Sirel exchanged glances with Terel and Forelmo. All three were appalled. What an awful curse it was to be a goblin!
But maybe the bitch exaggerated. After all, she had had bad experience with goblins. Still, she was their expert on the matter. They had to hope she was right, so that their mission had a chance.
“Now, an a gob male come at thee—” Homirila said to Sirel.
“But will he not mistake me for one o’ theirs?” she asked, hoping she misunderstood the thrust of this advice.
“That be what I mean. He will seek sex with thee, if he be not hard-pressed by wolves at the moment. An it be private, smile at him, let him embrace thee, then stab him in the stomach, thusly.” She whipped a knife out from a sheath hidden under her skirt and stabbed upward in a gutting motion.
“But I can do that not!” she protested.
“Aye thou canst, cub! Think o’ it as a mere animal kill. Remember, all deaths be for the duration o’ the siege only, more’s the pity. It be our purpose to dispatch all the gobs we can, that their number be insufficient to defend their flag at the end. E’ery little stab helps!”
Sirel had to acknowledge the validity of that. She had to be prepared to kill creatures who did not seem like animals.
“But an it be public, this be more o’ a problem,” the bitch continued.
Sirel understood why. If other goblins saw her kill one of them, they would know her for an enemy. But if she did not resist…
“Avoid him,” the bitch continued. “Sidestep as he reaches for thee. An he pursue thee, flee. This be what the goblin lassies do. Lead him to a private place, then do as before. But an there be no private place, an he catch thee, stare him in the face and say ‘What be my payment?’ He will profess outrage at the notion; gobs like plundering the wealth o’ others, not yielding up their own. Then say ‘But Slackjaw paid me with a magic amulet! Be thou not his match?’ An he be not diverted by this, and seeks to ravish thee regardless, call to the nearest other male gob and cry ‘Canst stand by and watch me be ravished by this dullard, when thou dost be the one I hanker for?’ Then in the ensuing quarrel, sneak away.”
Sirel was impressed and appalled. She realized that if she got killed, she would recover after the siege—but what if she got raped? She wasn’t sure that could be undone. After all, she had not yet had her first heat. Her motions with Barel had been tentative and gentle; this would hardly be the case here. A successful masquerade could still put her in jeopardy!
They perfected their costumes, then reverted to wolf form. Now when they changed, they would be complete with costume and knives. They would remain in wolf form until the siege, so that no spy would know.
Next day was the siege. Kurrelgyre and his senior bitch went out to make contact with the goblin chief. At their return, the action commenced. Several wolves bounded forward, zig-zagging so as to make poor targets. They were met by a number of thrown rocks, but the goblins were no ogres; most of the rocks missed, and those that struck were not very damaging. The wolves landed among them and started tearing flesh.
Meanwhile, other wolves in manform used bows to pick off any goblins they saw exposed. Before long the front region was clear, and the bitches on the body-hauling crew went out to collect the goblin corpses. Sure enough, some of the gobs weren’t dead; a bitch got stabbed when she bent over one. Homirila’s warning had been apt!
Meanwhile other bitches listened at the ground. Here, too, the warning was apt: in due course they heard the sounds of deep tunneling. It was proceeding at a measured but adequate rate toward the blue flag. Well, there would be a welcoming party when that tunnel broached the surface!
The three cubs saw these activities only in passing. They faded back, pretending to be searching for hidden goblins, but actually working their way out of sight so they could make their long circuit to the rear of the goblin flag. They knew that the goblins’ main effort, the tunnel, would take time, just as the wolves’ main effort of gob destruction would. They did not have to hurry, only to hide. Still, they felt urgency, lest some surprise cost their side the siege before they had a chance to complete their mission.
They had ranged the terrain in advance, of course, and well knew the lay of it. They had marked the places where goblins could hide. The gobs would be watching for an encirclement, and there were certain key spots for this. These were the tricky ones to navigate.
The first was a ravine that ran from wolf to gob territory. Beyond it was an open plateau leading to the big lake; no cover there. Inside it was a thicketed dirt bank that was so obviously suitable for goblin tunneling that no wolf dared go near it. So the ravine was the route to use—and there would surely be a goblin guarding it. Perhaps two. But not many, because the goblins could not spare a great number for the outlying regions, while the main action was in the center. There was a faint smell of goblin, so the region was suspect.
The pups were prepared. Terel had a small bow, with which she was facile in girlform. She crawled in the brush beyond the bank on the near side of the gully. When she was in place, Forel in wolf form leaped into the gully at its origin and raced straight along its deepening center. If he got through, Sirel would follow. If not—
A goblin popped out of a hole in the top of the bank. He drew back his arm, about to hurl a stone down into the gully.
Terel fired her arrow. It struck through the goblin’s back. The goblin collapsed.
Forel continued on down the length of the ravine without other event. It seemed that one goblin was all the enemy had been able to spare for this. Was he truly dead? Sirel wasn’t sure, but knew that they would not be returning this way, so it probably didn’t matter. She set off in wolf form, following Forel’s trail.
The goblin did not stir as she passed him. He was either dead or too canny to move while Terel covered him from behind. Sirel got through unscathed, and joined Forel in the cover of a tree. Forel had sniffed the vicinity and was assured that no goblins were near.
In a moment Terel arrived, having changed back to wolf form and followed their trail. “Dead,” she growled. “In hole.” Obviously she had verified it, and hauled the gob back into his hole so that the body was hidden. That was good, because it meant that there would be no report of their passage. Of course if another goblin came and found the dead one, there would be a suspicion, but by then it might well be too late.
One hurdle down. The next was a thickly forested section that was sure to be mined with goblins. Indeed the smell was there; goblins would be hiding in several trees, ready to attack any wolf who tried to pass.
Now the three changed to their human forms. They looked exactly like three goblins. They had rehearsed for this too, but Sirel was weak-human-kneed about the ploy’s chance for success.
Terel set up in the bushes near the trees, her bow ready. Forel stood and walked boldly toward the trees, making no effort at all to hide. “Hey, any wolves in here?” he called. “I’ll bash ‘em!”
“Shut up, nut!” a goblin called from the foliage above. “You’ll ruin the ambush!”
“Aw, they’ll ne’er get this far!” Forel asserted.
Now Sirel walked up. Forel whirled on her. “Hey, that’s for me!” he cried, starting toward her.
Sirel dodged behind a tree. “I be coming only to relieve the guards o’ the flag!” she protested. “Molest me not, oaf!”
“Ha-ha! What I plan be not molestation, just fan!” He pursued her around the tree.
Sirel fled through the forest, in the direction of the flag. There were assorted chortles from the trees; evidently the ambushers considered this mere good sport. Forel was gaining on her; by the time she reached the cover of the bushes of an overgrown glade, he was almost upon her.
But as they dived into the bushes, they changed back to their wolf forms. They had made it! The ruse had worked! They were through without suspicion.
Could Terel make it also? They waited anxiously.
Soon they heard a commotion from the forest. “Mine!”
“Nay, mine!” Then a scream.
Sirel shuddered. Terel had not made it. The ambush goblins, perhaps excited by the notion of chasing females, had pounced on the next one that showed, and Terel had been unable to escape. She must have stabbed one—but there had been more than one, and no chance to play them off against each other. Was Terel dead or raped?
At any rate, their rear guard was gone. Terel had done well, but now they were two. They could not pause for regrets.
The flag was not far ahead. They crept to cover near it and watched.
It was guarded by several goblin maidens. They chatted and tittered and tossed flowers at each other in the manner of maidens everywhere, seeming to have not a care in the frame. But each had a knife in her garter, and there were surely many males within hailing distance. One scream would bring a convergence. Sirel knew better than to try to pass for a gobliness among these; the males overlooked details because of their unbridled lust, but these girls would know. She had to wait for her opportunity.
Time passed. The distant clamor of battle came closer. The goblin defense was understrength, because of the number being used in the tunneling, so it was hardly surprising that the wolves were making progress. But Kurrelgyre was not depending on that to win the flag; he was depending on Sirel. She had to have the patience to do it correctly, and that meant waiting, no matter what else happened.
Suddenly three wolves burst into sight, running for the flag. They had won through! The goblin maidens saw them and screamed.
Then six turf-lids popped up, a goblin head showing in each hole. Six small spears flew at the wolves, who could not avoid them at such close range. All three were struck and wounded.
The goblins scrambled out of their holes, drawing their sharp little knives. The wounded wolves fought, snapping viciously, but each was beset by two goblins, and already bleeding. The action was fierce and brief. Then four goblins and all three wolves lay dead, and the remaining two goblins staggered away, injured.
The maidens went to the goblins, checking the dead and attending to the living.
Then a wolf in manform burst through, armed with a bow. He put an arrow through one goblin, and was aiming at the other when two of the girls leaped at him, their knives flashing. He got the arrow off, and the remaining male died, but then he went down under the stabs of the girls. He changed to wolf form and snapped at them, and both girls screamed as the sharp teeth tore their tender flesh.
Then a third girl ran across with a club. She smashed it down on the wolf’s head with all her strength, and he went quiet.
Sirel knew that Forel could have taken out that third maiden with one of his arrows, and perhaps saved the wolf. But that would have revealed his presence, and that was forbidden. He had had to exercise the discipline of his mission, and watch one of his own Pack brothers be killed.
Now only two gob girls remained to guard the flag. Sirel considered. Surely there would soon be replacements for the lost girls, because that flag was important. Now might be her best opportunity.
She assumed her gobliness form and walked toward the flag. “I be here to replace—” She paused, as if just now spying the bodies. She screamed, emulating the manner of the others.
But one of the girls was not fooled. “How came thee from the other direction?” she demanded. “Give me the code word!”
Code word? Sirel had not anticipated this!
The girl drew her knife. “Say it now, or we skewer thee!” These were not, Sirel now knew, quite as innocent or gentle as she had been led to expect. What was she to do?
She drew her own knife. “Say it thyself! I answer not to thee!”
But the second gobliness was approaching from the other side, her knife also drawn. “All answer to us, here. Methinks thou dost be a spy!”
Then the first girl leaped and fell, an arrow protruding from her back. Forel had struck.
Sirel whirled on the other, her own knife flashing. The gobliness, startled by the fall of her companion, was slow to counter, and Sirel’s knife plunged into her chest. She sighed and collapsed, looking so woebegone that Sirel felt horribly guilty. She wanted to stop and try to help the girl, but she remembered two things: her mission, and the warning about supposedly dead goblins. She turned away.
An arrow swished by her. Was Forel firing at her? Then something touched her leg, behind. She jumped and turned—and found the stabbed gobliness, fallen on her face, her arm outstretched, knife still in hand. Forel had caught her with the arrow as she tried to stab Sirel in the back. She had indeed not been quite dead! She had pretended to be more grievously wounded than she was, so as to put Sirel off guard, and it had worked. Except for Forel’s alertness.
Sirel went up to the flag. She climbed the tree and took it down. But as she touched the ground, another goblin appeared. His mouth opened—and Forel’s third arrow smashed into that open mouth and through the head.
Sirel tucked the flag out of sight in her clothing. She walked by Forel’s bush. “We must go!” she whispered.
“Thou must walk, masquerading,” he whispered back. “I will follow concealed and guard thee.”
She nodded. It was the best way. She had the flag, but she was not yet out of the goblin region. The longer she could pass for a gobliness, the better.
She walked back toward the region of the blue flag. All around were the bodies of wolves and of goblins; the carnage was horrible. She was glad that this was a siege and not a real battle; it certainly looked real!
A goblin staggered back from the front. “More troops! More troops!” he gasped, seeing Sirel. “They ambushed the tunnel; we took awful losses! All’s lost unless—”
“Let me bandage that arm,” she said, realizing that she still had a part to play. She bent to rip the material of a dead gob’s shirt, to make a bandage. The goblin would not suspect her of being a wolf, this way!
“No time!” he protested. “Got to put in our reserves!”
“The ones guarding the flag are dead,” she said. “Wolves broke through. There was a terrible fight, and the wolves are dead, but so are the goblins.”
He sagged. “Then all be lost.” Then he looked more closely at her, as she approached him with a strip of cloth. “In which case, might as well have some fun.” He grabbed for her.
Oops! Maybe she had played it too well. “Wait, let me bandage thee first! Thine arm—”
“Bandage me second,” he said, catching hold of her with his good arm, with surprising strength. He bore her back against a tree, crowding close.
Then he sagged. An arrow had sprouted from his back. Forel had struck yet again.
But the delay had been critical. Now more gobs were straggling back from the front. “Hey, look what we got!” one cried, seeing Sirel.
“Change and run!” Forel cried. “I will hold them here!”
She didn’t argue; she knew they would catch her, rape her, and soon discover her nature and kill her, in the process stopping her ploy with the flag. She assumed wolf form and leaped away to the side, seeking the cover of brush.
“Wolf! Wolf!” the goblins cried, recovering excitement. “Catch the bitch!”
But the first to start after her was felled by an arrow. The others whirled at this new menace. Much as they liked raping girls of any species, they liked living more. As Sirel reached the brush, she saw them closing in on Forel who, retaining manform, was methodically putting arrows through them. But she knew his supply was limited; he had already expended several in the course of guarding her. There were too many gobs; they would get him and kill him. So it was that Forel sacrificed himself to spring her free, and she had no choice but to accept.
She burst through to the wolf section of the range. Here the gob tunnel debouched. Goblins lay all around, and there was a huge pile of them in the depot; evidently in the end there had been too many bodies for the cleanup crew to drag, so they had been left. A few wolves were licking their wounds, getting ready to resume duty.
She looked to the blue
flag—and it was gone! The gobs must have gotten it! But they had not brought it back to their own flag. It must be somewhere in between.
She assumed girlform. “Where be the flag?” she called to the nearest wolf.
He looked at her—and growled. Suddenly all the few wolves of the vicinity were growling, coming for her.
“Wait!” she cried. “This be but a costume. I be no gob girl!” She changed back to wolf form, to prove it.
They relaxed. One of them turned out to be Kurrelgyre. He was wounded, but could still fight. “Didst get it?”
“Aye!” she said, returning to girlform and pulling out the red flag.
“One got our flag, but we killed him,” he said. “We were resting, making ready for the final effort. But now, with thy success—” He relaxed, and she saw that his injuries were worse than they had seemed at first. He had been putting on a brave show, and was near collapse. “There, across the field,” he said, sinking down as he pointed.
Now she saw the dead gob. The blue flag was clutched in his hand. The wolves had not been allowed to touch it, of course, so it remained there where he had fallen. Obviously this had been a near thing!
She reached the body, and extended the captive red flag. Victory!
The dead gob came to life. He snatched up a dagger that had been hidden beneath him and plunged it into her belly. Then, as she fell back, shocked, not yet feeling the pain, he bashed her hand so that the red flag fell out. He jammed the blue flag on top of it! “Victory!” he cried.