by Dorian Hart
“I don’t think you understand me,” said Dranko, “if you think I hold Delioch in contempt. Let’s just say we each worship in our own way and leave it at that.”
Part of him felt bad for Certain Step. The fellow was an outsider, traveling with a bunch of foreign strangers to “certain doom,” if his prophecy was correct. For the most part he had been quiet and polite, but he truly did have a stick up his fundament when it came to the gods. That, and a quick temper.
Ernie walked to where Step had sat. He sat down beside the man and said something too quietly for Dranko to hear. Certain Step cracked a smile and muttered something back. Good. Let Ernie calm the guy down.
Dranko flicked his cigar stub into the fire and laid out his bedroll on a large patch of moss. “Wake me when it’s my watch,” he said through a yawn. Though travel by flying carpet wasn’t taxing, he still suffered moments of sudden weariness, and one was settling upon him. How long would he have to go without channeling before they stopped? Would they ever?
Troubling as these thoughts were, they soon gave way to different ones. He still wasn’t convinced Aravia’s tales of the Reaches were more than fables, but it unnerved him to imagine they might be real. Creatures that could eat gods lurked so close he could touch them, in an invisible world existing side by side with this one?
When he did sleep, his dreams were swallowed up in a great black space, glittering with terrible stars.
* * *
The town of Culud was nestled in a bowl, surrounded by conifers and beside a lake so blue and clear that the whole sky of clouds looked up out of it. An ordinary traveler would reach the village by a long winding road that clung precariously to the edges of the mountains, a thin line of pure vertigo that meandered northward, linking a series of mining settlements. Before reaching Culud, the road finally abandoned its precipitous heights to cut eastward through a cleft in the mountainside. For nearly half a mile it tracked straight along the floor of the resulting ravine, then snaked downward via switchbacks to the lake and the quiet little town.
Tor brought them all to the start of the ravine, and they prepared to march the final mile, so that they would arrive together like normal travelers. Dranko kept to himself the opinion that even arriving on foot, Horn’s Company would look more like a circus than a band of ordinary folk.
“Look sharp,” Grey Wolf added. “If Lapis knows we’re headed for the jungle, she may have realized this is the most logical way to get there, and this would be a lousy place to get ambushed.”
Dranko looked nervously up at the steeply pitched sides of the ravine. “You got that right. If Lapis has a trick up her sleeve, this would be a nasty place to play it.”
Certain Step had never been this far east and so had little to offer in the way of advice. He had a general inkling that the little mining villages of southern Gurund were uncivilized and their people unsophisticated. He had been extremely apologetic over breakfast and vowed on Kemma’s name that he would never again draw steel against Dranko or any other member of the company. Now he strode at the front of the group between Tor and Grey Wolf, no doubt eager to show himself brave or at least useful. Dranko bit back a remark about Step’s awkward sword grip; he’d seen the man’s subpar fighting skills during Grey Wolf’s evening sparring sessions.
In fact, all else being equal, Step was a liability, another person who might get injured in a tough spot and need Dranko’s channeling. While Step had some talent in non-magical healing, he would be useless in a skirmish, didn’t have any relevant local knowledge, lacked any divine powers granted by his sun goddess, and was kind of a humorless prat.
But, alas, all else wasn’t equal. He had his prophecy, and from Aravia’s intelligence from Keen Mind, the “last of five” looked like a place they might actually go someday if they lived so long. The others were convinced of his legitimacy, but Dranko increasingly harbored doubts. His near-death experience with Mokad had done it. His friends didn’t truly understand how much knowledge the Black Circle had. Step’s holy book could be a clever fake, and he could be conspiring secretly with Lapis, waiting for an opportunity to betray them.
The houses and other buildings of Culud were largely clustered along the southern shores of the lake, while behind them a patchwork of crop fields and grazing pastures spread all the way to a steep rise of rock—the eastern edge of the bowl. Smaller trails wound up and out into the mountains on most sides; in the dwindling light a dozen or more mine entrances were little more than black spots against the gray granite slopes.
Waterfalls spilled down the flanks of the mountains, thin ribbons of water that filled small pools, which fed little streams, which emptied into the lake. It was all sickeningly bucolic. But when Dranko sniffed the air it was…tangy, for lack of a better word. Industrial. Must be the mines.
They picked up at the tail end of the westernmost road and followed it into the town. At the first house they came to, a little cottage with a fenced garden, two girls played catch in the yard with a small leather ball. But they stopped their game as Horn’s Company approached. The children pointed, eyes wide, mouths open. He couldn’t be certain from this distance, but Dranko thought they pointed directly at him. The girls whispered quickly to one another. One dashed into the cottage while the other one took off down the road at a sprint, heading for the center of the town.
“Hello!” Ernie shouted after her, but the girl didn’t acknowledge them. Soon she was out of sight.
“They must not see many strangers,” said Tor.
Grey Wolf let out a long sigh. “Why do I get the feeling that Lapis has been here ahead of us? She could have turned the whole town against us.”
The door to the cottage flew open, and a man walked out, a thickly built fellow with powerful, hairy arms and a huge brown beard. Somewhat awkwardly, he cradled a crossbow, cranking the winch as he moved. The weapon itself looked like an antique, though Dranko was no expert in weaponry.
The man stopped and pointed the crossbow directly at Dranko.
Dranko held up his arms, showing empty palms. “I’m getting the same idea.”
“Turn around and leave,” shouted the man. “The greenblood’s life is forfeit. Back away, so I can do my duty.”
“Do I look green to you?” Dranko shouted back. “I’m not a—”
Click. Twang. Something bit his leg and he crumpled to the ground. A crossbow bolt stuck out from his leg, just above his left knee. “Aaaaah! Gods damn it! What is the matter with you?” Dranko shouted at the man. “We’re not your enemies!”
The man only cursed his poor aim and began to reload the crossbow. As the pain flared up, Dranko heard the sound of his friends drawing their weapons; they formed up around him.
“Drop those weapons,” said the man. His reloading should have given the rest of the company time to rush him, but they didn’t. The cottage had two wide windows facing the street, and out of them leaned four girls, each holding a crossbow of her own. The oldest looked to be in her middle teens; the youngest couldn’t have been older than eight. All four weapons were pointed at him.
“What kind of family owns five crossbows?” Grey Wolf said under his breath.
“Drop ’em or we shoot!” shouted the man.
Click. Twang. The youngest girl fumbled her bow, and a bolt soared high over their heads.
“Sorry, pa!”
“Dammit, Noa!” the man roared. “Reload, now!”
The other three girls seemed more steady. Grey Wolf dropped his sword at his feet, and everyone else followed suit.
“We mean no harm to you or anyone in your town,” called Grey Wolf. “So tell your daughters to put down the bows.”
The hairy man cranked the winch on his bow. “You bring a greenblood right into Culud and say you mean no harm? We ought to shoot the lot of you, but if you back away, we’ll stop at just killing him.”
“We don’t even know what a greenblood is!” Ernie called back. “We’re from a country hundreds of miles away. Dranko here
is a healer.”
Dranko glanced down at his leg; the pointy end of the bolt stuck an inch out the back. Damn. He hadn’t yet needed to channel for himself, and his understanding was that it wouldn’t work.
The man raised his crossbow, though he’d have a heck of a time hitting Dranko a second time through the wall of his friends, even if his aim was good. “He’s a greenblood, and by the law of the mountains we’re going to kill him. Goblin or greenblood, makes no difference. The rest of you would do best to back away.”
“No!” Ernie protested. “Dranko is our friend, and he’s no threat to anyone. He’s not a goblin or a greenblood or anything else you need to worry—”
The crossbow twanged again, and close at hand were two distinct impacts and two quick sprays of blood, one from Ernie’s shoulder and another from Morningstar’s scalp. The man had been aiming for Dranko, trying to hit him through the small gap between Ernie and Grey Wolf, but the shot had gone high. The bolt had winged Ernie’s shoulder and been deflected upward, grazing Morningstar’s head before sailing off somewhere behind them.
All four of the girls leaned forward just a little, as if daring any of them to approach their father. Ernie cried out and clutched his shoulder; Morningstar’s free hand flew to her head.
“Son of a bitch!” roared Grey Wolf.
The man set another bolt in the bow’s trough and began again to crank it.
“Ana’ell trinoath kepka!”
That was Dranko’s best guess at what Aravia had said. The man flew toward them as though a giant’s hand had grabbed his collar and given a mighty pull. The crossbow fumbled out of his hand as he fairly well flew through the air, landing at Grey Wolf’s feet. In an instant Grey Wolf picked up his sword and held it to the man’s throat.
“You four drop your weapons out the windows!” he shouted. “Drop them, and I won’t hurt your father.”
None of them did. They each turned slightly to aim their bows at Grey Wolf’s head. Grey Wolf gripped the man’s shirt with his off hand and hoisted him up to serve as a shield for himself.
“Don’t shoot him,” called the father. “But don’t drop your crossbows, either. This’ll be settled one way or another in just a minute.” He gestured with his head, looking down the road into town. A large crowd approached, about thirty men and women together, most of them armed with blades or crossbows.
“We seem to make a habit a’ this sort a’ thing,” said Kibi morosely.
“What do we do?” asked Ernie.
“If we have to fight in self-defense, then we will,” said Morningstar. “I don’t want to kill the people of the town, but if it’s them or us…”
Dranko snuck a peek at the girls in the windows, all with their bows still trained on Grey Wolf. The youngest, an adorable little thing with blonde hair in pigtails, couldn’t have been taller than a barstool, but she had her bow reloaded and aimed, wobbling only slightly.
“Spread out,” barked Grey Wolf. “If they fire into a group, they’ll hit someone by accident even if they miss their target. If we spread out wide, a missed shot will be less dangerous. Dranko, stay directly behind me.”
Dranko was happy to stay where he was. He doubted he could put much weight on his wounded leg anyway.
The mob of townsfolk moved ever closer, the largest men at the front, most holding thick clubs or pitchforks. A few held swords. Some of them were clearly pointing at where Grey Wolf held his blade against his prisoner’s throat. This could not possibly end well.
“I will try to intercede.” Certain Step left his weapon on the ground and walked briskly toward the approaching throng, his hands held high in the air. “I am Certain Step of Djaw! I am a holy man in the service of Kemma, goddess of the sun! We have harmed no one and wish only peace. May I speak with someone of authority before there is bloodshed?”
“A little late for that,” Dranko grumbled.
“I’m sure he means more bloodshed,” said Ernie.
The mob slowed down as Step approached them. A wiry woman wearing a long brown skirt and a tan overcoat pushed to the front. She carried something like a long spear.
“I am Crayna.” Her accent was thick. “I am the deputy mayor of Culud. Margol here says you have a greenblood with you.” She gestured with her weapon to where Dranko cowered behind Grey Wolf.
“Dranko is from a thousand miles away,” said Step. “He is neither goblin nor greenblood, though he does share some physical similarities. I will personally vouch for him and swear upon Kemma’s name that he will cause no trouble in your town.” From beneath his shirt he pulled out a large pendant that hung around his neck, a golden sun of beaten bronze.
The crowd muttered. Crayna shushed them.
“You are a Sunwarden?”
“Not yet. I am an aspirant in the church, serving the goddess in the hopes of someday being elevated to Sunwarden.”
She turned her head to stare at Dranko. Dranko stared back at her, feeling as defiant as one can be with a crossbow bolt sticking out of one’s leg—and damn, that hurt worse and worse all the time.
“He has the tusks of a greenblood and the jaw of a greenblood. The same sallow skin. You say those folks have come from far away, but he’s just a greenblood from a distant tribe. The law still holds.”
“But he is a holy man himself!” said Certain Step. “A healer who calls down the might of his god.”
“And what god is that?”
Dranko feared for a moment that Step would have forgotten, but the guy came through.
“Delioch of the healing hand.”
“I don’t recognize that name.”
“Nonetheless, it’s true.”
“Then you have seen him perform healing miracles?”
“He has healed his companions many times. To do so requires a personal sacrifice on his own part, which he pays willingly.”
A woman’s voice came from somewhere back in the crowd. “Can he heal up Pelyk’s leg?”
Someone else protested. “You’d let a greenblood near your husband? Are you crazy?”
“Frew thinks he might not last another week. So, yes, I would, especially if the priest is telling the truth.”
“I will talk to the greenblood myself,” said Crayna. She turned to face the crowd. “All with bows, cover me. If any of the strangers make a sudden movement of any kind, shoot to kill.” She said this loudly enough for the whole company to hear.
Slowly, Crayna approached them. “You,” she said to Grey Wolf. “Release Jerf.”
“And how do I know you all won’t open fire the moment I do?” asked Grey Wolf.
Crayna turned to the house, where the four girls still leaned out the windows, their crossbows steadily trained on Grey Wolf. “How are you this morning, Miss Threece?”
The oldest of the girls kept her eyes on Grey Wolf. “We’re all fine, Miss Cray. Are we gonna shoot that greenblood?”
“Not just yet. But you and your sisters keep your weapons up and ready. Any of these people makes a hostile move, you shoot ’em dead, right?”
“As you say, Miss Cray.”
Crayna turned back to Grey Wolf and crossed her arms.
“Damn it,” said Grey Wolf. “Damn it, but this stinks.” He released his prisoner.
“Now drop your sword and back away from the greenblood.”
“I have a name. It’s Dranko.”
Crayna didn’t even glance down. “Drop your blade and back away slowly. No one will shoot him unless he makes a move.”
Grey Wolf hesitated.
“Do what she says,” Dranko told him. “They’ve got us outnumbered five to one, and they have crossbows. If we fight, we’d kill a bunch of innocent people to save ourselves, even in the best-case scenario. If they’re going to shoot someone, better it just be me.”
Grey Wolf looked down at him. Something unusual showed in his face, as though he were seeing Dranko for the first time in his life. He let his sword fall to the ground and took several slow steps back. If these rabid Cu
ludians wanted to turn Dranko into a pincushion, this was their big chance.
Crayna looked down upon him with the same look of distaste most people reserved for discovering they’d stepped in crap. “You. Do you have goblin blood in you? Yes or no?”
“No.”
Crayna drew a knife from her belt. “Just like a greenblood to lie. You want to try again?”
Was she going to stab him? He wouldn’t think so, but then he wouldn’t have thought Jerf would just up and shoot him. He glanced down at the shaft of wood sticking out both sides of his leg, at the blood soaking through his trousers. The blood…
“Crayna, why do you call them greenbloods?”
Crayna glowered at the question. “Because you creatures with goblin blood bleed green.”
“And what color is my blood?”
He slowly reached down to his cuff, wincing from the pain, and pulled his trouser leg up high enough to reveal the red blood that oozed out around the bolt shaft.
“I know I look like a goblin, but I’m not a goblin or even part goblin. Where I’m from we have a similar race of people called kesh, but they’re a peaceful folk, devout, hoping to receive blessings from their god. I’m only one-quarter kesh, but the god Delioch has given me his gift of healing.”
Dranko hoped the others would have the good sense not to reveal that he lied.
Crayna stared holes in him. “Do you know why we kill greenbloods?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
Her mouth twitched, and her hand tightened around the handle of her knife.
Don’t poke the person who wants to murder you.
“Greenbloods have half the mind of a goblin and half of a person, and that’s an arrangement that doesn’t work. As children they are wild, they’re violent, they’re prone to assaulting other children who have things they want. If they’re allowed to grow to adulthood, they are always criminals. They never lose that will to violence. They have no feelings for others. Put to it, they will commit murder every time. That’s why the law says greenblood babies get drowned. It’s a kindness to every decent person in the town…and not just this town. They do the same in Trund, in Ash Valley, in Ascup. Generations past they let ’em live, but we’ve learned over time it never works out. Better they never see a first sunrise.”
