43 The Goblins March

Jacob woke to the frantic tolling of a bell. His body hurt from his slumped over sleeping position, but it was still a fair margin better than the night before. More important than that was the oddest perception that his mana pool had grown larger. Jacob would be hard pressed to explain what it felt like, this metaphysical feeling, but he equated it to just knowing that your muscles had grown stronger after you worked out. Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, Jacob ran out from the library, eager to find whoever was ringing the infernal bell. Based on the position of the moons, he had hours to go before his shift began.

Exiting the building, Jacob climbed up the ramparts amidst a veritable sea of soldiers. Half were in a state of undress, having slept in underwear – the only real way to find a sense of cool in the summer heat. The others were armored up but tired, the green leather armor easily distinguishable under the three silver spheres hovering in the sky. There was never a truly dark night, not in this world. Jacob appreciated it; the dark had always given him problems when he was younger.

Commander Ericksson stood on the crenulations of the walls, begging to be blown over by a random gust of wind. He addressed the assembled men and women. "Soldiers of the Fourth Infantry, a horde of goblins heads this way as we speak. I'm sure all of you remember the attack we suffered on our way here; that was nothing more than their vanguard. At least a hundred thousand are aiming at Writha Pass. They've got any exits towards Delreya covered; there will be no sneaking away from this fight. They'll be here in a few hours. We've got until dawn," said the commander, his steely expression faltering when he relayed the total count.

Jacob blanched. When they had faced a paltry few thousand, two hundred and fifty of their five-thousand strong detachment fell. Doubt overshadowed any joy he had felt for the past couple of days at his advancements. How could he advance if he were dead?

Finding Rod proved no real challenge. By associating with the servant mage, Rod had turned himself into a social pariah. "Rod, the sergeant's going to be looking for us soon. We need to go find our unit," Jacob told the boy. The only thing they could do to make the situation worse was to not be in battle positions by the time the monsters arrived. Abandoning the fortress was not an option; they would have to stand and fight.

Their squad was set up to defend the center section of the walls. Truly, the commander didn't care about them. If either flank fell, the people in the center would be the next to fall. If it were up to Jacob, he'd have stuck himself firmly in one of the flanks, but it was not to be. Rod patted his back, going to retrieve his weapon. The short sword the boy usually used was different than most of the warriors. Typically, a bastard sword and a shield accompanied the common soldier. Jacob's own heavy sword was a variation; he was unable to use a shield given the necessity to wield his blade with two hands. Rod opted for a different strategy, using a short sword and a shield. The shield was standard issue, but the sword was a family heirloom from his father's line.

It was a stupid idea unless Rod was superbly skilled, but Jacob didn't have the heart to tell the boy otherwise. Especially not now as they faced certain death. A faint hope remained that the twenty or so mages in the Fourth would be able to somehow thin the goblin numbers, but it was a miniscule hope. While they were constrained by the same contracts of military service the other members of the Fourth were, there was nobody to stop them if they decided to leave. Based on his prior experience with the spellcasters, they'd likely leave at the first chance they got. Jacob only hoped that they'd take many goblins with them on their way out.

The sky began to lighten, the suns obscured by the mountains. On cue, a sea of green became visible just a couple miles away. Jacob had never seen that many of anything, much less things that wanted to kill him. The soldiers near him tightened their grips on their weapons, their hands turning white as they squeezed. Rod was similarly affected. After all, hearing about a hundred thousand goblins was different than seeing them.

"I'm sorry, mom, Cassie," Rod whispered, just loudly enough for Jacob to catch it. He cast a worried gaze at his distraught friend.

"It'll be fine, Rod. Let's just take it a step at a time. If things turn for the worse, the commander seems like a pragmatic man. We'll probably just retreat towards Yoru," Jacob smiled, hoping his faux enthusiasm would have its desired effect. Commander Ericksson had his orders to defend the fortress to the last man; he had said as much on their first day at the dour stone complex. Unless he wanted to face Benjamin's executioner, he needed to do his job here. Ericksson wouldn't turn tail, not here. Rod didn't need to know that.

Stomping feet drowned out further conversation. Tens of thousands of tiny feet pounded the earth as the army approached. Jacob steeled himself, finally looking at the green men in detail. Their lower fangs stretched upwards and out of their mouth, eerily reminiscent of Earth goblins. Their ears were long, and their heads wrinkled. In essence, they embodied what a small, withered, green human would look like, if that human then went to get some elf cosplay and a bad dental job.

The thought made him chuckle, drawing stares from the worried men atop the ramparts. Crazy as he looked, the laughter helped him center himself and ready his mind for what would inevitably become a battle of will as much as strength.