“They is on the move,” Blue said, pointing out at the jungle. “They is attacking all our warrens at once, filling them with smoke and sending down hyenas. They is hunting us to extinction.”
“Even the slaves?” Fletcher asked, horrified.
“They is killing them. Some escape,” Blue fluted, twisting his webbed fingers as he spoke. “Not many.”
“Why?” Fletcher asked, hardly able to believe the madness of it all. “Orcs have been keeping gremlins as slaves for thousands of years.”
“Because Khan is saying that they will have human slaves soon. No more need for gremlins.”
Blue was speaking more quickly now, spurred on by the approach of the band of refugees behind him.
“There is an invasion happening now,” Blue said, his voice low and urgent. “Thousands and thousands of orcs is attacking the front lines. All of their tribes is fighting together. It is the battle to end all battles.”
He pointed east, past the mountains, where the southern border of Hominum lay. Was that the distant booming of cannons he heard? Or just the echo of the wind?
“Heaven help them,” Fletcher murmured. “I have to warn—”
“It is being too late,” Blue interrupted, shaking his head sadly. “It has already begun.”
Fletcher chewed his lip, considering the news. He could be at the battle within the hour if he flew.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, he looked at Ignatius, who had dragged himself a short way from the battlefield and curled up in a patch of thick grass. The Drake was half-asleep, but the horror of their near deaths was still simmering in the demon’s mind. Could he fly Ignatius into danger once again, so soon after they had barely escaped with their lives?
“So the cassowary riders—they were hunting you down?” Fletcher asked, as the first, timid refugees slunk past him, parting like a branching river around the small band of Foxes.
“No,” Blue said, looking over his shoulder once again. For the first time, Fletcher realized he was looking not at the other gremlins but at the jungle behind them.
“The orcs is attacking in two armies. Orcs to the east. Goblins to the west … here.” Blue opened his arms, then crooked them toward each other. “It is … how you say? Pincer movement.”
“So that was it, right?” Fletcher asked, feeling a cold lump of apprehension hit the pit of his stomach. “We just killed them.”
Blue shook his head, his ears flattening once again.
“That was the vanguard, the scouts. There is more coming on foot. Maybe an hour behind,” Blue explained.
“How many?” Fletcher asked, looking back at his exhausted, bloodstained men.
Blue said nothing, instead mounting his fossa again and stroking the silky fur of its head.
“I asked how many?” Fletcher snapped again, the apprehension morphing into abject fear. Blue closed his eyes, and answered with one, brutal word.
“Thousands.”
CHAPTER
51
FLETCHER CONVENED AN URGENT WAR council with his officers and sergeants, away from the soldiers. Already the mass exodus of refugees had made their way through the Cleft, heading to the uncertain safety of Hominum’s countryside. Fletcher had sent his injured men with them, along with a message to Berdon, warning him of the approaching army and instructing him to evacuate to Corcillum.
“We cannot hold the pass alone,” Sir Caulder said, the first to speak after Fletcher told them the dire news.
“We aren’t alone,” Fletcher said. “Blue has promised us forty-two gremlin warriors to help us.”
“So few?” Genevieve asked.
“I’m told most of the gremlin warriors died in the escape,” Fletcher answered. “They had to fight a running battle all the way here, using most of their darts, I might add. We’re lucky he’s sparing them at all. That’s most of the adult males left in their entire species.”
“Fat lot of good they’ll be to us,” Rotherham grumbled. “They took the goblins by surprise and in the rear, on open ground. They’d not survive the battle we’re about to fight.”
“We’ll work out how to use them later,” Fletcher said. “But what’s important is that we don’t need to win, we just need to hold the goblins off until help arrives.”
“What help?” Rory asked. “You think the townsfolk would help? They don’t even know how to load a musket.”
His eyes were wide with fear, with Malachi flitting nervously around his head.
“No,” Fletcher said. “They’re colonists, not soldiers. I wouldn’t ask that of them.”
“So who then?” Genevieve asked.
Fletcher took a deep breath.
“Didric,” he said.
“You what?” Rory said. “Are you bleeding mad?”
“There’s sixty trained soldiers no more than a few hours’ march away,” Fletcher replied. “If it means holding Raleighshire, I’ll take them.”
“And what if they’re not enough?” Rory replied angrily. “Your gremlin mate said thousands. What’s that? Two thousand? Ten thousand? There’s a big difference!”
“It’s not like he stopped to count,” Fletcher snapped. “The fact is, if we don’t hold the pass, the goblins will march right through Raleighshire and attack the front lines from behind before the night is out. We can’t let that happen.”
“Less than a hundred soldiers, who hate one another, I might add, and a few mangy gremlins, against all the goblins in existence. Makes you wonder how many had hatched before you destroyed the rest,” Sir Caulder grumbled to himself.
“We’re not running,” Fletcher said. “But you’re right. Even with Didric’s men it might not be enough. We’ll send word to the king and the men on the western front. Mounted reinforcements could arrive in half a day, with a bit of luck.”
He turned to Rory and Genevieve.
“I need you both to run back to the wagon and write letters on my behalf, explaining the threat to Hominum. Genevieve, write to Didric imploring him to return. Rory, I need messages for King Harold, Arcturus, Othello, Lovett, anyone who might be out there on the front lines. Then send every one of your Mites out with the notes strapped to their backs.”
“We’re out of mana,” Rory said. “Without our demons we’ll be…”
“Just like any other of these soldiers, that’s right,” Fletcher said, looking them each in the eye. “But I’ll need your leadership, your courage. You’re more than battlemages. You’re officers, and damned fine ones at that.”
They nodded grimly.
“Now go, there’s not much time,” Fletcher ordered, sending them scurrying away.
Fletcher’s mind raced, trying to work out how to turn the battle to his advantage. He scanned the landscape ahead of him, his eyes flicking back and forth. The first inklings began to emerge. Half-conceived, with no way of knowing if they would work. But he had to try.
He turned and walked over to his soldiers, his hands clasped behind his back.
“All right, lads,” Fletcher announced, so suddenly that he saw Kobe jump in surprise. “Listen up. We’ve another fight ahead of us.”