Tears of Liscor, page 84
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
They had gone through so much. Garen listened with awe, surprise, and pride. He couldn’t help it. The Hobs had gone through a story of their own, as much as he had—more than he had when he was just starting out. And they had come through it together. When they finished, the other Redfangs looked at them as they looked at him when he told his own tales. The five Redfang warriors stood together, proud, tired, looking up at him.
Their Chieftain. Only, there was something different in their eyes. Chieftain Garen, they’d called him. Not just Chieftain. Headscratcher spoke at last.
“Chieftain Garen gave orders. But…”
He looked at the others. They nodded, giving him support. Headscratcher looked up and took a deep breath.
“Bad orders, Chieftain Garen. Rags was Chieftain, so old Chieftain’s orders not good. Rags liked innkeeper. Erin Solstice is good. Can’t kill her.”
“I see.”
That was all Garen said. He stared numbly down at the Redfangs. So they couldn’t kill her. Did they even realize why? It wasn’t just that she was good. He wondered. They were so young. Did they know they loved her? As much as any Goblin could love a Human. He had loved someone, once. As much as a Goblin could love a Drake.
What a bitter poison. Garen shook his head. He tried to think of something to say and just gave up. He looked at the five and couldn’t find it in his heart to chastise them.
“Fine. Fine. Don’t kill her.”
The five relaxed. Garen pointed at Spiderslicer, who’d sat down to listen.
“But Halfseekers. They die. And then we go south. All of us. Cave Goblins, old Redfangs and new—we go south. Past Liscor, back to High Passes.”
Spiderslicer slowly got up. Headscratcher stiffened. Again, he shook his head.
“No, Chieftain.”
Garen frowned.
“Why not?”
Headscratcher struggled for words. He flushed, conscious he was in front of his peers, some of them Goblins who were far older than he was. And his Chieftain. He gestured, speaking slowly.
“If Goblin Lord is coming, Redfangs should fight! That what Chieftain Garen said to Rags, said to us! If Chieftain Rags is alive—should go to her. Chieftain is still Chieftain. Can’t abandon her. Would be not-Goblin.”
The Redfangs stirred. They looked at Headscratcher, ashamed, embarrassed, but no one said a word. Rags was Chieftain. And they had betrayed her.
That was true. You couldn’t deny that. Yes, Garen had usurped Rags’ authority. He had—done a Human thing. Pretended to be part of her tribe, then not listened to her orders. Gone behind her back. That was not a Goblin thing. And yes, she had left Tremborag’s mountain, betrayed him. But that was her betrayal. They had still abandoned her.
Betrayal, and betrayal again. Garen was angry. It was all that seemed to happen to him. He snapped down at Headscratcher.
“That was different! Rags was—not strong! Not enough! She could not be Chieftain! She was too weak! Who could lead the Redfangs but me?”
No one answered. Obviously, only Garen could be their Chieftain. There was no Goblin that could match him. No one could replace him or defeat him. And yet, Headscratcher looked up steadily.
“That true, Chieftain Garen. But Rags was still true Chieftain. She was smart.”
Garen opened his mouth. He looked around, and the Redfang tribe gazed down at Headscratcher, ready to shout agreement. But for some reason, the words didn’t come out. The five Hobs, Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, Numbtongue, Badarrow, and Shorthilt, looked around, their eyes steady. Confident that what they were saying was true, was right.
They had not been here for Tremborag or the betrayal at the mountain. They had not witnessed the Human army bearing down on them or felt the fear of seeing the Kingslayer staring down at them. They had not seen Tremborag fall or Rags’ new tribe. Or Reiss’ betrayal. They had not seen…anything.
And they remembered a different time. A time when their tribe had been under Rags’ command, however tenuous. The other Redfang goblins shifted uneasily. How could you explain all that had passed to bring them here?
“Enough.”
Garen croaked the words. He waved a claw.
“Just—enough. Rags is gone. Maybe dead. Won’t get to her tribe. Reiss defeated her. Too far, too many Humans and Reiss’ army in the way. We go. Kill Halfseekers.”
It sounded like a plea. Garen’s sword weighed at his side. He could do it himself, in an instant. But he couldn’t—no, he had given an order. But still, Headscratcher barred Spiderslicer’s way. The smaller Goblin raised his weapon threateningly, but this time, Numbtongue blocked him, guitar in hand. He looked around, his words loud, authoritative.
“No. The Halfseekers are her friends. If they die, she will be sad. They fought with us. They were your tribe.”
He pointed at Garen. The Chieftain felt a thrill of outrage and something else. The other Hobs nodded. Shorthilt polished his sword.
“Can’t kill own tribe.”
“They are traitors!”
Garen couldn’t believe he was arguing with them. He strode forwards, pointing at Headscratcher, who began to back up and then caught himself. Garen shouted at Headscratcher.
“I am your Chieftain! You do not argue! You obey!”
Headscratcher’s knees shook. But he refused to step back. He looked Garen in the eye, and Garen saw all their history together. He had taught Headscratcher how to fight. He had shown him how to work with his tribe to bring down larger foes. He had given Headscratcher everything that made him what he was. And Headscratcher saw the same thing. But still, he shook his head.
“Only Chieftain can give orders. And true Chieftain is Rags. Not you. Garen.”
You could have dropped a pin and heard the sound as the tribe stared at Headscratcher in silence. Garen’s hand closed over the hilt of his sword.
“Traitor.”
Headscratcher flinched. Garen looked at Spiderslicer, and the Goblin looked around. Redfang warriors got to their feet uncertainly. Garen began to unsheathe his sword, waiting for Headscratcher to take back his words. Then he heard a sound.
Rustling. He turned his head and saw the sea of grey-green bodies get to their feet. Twenty thousand Cave Goblins stood up. Their crimson eyes gleamed as they hoisted weapons into the air. The Redfangs turned warily.
“Sit.”
Garen turned and growled an order. The Cave Goblins rippled, and some began to sit at the authority in his tone. But they didn’t. He was a Chieftain, the only [Chieftain] present. But somehow, the Cave Goblins stood. They had overthrown their masters once. They stared down at the Redfang tribe, who stared back without fear.
They were Redfangs, and the Cave Goblins, for all there were five times as many, were far weaker. If it was a battle, the Redfangs would take to their mounts and ride forth until the last one was dead. But still—they looked at Garen, their Chieftain, and hesitated. It was in the air. Headscratcher looked Garen in the eye. He was afraid, terribly afraid. But he still barred Garen’s way.
“Can’t let you kill Halfseekers. Can’t let them die. Won’t go.”
“Then leave.”
Garen hissed at him. He just wanted Headscratcher out of his sight. But the Hob refused to budge. He shook his head.
“I am Redfang. We are Redfang. They are Redfang.”
He touched his chest, gestured at his four friends, and pointed at the Cave Goblins. They echoed the word, a whisper twenty thousand times.
“Redfang.”
Headscratcher nodded. He closed his eyes and then looked at the others. They nodded too. Garen didn’t understand. Not until Headscratcher reached for his axe. He drew the precious, enchanted blade, and pointed it at Garen’s chest. He spoke softly, but in words every member of the Redfang tribe heard.
“Garen Redfang. I challenge you for Chieftain of Redfang tribe.”
For a moment, all was still. Then Garen laughed. He threw his head back and laughed, surprising everyone present. Headscratcher looked at him uncertainly. Then Garen moved; in one motion, he drew his sword and pointed Redfang, the fabled blade, at Headscratcher’s throat. The [Berserker] froze.
“You cannot challenge me. You are dead. Too weak! Too young! Bow! Or die!”
Garen shouted at Headscratcher. The young Hob wavered, but refused to budge. Garen’s grip tightened—and then Numbtongue stepped forwards. He brought his guitar down on the flat of Garen’s blade, knocking it down. The Chieftain stared at him. Numbtongue spoke, his voice echoing.
“I challenge you too.”
A blade slid from its scabbard. Garen turned his head and saw Rabbiteater draw his blade. The [Champion] held his sword up, pointing at Garen’s chest. His crimson cloak—liquid wine, a fine vintage—rippled behind him. He spoke, his voice quavering, his sword arm steady.
“I challenge.”
Another blade. This one barely whispered as it was unsheathed. Shorthilt held the sword in one hand and a parrying dagger in the other. He smiled.
“Challenge.”
Badarrow calmly nocked an arrow and aimed it at Garen’s throat.
“Me too.”
Garen looked around. The Redfang tribe was frozen in place. Headscratcher looked around and then smiled.
“We challenge you, Chieftain. All of us.”
They stood there, weapons bared, five of them. In the center of a ring of warriors. Garen stared from face to face. And then he sighed. He dropped his sword. It landed tip-first in the ground and slid into the earth like butter. The other Redfangs stared at it. Headscratcher blinked down at the blade. Garen grabbed his axe hand, threw him to the ground, and leapt at the others with a roar.
——
This is what Spiderslicer saw. He stood with the other Redfang warriors of the tribe in a circle of bodies. Carn Wolves prowled restlessly, and the horses shuffled, caught between sleep and wakefulness. The Cave Goblins stood and watched. And in the center of the ring, a challenge was fought.
It was without blades. Garen Redfang had dropped his, and he gave the other five Hobs no chance to use their weapons. Shorthilt’s sword went flying as he kicked it out of the Hob’s hand. He kicked Rabbiteater in the groin, threw Badarrow over his shoulder as the arrow went astray, and blocked Numbtongue’s guitar with one arm. He threw a punch, and Numbtongue fell backwards, bleeding.
Perhaps there was mercy in it. But Spiderslicer saw Garen’s eyes. They were wide with fury. He caught Headscratcher as the younger Goblin rushed at him and kneed him in the chest, punched him twice, and then turned and backhanded Shorthilt. He wasn’t doing this to be kind. He could have killed all five Hobs in a moment. But he was making them submit. They would surrender to him. Or Garen would kill them with his bare hands.
It wasn’t a fair fight. Not even with their new classes. Not even five against one. Headscratcher roared as he swung at Garen. The two were as strong as each other, but Garen was faster, more experienced. He dodged the swings and struck as Headscratcher was mid-punch. The Hob collapsed, and Garen turned and kicked. Rabbiteater choked as the blow drove into his stomach. He folded over, and Garen kicked dirt into Badarrow’s face. He brought his hands down on the Hobgoblin’s back.
Flawless. Spiderslicer had seen Garen fight and knew he was beyond his abilities. Beyond Redscar or anyone else. Garen stood over the battered Redfangs. He wasn’t breathing hard. He spoke one harsh word.
“Obey.”
They lay on the ground, coughing. Rabbiteater was spewing, and Numbtongue might have a broken nose. Headscratcher had lost a tooth. He was flat on his back. He looked up, past Garen, and mumbled something.
Garen walked over to him. He stared down at Headscratcher. Spiderslicer edged closer. He heard a whisper, a cough, and then Headscratcher’s voice.
“She hugged me.”
Garen stared down at him.
“What?”
Headscratcher didn’t respond. He pushed himself up, and Numbtongue sat up. He spat blood and growled.
“I played music.”
He rose. Shorthilt got up, shaking his head. He wiped blood from his nose.
“Every night, I sleep and feel safe. I smile. She gave me this.”
He patted the sheathed sword at his side and stood. Garen looked at him in disbelief. Badarrow rolled over. Badarrow, who wouldn’t pick up a sword if he could shoot a bow, made a fist.
“I met a friend who hunts for birds.”
He rose. Rabbiteater looked around. He wiped his mouth and looked at Garen and then past him, at the Cave Goblins.
“They call me [Champion].”
They stood with light shining from their eyes. Garen looked from face to face. He shook his head and made an inarticulate sound. He lashed out, and Headscratcher reeled back. The fight continued, but this time, it was savage.
Shorthilt had trained with other Redfang warriors and with Garen. He had been battered, bloodied a hundred times. Broken bones. But this time, Garen showed no mercy. He struck the Redfangs, knocking them down, hitting them hard enough to fracture their bones. Spiderslicer watched him snap one of Headscratcher’s fingers like that. He saw the Hob stumble, then throw a punch, broken finger or not.
Garen kicked him down. But Badarrow was next. He swung for Garen, ignoring the two punches he received. The third downed him. Shorthilt and Numbtongue jumped forwards and were knocked flat as Garen hurled Numbtongue into Shorthilt. And then Rabbiteater raised his hands. He threw a punch, and Garen countered. He threw another punch and received a blow to the face.
He staggered. But he refused to fall. Garen lashed out. He struck Rabbiteater six times in the chest, face, groin. But Rabbiteater kept swinging. He struck Garen’s chest, took a punch in the ribs. He blocked a fist that went for his right shoulder, punched, sidestepped a kick. Garen blinked, and Rabbiteater hit him in the stomach.
Rabbiteater. Spiderslicer remembered a little Goblin. He saw a [Champion]. The two traded blows for another second. Garen swept Rabbiteater’s legs out from under him and stomped. Rabbiteater’s ribs did break, then.
Headscratcher lunged at Garen from the side. The two went down, punching, grappling. Garen threw Headscratcher off him. He got up and received a punch from Badarrow. Shorthilt kicked him in the back. Garen seized the leg, gripped Shorthilt by an ankle, and threw him into Badarrow. The blow sent both Hobgoblins down. The Redfang tribe winced as they saw the two writhing.
Numbtongue. The Goblin was on his feet. He lifted his guitar and struck. Garen blocked with one arm. Lightning flashed from the strings of the guitar, and Garen recoiled. Numbtongue held up his guitar and Garen leapt. He kicked Numbtongue in the chin, snapping his head back. Down Numbtongue fell, like a rock. Garen landed, and Headscratcher was waiting.
One punch. The [Berserker] roared and caught Garen with a blow that lifted the Chieftain’s feet off the ground. He swung again, and Garen hit him back. Headscratcher choked but didn’t fall. He swung, and Garen knocked him down. The Chieftain turned, panting.
And Rabbiteater got off the ground. Numbtongue was shaking his head. Rabbiteater pulled him up. Shorthilt and Badarrow were getting up too. Garen turned. He knocked all of them down, but it wasn’t enough.
Again and again. Spiderslicer thought that each time one of the Redfangs fell, it had to be the last time. They had broken bones now, and blood ran from their ears, noses. But still they rose, supporting each other, leaning on each other’s shoulders. Each time they were struck down, they stood up, battered, broken, but still rising.
It was an impossible foe. There was no way they could beat Garen Redfang. No way. But they took the fight to him, attacking as one. As a team. Garen was a blur, fighting them all at once. But it wasn’t Garen that Spiderslicer and the other Redfangs were looking at now.
It was them. They refused to fall.
It was the essence, the quintessential thing that defined the Redfang Tribe. Spiderslicer felt his eyes sting as he saw the five Redfangs fighting, bleeding. Garen hammered them down, kicked them, beat them as they struggled to land a single blow, two blows—
“Submit or die!”
Garen howled it at them. He stood over Headscratcher as the Hob knelt, too weak to stand. But the Hob still swung at Garen’s legs. A weak blow. Garen struck him and then turned. He strode over to the crimson blade lodged in the ground and drew it.
A groan ran around the circle. It was unconscious. Garen advanced on Headscratcher, kicking Rabbiteater as the Hob lunged at him. He pointed the blade down at Headscratcher.
“Surrender.”
“No.”
Headscratcher looked up. He reached for an axe he didn’t have. Garen hesitated. He looked down and shook his head. He raised his blade.
To kill Headscratcher. His own tribe. Spiderslicer howled, and it felt like every Redfang howled with him. The tale of the Halfseekers’ betrayal played in his mind again. His own tribe! Headscratcher looked up, baring his teeth, waiting. The other four were trying to get up, but they couldn’t. He couldn’t die. Spiderslicer saw Garen swing down, but no one was going to stop him. He couldn’t—
The rust-red blade fell. A sword swept up to stop it. The blade deflected the enchanted sword, swept it away. Spiderslicer stared at the sword. It was thin, a razor’s edge of a blade. A falchion, in fact.
He looked around. He was standing in front of Headscratcher. It was his hand that held the weapon. His falchion rang with the impact. Spiderslicer reflexively checked it to make sure the thin blade hadn’t bent—and then he realized what he’d done. He looked around. Redfang warriors stared at him. Garen looked down.
“Spiderslicer. What are you doing?”
Spiderslicer quivered. He looked up. He tried to move, to back away and leave Headscratcher. But he couldn’t help it. He trembled as he lifted his falchion. But a part of him screamed the words. He looked up at his Chieftain.
“Redfangs don’t fight alone.”
Garen stared down at him. The color drained from his face. He took a step back, and then what Spiderslicer said hit him. He closed his eyes and then looked at Spiderslicer. Bitter anger flared in his gaze.
