Tears of Liscor, page 12
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
“Be silent, Kilmet. They’re moving faster now that I showed them what happens when they lag. And I’ve bagged a Hob. You needn’t have interfered! I had it nearly dead on my first strike!”
The young man waved his bloody sword. The older man bowed his head.
“It’s my duty to keep you safe.”
“You and my father! I didn’t ride all this way to stay behind the lines, Kilmet!”
“But this is a war, young lord. And your father—”
Gilam’s face turned red.
“Fine! Enough! I’ll go back since those Goblins are so precious.”
He whirled his mount. The other Humans didn’t quite glare at him as Kilmet sighed and motioned for an escort to follow his master back. Gilam rode back, holding his bloody blade aloft. He turned, looking in satisfaction at the running Goblins and paused.
Rags stood together with the others. She was staring at Gilam. Not running. Pyrite, Quietstab, Poisonbite, Redscar, and Noears all stared silently at Gilam. The young man hesitated. Then he gestured at Kilmet angrily.
“Loose some arrows! I want those Goblins moving!”
“Young lord, you know that’s the Goblin—”
“I don’t care! I want—”
Gilam turned back. He stared at the place Rags had been, but only saw Goblins. They were all moving now, and the chieftain was gone. He glared at their backs, but then turned and rode away. Kilmet eyed the moving Goblins and then turned to one of the [Mages].
“Send a message to Lord Pellmia. Inform him the Goblins have begun moving. We’ll have to follow.”
“Damned idiot. We all need a break, not just the Goblins.”
The [Mage] grumbled as she began sending the spell. She wasn’t a retainer to Lord Pellmia’s house. Kilmet opened his mouth, but forbore comment. He watched Gilam riding back and shook his head. It was an inconvenience Lord Pellmia would not be pleased about, but his affection for his son meant that Gilam would get away with just a lecture. And it wasn’t as if a single Hob mattered to whatever plan Lord Tyrion Veltras had, after all. He let the Hob’s corpse lie and gave orders to untether the mules. That was all he thought on the matter. It was another dead Goblin.
But Rags remembered. All the Goblins did.
——
“Twofeather.”
Rags looked up. Pyrite sat around the small campfire. He stared into it, chewing slowly on the soup he’d been given. He glanced up.
“Her name.”
The dead Hob. Rags nodded. She stirred her soup with her wooden spoon, appetite low. She forced herself to eat anyways. She had to sleep soon.
It was night. The Goblins lay on a natural stone road, which was where they’d gotten when the Humans had stopped pursuing them. They hadn’t even bothered to find a more suitable spot to rest; they’d just collapsed in exhaustion.
Small cook fires were the only sources of light. Goblins lay around them, eating and then rolling over and sleeping at once. Rags sat at her fire with Pyrite. Her legs burned. She didn’t know how far she’d run. With her [Fleet Foot] Skill, her tribe could move very quickly. But the Humans had pushed them to their limits even so.
It was the end of the third day. Unlike the previous two nights, Rags hadn’t called for her lieutenants. She didn’t have another plan that involved outrunning the Humans or giving them the slip. She just ate and stared into the fire. After a while, she looked up.
“Know her? Twofeather?”
Pyrite shrugged.
“Fought with. Knew. Close-by tribe when I was Chieftain. Good fighter. In battle against Humans at city, watched back.”
“Why name?”
The Hob touched his pointed ears.
“Wore two feather.”
“Oh. What bird?”
“Duck.”
“Duck?”
“Liked to eat duck.”
“Duck is good.”
“Mhm.”
That was all there was to it. Rags bowed her head. She hadn’t known Twofeather personally, but the Hob had been part of her tribe. She’d fought for her, and now she had died for Rags. The small Chieftain stared into the fire. Pyrite finished his bowl and then looked up. He stared at Rags for a while. Then spoke.
“What did you do wrong?”
Rags looked up at him. Pyrite shifted his heavy body.
“Others say you did nothing wrong. But you think you did things wrong. What?”
“Should have run. Shouldn’t have fought.”
The small Goblin shook her head. Pyrite scratched his.
“But Humans attacked first.”
“After we attack army. Should have let be.”
“But were killing Frostfeeder tribe.”
Rags had forgotten about that. She hesitated.
“Okay. Should have run after poison attack.”
“Didn’t know where to run. Humans hunting. You…unconscious.”
Pyrite tapped his head. Rags scowled at him.
“Then run after!”
“But Humans following. Had to take city.”
“Then run then!”
“But Humans—”
Rags threw her bowl at Pyrite. He raised his claw as the dregs of her soup splashed over him. The two stared at each other in silence. Then Pyrite began licking the soup off his hand.
“Good soup.”
“Bad soup. Tastes like mule.”
Rags drew her legs to her chest and hugged them. Pyrite watched as his Chieftain sulked. After a while, he lowered his clean hand and began scraping dried soup off his chest.
“Chieftain did everything she thought was right.”
“She did. Now we run and many die. For nothing.”
The small Goblin spoke into her lap. Pyrite shrugged again.
“Not your fault. Humans attack. Sneaky [Lord]. Lots of armored Humans. Can’t beat. Inevitable.”
“Could have run.”
“Could have. But didn’t. And Chieftain gave one new thing for all tribe.”
Rags looked up suspiciously.
“What?”
Pyrite tapped his chest.
“Level. Me. Redscar. Others. Level. I get Skill. Chieftain gets two Skills. And spell.”
“For thousands of dead Goblins.”
Again, the Hob shrugged.
“Didn’t say it was good trade.”
Rags stared at him and then laughed. She uncurled from her ball of self-loathing and stretched out. Pyrite was relieved to see that. He looked around.
“More soup?”
“No.”
The Hob grunted and stood up. He came back with a bowl for himself. Rags eyed it. Now she did want soup. Pyrite noticed and got up. He came back with another bowl, and Rags took it with a nod. They ate in silence for a while. Eventually, Rags spoke.
“[Rapid Reload]. And flashfire spell…spellcraft? ”
“Mm. And [Burning Blades].”
Rags snorted. She reached for the shortsword at her side and drew the blade. Pyrite saw her lift it up a bit and mutter a word. The blade burst into flame. Rags waved it around and then rolled her eyes.
“Ooh. Good spell.”
That was sarcasm. Pyrite shrugged and then nodded. Rags’ new Skills were common knowledge now. The Goblins had been suitably impressed by her new levels. And her Skills were good.
[Rapid Reload] was a Skill that affected the entire tribe. With it, her crossbows and archers could fire even quicker. That was a solid, decent little Skill by anyone’s standards. Rag’s other Skill, [Flashfire Spellcraft], was equally useful, if only to Rags. With it, she could manipulate fire, make it form shapes, and use it without needing a specific spell. She could also do tricks like fire a [Fire Arrow] three times as large as a regular one.
According to Noears, this was one of the first steps a [Mage] took. The other Goblins had seen it as a sign that their Chieftain was growing in good ways. They all agreed that [Burning Blades] wasn’t a good spell, though.
The thing was, it was just a spell that set one’s weapons on fire. Not with magical fire either. Just on fire. The flames were hot, and they’d last for a good three minutes until they went out. Unless the weapon was wooden. Then the fire would just burn the wood up.
It wasn’t a great spell. It wasn’t even a decent one. Oh, sure, there were probably some Bronze-rank adventurers out there that thought a spell like that was useful, but Goblins were practical. Setting your blade on fire just made it hot to hold. It ruined your night vision, and it didn’t really hurt your foe. What was a flaming blade going to do that a regular one wouldn’t? If you stabbed someone in the back, a bit of fire wasn’t going to make them die any quicker. Besides, flaming blades were terrible for sneak attacks.
“Maybe spell has hidden uses.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe…can chase away biting bugs?”
Rags frowned.
“Maybe. That useful. Little bit. But stupid spell. Wanted [Fireball] instead. Can use this, but only for one thing. Starting campfires.”
“Mm. Is handy.”
The little Goblin raised her bowl threateningly, but Pyrite didn’t budge. After a while, Rags sat back. She stared up at the stars in the night’s sky. They were beautiful. She lay back, and Pyrite ate his soup silently. Then, since Rags had only eaten half of hers, he picked up her bowl and began eating. She didn’t comment.
“I dreamed of him.”
“Who?
“Velan.”
Pyrite froze. He looked up at Rags. She lay on her back, staring at the night sky.
“Not much. Can’t see much. But looked for clue.”
“And?”
“He attacked other species. They attacked back. Killed his tribe.”
“Hmm.”
“Like this. We attack, we die.”
“Humans not kill us yet.”
Rags looked up and gave Pyrite a withering glance.
“Yet. They have plan. Then we die.”
“Mm. True.”
The two sat there a while longer. After he’d finished with Rags’ bowl, Pyrite piled the two up. He stared into the fire and then spoke.
“Forty-three.”
“What?”
“Killed forty-three Humans. In battle. Before other Humans came.”
Rags sat up. She stared at Pyrite. Forty-three? By himself? Pyrite glanced at her. His crimson eyes were tired.
“I was angry. I killed Humans. Tried to kill the armored one. And a half-Troll. And the pointy-hat Human. Didn’t kill any. So I killed other Humans. Lots.”
“I didn’t kill any. Emperor got away. Tried to make surrender. Couldn’t. Was going to kill when others showed up.”
Pyrite looked at Rags. He shifted, poked the fire with a stick and sent sparks flurrying up.
“Emperor. What was he like?”
Rags closed her eyes.
“He—he strange. He was strange. He had—”
Rags struggled to find the words and then gave up. She showed Pyrite as she spoke in their tongue to him. The strange man—young!—with closed eyes. And yet how he seemed to see her. And his smile. The way he laughed and was sad. And defied peace despite the slaughter both knew it would bring.
The rest Pyrite knew already. Tyrion’s arrival, Redscar’s injury—that was the stuff of despair and legends. But Rags had not spoken to anyone of her meeting with Laken Godart. It hadn’t mattered, but it did matter at the same time. Pyrite nodded along. He looked at Rags as her shoulders hunched and her words ran dry.
“He told me he could not make peace. Because I killed his people. He was sad because he could not. And angry. Sad and angry. Not what I thought.”
“What did you expect?”
Rags paused.
“A monster. Wished he was one.”
Pyrite nodded. That would have made things so much easier.
“Pyrite?”
“Mm?”
He waited. Rags stared at her hands.
“Was killing them wrong? They killed us. We killed them. Was it wrong?”
“Don’t know.”
Pyrite answered honestly. He could still remember the anger. He could still remember the fury as he faced down the Humans. But he remembered Sir Kerrig and Welca as well. He didn’t know. He wished he did.
He looked at Rags. She was smaller than she normally seemed. Or maybe she was just letting her guard down around him. He searched for words to say that would make his Chieftain stronger, but he had none. Things had happened. There was no changing it. But it had gone poorly. And it wasn’t Rags’ fault. But she had been in command. Pyrite understood that.
The Hob sat restlessly. Rags could see him shifting now and then. She felt tired. Hollow. The weight of her tribe rested on her shoulders. It was…heavy. But Rags refused to cave in. She refused to give up.
She stared into the fire. It crackled, the wood collapsing and the embers burning low. But neither she nor Pyrite made any effort to refuel it. They would have to run again tomorrow as soon as they rose. Rags stared at her shortsword.
“Running. Fourth day tomorrow.”
“Mm.”
“Can’t do forever. Humans bringing us somewhere. But tribe will die before then. Animals already dying. Ate half of them today.”
“And food. Less to carry.”
“Less to eat.”
“Can’t fix now.”
“No.”
Rags shook her head. She looked at the fire and her sword. She glanced up. Something. There had to be something. She thought of her memory of Velan. And like that, she had a plan. Another plan. Rags sat up, her eyes widening. But then she sagged.
It was a bad plan. Or rather, it wouldn’t change things. It might make things worse, actually. But it was all she had. They could keep running or they could fight. Those were their only options. She didn’t know which would be better. Running meant they’d slowly die. But she’d fought before. She’d burned the Humans’ lands, killed them, broken an army. And it had been for nothing.
“Pyrite.”
The Hob looked up. Rags stared at him.
“What?”
“Have a plan.”
His ears perked up.
“Really?”
Rags smiled wearily.
“I am your Chieftain. I always have plan.”
“Will it save tribe? Get rid of Humans?”
The Goblin hesitated and then shook her head.
“No. Not enough. Hurt them. Make them mad. Should do? Or…keep running?”
Pyrite hesitated. He fell silent and stared into the fire. When he looked up, he shrugged.
“Don’t know, Chieftain. Could make things worse. Could make things better. Don’t know. But trust you to do right thing.”
“What? Why?”
Rags scowled at Pyrite. All her plans had backfired! She’d gotten her tribe killed! Pyrite looked at Rags calmly.
“Because Chieftain is smart. Tribe still follows. So Chieftain think and decide. And we follow. For better or worse, Chieftain Rags. Show us smart thing. Show us hope.”
“Hope? What hope? There is no hope!”
Rags leapt up. She grabbed at her head as Pyrite looked at her, raising her voice despite the late hour.
“Goblins die! Tribe is running! Humans chase us! We run—and die—and run and die! Again and again! Ever since I lead!”
“But we are here. Because of you. Because you had ideas. Because you didn’t give up.”
“I only did stupid things!”
“But no one else did them.”
Pyrite pointed at Rags. He stood slowly, grunting with effort. He looked down at Rags. And when he spoke, his voice was measured. Calm.
“When I was alone, I did not know how to lead the tribe. When you woke, I was relieved. You had the plan that beat the Humans. You defeated the [Emperor]. And when the other Humans came, when they cheated, you were the one who led us away.”
He pointed at Rags.
“You, Chieftain. We could not do it. Quietstab could not. Poisonbite could not. Noears could not. Redscar could not. I could not. But you did. You keep trying. You have plans where we do not. That is why we follow. For hope. Because you see what we can’t. Show us it again. Show us something that will surprise everyone.”
He stared down at Rags. The small Goblin blinked up at him, stunned. Pyrite bowed his head. Then he sat. He lay on his back. He went to sleep there and then as Rags stood, paralyzed by a strange feeling in her chest. She stared at Pyrite as the Hob began to snore.
Pyrite trusted her. Even now. Even after—
Rags looked at her hands. Her fingers like claws. Dirty, small. But hers. She closed them slowly. Then Rags looked around her camp.
Hundreds, thousands of small campfires burned low. Goblins lay around them, silent shapes, occasionally moving. Thousands. Months ago, Rags could have never dreamed of so many Goblins, let alone so many under her command. But they had become hers. They followed her. Trusted her. Rags looked around.
“Not a good plan. But…”
Show us hope. Rags’ tired shoulders rose. Her back straightened. She probably couldn’t defeat so many Humans even if she pulled off her plan perfectly. Maybe, but the odds were small everything would work out that well. But she thought of the young Human riding back triumphantly with blood on his sword. Her hand clenched into a fist. She could hurt them, though.
Oh yes. She could hurt them. Rags turned and looked at the fire. It burned bright as she lay down. She was so tired. But as she slept, she felt better. Not because she was rested. The ground was hard and rocky. And not because she was fed. The soup really was bad despite what Pyrite said. No, she felt better. Because she had to be. She was a Chieftain. And at last, Rags thought she understood what that meant.
[Chieftain Level 25!]
——
Day 4
Pyrite was sleeping when the horn blew. He leapt to his feet before he was even awake. After four days, the need to move was already conditioned into his body. He saw other Goblins scrambling to their feet. Wearily, Pyrite rubbed his eyes. He felt exhausted despite his sleep. He looked around.
“Move! Humans coming!”
The Hob’s voice made the other Goblins look up. They shook other Goblins awake, kicking or slapping them to get the tired Goblins up. The camp roused itself, but Pyrite could sense the weariness in the air. He stumbled as he tried to make his mind work. Food? No, they had to go now. They could dish out food on the wagons. But it was so early. They had to get the small Goblins on wagons and on the back of Carn Wolves, rouse the animals—
