11. In the Middle

Dorothy stepped aside to let the wounded herald in, and only then noticed the giant goblin trailing behind him. It was one of the huge twins she'd seen before, only there was one of them now, missing three thick fingers and with three feathered arrow shafts sticking out of his broad shoulders. He was looking all around the forest clearing as he approached, seemingly worried about pursuers.

The steps creaked under the goblin's great weight. Dorothy breathed a sigh of relief when they didn't break. She then winced, witnessing the horrid clatter of wood now the huge goblin tried to duck through the door, forgetting about the arrows in his back, and caught all three of them on the frame. He growled, more confused than hurt, and Dorothy had to grab his arm to pull him low enough to get into the kitchen. "Pain," he murmured to her. "Great pain. Helping?"

"I'll try," she offered, letting go of him.

The herald had climbed up on a kitchen counter, and was scouting out of the half-shuttered window. "No manlings... yet," he said to his kin. "Soon," he said to Dorothy. "We must hide. Outnumbered."

Dorothy scowled at the garbed goblin, looking between them both doubtfully. "Can't hide 'im."

"We can," the herald lightly assured. He leapt across the kitchen, onto the huge goblin's shoulders. Pulling one arrow loose with an awful scraping of flesh, he was nearly thrown clear but kept hold. "Tugg. Stay. I am helping. Trust Sapo," he added, chewing instead through the next shaft when he couldn't pull it clear. Thankfully, the third came easily loose. Great chunks of flesh were still stuck to the barbs, dripping black blood onto the kitchen floor. "Womanling, " Sapo said to Dorothy, staring down from Tugg's bloody shoulder. "We must hide," he repeated. "Manlings come. Soon. You must deceive them. Or else more death."

"Help," Tugg agreed, swaying slightly from side to side. "Please," he added with a sorrowed smile.

Dorothy's ears started to ring and her head began to ache. She tightly pressed her eyes closed for a long moment while she tried to think.

When she opened her eyes, the disparate pair were gone, mismatched footfalls parting ways at the corridor.

Things were getting well and truly out of hand. She didn't even know why the goblins had come back here to begin with, and now they were wanting her help after they were the ones threatening to force her from the forest and cut off her head.

She half reckoned she should just hand them over to any manlings who did come along and then be done with the whole sorry saga.

But then Gob might get caught up in the conflict too.

"Stay hidden! Stay quiet!" she shouted around the house, hoping all three goblins would hear.

"Gods above," she muttered, realizing the goblins had tracked black and red blood all over the kitchen. No doubt there was a trail leading right to her home. Quick as she could manage in her old age, she rushed around to grab a cloth, a mop and a bucket.

***

"Good woman," greeted an almost comforting voice from behind her. She'd heard the steps approach, but she'd hoped acting a bit lackadaisical might make her seem less suspicious. "My name is Harold. Your friend, Moira, passed us on the road and asked us to look in on you. She said you'd had some run ins with the local goblin clans?"

Dorothy didn't answer. She'd been wiping patches of blood up from the dirt path and now realised how strange it would seem to a passerby to see an old woman cleaning the dirt. She eventually said, "Left a mess."

"I can see that. Have you seen any today? We crossed swords with two enormous goblins on the way in, and are in pursuit."

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"Not today," she quietly answered.

"Too many tracks," called a younger man more distantly. "Whole clans been in and around here. We sure she ain't a witch, captain?"

The captain met the question with a doubtful grunt. He stepped around and looked down on Dorothy.

He was a portly man, with greying and receding hair, but he had a kind smile and must have caught the eye of many women when he was younger. He reminded Dorothy of her husband. "Not a witch, are you, Dorothy?" he asked lightly. "You are Dorothy...?"

"I am," she answered, wondering what else Moira had told them about her. "You are?"

"Harold," he hesitantly offered. And Dorothy realised he'd already told her his name. "Me and my men, here, are leading a scouting party in advance of a larger army. There's a goblin in these forests calling himself a Great Chief. Been gathering a lot of clans under his banner. Best to end these things before they truly begin. Don't want a repeat of the last war."

Dorothy made a contemplative sort of murmur, and then started to rise.

Harold offered her a sturdy hand to aid her ascent. "My scout says many goblins have come through here..."

"Aye," Dorothy answered, brushing dirt from her apron. "I'd got woke by a gang of goblins in the night. Scrapped with one. The Great Chiefs, Taruk, came here and said I needed to give back a goblin who'd ran off after my fight. Or else he'll kill me. But I don't have any goblins to give. So I've been packing to leave instead."

Harold blinked, taking a step back. He looked to the men behind him. Half a dozen, Dorothy saw now, with three carrying swords and shields and two more wielding bows. Harold and the swordsman all wore mail armour while the archers wore leather. "She says Taruk has been through here," he explained to his men. "Might be deeper in than we think. Explains the other three."

"Then we should head back," said the youngest scout. "I ain't ending the day in a goblin's belly."

"Hm." Harold's brow was furrowed in concentration when he turned back. "Dorothy. Grab your things and we'll take you back to town."

Dorothy shook her head. "No."

"Told you she's a witch," said the young scout.

"I'll only slow ya down," Dorothy then added. "I ain't packed yet. Won't be ready to leave 'til dark. If you've clashed with goblins then they'll know you're here and be back to find you. They won't be searching for an old woman."

Harold was forcefully shaking his head. "I must insist," he said almost in pleading. "You'll be placing--"

"I'll be insisting," Dorothy assured. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready." She'd spoke overly harsh and felt bad, so offered a genuine smile. "Grateful as I am for your concern."

A faint screeching sounded out amid the distant trees, answered by a jeering squeal.

"Boy's right," said the oldest swordsman among them. "If they ain't killed her yet, no reason to think they'll do her any harm now. Unless she's seen in our company, of course."

Harold seemed to take his meaning. "Please stay safe, Dorothy," he said to her, a strange look in his kind eyes as if he genuinely cared. "I will stop by again as soon as I can. Please leave as soon as you are able. Or pack your things and await our return. But keep your head down."

"I will," she promised, smirking to herself as she heard the words repeated in her late husband's voice.

"Right, then." Harold straightened. "Let's get back to town. Best we don't attract anymore undue attention. Joyto lend us luck and Ilma stay your weaving," he invoked as they left.

When the armed men had faded into the treeline, Dorothy felt very alone and very exposed. It was almost like she missed Harold's company, even though he was a stranger. But he seemed a nice enough man, reminding her of Gordon, and she wished now wished she'd gone with him.

Dread settled onto her old shoulders. The rate Dorothy was going she was going to end up dead in the middle of a war.

Emphasis on the dead. All for the sake of a scrawny little goblin.

Dorothy sighed. She'd already made her choice. She decided she best go and shoo two of the three unwanted goblins out of her home.