The Last Satyr: The Company is Formed Part 1

After a while, they could all smell it. Although still faint, it was about as welcome as a three-day old fish. The foul stink grew stronger with every step they took further ahead. It was unpleasant for a reason. It was a smell of warning, creeping through the air like a sinister whisper, urging them to turn back from the impending danger that lay ahead. The boy wanted to turn back as it filled the air, but Graybeard was leading them onwards and there was that thing following them from behind to always keep him following the others.

The tunnel opened into another circular cavern and here they nearly tripped over the source of the rancid odor. Four dead dwarves lay on the floor, long-dead but still decomposing.

“These four managed to make it as far as we have,” said Graybeard. “What happened to them?”

Amien inspected the scene by holding up his torch.

“They died in battle,” he said. “They had their backs to one another. They were surrounded and outnumbered.”

“They have dagger, but no arrow, wounds,” observed Ronthiel. “That means there were a great number of attackers using blades.”

“Their wounds were low,” noted Amien, kneeling down for closer examination. “And they were not robbed.”

“Small blades and low wounds mean their attackers were small,” mused Graybeard and then concluded. “Not robbed, no arrows, and many of them. That could only be goblins.”

Goblins are small orcs that inhabit mines in large numbers. They had primitive brains only, the kind that are selfish and greedy.

“They came from all directions,” Amien said. “They must have come from out of these surrounding tunnels.” His eyes moved alertly over them all.

“Draw your weapons!” commanded Belam. “Everyone form a circle. Get back-to-back!”

Graybeard saw the satyr reach for his bow.

“Not your bow,” he warned. “You won’t find your arrows again in here or, if you do, you’ll find them broken. Use the knife I gave you. Cut first with the front of the blade with a forward thrust across the inside of the goblin’s knife hand and then slash back the other way across his throat. That will severe off his weapon hand before you behead him by the neck and both in short order—one or the other. If you must thrust, aim for the heart. If you can only hit your opponent’s stomach, use your spear in your other hand. To all, be brave! Goblins are but small, mad orcs tortured by drow into their service. They are not very dangerous by themselves having only daggers as weapons but can be given sufficient numbers.”

“We stand together!” said Belam fearlessly. “One for all and all for one! Feel no fear! It is for the enemy to feel fear, not us! And feel it they shall!”

"Aye!" Agreed Marroh with eyes of determination as he readied his axe. "They have made dwarves with good hearts their prey, so we'll make them ours - evens things up a bit."

No sooner than he spoke, but a horde came rushing out at them then from every tunnel, the cavern filling with wildly insane goblins. They had no armor—no shields or helmets—and had only handpicks and daggers as weapons. But their numbers filled the chamber to overflowing and their rush was just as fierce as it was suicidal.

Amien and Belam killed four with every swing of their swords and Ronthiel took one down quite expertly with his own knife, he too saving his arrows. Young Joe and Marroh held their own, taking down two each with every blow. The boy fought with Graybeard on his left and Amien on his right. The boy killed his first with his spear, only to have it become stuck on it, leaving him only his knife to deal with the remainder of the insane, murderous horde. He killed a few as Graybeard instructed, but not many. Still, he sliced off their extended weapon hands and cut off enough necks to finally manage to free and recover his spear. In so doing, he received a dozen dagger strikes in exchange. But his mithril chain mail armor beneath his shirt deflected them all and the goblins, unable to see it, continued to uselessly strike at it. And the boy now changed his aim with his spear, thrusting for their necks instead of their stomachs and from which the spear was far more easily yanked back out.

Meanwhile, Amien, who also wore chain mail, would take time from whacking and hacking his own attackers to pieces to also chop up those attacking the boy. And their goblin bodies would go flying, cut to pieces by the man’s impressive sword, their blood spraying like red rain everywhere. On his left, Graybeard dashed out the brains of many with this staff while conjuring up bright lights to blind them.

Yet the battle didn’t end. The enemy just kept on coming and coming. The bodies of dead goblins began to pile up around their feet to grow higher and higher still. And yet still they came.

Every so often, as the battle raged, the boy saw Belam behind him. He fought not only to protect himself but also for young Joe beside him. His small shield was everywhere, turning aside dagger attacks from every side, his sword cutting a wide swath through the enemy. But, more and more, he had to defend young Joe, who had no shield to defend himself. It soon caught up with and cost Belam. First, one dagger and then another found their marks and Belam went down, the first of them to fall, pierced three times, the daggers still sticking out of him from their now dead owners.

Amien pulled him back up and dragged the gasping Belam away from the battle.

“We must retreat into one of these tunnels!” he cried. “Ronthiel, which way is out? Direct us to it! If we reach it, far fewer of the enemy can follow us into its confines!”

While the melee raged, Ronthiel stepped to the center of their fighting circle that he might study the tunnels with respite from battle. It was not easy in such surrounding madness and confusion, and he had to hold his torch up high and turn full circle to see them all, for elves’ eyes are not nearly so keen in the dark. Yet he seemed to be able to make out the signs.

“This way!” he cried.

The boy thought for certain young Joe would be stabbed to death next, for he had no armor on at all and Belam was no longer protecting him. Yet the ferocity of the goblins was lessening—not for any lack of numbers, but for the fact that their own fallen were building a wall of bodies so high the next attacking goblins behind had to climb over them. They could not strike with their daggers while climbing the pile, making Joe’s task both easier and safer to kill them by as they reached the top. Every so often, the mortally wounded Belam raised his sword and cut down those that might have struck young Joe as he retreated, saving him again another three or four more times.

With their backs still together, they followed Ronthiel’s lead, fending off the attacking throng on all sides while fighting their way towards the chosen tunnel. The entire place was still packed with goblins. In spite of all the dead ones on the floor, it seemed ten more appeared for each one that fell. But they were too small to stop the company from moving against them and, gradually, they fought their way to the selected tunnel entrance, cleared it of goblins, and then backed into it, dragging Belam with them. Belam still tried to defend Joe, but was stabbed once more in the doing, this fourth dagger in the chest. This time, he was done, his sword dropping from his hands as the others pulled him back into what they hoped was safety. Now they turned around to face the enemy and went shoulder to shoulder in the entrance to slay their foes and their toll was great, though the enemy’s numbers were greater.

The ferocity of the goblin attack though became much more manageable. They were now only attacking from one side, the tunnel entrance, and only so many could enter it at a time. It was as if the goblins were a tide held back by the narrow neck of a bottle, with only so many pouring through before a sword capped off their heads .Amien, with young Joe on one side of him and the dwarf on the other, held them at bay as the rear guard while the boy and Ronthiel saw to Belam.

“How are you, my friend?” asked Graybeard of the dying man.

“I am dead,” gasped Belam, his voice faltering, “cut to pieces by mere orc children!”

“You will be remembered.”

“In here?” Belam somehow managed a weak smile to grimly ask. “I doubt it. I doubt they shall sing songs of glory to anyone killed by mere goblins.”

“There were a great many goblins.”

“And there shall be a great fewer of them still,” Belam vowed with determination. “Someone find me my sword.”

The boy found and gave it to him.

“Help me lift it.”

Belam took it and nodded to him. “It feels good. I can still hold it.” His eyes grimly met the boy’s eyes. “I had sworn to die in service in the elves and yet I die in the service of a satyr,” he somehow managed. “But I have no shame or disgrace in that… Your leadership is good. I should have followed you… anywhere.”

“You questioned me on my every order,” said the boy gently.

“Which I now regret,” said Belam with another wheeze. “Take care, young Master satyr, and stay with your plan, for it is a good one. Now help me up!”

They got him to his feet while Amien, young Joe, and Marroh still held the tunnel entrance against the oncoming goblins.

“Retreat, the rest of you!” cried Belam now that he was standing. “I shall hold them here while you make your escape!”

“But what about you?” asked the boy, seeing his condition and the odds against him.

“It is too late for me,” answered Belam breathily. “I am dead already!”

“Retreat!” called Graybeard. “Let him do his work. He knows his duty!”

“No!” cried the boy, moving to help him fight. He couldn’t just leave Belam to fight alone.