right.”
Murray emerged from the thicket, holding a
sprig of leaves at arm’s length.
“Leaves of three…” Murray was muttering.
“Leaves of three…gods! Everything has three leaves! How do
you tell? ”
“If you touch me with that, corporal, I’ll
have you court-martialed.”
“Yes, Sarge.”
They rounded up the now-itchy troop and
staggered on.
“How far do you think we’ve come,
Murray?”
“Maybe a mile, Sarge. Probably not much more
than that. We lost some time when Gloober stepped on the
wasp-nest.”
A tree had apparently offended Thumper in
some fashion. He attacked it with his maces, and then with his
teeth.
“Algol, go rescue that tree. Gloober, if
you’ve got poison ivy on that finger, you’re going to regret
sticking it in there. Weasel—whoa!”
Weasel turned scarlet and mumbled
something.
“Is that a pheasant?”
“I m-made a s-s-sling, S-sarge.” She held out
a strip that, in a former life, had been a section of rancid
goathide loincloth. Slung over her shoulder was a very large, very
dead bird, nearly as big as the little goblin’s torso and sporting
a gorgeous rainbow of feathers. “I th-thought—”
“Weasel, remind me to put in for a medal for
you when we get home. Bird tonight! Can you catch another one?”
The little goblin mumbled and shrugged and
stared at her toes.
“Do your best. Make someone else carry the
bird.”
“Sarge, there’s a break in the trees up
ahead.” Murray was already digging in his backpack. “Permission to
go scout the land.”
“Permission granted. What do you call that
contraption, anyway?”
“What, the looky-tube-thing?”
“Yeah.”
“The looky-tube-thing.”
“Ask a stupid question…Yeah, go get the lay
of the land. Everybody, take five. Gloober, I warned you about that
finger!”
Murray returned in about ten minutes,
frowning. Algol supervised the application of mud to scrapes,
stings, and welts. Nessilka was mentally composing a report to the
Goblin High Command detailing the need for wilderness survival
training for the troops.
Heading One—Poison Oak, identification
of…
“What’s the good word, Murray?”
Murray chewed on his lower lip. “Not much of
a good word. We’re on the west edge of a pretty substantial forest.
It runs a fair way, and it curves around to the north, so if we
follow the edge, we’ll get closer to Goblinhome, but not very
fast.”
“What about striking out from the
forest?”
“Don’t recommend it, Sarge. It’s all farmland
out there between us and home—absolutely flat for a long way,
practically right up to the foothills. At least thirty miles of
farm, twenty more of hills. You or I could make it in a coupla
days, but with this crew—” He spread his hands in an eloquent
gesture that expressed, rather better than words, the general
competence of the Whinin’ Niners at anything resembling stealth.
“Better part of a week, in the open, with cornfields and hedgerows
for cover. You know I’ll follow you anywhere, Sarge, but I think
it’s suicide.”
Heading Two—Moving stealthily, practice
thereof…
“And if we follow the forest?”
“Probably closer to fifty or sixty miles,
although it’s hard to tell. Could be more. We’ll still have an open
bit at the end—can’t tell if the woods go up to the foothills, but
I don’t think they do—but we’d be under cover most of the way.”
Nessilka nodded. She had a brief vision of
herding the Nineteenth across open fields by night, hiding in
drainage ditches during the day, barking dogs, men with crossbows,
and shuddered. “I’m thinking we’ll go with your plan.”
“One more thing. There’s a town—probably ten
miles north, real close to the woods. We can probably go deeper in
and go around it, and risk getting lost, but we might want to try
raiding it.”
“Raiding? Corporal, there are nine of
us.” Nine goblins could, on a good day, probably disrupt a child’s
tea party or decimate a chicken coop, but
Murray emerged from the thicket, holding a
sprig of leaves at arm’s length.
“Leaves of three…” Murray was muttering.
“Leaves of three…gods! Everything has three leaves! How do
you tell? ”
“If you touch me with that, corporal, I’ll
have you court-martialed.”
“Yes, Sarge.”
They rounded up the now-itchy troop and
staggered on.
“How far do you think we’ve come,
Murray?”
“Maybe a mile, Sarge. Probably not much more
than that. We lost some time when Gloober stepped on the
wasp-nest.”
A tree had apparently offended Thumper in
some fashion. He attacked it with his maces, and then with his
teeth.
“Algol, go rescue that tree. Gloober, if
you’ve got poison ivy on that finger, you’re going to regret
sticking it in there. Weasel—whoa!”
Weasel turned scarlet and mumbled
something.
“Is that a pheasant?”
“I m-made a s-s-sling, S-sarge.” She held out
a strip that, in a former life, had been a section of rancid
goathide loincloth. Slung over her shoulder was a very large, very
dead bird, nearly as big as the little goblin’s torso and sporting
a gorgeous rainbow of feathers. “I th-thought—”
“Weasel, remind me to put in for a medal for
you when we get home. Bird tonight! Can you catch another one?”
The little goblin mumbled and shrugged and
stared at her toes.
“Do your best. Make someone else carry the
bird.”
“Sarge, there’s a break in the trees up
ahead.” Murray was already digging in his backpack. “Permission to
go scout the land.”
“Permission granted. What do you call that
contraption, anyway?”
“What, the looky-tube-thing?”
“Yeah.”
“The looky-tube-thing.”
“Ask a stupid question…Yeah, go get the lay
of the land. Everybody, take five. Gloober, I warned you about that
finger!”
Murray returned in about ten minutes,
frowning. Algol supervised the application of mud to scrapes,
stings, and welts. Nessilka was mentally composing a report to the
Goblin High Command detailing the need for wilderness survival
training for the troops.
Heading One—Poison Oak, identification
of…
“What’s the good word, Murray?”
Murray chewed on his lower lip. “Not much of
a good word. We’re on the west edge of a pretty substantial forest.
It runs a fair way, and it curves around to the north, so if we
follow the edge, we’ll get closer to Goblinhome, but not very
fast.”
“What about striking out from the
forest?”
“Don’t recommend it, Sarge. It’s all farmland
out there between us and home—absolutely flat for a long way,
practically right up to the foothills. At least thirty miles of
farm, twenty more of hills. You or I could make it in a coupla
days, but with this crew—” He spread his hands in an eloquent
gesture that expressed, rather better than words, the general
competence of the Whinin’ Niners at anything resembling stealth.
“Better part of a week, in the open, with cornfields and hedgerows
for cover. You know I’ll follow you anywhere, Sarge, but I think
it’s suicide.”
Heading Two—Moving stealthily, practice
thereof…
“And if we follow the forest?”
“Probably closer to fifty or sixty miles,
although it’s hard to tell. Could be more. We’ll still have an open
bit at the end—can’t tell if the woods go up to the foothills, but
I don’t think they do—but we’d be under cover most of the way.”
Nessilka nodded. She had a brief vision of
herding the Nineteenth across open fields by night, hiding in
drainage ditches during the day, barking dogs, men with crossbows,
and shuddered. “I’m thinking we’ll go with your plan.”
“One more thing. There’s a town—probably ten
miles north, real close to the woods. We can probably go deeper in
and go around it, and risk getting lost, but we might want to try
raiding it.”
“Raiding? Corporal, there are nine of
us.” Nine goblins could, on a good day, probably disrupt a child’s
tea party or decimate a chicken coop, but
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