Where had Gohta gone, Tad wondered, as he sat with Keg nestled around him, lapping the boy’s face with his rough tongue and stinky breath.  That orc was just behind him a moment ago.  They needed to stick together, what with sprites roaming the woods! 

Holding the communicator in his sweaty palms, he listened to the news of attacks and losses throughout Hangman’s Forest. Then he heard Glum ask about the northern camp and gasped. 

“I’m still here,” Tad cried out. His eyes suddenly welled with tears.  The communicator shook as excitement and fear made his grip unsure.  He waited a moment, but his voice didn’t repeat back to him and no response from Glum came.  “Is it broken,” he asked himself, his voice cracking as he did.  Turning over the device in his hands, he remembered he’d neglected to depress bright red jewel on the face before pressing.  He lifted his thumbs, but before he could smash them down the tip of a blade nudged his nose.

Looking up the length of the sword, Tad saw he was surrounded by orcs.  They wore studded leather armor, standard issue scout equipment from the Machines Works Armorer Catalog.  It was meant for scouts, as the armor was light and relatively quiet, while the studs were good at deflecting bladed strikes that weren’t carefully aimed.  “I surrender,” Tad yelped.  He dropped the communicator into his lap, wincing as it landed there on its sharp corners, and raised his hands.

“Who is this whelp? Surely not a loyal servant of the great and powerful Dread Lord,” the lead orc grunted as he held his sword to the boy’s nose.  He wore a rounded hat with flaps that hung over his ears.  “The rest of the encampment appears to be out and engaged in combat while this one is relaxing here with a toy?  Seems like a traitor to me!”

“Are you lot of flopping fish fresh from school or something,” Gib’s scratchy voice taunted, hidden among the trees.  Being unseen seemed to make his words bolder. Goblin scouts bounded through the treetops with the grace and ferocity of a razor squirrel.  They showed the orcs below them they were surrounded by poking arrow heads between leaves, turning them to let them glint in the fire’s glow.  “Show some respect or we’ll roast your toes and feed them to the kid’s boar!” He shot an arrow which tumbled in the air.  The shaft slapped sidelong against the lead orc’s hand to knock the sword away from Tad’s face.

Seizing the opportunity, Keg darted out from behind Tad.  Before the boy landed on his back, the boar had tripped the orc by banging against his lower legs.  Both Tad and the orc were left sprawled on the ground, facing each other.

The orc scouts laughed. 

The floored leader managed a chuckle as he stood up and retrieved his sword.  He sheathed it and addressed the trees.  “I’m Scout Master Palar, serving under War Master Bigrummar at the West Camp.  War Master Hohza ordered us to investigate this camp.  Now, please explain why I should follow the advice of North Country scum and show this little goblin any respect.”

“I’m Gib.  I serve War Master Palical. I’m sure you haven’t the nerve to call him scum.” He dropped down, knife in hand, near Tad.  “That one? He’s one of War Master Hohza’s War Party.  Name’s Tad.”

Palar rolled his eyes. “I’d heard of the Machine Works goblins in that War Party.” He sheathed his sword, roughly throwing it into the scabbard.  “I’d assumed it was a joke. Although, Hohza is the type to do something so bizarre.” He stood with his head cocked, staring down at Tad expectantly.  Glum joined him, and after a little while Tad realized they were waiting on him to issue an order.

Instead the boy took a moment to swipe dirt from his pants.  He needed more information before acting, or telling others to do so.  He also needed to let Glum and Hohza know he was alive.  He picked the communicator off the ground, brushing it against his pant leg, and then brought it to his mouth.  Remember to depress the jewel first, he spoke into it. “War Master Hohza! This is Tad at the Northern Camp.”

After his voice repeated, from the communicator in his hand as well as one that Palar was wearing, he waited for a response. 

“Tad,” Glum cried out through the communicator.  He choked a moment, and Tad look about nervously as his cheeks flushed.  “Tad, it’s good to hear you, praise be to the Dread Lord1!  What’s that? Yes! Yes, something’s gone wrong with the key stones! They’re active, so the invaders were able to locate them through magic, but the barrier never went up.”

Gib scratched his nose. “It’s just like the boss said. How did they get activated before casting the sealing spells?”

“Glum, do we know how they activated?”

Repeat. Delay. “We think it was the communicators! We’re still working on that, but we’ve gotten Lim up here and are going over the components of these things to see if they’d have interfered with the key stones. Hohza says to just hand those things over to the invaders.”

“Coward,” Palar spit.

“Understood, Glum,” Tad answered. He glared at Palar.  If he were an orc, it would be his duty to give the scout a good walloping.  Although he made a fist with one hand, he knew he couldn’t do anything of the sort.  If Gohta were here he’d have grabbed Palar and thrown him into the fire. Where was he?

A pitched battle sounded in the distance. Screams, shouts, the clash of metal, and the occasional explosion.  There were flashes like soundless, distant lightning that drew everyone’s attention. 

“Palical had the keystone last.  He took it up into those hills,” Tad pointed in the direction of the noise.  “The other sprite is going to kill him to get a key stone he doesn’t need!”

“Then Palical will die doing his duty for the Dread Lord,” Palar said, his face grim. 

“No,” Tad shouted, leaning towards the orc by stretching on his toes. His tone surprised even him, and he worried it would bring a beating down on him, but he continued.  “War Master Hohza is in command of this campaign and he has ordered us to surrender the key stone! If Palical didn’t hear the message himself then we’re going over there to let him know and hopefully save the lives of him and his men! Isn’t that right … where is Gohta?!” Tad flung the communicator in frustration.

“That blob couldn’t keep up,” said Gib. 

“No. I’m sure he can manage a sprint,” Tad said.  “Gib, send some of your scouts back to where we fought the sprite.  Let him know we’re going to seek out Palical or tend to him if he’s injured or … anyway, they should all join us where the fighting is.”

Gib repeated the order to his goblins, managing to squeeze in more foul-mouthed flourishes than should be possible for such a brief command.  Three goblins took off into the woods. 

After watching them disappear past the light of the bonfires, Tad stared in amazement.  He’d just given an order … and it had been followed!  The boy grabbed Keg’s harness and pulled him close.  As he patted the boar’s saddle he addressed the others.  “Okay then, Gib, Palar, let’s go to Palical.”

“Oh, you ride that thing? Here I thought it was being kept for a roast,” groaned Palar as he waved for his men to follow the goblin’s lead.

 

Even the wildest of tales that Tad wanted to tell of Ottis the Odd Goblin didn’t involve him charging into combat astride a battle boar with an elite squad of warriors following him.   Not that his approach of Palical’s pitched battle marked by a forest on fire, rallying shouts, and the clash of weapons, could be called a charge.  Still, excitement kept a broad smile on the boy’s face as Keg trotted through the wood, navigating roots, stones, and low-hanging branches as he did.  Behind him, orcs marched with grudging obedience while above the goblins swung between branches and chatted in jibes and insults.

When Keg sniffed something foul in the air he began to whine and take hesitant steps at the edge of uneven terrain.  Some dirt gave way and sent both the boar and rider tumbling into a ditch.  Tad rolled out of the saddle and slid into something soft.  When he opened his eyes, he saw the big, stained hands of one of the North Country’s soldiers with a hilt laying across the palm. 

“Hey, sorry about that,” Tad said.  He touched the hand, which was cool and still.  With a scream he pushed himself away.  When he stood, he found himself staring down at a dead soldier, his wide and frozen, the leather bands of his armor split up his chest, exposing torn flesh and ribs beneath.   “Oh,” Tad squeaked as he raised his hand to his lips.  He shuddered, realizing those fingertips had just touched the corpse, and swiped them against his pant leg.  Keg was sniffing at the corpse, perhaps refamiliarizing himself with the scent of death after years of service in the Logistics Corps.  “No, leave him alone,” Tad ordered the boar, his voice quavering. 

“Don’t tell me this is your first corpse, child,” Palar said as he stepped around the ditch.

“No. No,” Tad stammered.  He got back onto Keg.  “I’ve … I’ve fought near the Dread Lord, before,” his tone lacking the boldness of his claim.

“Sure.” Palar sniffed.  “If you’ve an actual weapon on that toolbelt of yours, I suggest being ready with it.” He pointed ahead with his sword.  Up the hill, Palical’s baritone voice gave orders amidst loud bangs, each accompanied by the ghostly silhouettes of soldiers amidst the trees.   

When they crested the hill, Tad saw the troll was armed with boulders fitted around his hands.  He knocked about tree limbs, some wrapped around large rocks, and each time sparks were sent off.  His goblin and orc soldiers hacked at branches and torched treetops.  When Palar commanded his troops to aid the others, however, trees became inanimate and after a moment everyone was standing about, panting, as fiery leaves dropped to the ground. 

“Tad! You’ve brought reinforcements! Your battle with the sprite fared well?” Palical leaned to the side as he looked over the approaching crowd.  “Gohta, is he … ?”

“We lost track of Gohta and the sprite we were fighting.  We thought it would be best to join forces with you.” Tad pointed at Palar. “That’s Palar, from War Master Bigrummar’s encampment.”

“War Master Palical,” Palar greeted the troll with a nod of the head.  “The other two key stones have been claimed by the enemy.”

“Then the Dread Lord’s hoard remains safe,” Palical said.

Wringing Keg’s reins in his hands, Tad hesitated before saying: “You were right about the key stones being activated prematurely.  It seems those communicators interfered with them so they’re active without a barrier around the prison.  Hohza has ordered us to surrender our key stone.”

Palical released the boulders and they slammed against the forest floor.  He pinched a pouch at his waist between two fingers and plucked it from his belt.  The troll presented it to Tad, who held out his hands, and Palical dropped the pouch in his palms.  “It is good to serve an orc of such sense! If those are his orders, then I say you—being his representative here—ought to hand over the key stone.”

Palar shoved his sword into his sheath and stormed off, his men following.  “Cowards,” the orc shouted.

Ignoring the angry scout, Tad opened the pouch and cradled the key stone in his palms.   He looked up, seeing the orange flames that sprouted on the treetops.  Would the fire spread?  “What happened to the fighting?  Is the enemy still here?”

Palical nodded toward the treetops.  “I would wager that, with the arrival of reinforcements, our assailant has taken a moment to evaluate the situation.  I’m sure he’s listening in.”

Raising the key stone high into the air, which was barely to Palical’s knees as Tad sat on Keg’s back, the goblin yelled to the treetops. “Sprite! Know that that the key stones’ spell is already broken!  I freely offer this one to you!”

As they waited, Palar returned. He circled Palical and Tad with a stalking gait. The muscles in his arms were taught as he flexed his hands, repeatedly balling them into fists. “Pathetic,” he hissed at the two through gritted teeth.

“We’re supposed to protect the keystone because that protects the prison,” Tad said from atop Keg.  The boar was spinning to keep his eyes on Palar.  As he did, his steps became wobbly from dizziness. “But since the key stones aren’t protecting the prison why should we get hurt protecting it?”

“Because it’s our duty to show the whole Map that the Dread Lord Withering Sorrows has the mightiest, most loyal warriors!” The orc leaned toward Tad, yelling so furiously that spittle flew from his mouth. 

“You’re not a War Master, Palar,” Palical warned the orc.  He dipped down and wrapped his knuckles around his boulders’ handles.  As he did, his knuckles—each as big as Tad’s whole fist, cracked with the movement. Nearby, Gib crept towards them, bow and arrow poised to be shot.

Tad flung the keystone to the ground.  “Then you protect it!” Keg sniffed at the slick green rock. A trail of snot connected his nose to the magical puzzle piece.

“What trick is this,” asked the breeze.  “You can’t just give up the keystone!”

Perking up in Keg’s saddle, Tad shivered as hairs rose on the back of his neck.  “I have orders to do just that,” he called out.

Palical and Palar jumped back from the boy’s outburst, staring at him from cocked eyes.

Gib stretched his neck and lowered his bow. “Is your brain rotting?”

Pointing at his ears, Tad looked at the confused, slack expressions.  “You guys didn’t hear that? The wind asked us something.”

“I’m the sprite, you idiot,” the disembodied voice said, his voice frayed by frustration.

“You didn’t hear that, either,” Tad asked, shrugging.  They shook their heads. “Okay, sprite. Like I said: I am giving up the keystone.” He pointed at the rock.  “Take it and go to the prison.”  Once the words came from his mouth a chill ran through him. Glum was at the prison!

A crow swooped from the trees to land atop the keystone.  He hunched over it, displaying the robed rider on his back, as he wrapped his talons around the prize. Orcs crowded around while keeping their distance with blades drawn and hands in their quivers. 

The sprite lifted his head.  His antennae poked out from under the hood and pointed at Tad. Although his face was still hidden in shadow, the light reflected off the bulbous eyes. “You morons actually broke the spell?”  Although the sprite was the on talking, the bird held his mouth open in a silent, mocking caw.

“I don’t know the details,” Tad said to the bird rather than the rider.  He thought of the dead orc from before and shuddered.  He was dead because of that sprite.  “Something about the communication devices we were given.”  He turned in his seat to show the one held on his tool belt.

“Keep that Dark Lands junk away from me!” The sprite flailed his arms while his crow cawed and spread his wings, flaring the feathers in an aggressive display. 

“It’s not junk! It’s actually rather impressive.” Tad turned the communicator in his hand.

The bird bristled and flapped. “I don’t have time for this!” The sprite whistled, the hood of his yellow cloak billowing as he did, a long tone that echoed through the forest.  He leaned to the side, listening attentively, but then pulled back. “Where is my sister!” The bird jabbed his beak at Tad.

The goblin recoiled and held his arms up defensively.  “Sister?”

The bird flapped its wings again.  “Where’s my sister,” the sprite repeated, his tone sharper this time.

“The other sprite? I don’t know. We were fighting her and then we killed her bird and Gohta …” He turned to look at the forest he’d trekked through to arrive her.  If that sprite had been racing to assist her brother, her presence would be more evident, Tad guessed.  “Maybe Gohta killer her?”

The crow was still for a moment.  Then bird and rider darted into the trees.

“He left the keystone,” Tad said, looking down at the green rock. 

Although he felt no breeze the trees shook as though a storm were blowing through the forest.

“Tad? I think you have bigger things to worry about,” Palical said. The ground bounced as he raced towards Tad.

The little goblin turned around just in time to see a tangle of tree limbs grasping for him.  Palical raised up one arm, letting the outstretched branches crash against his stone glove.  Splinters rained around him as he turned to Tad: “It seems diplomacy is not one of your skills, Tad.”

“Where is my sister,” the demand came through the creaks and groans of trees as they bent towards the orcs, goblins, and troll.

“Give them what they want, and they still try to kill you!” Palar hacked a limb off a tree.  An orc beside him was speared by a branch, lifted off the ground, and flung at other orcs to topple them. “What do we do now, Tad,” Palar asked with an impudent tone.

“I would advise doing what we were doing before,” Palical charged headlong against an aggressive trunk.  He clapped his boulders against it.  The tree shrieked as it began to fall and Palical punched it away.

Tad grabbed the key stone with his free hand and offered it to the air.  “I’m giving you your keystone, sprite! If your sister is gone then this a hard-won prize but it’s yours nonetheless!”

“YOU MONSTERS—“

The ground bubbled.  Tad stepped as though in a drunken stupor as he struggled for balance. He dropped the keystone.

“—ARE SUPPOSED—“

Gib’s scouts fell from the trees.  Some screams were silenced by sharp cracks.  Tad heard Gib’s unique blend of swears and proceeded towards him.

“—TO DIE!!”

Tad helped Gib to his feet.  “Good work telling him about his sister, dumbass.  Now he wants to kill us for revenge!” The scout coughed up blood, black in the moonlight, which dribbled down his chin.

“You’re hurt!” Tad looked him over. Twigs were sticking out of his side like nails waiting to be hammered down. 

Gib reached to his side, tore out the twigs and threw them to the ground. “Remind me to burn this shitty forest down once this is done!”  He ran into the chaos, batting things out of his way with a stick.

In a flurry of dirt and stone the forest floor exploded around them.  Tad fell over and slammed sideways into a rock.  His chest burned as his ribs cracked from the impact.  He pushed himself off the rock, unable to find his way among the chaos.  Dirt churned from all directions and the ground rose and sank so that he couldn’t even determine where up was. He peered into the violent storm before him and saw tree limbs and roots ensnaring and dismembering orcs and goblins.  

Palar swung at an advancing knot of tendrils.  His sword sliced through two of them but then lodging into their bulk.  He strained to pull it free, but as he did the tendrils coiled around the blade and worked their way to the hilt.  He abandoned his weapon before they trapped his hands.  “I advise a retreat,” Palar shouted. He reached to his belt and produced a white tube, a signal flare, and held it above his head.

Flattening the tangle with his boulders, Palical said “that sounds prudent.”  The roots slithered along Palical’s stony gloves.  He lifted the gloves and scraped them against the trees, stripping their bark as the roots were torn off.  “Is the representative of War Master Hohza in agreement?”

Clutching his sore side, wincing from the broken ribs, Tad nodded in agreement. Unsure that he was seen, Tad then shouted “yes, retreat!”  He fell, still clutching the communicator, and thought those were fitting last words for him; a goblin from the Machines Works had no place in a War Party after all.  Tendrils came towards Tad, as did Palical, but the sprite’s attack would arrive sooner.

In a daze he depressed the button on the communicator.  He could still say something to Glum, but what? Would he warn of the approaching sprite? Apologize for being a failure of a protégé?  The button still held, taking in the sounds of violence around him, Tad realized the racing roots had begun lingering at his periphery.

“Retreating is a good decision, Tad,” Palical said.  He trampled the roots and scooped Tad in the crook of his right arm.

Tad leaned over the side of Palical’s arm, clutching on to a roll of skin as he peered at the chaos behind them.  He released the button on the communicator. He heard the brief moments of destruction repeated.  A moment later, as Palar’s flare lit the sky in a blinding white, Hohza asked “whose report was that?”

Deciding to respond to Hohza later, Tad shouted “we forgot Gib” to Palical.

“His squad will look after him.” Palical spun on his heel, tilting back, to provide Tad a quick view of his surroundings. He could see the silhouettes of goblins perched in the trees.  It seemed whatever the sprite was doing was local to where they’d just fled from.  There, in the fading light of the flare, the forest was obscured in a storm of dirt containing cries of pain.

“Maybe we lost him,” Tad asked, his voice weak.

“Gib?”

“The sprite.”

Palical rested Tad on the ground, leaning his back against a mossy boulder.  It’s dank scent would almost be comforting, reminding Tad of the Sewer Works, were it not for the screams in the distance.

“I’m so sorry. The sprite almost took the keystone and left but now he wants to kill us because of what I said!” Tad buried his head in his hands.

“I’ve known plenty of orcs who would have made it a point to taunt the sprite about his dead Sister.  Then—if they survived—they’d say any complaints came from traitors or wimps.” Palical stood, stoic, staring into the swirling storm of death that engulfed Palar’s forces.  “Maybe you made a mistake, but you’ve learned from it. Nothing wrong with learning.”

“Orcs are too stupid to learn,” Gib taunted from the trees. Tad looked up to see him lying across a bough while another goblin wrapped bandages around his torso. Bright red blood splotches grew.

“Any thoughts, Gib,” asked Palical.

“We return Tad and the key stone to War Master Hohza then go home. We’ve done our part! Let Hohza and his War Party defend the Prison.”

“Glum is at the prison!” Tad darted forward. He shut his eyes tight as pain rippled across his body.

“Is he a good fighter?” Gib leaned over the bough.

“No! He’s not a fighter at all! Like me!” Tad’s cheeks quivered as he fought the urge to scream. “We can’t abandon Palar, either.”

“We definitely can abandon Palar!”

“Not if the War Master’s representative says otherwise,” Palical cautioned Gib.  “Although, I’m not entirely sure how we’re supposed to do anything else.”

Tad turned the communicator in his hand. As he stared at it, Hohza repeated: “Whose report was that?”  Maybe it hadn’t been by coincidence that those roots stopped on their approach.  He already knew the communicators could interfere with enchantments and that sprite seemed displeased to have the device near.

“Tad here. I’m fine for the moment.” Tad kept the button depressed. “I’m at the North Camp and we’re still fighting the invaders.  I think I know how to beat them.”

“Tad, don’t do anything rash,” Hohza responded. “Those sprites are very dangerous and there’s no point to protecting the keystone.”

“Understood,” Tad answered. He held up the communicator. “Palical, I think this thing can stop Sprite magic.  Let’s go back there.  If I’m right, we can eliminate one of the invaders and rescue Palar.”

“What if you’re wrong, Tad?” Palical stared down at the boy, a bemused grin on his face. 

Looking up at Gib, Tad answered: “Then I’ll be dead and you can go home!”