18. Harper
18
HARPER
“ T o me,” Brand bellowed. Harper surged with her companions to form a small arc placing the fire to their backs, and drew their weapons. Aedon hurled magic at the advancing tide of darkness. The blast knocked several screeching goblins off the cliff. They landed with a sickening crunch—and Erika darted forward to dispatch them without mercy.
Harper drew her dagger, Aedon’s gift, with a shaking hand and brandished it before her. Erika crouched beside her with her twin blades dripping black blood. Brand flanked Harper on the other side, holding his giant, two-handed blade before him.
“Goblins hate fire, iron, and magic,” he growled. Harper nodded, but her throat had closed, cutting off the scream that threatened to tear free, and she could not form a reply.
Now, the chattering of the goblins was a deafening cacophony. Their tongue was hard and savage, their shrieks even more excited as they found their prey for the night. Goblins leaped from the cliff face and scurried towards the group, hemming the companions until they were surrounded.
Harper could not look away from the horror they posed as a current of raw fear screeched through her. They wore odd armour over their strange figures. Mismatched leathers and sparse metal plating or chainmail adorned them as they ran in a crouched position, almost on all fours, brandishing an odd assortment of weapons, from knives, to axes, to spears with cruelly pointed and serrated blades.
There was no more time to decide how she would defend herself, let alone attack, for the handful of goblins fell upon them, dozens more racing down the cliff. Brand cleaved left and right with his blade, slicing through their paltry armour. They died, squealing, at his feet. Some dodged and met Erika’s mercy—a quick, silent death. Others avoided the pair and made for Ragnar who held his own against them, wielding the giant axe with more skill than Harper realised he possessed. Aedon held them back with blade and magic, but more kept coming.
Harper panicked, dithering, filled with shame at lurking behind her friends, but knowing with a deep instinctive dread that she was as good as dead if she stepped forward—and as much the same if her companions parted before her. They stepped before her on purpose, she realised, with a rush of gratitude that was complicated with yet more shame that they compromised themselves on her account. Goblin faces, distorted by hate and bloodlust, snarled at her as they approached, only to be cut down by her companions.
Pointed, filed teeth were covered in blood, which had splattered over their faces, matching the bloody handprints and gory, daubed decorations of their clothing and armour. Their shrieks were only outdone by the terrified screaming of the horses as the goblins set upon them. Their brays punctured into silence—and Harper knew the worst had happened. She let out a ragged sob. They were caged. No chance of running.
In the darkness with the firelight throwing cavorting shadows around them, the goblins became demons of the night. Harper trembled as her companions thinned and she was forced to raise her meagre blade to fend off attack. There was no time to think as she dodged blows and struck out with her dagger, surviving on luck only. A goblin shrieked as he slipped on a pinecone from the plentiful litter on the ground. A rush of a different kind swept through Harper. She dodged to the fire’s edge, where their woodpile lay.
Remnants of Aedon’s magic still swirled within her and she grasped for it, pulling it together with the last dregs of her own strength. Bolstered by the desperate rush of battle, she hoped she could manage what needed to be done. Harper sheathed her dagger and gathered an armful of pinecones, thanking the skies for dry weather in recent days.
Lighting one at a time in the fire and shielded by her companions for precious few moments, Harper darted between them to throw pinecones at the goblins, sending them on their way with her own magic and willing the fire to spread. After a few attempts, the pinecones flew true, snagging in the goblins’ clothing. Fire took hold in their fabric and fur trimmings. Harper crowed with renewed vigour as she became the flames, using her magic to tease them across the goblins to leap and take upon their neighbours’ garments.
Aedon backed her, shooting her a fierce grin. She felt his magic envelop hers, stoking the flames and sending them wild. The distraction was enough. As the goblins fell into disarray, trying to avoid the fiery missiles, her friends advanced, hacking them down where they stood, until the tide receded before them. A last wave of goblins swarmed from the cliff. Harper realised their vulnerability—her companions were protected by the fire, but too spread out.
Harper threw blazing pinecones until her shoulder ached with the strain, but her meagre magical reserves were almost spent and she was entirely unprotected by the fire as the fight ebbed from around her. A goblin broke through—and charged. Harper tossed her last pinecone at it, but it bounced harmlessly away before she could coax the fire to jump hosts.
Her magic sputtered. She was unarmed. Unable to draw her dagger in time. She froze in terror. The goblin was upon her, his gleeful snarl wide. His pointed teeth in her face, the stench of rotting meat rolled over her, clogging her lungs. Harper could not even draw a breath as death descended for her.
Crunch .
Eyes wide, the goblin fell to the ground as Aedon withdrew his blade and stood shoulder to shoulder with Harper. The shouting, screeching, and crashing of metal drowned out her tremulous thanks. Giving a sharp nod, he turned back to their companions, who had retreated before the onslaught, and together, they gave one last push against the goblins.
As the goblins finally fell back, Ragnar stumbled and tumbled to the ground with a strangled yell. The horde pounced upon him with relish, clicking, hissing, chattering, and screeching at their prize. Grabbing Ragnar before his companions could rally, the goblins dragged him back up the cliff face, screaming and hollering from in their midst. Brand took to the sky in desperation, but even he was too slow. The rabble disappeared into a fissure in the rock and the darkness of the mountain.
Soon, their din was lost. The silence was deafening. Ragnar was gone.