Air buffeted against me, the stagnant air of the Under Tunnels didn’t allow wind to truly form as we moved. Ellen and I sat on the edge of a new open topped wagon in the middle of the train. The moles now released, Gunilla ordered my party and I onto the wagon that held the gold and silver, along with another ten aranae warriors who guarded the herd with us. No one spoke; exhaustion had its grip around the throat of everyone in the wagon, the aranae included.

  Ahead of us, the ambient light of the cavern changed. Up to this point, moss illuminated the cavern in a consistent soft green glow. That brightened as light from the city breached the tunnel’s horizon. Three weeks, three weeks since I’d seen any light brighter than what balled up moss in a sconce could provide, and even though the city was dim when compared to the sun it would be a relief to get out of the persistent gloom that hung over everything in the deeper tunnels.

  Unlike Nora and Mika, whose repeated exhaustion of their mana cores left them unable to cast without the risk of permanent injury. Gunilla commanded Ellen and I switch out with the warriors who jogged beside us.

  The [Lanklatt Cavalry] was incredible at keeping their focus spread out amongst the wagon train, so one spot of defenders didn’t get more worn down than the others. However, like clockwork, whenever there was a change in the guard, the goblins charged.

  Before Ellen and I got settled back into the run; the cavalry descended upon us like a summer storm. Their mounts huffed and goblins bellowed as they tried to impale us through with their lances. But they pulled back when Ellen and I proved we wouldn’t be easy kills. A feat which continued to take longer as the march went on and exhaustion sapped our strength.

  With a heave of effort, I lifted myself back onto the edge of the wagon, a gold piece digging into my back in the exposed portion of my hip. Eyes half closed, the ceiling passed above me with the occasional flash of azure light. Ellen lay next to me, heaving for air, and tried to get her chest to stop spasming. A passing [Lanklatt Cavalrywoman] kicked her, and she still hadn’t been able to get a normal breathing rhythm back after the wind got knocked out of her.

  “Sorry guys. I really wish I could have helped.” Nora said, voice barely above a whisper as she pet Ellen’s hair.

  Each time we’d got back on the wagon, Mika and Nora said something to that effect. And each time we’d leave the comment alone. None of us wanted to broach the subject of them rejoining the fight. Gunilla had strode back here an hour ago and suggested the same thing, only for Maggie to berate the elder aranae for twenty minutes. She even threatened to have the entire clan barred if the elder tried to cripple her party again. Since her blow up, Maggie hadn’t said a word, and instead hovered above our two exhausted mages, a mother hen above her chicks.

  ~~~***~~~

  Knelt down in the bed of the wagon, arrows pinged with feeble strength off the face of my battered shield. The closer we got to the city, the less Ellen and I’s breaks could count as actual breaks. Ever since the city’s light appeared on the horizon, the goblins started to close the gap. More of their [Archers] and [Clerics] in range to fire upon us now.

  They fell in a near consistent rain and the convoy had to swerve around half formed walls or stone spears that exploded from the earth on a regular basis. My breaks between jogging alongside the wagon were now spent knelt above a huddled Mika, Nora, and Ellen. Sheild raised as high as trembling arms could manage.

  More than a couple of times, my shield was forced out of position and my party mates had to pry arrows out of my armor. Usually, my armor held, and the wounds were little more than shallow cuts, but even when they weren’t, I was too exhausted and too deeply held by the Black Hand to care about something as trivial as pain.

  With disinterest I watched as the two rear-most wagons in the train came under heavier and heavier arrow and spell fire. The warriors aboard who guarded the injured did all they could to protect them, but they couldn’t be everywhere at once. A well-placed cluster of spikes burst from the ground and impaled the middle wagon. Wood screamed and splintered and spikes of stone lofted two wounded laborers into the air. Their bodies twitched for a brief second before they stilled.

  The centipede-like creatures that hauled the wagon strained against the stone and eventually pulled free, bringing with them half of a wagon. That was the final straw in the runic series, which suffered almost a day of constant abuse. Cascading pulses of light flashed along what remained of it as the runes failed, overloaded, and exploded. Raw super heated mana fired in every direction. The injured and the [Healers] aboard died almost immediately and those who ran beside it catapulted into the side walls.

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  The wagon in front of it, which up to that point did an admirable job of withstanding the bombardment, collapsed under the weight of the shockwave. The blast was strong enough that the rear axle snapped. Its team tried to continue moving at first but halted when one half of the snapped axle caught onto a stone outcropping and nearly flipped the wagon, launching the half dozen injured in its bed onto the floor.

  Two fools from that wagon tried to stay and fix things, to gather the wounded, but the majority riding within abandoned both the vehicle and the injured who couldn’t run without help. Those who fled quickly reorganized under the barked commands of Gunilla and Helle.

  The destruction of the wagons served a single good, however. It opened a gap between the back of our convoy and the front of the goblin host, a distance that would take precious time to re-close. I expected that as we closed with the city, some of the tension that hung over the wagon train like an [Executioner’s] axe would ease. Yet, as we neared, the aranae around me grew restless. I still had a hard time reading their facial expressions, but that wasn’t what clued me into their nerves. Instead, it was the fact that whenever the [Lanklatt Cavalry] made a pass at someone, all the women around them jumped to engage like they were being attacked themselves.

  “You seeing that?” I asked and pointed towards an aranae warrior who looked ready to charge across a wagon into combat with the lanklatt on the other side.

  “Yeah.” Mika said and hesitated a second. “Didn’t start until the city came into view.”

  Mika’s words were enough to force a conclusion into my exhausted mind. It made no sense for the aranae to be afraid of what should be safety, which meant they knew the goblins had something planned for once we got into the city.

  ~~~***~~~

  The hair on the back of my neck stood in the warm air and a shiver raced down my back as the goblins played their terrible instrument. The city’s skyline was no longer a vague blur in the distance, but completely visible now.

  With a cry sure to be heard in the city, the goblins charged and closed the final gap between the convoy and their host. The small laborer who drove the back wagon whipped her two centipede beasts with desperate abandon as she heard the war cry. Exhausted, the animals only sped up for a short ten seconds before they slowed again. Watching the gap shrink and the woman’s death become inevitable, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if the tradeoff on animals made to carry for the long haul was worth it.

  When the goblins caught up, it was not a comfortable sight. In every other context I’d seen goblins fight, they’d always been disadvantaged somehow. Whether that be funneled through a choke point or in an attempt to take the wall, we’d always held the upper hand. Here, in the open ground of the tunnels, the immense number of goblins finally showed its worth.

  The twenty-five warriors that guarded the wagon drowned in a tide of pale flesh. Before they encircled the wagon, the two laborers who drove it tried to run but were slower than the wagon itself and died with surprising mercy, their deaths short and painless.

  Without orders, Ellen and I knew we’d be called to fight. She started to climb from where she sat as I straightened from a kneel. Gunilla who’d walked back to us looked ready to give out commands, but Maggie stopped her. She stood at her full height in the back of the wagon, just barely able to look down at the more powerful woman. Her face could have been carved from granite, but nothing in her posture spoke of even the slightest hint of disrespect.

  Rather than speak, Maggie turned her gaze from Gunilla in a slow arc, as if she didn’t trust the older woman to follow it, towards the now abandoned wagon in the middle of the host and back to the woman’s eyes. Gunilla studied Maggie for a long moment but read something in her face because she gave a shallow nod and walked to the back of the wagon train to give commands in her native language.

  Over the next half hour, all but the wagon directly behind us were systematically overrun and abandoned in a macabre breadcrumb trail. Their injured occupants, along with the laborers and warriors who guarded them, left slaughtered. As the most recent wagon to be slaughtered disappeared behind a slight hill in the tunnel, I forced myself to think of a positive for this. None of the warriors died quick.

  Each warrior fought as hard as they possibly could, and none went down without a fight. Each warrior killed cost the goblins precious lives and invaluable time. Time those of us who remained used to further the gap between the horde and ourselves.

  When the wagon directly behind the one my party and I rode on was overrun and left behind, we’d just reached the abandoned outer perimeter of the city; and instead of dwelling on the screams of rage and despair from the aranae left behind I focused on the time they’d paid for with their lives.

  Homes built practically on top of each other passed us by as the slums raced past. With each turn we took, the streets widened and narrowed at random. Sometimes we’d race down a street fit for four wagons abreast, and others forced us to slow and carefully maneuver lest the wagons catch between the decayed buildings on either side.

  Our arrival into the city hadn’t gone unnoticed, members of both species popped their heads out from doorways and looked on through windows only to retreat inside when they heard the screams of agony, terror, and eventually death that came from the wagon behind us.

  Now inside the city limits, Gunilla marched back to the wagon we rode where she and Maggie glared at one another for long moments. When she made no move to stop either of us from rising, Ellen and I took the hint and dropped down from the wagon to run alongside it. Rather than run on opposite sides of the wagon like we had occasionally in the tunnel, we ran side by side, careful not to force the other into any obstacles or the like.

  Movement of any kind was torture on my legs, but I knew that death awaited me should I fall behind. Any number of goblin [Archers] or [Clerics] would be able to drive me into the dirt at this point. The thought of an errant spell being what sent me to an early grave made me look back at the host. I turned just in time to watch a contingent break off from the main body, which followed just behind us, to sprint down a side street.

  The wagons continued at pace along the cramped roads of the city and often I had to leap onto the side of the wagon, splinters digging into the soft leather palms of my gauntlets, or drop back just enough to run behind the wagon to avoid getting crushed against some abandoned tenement’s walls or run into a crate in front of a long derelict tea shop.

  Like the tail of a lizard, the convoy followed the spiress and after she turned down a narrow alleyway, had to slow for the first time since we’d abandoned the wall and took flight. With a sound like a hundred snapped cords, the wagon drivers jerked back on the reins to force their draft animals to a halt.

  The spiress’ followers chased her heels loyally and while her sleek carriage could squeeze through the gap between two squat goblin domes, some of the few renovated buildings here in the slums, our wagons could not and the lead vehicle was now stuck. With a desperation audible through the language barrier, the laborers who drove the first carriage whipped at their centipedes, lashes a blur through the air. Stone screamed and sparks flew as painstaking effort drew the wagon only far enough to cement itself between the stones.