The final few miles were grueling.
As the Dwarves of Gildenhall neared Thimble Down, their vision was filled with the sight of trees burning against the night sky. Ponies were urged on at full speed, while some Dwarf fighters simply dismounted and ran to face their enemy, axes and swords at the ready.
Crumble, Aramina, and Orli had long since sped off on their own, and for a moment Dorro didn’t know where he was or what to do. Slowly, he became aware of a few burrows in the darkness and knew he was riding through West Upper-Down, just to the north of his own village.
Despite Crumble’s orders that everyone must fight, the Halfling grabbed the reins of Wyll and Cheeryup’s ponies and drew them off to the side, letting the other Dwarves pass. He knew an elderly spinster in this tiny hamlet and soon found her door.
“Open, Mrs. Finch, please! It’s Dorro Fox Winderiver, the bookmaster of Thimble Down. Please open up!”
His voice was quaking with fear, something he could not conceal.
He hammered on the door a few more times until he saw a wrinkled face at the window and heard bolts unlatching. The door creaked open a few inches. “Is that really you, Mr. Dorro? Thank King Borgo, it t’is! I’ve ne’er been so afraid in all me life.”
“As well you should be, Mrs. Finch. I don’t have time to tarry, yet I must ask you a staggering favor. These are my wards, Wyll and Cheeryup. Please, take them into your burrow, fortify your doors and windows, and keep them safe until my return. They are priceless to me, but a great battle has befallen us all, and I fear the next few hours shall be the worst.”
“Mr. Dorro, sir, what are those horrible creatures that raced through West Upper-Down a few hours ago? They looked like something out of me worst nightmares as a child.”
“They were, dear lady—I’m afraid those were goblins.” Dorro looked at Mrs. Finch with a combination of fear and sadness as the aged woman recoiled in horror. “Again, I must go, but guard my young ones. And barricade every door and window. It may be your only chance!”
“Mr. Dorro!”
Yet even as Mrs. Finch shouted his name, the bookmaster had remounted his pony and bolted into the blackness. He could not bear saying goodbye to his young friends again. Though Dorro was anything but a soldier, this attack on the Great Wood struck him to the core. He knew tonight could be his last night of life, yet Crumble’s words still resonated with him.
I knew it! I knew there was a reason we Halflings cherish the Great Wood, he thought as his pony cantered forward. We are its protectors, and although I don’t want to die just yet, if that is my mission, I shall fulfill it.
And with that Dorro pulled a small sword out of his scabbard and kicked the pony in its flanks. Against the flaming forests ahead of him he could already see Dwarves and goblins locked in mortal combat.
“For Thimble Down!” he screamed as he leapt from his pony and swung his stout blade at the first goblin that dared step into his path.
* * *
Sheriff Forgo was in the moment.
As soon as an exhausted Dwarf scout had ridden into the village ten hours before, his world had become a blur of action and activity. The scout had warned them that the orkus host was headed their way, several thousand soldiers strong and prepared to lay waste to the Halflings villages. On another day, the Sheriff might have laughed it off as a joke, but when Flume, Magpie, and Two-Toes corroborated the rumor, Forgo got to work.
He ordered Gadget Pinkle to run through the village, mobilizing folk to prepare for battle. Many of them also laughed, but word of the goblin army followed just as fast, and soon all of Thimble Down was roused to war.
It was of no surprise that the Mayor fled from the village, but Farmer Edythe came to the gaol and began rallying the troops and heeding the Sheriff’s commands. Her brave actions did not go unnoticed by the denizens of Thimble Down.
“How many do we have, Forgo?” cried Edythe, her red hair whipping in the rising wind. Rain would follow shortly, she knew.
“Five hundred at most. If the scout’s estimate is accurate, the Dwarves are bringing a thousand of their own, but we’ll still only have half of the goblin army. This may be the end of all things, Edythe.”
“Don’t give up yet, Forgo! We have spirit on our side. Look, there’s Mungo, Mr. Timmo, Farmer Duck, Minty Pinter, Dowdy Cray, Bog the Blacksmith, and Millin and Nutylla Parfinn. Well, I’ll be, it’s Osgood Thrip and his traders. Sure, they’re smugglers by day, but I’m glad they’re here anyway.”
“And we have all the brawny miners and smelters from Bindlestiff’s—look’it, there’s Stookey McGee and Mrs. Mick—though perhaps not the man himself. Mark my words, that coward Bindlestiff is hiding somewhere in his forge. The townsfolk will run him out of town, if he survives.”
“At the moment, Edythe, I’m worried if these townsfolk will tomorrow’s sunrise,” smirked Forgo, “We’re going to need everyone’s bravery today.”
In the darkness, lit by torches, he saw the faces of friends and neighbors, mothers and fathers, and many Halflings he’d known his entire life. And Forgo knew some of them wouldn’t be here to see the dawn. He took a deep breath and spoke anyway.
“Folks, in a few minutes, our world and way of life in Thimble Down will change—maybe forever.”
The Sheriff took a big breath and put his hands on his hips, his belly bulging even under a heavy jerkin.
“I won’t mince words. The goblins are coming and they’re comin’ to destroy our way of life. I already smell smoke, so figure the monsters have torched Upper-Down or maybe West Upper-Down. Or p’raps they’re making mischief in the Great Wood. Either way, Thimble Down is next, and it’s up to us to save it.”
“I know there are more of those rotten beasties than Halflings, but we have heart and courage. And we have families and younglings to protect—but we’re all we have left at this point, so it’s up to you. Do you want to die in your burrows and let the orkus slaughter your young and your neighbor’s children, too?”
“No!” roared the Thimble Downers in return.
“That’s good because we’re gonna need your strength of heart,” said Forgo grimly. “Now here’s the lay of the land: First, we know the bastards are coming in from the North. I’m going to take half of you and create a perimeter just above Fell’s Corner and try to repel the bulk of the enemy there.
“Fortunately, I know a little something about those buggers, and I bet some of ’em are sneaking around our border at this very second and might attack in any direction. So half of you are gonna stay here and patrol the village.”
“And for goodness sake, look up! Goblins can climb up and over burrows like spiders, so keep your eyes open in every direction. When you see the rats—and you will—holler for backup, and start swinging your sword or axe like you mean business. Their middles are well protected, so chop at their arms, legs, and heads. It’s your best bet. Got it?”
“Yes!” screamed the fighters in return.
“Now let’s break into companies and get moving. Go!” roared the Sheriff, but out of the corner of his eye, saw Gadget running up the lane in a panic. “What is it, boy?”
“Sheriff, they’re here! They’ve lit half of the Great Wood on fire and are almost in the village. And I heard that all that’s left of Upper-Down is flaming ruins!”
With resignation Sheriff Forgo surveyed the fearful looks among his warriors.
“Saddle up, folks,” he remarked with surprising coolness as he mounted his pony Tom. “It’s time to chop some goblin necks.”