Chapter 15: The Surrender of the Kobold

After traversing several miles of tall woodland, the terrain began to grow rugged, the vegetation transforming into low shrubs, and bare rocks scattered everywhere. Looking up into the distance, one could see the majestic barrier rising straight into the clouds. The source of the Anzeno River, with its dozen celestial waterfalls, seemed almost within reach.

Leo led his party along a stream for another mile before discovering the valley where the kobold nest was hidden. It was hardly surprising that the kobolds attacked so frequently—the pioneers had nearly reached their doorstep, almost blocking their very entrance.

Under normal circumstances, kobolds, as a weaker race, would never attack targets stronger than themselves. Not even a group of fifty militiamen would provoke a hundred kobolds to do more than watch from afar, let alone a team of three hundred settlers. But invasion of their territory changed everything. Any group with a sense of land would try every means to drive out invaders from their domain.

It was a sparse little valley, a stream running down its center. Kobolds had built a chaotic cluster of shacks along both slopes of the creek, some no more than a roof over the entrance to caves carved into the rocky hillside. The cliff faces of the valley had been hollowed out like a honeycomb, and piles of jumbled ores filled the valley, blocking the stream in several places. Rusty mineral dust and slag had eroded the banks until not a blade of grass remained.

The kobolds clearly had their own scouts and had received word early. By the time Leo and his party entered the valley, chaos reigned. Under the frantic howls of a black-and-white-furred kobold, young and old were herded out, gathering on the flat ground in the valley. Excluding the pups tumbling on the ground, there were still at least a hundred kobolds capable of threatening the militia.

Despite being outnumbered, Leo did not fear defeat; he had already seen terror and panic in their eyes. After repeated reckless assaults, this kobold tribe had exhausted its core fighting strength—the bravest, strongest warriors were almost all dead, leaving only the frail and elderly.

Among those assembled on the valley floor, the few remaining kobold warriors looked mostly terrified. To the kobolds, with an average height of barely four feet, the towering humans—most around six feet—were true apex predators.

If, at the beginning, the kobold chief had led a hundred kobolds to break through the militia’s defenses in one fierce rush, they might have used their numbers to win a pyrrhic victory and drive the outsiders away. But there was no such chance. Since the kobold chief was savagely killed by a human, the tribe was doomed.

“Form ranks!” At Leo's command, twenty-five militiamen with wooden shields clustered around him, advancing steadily. Another twenty-five villagers followed, wielding scythes and pitchforks.

There was a reason northerners were called barbarians. Though the militia were mere farmers raised on coarse grains, they’d grown into a group of tall, broad-shouldered men thanks to their hardy genes, averaging well over six feet.

The front line, after several seasons of extra rations and clad in thick fur armor, looked especially imposing. Their crude round wooden shields, modeled after the heavy infantry shields designed by Uriyan, were so large and heavy that it seemed one blow could crush a kobold.

The villagers behind, though inexperienced in battle, had witnessed several skirmishes with the kobolds and adapted quickly, now bearing fierce expressions, ready to fight.

The shield wall and steady footsteps of the militia exerted tremendous pressure on the kobolds. Many couldn't hold back and began hurling stones and javelins. Some hit the ground, others struck the shields, but none inflicted harm.

Lacking the numbers to unleash a hail of javelins, the kobolds were helpless against the militia’s shield formation. Given the distance and terrain, Leo forewent the slings this time and instead drew javelins.

“Javelins ready!” The shield wall lowered, and the militia raised their javelins in unison, causing uproar among the kobolds, who instinctively pressed backward.

“Throw!” Two volleys of javelins later, the kobolds finally broke. Their already fragile morale collapsed, and they fled, leaving the field in disarray.

Leo, cautious, did not pursue. He called for the militia to retrieve their javelins, re-form ranks, and observe.

Before long, at the black-and-white kobold’s frantic barking, most of the kobolds returned, huddling together, once again blocking the militia’s path.

They had no choice—this was their home, behind them lay their winter stores and their pups.

Leo felt a strange pang. The kobold tribe before him was so much like his own village. When the beastfolk raiders struck, though they were outmatched, they could only form ranks and fight, trading militiamen's lives for the village’s safety.

In the end, they had to flee. That was the best outcome; at least they survived. Several neighboring villages had been slaughtered to the last soul.

On the road, many refugees died of cold. Leo had seen refugee parties of over a hundred freeze to death overnight in a snowstorm.

Those refugees lacked a leader like Uriyan—strong in arms and sharp of mind—who could stockpile enough food, furs, tents, beasts of burden, and wagons before migrating.

But Leo had no time or mood to pity the kobolds. This frontier held more than one kobold tribe; any threat not swiftly eliminated left the pioneer camp vulnerable to destruction. Who could say the kobolds wouldn’t seize the chance to strike when another tribe attacked?

Just as Leo called out “Javelins ready!” again, the black-and-white kobold stepped forward from the pack.

It left the group, raised its hands, walked to the open ground, and uttered a series of unintelligible growls.

“What is it doing?” Ivan, a militiaman beside Leo, whispered curiously.

“Is it challenging us to a duel?” asked Vicky, another militiaman.

Leo signaled the militia to lower their javelins and stepped out from the shield wall, eager to see what the kobold was up to.

The black-and-white kobold growled for a while, saw that Leo didn’t understand, and fixed its gaze on the chain mace Leo had taken from the kobold chief. Its growls became intermittent, breaking into individual words.

“Surrender... you... surrender.”

Leo was astonished—the kobold was speaking Imperial. The militia realized it too, craning their necks in surprise and whispering.

“You can speak?” Leo asked in amazement, daring to approach.

“Yes, grr... you, we... surrender,” the black-and-white kobold replied, mixing growls with words, half in gibberish, half in Imperial.

Communication was an entirely different matter, yet Leo felt a strange sense that the gap between him and the kobold was narrower than that between Vikings and Anglo-Saxons.

“Food, woof! You, grr, iron... we... go.”

As the black-and-white kobold spoke, the others grew restless, barking meaninglessly. But at its low growling threats, they quieted. A few kobolds dragged bags from the mineshafts above and placed them between the two groups.

The black-and-white kobold opened the bags, spilling handfuls of acorns and pine nuts onto the ground. It pointed at the bag of acorns, then at the valley behind, and continued, “Food, iron... you, give, we... we leave.”

Leo listened twice before understanding, and repeated, “Give us your food and iron, and we let you leave?”

The black-and-white kobold nodded.

Leo fell deep into thought.