulted over the walls and were already hunting through the goblins for survivors, their shark-tooth daggers rising and falling. Fletcher tried to ignore the grisly gurgling noises and swung himself over the barricade, knocking a chunk away in his haste to return to safety.
He was shaking, though whether it was from adrenaline or fear he could not be sure.
‘Craven bastards,’ Logan shouted, his pockmarked face split wide in a grin. Through his crystal, Fletcher saw the orcs whipping the retreating goblins mercilessly, their hyenas unleashed to roam along the jungle edges, snapping at those who ran by. It would not be long before the masters took control of them once again, or led a new assault with the fresh troops emerging from the jungles.
Even so, they would be more wary now. A good third of the orcs had been killed, and it was unlikely their leaders would venture into range again. But at some point, the goblins would make another charge for the Cleft, and there was no more gunpowder for another blast. He only had one more trick up his sleeve.
‘Fletcher, a word,’ Rory called.
He beckoned Fletcher away from the line of celebrating men. Fletcher saw the young boy’s cheek was stained with soot from firing his musket, and his blond hair was stained red from a cut at his hairline.
‘We’ve got a problem,’ Rory muttered, as soon as Fletcher was out of the Foxes’ earshot. ‘I haven’t told anyone, not that there was time when the goblins appeared. But … it’s Didric. He’s not coming.’
If Fletcher had felt even a shred of relief earlier, it was now washed away by a cold rush of fear.
‘He has to come,’ Fletcher hissed, struggling to keep himself from shouting. ‘The future of the empire depends on it! Are you sure your note explained it all?’
Rory shook his head in disgust.
‘It explained everything. He’s hightailing it to the north as we speak, back to his castle. His exact words were, “Why throw good men after bad?”, if you can believe that. He thinks the war is lost already.’
‘The coward,’ Fletcher spat.
‘There’s something else,’ Rory said, avoiding Fletcher’s eyes. ‘It’s the townsfolk. When Malachi left his message, they started arguing about whether they should leave. Berdon’s doing his best, but Malachi didn’t see any sign of them while waiting for Didric’s decision on the bridge. I don’t think they’ve left yet.’
‘The fools,’ Fletcher snapped, looking back down the canyon, into the grasslands. In the distance, he could see the shapes of the town’s buildings. So close. Could they not hear the gunfire, the explosions?
‘We can’t worry about that now. What about the rest of your messages?’ Fletcher asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice.
‘Still flying,’ he said. ‘And I sent Malachi on to help with the search for the King, a general, anyone who might help us. Most should get to the front lines within the hour, Genevieve’s included. But … my Mites can hear booming, see smoke and bright flashes over the horizon. Whatever battle we’re fighting, it’s nothing compared to what’s going on out there. Finding someone important to give a message to might be difficult.’
Fletcher gripped Rory by the shoulders.
‘If we don’t get help soon, we’ll all be dead and thousands of goblins will attack the Hominum army from behind. That is, if they don’t sack Corcillum on their way first.’
Rory’s eyes widened with fear, and Fletcher released him with a sigh.
‘Tell Genevieve, but no one else. You must get your message through. I’d send Ignatius, but he’s needed above. You’re our only hope now.’
The young officer scurried away, and Fletcher saw Genevieve’s face fall as he gave her the news. She caught Fletcher’s eye and gave him a determined nod.
‘Right lads, that’s enough cheering,’ Sir Caulder’s voice cut through the jubilant shouting of the Foxes. ‘Dalia, Gallo, bring the water barrels from the wagon – fighting’s thirsty work. The rest of you, clean out the powder from your fouled barrels. Use the water, or piss down ’em if you have to.’
Spurred on by Sir Caulder’s orders, Fletcher’s mind turned to the battle ahead. With no rescue coming any time soon, they would be likely to run out of ammunition before long. The poleaxes would be essential, one way or another.
‘Logan, Kobe – go with them,’ Fletcher ordered, returning to the wall and peering into the milling crowds. ‘I want the whetstone wheel brought back here and every poleaxe sharpened to a fine edge.’
The two lads groaned but went to do his bidding, leaving him alone with Mason. The boy had not joined in the celebrations with the others, though it was not surprising since he knew so few of them.
‘You’ve done a brave thing, staying here,’ Fletcher said.
‘I’ve been fightin’ ’em me whole life,’ Mason said. ‘Plus, me mam and sisters live in Corcillum. Wouldn’t be right, leavin’.’
‘You got any advice for me?’ Fletcher said, motioning at the gathering goblins with his chin.
‘They’re cowards at heart, goblins,’ Mason said. ‘You hurt ’em enough, they’ll turn and run. Problem is, they’ve been kicked about by orcs their entire short lives, so they’re more afraid of ’em than anythin’ else.’
Fletcher’s eyes turned to the pile of chopped manchineel wood, oozing white sap from where the poleaxes had bitten it.
‘We’ll see about that,’ he said.