From below the goblins gathered in the trees came a harsh, animal bellow. Several of them looked to one another in alarm while others gazed down in wonder.
Whatever that human was, it wasn't normal. He sounded like a bear, and as he stared back at them, gripping a large, long sword, his eyes seemed fierce, almost as though belonging to a wolf.
"Shoot him," came Snark's screeching command, "shoot him you rats!"
But even as the archers nocked the next volley, the tall, fiery haired human launched himself at the tree, gripping a low branch with one hand and heaving himself into the lower boughs with ease. Two of their clansmen were able to fire off arrows at the hulking human. One missed entirely, but the second struck its target.
The human, however, did not cry out in fear or pain, as was common with the goblins' other victims. He roared in fury, heaving himself ever higher into the trees. The goblins around Snark began to panic, but a sharp bark of "Shoot!" encouraged several more to let off arrows once more.
Once again, his people could not seem to harm the human. Even as another arrow struck his side, he reached the top of the boughs, to the thickly woven section where the goblins had made something of a nest. Throughout the lower canopy, hidden from sight at the ground level, dozens of branches were connected by ropes and planks to create walkways between larger, nest-like structures made of woven twigs and fetid mud.
His archers really began panicking now, the human seeming much, much taller now that he stood on their level.
A veteran of many battles, Snark knew precisely what to do.
Without an ounce of shame, he began to flee to the walkway that led across the road, to his goblins on the other side, screeching for all his nearby clansmen to hear, "Kill him! Kill him! I will bring others!"
This was not his plan at all. As he pattered along the walkway, he heard his goblins behind him attempting to subdue the monstrous human.
If his clansmen bought him enough time, he could meet up with the other group of ambushers across the road, and attempt to drag the human down from afar. Failing that? They could cover his escape.
After all, Snark hadn't been a veteran of many battles by participating in all of them.
The human roared again, and as Snark reached the other side, he chanced a glance behind him.
Massive hands gripped the freshly bloodied sword as two goblin corpses fell to the forest floor beneath, Snark's clansmen made a desperate attempt to surround the massive warrior. He'd clearly taken more wounds, but for some reason, it didn't seem to dissuade him from his present course.
Snark winced as a goblin was kicked from the tree line, up into the air, then came squealing down into the road, landing with a heavy, wet snap.
His people on the other side wouldn't bring down the warrior. Snark sighed, shrugging. As before, that wasn't the plan.
A goblin on his side of the road came skittering up to his spot on the causeway, "Pack-master!"
Snark smiled with satisfaction as the goblin bowed his head. Say what you would about hobgoblins and their incessant rules; having a formal rank had benefits.
Snark smirked down at the obescent goblin, "What is it?"
The archer pointed to the road, "The two other humans are stuck with arrows. They'll bleed out into the dust, but the dwarf escaped into the forest on the other side!"
He looked past Snark, at the massive human who'd just felled another of his kinsman. "Should we…"
"Kill the big one," Snark gestured over his shoulder, "the dwarf-rat can try the forest. He won't live to next sunrise."
The archer nodded, smiling with a savage glee at that statement. Another goblin death-screech broke that visage.
"How…"
"Get your archers and set up here. When he tries to cross, stick 'em!"
The goblin nodded fervently at his boss's plan, "Yes, Packmaster, at once!"
Turning, the archer howled loudly at the other goblins, all of whom began whooping and dashing towards him.
Having relayed his scheme, the Packmaster turned fully, stepping out onto the walkway and away from the slightly concealed entrance to the nest his goblins were forming on. He wanted the human to see him.
Only one goblin remained at the other side. While the human had been cut in many places by daggers and scimitars, and stuck with more than a few arrows, he fought on with a relentlessness that almost impressed Snark.
If it hadn't been directed at him, it would've been something amazing to see.
The final goblin seemed to think better of his odds in the struggle, desperately turning to flee across the bridge. It was, however, too late, and too slow.
The two halves of the archer flew away from the bridge in an almost graceful arc of gore, the sword finishing its deadly path that left the warrior standing with one arm outstretched, the other clutching his side.
The human saw Snark, as the Packmaster had intended. Snarling, he launched himself onto the bridge, his heavy gait wobbling the ropy pathway much more than Snark had expected.
All bravado gone, Snark turned his head as he fell to a knee, "Shoot him, shoot him now!"
Arrows flew from the brush, accompanied by whoops and hollers.
Even with a few bolts missing their mark, the several that struck home were more than enough to bring the beleaguered and battle-worn warrior to his knees in one swoop. Stumbling mid stride, he crashed into the walkway, and Snark could hear the ropes creak ominously.
Jumping back to the safety of the tree-nest, the warrior rolled to one side, heaving the bridge even more, before falling to the ground some thirty feet below. A loud, tearing crash came from below as the warrior landed atop the covered wagon, which was just perfectly placed below him.
Whooping and jeering, Snark's goblins jumped up and down, waving their bows in the air.
Whirling, he snarled, "Get down there, you sacks of guano! Take anything that shines and kill anything that lives!"
As his goblins began to make for the ropes that led down to the forest floor, Snark had a sudden inspiration, "Wait!"
His goblins paused.
"If the big one lives, tie him up. Let's present him to Klarg…"
His goblins all smiled wickedly, looking to one another with expectant gazes. A trophy like that was sure to net them a handsome reward.
Whooping and shouting war cries once more, his goblins descended like eight little spiders to the forest floor, eagerly streaming towards the cart.
The human who'd been walking was finished with a dagger, but the one in the cart had been stuck so full of arrows, there was little neck to cut anyway.
As Snark stood above the chaos of murder and looting, Dane crouched across the road, nestled in the bushes not far from the cart, watching with horror as the goblins dragged the massive warrior out with glee, jumping and hollering.
'They're goin' ta cut yer head off as a trophy, ya great oaf…'
Suddenly, the goblins began to tie the hands of the warrior behind his back, then his ankles. They were…hog-tying him.
There could be only one reason for that…
Dane grunted softly to himself, shaking his head, 'Yer a tough bastard, I'll give ya that.'
Looking over to the cart, he saw Helm's corpse. An ineffable asshole to the last, Helm had probably said three total sentences to Dane over their eight months of knowing one another.
More tangible, however, was the body that lay behind the wagon, slightly obscured by its wooden frame, the dwarf sighed. Eric had been young, and had bordered on dangerous with his naiveté. His eagerness to sign up for this job had been almost zealous.
But he'd had a life to live. Some husband or wife he'd never get to meet, and things he'd never have gotten to see. He'd talked often of someday seeing Chult.
Dane shook his head, before catching sight of the large warrior being dragged into the woods. A steely sort of resolve came over him.
The warrior hadn't been a great deal older than Eric. If he'd seen thirty winters, Dane would have been shocked.
Quietly, his hand moving to his neck, where he kept his Oathstone safely tucked beneath his mail, Dane nodded, "Only one young story ends ta'day," he growled, his eyes focused on the goblin leader, who now stood out on the walkway that was now much more evident to him after the trap had been sprung, "ya hear me, ya fucker? That'll be the last life ya take from us ta'day."