9 – Making a Stand
Maybe it was the goblin Boss’s spell, or maybe it was just how vulnerable and small Madi looked standing beside Omar, but Andy felt the need to do sothing. He watched more hobs appear, loping down the street toward their position, and his hands gripped his spear, twisting with the need to act. He forced himself to be still, to trust the plan—to trust his companions. Omar was tough, Bree was in a good position, and Madi—well, Madi was just as much a part of this new, dangerous, violent world as he was. He and the others could do their best to shelter her, but risk was part of life now.
When the first hob, the one with the STOP-sign axe, charged past an overturned semi-truck and slid down the gravelly berm of the highway, Andy let it go by. Omar could handle him. Andy had promised them so smoke cover, and he intended to deliver, but he wanted to catch more of their foes in it.
He crouched there, nervous energy making his muscles tense, unable to ignore the strange sensation of dark mana twisting through the air. The clouds continued to gather, and his breath plud as he breathed. As the first hob smashed its weapon into Omar’s shield and Bree and Madi both attacked it, a fat droplet of freezing rain splashed against Andy’s forehead. Was the goblin Boss summoning a storm? How would that affect his fiery breath?
Four more hobs charged down the berm, rushing toward their fellow goblinoid, and Andy sprang into action. He drove his spear into the kidney of the rear-most one, driving it forward until it fell, writhing. Andy had to yank his spear out to pursue the other two. He could feel the weight of the goblins behind him; he was exposed—caught between the bulk of the goblins and Omar’s position.
The first hob was down, and Omar lifted his shield, ready to intercept the two Andy was pursuing, so Andy slowed, turning to watch as five or six more hobs and maybe two dozen goblins ran screaming down the berm, charging him where he stood in the thirty or so open yards of gravel and scrub. Andy lowered his spear, bracing himself, luring them in. When the biggest, fastest hob was almost on him, a huge gnarled squite branch held high, Andy cast Smoke Cloud.
Inky black smoke erupted from him, billowing out in every direction, filling the area between the road and his companions with its dark, almost oily clouds. Inside that darkness, Andy’s vision clarified, distractions faded away, and he lunged toward the incoming hobs. The monsters were blind, groping, roaring, flinging their weapons around—half the ti hitting each other! Andy moved among them, delivering stab wounds. Sotis they were fatal; he pierced a vital organ or severed an artery. Sotis they were flesh wounds, infected with the caustic black flas of his Balefire Lance enchantnt.
By the ti he passed through his cloud, charging through the mass of smaller goblin-sized foes, he’d cut the goblin threat down significantly, and his friends were still shielded by the smoke. Using the chaos his spell and subsequent onslaught had sown, he sprinted up the berm, charging behind a nearby SUV, and then running, full-tilt, toward the goblin camp; he wanted to find the Boss before it did sothing worse than summon a dread-inducing rainstorm.
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Omar watched as roiling black clouds of smoke poured out of Andy, imdiately obscuring his friend, but also filling the space between them and the goblins with the stuff. “It’s not his fiery smoke,” he yelled, glancing at Madi, whose eyes were huge, her spear wavering as she held it up beside her round shield. “It won’t hurt us if it drifts our way!”
She nodded, and Bree yelled from behind and above. “Should I keep shooting? What if I hit Andy?”
“Shoot over the cloud! At the goblins on the embanknt!” The sound of Bree’s bow told him she’d understood. A shiver ran down Omar’s spine as an unnatural breeze rolled down the hillside behind them. Spatters of rain fell in earnest, each droplet like crushed ice where it touched his skin. He lifted his shield, so sense of foreboding telling him that, despite Andy’s distraction, the fight had barely begun. “Stay ready,” he growled, shifting a little closer to Madi.
That was when the first of the hobs broke through the cloud, stumbling, roaring, and flailing its weapon about; it practically fell into Omar. He braced his shield, caught the length of fence-post on it and then hacked his star-shaped mace at the monster’s outside knee. It was a heavy weapon—several pounds of magical tal—but it was also enchanted to deliver extra force. With Omar swinging, the thing hit like a wrecking ball, shattering bones and knocking the hob’s leg out from under it.
“Stab it!” he shouted, lifting his shield to block a flying rock the size of his head.
Madi hesitated for a second, then she lunged, driving her short spear into the hob’s guts as it writhed, trying to get its hands and knees under it. The ground was already getting muddy, and it slipped and fell, barking out a groaning gasp as Madi pulled her spear back and stabbed it again, this ti in the lower back.
The rock thrower ca into view—another hob—and it held a big stone in each oversized fist. It was looking past Omar, up toward Bree, and its bloodshot eyes were full of hatred as it lifted one to hurl. Then a ball of shrieking feathers and talons slamd into its face, driving it back, stumbling, into the smoke cloud again.
“Hell yeah!” Omar shouted. “Cheechee!”
Another hob stumbled out of the smoke, but it only made it a few steps before collapsing with black trails of smoke drifting from its mouth. Andy had done sothing fatal to its insides. For a mont, Omar thought they might be done, but then the rain turned into a downpour, and the frigid wind picked up. Andy’s cloud fell apart, and when Omar scanned the crowd of wounded hobs and confused goblins, he didn’t see any sign of Andy.
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“Co on,” he said, nudging Madi’s shoulder with his shield. “Stay close. Form up. They’re coming.”
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Andy could feel the mana thickening in the air—dark and cold and sohow putting the taste of copper into his mouth. The goblin fires were sputtering and hissing, billowing smoke into the air as the sudden downpour extinguished them. There was a notable exception to that rule: ahead, he saw the roaring flas of the fire outside the Boss’s tent. Not only was the fire alive and well, it surged with brilliant green flas every few seconds, and each of those flares was accompanied by an increase in the weight of the dark mana in the air. Andy doubled down, sprinting with everything he had.
When he broke past the last line of dead cars and piled refuse, he found three hobs had stayed behind. Two pounded their big skin drums, and the other held a rope that bound a line of goblin captives. Andy had to give the scene a double-take; why would they need to tie up the goblins? That was when the hob threw a howling, terrified goblin female into the flas, and the fire exploded with a cloud of green-tinged sparks and smoke.
The chanting from inside the tent grew louder and more frenetic, and Andy knew only seconds remained before whatever sick ritual they were performing was complete. He hauled back his spear and, still twenty-five yards from the hobs, he hauled it forward, throwing it like a javelin at the one holding the goblin sacrifices. His skill with spears was up to the task; the long-spear, never intended for flight, wobbled in the air, but the point stayed true, smashing into the hob’s chest, dead-center.
As the goblinoid fell back, roaring its last outcry, Andy ripped his dagger from its sheath and leaped the last few yards onto one of the drumrs. The hob was bigger than he was, but Andy was stronger and moving fast. He knocked it off its feet as his dagger sank into the soft flesh where its neck t its shoulder. As the monster flailed and scread its outrage, Andy drew his blade out and stabbed it two more tis. Then they hit the ground together, and he rolled away, leaping to his feet to charge the other drumr.
It stood between him and the fire, drum dropped, axe in its hand. The goblins were fleeing, screaming their panic as they ran in every direction. Andy grinned, inhaled, and buried the hob—and the fire behind it—with a Cinderstorm Blast. He charged into his fiery smoke, saw the hob flailing, swinging its axe at nothing as it roared and tried to cover its face with its other hand. There was no escaping the hot smoke, though, not unless it ran a dozen yards. Andy didn’t let it.
His knife found the hob’s soft spots, and he drove it to the hilt several tis in its lower back. When it fell, gasping, choking, and clawing its black nails on the blacktop, Andy ran for the first downed hob and yanked his spear from its chest. Sheathing his dagger, he ran to the tent; he had to see what the boss was doing. Andy reached for the edge of the canvas, glancing at his mana counter: 432/690. He wasn’t full, but he had enough. Bracing himself, he yanked the soiled tarp aside and charged into the tent.
It was as he rembered it from his brief spying foray: oily, sputtering lamps provided the light, boxes of processed food lined the sides of the big space, and poorly tanned hides, blankets, and discarded wrappers littered the floor. On his imnse pile of rugs and furs, the goblin Boss stood, swaying back and forth as he chanted a warbling, rhythmic dirge. It stomped its feet in a regular beat, swaying its big green hands above its head. Andy hefted his spear and charged.
He made it two steps before the Boss slapped his hands together and his spell completed. A rippling wave of cold mana poured out of the enormous figure, stopping Andy in his tracks as it washed over him. The lanterns sputtered out, the air temperature dropped ten degrees, and the goblin Boss roared as he swelled. Two more arms erupted from his sides, his spine elongated, and he darkened—from pale green to a shade of gray-black. His eyes went from yellow to crimson, and his teeth grew—especially the canines, changing from fangs to tusks.
As the goblin Boss finished his transformation and roared, distant echoing cries resounded up the canyon road. Andy’s blood went cold; were the remaining goblins back by Omar and the others also transforming? Scowling, he pushed down the cold spike of fear and charged, driving his spear toward the goblin’s belly. The strike was quick—impossible for a goblin, even a hob, to avoid or block. The Boss, though, was another matter.
As the spear-tip neared the huge goblin’s belly, one of its new arms snatched out like a snake striking and grabbed it, yanking. It was all Andy could do to hold on to the weapon, but his phantom training in spear-fighting served him well. He planted his feet, twisted, and pulled. As the blade slid free, slicing the goblin’s hand in the process, Andy gathered his mana and coughed out another Cinderstorm Blast, pouring his caustic, hot smoke into the Boss’s tent.
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Omar slamd his shield into the hob’s ribs, knocking it away from Madi, giving her a chance to regain her footing. The big goblinoid slipped on the mud, falling back and sliding into several smaller goblins. There weren’t too many left—two wounded hobs and maybe ten goblins. Their corpses littered the mud all the way from where they fought up to the road where Andy had killed many. As he watched the hob struggle to its feet, an arrow sprouted from its chest, and it fell back, arms flailing.
He took a mont to glance at Madi; she was shaken. Her shield drooped and her spear wavered as she licked blood off her lips. The hob had given her a hell of a wallop, but her helt had saved her. “Almost over,” he grunted, stepping forward. He was tired and sore, but he had plenty left in him—enough to finish two wounded hobs and send the rest to—
His thoughts fell silent as a wave of icy wind rushed over the clearing. He staggered back, eyes wide, turning toward the road—all the fires had gone dark. His lupine vision pierced the storm’s darkness, and he alone saw the goblins erupt in convulsions, screaming and stretching, joints popping as they grew. The goblins and hobs beca creatures of darkness, twisted and deford—too many limbs, so too long, so too short. Their eyes turned red and glowed in the darkness, and then they lifted their faces to the sky and howled.
“Omar!” Madi cried. “Omar, what’s happening?”
“We need to run!” Bree scread. “Cheechee—” Her words cut off in a shriek, and Omar heard her slide off the rock to hit the mud.
Growling, Omar whipped his mace in a line and cast Consecrating Flas, throwing a flickering barrier of fire onto the ground before them. It felt pitiful in the face of the monstrosities in the darkness, but it allowed Bree and Madi to see, and sothing about those clean orange flas bolstered his spirit. He gestured to Bree, writhing and moaning on the ground. “Get her up. Run.”
“Run? Omar, we—”
Omar shoved Madi toward Bree. “Go!” The darkness pressed in, but Omar wasn’t going to give it ground. He stepped forward, right through his flas, and he banged his mace on his shield. “Co on, malditos!Step into my light!”
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