My planet is infested with Goblins

Chapter 12: The Bloody Lodge

The abandoned hunting lodge stood beneath a canopy of ancient trees, far enough from the central settlement that no light from the palisade could be seen through the forest. Long ago, hunters had used the building as a resting point during expeditions into the western wilderness. Its walls were made from thick logs darkened by rain and age, while moss covered most of the roof. The tribe had expanded eastward decades earlier, leaving the lodge forgotten by everyone except the oldest hunters.

Tonight, nearly thirty goblins crowded inside. Weapons rested against the walls. Spears, stone axes, hunting bows, and long knives had been brought beneath cloaks or hidden among bundles of meat. A small fire burned in a shallow pit near the center of the lodge, producing just enough light to reveal the gathered faces.

Elder Vargan stood beside it, his cloudy eye moving slowly across the conspirators. Brok waited near the door with six members of his hunting band. Elder Kragg sat against one wall, surrounded by several goblins belonging to his clan. Tar and the younger warriors remained together near the rear of the lodge, whispering among themselves with barely concealed excitement.

Three nights remained before the grain caravan departed, and after that, Vargan was certain that Drok would lose his position.

"Our chance will not come again," he said.

The whispers stopped as Vargan planted his staff against the wooden floor. "When the grain wagons leave, Drok will send his strongest guards with them. Brok takes the main gate before midnight."

Brok nodded and asked what they should do with anyone who resisted.

"Bind them if possible," Vargan replied.

A few hunters exchanged looks, but Vargan continued before they could question him. "We are taking the tribe, we will not burning burning it to the ground."

He turned toward Kragg. "You seize key food storages.No grain shall leaves without your permission. Not one basket of food be missing."

Kragg exposed his teeth in satisfaction. Most of the tribe still did not understand how much power the granaries represented. The farmers might grow food, but whoever controlled the stores controlled what happened when winter came.

Vargan then turned toward the younger warriors. "Tar, you take the chief’s hall."

Tar grinned. "And Drok?"

Vargan’s expression hardened. "Considering his long service to the tribe we offer him a choice."

Tar looked disappointed, and Vargan noticed immediately. "Do not be mistaken to see my restraint for weakness. If Drok steps down, the tribe remains whole. If he refuses, he dies."

Several goblins chuckled quietly.

From far above the forest, Noah watched the gathering through his divine perception. He had expected Vargan to continue plotting, but he had not expected the conspiracy to become this organized so quickly. The old hunter understood more about power than Noah had initially given him credit for. Vargan knew that killing Drok alone would accomplish little. He wanted the gates, food, and symbols of authority seized simultaneously.

It was a primitive coup, but unmistakably a coup.

Noah remained silent as something outside the lodge moved.

A young hunter near the rear wall suddenly turned his head, his long ears twitching toward the darkness.

The goblin beside him frowned. "What is it?"

The young hunter raised one finger, and everyone gradually became quiet. For several seconds, the only sound inside the lodge came from the cracking fire.

The young hunter walked toward the wall. "The insect noises stopped."

Vargan’s good eye narrowed while Brok moved toward the entrance. Outside, the forest was completely silent. No night birds called between the trees, no insects buzzed beneath the leaves, and even the small animals that normally moved through the undergrowth had disappeared.

Brok slowly reached for his spear. "Something is wrong."

One of his hunters stepped toward a narrow opening beside the door and peered into the darkness.

He saw movement between the trees.

"Warriors—"

An arrow entered through the opening and buried itself in his throat before he could finish the warning. The goblin stumbled backward as blood poured down his chest, then collapsed onto the wooden floor.

"Get down!" Brok roared.

Arrows tore through the lodge. The walls were thick, but decades of decay had opened gaps between the logs. Shafts entered through windows, broken boards, and holes in the roof. A goblin screamed as an arrow pierced his shoulder, while another fell with a shaft buried in his stomach.

The fire was kicked apart as everyone threw themselves toward cover.

Vargan crouched behind a heavy wooden table, and his expression immediately changed from suspicion to eventual understanding. Someone had betrayed them.

Outside, shadows surrounded the lodge. Dozens became scores as more warriors appeared between the trees. Hunters moved through the darkness with bows ready. Spearmen blocked every path leading deeper into the forest, while guards carrying wooden shields formed a rough line around the main entrance.

The lodge was completely encircled.

At the center of them stood Chief Drok.

His spear rested in one hand, and he had removed the ceremonial necklace he normally wore inside the settlement. Tonight, he looked less like a chief and more like the hunter he had once been.

"Vargan!" His voice carried through the forest.

Inside the lodge, no one answered.

Drok stepped closer. "I know about your plan."

Several conspirators stared at Vargan.

"I know about the granaries."

Kragg’s face tightened.

"And I know about the chief’s hall."

Tar started to panic.

Drok stopped beyond bow range from the entrance. "You planned to wait until my warriors left with the grain caravan."

A frightened murmur spread through the lodge. Someone had told him everything.

Tar seized the goblin beside him by the collar. "Was it you?"

The goblin snarled and shoved him away. "Get off me!"

Another conspirator drew his knife. "Someone snitched!"

"Enough!" Vargan shouted.

The lodge quieted.

Outside, Drok continued. "Throw your weapons through the door and come out one at a time. Any goblin who surrenders now will be judged individually."

Brok looked toward Vargan.

Kragg spoke first. "He said we will be judged."

One goblin muttered that judgment probably meant execution, while another insisted that Drok might still spare some of them.

Vargan rose slowly from behind the table. "Listen to yourselves. Three days ago you swore that Drok had stolen the tribe from us. Now he surrounds you with spears, and suddenly you believe in his mercy?"

One of the younger conspirators glanced toward the door. "We cannot fight all of them."

Vargan pointed toward him. "And why are they here? Because Drok knew we would challenge him. Because he feared us enough to bring an army into the forest."

Vargan lifted his staff. "Look outside. This is the future you wanted to surrender to. A chief who decides which goblins may speak, which goblins may eat, and now which elders are allowed to live."

Noah observed the reactions inside the lodge. It was a clever tactic. Vargan had been caught planning an armed takeover, yet within moments he had transformed Drok’s ambush into proof of everything he had warned about.

Some goblins were still afraid, but others were becoming angry.

Outside, Drok called again. "This is your last chance."

Vargan walked toward the fire pit and removed the chipped spearhead he had used during their oath. He held it above his head.

"The First Chief did not kneel when beasts surrounded him. He built a wall and fought. Tonight, we do the same."

Brok roared, and several hunters joined him.

Drok heard them from outside. His expression hardened as he lowered his spear and gave the order to fire.

The forest erupted.

Arrows struck the lodge from every direction. The first volley shattered the remaining window covers. The second entered through the doorway as Brok’s hunters overturned tables to create makeshift shields.

Kragg screamed when an arrow entered his thigh. Tar dragged him away from the wall while Brok shouted for the hunters to use the rear exit.

Six hunters gathered behind him. They smashed the old wooden door open and charged into the darkness.

Drok had expected them.

A wall of spears met the escaping hunters.

The first goblin ran directly onto two spearheads. Brok struck one defender across the face and drove his own weapon through another’s chest. For several seconds, the veteran hunters pushed forward, and their experience showed immediately. They fought without hesitation and moved through the trees better than Drok’s settlement guards.

Then more warriors closed around them.

Brok killed another goblin before an arrow entered his back. He stumbled but continued fighting. A spear pierced his side, followed by another that struck his leg.

Brok dropped to one knee, roaring as three warriors attacked together.

By the time he fell, four of Drok’s fighters lay dead around him.

None of the hunters who followed him escaped.

Inside the lodge, Vargan heard the screams end.

"Our rear is lost!" someone shouted.

Smoke suddenly entered through the roof. Vargan looked upward and saw fire spreading along the dry moss covering one corner of the lodge.

Drok’s warriors had thrown burning bundles onto it.

"They are burning us!" Tar shouted.

Panic finally broke the conspirators’ discipline.

Several rushed toward the front door despite Vargan ordering them to stop.

One goblin threw his weapon outside. "I surrender!"

He stepped through the entrance with both hands raised. An arrow struck the ground beside him, and one of Drok’s guards ordered him onto his knees.

The goblin hurriedly obeyed.

A second conspirator ran after him, followed by another. One by one they surrenders.

Tar grabbed the fourth and drove a knife into his back before he could reach the entrance.

The wounded goblin collapsed.

Several conspirators stared at Tar in horror.

Vargan struck the younger warrior across the face. "You fool!"

"He was surrendering!"

"He was still one of ours!"

Smoke thickened inside the lodge while the roof crackled above them.

Kragg, still wounded, dragged himself toward one wall. "There is a roof hatch."

Two goblins helped him climb onto a table. Kragg pushed through the opening and pulled himself onto the burning roof. For a moment, freedom seemed only several jumps away.

Then arrows rose from the trees.

One entered his chest.

Another struck his neck.

Kragg fell backward through the opening and crashed onto the floor.

The remaining conspirators finally understood that there would be no escape.

Vargan looked toward the main entrance. "We go through the front."

Tar stared at him. "You want us to charge them?"

"We can die choking on smoke, or we can die with weapons in our hands."

The surviving hunters gathered around him. Some were bleeding while others coughed violently through the smoke.

Vargan stood at their center. "Anyone who wants Drok’s mercy can crawl outside now."

No one moved.

"Then follow me."

The door burst open.

The conspirators charged.

The first rank was cut apart almost immediately. Drok’s warriors had formed a half-circle around the entrance. Spears struck forward while archers fired over their shoulders.

Tar broke through the first line.

He buried an axe in one guard’s skull and leaped over the body.

"Drok!"

He saw the chief and charged toward him.

Tar made it six steps before three spears entered his body from different directions. His axe fell from his hand, but he remained standing for a moment, staring at Drok from between the shafts.

Then the spearmen pulled their weapons free.

Tar collapsed.

Vargan emerged behind the others.

Bodies covered the ground. Hunters he had known for decades died beneath the spears of goblins from their own tribe. Some begged for mercy. Some cursed Drok with their final breaths. Others continued fighting even after wounds that should have dropped them.

Ultimately, numbers decides everything.

Within minutes, the clearing became a slaughter ground.

The burning lodge illuminated the dead until Vargan realized that no one remained beside him.

Drok’s warriors formed a circle around the old elder.

The chief walked through them with blood covering his spear.

Vargan leaned heavily on his staff. "You slaughter your own tribe well."

Drok stopped several paces away. "You planned to seize it from me!"

"We planned to save it."

"You planned to take everything, the food, and my hall with armed warriors."

"Because you would never listen to us."

"I listened."

Drok glanced toward the burning lodge. "You threatened me, then gathered warriors to remove me."

Vargan laughed weakly. "So you killed us before we could try."

"Yes. If you had taken the grain stores, farmers would have fought you. If you killed me, my guards would have hunted you. Villages would have chosen sides, and hundreds more would have died."

Vargan looked at the bodies surrounding them. "And you believe this is better?"

Drok tightened his grip on the spear. "No, but this ends tonight."

Vargan slowly removed the chipped spearhead from his clothing. "The hunters will remember this. They will remember that Drok killed elders to protect farmers."

"They will also remember why."

Vargan’s good eye narrowed. "You think fields made you strong."

Drok glanced toward the forest. "The fields did not save me tonight."

For the first time, Vargan’s expression faltered.

Someone had betrayed him.

Someone he had trusted enough to approach had carried the entire plan to Drok before the coup could begin.

The old elder exhaled and threw his staff aside before drawing a long hunting knife.

Drok lowered his spear.

Neither goblin needed to speak.

Vargan attacked.

He was still fast despite his age. His blade slipped past Drok’s first thrust and cut across the chief’s forearm. Vargan twisted away from the returning spear and aimed for Drok’s throat.

Drok stepped backward, but Vargan followed.

For several exchanges, experience allowed the old hunter to overcome the weakness of age.

Then Vargan’s wounded leg buckled slightly.

That single mistake was enough.

Drok knocked the knife aside with the shaft of his spear.

Vargan stumbled.

The spearhead entered his chest.

The old goblin froze as Drok held him upright for a moment. Blood ran down the spear while Vargan looked past the chief toward the burning lodge.

"You can kill us," he whispered, "but you cannot kill what we believed."

His legs gave way.

Drok pulled the spear free, and Vargan fell beside the bodies of his followers.

Above the forest, Noah remained silent.

The coup had ended before it ever began.

Nearly every goblin who had sworn against Drok was dead. Dozens of veteran hunters, warriors, clan leaders, and elders had disappeared in a single night. For a primitive civilization, the loss was enormous.

Yet Noah understood something he had not fully appreciated before.

Drok had not won because he possessed the strongest spear. He had won because someone had carried information to him before Vargan could act. Information is very crucial. Noah has taken to heart when eventually he shall use this against fighting other gods.

He had gathered loyal warriors, surrounded his enemies, controlled every escape route, and destroyed the rebellion before it could spread through the settlement.

The goblins had discovered another weapon that could decide battles before the first spear was thrown: information.

The roof of the old hunting lodge finally collapsed. Flames rose high into the night while rain began falling through the trees.

Drok stood before the burning ruin, surrounded by the bodies of the old order.

By morning, the central tribe would know what had happened, and it would never be the same again.

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