* * *
The troops rode at breakneck speed. The Thimble Downers fell asleep in their saddles, and it was a wonder none fell and were trampled. Fortunately, the deft hands and care of Orli and a few other Dwarves kept them upright, even the younglings who were sound asleep.
During the night, Dorro was jostled awake on one occasion, so much so that he could not fall back to sleep, but was reassured to find Crumble and Aramina riding next to him. He could hear them discussing battle strategies and various throat-cutting and neck-snapping techniques, some of them quite grotesque. The bookmaster coughed a few times to alert them he was awake, spurring a change in conversation.
“How are ye faring, Mr. Dorro?” asked the ever-solicitous Crumble.
“Aside from a sore backside, not awful. Tell me, why would the goblins want to invade the Halfling counties? We can’t be of any strategic importance, nor have we any real wealth. At least none like Gildenhall.”
Aramina growled under her breath, while Crumble replied to the bookmaster’s question. “It really has nothing to do with the Halflings, but alas, hurting you would be a disaster for the Dwarves.”
“How so? I don’t understand.”
Crumble looked grim in the starlight, the ponies walking through rocky terrain in the near darkness.
“Ye see, Mr. Dorro, Dwarves—much like Halflings—have a role to play in this world. Despite the undiplomatic words of the Seer, most Dwarves have a higher regard for your species. And precisely for one verra good reason—The Great Wood.”
“The Great Wood? What does our forest have to do with this war?”
“The Wood, as ye may or may not know, is a very ancient part of our world, existing back through the millennia to the time before either Dwarves or Halflings existed. And for lack o’ a better term, those woodlands provide a gentle, balancing power that transcends us all.”
“It’s true then?” said Dorro. “I’ve sometimes wondered if there isn’t a little magic there.”
“A little?” Crumble snorted. “My dear Mr. Dorro, there’s more than a little. As I said, the lands yer folk call the Great Wood brings a certain balance to everything, as do our mountains of the North, the great seas of the West, and the dry lands of the South. They all work together to keep everything in harmony. Am I makin’ myself clear?”
“I think so—but what about the orkus? Why do they want to destroy Thimble Down and the forest?”
“Let me keep going with my tale,” replied Crumble, looking up at the stars. “The Halflings, as far as we can tell, were put in the Wide Green Open to serve an important task.”
“Us? We’re so benign, really,” said Dorro. “We just like to eat, drink, smoke, and laugh, as far as I can tell. A bit of light gardening, too.”
“’Tis true, but we see so much more. The Halflings are gardeners and woodland lovers, and in their queer way, care for the Great Wood. You are its guardians, though little do ye know it.”
“I knew it!” chirped Dorro. “I mean, I didn’t literally know, but I’ve felt it all along. There is a subtle magic in it all—I can feel it every time I step into the forest. But you still haven’t gotten to the goblins.”
“My, yer an impatient one! But such is the nature of Halflings—you only ever slow down for lunch and to pull on some Old Nob pipeweed. Now, as for the foul beasties of the East, they are attacking your villages for the very reasons I’ve offered: they want to destroy the Great Wood and the power it keeps on the land. And that, my friend, is why Dwarves and elves inhabit the Wide Green Open, too. We’re here to protect the Halflings.”
“Are you, indeed?” Dorro could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“We’re all protectors in our way. The Halflings protect a large swath of the Great Wood, really by just being who they are. Gentle, light-hearted folk who love their trees and gardens. That’s an important job right there. But the elves, as you may know, help protect the woods, as well as cover yer Eastern flank from fell beasts.”
“Towards the South, Men-folk offer a line of resistance and also sail the seas to keep marauders away from our world. And to the North, we Dwarves protect the mountains and also keep an eye on our little friends in the Great Wood, while giants keep an eye on the Grey Mountains far to the East, especially those accursed trolls. In its way, we all serve the Wide Green Open, the lands and forests, and everything that lives in it, from snakes and snails to bears and eagles.”
“Giants? Trolls? I thought they were mere fables.” Dorro was incredulous. “So if the goblins can successfully raid Thimble Down, they can cause the Dwarves to fail—and even the Great Wood itself!”
“Aye—it they had their way, they’d ride into yon forests and chop down every tree, except those that provide habitat for the animals they want to eat. The goblins’ world is one of chaos and greed—they care not for growing things, but are intelligent and formidable foes. They care not for the land, nor the world we live in. And that’s why we must fight them tooth ’n’ claw.”
“Yet the black stones from Mr. Bindlestiff’s forge began destroying the Great Wood from within.”
“I do feel horrible about that, Mr. Dorro.” Crumble’s words were grave. “Had we known we were threatening the balance of the Great Wood, we would have never been a part of his smeltery. I feel guilty enough, on top of which, I lost my brother Wump to a heartless killer.”
“You didn’t know what was to happen, Crumble. No one in Thimble Down will blame you, so long as we stop the burning of stones, and spreading polluting gases and disease-spreading vapors.”
“Still, you have my word that we shall never give the black stones to anyone outside our caves again.”
“Crumble look—the sun is coming up.” Dorro was pointing to the horizon excitedly. “Look, right over there!”
“But Mr. Dorro, you’re pointing southward; the sun is in East.”
“Then …”
Crumble stood taller in his saddle and began calling to his comrades.
“Awake! Riders, awake! War and woe are upon us. Ride for Gildenhall! Ride for the Halflings! Ride to victory!”
He bolted away on his pony, dashing towards the glow in the Southern skies.
“Aramina, what’s going on? What is that bright light?”
“’Tis not dawn’s light, my Halfling friend. It is yer Great Wood.”
The warrior known as Malachite Molly had a look of grim determination on her face.
“Them lousy goblins are burning it, right down to the ground!”
Goblin Necks
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 ke
ep 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.