Eel Marsh Exile, ch.5

Author's Note: Time for more Tuva! This will be a two-fer for people on Patreon, since chapter four is also now going up for free on Ao3 at the same time (check the Linktree, as always)! Let's catch up with our feisty young barbarian from Paraven's wild south, and her further adventures beneath Wreath's sunlit surface!

[story/action]

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I dig my boots down into the gravel of the Swordgame arena, trying to focus through the screaming ache of my bruised, battered body. A more clever – or less determined – warrior might have quit the competition after the encounter with the Kor Vora, the horrific monster having broken so many of my bones that I’m doubtless less than half the fighter I should be. I can barely speak or laugh, much less fight, and Miske had to feed me last evening’s dinner. Splotches of black, purple, and sickly yellow can be seen spreading across my body where armor or leather doesn’t conceal my skin, bruises and below-skin blisters that have yet to heal. I like to think they’d look even more unseemly on someone less durable, less resilient.

Miske, at least, is hale and hearty. The shokari emerged from our auspicious last battle unharmed – an honor for me alone to bear, it would seem – and appears rested and eager. While I hate to rely on the rallchofn for my survival, I’m offered little choice. I can only pray Those had my welfare and glory in mind when they chose our opponents: a pair of goblins, looking keen and impatient on the other side of the arena, awaiting the moment when we are to be set loose upon one another. I wish I shared that impatience. While my instinct is to dismiss the two small warriors, however, I know the layout of the Swordgame intends for fights to grow more and more challenging and evenly-matched, and three fights now lay behind me. In all likelihood, these goblins pose a far greater threat than I’m willing to admit to.

“Huh. Goblins. Small.” Miske grunts beside me, loading a bolt into her arbalest, but I’m doing my best to size up our opponents from across the arena. Get some semblance of how they intend to attack, how best to counter them. They are quite small, though not as small as I’d been led to believe from stories at home – far from the knee-high imps I’ve heard of, they look to be just over four feet in height, their figures lean but compact, favoring their hips. They have teal skin, large pointed ears, and coal-black hair in what look to be mirrored styles, with long, sleek ponytails worn on the side of the head, rather than the back or top. One wears her tail on the left, the other on the right, and as far as I’m able to tell, it’s the only way to distinguish between them. They appear to be sisters – no, twins – exchanging familiar chuckles between each other and chattering words I cannot hear clearly enough to attempt to distinguish.

I turn my attention from their bodies, which look fit and full of energy, to their equipment, which is… troublesome. A warrior’s arms and armor sings quite the song about their history and their abilities, even their tactics, and these two goblins are equipped with gear that perfectly matches the other. Their armor actually resembles mine, but is far more specialized – their chests are covered by simple white wrappings and a singular steel heart-plate, loins clad in black leather briefs, and nothing else weighs down their middles. Feet are clad in sandals, but forelegs completely armored in steel, with flat spikes jutting up from the knee. Each woman’s sword-arm bears similar armor to the shoulder, their left forearm clad only in a padded bracer. These aren’t mere warriors. They’re trained, specialized gladiators, keeping their weight low but their limbs protected, relying on a shield to keep their guts inside their bodies.

And shields they have, round and quite large for their small bodies, covering them from knee to shoulder – a very effective defense, one that won’t be easy to get around. Clasped tightly in gauntleted hands, each goblin also wields a short sword, though not quite like one I’ve ever seen. These are double-edged, a little long (relative to the goblins’ size, anyway) and shockingly wide, about a fist’s breadth at the base and tapering aggressively down to its needle point. A strange sword clearly designed to inflict devastating stab wounds in close quarters. My first thought is that a sword so wide must also be heavy, unwieldy, but a second look assuages that concern: while any sword may be forged with a fuller, a stretch of metal ground shallow to reduce the blade’s weight, these chubby little weapons have several, rows of these grooves coming together to make the thing more usable. A strange design, and a rather fascinating one.

“This won’t be easy,” I grumble, just loud enough for Miske to hear me.

“Eh? Why say?” the shokari grunts back.

“Low targets, light weight, well-protected,” I explain, simply enough that she should take my meaning well despite her shaky grasp on the language. “They want to get close, and they’ll be quick, I think. Won’t give an opening. They’ll be going for thrusts – don’t let them.” I turn an intense green side-eye to Miske, who looks alarmed at my ability to assess an opponent… but after a moment, she nods. “I rely on you.” I finish, tightening my grip around my weapons, having chosen the trident and golok for these opponents. I’ll need all the speed and versatility I can get, and I don’t anticipate landing a successful hit with the javelin.

Harsh, clunky words in the shokari tongue boom out over the arena, ones that have grown familiar to me, though they yet have no meaning to my ears. They’re followed by the roar of the crowd, and then the slow opening of the gate in front of us… and the one in front of our opponents.

Miske boldly leads, aiming her arbalest and biding her time to take a shot, while I stay behind her, knowing I’m likely to be as much of a liability as I am a boon in this fight. Our opponents, these two identical goblins, move out as a single unit, staying close together, close enough that they can meaningfully use their shields to protect each other as much as themselves. My heart immediately sinks in my chest – they have a sort of grace and synergy that Miske and I cannot possibly hope to match, moving as if they were a single entity with a single mind. I attempt to imagine the gaze of my horned companion, looking for the opening she doubtless seeks, an opportunity to take a shot… but there is none, and seems never to be, both goblins perfectly covered and defended as they make their advance. I was right not to bother with the javelins.

Quickly growing frustrated and seeing the futility of searching for a clean shot, Miske fires, launching a spear-sized bolt at the pair of goblins. Predictably, its caught by one of their shields, but its deflection isn’t without a bit of staggering or harm – the struck sister lets out a high-pitched grunt and takes a few steps back, visibly grimacing with pain. With the force of that bolt, taken full-force, it’s entirely possible that the arm behind that shield is seriously hurt or even broken. Good for us, certainly. Not something that will end the battle.

What’s worse is that the goblins seem to have noticed my trepidation, my hesitance in boldly advancing, and both of them have focused their attention on Miske, making a risky dash toward the shokari as she drops her massive crossbow and begins to draw her wickedly long, sharp sword, clearly not considering me much of a threat. This would be a great boon if they weren’t correct – Miske is the right target here, and if she’s taken down, the fight ends. I’m no good against a single skilled opponent in this state, much less two, and just holding my weapons in front of my body has me wincing in pain from the throbbing cracks in my ribs. Still, I inch forward on unsteady feet, remaining cautious and relying on the things that aren’t exhausted, aren’t in pain – my eyes, and my mind. The best weapons I have, right now. Even like this, I may be able to strike a crippling blow if the right opportunity arises.

I’m impressed (and a little surprised) to see Miske successfully draw her rhomphaia from its scabbard before the twins have successfully closed the distance with her, keeping them at bay by combining an outward slash with the unsheathing motion. The edge of the blade tinks harmlessly off the edge of one of their shields, not enough to injure or stagger, but keeping the pair of goblins on edge. Closer to them, I can now see that they have dark, steely gray eyes, large and round, with dark lashes and full, sharp brows, swaths of indigo paint streaking down from their lower eyelids, across their cheeks and narrow jaws, down the length of their throats. A similar splotch of color forms a ten-sided star on each forehead, the lowermost spoke of which continues on until halfway down the length of their small, straight noses – though the nose of the right-tailed twin is very slightly crooked, I notice. Broken in a fight, maybe.

My horned companion attempts to seize the offensive before it becomes too late to do so, lunging forward with a series of vicious sweeps of her sword. What the ranger might lack in technique and tactics, she more than makes up for in power, speed, and sheer reach – Miske’s lanky even for a shokari, and the long blade of her two-handed sword gives her an incredible presence on the battlefield, able to easily attack any point from which the goblin sisters might be able to launch an attack. Against many foes, this would trivialize the fight. But these goblins aren’t trying to keep their distance, they aren’t playing a reach game, aren’t trying to trade pokes and parries. They want to get in close, and they know exactly how to do so.

Fast as quicksand, the sisters approach in a flurry of greenish-blue limbs, one using her shield to deflect an attack against the other, then crouching down and hoisting her shield upward, creating a platform, and shouting out a command in yet another tongue I don’t know. “Ke-la!” she barks, and her twin hops nimbly onto the shield, brandishing her short, fat blade, then leaping off of it to make a quick attack at Miske’s head.

At least, that’s what the shokari reasonably expected. She raises her blade to block, preparing herself for a counter-attack, but the strike never comes. Instead of making the expected thrust with her sword, the goblin warrior raises her own shield, colliding harmlessly with Miske’s blade and bouncing off – while her sister takes a swipe at the shokari’s belly from below, capitalizing on the distraction.

I notice the feint just in time, and try to react, pain screaming through my bruised body as I lunge forward to catch the fat blade with my trident. On a better day, I might have twisted the short polearm, attempting to disarm the treacherous goblin or at least deflecting the blow, but I lack the strength or speed to do anything but follow the momentum of my own thrust, carrying the goblin’s short sword with it before it can reach Miske’s gut with a deadly thrust. Instead, its tip simply slices across the rallchofn’s upper thigh, leaving a long, clean streak of red in its wake as it lets the horned woman’s blood. An unfortunate wound, but far less permanent than the one she was about to receive.

“Khah!” the goblin spits and recoils, quickly retrieving her sword from between the tines of my trident and positioning her shield between her and I. “Gut-haired cur! Known I better than to discount thee! There remains in thee a heart a-beating yet.” She glares at me, then at Miske, her sister landing beside her as she curses me. The pair stand side-by-side again, reassessing their opportunities and approach.

“Dare we make the sick one finished off, sister-my-own?” the other chirps. Both have strange accents accompanying an even stranger manner of speech, but I know far too little about the history or homeland of goblinfolk to attempt to place either.

“May that we haps,” counters the first, settling into a low stance that keeps her protected and ready to strike, her attention – and that of her sister – now focused on me. I grit my teeth, preparing to defend myself with what little energy I have left, praying to Those that Miske has something new up her sleeve.

It turns out that she does. As the two goblins begin to rush towards me, Miske intercepts with a series of savage attacks, fueled by the sudden fear of losing her championship, ending her exile. She swipes forward with the rhomphaia twice, then three times, wide arcs in close reach that threaten to send the curved tip of her weapon around one of the goblin’s deflecting shields, likely still scoring a hit. The targeted sister seems to notice this, opting to duck and roll away rather than blocking outright, allowing the very tip of Miske’s blade to graze across the other sister’s shoulder. Another swipe misses but keeps the sisters separated, and in a burst of energy, the ranger makes another unexpected move, throwing her sword at the sister farthest away. It spins end-over-end with a bassy whooshing sound, blocked by the goblin’s shield but drawing a gasp of pain from an already-injured arm.

I don’t have time to keep watching, though – despite the nick on her shoulder and temporary separation from her twin, the second goblin is still focusing her attacks on me, and I need every bit of concentration, anticipation, and reflex I can muster of I’m going to survive the onslaught. She swipes forward with the needle-like tip of that thick blade, going for slashing strikes, rather than thrusting… but I know better, know that this isn’t her real strategy. She’s feinting, and my defense calls her bluff. Rather than putting energy I don’t have into meaningful parries and counters, I keep my off-line motion as minimal as possible, low swipes of my golok sending her attacks wide, while my knuckles whiten on the hand clasping my trident. She’ll try to stab any second, once she thinks I’m tired, once she thinks I’ve started predicting her. The slightest shift in her footwork, faintest lift of her shield – and there it is. She thrusts, as I knew she would, aiming for my belly. Likely a lethal blow, even if I were dragged away by the shokari to be treated within seconds of it landing.

With a grunt of pain, I pivot, shoving my trident toward her at an angle, catching the blade within its tines. She lets out a squawk as I wrench the short sword from her grasp, sending it clattering away into the gravel, and use what little energy I have left to follow up with a slow, heavy front-kick – one which is easily blocked, sending me sprawling backwards, finally landing on my back with a wheeze, the taste of blood in my mouth again, now. I’ve done more than I expected, though. Disarmed her, for one… and bought time. Time for Miske to close the distance, still without her sword, and tackle the goblin while her sister yet reels on the arena’s other side.

The shokari roars out a battle cry as she collides her entire body recklessly with the goblin’s, grabbing the edges of that damnable shield with both hands and prying it away, then using it as a weapon to rain down several powerful smashes. The blows are partially blocked by the goblin’s armored arm and shoulder, but the grunt of pain shows that damage is being done, progress made… until the second sister rejoins the fray, leaping atop Miske’s back, and fitting the edge of her fat-based blade under the rallchofn’s throat. Miske stops her assault in an instant, now still as a corpse for fear of beheading herself on the razor edge of the goblin’s sword.

“Yield, knaves!” the sister atop Miske’s back declares triumphantly. “Yield or be thyself slain at our hands!”

“Hah!” Barks the other, “Yes, then! Yield! Yield unto us!” She beams gleefully up at Miske despite her compromised position.

The shokari is still, and I, likewise, am defeated. A wrong move could mean Miske dead, and is certain that I cannot face the goblins on my own. I hang my head in shame, lifting both my weapons slowly into the air, making a show of dropping them down to the gravel beneath me. “We yield.”

The sword is lowered from Miske’s neck, and she slumps in place, defeated. This was her chance to end her exile, to be welcome among her people again, rather than branded as a coward and cast out to the surface world. For me, the stakes were not so high… though the blow to my honor, my pride, is a brutal one. As the goblin sisters collect their weapons and hold them high in triumph, I find myself contemplating the battle, how it might have gone if I had been at full strength, able to react, intercept, be aggressive, overpower and outspeed these lightweight scamps. It seems I’ll never know.

As shokari guards come to escort Miske and I back to our cells to recover from the match, there’s more shouting above the roaring crowd, more babbling in that nonsense language of the giantfolk. Miske grumbles beside me, “Lekki and Litani.”

“Mrgh?” I snarl back.

“The goblins, their names,” she explains. “Bet we see a lot more of them very soon.”

Her words put a cold pit in my stomach as I take her meaning and remember what comes next. What happens to the losers of the Swordgame, something Miske and I have been fortunate enough to be the enjoyers of until this moment. Haalpuin. The game which comes after. Once we’ve recovered, it is certain that Miske and I will be the next to be enjoyed.