The Witch of Webs: Book 12 (The Wandering Inn), page 18
Erin frowned as she peered around for Mrsha.
“That’s what Elirr said. She’s not cursed, you know. It’s just…white fur. She’s been nothing but good to the inn. Nothing bad—well—it wasn’t her fault.”
“So you say, Miss Erin. So you say. But tradition runs deep. I’d like to meet her, if only to assuage my own—what is that?”
Xif grabbed Erin suddenly. An anomaly had appeared out of the crowd of milling species. A single figure surrounded by a circle of space and silence. Erin spotted Numbtongue at the same time the Goblin spotted her. He seemed upset. Xif, on the other hand, was terrified.
He recoiled from Numbtongue, his paws instinctively going to a potion hanging from his wide belt. Erin grabbed his arm just in case, but the Gnoll caught himself.
“The—I heard there was one. But a Goblin?”
He stared at Numbtongue. The Hob’s crimson eyes narrowed. And his upset stare grew even more pronounced. He turned abruptly. Erin, distressed, looked at Numbtongue. He hadn’t seemed so unhappy when he’d left twenty minutes ago. Now—
“Numbtongue! What’s wrong? Did you go for a walk?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m going back outside. To practice with my sword.”
The Hobgoblin turned. Erin reached for him, but he was already striding back towards the door. She shouted at him.
“Aw, Numbtongue, hey! What if—”
Too many people. Or the Hobgoblin just didn’t want to listen. He pushed out the door, and Erin let her hand fall.
“Damn. What’s wrong with…”
She had an inkling, but before she could go after Numbtongue, there was Xif to reassure. The Gnoll was pale under his stained fur, and Erin found him a seat. The [Alchemist] gratefully accepted a cup of water that she found for him.
“I apologize. I heard from Lasica—but I didn’t realize he just…I apologize.”
“You can say it to him when he comes back, okay? And don’t freak out when you turn around or I’ll be actually mad this time.”
Erin stared at Xif and then someone behind him. The [Alchemist] froze and slowly turned his head. He didn’t quite squeak when he saw Pawn and the pair of Workers behind him, but he did twitch a bit.
“Erin. I am sorry to interrupt, but I just arrived. I see construction is already underway.”
“Hi, Pawn. Good morning! Yeah, Belgrade’s already at work. They’re nearly done with the third floor—Lyonette wants them to do more work on the foundations or something. She wants to expand the inn!”
Erin smiled weakly. Only now did she feel like she was too busy. She had to go after Numbtongue! But Pawn was looking around for Lyonette, and Erin had to flag down the [Princess]. And explain to Xif who Pawn was. Because that was important. First impressions were important. So was Numbtongue.
“This is Pawn, Xif. He’s a Worker, but he’s really nice. Really.”
“A…a pleasure.”
The [Alchemist] shook Pawn’s hand, which was good for most first impressions. Lyonette paused, tying back her sweat-soaked hair, and blinked as Pawn appeared. She had to meet Xif too. Then Erin had to remember the Worker standing next to Pawn.
“Archer…B23?”
“B19.”
Pawn quietly corrected Erin. She slapped her forehead.
“Duh. Of course. I, uh, well, I’m just scatterbrained. Hello, Archer B19!”
The Worker bowed to Erin.
“This one—I—I mean, I—am very gratified to meet you. Miss Erin. I have wished to convey my thanks. You gave me a bowl of soup. And you taught me how to play chess once. Before I became Individual. I have never forgotten it.”
You couldn’t ignore something like that. Erin paused and reached out to hug Archer B19. Xif looked on, amazed. And Pawn? He edged around to Lyonette and timidly but insistently stood by her side. She smiled at him.
“Good morning, Pawn. Are you supervising the construction?”
He hesitated.
“That is Belgrade’s job. I am here to assist. And let the Workers and Soldiers relax. But perhaps it would be wise to supervise the construction? We are only restoring the third floor, but there is a good vantage of our groundwork for your future plans. Perhaps we should take a look? Together?”
He looked at Erin. So did Lyonette. Erin looked up and didn’t think twice. She nodded.
“Go for it. We can hold down the fort, Lyonette. Take a break.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yup. Go for it! I’ll—handle anything that comes up.”
It was dangerous to say, but the way Pawn brightened was worth it. Lyonette smiled and reached out. She held his hand, and they walked upstairs to ‘supervise’ the ‘construction’. Which probably meant exactly that, but with hand holding. Archer B19 trundled after them after saying goodbye to Erin. The [Innkeeper] sighed, then turned to Xif, who was dumbstruck.
“Crazy kids, huh? Wanna nobble on something?”
Xif stared at Erin blankly.
“Nobble?”
She laughed and looked around for some food. She had to be a good host to the Gnoll and keep him from the politics until he wanted to talk to them—and then only for a bit. And she had to make sure the staff had food and could do their jobs while Lyonette was on break. And where was Mrsha?
So much to do. And yet, Numbtongue’s expression remained in Erin’s mind. She had to talk to him. But—could he wait? Just for an hour? Or two? Or four? Then she could listen to whatever was on his mind. She would. But she was so busy right now. Erin chewed her lip and then forgot about Numbtongue when she saw Mrsha trying to peek inside Maughin’s neck cavity. By the time she remembered the Hobgoblin and went to look for him, it was already too late.
——
This was what happened. Outside the inn, another force was moving across the Floodplains. The Antinium. Not the construction team working on Erin’s inn, but a second force. A larger one.
Painted Soldiers. They stormed across the Floodplains, invading Shield Spider nests, wiping them out with brutal efficiency. And their actions went completely unnoticed by the crowd in Erin’s inn. By all of Liscor, actually.
It was ironic. Not three days ago, the Painted Soldiers had been the talk of the town. People had been gathered on the walls to watch them. And yesterday and today they’d been doing their jobs, just like normal. It wasn’t as if spider-killing season ended just after a single day, after all. But apparently, no one but the Painted Soldiers cared anymore. The City Watch was leaving the duty to them, and 4th Company was busy raising support for Lism in the city or strategically lifting with Grimalkin.
No one cared about the Painted Soldiers anymore when all eyes had been on them yesterday. But that was okay. They cared about themselves. And they had a job to do.
Kill the spiders. They ran, a wall of black carapace mixed with paint, and a wall fell into the nests, pounding the eggs and spiders flat, moving over the hills and avoiding the valleys filled with muck. The Painted Soldiers were in tip-top form, but they pushed beyond even their regular limits.
Because of him. Yellow Splatters, the giant, their [Sergeant]. He had returned. He was leading them. He had a voice. Like their duty, the excitement and reaction his presence provoked among the Painted Soldiers didn’t fade after a single day either. So they ran, arms and legs pumping, racing to do their job. They were…happy.
One particular wall of Painted Soldiers was running up a hill about a mile away from The Wandering Inn. They had disposed of an especially large nest of Shield Spiders. They were not led by Yellow Splatters; he was actually six miles away. But he was on the same field. They had heard him give the order. That was enough. Now the five Painted Soldiers ran forwards, hunting for another nest.
The Soldier in the lead rushed up the hill and began to cross the top. The mud splashed around his feet as he ran, splattering across the blue-white paint delicately patterning his body. Falling Snow, he was named. As he ran, he spotted a deep valley ahead of him. The thick mud, a remnant of the rains, still covered the bottom quite deeply. That was fine, and it meant no Shield Spiders were making their nests in all that. Falling Snow turned to find another hill. And the Soldier behind him, Zebras, bumped into him.
It was a simple mistake. They were too excited. All five were going too fast. The Soldier tripped. He lost his footing. He struggled to regain it, but the hill was steep, the mud was slippery. As Zebras grabbed for him with three of his striped arms, Falling Snow overbalanced. And he fell into the mud.
It covered him at once. Thick, clinging, heavy mud. More solid than liquid, but deep enough, watery enough to ensnare the Painted Soldier like a…bug. In the mud. Falling Snow struggled, arms and legs grasping at something, anything, as Zebras and the three other Painted Soldiers skidded to a stop on the hill. But he couldn’t move. The mud dragged him down.
Suddenly, the excitement was gone from the air. Zebras stared down at the mud pit. At the flailing Soldier. He made to step forwards and slipped. The other three Soldiers dragged him back. The valley’s slopes were steep. The footing was treacherous. One wrong move and Zebras would tumble into the pit.
And that deep—Falling Snow was struggling. He’d managed to right himself, but he was sinking deeper. He was too far away from the pit’s edges to pull himself up. The mud was closing over his head. His mandibles snapped. They covered with mud. He couldn’t breathe.
The four Painted Soldiers stood helplessly on the edge. They thought. They looked at the ground. Zebras reached for the others, and they tried to make a chain. Two of the Soldiers went down, and the two tried to hold them. The mud footing slipped, and all four nearly cascaded down. They were too heavy. It would never work. Zebras began digging at the ground, but there was no time. They couldn’t excavate Falling Snow in the time. It would take to changing the geography of the entire valley.
By now, the distress of the five Painted Antinium was being broadcast across every level of communication they possessed. Other Painted Soldiers noticed the still group of four on the hill. They turned, and like a ripple, all the attention of the Painted Soldiers fixed on the spot. On the scene.
Six miles away, Yellow Splatters looked up from killing a Shield Spider. He saw the four, saw the other Painted Soldiers converging on the spot at a dead run. He ran too. But too late.
Too slow.
In the valley of mud, Falling Snow was drowning. Mud was closing around his head, and his four arms and legs were caught. The Soldier flailed, but he understood nothing of swimming. And he was too heavy. The mud was too deep and too thick. He…couldn’t…
His flailing was growing slower. Zebras and the Soldiers on the hill were digging. But it was no use. Slowly, one by one, the Painted Soldiers stopped. They looked down at their comrade. And Falling Snow felt his consciousness dwindling. His struggling grew weak. Sporadic. He stopped moving at last.
“No!”
The voice that shouted was five miles distant. Yellow Splatters was running, racing. But he was too slow. Too far. The Painted Soldiers on the hill looked down. And the Soldier in the mud looked up as the mud covered his eyes. He gazed at the blue sky. At his fellow Soldiers, watching him. He knew he would die. Falling Snow looked up and waited for heaven.
And a green angel dove from above. Numbtongue hit the mud, and it dragged him down. But the Hobgoblin reached. And he found the still Soldier in the darkness.
The Soldier was heavy. Too heavy. Numbtongue heaved, but Falling Snow was part of the mud trap. And Numbtongue felt himself sinking. Above him, the Painted Soldiers milled. The Hobgoblin gritted his teeth. He reached for his belt and pulled something loose. Numbtongue fumbled with the drawstrings and then pulled.
An explosion of vines engulfed him as the Tripvine Bag in his hands exploded. The impact, confined, blasted the vines into Numbtongue, making him inhale the mud. The vines twined around him and Falling Snow, shooting upwards. Growing, expanding. Reaching the Painted Soldiers around the pit. The Antinium stared at the vines. Then they grabbed them and heaved.
Two dozen Soldiers grabbed the muddy tangle of vines. Three dozen. They backed up and pulled. The vines had completely entangled the pit and the Hobgoblin and Soldier in it. The mud clung to the tangle, weighing it down. It had to be hundreds, no, thousands of pounds of weight. The Soldiers grabbed the vines and heaved. And the muddy tangle began to tear itself free of the pit.
Vines exploded with the weight, and Soldiers stumbled back before surging forwards to grab at more vines. One had four vines in each arm, and more Soldiers rushed forwards by the second, grabbing at vines, pulling, pulling—
The mud surged upwards, caught in the vines. It began to cascade over the edges of the hill. Then the huge tangle of vines. Mud slopped down as the Soldiers yanked the tangle up onto the hill. Then they tore at the sides, ripping mud and magical vines free. The Tripvines fell to the ground, and an arm emerged. Green. The Soldiers excavated it.
Numbtongue’s head came out of the tangle. The Hobgoblin vomited mud. Then he dragged at another figure. An Antinium, mud dripping from his body. The Soldiers grabbed at the mud, sloughing it off. Frantically, they uncovered Falling Snow’s mandibles, found his mouth blocked with mud. Numbtongue pushed his way forwards with a flask of water.
The mud washed away as Numbtongue scraped at the opening. The Soldier’s mandibles and inner mouth cleared of debris. He lay on the ground, his body still. The Painted Soldiers stood around him, and Numbtongue sat back, waiting. Listening. The Soldier’s chest was still. Then the silent audience heard it.
A faint whistling sound. Breath, intaken. Falling Snow inhaled. And then he sat up. He looked around, and his muddy body jerked. The Painted Soldiers surrounded him, wiping at his mud-covered eyes, antennae. Numbtongue lay down on the ground and breathed.
He was alive. Alive. If anyone had looked, if anyone had cared, they would have seen every Painted Soldier on the Floodplains converging on the spot. Gathering around Falling Snow, who was still just breathing, surrounded by the other Soldiers.
As the furthest-flung Soldiers arrived, they began digging at the valley, removing the deadly mud trap, giving the mud a place to flow out. Others joined the huddle, a quiet mass. But not one without emotion. Numbtongue saw it. He felt it, lying on his back with mud in his ears and hair. And he was relieved. He had made it in time.
That was all he thought for a while. Then a shadow blocked the light. Numbtongue looked up and saw a strange Antinium in the air above him. He was taller than the other Soldiers. Bigger. His body had a…familiar pattern, though. And when he looked down at Numbtongue, he spoke.
“Thank you.”
“…Uh?”
The Hobgoblin was so surprised he only stared for a second. The Soldier’s mandibles moved again. And it was words, distinctly words, that came out of his mouth.
“Thank you. Falling Snow will live. You saved him.”
Slowly, the Hobgoblin sat up. He gazed up at the strange Painted Soldier who was speaking to him. He was so familiar. But the voice? Numbtongue couldn’t place it. So he inspected the markings on the Soldier’s body. That was easy. Numbtongue had his own war paint. He understood the way the Painted Soldiers marked themselves. Each one was different. But this Soldier had a pattern Numbtongue had seen before. But that couldn’t be. He was—
The Hobgoblin blinked at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] tilted his head as he regarded the Goblin. And both of them just continued staring.
“You’re alive.”
“You’re alive.”
Yellow Splatters spoke as slowly as Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin saw that this was Yellow Splatters. The body was different, but the way he held himself, the markings—they were familiar. And yet—
“I did not know any Goblins survived the battle.”
“You were dead.”
“I came back.”
Numbtongue’s eyes widened. The [Sergeant] raised one of his four arms, touched his body.
“I was brought back. It was my Queen’s will. That and the will of the other Soldiers. The Rite of Anastases gave me life. It is an Antinium secret.”
“Really?”
The crimson eyes widened. The Antinium head nodded once.
“Yes. My resurrection was revealed to the city of Liscor days ago. But I did not see you.”
“I’m not allowed in the city.”
A pause. Two antennae waved for a second. Goblin eyes blinked.
“That is why.”
The two looked at each other one last time. Numbtongue stared down at the mud and broken vines he sat in. Then up at Yellow Splatters. He remembered a broken body. A column of Soldiers charging. A spell that tore their ranks apart. And Yellow Splatters’ foreign gaze inspected Numbtongue. What he remembered, the Hobgoblin didn’t know. At last, he bent and extended two of his hands on his right side.
“It’s good to see you, Numbtongue.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, the Hobgoblin reached up. And when the cool insect’s hands touched his, he flinched. But the touch was real. Strong. Numbtongue felt himself being pulled up. Numbtongue rose and turned to Yellow Splatters. He searched for words.
“You too.”
——
The Goblin and the Antinium Soldier stood on the hill, gazing down across the Floodplains. The valley of mud was being torn down, and the thick, wet sludge was slowly spilling across the ground. The Painted Soldiers were getting back to work. But Yellow Splatters didn’t join them. He stood with Numbtongue.
The Hobgoblin saw the [Sergeant] watching Falling Snow. The Soldier was sitting on the ground, still muddy. Recovering. Numbtongue couldn’t be certain how well the Soldier was. So he asked.
“He will live. His mind does not seem affected. He was waiting for death, not out of air entirely. He will live. Thanks to you.”
“Mm. Good.”
The Hobgoblin nodded once. And that was all he said. At last, the [Bard] grunted.
“You can speak?”
The [Sergeant] nodded shortly.
