Chapter Forty-Three
And now, For Something Completely Redundant. Again.
Chibot sat by his fire. Around him were various chieftains of neighboring humanoid clans that included goblins, orcs, hobgoblins, Froglin, and kobolds, and adjacent bandit leaders who wanted in on the raid. He wasn’t happy. Arrayed about him was less than one hundred and sixty warriors. Half of which was made up by his own men. No one wanted to commit more troops to what looked to be an easy target. That, and the fact that everyone was worried that if they lost a significant number of soldiers that one of the others would try to wipe them out and take over their territory. He knew this because that was what he’d planned to do.
The froglin, amphibious humanoids that actually looked more like toads than frogs, were recent additions to the forest. They were brown, covered in a bumpy but leathery skin, and had huge bulbous eyes that didn’t miss a movement. They were squat but muscular, could leap a dozen feet at a stretch, and had the added advantage of being able to use their tongues as surprise weapons. Chibot had no idea where they had come from, but he had to admit that they made good warriors. He’d seen one engulf a man’s head with its mouth, and while they had no teeth their gums were as sharp as guillotines. The froglin’s victim barely had time to scream before his head popped off like a cork from a bottle. When they were around the battlefield decapitations were frequent.
The four other bandit leaders were slightly smarter than most other bandits, but that wasn’t saying much. Chibot had gotten to his position by a combination of brains and blood spilt, meaning that he used his brains not that he had spilled brains, although he had spilled brains. Blood too, lots of blood. The others seemed to be in their roles as leaders because no one wanted to do the job. That suited Chibot right down to the ground. He didn’t need rivals. He didn’t need anything; what he wanted was more men and intel on what was going on back in the town.
His men had found Farmer Ted beaten, bloody, and broken and all the man could do was cry about a thumb, but his hands were fine. That was probably the only part of his body that didn’t look like it had been smashed by a sledgehammer. He had his men take him out and put him in the hospital tent, which was basically a place that wounded were placed so they could die quietly out of his sight.
“You gonna let your man get a beat down like that and do nothing about it,” one of the nameless bandit leaders asked.
“No,” Chibot brooded. His mind whirled. It was things like this that led to people losing faith in his ability to lead, and when people had no faith they behaved like animals until someone stronger came along to corral them again. Before that happened, the people tended to eat the disgraced chief. Sometimes literally, mostly not though. “Farmer Ted, my warrior, went against orders and engaged a target that he was told to simply observe. Had he done what he was told he would be fine and we would know more about the goings-on in Goulcrest.”
“Didja beat ‘im fer not lissening?” a hobgoblin asked.
“I saw no need. He was half-dead when we found him, he’ll be gone by morning.”
“Isn’t he the cousin,” another bandit asked, “Of the famous Leroy Jen. . .”
“Yes,” Chibot cut him off. “But they never got along, so there’s no worry about him seeking retribution on us.”
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
“Wasn’t worried about us, mate,” the other bandit leader replied, “I was thinking more about what was gonna happen to you.”
“I’ll be fine, and I have a plan to take care of this thorn that grows in Goulcrest.” Chibot said confidently.
“I thought it was a tooth,” an orc said very eloquently.
“Whatever. Don’t you know an ogre? I’ll pay him from my own pocket to go into that backwater town and beat the living hell out of that man. He won’t have any other opposition from the townsfolks, people, even guards, tend to get out of the way of ogres.” Chibot rubbed his chin as he thought about his idea. Getting an ogre was risky because they often claimed territories that they attacked. He hadn’t been hired to hold the town. Just inflict death and destruction on its citizens. Did it matter to him if the ogre stayed? That was the mayor’s problem. Now that he thought about it, the ogre would enjoy trashing the town. All his people would have to do was mop up after the beast had finished taking on Tooth and the rest of the town guard after he was dead.
It was a solution he hadn’t considered because he hadn’t foreseen this Tooth fellow being such a problem. Ogres were not to be trifled with; they were a last-ditch option ninety-nine percent of the time.
“What is the name of this ogre that you know,” Chibot inquired of the orc.
“Ah, his name is Bannedgeik, he belongs to the Bannedhammer clan.” The orc flashed Chibot a broken toothed grin. “He doesn’t work cheaply, and he claims whatever he defeats, so be warned if you call him in, he’s going to stay.”
“That’s more than I could ask for,” Chibot chuckled. “How soon can you get him here?”
The orc, looking relieved that he was going to be attacking a town after Bannedgeik was done with it, was thoughtful. He scratched his bottom as he contemplated. That, Chibot considered, was the most orc-like thing the humanoid had done since they’d met. He tried to think of the orc’s name, and after tearing down some cobwebs in his mind he uncovered what he searched his memory for.
“If he’s up for it, he could be here tomorrow,” the orc said, “And I’m fairly certain that he’ll want to take the town.”
“Lister,” Chibot addressed the orc, “You get him here, and Goulcrest will most likely fall before we have to do much.” Chibot realized that if the ogre claimed the town then he and his men were going to have to relocate since traffic on the road would come to a close until the empire sent a squad of soldiers to take care of Bannedgeik. It would be an inconvenience but it wouldn’t be a hardship. From what he’d seen of the other bandits they would be easy to incorporate into his own band of highwaymen after a handful of assassinations. He would still get all the treasure since the ogre would only be interested in acquiring territory. Those brutes had no interest in shiny stuff.
It wasn’t that he was afraid of Tooth; Chibot had faced killers before. It was more of the point that he didn’t want to die. Even the greatest warrior could be felled by the lowliest goblin, or so the saying went. He had worked too hard to get where he was and had learned a long time ago to let others take the blows while he struck from behind, or in a perfect world, he would actually order someone else to strike from behind. Why take chances?
So far as Chibot was concerned he was the baddest man there was alive, he even had a belt made from a wildcat’s hide. He tolerated nothing, not even from himself. His face was a testament to that. With that thought in mind, he bent down and picked up the hoe that had been sitting by his feet.
Lister stood, gave him a nod, and marched off to get his ogre for the upcoming assault. The others stood as well, realizing that the meeting was over. The froglin leader looked at a goblin and said, “Bud!”
The goblin shook his head, ignoring the toadish manling. It had no idea what it was trying to say. So far as anyone knew the froglin people only made three sounds, and Bud was one of them. The goblins and the Froglin hadn’t clashed yet, but they would eventually. Until then the little green gobloid would ignore its raiding compatriot. There were no friends seated around the fire.
The hobgoblin Shaman, a female and the leader of her people, stood with the smaller chief and the pair walked away. The remaining few humans and kobolds followed suit and left, but one of the men saw Chibot with the hoe and asked him, “Where are you going with that?”
Chibot twirled the hoe in his hand, he replied, “To do some weeding,” and whistled as he made his way to the hospital tent.