Tears of Liscor, page 38
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
“We have no purpose. This war is not to create or fill any task. Just to end. Just because it must be.”
Tremborag stared at Velan.
“Then why—why fight? You made peace on Baleros. Why fight?”
Velan didn’t answer him. Not at first. The Goblin King looked up at the ceiling and at Tremborag’s throne. And there was sadness in his eyes. Sadness, and a regret that haunted Tremborag’s dreams ever after.
“We fulfilled our oaths long ago. We were there when the world betrayed itself. And we brought death to the world in return. We won that war, though it cost us all. Our family, our people, our King—all of it was worth the price. And now, what remains is vengeance.”
“Against what?”
“Everything.”
The Goblin King gazed past Tremborag, straight through him. He touched his eyes and shook his head. When he looked at Tremborag, dark rage filled his eyes, a rage so hot that it could burn Dragons.
“Rage consumes me. Stay in your mountain. Let the children hide here. The children and the next. I have failed. All I can do is plant the seeds for the next. If you would be one of them, seek these out.”
He turned abruptly and reached for something at his side. He showed Tremborag the keys. They were ordinary, apparently made of steel. But they captured the light. Velan looked at them sadly.
“One day, there will be a King again. And they will follow in my footsteps. Forever. Until all Goblins perish or all others do. We cannot help it. We cannot forget. But maybe next time…”
He trailed off. Velan turned towards the doors and walked away. Tremborag sat on his throne, feeling small. He half-rose and shouted after Velan.
“What should I do, then? What is my purpose? To hide? To wait? To seek?”
Velan turned at the doors. His eyes captured Tremborag’s, and he shook his head.
“Live, Chieftain of the Mountain. Just—live.”
And then he was gone. Tremborag never saw Velan again, but he remembered the keys. He remembered the past. And he wondered—
He wondered if Velan had known all along how it would end.
——
Tyrion Veltras shook blood off of his lance as he slowly rode back. Cheering filled the air, and the Humans raised their weapons and shouted wildly. The gigantic Goblin lay on the ground, a bloodied mess. Tyrion was checking his mount and offering his lance to Jericha when the body stirred.
The cheering stopped. Slowly, Tremborag sat up. He blinked down at the hole in his chest and touched the blood running to the ground like water. Tyrion paused as Tremborag rose to his feet. The Great Chieftain stared at the [Lord]. Tyrion spoke calmly.
“You are dead, Goblin.”
Tremborag laughed. He shook his head and bared his teeth at Tyrion. His voice was hoarse. His face pale. But he stood and opened his claws.
“I am Tremborag. And only I decide when it is time to die.”
Tremborag took a step forwards. Bows twanged, and arrows sprouted from his body from all sides. He laughed as more struck him and Humans rushed forwards. He turned and brought his claws down, crushing metal and bone. He raised his arms as a fireball exploded, burning away part of the flesh on his chest.
“Come, Humans! Come with your armies! Bring your thousands against me!”
He swept the Humans away. He crushed them with his feet. He bit and roared as they cut at him.
“I am TREMBORAG! Chieftain of the Mountains! Come! Show me death!”
And they tried. They brought steel by the hundreds, piercing his flesh. They shot arrows into him, seeking his heart. Tremborag rampaged through their lines, leaving crimson in his wake. Bleeding it.
Fire rained from the skies. They broke the earth. Spears of magic pierced his flesh. Metal shattered his bones. Tremborag felt none of it. He burned, cutting, snarling, tearing. And a thought grew in his mind.
Is this what you saw, Velan? Is this the fate of Goblins?
There were so many. Every Human he killed seemed to spawn another one. But there was one Tremborag was looking for. His eyes were filled with blood. Then one was gone. But he could see Tyrion Veltras at last. Standing in front of him, sword drawn. There were…Humans in front of him. Tremborag strode towards him, ignoring the pain, the shadows that tore parts of him away.
A little bit further. A little bit. The Human was standing in front of him, surrounded by steel and spell. But his eyes were only for Tremborag. The Great Chieftain lurched forwards, teeth bared. He had to do it. Show them what a Goblin was. What a real Chieftain was.
Show them—show them—
Show who? Tremborag looked around. He couldn’t remember who he was trying to show. And now he was alone. He couldn’t see anything anymore. It was all dark.
Why was he here? Tremborag tried to remember. He blundered around. And then he saw it. Sitting there, just a little bit away. A giant heavy thing. Something to focus on. A beautiful piece of stone.
His mountain. His small home. Why wasn’t he there? Tremborag belonged in his home.
He walked forwards, stumbling. The world had gone quiet around him. He walked towards the mountain, stumbling, falling, getting back up. He was getting tired, and the mountain was so far away. Why had he left it?
He was so tired. Maybe if he had a nap, he’d feel better. Tremborag looked around. It was so quiet. So dark. So…peaceful. He sat down and closed his eyes. He’d just sleep a little bit. Until he could wake up. His mountain wasn’t going anywhere. And Tremborag would return. He would. He had made his home there. A place to live. He sat, exhausted.
The air was so warm—
——
At last, he stopped. Rags saw the Goblin, the Great Chieftain of the Mountain, sit down. His back was to them. The bloody, torn figure wasn’t green anymore. It was black. And it looked nothing like a Goblin. Nothing like anything, really. Arrows covered Tremborag’s body, and mages and warriors had torn him apart. But still he’d fought.
Now he sat, facing north. Away from the Goblins. Away from the Humans, who’d just let him walk away. Tremborag sat, what remained of his head bowed. Facing a small shape on the horizon. A mountain.
He didn’t move. He didn’t stir as the Humans stared at his back. At last, one of them shot an arrow into his back and another approached and stabbed him in the back. Tremborag didn’t move.
He was dead. He had been dead for a while. But somehow, he had kept moving. Now, he’d stopped. It still took the Humans a long time to believe it. The bloodied Humans surrounded Tremborag, until one of them climbed up and removed his head. Then the head was raised with three Humans holding it, and the army cheered raggedly. Desperately, as if to say it was worth it.
But the blood that stained the grass told a different tale. And the Goblins who watched saw the Humans turn away after cheering briefly and mourn their dead. But the Goblins could not enjoy that either.
Because they were weeping. Rags was, at least. She couldn’t see through the tears. And though she brushed the water away, it kept coming.
It made no sense. Tremborag had been a monster. He had deserved to die. But she couldn’t help it. She wept, not for him, but for Goblins. And she saw the same tears in the eyes of her tribe.
Reiss did not weep. Neither did Garen. The two Hobs stood facing each other, at the head of their tribes. They waited, and eventually, the Goblins realized there was a choice to be made.
The Mountain City tribe had lost their Great Chieftain, but they were intact. The Humans had spared almost all of them to slay only Tremborag. Now the tribe looked and saw the two Hobs, standing on either side.
Garen and his Redfang Warriors. And Reiss, the Goblin Lord and his army. Two kinds of Goblins stood, waiting. The Mountain City tribe looked from Garen to Reiss as the Hobs waited expectantly. And then all eyes turned to Rags.
She wiped tears from her eyes as she stood on the back of her Carn Wolf. She looked at the Mountain City Goblins, at Ulvama who was weeping too, at the Hobs who she had tried to kill and the Goblin warriors who wept for Tremborag. She raised her voice and shouted raggedly, pointing at Tremborag’s body.
“This is Goblin! This is our end! We kill Humans, and they kill us! Drakes kill us, and we kill them. But they come back. Every time. This is how Goblins die.”
The Goblins looked up at her. Despair made Rags’ throat close up, but she forced herself to keep going.
“Tremborag was not-Goblin! But he died as Goblins do. As Goblins always do. But it is not how we have to die.”
They looked at her, disbelieving, but waiting for her to go on. Rags closed her eyes. She thought of burning houses, of the blind [Emperor], and of Tremborag. Then she opened them.
“I have seen our past and future. And it is a circle. It goes around and around. But if Goblins want to live, they cannot go in a circle. They have to change. They have to—stop.”
The Goblins of the Mountain City tribe stared at Rags. Her Flooded Waters tribe gazed at their Chieftain. Garen’s Redfangs looked up at Rags. And the Goblin Lord’s army looked at the small Goblin. Reiss looked shocked, Garen incredulous. But slowly, the Goblins moved. The Mountain City tribe slowly streamed towards Rags.
Not all of them. Maybe just over a half. But while some went to Garen and some went to Reiss, the rest went to Rags. They spat hatred at the Goblin Lord and shook their heads and turned away from Garen. And they flocked around Rags who wept for the Great Chieftain of the Mountain. And the Goblin Lord turned, furious and shocked and confused at once and saw a Drake was standing to one side, staring at him.
“Does she mean a cycle?”
Osthia Blackwing pointed at Rags. Reiss nodded. The Drake’s expression cleared.
“Ah. That makes a lot of sense. Looks like they trust her more than you.”
She paused, smirking at Reiss, then frowned.
“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“That was what he said.”
Reiss spoke softly. Osthia frowned.
“Who said?”
“Velan the Kind. Before he became the Goblin King. He called it the cycle that bound all of Goblinkind, of violence and retribution. He tried to break it.”
The Drake’s eyes went round. She looked at Rags, and suddenly, her expression was worried. Wary.
“Do you—do you think she’s like him? Could she have the potential to—Reiss?”
Reiss didn’t look at Osthia. He’d gone completely still. The Drake looked back at Rags, then at Reiss. Her nerves turned to anger.
“Well? Is she like Velan? Could she be a Goblin King?”
He didn’t respond. Angrily, Osthia reached out and shook Reiss. And then he turned his head. His eyes were black and the pupils white, as always. But someone else gazed out through the white pupils, as if they were a window.
“That child? She is nothing like the previous Goblin King.”
Osthia recoiled. Reiss looked around. Only, it wasn’t Reiss who spoke. His voice was completely different, as was the way he moved. And looked at her. The person who wore Reiss’ body turned and regarded Osthia coldly.
“I recall you, Drake. I ordered my apprentice to slay you. Another failing. Another moment of disobedience.”
That voice. Osthia remembered it. She couldn’t forget it. Her claws tightened into fists. Her tail thrashed.
“Az’ker—”
Reiss’ finger rose. He pointed at her chest.
“[Deathbolt].”
A ripple of darkness shot from his finger and passed straight through Osthia’s chest. She gasped and then, soundlessly, collapsed. Az’kerash or Reiss or some mixture of the two, idly kicked her onto her back.
Osthia Blackwing lay on the ground, her eyes opened wide in surprise. Her mouth was slightly agape. Her face was pale, almost white. Drained of life. One of her claws—the one with the black ring on it—was clenched into a fist. Az’kerash, wearing his apprentice’s face, studied the body dismissively and then looked around.
“I see much has changed since we last communicated, my apprentice. Walk with me and tell me what has occurred.”
Slowly, jerkily, Reiss began to move. He walked past the Goblins clustered around Rags, head turning to inspect the fallen form and the Human army. Snapjaw and Eater of Spears stared at their leader, and the Goblins around Reiss drew back. Garen turned his head and bared his teeth. He reached for his sword.
——
Lord Tyrion Veltras stood in front of the misshapen head that had been Tremborag. He regarded the shape, wrinkled his nose at the burnt smell of flesh, and turned away.
“Enough. Jericha, allow the soldiers to parade the head about if they wish. I doubt any of the nobility would care for it as a trophy in its current state. Now, prepare a short missive to be sent to every city in the north.”
“At once, sire.”
Jericha readied the spell as Tyrion stood surrounded by his army. Tyrion Veltras waited until she signaled she was ready and spoke curtly.
“The Great Chieftain of the Mountain is dead. He was slain by Human hands, on Human lands. Let his death be a message to all those who would threaten Izril. The Goblin Lord is next.”
He nodded to Jericha. And that was it. The [Message] spell was sent to every Mage’s Guild by magic, and within moments, it was speeding to Drake cities, across the world. The news was distorted as it went from person to person, even with magic. It captured some of the meaning, lost some of the nuance. But it was ever the same.
The Great Chieftain is dead.
Tremborag has been slain.
The Great Chieftain of the Mountains is no more.
Tremborag of the Mountain has fallen. The Goblin Lord flees ever onwards. And the Great Chieftain of Dwarfhalls Rest, the Goblin who knew Velan the Kind, the Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe, Tremborag, is gone.
Just like that.
5.52
Erin Solstice was sleeping, and then she woke up. That was generally how her life worked. She squirmed about comfortably in the blankets that were her bed in one corner of the kitchen and then opened her eyes. Sleepily, she changed clothes beneath the sheets, grabbing freshly laundered clothes from the neat pile lying next to her bed. Ishkr was good at washing things.
Next, Erin got up. She looked around, yawned, and then opened a cupboard for breakfast. Normally, in her world, she would have pulled out a box of cereal. Or a sugary pop tart. Or, if she was really energetic, she’d go to the fridge for some eggs or find some bread to toast. But in this world, Erin reached into the cupboard and pulled out a steak, seared to perfection and glazed with a bit of butter and sauce. She stared at it and shook her head.
“Nah.”
She put the plate back in the cupboard and peered inside. After a second, Erin came out with a ham and cheese roll. She licked her lips and went over to her oven.
It took Erin seconds to light the fire and find some tongs to warm the roll up over the fire. Soon it was steaming hot, and she juggled it as she bit into the warm sandwich. She looked around, opened another cupboard that she’d labeled ‘drinks’, and pulled out a pitcher filled with milk. She filled a cup as she chewed and had herself a breakfast on a stool in the kitchen.
Life was good. Erin hummed as she got out more food for breakfast. She’d been thinking of introducing the wonders of muesli and fruit into the lives of her guests. It was certainly healthy, but she feared she’d have a riot on her hands from Ceria, Jelaqua, and Mrsha, who all loved meat. And since Erin had had a roll, she decided she’d postpone her tyranny via oats for another day and got out more premade sandwiches and began to toast them one by one.
The trick to using her [Field of Preservation] Skill was to know if the food she was making needed to be rewarmed or if it was going to be okay cold. Because if it needed to be warmed up, it wasn’t a good idea to toast it ahead of time. Then you’d just burn the bread. Without a microwave and with only a fire, Erin had learned a lot about which foods could be reheated without drying out or catching on fire.
The cold sandwiches quickly became hot, delicious meals on a big plate. Erin carried it out to the main room and heard rustling above her head. Lyonette and Mrsha were probably getting up about now. Erin smiled and hummed louder to herself, ready to face the day.
Which reminded her. Erin went over to her magical door and checked the little wooden bowl filled with mana stones. Green, red, yellow…they shone different colors as she picked up the red mana stone, ready to open the door to the Redfang’s cave. It wasn’t hard to figure out which mana stone led to which location; they were color coordinated after all. But Erin did wish she could make the magic of her door automatic.
“I guess that’s the difference between a movie and real life. Yep, yep. The only difference.”
Erin nodded to herself and then grinned. She was about to open the door to the Redfangs’ cave when she remembered that she did occasionally get the early-morning visitor from Liscor and Celum. And they tended to get stroppy when she left them waiting at the door in Octavia’s shop or in the rain for a few minutes…or hours. She wasn’t sure which was worse, standing in Liscor’s ever-present rains or having Octavia try to sell you something as the fumes from her potion shop seared your sinuses.
“Probably Octavia.”
Erin sighed and found the green stone for Liscor. She slapped it on the door, opened the door, and stared into the wet and dark streets of Liscor just before dawn. No one there. She shrugged, closed the door, plucked the green mana stone off and found the blue stone for Celum. She placed it on the door and then opened it.
A Dragon stared at her through the doorway. His eyes were bright yellow, and his head was taller than she was. His nose was inches from Erin’s face. She froze.
He was standing in a massive cave. Where was Octavia’s shop? The question fled Erin’s mind as the Dragon opened his mouth. Red and orange flames licked around his teeth as he spoke.
“Human girl, do not be afraid. I am—”
“Aaah!”
Erin screamed and punched the Dragon straight in the nose. Instead of connecting with his scales, her fist passed through the Dragon’s face. Erin felt her fist connect with something else, though. Something that went crack. She heard a yelp and a crash.
