“I don’t think Stryke would be very pleased if we abandoned our post,” Pepperdyne replied.
“He’s right,” Dallog added. “We should stay put. They’re on their own.”
8
On the beach, Stryke and the rest of the band were watching.
They saw their ship attacked by the goblins, during which Coilla at least had concerns for those on board. Now the goblin ship, which almost completely blocked the view of the orcs’ own, was being evacuated.
Jup pointed at the goblins jumping or lowering themselves over the side on ropes, then splashing towards the shore. “Looks like Dallog and the others did well.”
Coilla nodded. “Good for them.”
“Yeah,” Stryke said. “But we’ve got our own problems.”
The other two goblin ships were anchored, and their crews were also wading to the beach, their tridents held above their heads. Elves were arriving too, staggering out of the waves, some supporting kin.
“It’s too open here,” Coilla decided. “We’re better off facing them inland.”
“Run away?” Haskeer growled.
“A strategic retreat to a position that benefits us.” She nodded at the unfolding scene. “Look at their numbers.”
“Coilla’s right,” Stryke said. “We’re not at full strength. Makes sense for us to pick the terrain. We’ll get ourselves into the jungle back there and waylay the bastards.”
Spurral was looking at the surviving islanders struggling ashore. “Let’s hope the elves stay clear.”
“No worries there,” Haskeer sneered. “They’ve no guts for a fight.”
As the band jogged towards the greenery, the first of the goblins were emerging from the water.
Once into the coolness of the jungle, Stryke had the band gather round. “This is how we’re doing it. Four groups. There…” He pointed to a large downed tree. “… there…” A big, moss-covered rock. “… there…” A thick stand of trees just inside the lip of the jungle. “… and there.” The remains of an abandoned elf cabin, rotting in the tropical climate. “They likely saw us come in so they’ll be following. And they’ll be expecting a trap, so we need to be well hidden and quiet.” He glanced at Haskeer. “Archers fire at my order, not before. We don’t want to give ’em a chance to retreat. Sergeants, get the groups sorted.”
Jup and Haskeer quickly divided the reduced band into four units and headed one each. Haskeer’s group took the rock as its hideaway, Jup’s the fallen tree. Coilla led the third unit, and made for the ruined hut. Stryke’s group hid themselves in the stand of trees. He had chosen the hides because they formed the four sides of a corral or box. The task for Stryke’s group was to secure the fourth side, the corral’s gate, once the enemy were in.
They took their positions and waited.
What seemed like an age passed, and Stryke wasn’t alone in thinking the goblins would simply wait them out. Then there was movement in the boundary between beach and jungle. Leaves rustled and dry bark cracked. Dark shapes could be made out.
The goblins came into the jungle. They used a measure of stealth, but seemed more reliant on their greater numbers. The orcs bided their time, well hidden and silent, waiting for the enemy to enter the snare. Soon, as many goblins as were likely to had moved into the area, and they were starting to fan out. The trap had to be sprung while they were still bunched.
“Fire!” Stryke bellowed.
The archers had been spread across the hiding places. Now they let loose from all sides. Arrows slammed into the outermost of the pack of goblins. A good half dozen fell, dead or wounded. No sooner had they gone down than a second wave of arrows came in. At which point practically all of the goblins went down, whether hit or not, to avoid the shower of bolts. Some had bows. Kneeling, they began to return fire. But the orcs were playing shoot and hide. Bobbing up or round their cover, they fired then instantly ducked back out of sight.
This went on for a while, and not to the goblins’ advantage. Their only hope was to break the impasse. At an order gutturally barked, presumably by one of their commanders, they rose and charged. Like the blooms of some exotic black flower bursting open, goblins hurtled towards all four hides.
The orcs got off a few more shots, but things were about to get too intimate for bows. Blades and hatchets took their place.
The greatest number of goblins headed back to where they entered the jungle, hoping to regain the beach. They were confronted by Stryke’s unit, the gatekeepers, slipping from the trees to block the exit. This group was slightly larger than the other three, given it would bear the brunt, but it was still desperately small compared to the pack of charging goblins. And it wasn’t only the goblins’ numbers that gave them an edge; many had tridents.
The orcs met them head-on, a resolute line of barbed steel, determined to deny a way out. It was a savage clash, and Stryke was to the fore. His first encounter was short and brutal. A goblin charged, trident levelled. Stryke nimbly side-stepped, batted away the trident and followed through with a second swipe, to the creature’s throat. No sooner had the goblin been floored than it was instantly replaced. Stryke and his unit stood their ground, dodging and downing the press of opponents.
The slab of rock sheltering Haskeer’s group was swarming with goblins, while others were trying to round it. Attrition was the name of the game. The goblins were bent on overrunning the orcs, and the orcs were as keen to stop them. With fighting up close and vicious, tridents proved too cumbersome, and most were discarded. The goblins switched to their serrated, snub-bladed swords and crimped daggers. But trying to scale the barrier was a challenge. The rock ran with blood, making traction difficult.
A cleaver in each hand, Haskeer swung at the encroaching goblins, cracking skulls and shattering bones. When one of the hatchets caught in the hilt-guard of a goblin’s sword it was wrenched from Haskeer’s grip. Enraged, he struck out with the remaining hatchet, scything the creature’s belly and releasing its stinking contents. Swiftly bringing up the weapon he swiped at another goblin, striking him on the side of the head with the flat of its blade. As he fell, others took his place. Haskeer’s detachment fought on.
Jup and Spurral were in the vanguard of the group stationed at the fallen tree. Compared to Haskeer’s unit their cover was minimal. But they were just as resolute. They stood behind a barrier bristling with blades and spear-tips, and clad with shields, which the frantic goblins all but threw themselves against. Dispensing with staffs, the dwarfs employed their short swords and knives, thrusting and slashing at goblin flesh.
The pummelling on the Wolverines’ shields was as relentless as a rainstorm on a field of wheat. And when one of the rangy goblins struck Spurral’s shield particularly hard it was dashed from her hands. The creature followed through with a lunge to her breast. Fortunately, Jup’s reactions were quicker. He blocked the blade; and Spurral, swooping low, buried her sword in the goblin’s guts.
The shuffling of the combatants’ feet caused her shield to be kicked away, beyond reach. A goblin tried exploiting that vulnerability, slashing his blade as he moved in on her. She could expect no further help from Jup, who had his own problems with an axe-wielding opponent. Not that she needed it. Her stocky, robust physique belied the speed and agility she was capable of, as her foe discovered. Ducking, weaving, she eluded the blade, then gave the goblin’s shin a couple of hefty kicks. It was enough of an irritant to jolt the creature, and let Spurral deliver a lethal thrust. The vengeful goblins kept coming.
At the decaying lodge, Coilla perched on a heap of collapsed timber, looking down at the raging conflict. She was picking off goblins with her cache of throwing knives, plucked from her arm holsters. Choosing her mark, she lobbed a blade and struck a creature’s head, downing him. On reflex born of experience she instantly yanked out another knife. There was no shortage of targets, and her next shot winged to a goblin’s exposed neck.