Vol 6, Chapter 2

"Two-thirds of our men are wounded, many of them more than once. The severe cases… there are a lot. Gangrene. Fever. Some won't live until morning."

I let my gaze slide across the rows of wounded lying right on the floor of a peasant's house. The hearth blazed hot, yet green mold still grew in the corners of the wooden walls. The suffocating humidity and heat made it a paradise for it. The boiling gray bandages in the hearth did nothing to dry the air either.

"Why are our losses so high against mere goblins?" I demanded of the commander.

"We weren't prepared for them. Our weapons weren't suited to fighting them, and our armor neither. It protects the torso, yes, but leaves the legs exposed and that's exactly where goblins like to strike. It may not seem fatal, but most of the dead bled out. As for those who survived—their wounds festered…"

"Amputations will be necessary," I cut him off.

"We have no healers… No one to do it. Besides, a soldier without legs is useless."

"A dead man is even more useless. Legs can be restored. Coming back from the grave—hardly. I'll take care of it. Prepare hot iron for cauterizing the wounds and alcohols for cleaning. Don't worry, I'll personally ensure the healer treats them first."

"Yes, sir. But many already have fever. It's too late to amputate—they won't survive," Kurt reminded me.

He was right, to a point. Without medicine, people died of far lesser wounds. And the lack of medicine—that was partly my fault.

Until now, every battle had been fought with healers present. Wounds were quickly disinfected, closed with magic, and the absence of antibiotics hadn't been critical.

Until now.

And the fact that I had not been ready for it—that was my mistake. Of course, it hadn't seemed critical to me, and there had been a mountain of more important matters. To do it properly would have required a microscope, Petri dishes, an entire collegium of alchemists sorting mold after mold in search of the most effective strain.

Plenty of mold species produced antibiotics, but concentrations varied wildly, tenfold between strains, and toxicity differed as well. Isolating pure penicillin was a nightmare. No wonder I kept putting the matter off... until it was almost too late.

What was curious was that, despite the country's fairly advanced alchemy, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall any alchemical equivalent of antibiotics. In general, only a small portion of alchemy was suitable for ordinary people—they simply couldn't withstand the toxic side effects of the potions. What's more, the problem of commoners' fevers was something that none of the more or less qualified alchemists cared about in the slightest!!

Their main clients, warriors and mages, starting at the Apprentice rank—forgot all about infections. Magic-strengthened bodies fought them off with ease, without external help. A sick mage was practically a fantasy. If a mage caught a fever, it meant far deeper issues with his Source, and those had to be treated instead.

As a result, no one cared. Maybe village herbalists had tried to make something like what I needed now, but where would I find them?

I looked again at the mold-covered corners of the house. They said the most useful molds grew on citrus fruits. Supposedly, oranges could even be found in the capital… But here in the north, where would I get them?

What were the chances this mold would be helpful rather than toxic?

Any chance was better than none, wasn't it?

"Gather the mold and give it to the most hopeless cases. And we need painkillers. Anything."

"Uh… Yes, sir." Kurt was surprised, but didn't argue.

He nodded, and a soldier began scraping mold off with a bayonet knife.

Wood was thrown into the hearth. Iron slowly heated red on the coals.

"You said the weapons aren't suited. What do you need?" I asked Kurt, waiting for them to bring everything.

"Your Lordship, I didn't mean your weapons are bad. But they're too long and unwieldy in the scrums goblins love. We need something shorter. A hatchet, a short sword, a cleaver." Kurt showed me a crude cleaver hanging at his belt without a sheath.

I nodded. The assumption had been that the enemy wouldn't reach the line, and those few who did would be skewered on bayonets. But the rain…

What stung most was that the solution to this problem had existed as well. And far closer than antibiotics. The main component (nitric acid) was already available in quantity. All that remained was to find mercury in sufficient supply and the proper ratio, and mass production of reliable primers would be within reach. But alas, I had been pulled into the Commonwealth right before that, and so the nitric acid went into making black gunpowder instead. Which was still not bad—by my calculations, that should already have solved all our powder problems.

"Also, um…" he hesitated.

"Speak."

"We weren't loading the muskets with what was intended. But everything worked fine, nothing blew up!"

"Show me," I ordered, intrigued.

Kurt untied a pouch and poured a handful of pellets into his palm. They varied in size, some misshapen, a few with tails.

"Whose idea?" I asked sternly.

"Not mine, but I took responsibility. Bubble! Get in here!"

The door opened, and a soldier walked in, bandaged in at least four places.

"So it was your idea?" I asked, pointing at the shot.

"Y-y-yes."

"The shot needs to be calibrated so it's all the same size. The rest goes back for remelting. A sieve will do for calibration—as long as the mesh is even and the holes are the right size."

"Y-yes, sir!"

"Anyway, well done. Expect a medal and a reward." I had intended to shake his hand, but found none left uninjured.

"Ahem. Very well. Are there any horses with the unit?"

"Not one, my lord."

"A shame. I'll have to get to the city on foot."

"Shall I arrange an escort?" Kurt asked.

"No. There are still plenty of goblins around, and you'll need every soldier to guard the wounded. I'll make it on my own."

"Sir. Everything is ready," a soldier reported.

"Good."

I drew my sword and disinfected it in the fire. If I sharpened it well enough, could I cut bone cleanly, without splinters? Or would I have to turn it into a saw?

I'd have to find out in practice.

*******************************************

Every village I passed along the road was deserted.

Not a single body. Gates and doors thrown wide open.

Fire pits right in the middle of the streets, littered with bones of every size and thickness. Usually goblins took women with them during raids—but not when an entire horde gathered.

A horde wasn't thinking of breeding. It wanted to eat. Like locusts, they swept across the county, leaving nothing behind. But the moment an army appeared, the goblins scattered. Melted into the fields and forests nearby… Unless they thought the horde was strong enough to throw the enemy army into its pot.

I walked the road, pondering the problem. There was a reason the First Duke struck preemptively every year, culling the goblins. If they poured out of the forest, driving them back and clearing the land again would be anything but simple.

The sound of hooves pulled me from my thoughts.

A rider was galloping toward me, armor clattering. A knight on a barded horse… Hm. A Lesser Adept. His visor open, bearing the banners of the Third Duchy. Likely one of Erin's knights, though I couldn't recall meeting him before.

What the hell was he doing here? Wasn't the Countess supposed to have returned to her lands with her people?

"Stand, peasant! Who are you? Where are you from?" the knight shouted, yanking the reins.

I measured his horse with a glance. Not bad.

"What are Klaus's knights doing here? Didn't Erin take you back with her?"

"How dare you speak my lady's name without respect? Apologize!" The knight drew his sword and leveled it at me.

Instead of answering, I threw my cloak open so he could see my family crest.

"Ha, a servant of House Co… khhh…" he choked, slowly rising in the saddle as he obeyed my gesture.

His sword slipped from his hands. Fingers in steel gauntlets clawed desperately at the gorget tightening around his throat.

"Listen carefully. I've just hacked off more than a dozen legs from my own men, and my mood can be summed up in one word: foul. Be so kind as to lend me your horse."

"Kh-hh!" he tried to reply.

"Nod if you understand."

He nodded quickly.

"Excellent."

I lowered my hand, and the knight collapsed into his saddle. Heavy man. I could probably have flung him aside, but not far. In the back of my mind, Astaroth chuckled faintly, but said nothing.

The knight dismounted, rubbing his throat.

"I'll tell my lady of this. You're not our liege—we owe you no obedience!"

"That's why I didn't command, I asked. Do you want to refuse my request?"

He shook his head, averting his gaze.

"Good." I vaulted into the saddle and took up the reins. "There's a village about six hours' walk from here, at the edge of the forest. People remain there. Go there if you like, or wait here. I'll send men once I reach the city."

The knight glared like a wolf and retrieved his sword. No matter. Scattered goblins wouldn't trouble him. He'd live.

I spurred the horse into a gallop.

Eagle's Cliff awaited me.

And hordes of refugees.

All our defensive lines were crammed with peasants. Trenches turned into dugouts with straw roofs thrown over them. Thin smoke rose from dugouts where food was being cooked. Only the concrete pillboxes with cannons had no civilians—just soldiers, watching closely to ensure not a spark touched the powder. In the fields, camps sprawled. Tents for the wealthy, branch-and-straw huts for most.

It wasn't right. Not at all. If goblins reached this far, how would we defend? With these thoughts I passed the posts and rode into the city, itself overflowing with refugees.

I wasn't even surprised to find Erin at the Magistrate, standing over a map spread across the table together with, now Sir, Til. What did surprise me was the presence of Aluin, who, formally speaking, was still my prisoner.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Judging by your long faces, things aren't looking too good? Sir Til, report, if you'd be so kind."

Brushing aside any questions about why I had arrived a week earlier than planned, I began to focus on the matter at hand.

And essentially, the problems turned out to be the same ones Kurt had, only on a far larger scale.

Goblins. Swarms of goblins. And gear that was not entirely suitable.

"The grapeshot guns proved themselves well, much better than muskets. But there were far too few of them. Same with the swords, I'm afraid… We shouldn't have sent the nobles' weapons off for reworking. We placed orders with every blacksmith, but it wasn't enough. That's why I asked master von Selbori to help. He set up production of short swords—on a scale that astonished me! And with quality that astonished me just as much, though in the worst sense. But alas, when I sent him one of the guards' grapeshot guns as a sample, he refused to make anything. Said he wasn't interested in copying."

"The inventor's soul couldn't take it. Can you show me one of the swords?"

"Of course, the servants will bring one shortly. We've already armed most of the men on the front line with them, and…"

"And it's time to move on to why I had to delay my return. That is far more important than bits of iron," Erin cut in, gesturing toward the map.

On the large table lay a map of the county. Wooden tokens with numbers marked the regiments, while piles of pebbles stood for the enemy. I supposed I could have made proper figurines, but Erin was partly right—the details didn't matter. As long as the troops had at least some swords, things were already not so bad.

What was bad was that the wooden tokens were literally surrounded by an avalanche of stones. Several villages, including the one where Kurt was defending, had long since been marked as lost. The goblin avalanche had swept through already devastated lands, finishing off what Laslo's knights had failed to destroy. According to the map, the goblin army was only about five kilometers from the city.

Only… I hadn't seen them on my way in.

"It's a very rough representation," Erin snorted, folding her arms. "There isn't really an army sitting in one place. The goblin forces are scattered across the land from Ognevka and Trofyanki all the way to the Goblin Forest. In effect, all this is lost. We don't even know if those sent to defend the villages in that zone are still alive. The new defensive line runs along the river, covering the city, but it's many kilometers long. If the goblins run into a detachment, they just go around. They spread across the land like a plague. I've called for reinforcements, and some have arrived, but… Viscount, cleansing an area this vast is impossible without the army of one of the Dukes. All I can do is help your house hold out as long as possible. That will strengthen your position in the negotiations. Count Condor has been informed; he is already trying to arrange a purge with the Second Duchy. But that will take months, armies don't gather quickly."

"It's that serious?" I whistled.

"I'm afraid so. Don't misunderstand me, the goblins won't take the city. They won't even try. But they'll slaughter every village without troops, and besiege those with them. Either way, the peasants won't be able to work the fields. The region faces famine if the goblins aren't dealt with swiftly. In fact, famine is inevitable. Your hardanka could explain in greater detail, but she has gone to the capital to arrange food supplies. For my part, I'll send as much as I can, without harming my own lands."

"I can't leave these lands even for a month without disaster striking," I grumbled, studying the map closely.

Alas, things looked grim. The fate of dozens of villages was unknown. Were they holding out to the last like Kurt's detachment, or had they already been wiped out like those I had passed? No one knew.

Only a solid, impenetrable defensive line could stop the goblins from seeping through. Pushing it forward meter by meter would gradually clear the lands. But there weren't enough men. Or rather, there were enough people, there were refugees in droves. But weapons for them? To arm them with swords and fight the goblins with cannon fodder against cannon fodder?

Just then a servant arrived, bringing one of the swords made in Reikland. A roughly sharpened cleaver stamped on a press. It didn't even have a guard, and the rectangular grip cut into the palm despite its leather wrapping. Any self-respecting smith would have spat at such a weapon.

Still, better than nothing.

But no more than that.

"How many are produced daily?"

"Almost a thousand a day. The caravans flow constantly."

"Well, that's something," I handed the cleaver back to the servant. "But tell Pit this: 'Condor doubts it's possible to maintain this level of output while improving quality.' Hopefully that will provoke him enough to get serious about it."

"If they're not too bad, I might take a few. But swords alone won't solve the problem. Goblins won't fight fair—once they sense the odds turning against them, they'll scatter. We need professional trackers, people who can sweep the forests, the fields, the burrows. Otherwise, even a small group will be enough to cause serious trouble for the peasants."

"I agree with the Countess. The problem isn't that we can't defeat the goblins, it's that they won't fight us," Til added.

I turned to Aluin, who had been silent.

"And what do you say, Baron?"

He shrugged his massive shoulders.

"I see no problem. Just arm the peasants and send them back to the fields. Those who survive will learn to fight goblins themselves. People live right next to the Goblin Forest and manage, don't they?"

I sat back in the chair, lost in thought. Arming the peasants—yes, but that would only help against small bands. With so many goblins now, they could devour as many armed peasants as you threw at them and still want seconds.

Til and Erin exchanged glances.

"And there's one more piece of news. Unpleasant," the Countess began after a short pause. "Someone is arming the goblins."

Aluin shook his head.

"I still don't believe it was deliberate. Perhaps they robbed a weapons caravan…"

"Of course. Because caravans travel without guards!" Til snorted.

"The First Duke held the goblin threat in check for decades. He may have his flaws, but he would never stoop to something like that! I'd swear to it."

"It doesn't matter how," Erin cut off the argument before it could build. "The fact is, the goblins are armed. And that means fighting them will be harder. Thankfully, most of the weapons seem to end up in the hands of the chiefs' guards…"

The door creaked, and arms wrapped around me from behind.

"They just told me you'd returned!"

I slid the chair back a little and pulled the girl onto my lap. She resisted.

"You're in council, aren't you? I'll be in the way."

"Sit, sit," I objected, pulling her closer.

Arranging her tail comfortably, she sat down and shyly covered her face with her hand in front of the others. I ran my hand over her ears. Relaxing.

"You smell of blood," Mira murmured, sniffing.

"Minor trouble on the way, don't worry," I answered absently.

Erin averted her eyes, while Aluin, by contrast, studied the cat ears with interest. Til alone kept his eyes fixed on the map, deep in thought.

I had one idea for how to gather the goblins together. The shaman had given me a hint, though not on purpose. But one problem remained: whatever trap I might arrange, the goblins would scatter the moment they realized they were being slaughtered.

Which meant…

"They must die instantly," I said, drawing bewildered looks from those around me.

"The goblins," I explained.

Erin gave a polite smile. "That would be nice, but I doubt they'll agree to grant your wish, Viscount."

"We'll make them."

"There are at least ten thousand of them. Not even an Archmage could kill so many in a single instant!"

Instead of answering, I turned to Til.

"How much powder do we have?"

"I don't know exactly, Tamilla was in charge of that. I can ask her deputy."

"Roughly? A few hundred barrels at least?"

"Of course. We've no shortage of powder."

"Good… good," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "Prepare it. We'll need every last bit."