Goblin, page 4
part #1 of Goblin Reign Series
The miller was shaking his head. “Sometimes he’s here, other times he leaves.”
In one quick motion, Blades drove his knife into the old goblin and shoved him backward into the dirt. The miller lay there gasping as blood welled from the wound in his chest.
“See? That was less than helpful. Where does he wander off to? Does he have someplace he might be hiding? Another village where he keeps his gob doxy?”
Blades looked down at Jinty.
“Please,” she sobbed. “I don’t know anything.”
“No one spoke up when I killed the last gob. Maybe someone will spill the beans if I start cutting you.”
“He doesn’t even tell his apprentices where he goes,” Spicy said. He swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe he had just spoken up. All eyes were on him. “His bags were packed last night but he wouldn’t tell me.” Thistle was trying to mouth something at him but he ignored her. “He travels a lot. He leaves whenever he wishes and doesn’t tell his apprentices anything.”
Blades looked at Lord. Lord had the page from his yellow book in his hand. He walked from goblin to goblin, showing it to each man, woman, and child.
“Can any of you read this?” Lord asked. “Hmm? Take instruction from your sage? Anyone?”
Some of the villagers shook their heads. Rime wouldn’t look at the page until it was thrust directly in front of him.
“I can’t read,” Rime said.
Lord moved on. Other villagers wore expressions of confusion as they examined the strange script, including Thistle. But when Lord stopped in front of Preemie, he squinted his eyes and looked up at the giant man.
“Ask Sage Somni’s apprentice,” Preemie said.
Lord looked back at Spicy. “We did. He claims he can’t read this.”
“No, not him. Her.” Preemie nodded in Thistle’s direction. “She’s Sage Somni’s apprentice. He tells her everything.”
Alma grabbed Thistle and hauled her forward.
“Leave her alone!” Spicy said. He was up and running, but one of the men caught him by the shoulder and slammed him into the ground.
“Let us try a second time,” Lord said and showed the page to Thistle. “Can you read this?”
She glared up at him and then gave a curt nod.
“Excellent. Now bring this one upstairs.”
Alma pushed Thistle towards the house.
Blades was cleaning his knife on the shirt of the dead miller. “And the rest of the gobs?”
“It all depends on how our discussion with the apprentice goes. For now, they wait.”
Chapter Seven
“Preemie, you idiot,” Spicy hissed.
Blades and most of the humans had wandered back to the village, leaving the prisoners and the horses behind. The low voices of Lord and Alma could occasionally be heard from upstairs as they continued ransacking the library.
The remaining two guards were nearby, comparing their bounty of jewelry and coins. One wore a few goblin medallions made of carved bone. They were prizes from the summertime singing contests. Most had been won by One Stone’s older sister, Sun, who had a beauty of a voice. She wasn’t among the prisoners.
The second guard had blackened teeth and smiled a lot.
The goblin captives had fallen into a sullen, miserable silence. Even the twins had stopped sobbing as their mother tried to keep them both comfortable. The miller’s dead body was a harsh reminder of what their fate might be.
A steady mist was now descending from the billowing clouds overhead.
“Why did you tell them about her?” Spicy asked.
Rime shushed him.
“They were going to kill us,” Preemie said. “Now shut up. They’ll hear.”
“But now they’ve got Thistle!”
“And maybe it means the rest of us get to live.”
“Hey!” One of the humans was looking their way. “Not a sound out of any of you.”
The tip of the arrow Blades had broken lay just out of reach. Spicy tried to nudge it towards himself with his feet while remaining in place. After a few failed attempts, he realized he would have to inch closer.
“What are you doing?” Rime whispered.
Their guards were no longer paying attention.
Spicy wriggled in the direction of the arrow. Both his arms were numb. The binding on his wrists was cutting into the flesh. Moving quickly was impossible. At any moment the guards would again look up and see him.
Spicy grabbed the half arrow with his teeth and wormed back to the others.
Rime watched with a look of terror. “You’re going to get us killed!”
But Preemie was nodding. “Get my hands.” Preemie rolled and turned, presenting his own bound wrists to Spicy. The simple leather cord binding him wasn’t thick, but cutting it with an arrowhead while holding the shaft with his teeth proved troublesome. Spicy sawed at it awkwardly. The leather began to fray. The tip of the arrow pricked Preemie’s wrist a few times but the goblin didn’t make a sound. The binding finally split, then gave way, and Preemie was free. He turned and hesitated.
“What are you doing?” Spicy whispered, the half arrow in his teeth. “Cut me free!”
The other prisoners were all watching. Then a guard coughed.
“They’re going to catch us,” Preemie whispered.
He took the arrow and pressed it into Spicy’s bound hands. Then he ran.
The guard with the black teeth called out in alarm and came charging through the prisoners. Spicy shot out a foot and the man stumbled but didn’t fall. The guard with the medallions around his neck chased after Preemie, but the young goblin was quickly out of sight.
Black Tooth got up and kicked Spicy down to the dirt. The tip of the man’s spear lowered. He didn’t appear to notice the arrowhead in Spicy’s hands.
“You little worm,” the man said. His mouth opened in an angry grimace. But then he was distracted by shouts from the other guard. The guard with the medallions was now running along the top of the stone wall, heading towards the north side of the village.
Black Tooth called him back.
The pursuing guard soon returned, winded. “Little sucker can run,” he panted. “Told you we needed to hobble them.”
“This one tripped me.”
“Why is he still breathing?”
Black Tooth’s attention returned to Spicy.
“What’s the problem?” Lord called from the window above.
The guard wearing the medallions looked up. “One of the prisoners slipped away. And this gob helped. Thought we’d teach him a lesson.”
“Fools. I leave you alone for ten minutes? No executions. We’ll speak later. Now do your job or your share is forfeit.”
Spicy clutched the half arrow. His bindings were so tight he couldn’t use it to cut himself free, and he was helpless if the guard decided to drive him through with his spear.
Both guards grumbled as they returned to their post. Now they watched the prisoners closely, Black Tooth eyeing Spicy with unmasked hatred.
The sky darkened. Soon the mist became rain. The prisoners huddled together as best they could.
Spicy managed to sit up. “Rime,” he whispered. “Let me cut you free.”
Rime refused to make eye contact. He shook his head. Spicy tried to get his friend’s attention but Rime wouldn’t listen.
Jinty was trying her best to shield her two infants from the weather. The swirling drops seemed to come down from all sides. She called to the guards.
“Hello? Let me move to the overhang so we can stay dry.”
“Speak again and I spit both your brats with my spear,” Black Tooth said.
They waited. Soon all were wet and shivering. Both guards wrapped themselves with cloaks taken from packs strapped to their horses. The animals appeared unaffected by the weather. Flies buzzed about them.
Despite the rain, more smoke began to rise from the village. Bright crowns of flame appeared atop several homes. Sharp barks of laughter echoed around the prisoners.
Blades, Medico, and the other human raiders soon returned.
“We’re not spending the night here, are we?” Blades asked. “It’s getting late.”
The guard with the medallions shrugged. “You go ask Lord. He’s in a bad mood.”
“He’s always in a bad mood.” Blades emptied the contents of his pockets into his horse’s saddlebags.
Alma came downstairs first and walked around the prisoners, examining them.
“Well?” Blades asked.
“We’re taking some of them with us,” she said.
He exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Come on. That’s the last thing we need. It’s not like any of them are worth anything. Maybe the kids can be sold back in Orchard City if we want to drag them that far. What’s he doing now?”
“Packing up books. The girl seems to know her letters but it’s slow going.”
“Great. Just great. I say we make an executive decision and lighten our load.” Blades drummed his fingers on the handle of his knife.
“Your funeral.”
Blades paced in front of the line of prisoners. The ground was now muddy and the wet prisoners were soaked through. Jinty stared at Blades, her eyes pleading. Spicy watched for any chance he could try again to free himself. But the humans surrounded them. With his unfeeling fingers, he had to concentrate just to not drop the arrow. Rime’s lips kept moving as if he were praying.
The fire in the village continued to spread to more homes. A few of the trees began smoldering. The smoke carried towards them. With it came the smell of cooking flesh. Alma had produced a stolen bottle of rice wine and was sipping at it as she watched the flames grow. Blades tried to get the bottle from her but she refused.
Finally, Thistle came downstairs with Lord right behind her. She was overburdened with several satchels loaded with books.
Blades perked up. “Orders?”
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Alma asked.
Lord took one of the satchels and strapped it to his horse. “The trail leads us onward. With this one’s help, we’ll find the lorekeeper.”
“And?” Blades prompted. “We’re leaving?”
“Yes. We can make the clearing and our marshaling point in two hours and camp there.”
They were about to leave. Spicy straightened. The other prisoners grew more alert too.
“What about them?” Blades asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
There was a noticeable shift in the air as the guards around them looked down at the helpless goblins. Black Tooth smiled. He adjusted his grip on the shaft of his spear. But he hesitated and glanced at Blades and Alma.
Alma pulled herself up on her horse.
“You’re not going to stick around for this?” Blades asked.
“And watch you get your kicks? I’m too tired and not drunk enough.” She nudged her horse and rode off.
Blades pulled out his knife and fingered the tip. He looked from face to face before settling in on Jinty. The mother began to cry softly. The other guards just watched.
Spicy fought to rise. His legs almost folded under him as pins and needles rolled from his feet to his hips. But before he could speak Black Tooth knocked him back to the mud. He lowered his spear towards Spicy. Spicy kept his eyes open and stared up at the man.
“Stop!” Thistle cried. She flung one satchel out into the mud.
“Pick that up!” Lord said.
She looked up at him and dumped the second satchel out at her feet. Books splattered into the mud. His hand shot out and smacked her across the face. She reeled but didn’t fall.
“You don’t hurt any of them,” she said. “If you do, I don’t help you.”
“You don’t make demands, goblin,” Lord said. “Pick up the books.”
The last satchel went to the dirt. Lord stepped over her and punched her. She fell backward, blood spraying from her nose.
“You’re going to have to figure out all those books on your own,” she said with only the slightest tremble in her voice.
Lord’s hand was on his sword hilt but he didn’t move. The yard fell silent. The sounds of crackling flame rose above the cold breeze that carried the flurry of droplets down.
“You’re not so important,” Lord said. “We have the second apprentice we found hiding among the books.”
Spicy felt his heart lurch. He started to speak, to confess that he knew nothing, wasn’t an apprentice or anything but a failed hunter, even if it meant the humans would kill him along with the others.
“Our sage only has one apprentice,” Thistle said. “Me. A few others can read, but none know the old script you want help with.”
Lord let out a sigh of frustration. Then he pointed at a few of the captives. At Spicy. Then at Rime. “Bring him. And that one. And those children. And you’re going to pick up those books and cooperate. Any more acts of defiance will cost one of their lives.”
Thistle got up and started collecting the spilled books. Lord packed them on his black mount. Finally Lord picked Thistle up. She squirmed in his grip as he placed her on the front of the saddle.
The guards collected the chained line of five children along with Rime and Spicy.
“You’re joking, right?” Blades asked, still standing over Jinty and her two infants.
Lord pulled himself up on his horse. “Leave them unharmed. Bring the children along. And Blades, if anything happens, I’ll know.”
“All right, relax.” He gave the mother goblin a pat on the head. He tried to cootchie-coo one of the babies but she shielded it from him.
Black Tooth shoved Spicy along to another horse gathered with the rest of the beasts. He was unceremoniously plopped on top of the animal. The horse grew skittish and began to move about before Black Tooth yanked hard on the bridle and stilled the animal. The chain of five children got their own horse, which was loaded with baggage. The horse was led away by a soldier.
Blades grabbed Rime. Spicy’s friend had gone completely limp. Blades threw him on the back of his own horse and climbed on.
The last glimpse Spicy got of the other villagers was of their wretched faces as they watched the riders leave.
Chapter Eight
It was impossible for Spicy to tell how many others were at the human camp. Night had fallen and the sky continued to drop sheets of misty rain down on them. The horses were arranged near the center of camp, where they were unsaddled, fed, and watered by a pair of goblins Spicy didn’t recognize.
The humans had built a few fires. Water kettles soon boiled and small game was roasted on sticks. A nearby soldier stirred a pot of porridge.
Black Tooth cut Spicy’s arms free but attached an ankle chain. The chain was nailed to a tree root. Spicy was too far from any of the fires to feel any warmth. Rime was hooked to the same chain, and the five children were secured nearby. Thistle was nowhere to be seen.
A large tent was set up beyond the closest fire. Lord’s black horse was being tended to by a human woman. She threw a blanket over it, brushed it down, and provided it a feed bag.
Meanwhile the goblins shivered.
Alma lounged at one of the fires and ignored everyone. She shook the last drops out of her wine bottle into her mouth before flinging it away into the dark.
“Get me something to drink,” she barked at one of the passing men. He hurried away and returned with another bottle. She pulled the cork and continued drinking.
Spicy remained too afraid to allow himself to drop to the dirt in exhaustion. There were too many humans about in the flickering orange light and shadows of the fires. Neither of the goblin servants gave him more than a cursory glance as they attended the soldiers.
He massaged his arms back to life. They ached. The arrow was now securely tucked up one sleeve. But what good would it be against the steel cuff on his ankle?
He strained his ears for any words or conversations to indicate why the humans had even come. Lord’s tent was too far away to make out anything.
His mother was dead, he decided. Perhaps his father, too. But he kept the crushing tide of emotion at bay. Thistle still lived, and he had to remain calm if he was to help her—help them—to escape. Rime needed help too, as he remained paralyzed by the day’s events. And then what of the five children?
Spicy knew all of them and their parents well. None of their mothers or fathers had been brought to Sage Somni’s home. Surely they were dead. But even if he could get them all free, was it even possible to evade the humans with so many needing to be cared for, or even carried?
He looked at them and tried to smile. Dill, Flora, Eve, Domino, and Pix. In their faces he saw the same exhaustion and fear he felt.
“Tss,” Spicy hissed. “You’re going to be okay. Do what they tell you. I’m going to help you.”
Only Flora met his eyes. The young girl was soaked through, her curled hair drooping over her face.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said again, and he wanted to believe it.
Later the rain stopped and a few stars peered out from behind the curtains of clouds. Spicy found himself nodding off even as he remained sitting. He had placed his back to Rime. His friend kept gasping as if he couldn’t get enough air.
The five children were all huddled together.
More humans came riding into camp. They carried lanterns and torches and the line of new arrivals looked like apparitions in the gloom. The camp stirred. The riders tied off their horses and filtered in among the other sleepers. Two of the men went into Lord’s tent.
Spicy felt a growing apprehension and strained his ears, but it was impossible to hear any of the conversations.
A goblin waddled past, lugging a bucket that reeked of excrement.
“Hey!” Spicy whispered. “You’ve got to help us!”
In the faint light the goblin’s face was hard to see. His ears bore large ragged cuts and appeared tattered, as if they had been clawed by a mountain lion. He had other scars on his face. He ignored Spicy and continued on, only to return minutes later with the bucket empty.
Spicy reached for him but the chain kept him in place. “Tell me what’s going on.”
