Cold Counsel

by Chris Sharp

  NEITHER-NOR CUT OPEN another wolf, but then he caught a crossbow bolt mid-slash. It felt like someone had punched him hard in the kidney, and he dropped to a knee with a sharp cough. He ripped the bolt out by the fletching, and already felt his skin crawling with the healing runes before the pain hit. He snarled through it and found his feet again.

  A wide goblin with gold-trimmed armor was charging with an absurd war bellow. When he raised his sword, Neither-Nor darted in and opened him groin to chin, just before Slud’s ax passed over to bisect the two glory-seeking goblins who followed. Without pause, they swiveled and killed more, the two of them working in such accord that it seemed like they’d been fighting together for years. Save for the troll king who’d cut him in half at the fall of the Moon Blades, Neither-Nor had never met anyone who could take him in single combat. But this troll lad with the cold ax was the most deadly thing he’d ever seen. Watching him kill was inspiring. It made the goblin’s own knives spin faster.

  A frigid breeze followed the ax as it hacked a path through three more goblins and a wolf, and the hulking figure behind him chuckled again. Neither-Nor could feel that laugh trembling in his bones. Despite himself, he started snickering with it as he vaulted from the back of a dying goblin and took off the head of the next rider mid-leap. Slud’s ax immediately passed below with a trail of flying wolf legs.

  Neither-Nor was searching for the next victim before he landed, but no others advanced. A group of almost ten riders had retreated to the gate, trying again to raise the beam. Three goblins aimed crossbows and fired. Neither-Nor jumped and cut a bolt with the curved knife before it reached Slud, and the troll slapped aside another with the flat of his ax. The third struck the troll in the meat of his chest, and a roar burst out of him that made everyone, including Neither-Nor, stop for a moment. They all stood dumbly as Slud went to one knee.

  Neither-Nor’s eyes went wide. Oh, shit! Is he done? But the troll jumped—rocketing some twenty feet into the air as the ax cocked back over his head. They all looked up, just as the hulking figure came back down on the shooter, driving him into the ground with a loud snap and a shiver of the earth. The ax chopped a big goblin and his wolf into slabs of frozen meat an instant later, and his next swing took four more goblins apart at their waists.

  The rest, wolves and riders both, abandoned the door and broke toward the back of the courtyard, screaming the whole way. For a moment, it looked to Neither-Nor like the troll was going to give chase, but Slud’s dark brow turned to the locked doors of the Khan’s great hall instead. There were over fifty goblin and wolf bodies, dead or dying, around them. Neither-Nor had never seen or heard of anything like it—so many killed by so few in so brief a period. This was the stuff of tall tales, and somehow he had become a part of it. But the pounding continued from the other side of the stockade gate. “When they get them doors open, we’re done fer,” he said.

  “Not if Slud kills de Khan.” The troll ripped the tiny bolt out of his chest as a wet stain spread on his coat, and he swiveled back to yank the javelin from the beam just as easily. He flung aside the skewered goblin and stomped across the corpse-strewn field to jam the butt end of the javelin into the mud before the doors. “Slud’ll take out de lock. Push ’em open ’n’ stand aside.”

  Neither-Nor had seen what the troll could do with one of those javelins, and none would question his claim on the throne if the Khan was out of the way. Fuck, this could actually work!

  Slud wound up the ax and hacked into the reinforced wood with a grunt. The whole building shook. A chunk of the door broke off, and Neither-Nor started giggling; he couldn’t help himself. He could see the flicker of firelight from within, and Slud chopped again, opening the hole further. The troll changed his grip on the ax and brought it up and over at a different angle, and whatever was holding the doors shut on the other side fell away with a loud clatter. He pushed to test his efforts, but the door was still jammed shut at the bottom. This time he slid the ax across at ground level, and Neither-Nor heard the clang of iron falling away on the far side.

  The troll moved the ax to his left hand as he took up the javelin with his right. With a deep breath, Neither-Nor sheathed his blades and grabbed the doors by the trim.

  “Some good deaths ya doled out, goblin,” said Slud.

  “You, too, troll scum,” he answered.

  They shared a nod, and Neither-Nor pushed the doors open.

  THE HALL WAS one giant room, with thick pine trunk beams holding up the vaulted forty-foot ceiling. Torches and lamps hung from every column, and a wide fire pit burned at the room’s heart, surrounded by a thick group of goblins in fancy dress who scampered back to the shadows with terrified squeals. At the far end, a big goblin sat on a tall seat of stone at the top of rough-hewn stairs.

  Slud rocked back with the spear balanced above the patch of scar tissue on his shoulder and locked his eyes on the goblin chief, who stared back at him from afar. With a grunt, he released. The javelin flew hard and high, to come down dead center through the big goblin’s chest. The metal tip clanged against the stone behind him, and the goblin spit blood and slumped over before tumbling down the stairs.

  The hall went totally quiet. All eyes swiveled toward Slud as he stepped inside. He could feel the awe and fear spilling off of them. A cold wind whipped past to make the fire flicker and dim. The ax had taken such a hold on him that frost gathered around his footfalls as he moved across the stone floor. “Anybody else wanna die today?”

  There was no answer. No one else stirred except Neither-Nor, who slipped inside and followed with his blades at the ready and his eyes scanning. The dead Khan lay on his side at the base of the throne; blood spattered his shining armor and pooled around the wolf-pelt cape bunched at his throat. It seemed like the whole room was holding its collective breath . . .

  “Now!” a goblin shouted from within the crowd. At once, two lines of crossbowmen stood from concealed murder boxes along the walls and fired. They didn’t have time to aim properly, but thirty bolts flew at once and Slud made for a big target. He slapped away a couple of them, but felt four more jab into his thigh, stomach, shoulder, and jaw. He gave a hard cough and found it difficult to draw breath with a bolt in his belly. The one that had lodged into the bone of his lower jaw hurt like a bastard, and already the bowmen were reloading. Slud charged with an untamed yell that shook the timbers.

  As a numb tingling spread out from his fresh wounds, three tough-looking goblins moved to intercept him with swords and maces. Have to do betta den dat! Slud hacked through the blade and body of the first attacker, took off the arm and head of the next, and sent the third flying fifteen feet to smash into one of the boxes along the wall. But the crossbows raised and fired again. Six more bolts lodged in his body, as others sought to silence Neither-Nor’s wild cursing over his shoulder.

  “I’ll fuckin’ gut every last one of ya!” the goblin yelled, before the yelling was cut short.

  Slud kept charging, breathing the pain in and out as he’d been taught. More goblins stepped out to attack from both sides as his ax flew out to meet them. One managed to stab him in the leg before Slud drove the butt end of the ax handle through his face. The others didn’t even get close before he’d sent their frozen limbs to the stones.

  The crowd was falling over themselves to get away, but the crossbows fired again into their midst. Goblins in fancy dress took bolts and fell all around him, but three more bolts punched home in Slud’s back as well. Other unlucky targets started to jerk and froth at the mouth, but he kept going, scanning the crowd for his next kill.

  He didn’t see where the hatchet that buried into his chest came from, but it was a good throw and the metal bit deep. More goblins approached, emboldened by his wounds, but he hacked them down as soon as they got within reach. Another hatchet flew from the shadows to bury itself beside the first, and Slud wobbled for a step with a hard cough that sprayed red across the floor.

  A fat goblin who looked like an angry toad w
ith feathers dropped from the rafters on the other side of the fire pit. His wide, ugly head gave a nod to someone over Slud’s shoulder, and a thick curving blade jammed through Slud’s back and poked out of his stomach. He finally fell to his knees, the ax chipping the stone floor beside him. “Can’t kill Slud. He’s sent by de mountain itself.”

  That was when another large goblin stepped from behind the throne, flanked by a pair of big wolves. He carried nothing but a jug of ale in his hand, and his smug face looked out from between the jaws of a golden wolf pelt. He strode over the skewered goblin stand-in to retake his throne. “Only Arok, son of Grummok, is King of the Mountain!”

  Someone twisted the blade from behind, and Slud could feel his innards rending. He fell forward but caught himself as blood spattered the stones below. The pain was terrible and glorious. He wanted to keep laughing, or say something threatening, but he couldn’t seem to form words.

  The fat goblin in feathers started laughing instead. “See, Pig, what’d I say? They all the same size on the ground.”

  EIGHTEEN: Butchering Heroes

  NEITHER-NOR CAME TO and immediately wished he hadn’t. There was no discomfort, no feeling at all, but his body didn’t seem to respond to his commands, and things didn’t look good upon first assessment. His head drooped over his chest with a string of bloody drool hanging between his lip and his shirt, and his eyes focused only enough to see the blurry fletching of arrows still sticking out of him in numerous spots. He’d have to rip out the bolts to begin healing, but his arms and legs were completely numb. Still, his mind continued to clear from the fog of poison.

  Someone was standing before him. Neither-Nor could see the bottom of a cloak made from black feathers with a couple of dirty brown shoes sticking out beneath, but he couldn’t raise his head to see more. Then a meaty fist came up fast, and his head snapped back toward a darkened ceiling.

  “This one’s awake too,” said the goblin in the cloak.

  Now Neither-Nor could see that he was dangling by his wrists before the Khan’s throne with the golden-wolf-headed bastard watching from on high. Two big wolves and the fat, feathered goblin stood at the base of the steps. Beside him, Slud was also hung from chains. They’d cut off his bearskin coat to unveil a comical mess of cuts and arrows beneath, but the troll’s hard eyes were still alert and locked on the Khan above.

  A shaggy goblin shuffled from behind the throne with a blood-soaked book and spoke in a clear voice. “Mighty Arok Golden Wolf, Chief of the Rock Wolf Clan, King of the Mountain, and Khan of the Goblin Horde, stands over you to pass judgment.”

  The Khan took a swig of his jug and cleared his throat. “The great Neither-Nor . . . My men’ve been lookin’ fer ya fer a long time. And now here ya is, trussed up like a hog fer the butcher.” He gave a nod to someone behind Neither-Nor, and something hit him in the back with a weighty thud. His useless body jerked forward and spun so he could see a dead-eyed goblin with iron knuckles and the shaken collection of goblins in fancy outfits watching from the far side of the fire pit behind him.

  “Arok, son of Grummok, wants ya to know that you’ll feel terrible pain ’fore I lets ya die,” the Khan said. “I’ll stretch yer death fer days, weeks, maybe a month. Yer screams’ll put me to bed every night, an’ wake me up every mornin’.”

  Neither-Nor was surprised to find his tongue and lips respond to his thoughts. “Pain? Can’t feel a fuckin’ thing, ya daft prick.”

  The Khan’s big face turned red and his bloodshot eyes moved to the crowd beyond the fire. “Ya told me they’d still feel everythin’ afta the poison set in!”

  As he spun, Neither-Nor could see a spindly goblin in black shuffle from the crowd with a stooped head. “Apologies, my Khan.” He bowed low and raised his hands in the air. “That was the desired effect.” He turned back and pointed at an even spindlier goblin among the many faces. “I assure you, my apprentice will be punished for this mistake.”

  The Khan just glared, until Slud’s deep, rumbling voice filled the cavernous hall. “Ya ain’t no King of de Mountain . . . Only de mountain’s king, ’n’ it don’t like ya sayin’ otherwise.” It was as if his words were coming from all directions at once.

  Veins bulged in the Khan’s forehead as he struggled to maintain his cool. He swallowed hard. “Twenty years says different, troll. An’ I got twenty more, an’ twenty more afta that, where you got two minutes at most.”

  A few of the braver goblins in the host snickered in solidarity with their leader, but Slud smacked his lip against a tusk and smiled. “Borrowed time all ’round, but time’s just ’bout up fer de lot o’ ya . . . Play games wit’ de mountain, pay de mountain’s price.”

  As absurd as the threat was, this time no one felt much like laughing. For a long moment, only the sound of the crackling fire broke the silence of the hall. Finally, the Khan forced a chuckle himself, and soon after, the whole host followed in sycophantic mirth.

  The dead-eyed goblin steadied Neither-Nor’s spin as the feathered goon with the hatchets dumped out the contents of Slud’s bag before the steps. That was when Neither-Nor noticed his moon blade hanging from the fat goblin’s belt.

  “Get yer fuckin’ fingers off me blade, ya lousy shit!” he said, just before the iron knuckles slammed into his back again, this time with an audible crack along his spine. He still didn’t feel any pain, but his head whipped forward and then snapped back again as his flaking cap fell to the floor at his feet. He was starting to get the sense that it was about to get a fresh coat of red.

  Neither-Nor’s eyes, ears, and tongue had come back quickly, and there was now a dull ache in his back where he’d been hit. He was pretty sure he’d regret it when the feeling came back in full. He had to get them to kill him before that, and then hope they’d get sloppy with body disposal. His prospects didn’t look promising as the wolves licked their muzzles and watched him swing.

  The feathered goblin sifted through Slud’s things on the floor with his shoe: rope, flint, a knife, and a bit of cured meat—that was all.

  Neither-Nor’s eyes swung over to Slud. “Where’s me map, troll?”

  “Slud lost dat days ago.” He spat a thick glob of blood on the stones. “No worries, he finished up yer etchin’ at yer ol’ campsite ’fore dat.”

  “Ya what?” Suddenly, it was as if he and the troll were the only ones there. “Ya lost me map!”

  “Yeah, but yer runes is all done.”

  “Ya lyin’ bastard! Ya tricked me!” Neither-Nor tried to swing out and kick Slud, but of course that didn’t work. “I’ll gut ya like a fish fer this, I promise ya!”

  The troll chuckled, but the Khan stood up, red-faced and yelling. “Silence, ya miserable curs!”

  This only made Slud laugh harder; his booming chortle echoed about the hall, mocking the Khan’s pretense of power. Many in the host backed away and cringed as Arok drew an absurd golden sword from his belt and stormed down toward the hanging giant. The Khan was completely unhinged, stabbing Slud repeatedly in the gut. Blood splattered the floor, and the Khan bellowed his loudest war cry, but to Neither-Nor, the most powerful goblin king looked small beside the dying troll. Arok left the blade sticking out of Slud and turned back toward the throne with a drunken stumble and heavy breathing. The laughing had finally stopped, and Slud’s head hung limp over the ruin of his front.

  “None can challenge Arokkhan an’ live!” the Khan declared, though it sounded more like a whine.

  Still, Slud’s perforated chest rose and fell ponderously, and his eyes snapped open again. Now his voice was quiet and raspy, but it still echoed about the room for all to hear. “A reckonin’s comin’. Slud may die, but he’ll watch y’all die soon enough.”

  The Khan stormed to the troll’s giant ax, still lying on the floor where it had fallen. He grabbed the handle and immediately dropped it with a yelp as he rubbed his palms together.

  Neither-Nor couldn’t help it, he started chuckling too—it was all they had left to do.

&n
bsp; The Khan roared in frustration and took up the handle once more. Frost crawled up his fingers to the wrists. He clenched his chattering teeth as he raised the heavy ax-head and turned back to the dangling troll, but he was too drunk and the weapon was too heavy for him to get under control. The head clanged down to the floor again and chipped the stone with a fractal bloom of frost around it. The Khan let the handle drop from his grip, and he yanked out the golden sword instead as he stepped back before Slud. “I’ll see ya in the pits o’ Hades, troll.”

  “Slud’ll see ya in yer nightmares first,” the troll answered, just before the Khan dragged the blade across his throat and a gout of blood spilled out to the stones.

  Given the opportunity, Neither-Nor would have killed Slud himself, but watching him die at the hands of this hulking imposter made him furious. He managed to gather a mouthful of blood and saliva, and spat it out in a gentle arc to land on the Khan’s furry shoulder.

  Arok’s glassy eyes went wide, and he pointed at the fat goblin. “First his legs, then arms, then head—take ’im apart with his precious moon blade.”

  “What ’bout the torture?” the fat goblin asked with unmasked disappointment.

  “Just chop him up, or I’ll chop ya up in his place!” The Khan climbed back to his jug and chair in a huff.

  The feathered goblin stepped before Neither-Nor with a wide grin and a shrug as he unhooked the curved blade from his belt. “Gonna enjoy this.” He held it up and ran a finger along the edge. It had been dulled a bit by all the bodies slashed outside, but the elf metal was still plenty sharp. The fat goblin swung, and Neither-Nor saw one of his legs flop to the ground by his hat. His weight seemed off balance, but he still didn’t feel a thing. Something about it seemed ridiculous, and he started laughing again.

  The goblin swung again, and the other leg fell off to splat in the growing blood pool between him and the troll. How fitting that he should share his final death with the son of the nightmare figure who’d sent him to his first. The silent goblin behind him swung the gut sticker, and one of his arms was cut off cleanly, just above the shoulder. He dangled awkwardly and swung from one hand, but kept laughing the whole time.