Tears of Liscor, page 33
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
“Bad?”
“Bad.”
“Show me.”
It was not an order. Pyrite hesitated, but then he moved aside. Rags strode forwards, pushing Goblins aside. Since she was smaller than most, they had to realize she was pushing them and move aside for her.
Goblins were crowded around the shallow ditch that was the latrines. Hobs, warriors, all looking down. All silent. Rags pushed a Goblin aside. She glanced down into the ditch and saw something lying down there. For a second, her eyes didn’t put together the strange form that was lying there. It wasn’t dirt or even a bad poo. It was green, twisted. It almost looked like—
Rags recoiled. She stumbled away, her mind rejecting what it had seen. But just as quickly, shock became certainty. Rags heard pounding feet. She saw Poisonbite appear. The Goblin looked down and screamed in horror and fury. Noears was there, his eyes wide. Pyrite just looked down, his gaze finding the body that had been a Hob. Redscar rode forwards through the ranks of Goblins. He took one look and drew his sword.
And Rags knew. She looked down into the pit that held a body. The form bent, twisted. And the head had been turned around, snapped. But she recognized the face. Quietstab looked up at her, his expression terrified. Rags felt the empty spot in her heart.
But she had no time to look longer. She heard a scream and saw the poisonous serpent was swooping lower. Now she could feel particles of the gas spell drifting down, burning her eyes and skin. Pyrite blinked upwards and turned. He didn’t wait for Rags to give an order.
“Run!”
The Goblins around him started. They took one look at the Humans approaching and realized they were too close. They began to stream away from the pit, taking one last look. Poisonbite had to be grabbed by Noears. Redscar saluted the body with his sword, then rode away, shouting at the Goblins to move.
“Chieftain.”
Pyrite stood next to Rags. He spoke urgently, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the dead body. She didn’t move, even when Pyrite shook her. Only when he lifted her up did she react. Pyrite effortlessly heaved Rags up and onto the back of her Carn Wolf. He poked the wolf in the side, and the animal growled. Pyrite growled back, and the Carn Wolf bounded after the Goblins. Rags almost turned him back. Almost. But she didn’t have the strength to look at the miserable form lying there.
Quietstab was dead. It had happened so suddenly. As they all slept. It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem right. Yet Rags was certain she knew the moment he had died. And then the shock gripping her faded. She asked the second question that was growing louder in her head.
He had died. So someone had killed him. Who?
And she already knew the answer. It was obvious. Rags rode with her head bowed, hearing more shouts as her tribe began to rush after the others. She slowly, painfully put together the conclusion in her mind, checking it for errors. But there were none. She rode at the head of her tribe, passing by her Goblins, her people. They watched her anxiously. Because now they knew.
And then she looked up and saw him. He was marching in the center of his tribe, head and shoulders taller than the others. By his side walked his Hob lieutenants, smug, wearing magical weapons and armor. And amid them was Ulvama, her nearly bare skin painted with symbols. But Rags had only eyes for Tremborag.
He was watching her. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain was looking at her, at the Goblins in her tribe, watching as Pyrite ushered them forwards. And then he looked at Rags as she slowed to stare at him.
Redscar drew up besides Rags. His sword was still bared. He peered at Tremborag. Yes, it was obvious. Tremborag wasn’t trying to hide it. He grinned with all his teeth, a massive face consumed with satisfaction and malicious glee. And then he laughed.
There were tens of thousands of Goblins between him and Rags. An army, his tribe. Enough Goblins to overwhelm her smaller tribe by sheer numbers. And there he was, bloated, obscenely gloating. Rags glared at Tremborag. He laughed at her and then said something. She could not hear him, far away as they were and with the [Mage] spells roaring behind her. The roar of her blood in her ears would have drowned it out. But she could read his lips.
See, child? Do you see?
And she did see. Rags focused on Tremborag. Redscar grabbed her arm, looking worried. But Rags had no eyes for him. She stared at Tremborag. And she knew then that she would watch him die or he would watch her. And she would write that promise a hundred thousand times in blood if need be. Rags lowered her head, and Redscar relaxed. Then she grabbed her sword and screamed.
——
Reiss rode ahead, but he looked behind. At her. The small Goblin who was somehow a child and adult as any Hob at the same time. Rags, the Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe. He could scarcely believe it. She was only a child, even by Goblin standards. But she was a Chieftain, and her tribe impressed him. If she had been born at the same time he and Garen had, would she have become…?
No, not necessarily. Reiss shook his head. There was more to a Goblin Lord than just the size of a tribe. But there was something in Rags that hinted at that potential. It was raw, and she was too young. But Reiss thought he saw it. It gave him hope, or it had. But today, Reiss was guilty.
He had watched Rags’ tribe moving about in confusion as dawn broke. All the Goblins had. They could sense the trouble in the Flooded Waters tribe, even if they didn’t know the reason. But Reiss did. He watched in silent agony as Rags sent patrols searching her camp and then as they found the latrine where Quietstab lay.
It wasn’t hard to understand why none of the other Goblins had spotted him in the early morning. They had all been asleep, and the pit was hardly a place where Goblins would investigate normally. But they found him. After that, shock spread through their tribe. Shock and grief.
And rage. Reiss sat on the back of the undead shield spider, watching Rags. She was fixed on Tremborag. So she’d put together who was responsible. That wasn’t hard. What came next was important, though. Reiss forced himself to watch; he couldn’t reveal that he knew what had happened. Not yet.
Rags was very still as she sat on the back of her Carn Wolf. Reiss could see her looking at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain was laughing, surrounded by his warriors. And why not? It didn’t matter if Rags knew. His tribe was a sprawling mass of marching Goblins, lacking the discipline of Reiss’ black-armored warriors, but too many to count. And he knew it.
There was another Goblin riding next to Rags. Small, not a Hob, but one of her lieutenants. Reiss tried to remember his name, but couldn’t. He saw the Goblin arguing with Rags, pulling at her arm. Reiss watched, a lump churning in his stomach. But Rags was too still. She lowered her head. And then she grabbed her sword and tried to charge.
“No. Stop her!”
The Hobs, Reiss’ personal escort, looked up at their lord in confusion. Reiss forced himself not to move. His claws dug into the palm of his hand as he watched. The other Goblin—Redscar?—seized Rags before she could charge at Tremborag. Rags fought him, but he was clearly strong, and he shouted for help.
Hobs grabbed the Carn Wolf and slowed it. The fat Hob who knew too much, Pyrite, ran forwards. He knocked Rags from the saddle. She fought him and Redscar, screaming, though she was too far away for Reiss to hear. Her tribe encircled their Chieftain. And Tremborag and his Goblins watched the entire thing and laughed.
Reiss lowered his head. He felt sick, but at least Rags wouldn’t charge to her death. He’d wondered what her reaction would be. And it had been genuine. Reiss turned in his saddle and looked around.
The other Goblins could hardly miss what had occurred. They were glancing back at Rags’ tribe, clearly confused. Reiss turned and called, fighting the nausea.
“Snapjaw!”
One of the Goblins riding ahead of him turned. Snapjaw rode her horse towards Reiss. He eyed the ground and leapt from the back of his Shield Spider, landing with a grunt.
“Lord? Trouble?”
Snapjaw looked wary as she peeked at Rags’ tribe. Reiss shrugged. He glanced back at Rags’ tribe, pretending again not to know.
“Go to the Flooded Waters tribe. Ask what is happening.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Snapjaw turned her mount and whistled. Immediately, several of the Goblins under her command—Goblins who’d mastered horseback riding—joined her. She raced back towards Rags’ tribe. Reiss knew it would take her a while to come back. He looked at the mindless Shield Spider, moving forwards blindly. He didn’t want to ride it and pretend in front of all of his tribe. So instead he looked around and made eye contact with one of his Hobs.
“Take me to her.”
The Hob nodded. He poked his companion and conferred. Then he pointed through the crowd of Goblins. Reiss nodded. He followed the Hob as the Goblins parted for their Lord.
There was no need for Reiss to say which ‘her’ he meant. The Goblin Lord walked through the ranks of his tribe, trying to smile at his subjects as they looked to him for reassurance, strength. He reached for something in his pocket, hunched his shoulders. He saw a group of burly Hobs part in front of him. And then he saw her.
Osthia Blackwing was marching in the center of the ranks of Hobs. Her wings were bound, but both her hands and legs were free. She’d insisted on it. She’d told Reiss plainly that if she had to sit in a covered wagon all day, she would bite her tongue off. So he’d let her walk.
“You.”
The Drake looked up and met Reiss’ eyes challengingly, as she did every time they met. Reiss nodded.
“Me.”
He glanced at the Hobs surrounding them.
“Give us space. Warn me if anyone approaches.”
They nodded and spread out, forming a bubble of space around him and Osthia. Reiss waited until they were all clear and then outlined a space in his mind. He whispered.
“[Quiet Air].”
Instantly, the world went quiet. The sounds of the Goblins marching, of metal touching metal, even the sound of the wind itself—vanished. Reiss and Osthia walked in a bubble of silence. The Drake looked around and then at Reiss.
“Worried someone will hear you?”
“Yes.”
The Drake blinked. It was still slightly amusing to Reiss how she reacted when he told her the truth. But Goblins almost never lied to each other, and Reiss lied only when he had to. The Goblin Lord sighed.
“What’s happening?”
Osthia glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t see what had occurred with the Flooded Waters tribe, but she was sharp enough to pick up on the reactions of the Goblins around her. Reiss even thought she’d picked up a few words of the Goblin dialect. He shook his head.
“Tremborag killed a Hob from Rags’ tribe. Last night. They found the body this morning.”
The Drake went still as she processed that. Her eyes flicked to Reiss’ face, and then she craned her neck, trying to see over the Hobs’ heads. That was impossible. Her wings flexed a bit in their constraints.
“I see. Tremborag’s the huge Hob you showed me. And Rags is—the small one?”
“Yes.”
“What’s she doing about it?”
“Nothing. Yet. She tried to charge his tribe alone when she found out.”
Osthia snorted contemptuously.
“Idiot.”
Reiss ignored that comment. After a moment, the Drake glanced at him.
“Well? What are you going to do? I assume that this Tremborag violated some kind of Goblin law, didn’t he?”
“It was not good. But there aren’t any ‘laws’ against it. His tribe will celebrate it, and the other tribes will be furious. Especially the Flooded Waters tribe.”
“Which is…?”
“Rags’ tribe.”
“Ah. So they’ll want revenge. So what will you do? Unless you’re coming to me for advice.”
The Oldblood Drake glanced sidewise at Reiss. She was his enemy. And she hated him, but she hated his master more. That made them unlikely allies; Osthia would help Reiss, if only so that she could survive and escape when the time was right. Reiss had consulted her for advice, and the Drake had good ideas, even if she lied to him more often than she told the truth. Reiss shrugged, knowing she was trying to find out everything she could from him.
“I will do nothing until Snapjaw comes back and tells me Quietstab is dead.”
“Why would she do that?”
Reiss turned his head slowly to regard Osthia.
“Because I do not know Quietstab is dead and that Tremborag murdered him. Rags knows just now. I knew last night.”
The Drake frowned. Her brows snapped together.
“You knew? How?”
For a second, Reiss debated not telling Osthia. It was a risk. But he—the knowledge burned in his gut. He felt guilty, so against his better judgment, he confessed.
“I watched him die. I could have stopped it. But I did not. Because one Hob’s death will help me save tens of thousands of lives.”
Osthia’s eyes widened. For a moment, she was surprised. But then, contempt replaced surprise. She was not shocked. It was almost a relief. She had no expectations of Reiss.
“I see. You were there?”
“Invisible. I watched it happen. It was a necessity. It will make Rags’ tribe and my army allies.”
It was an excuse. And it was the truth. But sometimes, it felt like he was becoming more like his master with each passing day. Reiss closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Osthia was still looking at him with narrowed eyes.
“I see. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you. Goblins betray even their allies, it seems. Just like your race.”
For some reason, that nettled Reiss. He looked over at Osthia.
“My kind does not sacrifice their own. I learned that from Drakes. I studied your wars. You send a hundred to hold a gap and know they will die. You kill your own for advantage, just like me. I did not learn such things from Goblins.”
He regarded Osthia coldly, basking in his anger for a moment. The Drake bristled, and her manacled wings stirred with anger.
“Drakes—our leaders know when sacrifice is necessary. But that doesn’t mean—”
“Spare me.”
Reiss turned his head. He heard Osthia inhale and altered his spell. The world around him grew silent for a minute. Reiss was alone with his thoughts. He bowed his head.
Quietstab had died in front of him. He had been there, on a nightly errand when he’d seen Tremborag stalking the Hob. He had watched the confrontation. The rapid murder had surprised him. But he could have stopped it. If he had so much as raised his voice or revealed himself, Tremborag would have retreated. If he had cast a spell—
He hadn’t. Reiss was sure, quite sure, that even his best spell wouldn’t kill Tremborag outright. He was a [Necromancer] and lacked the raw power of other [Mage] classes. So he had let Quietstab die because it would benefit his tribe, convince Rags to ally with him. It was necessary. But it was such a Human thing to do. Reiss felt the guilt gnawing at him. What was he doing? Was he really becoming—
He saw a flicker of movement and turned his head. Osthia punched Reiss. He staggered and saw a Hob roar soundlessly and charge Osthia. The Goblin Lord raised a claw and dispelled the [Quiet Air] spell.
“Stop!”
The Hob skidded to a halt before he could slam into Osthia. The Drake was ready. She glared at Reiss as he rubbed his cheek. That had hurt. But it was no less than he deserved. And he’d forgotten how touchy Drakes could be.
“Leave us.”
The Hob hesitated and then moved back, giving Osthia the evil eye. Reiss reapplied his silencing spell and then looked at Osthia.
“Punch me again and I can’t guarantee my Hobs won’t seek revenge.”
The Drake sneered.
“All they do is poke me with sticks. Ignore me again and I’ll hit you somewhere else.”
“Fine.”
Reiss looked around. He couldn’t see over the top of the tall Hobs he’d selected to screen Osthia from sight, but he knew that Snapjaw would be returning any moment with the dire news. Reiss shook his head.
“So you’re going to use this to tie that little Goblin’s tribe to you. What next after that?”
Osthia looked at Reiss. He glanced at her and then sighed. His shoulders felt heavy. But cold certainty filled him.
“He killed her subordinate. So I will help her bring him down. As allies.”
The Drake’s eyes widened. Reiss nodded. It was time. Whatever the Humans had planned, it would surely mean the end of his tribe. But if he could face them with combined forces—
Garen was an obstacle, but his tribe was small. Tremborag was the real threat. If he fell, his tribe would splinter. That was Reiss’ chance. The Great Chieftain had to die. Somehow.
That reminded Reiss. He fished in his pocket and pulled something out. He turned and offered it to Osthia. She blinked down at the thing he was holding.
“Here. I made it at last.”
It was a ring, a white band of wood. It had been carved carefully, and it shone in the daylight. Osthia hesitated. Reiss pushed it at her.
“Take it.”
“I don’t want—”
“Take it. I told you what it does. I didn’t lie.”
The Drake suspiciously took the ring. She turned it over, although Reiss knew she had no ability to detect magic.
“If you enchanted it with anything but what you said—”
Reiss nearly growled. That was the problem with Drakes. They were touchy and suspicious.
And kind. Some of them could be—he growled, pushing the memories back.
“I did not. Put it on or I will make you wear it.”
Osthia glared at him, but she slipped the ring on with ill grace. She blinked at the ring.
“It’s a perfect fit.”
“Obviously. It was made for you.”
The Goblin Lord sighed. He shook his head as Osthia growled. Maybe he should have made a necklace. He’d forgotten how touchy Drakes and Humans were about rings on fingers. Didn’t it mean something when they put it on a certain finger? Oh well. He dispelled the [Quiet Air] spell a second time and heard the hubbub around him. Snapjaw must have returned. The Goblin Lord glanced at Osthia.
