38 Goblins Attack

The camp was under attack. Little green men battled with men in leather armor. The occasional heavily armored officer was doing battle, though Jacob didn't see as many as he expected. Iron striking iron filled the night, replacing the peaceful quietness he had fallen asleep to. Many around him were just getting off the ground, wiping sleep from their eyes. Why hadn't the guards woken the camp up in time?

Somewhere nearby, a mage called a fireball into existence. The orb illuminated the marsh as it sailed through the air, landing in a clump of goblins. A few friendly soldiers were also consumed by the flames, but the mage must've determined that their sacrifice was worth it. It didn't surprise Jacob that the callous men and women attached to the army would have such little regard for the life of their soldiers, for most of these mages were of the rank lieutenant or higher. Jacob's own lieutenant was a mage, an arrogant piece of work that was noticeably absent from the struggle.

Jacob unsheathed his blade, thankful that the military forced all soldiers to sleep with their weapons beside them. It was none too soon, for a goblin tore through the line of soldiers in front of him, making a beeline for the still awakening men. Intercepting the unsuspecting creature, Jacob bisected it with a single sweep of his blade. He hoped all of his fights would be that simple, but seeing the struggle just in front of him, he knew that it was a false hope.

His sword joined many others defending the camp from being overrun. Hordes of goblins appeared, each of the little green men grinning as they approached. Like lambs to the slaughter, the goblins were brought down. It was as if they didn't care about being mowed down. Their stupid expressions, with fangs on their lower row of teeth protruding out of their mouth, remained the same no matter how many of them perished.

One of the creatures, smarter than its brethren, wielded its rusted blade with a semblance of skill. The goblin parried Jacob's strike, deflecting it from striking it in the side. Jacob's eyes widened, having become too accustomed to the inferior skill demonstrated by their enemies. The goblin managed to slice Jacob's leg open, infuriating the warrior.

Jacob brought his sword around again, this time disengaging under the goblin's attempted parry. His sword reached its target, ending the creature's life. Jacob's leg burned, but the cut looked shallow after a quick glance. Washing the wound would be important; the goblin's sword had so much rust on it, it might as well have been poisoned.

The rest of the battle continued through the night, a veritable sea of green bodies throwing themselves at the tiring humans. On occasion, Jacob would hear one of his comrades scream and fall to the ground, victim to the goblins. By the time the suns rose, Jacob's arms barely functioned. His sword, usually so light, felt like an anchor in his hands.

Two hundred and fifty of the five thousand that set out to inspect Writha Pass fell. It was a pretty small amount, compared to what looked like thousands of creatures. Absent-mindedly, Jacob hoped that the boy he met, Rod, was still alive after all this. Summoning water from the atmosphere, Jacob ran the clean water over the cut on his thigh. He'd taken minor cuts here and there, but this one remained his most troubling.

Bandaging it was simple; he had a few spares in his pack. It was Commander Ericksson's caution that forced all the soldiers in the battalion to bring spare medical supplies. Jacob was thankful for the man's over-abundance of caution. When the majority of the soldiers had fixed themselves up, either through bandaging their own wounds or by visiting the few medics that traveled alongside the battalion, the commander made an appearance at the center of camp. Jacob walked closer, interested in hearing what the man had to say about last night.

"Two hundred and fifty of us perished last night from the goblin attack. Our lookouts in the southern quadrant had fallen asleep, allowing the blasted creatures to sneak up on us like they did. From now on, we're tripling guard rotations, even when we arrive at Writha Pass. The lookouts in question have been released from service, and are being escorted to the nearest city, Steelshade, to place them in jail. I'll let that serve as a warning for any who are here to avoid a stay in the dungeons or worse. If you fail me again, you'll find yourself in hotter water than you've ever been in before," Commander Ericksson promised, glaring at a few members of the sea of soldiers around him. Jacob saw a familiar head of wheat-colored hair poking through the crowd.

"You're still alive and kicking, huh?" Jacob patted the boy on the back, reveling in the smaller soldier's surprise.

"Good to see you too, Jacob. I've never seen goblins before," Rod shuddered, leading Jacob to his spot near the far end of camp. It was fortunate placement; he would have had plenty of time to wake up and react to the goblin attack.

"Neither have I. Terrifying little guys," Jacob agreed, watching as the boy set all his stuff down on the ground next to his blanket. With some time before they marched, due to needing to tend to the fallen, Rod took his armor off. Jacob was surprised, given recent events.

"I've always been taught to meditate if I can't handle something," Rod told him by way of explanation. "It helps center me. I can't do it in that stuffy leather." Jacob could see how it'd be hard to attain any measure of peace while boiling in the armor. Bidding the boy farewell, Jacob returned to his own section of camp. The loss of some familiar faces didn't impact him all that much; everyone pretended that Jacob didn't exist. He didn't even know any of the fallen by name. Instead of worrying about it, he chose to catch another wink of sleep before the commander returned them to their march.