by Pirateaba
He met her as she charged at him, mouth agape. She struck him in the chest, and he stabbed through her armor. His enchanted spear met no resistance.
“You should have worn better armor.”
He plunged the spear deep into Garusa’ heart. She kept moving, and tore off something on his leg. Through his armor! Her claws were razors. Thrissiam nearly fell, but he took a grip on his spear.
“[Crescent Arc]!”
His spear tore through her flesh as it moved in the shape of a moon. Garusa stopped moving. Thrissiam looked away, and then forced his eyes down. She—
Something struck him from the side. A Ghoul tore at the [General] and he roared, throwing it off and spearing it through the head. Then he turned his eyes towards a fleeing shape on the horizon. Thrissiam smiled just once.
“Go. I’ll be waiting.”
He stood over Garusa’s corpse, spear whirling. The undead closed around him. Thrissiam killed them one by one, until something tore his spear away. Then he fought with his claws, his teeth. And then they bit him, tore at his flesh, broke his armor.
He fell and died, holding a Gnoll in his broken arms.
An hour later, his corpse rose and walked away, leaving a Gnoll behind, surrounded by corpses too damaged to use. What remained of General Thrissiam slowly lurched after the Goblins as they ransacked his camp, and then headed north. Not to Liscor.
Farther still.
Day 67
They captured Osthia not ten minutes after she left Thrissiam to die. She cursed them, spat acid, tried to fly with arrows and holes in her wings. They grabbed her, muzzled her like a dog and beat her until she saw nothing.
When she woke, it was in a tent. She was shackled, but her gag had been removed. She recognized the tent. It was Thrissiam’s.
But he did not stand there. Instead, the Goblin Lord stood in the center of the tent. Talking.
With himself.
Osthia’s first instinct was to breathe acid, but then she heard the voice. The same voice that had killed Garusa, that had brought the dead to life. It was coming from the Goblin Lord’s mouth.
“You are a disappointment. With all that I have taught you, defeating two armies should have been a simple task.”
What was happening? Who was speaking? Osthia pretended to be unconscious as she listened. The Goblin Lord growled, spat. Then he spoke, in a voice that was less well-educated, more direct. His voice.
“Strong Drakes. Strong Gnoll. Worthy foes.”
Something like a sigh emanated from his mouth as the other voice spoke. Osthia watched, shuddering.
“You alerted them to your greatest weapon and failed to use it to proper effect. You should have placed the Goblins among your own forces and unleashed them deep within the enemy ranks when they least expected it. You could easily have obliterated the army’s most elite warriors in the opening engagement if you had done so. Instead, you wasted them by confining the undead and your Goblins to separate groups.”
“Cannot kill own—”
“Foolish.”
The word sent shivers down her spine.
“If you want victory, you must sacrifice. Next time, place the Goblins among your force. Do not fail me this time. Unify the Goblins, my apprentice. Or perish in despair.”
The presence receded. The Goblin Lord stumbled as the other person left him. He turned, and hurled the table that Thrissiam had planned the battle over to one side. Osthia sat up.
“You.”
The Goblin Lord turned, eyes widening.
Now. Osthia spat. A stream of acid shot upwards, pressurized liquid spurting into the Goblin Lord’s face. She waited for him to scream, but heard no sound. Instead she saw the liquid splash his body and drip from an invisible surface surrounding his entire body.
Calmly, the Goblin Lord wiped Osthia’s acid away and scattered it to the ground, where the soil steamed and melted. He glanced down at Osthia as she stared wide-eyed at him and then spoke.
“Ring of Protection. And [Ward of Repulsion]. I could have taken the Gnoll’s charge.”
His voice was so normal. That was what was shocking. It was…it wasn’t like the Necromancer’s voice. But it was no guttural mumbling. It was educated, thoughtful. That scared Osthia most of all.
“Kill me. Or do what you want. You’ll get no secrets out of me.”
She was prepared to bite her tongue, to try and attack the Goblin Lord again. Osthia wanted to die. She was ready for it. She wasn’t ready for the Goblin Lord to laugh.
“Kill you? You and I…we have the same enemy. You will help me.”
“Never.”
He grinned at her, his black eyes and white pupils staring into hers. Osthia shuddered. The Goblin Lord noticed and tapped one eye.
“He sees when he looks. He does not look now.”
“The Necromancer.”
“Yes.”
Something twisted the Goblin Lord’s face. He suddenly looked angry. But he was the Necromancer’s apprentice. And yet—
“Tell me about him. All your people know.”
“What?”
She stared at him. Osthia looked into the Goblin Lord’s eyes. She felt the oddity of his question, realized the dissonance in how he acted and spoke before. The same enemy? Did that mean—
The Goblin Lord found a chair and pushed it towards Osthia. He was nothing like she had expected. He looked down at her, tall, gaunt, eyes filled with dark secrets. And fury. He gestured and she saw a dead Goblin standing by the tent’s entrance. She hadn’t noticed him.
Her. It was a female Goblin. A child. The undead zombie swayed in place, lifeless. The Goblin Lord went over to her. He made her turn to Osthia and bared his teeth.
“My subject. My master created her. Killed her to make a weapon. All for me. So tell me. Who is he? What is he? He is my enemy in time. You are. Your people are. But he is most of all. Tell me.”
He stared at her, eyes filled with helpless fury. Osthia felt the certainty of the world begin to shift. The Goblin Lord’s eyes burned.
“Tell me about the Necromancer.”
4.17
Ryoka stood in the darkness, heart pounding. She was afraid. Mortally afraid. There were things she feared in the world, and she was about to face one of them.
She had met Dragons, [Necromancers], Goblin Lords, and yes, each one was terrifying in a way that left scars on the soul. If she closed her eyes, she could still taste the fear. Such memories weren’t nightmarish, though. Nightmares were generally figments of the dreaming mind, and as such, couldn’t come close to the experience of seeing a Dragon face to face.
Part of the fear was wonder. And when Ryoka sat up at night, heart pounding, seeing the Goblins slaughtering the Stone Spears tribe, feeling her fingers bitten off—
That was a horror, one that did not disappear for waking. Because a nightmare was only suspicion, paranoia, unfulfilled fear. Goblins existed. The Goblin Lord was coming. So was the [Necromancer], and Ryoka didn’t know what to do.
All these traumas—Ryoka hadn’t even included dead things around a fire, or evil carnivorous goats. With so much to be afraid of in this world, it seemed silly to have this fear.
And yet, it stemmed from a different place than the ordeals she had gone through. This one was personal, intimate, and it came from a time when Ryoka had been in her world. She just couldn’t face it without shuddering inside.
She hated visiting friends. Or to be more accurate, she thought she did. She’d never actually done it.
Until now.
Ryoka hesitated outside of the door of the large farmhouse. By her side, Mrsha fidgeted in the snow. She looked plaintively up at Ryoka as her stomach rumbled.
It was dark. That didn’t necessarily mean that late; winter being what it was, the sun had gone down before it was time for dinner. And that was why Ryoka was here.
Dinner at Garia’s. She’d asked, and Garia had been only too happy to talk to her parents. And of course, Fals had agreed to come and Ryoka
had known it was the only good thing to do as a friend. Still…
It was going to be awkward. Ryoka dreaded that. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to act, and she had a horrible fear of silence at the dinner table. At other people’s dinner tables, that was. Her naturally antagonistic relationship with her parents had made her accustomed to it at her house, on the rare occasions they all ate together.
But there was no help for it. Ryoka had taken Mrsha from Erin’s inn after Safry and Maran had been fired. She’d gone to Celum and run with the Gnoll carried on her back. There was actually a kind of basket the Gnolls used that could be used to carry their young. It wasn’t exactly easy to run with, but Ryoka had crossed through snow and run down empty roads until she reached a farm a few miles west of Celum.
That had surprised her, learning that Garia lived so close by. But she’d never talked to the girl about her family, aside from the basics. Garia lived on a farm. Her parents ran said farm. That was all Ryoka needed to know.
And the farm did seem like a proper…farm. It was hard to see in the darkness, but Ryoka had spotted a structure very similar to a barn coming in. It seemed quite large to be run by just two people. Maybe they hired help? Anyways, it didn’t fit with what Ryoka had expected. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected.
“And now we’re here. I should have asked more questions. Like do I bring a gift? I’m pretty sure a hungry Gnoll isn’t a normal hostess gift.”
Ryoka muttered to herself. By her side, Mrsha looked up imploringly. Ryoka had been standing outside in the snow for a minute, which in Mrsha time was probably a year. The Gnoll was clearly hungry—she could probably smell the food inside. She edged over to Ryoka and poked her leg with a claw, looking meaningfully at the door.
“In a second, Mrsha.”
She just had to steel herself. Okay, say ‘hi, thanks for having me’. Or did she introduce herself first? Ryoka hesitated. Maybe she should—
“Just go in, you daft coward!”
Someone shouted in her ear. Then Ivolethe kicked Ryoka in the back of the head.
“Ow.”
Ryoka swatted at the Frost Faerie. Ivolethe flew around her and glared at Ryoka.
“Stop dithering. I grow bored with every passing moment ye stay out here, and my kind watches trees grow for sport.”
The Frost Faerie stared meaningfully at Ryoka. She’d come with Ryoka on the journey, amusing Mrsha to no end by tormenting Ryoka with flurries of snow, snowballs, snow pitfalls, and other winter-related pranks. Ryoka opened her mouth to snap back, felt another poke, and gave in after a short fight.
“Okay, okay. Stop kicking me—stop poking me, Mrsha. I know it’s you. Don’t look around. There’s no one else here! I’m doing it.”
Steeling herself, she raised her hand and knocked loudly at the door. Ryoka had heard muffled sounds from within, and there were lights burning behind the shuttered windows. Now, at her knock, she heard a loud exclamation from within and heavy, running footsteps.
“Ryoka!”
The door burst open. Mrsha nearly went flying as Garia flung the door wide and then engulfed Ryoka in a bone-crushing hug.
“Gah! Garia!”
“It’s so great you’re here! Oh! And Mrsha! I didn’t see you there! Hello! Remember me?”
She let go of Ryoka, allowing the taller girl to breathe, and bent to shake paws with Mrsha. The Gnoll blinked up at Garia solemnly, and then licked her lips as Garia held the door open.
“Come in! My family’s here and Fals came an hour ago. He’s really funny—but you knew that! There’s food ready and snacks—oh. Is uh, she coming?”
Garia had caught sight of Ivolethe. Like all people from this world, she stared a bit to the left of the faerie, looking at Ivolethe’s glamour. She looked apprehensive, no doubt remembering the events at the Runner’s Guild.
“Crap. I uh—”
Ryoka hesitated. She wanted to let Ivolethe come in, but she was well aware of the chaos the Frost Faerie could cause by herself. And it was dangerous for Ivolethe to be indoors as well, even invited. The iron in Garia’s home would be a problem.
For once, Ivolethe solved the problem by herself. She spoke loudly, making Garia jump. Apparently she could speak to whomever she pleased if the need arose, although she seldom bothered.
“I shall take my leave, Ryoka Griffin. I have things to see, and I don’t wish to listen to your mortal prattling all night.”
“Oh. Uh. Sorry.”
Garia stared at Ivolethe, white-faced. Ivolethe grinned at Ryoka and flicked her eyes inside calculatingly.
“However, if ye would leave food for me outside, I might consider blessing this place. A proper meal, though. Without iron, mind! And with lots of meat!”
“I’ll uh, I’ll do that.”
Wide-eyed, Garia watched as Ivolethe flew upwards and then disappeared rapidly into the sky. She looked at Ryoka. Ryoka shrugged.
“You heard her. Put something out after dinner. Lots of meat. I’ll bet her blessings are worth spit, but it’s better than having her annoyed. Don’t worry either way, though. She’s pretty harmless.”
Garia nodded uncertainly as Mrsha lost patience and padded into the house ahead of the two. Ryoka was about to follow when a snowball spiraled down from above. It hit the back of her head and nearly knocked her flat.
Of course Ryoka had grown used to snowballs thrown by faeries before. She’d been hit by ones with rocks inside them, bits of ice, and so on. But this one had come down at an extreme speed and angle. It had a ton of force behind it. In short, it hurt. Ryoka stumbled, turned and raised her middle finger to the sky.
“Fuck you!”
A distant laugh answered her. That was coincidentally also when Fals and Garia’s parents came out to meet Ryoka. Their first impression of her was thus an angry Asian girl flipping off the sky, hair covered with snow. As first impressions went…well, Ryoka had had worse.
—-
“So you’re friends with the Winter Sprites, Miss, ah, Ryoka?”
A few minutes later Ryoka was sitting around a table with Mrsha, Garia, Fals, and Mr. and Ms. Strongheart. Of course, no one spoke like that, so they were Wailant and Viceria, the married couple who’d raised Garia.
They…weren’t what Ryoka had expected. For one thing, well, they didn’t look the part. Not that Ryoka had expected a pair of Southern-accented people with hats and overalls, but she had considered the standards of farming in this world fairly below hers. She’d been prepared to meet a fairly poor couple, living in a village and farming a patch of land that might be owned by a [Lord] or other kind of landowner.
Instead, she met the oddest pair imaginable. The father, Wailant, had huge, tattooed and scarred arms revealed by his sleeveless cotton shirt. It had taken Ryoka several minutes just to process the incongruity of his appearance. She managed to break down the weirdness into several layers.
Firstly, his arms were muscled. Not surprising on a [Farmer], and Garia was certainly strong as all get-out from her years working. But the tattoos? One was of a twisting tentacle holding a ship, the other of some kind of horrific fish with a gaping maw. The other, well, Ryoka was just glad that Mrsha was more interested in her food than in Wailant.
And his shirt! That was another weird part of him. Because despite wearing a sleeveless shirt, it was far from a poor quality cloth. The shirt itself was a light blue gilded with gold. It had a flowing edge around the bottom and sides reminiscent of a golden wave.
And the scars. Unless farming in this world involved fighting mutant rabbits with teeth like swords, Wailant had gotten the savage scars that covered his arms somewhere else. He had a particularly nasty circular wound—from an arrow, perhaps—on the side of his stubbled face.
In short, he looked as little like a [Farmer] as Ryoka could imagine. And his wife, Viceria?
She was a [Mage]. She wore the robe, spoke like Pisces when he wasn’t being obnoxiously wordy, and Ryoka could sense the magic about her. She had lo
ng, flowing hair tied back in a braid—light brown, contrasting against Wailant’s black hair. She was slim, elegant.
Ryoka sat at a dinner table with the two of Garia’s parents as she ate, filling her plates with roast yams, a hot egg-and-pork casserole, spooned potatoes and some kind of weird, soft and sour vegetable called Tashal onto her plate, and tried to make conversation.
“Uh, yes. That’s right. Her name’s Ivolethe. She’s ah…a friend.”
“Oh? I wasn’t aware they had names. Garia told me about seeing your friend’s true form. I had no idea they were using a glamour at the time, but that would explain their other abilities. How did you meet her?”
Viceria tapped her fingers together as she studied Ryoka over her plate. She was using silver…silverware. In fact, the plates were costly ceramics. Ryoka carefully chewed down a bite of Tashal—it really was good with potatoes, like sour cream—before replying.
“I ah, attracted their notice. Those little b—those pests followed me for days, pulling pranks on me, throwing snow at my head, and so on. In the end I managed to impress them a bit, and Ivolethe seemed to like me.”
“So you have one of those devils following you?”
Sitting next to Fals and his wife, Wailant snorted. He folded his arms as Mrsha tried to fill her mouth with food. The Gnoll was happily consuming everything she could reach, and her plate kept being filled by Wailant, who seemed to enjoy watching Mrsha eat. She and Garia were the only things he seemed to approve of—Fals and Ryoka were getting the third degree.
“Those pests can wreck a farm in a day. I remember one of the farmers south of here lost an entire spring harvest when they covered his fields with eight feet of snow! He had to hire [Diggers] to shift it while all the other snow had long melted away!”
Ryoka coughed awkwardly and saw Garia wince. Her friend was sitting on her right, next to Fals, and she looked guilty as her father stared hard at Ryoka.
“I uh, didn’t know about that. I’m sorry for your friend—”
