The Defence of the Farmhouse
The first wolf came across the bridge at a run, its claws scraping the wet timbers, and Aldren knew that the waiting was over.
A second followed close behind, both animals carrying goblins hunched low over their shoulders. Beyond them came a knot of smaller figures with blades drawn, their movements lit in fits and starts by the burning barn. Farther along the palisade, another group poured through the broken section of wall, scrambling over fallen timber and spreading into the yard.
For a moment, Aldren tried to count them. Two riders. Nine archers, separating from the others as they advanced. Fourteen more with swords, several also carrying the short, heavy axes they would need to get through the farmhouse doors. He wished he had not counted.
“They seem rather determined,” he murmured.
Beside him, Nevyn pushed a shutter wider and watched the attackers divide.
“Yes.”
“I was hoping you might disagree.”
Below them, a door slammed and furniture scraped across the floor.
Pytor was gathering his family into the central room, shepherding them away from the windows while Kuzma hurried the last of the frightened household through the doorway. Masha paused to look back towards the yard, her face pale in the lamplight. Pytor held an axe in both hands. He looked towards Cecelia, and Aldren could see the argument forming before the man spoke.
“This is my home.”
“And they are your family,” Cecelia replied, indicating the room behind him. “Protect them. If anything reaches that door, stop it. Leave this fight to us.”
Pytor’s jaw tightened. For a moment he seemed about to insist, but a cry from outside settled the matter. He backed into the room and pulled the door almost shut.
Hadig watched him go, then tested the weight of his weapon.
“Good,” he said. “Now we know where everyone is.”
“Most of us,” Cecelia replied.
Xosh lay in the adjoining room, sleeping beneath a borrowed blanket, the exhaustion of the earlier fighting having finally dragged her under. Her bronze armour and heavy mace rested within reach.
Hadig glanced towards her.
“She’ll wake.”
An axe struck the kitchen door.
“She certainly will now.”
Above the farmhouse, the tower had become a cold island of stone in a sea of moving shadows. Robin, Sarki and Eek crouched behind the parapet with Stellios and Alfana. Rain gathered on bowstrings and ran beneath collars, while the fire beyond the yard painted the underside of the smoke a restless orange.
Stellios pointed.
“Archers. By the woodpile.”
“And the trough,” Sarki said.
“And there,” Alfana added pointing.
The goblins were taking their positions with unpleasant competence. They tucked themselves behind carts, crouched beside low walls and spread along the darker edges of the yard. Their bows rose towards the farmhouse windows and the tower above the front door.
Eek drew his tall red hat lower.
“I dislike the way they’re looking up here.”
“They’re aiming,” Robin said.
“Yes. That is the part I dislike.”
From the first floor, Aldren sent Bruce through the open window. The owl dropped into the rain, spread his wings and glided towards the burning barn.
Around the far side, Aldren instructed him, see what we cannot.
For an instant, he felt the familiar’s alertness brushing against his thoughts: rain on feathers, fierce heat from the fire, the dark shape of the barn swelling ahead. Then Bruce disappeared into the smoke.
Below, the attackers reached the house.
The wolf riders drove straight towards the front door beneath the tower, while other goblins hurried to the kitchen entrance, the back door and the side door opening into the dining space. Their axes began to fall almost together. The farmhouse filled with the sound.
At the back door, one goblin paused in its chopping to attempt a more ambitious approach. It sprang at the wall, caught a narrow projection between the timbers and began hauling itself towards a window. Its foot slipped. There was a frantic scratching, a startled squeal and a heavy splash as it landed in the mud. Nevyn, looking down from above, watched it struggle upright.
“That one’s having difficulties.”
Aldren raised his hand towards another attacker.
“So am I.”
His firebolt flashed across the yard and burst against a patch of empty ground, illuminating a goblin who had already ducked out of its path.
From the tower, Robin leaned over the parapet. The waiting archers loosed. One arrow struck him high in the shoulder; another caught his side before he could pull back. His own shot went wide, vanishing somewhere beyond the barn. He dropped behind the stonework with a sharp intake of breath. Sarki caught his arm.
“Stay down.”
Arrows hissed overhead and cracked against the tower. Eek flattened himself so thoroughly against the parapet that only the bent tip of his hat remained visible.
“I’m beginning to think,” he said, “that they have more arrows than we have heads.”
Sarki rose only long enough to draw and release. Across the yard, a goblin archer jerked backwards and disappeared behind the trough.
“One fewer,” he said.
Hadig had endured enough of the back door being struck. He lifted the bar. Cecelia turned towards him.
“Hadig—”
He hauled the door open and roared into the face of the goblin outside. The creature froze, its axe still raised. Behind it, the goblin that had fallen from the wall scrambled backwards through the mud.
Hadig’s shout rolled across the yard with enough force to make Aldren glance towards the stairs. Cecelia stepped beside the fighter and swung. Her blade struck the doorframe as the goblin stumbled aside, sending a shower of splinters over Hadig’s arm. He glanced at the fresh gouge.
“Nearly.”
“Move your shoulder.”
The goblins recovered quickly. Steel flashed through the doorway, and Cecelia brought her shield up just as the first attacker lunged.
Upstairs, Nevyn had found a different solution. A large pot stood steaming beside the hearth, water still boiling within it. He wrapped cloth around the handles, carried it to the window above the dining-room entrance and peered down. Four goblins were crowded around the side door.
“Mind below,” he said, with an earnestness the circumstances hardly deserved.
He tipped the pot. Three goblins sprang away at the first rush of steam. The fourth looked up. Water struck it full in the face and shoulders, and the pot followed, dropping over its head with a hollow clang. The creature staggered blindly into the door, bounced off and collapsed beneath the window. Nevyn looked down at the three survivors.
Aldren stared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Aldren said. “I was merely reflecting on the expense of my education.”
The front door shook beneath a tremendous impact. One of the wolves had thrown itself against it, and the goblin on its back screeched encouragement while the second rider hacked at the timbers beside the latch.
On the tower, Alfana rose to shoot. Her arrow struck a goblin below, but the answering volley drove her back behind the parapet before she could see it fall. Stellios dragged her farther into cover as an arrow glanced off the stone where her face had been.
The archers had the measure of them now. Every glimpse of a head or shoulder brought another flight.
At the back door, Cecelia took a cut beneath the edge of her shield. She grunted and gave ground, and Hadig surged past her, driving the nearest goblin away from the threshold before bringing it down with a savage blow. Beyond him, more shapes moved in the rain.
“Inside!” Cecelia called.
He retreated a pace, leaving the doorway narrowed between his broad shoulders and her shield.
Above the side entrance, Nevyn spoke to the ground. Roots thrust through the mud. Tough green stems coiled around ankles and wound up a goblin’s legs, dragging it to a halt as its companions scattered. It slashed at the growth, cursing in a shrill, furious voice.
Aldren chose two of the moving figures below and spoke the familiar words of his next spell. Three bright darts leapt from his hand. They curved through the rain with perfect certainty, striking one goblin twice and another once. Both reeled. One collided with the wall, then pushed itself upright; the other snarled up at the window. Neither fell. Aldren lowered his hand.
“That,” he said quietly, “was discouraging.”
The front door split.
Xosh woke to the sound of breaking timber. For a moment she remained still, caught between exhausted sleep and the clamour filling the house. Then she heard the wolves. She pushed the blanket aside.
By the time the next impact tore the latch from the doorframe, she stood inside the entrance with her mace in her hands. Firelight caught the gold ornaments in her dark braids and shone along the geometric edges of her bronze armour.
The door burst inward.
A wolf forced its head through the gap, teeth bared, its rider stabbing over its shoulder. Xosh struck at them, but the second animal crowded in behind the first, and suddenly the entrance was all snarling jaws, swinging blades and broken wood. A goblin’s weapon found a gap in her armour. She staggered. Another blow struck before she could recover, driving her back into the hall.
From upstairs, Aldren heard her cry out.
“The front!” he shouted.
At the side door, Nevyn thrust both hands towards the attackers. The air struck with the force of a giant’s fist. Thunder rolled through the dining room, rattling crockery and making dust leap from the beams. The goblin caught in the roots was flung hard against the wall and dropped motionless. Its remaining companion stumbled clear, dazed and exposed.
High above, Robin forced himself upright. This time he loosed before the watching archers could settle their aim. The last goblin at the side entrance fell, and Robin dropped back into cover with his face drawn tight around the pain.
Eek edged towards a corner where the parapet gave him a sliver of the yard. He thrust out one hand and sent a crackling bolt into the darkness. It struck the mud beside a goblin. He tried again. The second blast tore a piece from the doorframe below. The goblin looked up. Eek withdrew.
“I have successfully damaged the house.”
Cecelia’s shield arm was growing heavy. Another blade slipped past it, striking hard enough to send her stumbling against the wall. For a heartbeat the back doorway blurred, and the goblin before her seemed to divide into two.
Hadig shouted something. She barely heard him.
Cecelia planted her feet and called upon Kelemvor. A pale radiance gathered around her hand, then spread across her wounded body. Warmth reached into the places where pain had begun to hollow her out. Her breath steadied. Strength returned to her fingers. The goblin lunged. She turned its blade with her shield and brought her own weapon down, ending its attack at the threshold.
Another slipped through behind it. Hadig swung, but the creature ducked beneath his arm and scuttled into the house.
“One through!” Cecelia called.
At the front, Xosh had been driven back another pace. A wolf snapped at her arm. Its rider lifted a jagged blade. Xosh spoke a prayer through clenched teeth. Burning radiance filled the entrance.
For an instant, the battered hall shone as though the sun had risen within it. The wolf recoiled, its snarl breaking into a howl, and the goblin upon its back writhed in the fierce light. Both collapsed among the shattered planks. The second wolf shied away, claws scraping across the floor.
Xosh swayed. She could not survive another exchange like that. Her next prayer was quieter. Sanctuary settled around her. The surviving rider wheeled towards her, blade raised, then hesitated. Its gaze slipped away. A goblin pushing through the broken doorway snarled and made to strike, only to falter as though it had forgotten why it had lifted its sword. Hadig arrived with none of their uncertainty. He planted himself between Xosh and the breach.
“Behind me.”
She took the offered space without argument.
The front hall became a crush of enemies. Hadig caught one blow on his weapon and took another across the arm. A third struck him as he turned, drawing a furious growl. Goblins pressed around the remaining wolf, scrambling over the fallen door and forcing their way into every gap.
One darted past him towards the stairs. Another followed.
Nevyn turned from the window at the sound of feet coming up behind him. The leading goblin reached the landing with its sword already swinging. He jerked aside, feeling the blade catch his clothing, and snatched up a chair to put between them. The goblin hacked at it, chopping through a spindle.
Aldren spun towards the struggle, but Nevyn and the attacker were tangled together in the narrow space.
Below, steel rang against steel. Above, bowstrings thrummed. The tower defenders had found their opportunity.
With the front door broken, several goblin archers abandoned their sheltered positions and hurried towards the breach, eager to join the fighting inside. Their careful watch over the parapet faltered.
Sarki’s arrows began to fall among them. Alfana shot beside him, choosing targets from the shapes crossing the yard. Eek leaned around his corner and sent another blast downwards. This time it struck a goblin squarely and knocked it away from the doorway.
“Oh,” he said, sounding pleasantly surprised.
Robin was already moving. He left the parapet, hurried down the tower stairs and emerged onto the first floor just as Nevyn’s chair came apart.
The goblin lunged through the wreckage. Robin’s arrow caught it before it reached the druid. He drove it back, struck again and sent it tumbling against the landing wall. Nevyn lowered the broken chair legs still clutched in his hands.
“Thank you.”
Robin pressed a hand to his wounded side.
“You’re welcome. Next time, use a sturdier chair.”
Aldren drew on his dwindling strength and summoned three more darts of force. Their light shone across his wet beard and the folds of his green cloak. He sent them down into the struggle below, where a goblin was trying to reach Hadig’s unguarded side. All three struck. The creature crumpled.
Then Bruce’s awareness brushed against his mind. The owl had rounded the burning barn and returned through the smoke. From above, he could see a goblin archer crouched at the kitchen door, bow raised towards movement inside. Aldren fixed upon it.
That one, Bruce.
The owl folded his wings. He dropped out of the rain with talons extended and struck the goblin about the head and face. The archer shrieked, flinging up its arms as Bruce tore at it in a furious flurry of feathers and claws.
Cecelia reached the kitchen entrance. She saw the struggling goblin, the wildly beating owl and the abandoned bow. Her weapon flashed. Bruce swept clear as the archer fell.
Upstairs, Aldren released a breath he had not realised he was holding.
“Well done,” he whispered.
At the front door, Hadig’s anger had become something cold and purposeful. He stopped trying to hold every enemy away at once and began taking them apart.
When the wolf lunged, he stepped aside and struck. As it twisted, he drove forward beneath the rider’s descending blade. The goblin toppled from its back and hit the floor hard; Hadig finished it before it could rise. The wounded wolf came at him again. He met it with a blow that brought it down among the wreckage.
The last goblin inside the farmhouse turned towards the door. Hadig caught it before it reached the rain. For a moment he stood over it, shoulders rising and falling, blood running down his arm.
Beyond him, a goblin in the yard stared at the ruin of the assault. Xosh stepped forward. She was pale and unsteady, but her voice held as she called down Sacred Flame. Light descended upon the creature, and it fell beside the path. Farther out, the last visible attacker broke. It threw away any pretence of courage and ran for the palisade. Hadig went after it.
“Hadig!” Cecelia shouted.
He was already across the threshold. His boots struck mud, then the harder ground beyond the doorstep. The fleeing goblin scrambled towards the darkness, and Hadig followed with his weapon raised.
A bowstring sounded from the woods. An arrow struck him. A second hissed past his face and buried itself in the farmhouse behind him. More shapes shifted between the trees, scarcely visible beyond the rain and drifting smoke.
Hadig stopped. From the doorway, Cecelia shouted his name again. He backed towards the house, keeping his weapon up as another arrow cut through the darkness. Then he crossed the threshold, and together they dragged the broken door upright.
The sudden quiet left Aldren’s ears ringing.
For several moments he remained at the upstairs window, waiting for another rush from the yard. Rain fell over the bodies below. The barn continued to burn, its damaged roof settling with a long, splintering groan. Bruce landed beside him. Aldren rested a trembling finger against the owl’s breast.
“Stay close for a little while.”
Downstairs, the farmhouse stirred around its wounded defenders.
Pytor opened the central room only after Cecelia called that the fighting inside was over. His family looked past him at the splintered doors, the blood on the floor and the strangers who had stood between them and the goblins.
Then Pytor saw Hadig trying to brace the front entrance. He fetched a hammer without being asked. Furniture was dragged across the hall. A table went against the kitchen door; benches and loose timber were brought to the back. Nevyn inspected the side entrance while Robin sat long enough for his wounds to be examined, his bow still resting across his knees.
Sarki counted arrows. Alfana searched for those that could be recovered. Stellios returned to watch the yard.
Eek found a chair that had survived Nevyn’s defence and lowered himself into it.
“I liked this house better when it had doors.”
“It still has doors,” Hadig said, shoving a heavy chest into place.
Eek regarded the wreckage. “It has pieces of doors.”
Xosh sat against the wall nearby, one hand pressed to her wound, her mace laid within reach. No one suggested that she return to sleep.
Aldren came down at last, each step making him more aware of the weariness in his legs. On the table lay a weapon taken from one of the attackers. Red cloth was bound around its grip.
He looked at Cecelia.
“Redblades?”
She nodded. “Again.”
Nevyn looked up from the damaged side door. “ The riders are Wolfskulls?”
“Yes, and their support. Those archers were far too drilled. First we’ve seen of them since the journey here,” Sarki said.
“And no Vipers,” Robin added.
The room grew still. They had endured two attacks. Their doors were failing, several of them were wounded, and the magic that had seemed plentiful at the beginning of the evening was becoming something to measure carefully. Two other tribes had yet to commit their strength. Pytor estimated the time.
“Half past nine.”
Aldren looked up. For a moment, the words made no sense. Surely the night must be nearly spent. Surely they had earned at least the prospect of dawn. Outside, an arrow struck the wall.
Hadig reached for another length of timber.
“Then we’d better make these hold.”
Aldren set down his staff and went to help.
