My planet is infested with Goblins

Lord Governor Marcellan Rusk remained in the council chamber long after the couriers carrying Eastwatch’s warnings had disappeared beyond the western roads.

The great provincial map still occupied most of the central table, but the neat administrative markings that once showed tax districts, bridges, estates, and market routes had nearly vanished beneath a growing collection of colored markers.

Red represented confirmed attacks, yellow represented sightings or uncertain enemy activity, and black marked settlements or patrols from which reliable communication had stopped completely.

Brackenford still carried a red marker because no one in Eastwatch yet knew its fate with certainty, but Marcellan found his eyes returning to it whenever another report arrived. Only a few days earlier, seven strange scouts had seemed like an unusual border problem. Now entire sections of the province were sending warnings about the same green-skinned soldiers.

General Cedric Halvern stood across the table reading another report while several military officers and provincial clerks waited nearby.

Marcellan had already sent emergency letters toward the King of Caldris, but the act no longer gave him the comfort it had when the seals were first pressed into the wax. He looked westward across the map, following the royal road far beyond Eastwatch’s territory toward a capital so distant that most provincial officials would make the journey only a few times in their lives.

"How long before the king receives our report?" Marcellan asked.

Halvern lowered the document.

"If the roads remain open and the couriers suffer no serious delays, several weeks."

Marcellan frowned.

"Several?"

"Three would be unusually good. Four is more realistic. Possibly longer if they lose horses, encounter damaged roads, or have to avoid fighting."

One of the provincial secretaries shifted uneasily.

"The relay stations should speed them considerably."

"They will," Halvern replied. "That is why I said weeks rather than months."

The answer settled heavily over the chamber. Marcellan had always known the royal capital was distant, but knowing a fact on an ordinary administrative day was different from understanding what it meant while villages were being attacked.

"And if His Majesty sends orders back immediately?" Marcellan asked.

"Those orders travel the same roads in the opposite direction."

Marcellan looked at the markers again.

"So even under favorable conditions, we cannot expect royal instructions for more than a month."

"Likely much longer."

No one tried to soften the conclusion. By the time the king learned about the first goblin attack, Eastwatch might already be dealing with an entirely different war. Royal reinforcements would take longer still. An army could not travel at the speed of a mounted courier, particularly once it had supply wagons, siege equipment, and thousands of soldiers to feed.

Marcellan exhaled slowly.

"Then the king is not part of our immediate calculations."

One adviser looked alarmed.

"My lord, he is still the sovereign authority."

"I am aware of who the king is. I am saying he cannot answer a question he will not hear for weeks."

Halvern gave a small nod.

"That is the situation."

The neighboring provinces suddenly mattered far more. Their governors and military commanders could receive Eastwatch’s warnings within days rather than weeks, although there was no guarantee they would send assistance. Halvern had already warned Marcellan that the other governors might prefer strengthening their own borders once they learned an unknown enemy was spreading through the east.

Before the discussion could continue, the doors opened and three men were escorted inside. Their clothing was muddy and smoke-stained, and none wore an official uniform. The oldest carried a hunting bow over one shoulder.

"My lord," a clerk announced, "these men came from the countryside north of Brackenford. They claim to have information about the village."

Marcellan straightened immediately.

"You saw Brackenford?"

The hunter nodded.

"From a ridge, my lord. We did not enter."

"What did you see?"

"Smoke from several buildings. Green soldiers on the palisade. More moving through the streets."

The room became quiet.

Halvern stepped closer.

"Were they fighting?"

"Not when we saw them."

"Caldris soldiers?"

The hunter hesitated.

"There was none we saw before we left."

Marcellan looked toward Brackenford’s marker.

"What about Second Company? Eastwatch uniforms, military banners, anything?"

"We saw bodies near the western side, General, but we were too far away to tell whose. There were goblin wagons moving inside the village. Later several wagons left eastward under guard."

Halvern asked several more questions about the roads, the number of goblins visible, and whether any civilians had escaped. The answers remained uncertain. The hunters had approached only close enough to confirm that the village was occupied before retreating.

Marcellan waited until they were dismissed before speaking.

"Mercer had one hundred and twenty professional soldiers."

Halvern’s expression did not change.

"Yes."

"And twenty mounted scouts."

"Yes."

"You believe they are dead?"

"I believe Brackenford is in enemy hands and Captain Mercer has failed to report. We cannot build our plans around the hope that his company is somehow intact."

Marcellan pointed toward the clerk.

"Change Brackenford to black."

The clerk hesitated for only a moment before replacing the red marker. The small black piece looked insignificant against the size of the map, yet Marcellan could not stop staring at it.

Brackenford was not a fortress. It was not strategically important enough to determine the fate of the province. Even so, losing it meant something fundamental had changed. The goblins had not merely raided farms or ambushed patrols. They had captured a defended Caldris settlement and apparently destroyed the professional soldiers sent to reinforce it.

Another bundle of reports arrived before the council could fully absorb the news. A road patrol had disappeared farther north. Two small farming communities had been abandoned after goblin sightings appeared nearby. A fortified estate had driven away a reconnaissance group without significant casualties.

Most troubling was a report that several hundred goblins might be gathering near an important river crossing connecting eastern roads to routes leading toward Eastwatch.

Halvern immediately moved to that section of the map.

"This number is unreliable."

Marcellan joined him.

"But the crossing is a vital part of our logistic."

"And if they take it, they gain easier access to the roads west."

Marcellan looked toward the officers gathered around the table.

"What do we have available in our arsenal?"

Halvern began listing the forces that remained. Eastwatch still possessed professional troops, but several companies were tied to essential garrison duties, road security, and neighboring strongpoints.

Pulling everyone behind Eastwatch’s walls would protect the provincial capital while abandoning the countryside. Scattering soldiers across every threatened settlement would create dozens of weak detachments vulnerable to the same tactics that had already bloodied Second Company.

Marcellan rubbed his forehead.

"Then what do you recommend?"

Halvern was silent for a few moments before answering.

"We stop pretending we can save every village."

The statement immediately drew objections from several civilian officials.

Marcellan raised a hand.

"Let him finish."

Halvern pointed toward the larger towns, bridges, and fortified positions.

"We concentrate around places that matter militarily. Major roads, crossings, fortified towns, storehouses, and positions controlling movement toward Eastwatch. We recall professional troops from small posts that cannot hold against a serious attack. We begin calling selected noble levies from the threatened districts."

"And everyone living outside those positions?" Marcellan asked.

"If a settlement is isolated, weakly defended, and goblins are confirmed nearby, its people should leave before the roads are cut."

One adviser stared at him.

"You are proposing evacuation of royal settlements?"

"The lives of our subjects are more useful than burned villages filled with corpses."

Marcellan looked again at Brackenford’s black marker.

"How many villages?"

"I cannot tell you. Local officials will have to decide based on what they see. Some settlements have strong palisades and local forces. Others would not survive an hour against what apparently took Brackenford."

The governor understood the logic, but approving it meant accepting that parts of his province would be abandoned without a fight.

"What should they take?"

Halvern answered immediately.

"People first. Food if they have transport. Livestock if movement is practical. Healers, smiths, craftsmen, records, tools. Anything useful that can be moved without trapping them on the road."

Marcellan turned toward the chief clerk.

"Prepare the order. Local authorities in threatened districts are authorized to evacuate toward fortified towns, monasteries, estates, or provincial strongpoints when hostile activity is confirmed nearby. They are not to wait until goblins are already outside their walls."

The clerk began writing.

One of the nobles near the end of the table spoke cautiously.

"My lord, calling levies without royal authorization may create problems later."

Marcellan looked toward him.

That argument would have restrained him only a few days earlier.

"The king will not even read our warning for weeks."

"My lord, I only mean—"

"I know exactly what you mean. If His Majesty decides I exceeded my authority by defending his province before his permission could physically reach me, then I will answer for it when the roads are safe enough for his officials to come here."

The noble fell silent.

Halvern moved the conversation toward practical preparations. Eastwatch’s reserve militia would begin organized drills. Engineers would inspect the walls, towers, gates, and wells.

Granaries would be inventoried, and unnecessary grain exports temporarily restricted. Smiths would receive orders for spearheads, bolts, shield fittings, and repairs.

Local nobles would report how many trained retainers they could field and how quickly those men could assemble. Hospitals, temples, and warehouses would be identified as emergency treatment centers if refugees continued arriving.

Marcellan listened as his provincial capital began changing from an administrative center into a city preparing for war.

Yet one problem remained larger than the others.

They still did not know where the main goblin force was.

Halvern pointed toward the scattered attack markers.

"These could be advance troops. If the enemy has thousands more farther east, we have not found them."

"Then send scouts."

"Not the kind we have been sending."

Marcellan waited.

"I want cavalry backed by infantry, several messenger teams, and officers capable of mapping what they find. They observe and return. They do not chase goblins into forests. They do not attack occupied settlements merely because they see an opportunity."

"How many?"

"Enough that a scouting group cannot wipe them out before a messenger gets away."

Marcellan nodded.

"Prepare them."

"I want the latest reports from the forts first. They can leave after we compare routes."

"That is fine."

The meeting continued into the night. Orders were copied, sealed, and handed to messengers traveling toward nearby towns and noble estates.

Eastwatch’s walls gained additional sentries. Storehouses were opened for inventory, and smithies that normally quieted after sunset remained active. Refugees continued arriving outside the gates, bringing stories that ranged from useful observations to terrified nonsense, but every account was recorded before being judged.

When most of the officials finally left, Marcellan remained beside the map with Halvern. Brackenford’s black marker seemed darker beneath the candlelight.

Marcellan traced the distant western road with one finger.

"Our letter is somewhere on this road."

"Probably."

"The king does not know about any of this yet."

"No."

"He does not know Brackenford has fallen. He does not know Mercer may be dead. He does not know we are evacuating settlements or calling levies."

Halvern looked toward the eastern markers.

"And by the time he learns, it might be too late."

That was the reality Marcellan had finally been forced to accept. Royal authority still mattered, and the king’s eventual response might determine whether Caldris could win the larger war, but it would not save Eastwatch tomorrow or the next day.

For several weeks, perhaps longer, the eastern province would have to make decisions with the soldiers, food, walls, and neighboring allies already within reach.

Marcellan looked once more at the map before ordering the candles replaced for the night staff. Whatever happened before the king’s message returned would be decided in the east, and Eastwatch no longer had the luxury of waiting for permission to survive.

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