ALL NOVEL Chapter 40 - Caravan
Chapter 40 - Caravan
<1 Hobgoblin scrapper has been added to your tribe.>
<2 Hobgoblin wranglers have been added to your tribe>
I walked the north wall, surveying the upgraded fortifications following the javeline attack. Sally already had two of the scaled-up slingers on heightened mounts provided by Buzz. What was more, I saw several rockets, as well, angled down toward the slope on bearings. The work crews were already up digging the trench at the base of the wall by the time I woke up, and they’d made a decent bite in the terrain. It would be a multi-day effort—made worse by the fact I was taking half of his construction goblins with me today. This was the day we’d be making the trek to the bog to set up the remote iron operation.
Even with the javeline at the gates, though they hadn’t attempted a second attack during the night, I couldn’t keep preparing for this. Steel was a critical resource—possibly the most important resource we lacked, now that I had sent goblins to collect spring-water for a future battery project on the regular sulfur run. I intended to make our first battery-powered motor as soon as I got back. I’d soon have everything I needed.
The carts down near the paddocks had been strapped up to cliffords, who struggled to move the loads of adobe bricks and lumber that would form the base of the artificial bluff. With nearly thirty goblins assembled at the base of the cliff, not including Chuck and his clifford-riding escorts, we set off west toward the bog in a massed whirlwind of cleavers, claws, and paving stones.
I rode with Chuck on the back of his clifford, holding tight to the saddle as the forest flew by. We passed the river where two of our flex-a-pult fishing boats were casting off, goblins furiously cranking on the outboard impellers. We ranged ahead of the trailblazers, but never lost their bearing, as you could hear the frantic assault on the forest from hundreds of meters away. We ranged most of the morning and into the afternoon, until we hit the first roadblock.
“There he is!” said Chuck, pointing one of his throwing spears. I spotted the stone-sloth we’d found on our first trip to the bog. He was a few kilometers outside the camp to the northwest, and we’d run through his riverside clearing so fast the first time that the beast barely had time to give chase. This time, it had ample warning that goblins were in the vicinity, and it wasn’t shy. Stone-sloths were incredibly territorial, in addition to being carnivorous goblin predators.
Chuck angled the wedge of 7 wranglers in, and we spread out as the stone-sloth charged. It was a big’un, with claws that would have been too large to use as prosthetics unless I really did want stilts. It was level 23, higher than even the patriarch of the family group we’d fought. How many goblins had it eaten to get that big?
I scanned the ground as we moved and spotted two large clay deposits near the river. Perfect. We were running low on the clay we’d extracted from the den to the northeast, and another source was paramount to meeting the orders of ceramic the ifrit were going to put in.
Chuck, of course, was focused on more pressing matters—like not dying. He yanked his clifford into a tight turn to avoid the grasping claws, not that his mount needed much encouragement. He tossed his spear at the same time, ceramic tip piercing the thick hide of the beast. A volley of clay poppers followed, popping against the thick, clay reinforced armor on its back. It roared and gave chase.
We held off on further provoking the creature. It chased us nearly a half a kilometer before it finally slowed, winded, and returned to its den to lick the few wounds we’d managed to inflict.
“That good, boss?” asked Chuck.
“Yep. Let’s tell the group: We’re camping here, tonight.”
It took until the eclipse finished for the main convoy to reach the rest of us. But when I looked back on their progress I saw a wonderful sight: a road lined with, admittedly uneven, patchy stones and crushed clay bricks. It was far from straight, as well, having picked up the goblin’s customary windy pathing that occasionally even looped back on itself. But it was a road that could be traversed much faster the next time.
We began to set up the night shelter—which probably belonged in a circus act. I tied the longest rope we’d made yet to the corner of a pair of stacked wooden lattices, and then put the rock into the sled of a slinger and fired it up through the trees. Two goblins dove out of the way as it came crashing back down, but it still bounced off one of their skulls as neither actually looked at where it was descending. After recovering, both goblins immediately jumped on the rope and began trying to climb it, which had the opposite effect of pulling the rope—and the corner of the lattice—up into the canopy. I repeated the trick on the three other corners, and soon the whole structure was hoisted up about 10 meters off the ground. All four corners were tied off, and then the second, smaller lattice dangled underneath.
Once that was done, a handful more goblins scrambled up a rope ladder and began installing some bearings at strategic locations. With that complete, ropes were fitted to the bearings and they began hoisting up food and provisions for the night, along with weapons, bedding, and slingers. The whole process took about an hour. All in all, we’d made good progress on the first day. The stone sloth den was about a third of the way to the bog, which meant that we stood a good chance of making it before nightfall the next night if we pressed hard. Most of the goblins were tired from the journey before they even ate their trail provisions, but once they stuffed their little, blue faces, they passed out harder than ever.
The hobgoblins stayed on the ground with the tied-up pack cliffords. They’d be the night guards in two specially built armored wagons that would alert the rest of us if something attacked. I was willing to risk losing out on the reproduction of the sleeping mounds in the lattice if it meant maintaining the integrity of the caravan. But all that happened was a few of the fat forest fowl tried to make nests in the upper lattice.
* * *
<2 Hobgoblin Scrappers have been added to your tribe.>
<1 Hobgoblin wrangler has been added to your tribe.>
I woke up to bird poop splashing on the top of the goblin mound. So a low roll for goblin reproduction, and that happened. But there were nests with eggs in them on the upper lattice already, so that was breakfast sorted. A totally added and unexpected element of the mobile temporary goblin bluff.
The goblins at the bottom of the pile had matted fur in a cross pattern, making them look a bit like they’d been grilled. But at least they avoided the night droppings. The cliffords and the hobbies slept below with just enough goblins to make an effective pile.
Things were quiet. Well, quiet for a goblin morning. And it took me a few minutes to figure out why. This was the first morning I’d woken up in Rava without a pow-wow with my lieutenants. Buzz and Sally were back at the bluff with Neil and Javier (our clothier). Armstrong would be heading back to Canaveral to relieve John. Chuck would come once he and the other wranglers awoke, but for now, it was me and my silent (relatively speaking) partners. And it was going to be a busy morning.
“Alright, gang. Unpack the RPP’s,” I said. “Let’s go get that clay.”
The goblins scrambled to the back of a wagon set a decent way away from the others. They opened the back of it and withdrew several long, wooden tubes. It took 2 goblins to carry each one, which meant we could bring 13 of them between the goblins we had currently awake. We also passed out special vests and the first of the ceramic skull masks.
We hauled them to the edge of the stone-sloth territory, and each pair planted the end in the ground while the other balanced a yoke on their shoulder while I surveyed the area and placed a few specialized slingers. I noticed more than a few wobbly knees and nervous, twitching ears as goblins cast looks toward the stone-sloth den beyond the trees. We weren’t bothering with the skinny sneakers this time. No stone-sloth hide infiltration. I needed to show these goblins that their strength in numbers could take out much larger threats, even without the hobgoblins helping. That their power lay not in the individual, but en masse.
Of course, that was little help to the goblins sent to poke the bear—or, sloth, as it were. They were wearing the first of Javier’s custom armor. It was more like modern ballistic armor than a suit of medieval armor, in that he’d made a vest with a front and back pocket, into which slid a single, slender ceramic tile. We were actually able to use the roofing tile mold to make them. The goblins already wore skull masks, which were a bit like helmets. From what I’d observed, things that hit goblins with enough force to crack the masks generally killed the goblin, as well. So it had been a simple matter to upgrade the material—though the awkward shape took up a lot of space in the kiln. They shrugged off losing limbs almost as fast as you could produce prosthetics for them. So, I’d focused on vital organ protection in the chest, instead, to keep the tribe numbers high. An armless, legless goblin could still sleep in a mound.
In effect, the whole getup made them look like pint-size video game characters with skull-faces and tactical armor. Something you’d see in a shooter game, maybe, more than something like a fantasy—except for the blue, furry, straw-thin arms and legs sticking out. Special forces Muppets. Sesame Team Six, maybe.
The slingers were a bit short range, so the bear-pokers had miniature versions of the larger wooden tubes clutched in their claws. Time to go to war.