by Paul Barrett
“Not likely,” I muttered. I tapped Liz’s thigh. “Let’s go. Leaving Criz alone in a gob dragonport is too much of an invitation for the useless gods to screw us over.”
The Slagbottom dragonport was considerably smaller and older than Mage City. Much of it was built of wood. The ceilings sagged like a goblin matriarch’s breasts. They also didn’t have walkways leading to the dragons. We had to walk down a rickety set of wooden steps and across the cobblestones to the hub. The dragon snorted and released a scent of pure brimstone. No flame, thankfully. All dragons put into this kind of service had their breath glands removed and their nuts cut as soon as they hatched. Nothing worse than being on a flight and having a dragon decide he wanted to mate.
We passed a group of orcs who were pushing a large metal cart toward the dragon. Thankfully, I couldn’t see what was in it. The smell told me enough. Time for the beast to eat again.
“What a delectable scent,” Liz said as her tongue flicked through the air. “I’m hungry.”
I shrugged. One dwarf’s stench is another lizard’s savory.
We slipped through a large open doorway into the noise of the luggage recovery room. The small size of the port didn’t stop it from being busy. Goblins, hobgoblins, orcs, kobolds, bugbears and a smattering of humans milled about waiting for the porters to bring in luggage. They did so on large wooden carts. Two trolls lugged it in, harnessed like horses. Two burly goblins stood on top of the cart and brayed out the name of the departure city. They then flung bags at the floor, heedless of who or what was in the way.
I appeared to be the only dwarf in existence in the port. Various greenskins offered me dark looks. A few muttered in the gargling acid sound that passes for their language. I understand enough Goblin to know they weren’t inviting me for dinner. I imagine Liz’s presence was the only thing that kept things from getting ugly.
Dressed as a demented sunflower, Criz should have been easy to spot among the milling sea of drab brown clothing and rank green flesh. I saw no sign of him… It didn’t help that I couldn’t see over several of the larger goblinoids around me.
“Do you see Criz?” I asked Liz.
Liz flicked her tongue for a few seconds, moving her head to the left, then the right. “He’s over there.” How she could pick out his scent among the stink surrounding us, I didn’t know.
I followed Liz I practically clung to her tail so there would be no uncertainty about our friendship. Paths opened for her.
We reached Crizlyk just as he grabbed my bag. As he started to pull it next to his larger pack, a foot-high boggart, all teeth, warts, and kale-colored skin, grabbed the handle and tugged.
“What are you doing?” Crizlyk barked at him.
“Mine,” the creature shouted, voice high but male. A youngster full of mischief and larceny. Dragonports are rife with such thieves. They try to slip off with unattended bags and sell whatever they find.
“It can’t be yours,” Crizlyk told the creature. “It’s taller than you are.”
“So what? I travel heavy.” The thing tried to bite Crizlyk’s thin arm. Criz is fast when it comes to saving himself from bodily harm. The creature’s teeth hit with a clack as Criz slid his arm aside while still holding on to the bag.
“Mine,” the boggart repeated.
“You’re mistaken,” poor Criz said, still thinking he could reason with the little thief.
“Like air travel, do you?” I asked, looking down at the runt.
“Yeah. What’s it to you?”
“Liz?”
Archer and I had worked together a long time. She didn’t have to ask. She reared back with her booted foot and launched the creature into the air. He screamed as he flew over the heads of the others gathered in the room. His tiny arms flailed as if he thought he could fly. It didn’t work. Twenty feet later he stopped screaming as he landed with a thud.
Right at the feet of my hobgoblin tourist friends.
Didn’t surprise me. After all, they were on the same dragon. What did surprise me was the concern that crossed the female’s face as the Boggart sprawled unconscious before them. hobs aren’t known for their kindness to strangers, but she looked at this creature as if were her child. She started to lean down. The male spotted me and quickly detoured her. She knelt and tied his shoe as if that was her purpose the whole time.
Time to put an end to this.
I took two steps before Archer’s clawed hand grabbed my shoulder and stopped me.
“Let it go,” she said.
“They just tried to steal my bag. I can’t let that go.”
“They didn’t succeed, so you can. We know they’re following us now, so we can be watchful for them. As you suspect, they are most likely working on the orders of your mysterious elf.”
“Now I’m not so sure,” I said. Even though Quinitas might work with gobs, he didn’t strike me as the type to suffer incompetence. These two hadn’t exactly shown themselves as pros. They were a loose end. Loose ends like to show up at the most inconvenient times and bite you on the ass.
I caught the male looking my way as the female stood up. I pointed at my eyes, then at him. I’m watching you. His eyes narrowed, and he appeared ready to move toward me. Again, the smarter female grabbed him, and they walked away. She was his Liz. They left. She made another glance back at the boggart, which no one else had even acknowledged.
It was going to drive me crazy until I found out what they wanted. My ever-trusty instinct told me I’d get my chance. Probably sooner than I wanted.
“Okay, let’s get my wand back and get out of here,” I growled as I grabbed my pack. “We’ve got a one-eyed gnome to find.”
7
Goblin country is some of the most inhospitable land you’ll ever encounter. It’s second only to the Primal Lava Bog for sheer ugliness and misery. The terrain is mostly mountains and hills. Not lush, forested hills and majestic snow-covered mountains. It’s barren rock, dotted with the occasional scraggly thorn bush or dyspeptic pine tree. It’s brown, lots of brown, broken up with patches of obsidian and loose shale. It’s caves and sinkholes and tar pits. As a dwarf, mountains are in my bones. The Southlands make me feel arthritic.
The rare arable spots always have a walled town nearby. They have a few rivers, brown as unicorn shit and sluggish as a sloth with narcolepsy, which provide fish and edible kelp. Traveling in the southern Goblin Reaches gives you a better understanding of exactly why the goblins fought so hard for the Demon Twins, who promised them all the land north of the Divided Canyon. It would be like someone offering me a lifetime supply of fine whisky.
Crizlyk grumbled the whole time we rode in our rented carriage as Archer drove, mumbling about a “nightmare come true.” Crizlyk doesn’t talk about his past. Knowing the general treatment of sauros during the war, I don’t ask. Both of us have scabs we’d rather not pick.
The carriage found every bump in the road. The horse that pulled it had two hooves standing on Death’s chest and the third on its groin. Despite that, we made ten miles before we had to stop at an unnamed goblin hamlet for the night. You don’t want to be outdoors after dark in goblin country. Not without well-armed soldiers or a powerful wizard. Preferably both.
We slipped through the hamlet’s stone gates just as the surly guards were grinding them to a close. They didn’t have a tavern, so the guards directed us to a community hall. Rather, they directed Crizlyk. They refused to speak to us and barely acknowledged him. They spoke in Goblinish, a language where every other word sounds like a cow being force-fed a goose. Criz understood it, and I didn’t. That’s why I had brought the runt, despite his whining.
“This will do,” I said as we walked into the stone building. It could hold maybe twenty people. Straw smelling of sour food and old mead covered the floor. It hadn’t been changed in at least a month. Two stone tables occupied the center of the room. They rested low, so the gobs could sit at them without chairs. Dirty plates and old bones covered the tables. I spotted torch
es on the wall about a foot from the floor. “Criz, light those.”
“Why? We can all see in the dark.”
“I’d like to see things in color.”
“It’s all brown.”
I sighed. “Have it your way.” I pulled the pack off my shoulders and dropped it to the floor.
“That’s why I enjoy traveling with you,” Archer said. “You always pick the most comfortable lodgings.”
“Don’t you start,” I said. “You knew what you were getting into when you joined up.”
“Yet it somehow always turns out to be more, or less, than I expected. You think I would have learned by now.”
“I’ll remind you of that the next time you say yes.”
“Haven’t we already gone over that?”
I smiled. “Okay Criz, break out the food and drink.” I hadn’t eaten anything since the morning. Dinner sounded almost as good as a slug or six of mead.
As Crizlyk pulled items from his pack, I remembered why I shouldn’t have let him buy everything. It was all fish wrapped in byno leaves. The leaves kept the fish fresh but didn’t take away the smell. I don’t much like fish. Even so, I would have been fine if Criz hadn’t gotten carp—only carp, the nastiest fish ever created by the useless gods. “I really hate you sometimes.”
“What’s wrong?” Liz’s tongue flickered in delighted anticipation. “These look delectable.”
“You can have my portion,” I told her. “Just give me a bottle.”
“You need to eat something, boss,” Crizlyk said.
“Yes, but it needs to be something I can keep down.” I held out my hand. “Give me the bottle. I’ll worry about it tomorrow.”
I passed the rest of the evening in uncomfortable silence. My ass ached from riding the bumpy coach. My head ached because it always ached. Archer and Criz talked. I don’t remember much of what they said. Some of it seemed to involve my shortcomings. I knew those by heart, so I didn’t pay attention. My bigger concern was waking up early enough to get to Stinkhole before Quinitas did, get the information from the gnome, and return to Mage City. I already missed my crummy office.
I had finished off the bottle of mead, and my companions were still nattering at each other. I shoved aside plates and bones and crawled up on the closest table. “We leave at first light,” I said and promptly fell asleep.
I shouldn’t have expected to get a full night’s rest. Crizlyk’s high voice woke me.
“Not you again.”
My eyes popped open to find the boggart from the dragonport dragging my backpack across the straw-covered floor. Judging by the path of cleared hay, he had managed a good distance before Criz’s alarm. Liz’s head rested against a table and let out a petite snore.
“Liz, wake up,” I shouted as I stood and grabbed for my wand. It wasn’t in its holster. Typical of my luck. I had left it in my backpack. Criz launched himself across the room and tackled the boggart. He had never been exceptionally brave. Something about the boggart’s tenacity insulted him. I reached to my side for my axe only to find it also missing. The son of a bitch had taken my weapon.
Liz towered beside me, bow drawn and aimed toward the commotion on the floor. Criz and the Boggart rolled around, hissing and spitting. Criz bit the wiry creature on the arm. It howled and stuck its free hand up Criz’s nostril, a sauro’s most sensitive organ. Criz’s head jerked back and slammed into the floor. His mouth opened and released the boggart’s arm.
“Shoot the damn thing,” I told Liz.
“They’re too close,” she said. “I might hit Crizlyk.”
“It’s a magic bow.”
She gave an irritated hiss. “It aims better. It’s not a friend or foe bow.”
The amazingly quick boggart threw himself on top of Criz and wrapped his spindly fingers around the sauro’s neck. Criz gagged as the creature choked him. Archer stepped up and prepared to fire. The boggart must have sensed it. Quicker than I could follow and stronger than he looked, he spun and yanked Criz to the front to use him as a shield. The creature’s legs dangled off the floor. He wrapped them around Criz’s waist, ankles locked.
“Grab the backpack,” the boggart shouted in his high-pitched voice.
“Fuck you,” Criz shouted back. He tried to slam his head into the boggart’s nose. The creature ducked his face to the side. He continued choking Criz.
“Grab the backpack.”
“Fuggh y-”
The boggart’s sharp fingernails dug into Criz’s throat and drew dark beads of blood.
That was enough. The little bastard had taken all my weapons except the one he couldn’t take. Much as I hated it, I used it.
I pictured the boggart floating in the air with his legs and arms spread. Panic showed in his wide, dark eyes as his legs peeled away from my assistant and drifted above his head, arching his back. The little monster struggled, trying to hang on to Criz. I thought harder. A dull ache jumped on the pain already there and settled between my eyes.
The boggart’s hands popped free. He flew several feet across the room upside down. Crizlyk fell to his hands and knees and coughed.
“What the hell?” the boggart said as his head swung back and forth. He looked at his outstretched hands and splayed legs as he floated two feet in the air. I spun him until he floated upright and could see us. I wanted him to know what was coming.
“Wing him,” I gritted through my teeth.
“With pleasure.” Archer fired an arrow. It struck the creature’s thin leg. I heard a bone snap, and the creature wailed. The arrow stuck halfway through, held in place by the bone that had also popped through the back of his leg. I let him go, and he fell. Another scream echoed in the hall as he landed on his broken leg. It pierced straight through to the throb in my forehead.
I walked over to Criz. Archer followed, another arrow already nocked and aimed at the boggart. “You okay?”
Criz spit into the straw. “I wanna go home.”
He was complaining, so I knew he was going to be okay. I moved to the still screaming boggart. “Shut up,” I said. When he continued to squeal, I knelt down and slapped him across the face. “Keep squalling if you want another one.”
He stopped and stared at me. Hatred glittered in his black eyes.
“Watch him,” I told Liz as I went to my backpack.
No sooner had I reached it than the door to the hall flung open, and four goblins ran in. They had wicked black spears, leather hauberks, and pot helms. Archer didn’t flinch, bow still pointed at the boggart.
The leader of the group wore a bright red feather in his helmet. He pulled out a wand and pointed it at us. “What’s going on here?” The goblin spoke in plain talk, although his accent made angels commit suicide.
“None of your business,” I said.
“I’m not talking to you, earthworm.” He looked at Crizlyk. “Speak, mulluc.”
Crizlyk hissed. Mulluc was the goblin word for slave. He stood and dusted himself off. With as much dignity as I had ever seen from him, he said, “I am not a mulluc. I am an employee of that dwarf. He is my boss. He pays me. Not much, but I take what I can get. If you have any questions, ask him. I have nothing to say to you.”
The goblin’s pointed green ears went so flat they almost disappeared under his helmet. This one wasn’t used to having his orders questioned, especially by what he thought of as his inferiors. “Why, you—” He lifted his wand.
Archer swung her bow toward the leader at the same time I drew my wand from my pack. Archer’s bow gave a faint blue glow, as magic items tend to do in times of stress. Crizlyk’s bravery dissolved like snow in a furnace. He threw himself behind me with a yelp. The other three goblins dropped their spears to attack position.
“Gentlemen, there seems to have been a misunderstanding,” Archer said. “I’m sure we can resolve it peacefully. This creature,” she flicked her head toward the boggart, “tried to steal our possessions. We caught him and defended ourselves. We wish to question him. Then you may
punish him in whatever way your laws allow.”
“That’s a lie,” the boggart shouted. “I was in here trying to find a place to sleep when they—”
I slapped him again. “Not another word.”
“You’re not helping, Spade,” Archer said. “Now then, may we question the young boggart?”
“I don’t think so,” the goblin said as a nasty grin split his face. “I think instead we’ll take the smartass mulluc to jail and send you two back into the wild for assault on a peaceful citizen.”
“I see,” Liz’s tongue flicked a couple of times. “Sorry to disappoint you gentlemen, but that’s not going to happen.”
“Yeah? Who’s going to—”
Liz released her arrow. Trailing a streak of blue, it flew across the room and struck the goblin’s forearm. His hand flinched open, and his wand fell to the straw-covered floor. Liz already had another arrow nocked. “The next one goes through your eye.”
The captain looked at his arm with the arrow sticking out of it as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. His men hadn’t moved.
“Crizlyk,” Liz said, “please quit cowering behind Spade and go over to my pack. You’ll find a purple pouch inside. Remove three Gosleys from it.”
Criz did as instructed while nobody else moved. The boggart whimpered. The captain stared, although his gaze had shifted from his arm back to Liz. The soldiers waited as soldiers do. When Criz had fetched the gold and brought it over to Liz, she said, “Please give one to each of the uninjured guards.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked Liz. Watching her give away money made me want to cry.
“I’ve got this,” Liz said.
“Fine,” I growled. I took my wand from the boggart and pointed it toward the three minions. “Don’t even think about trying to grab him,” I said. The boggart tried to crawl away. I stepped on his hand, pinning him.
After a brief hesitation, Crizlyk walked over to the guards. Extending his arm as far as he could without it falling off, he held a coin out to the first soldier. The goblin looked to his leader. The captain didn’t seem inclined to take his eyes off Liz and her bow. The goblin took the gold. The same procedure happened with the other two. Crizlyk almost busted his ass running back to stand beside me.
