Fastfoot ran into the alley, a tall-fur hot on their trail. Not as quick as the gob but it almost looked like they might be. Only looked though. Fastfoot baited them further in, running just a bit out of reach, matching pace. Then, when he judged it was far enough, he sped up, sprinting as fast as he actually could.

The tall-fur looked confused for a moment, but kept running after the gob. That was the perfect opportunity for Ropetrip to do what she did best - dirty hemp was actually quite hard to see in a dark alley, especially when it was almost sunset. The pursuer fell over.

Pebblethrow was waiting for that, throwing the tile down at them. It was a heavy thing, which was why she had perched on top of a building. It was not her preferred projectile but anything less heavy would not be enough. On the other side of the street, Droprock, her old rival, did the same, though with an even heavier stone. She begrudgingly had to admit that he was somewhat more suited to their current task. She was hitting a leg just in case, Droprock aimed for the head.

“Dead,” Dragstuff left his hiding spot

“Maybe change name to Sayobvious?” Droprock yelled down.

“Maybe change name to Annoyingrock?” Dragstuff shouted back, already dragging the large body out of sight with a few other gobs with less useful expertise.

“Saw no other tall-fur,” Fastfoot also got out of his hiding spot, announcing with a raised voice.

“Ursine,” Gobsmack corrected, also walking into the alley. He was holding an almost hilariously large club everyone secretly doubted he would be able to actually swing if it came to it.

“Done then?” Hungryidiot asked. He was among those helping drag the body, though they paused in that task.

“No eating humans,” Gobsmack immediately gave him a bonk for just the suggestion.

“Is not human,” Hungry idiot tried to argue.

“Look close to human. Enough for humans to kill for eating,” Gobsmack just hit him again.

“K,” the other goblin finally relented with some reluctance.

“Bowlady say she followed by hundred,” Pebblethrow frowned. “We only get ten.”

“Ten enough, not only work for us,” Gobsmack shrugged.

“Have news!” a new gob, Knowmuch, rushed into the alley from the back side. “Farsee notice the big group! Already close to river!”

“That is problem,” Gobsmack frowned.

“The Bowlady and three other going that way.”

“Describe other,” Gobsmack nodded, thinking.

“Tall-ears with hood, normal human with bag, and human lady with red hair and glowing sword!” she described.

“Red hair?” Gobsmack paused. “Describe closer.”

“Lot of tall-fur blood on her but not hurt. Really, really red hair. Young. Big white glowing sword but some green spots she said.”

“How can be?” Gobsmack muttered out loud, suddenly deep in thought. “You say they go to river?”

“Yes.”

“Then I also go to river,” Gobsmack nodded.

“Come too,” Pebblethrow exclaimed from her perch. Human with a bag sounded like Amir.

“Danger. Maybe death,” Gobsmack warned.

“Don’t care,” she yelled back.

“Stupid,” Gobsmack chuckled. “K, who want come too. Might help. But only who want. Is danger.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Not all of them volunteered but they at least agreed to spread the word. Therefore other gobs joined them along the way. By the time they left the more suburban areas there was over 30 of them marching in a group, and a few more still catching up to them. Gobsmack was at the front and Pebblethrow not far behind him. Still, they were not the fastest travelers and had to figure out where exactly to go as they went. They would only arrive at the bridge halfway through the battle.

----------------------------------------

“You only need to hold out until dusk,” Holly told Rose on the way… and technically Amir who was not exactly sure why he hadn’t left yet. He felt a bit worn out after casting the spell but also filled with exhilaration that would not let him rest even if he tried to.

“We will destroy the other bridges, then prepare to strike,” Hawthorne nodded. Then the two elven women split from them, each going in a different direction. “Good luck.”

“Won’t need it. Until dusk,” Rose nodded. She seemed downright giddy, barely able to stop herself from skipping. “Easy enough. Amir, try to stop any shamans from whatever cover you can find. If any get past me just run.”

“There will be thousands,” he pointed out. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“That’s what chokepoints are for,” she almost giggled. “If I recall… the bridge is just wide enough for two carriages to pass each other. Just enough space to maneuver while they cannot properly swarm around me.”

“If you… say so,” Amir said hesitantly. But he still recalled how Rose had moved before. As old and frail as she had been, she had won the fight. And that confidence - Amir could not help but be somewhat swept in it.

By the time they arrived at the bridge, they could already see the army in the distance. Or perhaps a horde. Thousands indeed, even at a cursory glance, making Amir gulp. There was a farmstead, already abandoned, by the road and Amir used one of its wall to get decent cover without losing sight of the bridge. Rose simply walked to the very middle of it, staring ahead at the approaching invaders. She never once for a moment seemed afraid until they were upon her.

They did not seem to have bows or much of any ranged weapons. It was the clawed hands perhaps, making such tools impractical. Even the misshapen wooden shields they wore on one hand seemed out of place on an army whose weapons were their own hands and armor their fur. Whatever shamans they might have did not seem to consider Rose enough of a threat to warrant any spells. Almost contemptuously, the first line rushed at her.

Then Rose danced.

She became a blur of white flashes and sprays of gray blood. If before her returned youth she had relied on surprise as well as skill, she no longer needed it. It was with almost contemptuous ease that she cut the first wave apart. Then the second, third, fourth and fifth. Then the army finally paused.

She did not have a scratch on her. Her hand was not trembling, Rose was not even breathing hard… She had not been pushed back a single step.

“Oh, I had forgotten what it was to be young,” she just smiled at them as they rushed forth again. “Come, as the tide of green once had. Come, learn the same lesson.”

They were more careful then. They tried to encircle, cover each other more, overwhelm her in different ways. But just as she had said, the bridge was just too thin for several of their bulky forms to properly maneuver and her sword was impossibly sharp, not even slowing as it sheared through fur and bone. Not dulling as it cut through dozens.

The shamans tried to join as well, Amir quickly realizing there was almost nothing he could do. He could perhaps contest one but two dozen more could still rain down magic at Rose. Then he found out that there was no point in doing anything. The first spell, a spear of almost invisible wind rushed at Rose and she cut it out of the air in the same swing that beheaded one of the warriors. A storm of projectiles descended, yet each and every single one of them was perfectly parried, destroyed or sidestepped.

By then the corpses were piling. Enough so that they obscured approach. Enough so that the stone was growing slick with blood. Some were falling down to the river, its powerful current dragging them away. Hawthorne had been right that crossing through would be almost impossible.

Feeling useless Amir ended up merely staring as Rose fought. With each swing he revaluated who she was. With each corpse he realized how little he had known about the kind Gramma. Minute by minute, time passed. Dusk neared. She seemed tireless, perfectly pacing herself even in such an intense battle. For half an hour, then a full 60 minutes.

Then one of their claws struck her. It was so sudden Amir almost did not notice at first. The warrior who had inflicted the wound died a breath later but suddenly Rose was bleeding, one hand hanging limply on her shoulder, a deep cut half-way to severing it.

She retreated to the back of the bridge, stumbling and slowing down. The red from her hair began to fade, wrinkles re-formed. It was almost dusk, the twilight sun barely above the horizon… but not quite. The bear-folk still pushed ahead and it seemed in that moment she would not be able to stop them any longer.

The spell had run out.

That was when the goblins arrived. Perhaps fifty of them, rushing forward. They were armed with nothing but rocks, their small frames not as intimidating as one would expect, but they screamed a deafening war cry rushing forward.

The ursine flinched, seeing an opposing force of unknown opponents rush at them. After such an intense slaughter from just one opponent, they finally hesitated. The front of their formation paused, then slowly, hesitantly retreated. Amir did not know how long that would last but it seemed to buy them a few moments. The little goblins dragged Rose back from the edge of the bridge. By then she had almost fully turned back into her old decrepit self, breathing heavily.

Gobsmack looked down at her. She stared back up, eyes still burning. Then the goblin spoke:

“Can borrow sword?”