Tears of Liscor, page 16
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
Children. Non-warriors. Even some of the wounded hopped off the wagons and ran. They matched the pace of the Goblins around them, in front and behind. It wasn’t that they had more energy. They were tired, worn down. But they were together. And they were following her.
Their Chieftain. The Flooded Waters tribe began to move as one. Their footsteps became a solid drumming—a hundred feet hit the ground at the same time, then a thousand. And the Goblins felt it.
A sense of exhilaration. A primal sense of connection. Together. They looked at each other and smiled.
They did not laugh or cheer, as Humans might have done. Goblins didn’t make unnecessary sounds. But they did smile. The Goblins ran in silence, but not silent. They spoke, gesturing at each other with hands, pointing. Ahead. At her. Telling stories. Creating another.
The tribe ran faster, propelled by something that could not be explained by the symmetry of muscle or the biology of bodies. Faster, forgetting the exhaustion or the pain in their legs. Faster, as if they could run forever so long as that little Goblin led them.
Faster.
——
Lord Pellmia rode with Kilmet, speaking quietly with one of the [Mages] who’d been assigned to his command. Her name was Genviere, and she was a personal [Mage] employed by Lord Erill. She’d been placed under Pellmia’s command, but as a [High Mage] who’d graduated from Wistram, she was by no means a subordinate to be ordered around.
There were other [Knights] of course, some of quite high level. And a [Captain], a [Tactician] assigned to the riding division, and two other lesser [Lords]…it would have been a good test of any [Lady] or [Hostess]’ Skills to tell who outranked who. In practice, it was a matter of who had the highest levels, and that meant Pellmia was only followed by Genviere.
“I understand, Magus Genviere. I do.”
Lord Pellmia inclined his head as he rode with the [Mage] at the head of their company. They were setting a decent pace. With his [Far Riders] Skill, even a slow horse could outdistance most horses without any Skills. However, it wasn’t an excruciatingly fast pace, and their quarry—the Goblins—could keep ahead of them at a slow jog with their Chieftain’s Skill. That was the issue, and Genviere had been selected to bring it up with Lord Pellmia.
“The Goblins are slowing, Lord Pellmia. I realize they’re reaching their limits from the pace we’ve set, but we must harry them or they’ll continue to slow or stop. Allow us to harass them.”
“No. Not yet.”
Lord Pellmia saw the woman sigh. She was strikingly beautiful, her face almost half-Elvish in beauty, her cheekbones high, her features delicate and sharp in the classic Terandrian vision of attractiveness. But it was an illusion.
One of the clues Pellmia had was that Genviere bore none of the marks of travel despite having been camping for five days. The second was that she was a female [Mage], and they were notorious for using illusion spells. But Pellmia forbore comment as mentioning an illusion spell was highly offensive to most ladies in polite society. Still, this illusion was a good one. Dead gods, she even smelled fragrant.
“Lord Pellmia, is this in regards to the incident in the forest yesterday?”
Genviere’s spelled features contorted into a deep frown. Pellmia glanced about. He could see the rest of the riders nearby studiously not listening to their conversation. He raised his voice so they could hear better.
“Yes. The Goblins spared my boy, Magus Genviere. I owe some a debt. You might not agree, but they could have killed him. They did not.”
“They killed a number of our own. [Soldiers]. [Knights]. [Scouts]. Not all by blade, true, but they left the rest to burn in fire. It was not a bloodless engagement.”
Genviere’s frown turned into a pained grimace. Pellmia took a breath and nodded.
“That is true. And I will personally see that the full restitutions are paid to the fallen. However, this is a matter of personal honor. Do you object to my command?”
He looked sideways at the [Mage] as she thought. Riding a few paces to the left, Kilmet looked up as well. If there was any dissention, it would begin with Genviere. At last, the [High Mage] shook her head. Her glossy, grass-green hair shimmered as it caught the light. Another big clue, that. Mages loved making their hair turn outrageous colors. Actually, most young folk loved that.
“I am no [Soldier], Lord Pellmia. I lent my aid to Lord Tyrion Veltras because of my ties to Lord Erill and the Goblin Lord’s threat. With that said, I understand the inevitability of casualties in battle, especially given our unusual mission. I also recognize gratitude, even towards Goblins, as amazing as this case is. But we have a duty, and I fear that at this pace we will not reach the rendezvous tomorrow.”
“True.”
Pellmia bowed his head. He had promised Lord Tyrion they would be there, but the Goblins’ pace had slackened. Without killing the stragglers, they would slow. He bit the inside of his cheek. At last, he raised his head.
“We’ll see how far they’ve gone by midday. Make no mistake, this is my responsibility, Magus. If we fail to reach the rendezvous point, I will take full blame. However, if it is possible to move the Goblins close enough—”
Genviere was nodding politely, and Pellmia thought she would agree, especially if it meant she bore none of the fault. He broke off though. Someone was riding back towards him. A [Scout], moving fast.
“What now?”
Pellmia cursed inside. If the Goblins had stopped, he would have to get them moving. But the [Scout] wasn’t bearing that message. He drew up as the [Lord] and [Mage] turned.
“Lord Pellmia, the Goblins are speeding up.”
“What?”
Pellmia stared at the [Scout]. He spurred his mount and sped forwards. By the time he crested the slight rise, he could see the Goblins marching ahead of him. Only, they weren’t marching anymore. They were running.
Not quickly. Not at the full speed a Goblin could go. But it was a decent jog, and combined with the Skill they were under, they were moving fast. Pellmia stared at them and then turned to Genviere, who’d ridden up behind him.
“It seems the issue has resolved itself, Magus Genviere.”
“Indeed. One wonders why.”
Pellmia did too. But the Goblins were moving faster, and that was what mattered. He turned and raised his hand over his head.
“Company, advance! I don’t want those Goblins out of our sight! Tell the [Scouts] to move the Goblins southeast! Kilmet, my maps!”
As he rode forwards, Pellmia began adjusting their course again. He accelerated as he conferred with Kilmet and Genviere, moving up to catch the Goblins. He could see them staring at him and the other riders.
They were five thousand strong. Not nearly as large as some town garrisons, but a fearsome force given their level. The [Knights] rode with pendants flapping in the wind. The [Soldiers] and officers wore their city’s insignia proudly. The [Lords] and their [Retainers] laughed as they rode, resplendent in their colors. They were secure in their knowledge that they could eradicate the Goblins.
Normally, the sight of Lord Pellmia’s forces would have made the Goblins shy away. However, this time they didn’t budge from their course. All to the better, but it was strange. And something happened as Lord Pellmia was riding and checking the map. He looked up as the paper bounced awkwardly in Kilmet’s grip and frowned. The Goblins were pulling away.
“Faster! Why is our pace flagging?”
He snapped at the [Knight] in the lead. The woman touched her finger to her brow.
“Apologies, Lord Pellmia. The Goblins have sped up again.”
“Again? Well…follow them!”
Lord Pellmia glanced back down at his map as his company accelerated and his mount moved to keep pace. He inspected his map and made quick calculations. When he looked up again, he frowned. The company wasn’t moving at a trot anymore. They were actually moving at a quick canter. And the Goblins were running.
“Are they…racing us?”
One of the [Knights] stared at the Goblins. Lady Welca Caveis, who had been assigned to Lord Pellmia’s command to help with locating the Goblins to begin with, stared as the Goblins began to run. One of the [Lords] laughed uncertainly.
“Stupid Goblins. They’ll never keep that pace! They’ve got to be exhausted.”
That was true. But Lord Pellmia wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. If the Goblins wanted to make his life easier—he rode forwards.
“I don’t care why they’re running. Increase our speed! And add more riders to the flanking patrols. I don’t want them trying something again.”
The Humans rode faster. Now the ground was moving past them fast. Lord Pellmia tried to calculate how fast they were going. His [Far Rider] Skill didn’t exactly double a horse’s speed, but it could increase their pace a great deal. If they were cantering at—what, twelve miles per hour and the Skill was working on them…how fast were the Goblins going?
“Dead gods. They’re moving quick! Looks like they’ve taken off their armor and weapons—you can see it in the wagons.”
Kilmet rode next to Pellmia, eying the Goblins. They’d slowed a bit from the full-out run, but they were jogging fast. And together! They moved as if they were one unit. The sound of their feet hitting the ground was distant thunder. Combined with the horses’ hooves, the air was filled with noise.
And the Goblins kept going. At first, the Humans laughed and took bets on when they’d slow. The first hour was jokes. The second confusion. By the third, the riders were checking their mounts anxiously. Because the unbelievable was happening.
The horses were getting tired first. They had to carry armored riders, supplies, and their own armor in the case of the barded warhorses. Before, it hadn’t been an issue because the Goblins tired quicker, but now—
“Do we break, Lord Pellmia?”
One of the [Lieutenants] looked uncertain as the Humans paused to let their horses drink a bit of water. Pellmia stared at the Goblin tribe running ahead of him. He could see the little Goblin in front, running with Hobs behind her.
Lord Pellmia did not like her. She was a murderer, a monster. That she had saved his boy did not change that. But he could not help admiring the sight. He shook his head and swung himself off his horse.
“Stop? Are you insane, boy? The Goblins are finally moving! We follow!”
“But the horses—”
Pellmia turned his head and shouted.
“Dismount! We run alongside the horses! Don’t give me that look! Have none of you been on campaign before? The [Knights] have trained for this! The rest of you, run and I’ll restore your vigor with [Second Wind] when needed. Get those horses moving!”
The other riders stared at Pellmia, but the [Knights] and more experienced [Riders] were already dismounting. Pellmia heard grumbling, mainly from the inexperienced [Lords] and [Soldiers]. He saw a familiar face among the discontented. Gilam was arguing with Kilmet. Only today, the aged retainer was having none of it. He pointed, and his voice was a field roar like Pellmia’s.
“You heard Lord Pellmia! This is no joyride! We move at a trot! Anyone who can’t keep up can return at their own pace. Move out!”
He suited action to words. Soon, the entire group had dismounted and was running alongside their horses, following the Goblins. Pellmia huffed as he ran, despite having put his armor in his own bag of holding. He was too old for this! Kilmet’s face looked set as he kept pace. But then again—he glanced around. Despite the grey in his and Kilmet’s hair, they were still doing better than some of the others. Genviere gave Kilmet a long stare as she tried to run without tripping over her robes.
“Why’re they doing this, Lord Pellmia?”
Kilmet gasped a question. Pellmia shook his head, loathe to answer.
“The Chieftain. It must be.”
He stared at the little Goblin leading the others. She was running at the front of the entire tribe. She hadn’t used a Skill—if she had one she surely would have used it before. She was just running. But why was that so important? Pellmia looked around, and then he realized it.
Because it was her. Because she was their Chieftain. He could see his company moving around him, some running ahead, some behind. Pellmia thought about running to the head of their group, but thought against it. He was too old to set that kind of pace, and besides, this wasn’t a company of his soldiers. Many of the men and women here didn’t owe him allegiance.
But her? The small Goblin ran ahead, occasionally turning to shout at her tribe. And they raised their hands and shouted, following her. Believing in her. There was something to admire about that. Something to admire and fear.
“That’s a leader if ever I saw one, Kilmet. A Goblin leading other Goblins.”
“A danger.”
Kilmet agreed. Pellmia saw his old friend’s pallor fading and resolved to issue stamina potions and use [Second Wind] soon. He nodded curtly.
“Something to watch for. She cannot escape. But I see why Lord Veltras was so insistent we leave the Chieftain alive. She leads that tribe. Without her, they’d never have made the journey.”
“True enough.”
That was all Kilmet said. Pellmia kept up his pace, panting as his horse cantered next to him. He thought it was funny. Somehow, in some strange way, the Goblins had flipped the nature of things on them. It was he who was pushing the Goblins. Theirs was the superior force. But somehow, they’d fallen into the Goblins’ pace.
And he saw that they knew it. The Goblins ran faster. Following their leader. They didn’t falter, and they ran so hard that in the end it was Pellmia who was forced to stop them so his people could rest. He couldn’t believe it. They’d been dead on their feet yesterday. Where was their energy coming from? How were they doing it?
——
Day 6
It was her. There was no magic in it. No Skill or things of classes. Perhaps there was something Goblin about it, but if there was, it was nothing any Goblin could explain. It was just morale.
Rags ran at the head of the tribe on the second day, before the Humans even had time to blow their horns. She set the pace, and her tribe ran after her. Children and adults. Hobs and regular Goblins.
They were all tired. Their legs hurt from the pace they’d set yesterday. But when they saw her back, the Flooded Waters tribe couldn’t help but follow. They found their aches and tired legs disappear as they stared at their Chieftain.
Onwards! Ever faster! If she led them, they could run forever! Even the Humans couldn’t keep up. The Goblins’ flagging spirits surged. They cheered their leader, shouted along with the Redfangs as the warriors roared and took the lead behind Rags.
The Goblins forgot about the battle with the [Emperor]. They forgot about the deaths at the city, their pursuers. They forgot about Tremborag and the danger they were in. They ran as if they’d never stop, across hills and valleys, fields of grass and through forests. The spring air was cool on their faces, and the sun shone down. The Goblins ran and ran—
And then they stopped. Rags had halted. A group of riders had cut her off from the front. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe halted, coming out of their running trance. They saw Lord Pellmia’s riders forming a line in front of Rags as she stared at them uncertainly. The wagons rolled to a stop. Rags stared at Lord Pellmia as the Humans ahead of her blew on their horns, clearly telling the Goblins to halt. She looked around.
Where were they? The ground was filled with bright green stalks, and they were standing almost on a dirt road winding south. A few rocks interrupted the plant life, and she could see a lake far to the east. To the north, a distant mountain sat isolated, and if she looked south, she could see the High Passes, far away as they were. But there was nothing of note.
Except, Lord Pellmia clearly thought there was a reason to stop. His riders rode in a circle around Rags’ tribe, forcing them into a circle. Then the [Lord] dismounted. He pointed, and his people moved a hundred paces west, out of bow shot. Then they began setting up camp.
“What are they doing, Chieftain?”
Poisonbite ran over, looking confused. Rags stared at the Humans as they began setting up tables to eat off of. They were even making a fire! She frowned.
“Resting. Must be at spot they wanted us to go.”
“Here?”
The female Goblin looked around skeptically. Rags shrugged. She eyed the landscape again, but she couldn’t see anything. All the way to the north there was nothing but grasslands. The Humans hadn’t colonized this part of northern Izril, and the horizon was just a distant black line. She looked behind her. She could see…a human settlement right on the edge of the horizon? Or was that just a clump of something else?
“Can’t move. We wait. Get food out! And get weapons! Just in case.”
Rags waved her hands. The Goblins in her tribe sighed. They flopped onto the grass. Some wandered over to the wagons and began unloading weapons. Rags saw the [Cooks] getting to work and decided to lay down as well.
There was no fuel for a fire, but Rags had collected enough firewood in the bag of holding that she could make a few large cook fires. It wasn’t cold enough for her tribe to need them anyway. So Rags lay in the sun as the wind blew, cooling the perspiration on her body.
The sun was warm, the sky blue. She felt good. She’d pushed herself hard, running yesterday. But somehow she’d done it. It was like she couldn’t get tired, not while she was leading her tribe. She felt…strong. Well, not strong in terms of arm muscle, but…something like that.
Rags didn’t feel like she needed to figure it out. She felt good, and as a Goblin brought her one of the first bowls of millet soup seasoned with lightning-fried fish from a pond and a bit of frog and mealworms and insects for taste, she was content. Even if the food was ick. Rags glanced north absently. The sun was warm overhead. But she was a bit warm—it felt like the heat from one of the bonfires north of her was being blown downwind.
“Chieftain.”
Predictably, Pyrite appeared. Even more predictably, he’d chosen to supplement his bowl of soup with other food. Some of the growing wheat, still green, and a colony of ants. Rags stared as Pyrite tossed several white eggs into his bowl. She grimaced—she hated how they tasted. But Pyrite happily gulped his food down, then flicked a few of the red ants into his bowl. They were still clinging to his arm and biting him.
