by Lucas Thorn
Long enough for the Grey Jacket, who'd been paused beside the stream scratching his head as to where to go next, to blink in surprise before pouncing.
His sword gleamed.
He roared in triumph.
Startled, the elf scrambled back, splashing deeper into the shallow stream. She tried to grab a knife, but her numb fingers fumbled for a decent hold on Go With My Blessing's slender hilt.
Without balance, she couldn't use her foot to lash out and push him back.
The sword's reach ensured a killing blow.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Taste of iron in her mouth. A ball of fear rolled frozen in her belly. Then stopped.
Awestruck by the sense of the Shadowed Halls opening its drooling maw to embrace her soul.
Oh fuck, she thought. I'm dead.
And then the soldier's mean eyes widened as he caught sight of something behind her. His jaw dropped open, and he staggered as he tried to reel in the blow. His feet stuttered, almost tripping over themselves as he battled with the decision to keep moving forward or to run away.
“Shit,” she spat, throwing herself sideways.
The sword cleaved the air where her head had been, but the soldier's eyes were no longer pinned to her. His face pale, he tried taking a few steadier steps back. Began to turn away.
A heavy thunk made him stumble. Lurch a little to his left, then fall to his knees as all strength was lost to him.
He looked down, puzzled.
Saw Go With My Blessing buried in his chest, slightly left of centre. His head turned, just enough to look at her with the same kind of confusion Daved had shown not too long ago.
On her feet, the elf took two quick steps toward him. Shivering from cold and the aftermath of looking death in the face, she aimed a kick which shattered his cheek and sent him sprawling on his side where he never moved again.
“Bastard,” she hissed, snatching theGo With My Blessing from his body. With a powerful flick of her wrist, she sent his blood spattering into the stream. Dipped the knife once in the water, then dried it on her pants.
Frowned, wondering if this single Grey Jacket was bait, or the trap itself. Why was he alone?
Then remembered the look of surprise on his face and felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl.
Scrambled around, spitting curses, and saw goblins.
Eight of them. Lined along the opposite bank.
Eyeing her with a mix of indifference and lust.
Indifferent because they saw in her no challenge, given their numbers. And lust because they saw something they could kill.
And goblins loved to kill. Especially when they knew the odds were with them.
They looked like all the others she'd been fighting. Dressed in scraps of loose mail armour and stolen cloth. Massive goblinknives in small fists. Heavy. Spiked. Dusted with rust and the stains of old blood.
Little balls of savagery held in check only by their leader, who stood to the fore.
Heavyset in comparison, and bristling with menace, the goblins' leader waited for her to register shock before he let his mouth widen to reveal the rows of sharklike teeth.
But none of them moved.
Just stood there watching.
As, beside the leader, a small goblin took a few steps forward and paused. She was struck by the thought that even for a goblin he looked odd. Something about him made her head hurt, and she felt the now-familiar sensation of iciness moving across the back of her neck.
More insects.
But she couldn't think about that.
Could only think about the little goblin and the way he was looking at her. His smile unlike the others. A calm smile. Almost welcoming.
He lifted one arm, fingers splayed in a wave of greeting.
Then skipped back, almost shyly, to stand beside the leader. Who sniffed and tried to look like he didn't care if she was an elf or a fly.
“You elf,” he said at last. “Me Bigshot. Me lead mobs for Eventide. We hunt thief. You seen thief.”
It was not a question.
She kept very still, aware that at any moment they could attack. Or the remaining Grey Jackets still pressing through the trees behind her, could suddenly appear at her back.
Licked her lips, and kept her eyes on him. Knew any sign of impending attack would come from him. The others would obey with a fanaticism that bordered on the psychopathic.
“Don't reckon I know what you're talking about,” she growled.
“You kill Howling Wolves mob,” he said, ignoring the surprised mutters from the goblins behind him. “And kill Leadbellies, too.”
She inched sideways. They ignored her movement, following only with their eyes. “Ain't my fault,” she said. “They attacked me first.”
“They not matter,” Bigshot shrugged. “No loss. Me not care what happens to Howling Wolves or Leadbellies.”
“Then we got something in common, feller.”
The goblin cocked his head. Though they possessed a certain kind of feral intelligence, goblins weren't much for thinking. His fist thumped his chest and his gaze was now suspicious. “How me like elf? Me goblin.”
“Maybe on account of we both don't like the blues.”
CHAPTER SIX
The elf skirted the edge of the stream, searching not for a way across because it would only take a few long leaps and she'd be on the other side, but for a chance to make it past the goblins and therefore away from the Caspiellans still searching the brush behind her.
Unconcerned, their green eyes followed her every move.
“Don't reckon you fellers are gonna let me past without a fight, uh?”
Bigshot looked down at the small goblin, whose gaze was still on her.
That was a surprise, she thought. Goblin bosses weren't much for democratic decisions. They didn't look to other goblins before making choices.
In any case, the little goblin gave no sign of his intentions. Just kept smiling his shy smile and hovering close to the big goblin leader with childlike innocence.
Bigshot sighed, and shrugged for the elf's benefit. “We not know yet. We thinking about it.”
“Think quick then,” she snapped. “Because there's a bunch of Grey Jackets on my tail and they ain't about to play nice. Not with me, and not with you. Especially after what you did to their wagons.”
“Wagons?”
“You attacked them, right?”
The goblin boss glanced again at the small goblin, who only smiled wider. Bigshot scratched at one of his long floppy ears and looked disappointed. “Maybe we attack wagon. Maybe not. We big mob now. Go in many ways. Snagtooths go south. They look for thief there. But we know better. Quietly say we go here. Find thief. Because we Hatchetboys Mob. Best there is.”
“Hatchets,” grumbled a voice from behind him.
Bigshot frowned at the female goblin who'd spoken. “Me sorry, Stormer,” he said in a resigned voice. “Hatchets. We Hatchets Mob. Best there is. Eventide said so.”
Some of the goblins nodded at that, while the female goblin grinned broadly. She carried a goblinknife bigger than almost everyone else's. A long handle so she could swing it with both hands. A massive bloodstained spike ripped out of the side of the blade and the elf wondered if she used the knife more like a mace than a chopper.
And didn't want to find out.
She glanced back over her shoulder. Saw no sign of the Caspiellans, but knew they would find her soon. Could still hear them shouting. “Said you're hunting for a thief? Any idea how hard that is out here? Deadlands is filled with thieves. All kinds.”
“We not care. We find thief,” Bigshot said. “We cut head off. Give to Eventide.”
“Kill thief hard,” another goblin said.
The thought of mobs of goblins scouring the Deadlands made her want to hide. What scared her wasn't a fight with a goblin. But that if they really had joined their mobs into a small army they'd be practically unstoppable. A wave of hideous blades which chopped every
thing in their path in a rush of fury and blood.
Though, what puzzled her was the reason for it.
What could anyone steal from a goblin that would mean so much to the rest of them? Which would cause mobs to put aside their territorial differences and work together to hunt down a single thief?
She couldn't think of anything. Goblins didn't actually have any belongings.
They'd steal from each other without thought.
In their minds, might made right. If someone was strong enough to steal from them, they'd protest. Maybe put up a token fight. Mostly just run away.
And while mobs were certainly frightening, it wasn't common for them to act like this. To attack similar or even larger groups of armed fighters.
Attack a lone traveller, certainly.
But to consider attacking a well-armed army?
She couldn't remember ever hearing of such an event.
Her violet eyes settled on Bigshot. “What'd your thief steal? What's so important?”
“It not for you,” the boss replied in a matter-of-fact way. “You not need to know. Just need to tell where thief.”
“Trying to tell you fellers since you first jumped me, I don't know what the fuck you're on about. Ain't even sure I care. See, I've had a shit year so far. But we won't get into that. You don't want to know about it, and I'd rather forget it ever happened. Now, all I was looking for was a way out of this shithole. A path to the mountains. Through the Bloods. Maybe head north as far as the Wall. But every time I get on my way, a bunch of you fellers show up and send me running in another direction. And frankly, that's beginning to really piss me off. So, someone stole your sweet rolls. Or your shinies. Or whatever the fuck they took. That means fuck all to me. It's your business. But you're quickly making it mine by following me around. Soon, I'll get the idea you ain't after any thief. I'll get the feeling you're just trying to kill me. And then I'll have to do something about that. Something your kind won't like at all. I'll have to kill you. All of you. Every single fucking goblin I meet. And you want to know something? I've had a lot of practice on your kind this past few weeks. Reckon I'm getting good at. Reckon I might even kill all of you here right now if I wanted to.”
She let that last part sink into his thoughts. Let him struggle to understand what she was saying. Knew, too, it was mostly a bluff.
But she hoped he'd take a nibble. A bite.
Swallow the bait and move aside. Because it was all she had left short of trying to outrun them. Which would be pointless.
The female goblin, Stormer, screwed up her face in distaste. “Kill elf,” she growled. “We waste time.”
“Just try it,” Nysta spat back.
And before the goblins could make a move, the small goblin took a step forward, laying a hand on Bigshot's arm. Something unspoken passed between the two of them.
Bigshot groaned as Quietly turned to smile at the elf.
“Thief steal more than shiny thing,” Quietly said. “Thief steal Eventide's Heart. It big thing to goblins. Only small thing to thief. Elf know what it like to have important thing stolen. Elf get revenge. Always. Eventide say elf is powerful. Name elf Bloodhand. He knows elf. He not want enemy of elf. Just ask question. Elf seen thief? Please tell where thief. It too hard for Eventide to say.”
Eventide. The god of goblins.
A god Grim and Rule had often laughed at. A god invented by the goblins, they said, so they could pretend to be more than what they were. Primitives scratching out their existence across the lands.
But where Rule tried to eradicate the small creatures, Grim had tolerated them as an amusement.
Sure, he'd mock them and their pitiful beliefs.
But he wouldn't kill them for it.
Now, looking at the open desperation on the small goblin's face, she understood why. Because they were like children. And not for the second time in the same day was she suddenly reminded of the streets of Lostlight.
And began to wonder if she was getting soft.
“I ain't seen your thief,” she told the small goblin. “Told you that already. If I had, I ain't known it. In the past few weeks, all I've seen are bodies. What your kind ain't killing, the Grey Jackets are torturing and murdering. Only living things I've seen have been you and them. So maybe you mean one of them? Well, if you do, then you only got to head back that way.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Won't have to go far. And there's only fifty or so of the bastards.”
Quietly nodded. Smiled his shy smile again, then rubbed at his cheeks with both hands as though pushing warmth into them. His eyes glazed over slightly, and she had the feeling he wasn't quite there. As though he was looking out over a great distance.
But, from what she knew of goblins, she figured he was simply trying to connect with his own brain.
She grunted.
And he kept rubbing his cheeks.
Only then did she notice he didn't have a goblinknife. Instead, he had a small razor at his hip.
She'd heard some goblins were magic-users. And wondered if the hairs still prickling the back of her neck were warning her of that.
But she couldn't smell the acrid stink of magic.
Not yet.
“Eventide thanks Bloodhand,” he said suddenly, in a way that made her think of the old priestesses she'd met. Priestesses of Veil, who'd haunted the ruins of the old temple used as a training ground by the Jukkala'Jadean. The priestesses were mostly bitter and old. As a young initiate of an order of assassins, Nysta had thought of them as little more than an irritation.
Yet, her few interactions had made her feel like a child being mocked by an adult. And the elf didn't like to feel mocked. It made her palms itch.
“He thank me enough to tell you fellers to get the fuck out of my way?”
Quietly nodded at Bigshot, who looked a little disappointed.
“Elf go,” the goblin boss growled. “Only because Eventide say so.”
“You say more,” Quietly nudged the goblin boss.
“I not want to,” Bigshot folded his arms defiantly. Almost petulantly.
“Say,” Quietly said, with a hint of steel in his voice. “Eventide say so.”
Definitely like the priestesses, the elf thought with a twist of her mouth. She hadn't known goblins had priests. But if they had their own god, it only seemed natural.
“You Bloodhand,” Bigshot said, as though every word was cutting his tongue. “You named now. Mobs hunt you. They think you thief. But it big mistake.” This time he flashed the small goblin an impish smirk. “Not our mistake, though. It Quietly.”
Quietly shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “It easy mistake to make. Elf powerful. Like magnet. Me not to know.” Then he eyed the other goblin and chuckled mischievously. “But now you say rest of it.”
“Me say enough!” He shot back. “She elf. She not need it.”
“She named! You say!”
For a moment, she thought Bigshot might hack at the smaller goblin with his goblinknife. His calloused fists certainly tightened hard around his weapon.
But he let out a frustrated sigh and turned toward the elf.
Squinted as though looking at the sun, then stomped closer so he could speak in a voice low enough not to carry to the rest of his mob.
“Me say this, because Eventide say to. Not because me want to,” he growled. His gnarled and scarred face twisted in anger and helplessness. Settled on resignation as his shoulders slumped. He let go of his goblinknife and looked down at his feet. Mumbled; “We sorry.”
Nysta blinked. “You what?”
“I said we sorry,” he hissed, waving his fist up at her. “You not make me say again, or me cut elf neck! Fuck what Quietly say!”
“Good words,” Quietly mumbled in approval. He didn't seem to notice the dark look Bigshot threw at him.
Unsure of what to say, she nodded.
She wanted to spit in the goblin leader's face, but had enough fear in her guts to be afraid of making them mad. Quietl
y's hold on them seemed tight, but she didn't want to push them. Couldn't trust the little goblin wouldn't change his mind.
Bigshot looked impatient. He eyed her warily, as though she might bite. “You go now?”
“Sure, feller. Was aiming to.” She took a hesitant step toward him. Saw him stiffen. His hand moved toward the hilt of his goblinknife. She kept her tone even. “Mind if I head past?”
He glanced again at Quietly, who gave a shy nod.
“You go wherever,” he said, throwing his hands skyward. “Me not give fuck no more. It too much to think about.”
The other goblins looked ready to surround her.
But only Stormer scowled when Quietly motioned for them to move aside to let the elf pass.
All the same, Nysta kept her hands close to Go With My Blessing and Peace Makes Plenty. Still didn't trust them.
Her mouth dry, she moved cautiously, eyes scanning their faces. Searching for a sign they might break the temporary truce.
But none seemed eager to do so.
As she passed Quietly, he reached out with a small froglike hand and brushed her thigh. “Bloodhand?”
She looked down. Considered cutting off his hand, but figured her day had been exciting enough. “What is it now, feller?”
“Eventide say you good fighter. Knows you will kill many enemies. Even our enemies. He say you fight thief soon. But he say stop fighting self. Because you not enemy. You best there is.” The serious expression looked out of place given the shy look he'd worn since she'd seen him.
“I don't know what you mean,” she said.
“It okay,” he smiled. “Eventide know you know when you need.”
“Yeah,” she reached up slowly and rubbed at the scar on her cheek which had begun to itch. “Riddles. Priestesses all spoke the fucking same.”
“Me not understand.”
She let her mouth twist hard up toward the scar on her cheek. She pulled free and headed toward the next line of trees. “Then I reckon now you know how it feels.”
“Bloodhand?” He called again as she stepped past the other goblins. “Do not give mage your heart!”
She thought of Chukshene. Stupid spellslinger was often in her thoughts.
