“The big one beat her masters too. That means that she’s very powerful. More powerful than her old masters. Makes her a good choice for a master. These creatures, all they understand is power.”
I was about to growl something unfriendly to the Trolls, when, all of a sudden, the female let out an earsplitting howl. The Trolls jumped.
We stared. The female howled and howled, filling the lodge with her cries.
I stared at her for a second, and then showed my heel. I had business elsewhere.
The city was agitated. Towering Giants and Trolls strode through the streets, massive and purposeful. Around them, hairy Dwarves and smooth Humans milled, a hodgepodge of armours and weapons. Tiny, bright-eyed Goblins scurried here and there, furtive and cautious.
“War is coming,” was the whispered refrain. I watched a train of Goblins laden with grain and vegetables make their way back to their nests. The markets buzzed with suppressed energy. War was coming. Everyone was buying in anticipation of conflict.
Checkpoints were everywhere, manned by groups and races of all descriptions. This far south, the checkpoints and barriers were motley constructions of neighbourhood associations, hoping to preserve a measure of local peace.
Others, Hobgoblin and Dwarf had the disciplined feel of Kingdoms extending their reach, trying to find and hold defensible lines.
Some let me pass. Others I avoided. I kept to smaller streets and alleys, moving furtively and avoiding armed groups.
Armed bands of various races moved back and forth. I saw a trio of Horsemen studiously ignoring a brace of Vampires on the other side of a narrow street. Riding past each other close enough to touch, but refusing to acknowledge each other’s existence. Other bands sat or marched warily, ready for trouble. Sometimes I had to double back several blocks as my routes were blocked by checkpoints or fortifications.
Elsewhere, there was the sound of hammering as makeshift buildings were fortified, or were abandoned and torn apart. Families sought safer locations with their belongings on their backs.
I stopped at a human meatseller, and bought some ripe liver at an outrageous price. I squatted down a little way from him to eat.
“War is coming,” the meatseller said. I looked up and then around. There wasn’t anyone else close by who was listening. “Guess that’s good for you people.”
I grunted, bolting down strips of rancid meat.
“Going to be a bad one,” he said, wringing his hands nervously. He shuffled and arranged his meats.
You know what bothers me about Humans? Their teeth. They have these flat unformed faces, and in the middle of it, these flat teeth, more suited to a beast than anything that talks. You can almost see a Human as a person, and then their mouth opens and you see these strange square flat teeth that belong in a horse or a cow. And then they speak.
“Arrah?” I asked.
“The last war was pretty bad. But, you know, they just fell into it. No planning, no preparation, they were just fighting all of a sudden, like two Orcs in the street.”
He stopped and asked nervously, “no offence intended.”
I shrugged.
“This time,” he said, “they’re preparing for it. Saving and liquidating their wealth. Hiring. Fortifying. Last time, it was almost an accident. This time, they’re looking for it. Mark my words. This war will be longer and bloodier than any we’ve seen.”
He paused.
“You’ll get rich, though. Lot of Arukh will be hired to fight. The rest of us, it’s just misery.”
That was interesting. He was right, there should be a lot of hiring. But there was almost nothing being done down at the Troll’s lodge.
Dwarves hired from there, which meant that the Dwarves weren’t hiring.
Or they were hiring someone else.
Horsemen?
I held that thought in my mind, probing it.
“Oh sure,” he said, “I’ll make money now. But when the war comes, where’ll I get my meat? The Vampires will pull back the herds, and I’ll be lucky to sell rats and dogs.”
I shrugged. I figured he mostly sold rats and dogs now.
“More likely, I won’t sell at all. I’ll just be running for shelter like the rest of them while half the City burns.”
He shook his head, awash in self-pity.
“Bad business, bad business. The Kingdoms don’t care about ordinary people just trying to get by.”
A pair of Humans stopped to haggle over the price of sweetmeats as I took my leave.
Up ahead there was a band of armed Humans. I headed down an alley.
Finally, I arrived at the Goblin market, the largest market in the city. I prowled the fringes, until, I came upon a group of wild Kobold cubs playing.
I pounced.
Shrieking, they scattered like leaves, but I caught one, bearing it down under my weight.
“Arrah,” I growled, holding my hand over its mouth to silence it. “You want to live?”
Wide red eyes blinked rapidly. All around us, terrified Kobold children shrieked as their mothers and guardians rushed to them.
“You take a message to the Secret Kingdom,” I told it. “Tell them...”
I thought. “Tell them...” I hesitated “tell them...the Rescuer wants to talk.”
I watched its eyes widen with something like recognition.
“Tell them.”
I let it go, and then took a comfortable place against the wall to wait. Attacking the children would have roused the Kobolds. But the message would make them think.
Several times heavy Morla appeared, lurching forward and shaking weapons. I grinned at them, but did nothing else. They withdrew.
Then a small white haired Gola, almost Gnome-like except for albino eyes and heavy dwarflike paws appeared. It stared for a moment.
“Two Human females, and a Dwarf, killed on the Street of Joy,” I said.
It gave no sign that it understood. It stared a moment more and then vanished.
I didn’t particularly worry about them. The Dwarves arranged themselves by Totems, the Kobolds by breeds. The Morla were the great warriors of the Secret Kingdom. Pale brutes with shaggy arms and legs. In my experience, they were good at killing Dwarves but not much else. But really, if you were a Kobold, that was what you wanted to kill the most. The Gola were a smaller, more talented breed, but not likely to be one of the leaders.
Finally, a delegation approached.
Three Morla, and a Gola appeared.
“Come with us,” the Gola said. They turned and walked away.
I followed them into a small building. At the back of the building a rough tunnel opened.
The Gola and a Morla went in. They stopped and gestured to me. I followed. The others came behind me. In darkness we crawled through several twists and turns.
They stopped. I waited patiently. A candle’s light flickered.
Another Gola and a male Sorel. Sorels looked like diminutive dwarves, but not so hairy. One of the Gola lead him by the hand. His eyes had been gouged out.
He took a seat in front of me.
“I speak,” he said “I am three generations past when Goblin and Dwarf laid together.”
“Arrah.”
We both knew that Arukh had only one generation, born from Vampire and Goblin. Unlike the Kobold, we didn’t reproduce.
“Rescuer?”
I made no reply.
“You are the one known as the Saviour of the children?”
“I have been called by this and by other names.”
There was an Arukh in a Kobold story. A foolish, foolish tale, such as the Kobold are prone to tell each other, to pretend that the world is not such an awful place. I would play at being that Arukh.
He inclined his head.
“The Secret Kingdom extends greetings to Orc
Nation,” he said formally.
“The Arukh know no nation,” I replied.
“So they say,” he said, “but we are all children of the Mothers.”
I had no wish to engage in political debates. I remained silent.
“Signs and portents are in the air,” he said finally. “Powers seek advantage. New shapes are in the birthing.”
“I don’t care about the war,” I said flatly.
He paused.
I let the silence drag on.
“You have called us, and we have come,” he said eventually, with a careful lack of irritation. Behind me I could hear the Morla shuffling.
“Two women were killed on the Street of Joy?”
“Many die.”
“Two women were killed on the Street of Joy. Bad killing. Eyes gouged,” Copper Thoughts hadn’t confirmed this, but I guessed, “tongues drawn, sex torn open, many many wounds.”
The Morla nodded.
The Sorel, not seeing this, said merely, “go on.”
“A Dwarf is killed, a member of the Worm Totem.”
He nodded. “We know of this. Two Human women were killed in the Street of Joy. Very bad killings. A Dwarf is killed, Bear totem. No more killings.”
He was doing little more than giving my words back to me. I held my irritation.
“What is the interest of Secret Kingdom?” I asked.
“What is the interest of Orc Nation?”
I snarled. Politics irritated me. There was no Orc Nation, it was just another Kobold fantasy. We were not a nation, we could not make a nation.
“You have asked us questions,” the Sorel said equitably, “we are not to have the same rights?”
I stared blankly.
“A Mermaid was killed,” I said. “Very bad killing. Same kind of killing as the street of Joy. Maybe same killer.”
“Selk?”
“They hire Arukh to find and kill.”
He nodded, satisfied.
“Killing is done. Killing is over.”
“Humans killed on the Street of Joy. Why was the Secret Kingdom interested?”
“The killings didn’t start with the Street of Joy,” the Sorel said.
Finally.
“Arrah?”
“Month’s ago, near the gates of Dwarf Kingdom, we find a Kobold body, female, Gola, cut up like you said. A little later, another Gola. Then a Sorel. A Leyta. A Morla. A Leyta. Fourteen bodies in all.” A flickering of fingers, hand, hand, hand without thumb.
I sucked in a breath. So many. I hadn’t expected so many. For a second, I wondered that so many had been killed. But then, Dwarves cared little for Kobolds, and no one else took notice of them. Only the Kobolds themselves would be concerned.
“All the bodies,” I asked, “found near Dwarf Kingdom?”
“First two,” he said. “One up near Vampire Kingdom. One near Goblin Market. The rest in Downriver.”
“Tame or wild?”
His face wrinkled with disgust at the Dwarvish terms.
“First two were Dwarf slaves,” he said. “The rest were free people.”
“Arrah,” I grunted. “What happened?”
“Shaman tells us, Devil hunts, like before.”
He bowed in acknowledgement. “Rescuer kill Devil for us then. This is new Devil. Dwarf Devil. We are stronger now, though. Kill Devil ourselves.”
“How did you know it’s a Dwarf Devil?” I asked.
“Dwarf found and killed.”
“You knew it was a Dwarf Devil before it was found?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“How?”
“Dwarves do blinding,” he said simply, “it is their way.” His fingers waved vaguely towards his own ruined eye sockets. “Dwarves rape our people. Dwarves kill our people. Dwarves steal our children and enslave our people. Rescuer knows this.”
There was suspicion in that last part.
“Dwarf Devil,” he said simply. “We hunt devil, guard our people. Killing stop. Devils don’t go away. We wait. Human dies, sign of Devil? We search. Another Human dies. Hunt Devil.
“Dwarf found, hunted and killed. Devil dead. Killings stop.”
“You sure that Dwarf is the Devil?” I asked.
“All Dwarves are devils. Snow Leopard Totem pays blood price for all fourteen, no denial.”
Snow Leopard?
“You said the Dwarf was Bear Totem?”
“Snow Leopard’s paid the blood price. They have a war to fight. They don’t want to anger the Secret Kingdom. They buy peace for the Bears.”
“Aah,” I replied. I was silent for a moment, absorbing this information.
“The Humans who died?” I asked. “Who were they with?”
“They belonged to Pearl Eyes, a human Shaman. Strong fighter. He owned several girls on the street.
“The Devil, in killing his females, weakened his magic. He was killed.”
“By the Devil?”
“By Copper Thoughts, another Shaman, in fair combat. He took Pearl Eyes’ women.”
“Copper Thoughts,” I repeated.
Interesting.
“Copper Thoughts is a mighty shaman, a great hero,” the Sorel said. “His magic found out the Devil.”
Interesting.
“How long ago was the Devil killed?”
“Eight, maybe ten days.”
“No killings since then? No bodies found?”
“The Devil was killed. No new Devils since then.” He smiled.
“Any females go missing since then?”
He shrugged.
“No bodies turn up. Devil is dead.”
I grunted thoughtfully.
“I would like to speak to some of the Kobold who found and examined the bodies.”
“The Devil is dead.”
“The Rescuer asks this favour.”
The Sorel made a humming noise. “They are above and below. Tchak and Khagut will take you.”
I bowed in thanks. There was a slow pause as we nodded to each other.
“What will Secret Kingdom do when the war comes?” I asked, forcing my voice to be casual.
“We will wait,” he said, his voice rising with fanaticism, “let the powers bleed each other. When one is fallen and the other weak, then Secret Kingdom will rise, then Orc Nation will wake and know itself. The Mothers will bless us. Then we will destroy the oppressors.”
“Arrah,” I said noncommittally. “I thank you.”
He bowed.
“It is a pleasure to hear the Voice of Orc Nation.”
I winced.
Fanatics.
I spent the rest of the night going among the Kobolds, accompanied by a clutch of Morla, tracking down and speaking to those who’d found the bodies.
Each step on the trail seemed to lead to more bodies, I thought sourly, walking along. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a furtive shape following me.
With the two Morla, I tracked down and spoke to several who’d seen the bodies. I wanted to confirm as best I could that the killings were the same.
“What is your name?” I asked a frightened female.
She refused to speak, staring with wide eyes.
“You look second generation,” I offered.
“First.”
“Strong blood,” I nodded. “You can choose then. What breed do you choose? Nela or Morla?”
“Nela,” she said. A large breed, smaller than the Morla, but skilled artisans.
“Arrah,” I said, “the Nela are clever. They will be glad to have you. What is your art...wicker...oils...clay?”
“Clay.”
“Do you have any?”
With trembling fingers she handed me a clay cup. I turned it over and over, feeling it in my hands. It looked a
nd felt like a cup.
“It is a fine cup,” I said, “a very fine cup. You are very skilled.”
As I handed the cup to the Morla to examine, I finally coaxed, if not a smile, then a little less than fear out of her.
The Kobolds that I met were terrified of me, and reluctant to speak. It was a tedious exercise coaxing words from them.
“You found a body,” I said, “Devil’s work.”
Wary fear crept into her eyes.
“The Devil is dead.”
“Yes,” I said, “but I hunt the trail of a Devil. Maybe it’s the same Devil. If it is, I am happy, because it is dead, and I don’t have to hunt. I go away. If it isn’t the same, I have to hunt elsewhere. I go away.”
Both options seemed to take me away from her. I could see her calculating.
“Tell me about the body?”
She squinted, puzzled. A dead body had nothing to do with devils. I repeated the request and waited.
“Nela body,” she said, “Dakra.”
That was a good Dwarvish name.
“First generation?”
“Yes.”
I nodded and waited.
“I didn’t know her well. She was a branch weaver.”
It was a Dwarvish skill, making useful things from tree branches. She’d been an escaped slave, then.
“It was around dusk. I found her outside in an alley.”
“Not underground?”
“No bodies ever found underground,” Tchak, one of my Morla guides said suddenly.
“Any entrances to the Kingdom, near that alley?”
“No.”
“Much blood?”
“Yes.”
“Pools of blood, enough to set your fingers in, ground so thick with blood it was like mud.”
“No. Just splashes.”
Killed elsewhere then, dropped there.
“What did the body look like?”
She shuddered visibly.
“Eyes,” she said, “eyes were gone. Mouth cut, like a big smile.”
She indicated along her cheeks.
“Tongue cut out?” I asked.
She shuddered again and shook her head. She didn’t know.
“Many wounds. Many many, on body, on arms, on hands.”
She held up her hands, palms outward.
Defensive wounds on arms, trying to protect herself.
The Mermaid's Tale Page 7
