Tenebroum - Chapter 87: A Night of Blood (1)

For a brief moment, there had been hope. Despite the fact that gates were in flames and dead lay in the streets, the sun was rising, and the goblins would not stay once they faced the light of day. Markez had not joined in the cheers when the bloodthirsty raiders had begun to retreat toward the comforting darkness of the thick pine forest. He’d merely offered a silent thanks to his father’s fathers and tossed another javelin into the back of a fleeing monster.

“Cheer up, old man,” we’re saved, Brannon said, sheathing his sword.

“Until we repair the breaches in the wall and the reinforcements from the Baron arrive, we aren’t saved,” Markez countered, feeling even older than his 50 years at that moment. “Without a miracle, tomorrow night’s going to be worse than today.”

Brannon just shrugged. “Maybe with that attitude. The light provides. Anyone can see that.”

“It provides a reprieve, nothing more,” the grey-haired man said tiredly.

He was a fisherman, not a fighter, and though he could use a spear better than most, he’d much rather brave one of the summer squalls that came of the Relict Sea than he would fight an enemy of flesh and blood. He had no choice in the matter, though. Tonight they were all defending their home.

It was not the men of the Stoney Shores that had started this conflict. The goblins had been growing bolder all year. Last week, they had almost sacked Gerdin’s Cross, and before that, they’d succeeded in burning Olovar to the ground. Now it was their turn, he supposed. Anyone could have seen that they were next if you looked on a map, but everyone had said that goblins didn’t come to the beach and that the sound of the breakers would keep them away.

Everyone had been wrong.

Markez could tell he was about to get another lecture from his young oarsman on the importance of the light god when the younger man’s face went slack. Markez turned to follow his gaze, worried that some new monster had emerged from the woods. Instead, he only saw the last few retreating goblins and the sunrise.

“What’s wrong?” the old fisherman asked, but as soon as he said the words, he could see it himself. The light was dying.

The sun had only just started to rise, and now it looked like it was starting to set. That was impossible, of course, but just because it was impossible didn’t mean that it wasn’t happening. It was like Siddrim had changed his mind and was going home for the day.

The cheers died away as more people realized what had just happened. As much as Markez didn’t care for the gods, he prayed that it was just a stray cloud, or a momentary shadow, but he couldn’t help but notice that the goblins had stopped running and were lingering in confusion now and the edge of the woods.

“Siddrim would never abandon us!” Brannon said with a voice full of fear as he rebutted a point that no one had made.

Markez wanted that to be true, but it didn’t seem likely. The sky was back to full dark now, and the light blue blush of twilight that had been making the stars disappear one by one was gone. There was no longer enough light to see what the goblins might or might not be up to, but he was certain they were out there waiting for whatever came next.

The dark stillness lasted another few minutes as people talked and worried. Some, like Brannon, were in denial that this could be happening, but others were on the edge of panic even before the terrible scratches of the goblins rang out in the night, indicating that the attack was going to start again.

Markez doubted very much that the faltering palisade and the handful of men left meaning it would survive another hour the way things had been going before, so when Brannon said, “I’ve got to save my kids!” Markez didn’t even try to stop him. Instead, he tossed one of the few remaining javelins at the closest shape he could see, then followed his neighbor down the ladder.

Brannon was a lousy fisherman, but he had a strong back and a good heart, and that was really all Markez had ever needed from the younger man. Between the two of them, they could manage a few good catches a week in Durgen’s Cove or off the point. Brains and brawn had made a good team until the goblins got out of control.

Now, they were running down the short street that connected the jetty to the main gate, and from the looks of things, they weren’t the only ones. While Markez waited for Brannon’s wife to unbar the door and then bundle up their youngest, he saw shadows flitting in between the drying racks.

For want of anything else to do, he picked up the jagged haft of a broken fishing spear he hadn’t yet gotten around to mending and held it to ward off the darkness while he watched other families stream by to make good their own escape.

The idea of leaving the strand behind hurt him as the group rushed toward the water, but not as much as the goblin’s claws did when one leapt at him. The thing only grazed his arm, and as Markez reacted without thinking, he moved the broken shaft into the thing’s path, and it impaled itself. That was enough to make it let go before it could claw out his eyes or rip out his throat with its yellow teeth, but it wasn’t enough to make the thing stop screeching in agony as it writhed in agony on the ground.

“You see that, Brannon?” Markez asked, turning to face the other man. “The bastard tried to get me, but…”

It had taken three of them to bring the bigger man down, but even with his sword in his hand, he was still lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Brannon’s wife Karina looked on in mute horror even as she stood between the monsters and her three children, but Markez wasn’t about to give her any time to greave.

“Run!” he told her as he pulled out his fishing knife. “To my boat. The last one on the left! Hurry!”

Despite being ancient and barely a match for the two goblins that still seemed to be in fighting shape, Markez charged the closest one, making it shrink back in fear. That wasn’t because he thought he could take it with this flimsy little scaling knife, though.

It was because it wanted Brannon’s longsword. It was much too heavy for Markez. It would have been too heavy for him twenty years ago, but that didn’t stop him from casting aside his knife, picking up the weapon, and swinging it in great scything motions as hard as he could while he roared at the creatures in anger.

This at least got them to retreat, and he quickly tossed aside the weapon and ran down the pier to join the man’s family without even stopping to see if Brannon was still alive. There wasn’t time for that. With that much blood, there was nothing anyone but a holy man could do to save him, and today wasn’t shaping up to be a good day for the gods.

The best he could do was apologize to the corpse as he ran away from it. “I’ll make sure your sons remember you,” he swore, though not loudly enough to draw attention from the goblins that were obviously swarming the village.

Screams rang out in the night, though the little bastards seemed to have at least some aversion to the water, and none followed him out onto the pier. There were already two boats leaving, and Markez could see their shapes fading into the distance, but he didn’t call or shout to them. He’d be joining them soon enough with any luck.

Along the way, he saw Franko’s two sons. That their father wasn’t with him was a bad sign, and he scooped them up. “Come with me, kids – there ain’t no way you two can handle that boat without your dad.”

The sadness they looked at him with said it all, and together, they made their way down to his little skiff. Even though they regularly took it out with two, it was built for four, but eight was asking a lot out of the old girl. Still, it wasn’t like he could just leave any of these kids behind to get gobbled up, so he hopped onto the boat and immediately started pulling everyone down to their places, mindful of the balance. First was Karina. He set her and her baby back by the rudder to keep things steady.

Little Sarazha started to wail then, and he reflexively looked down at the pier for goblins that would be drawn to the babe like a normal man might respond to the dinner bell, but there was only darkness there, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Next, he pulled down her kids on board and sat them down on the appropriate benches one at a time and, forcing them back into their spot when they tried to move. With this many people on board, it wouldn’t take much to capsize into the cold water, and he was sure less than half of the people on board knew how to swim.

While he explained the plan, he undid the mooring line. He would have just cut it because there was no way they were coming back, but he’d lost his knife. So, Markez hurried as fast as he could while he tried to remain calm, and then he pushed off from the low pier with his hands and settled down onto his bench just as he started to hear the sound of claws on the wood of the pier.

“Come on, kids,” he said, unlimbering his own oar. “Get those oars in the water and work together. We need to—”

“I want my daddy…” one of the girls whined pitiously, breaking Markez’s heart.

“He’s buying us time right now, but don’t you worry, you’ll see him again later…” Markez mumbled as he tried to keep everyone where they belonged on his overburdened skiff.

It wasn’t a lie. Not really. Her daddy, along with almost everyone else in their little hamlet, would certainly be dead within a few hours, but she’d meet him again one day, in the life hereafter. Not that he could explain such things to someone so young. Those hard truths could wait until later. For now, he had to get enough speed to pull free of the breakwater, or they’d all be joining their ancestors a lot sooner rather than later.

His words quieted the children, though that was likely because he was the only man aboard. He’d put Franko’s boys across from him with the hope that their dads had at least taught them the basics, but there was no way he could pull at full strength, which meant that as soon as they got to sea, they’d be dependant on his small sail until they reached Tagel by the sea.

Markez did the math in his head and decided that it would be at least two days. He struggled to remember if he even had enough water for so many mouths. He wasn’t sure, but there was no time to fix that. All they could do was clumsily stroke out into the calm morning waters as the tide came in and put as much distance between themselves and the burning houses as they could.

He would have cried then if not for the children as they went out into the darkness. No, that wasn’t an option, he told himself as he watched one of the other boats tied to the pier not a hundred feet away from him catch fire as shadows moved along the place they’d just pulled away from. The children would need him to be strong.