By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles)

by Houpt, David

  At Lian’s nod, Snog sighed and took a pipe from his pack, filling it with a black substance. He lit it with a small glowing coal which he kept in a metal box along with a small pair of tongs. The enchanted, perpetual coalstone probably represented a large share from a raid, but was invaluable to a scout operating far from home. This done, the two of them left the springhouse and crossed the stream, heading northwest toward Greythorn City.

  With the smoke, redolent of mushrooms, pouring around him before becoming lost in the mists, the goblin scout began to tell his tale.

  Chapter Ten

  “Krysa’s school suffered opposition from its very inception, in the person of a priestess of the goddess M’Shara Earthmother. This woman, whose name has been lost to antiquity, believed that the presence of Krysa’s school in her community would lead to tragedy. Her arguments to force the school to move on might have eventually seen fruition, but in the third year of the school’s presence, she caught her death in a particularly harsh winter. In addition to the priestess’ death, rats had destroyed the winter grain stores, and the severe weather drove ogres and trolls (and worse) down from the mountains in search of food. Krysa and his students led the defense of the town and developed magical means to extend the food stores as well. Krysa was elected mayor after the spring thaw, and thus was born the Theocracy.”

  -- From “A History of the Theocracy of Krysa” by the Sage Alionur

  “It’s been four years now, since Lyrial arrived in the mines beneath that waste of a town, Whitefall,” Snog began, clenching the pipe between his teeth as he talked. “Our first warning of his presence was when he marched a thousand Undead troops into our living warrens. They were armed with clubs and the like, and while they were taking some pains not to kill us, they were a lot more force than we could handle.

  “We learned later that he’d animated them from underneath the Whitefall cave-in and that he couldn’t actually keep such a large force active for very long. At the time, though, it was enough to force our surrender,” he said, spitting a blackened glob onto the ground. His flat goblinish features mirrored his disgust for the decision to submit.

  “Me and Lesh, so recently relieved of his worthless life, were leading a scout party at the time, and weren’t available to assist in the defense against the damned things. Either one of us would have had the sense to go for the necromancer, though that wouldn’t have been a picnic, either.

  “He’s got some fairly powerful bound Undead close to hand, and they’d have acted to protect him.”

  Lian nodded and said, “I know of at least one, but we’ll get to him later.”

  Snog glanced at his new companion with alarm. “I’m quite certain I don’t want to know what you mean, milord.”

  He shrugged and continued. “Lyrial’s a black-hearted mage, but I have to admit he’s got a good understanding for the usefulness of goblins. He has us run the mining operation, and his Undead keep guard and retreive surface game as provender. Except that we’re basically slaves, it wouldn’t be a terrible lot.

  “That and the fact that he animates our dead to fill the ranks of his own troops. That just gives me the shits in a big way,” the goblin said with a shudder.

  “I get the impression that he’s looking for something more than precious metals in those mines, though. Some artifact, or some dead hero’s bones. He likes the lashthirin and silver well enough, but they don’t seem to hold his interest. I also have a strong feeling that once we find whatever he’s looking for, he’ll have no more use for Death’s Hand, at least as living folk. That’s one reason why I volunteer for scout work as much as possible.”

  Lian asked, “Why didn’t you just defect? Surely some other goblin clan would have taken in a scout?”

  Snog shook his head. “Actually, I’ve been asking myself that for over a year, now. I guess I was just lookin’ for an excuse, ‘s all. You provided that, and removed Lesh as a consideration. I’ve worried about him doggin me if I left. He approved of Lyrial and the ‘improvements’ he had brought to our clan.

  “Sick fuck . . . beggin’ your pardon, milord,” he said with a nod to Lian.

  Lian said, “No offense taken, Snog. I would expect most of your people would be opposed to the necromancer’s presence.”

  They reached a small stream and both of them leapt. Snog lost his footing, sliding backwards, and Lian grabbed his arm. The young human’s strength surprised the goblin scout.

  With gratitude that surprised him even more than the helpful act had, he said, “Thank you, milord.

  “No, actually, most of ‘em like the work. It’s a lot safer to mine than to fight, and them zombies and such don’t back down when some terrible thing comes out of the deeper dark wanting to eat the mine crews. Goblin guards would probably break and run, more often than not, a result of piss poor training,” the goblin replied.

  “Where’d you and Lesh train? You aren’t exactly equal to your fellow clansmen, from what you’ve said.”

  Snog grinned, revealing his pointed and surprisingly straight teeth. “Lesh an’ me, we were kinda new to Death’s Hand. We used to be scouts for Sh’rek k’lass’rik, before Lesh fucked up an’ we had to run. He was my father’s cousin’s son.

  “The Spider Lords weren’t very forgiving when their plans went awry, and since it was Lesh’s mistake that done it, he was on their short list. And since I was workin’ with him and should’ve prevented the fuckup, I got added right under his name.

  “That’s one reason he would never have let me leave, for fear that I’d get word back to Sh’rek about where he’d gone.”

  Must have been a major screwup to have warranted death sentences for leader and followers both. Deep goblin clans don’t generally waste useful material. And whatever else he is, he’s quick and intelligent, Lian thought to Gem.

  Yes, but A’kra Vilsha would have gladly taken them in, no questions asked. Spider-clan scouts would have been an incredible opportunity for a minor clan like the Hand of Death. He hasn’t told you what they put in the water, though.

  I noticed that, he replied, saying aloud, “So what were the two of you doing at the spring?”

  “I was gettin’ to that, milord,” he said, tamping out his pipe and carefully making sure it was completely extinguished before burying the ashes under a bit of loamy soil.

  “Lyrial wants to draw the druid out, you see. My guess is that the blackrobe thinks that he would be the one most likely to have the knowledge that would help him. Those jars held water parasites that will swim upstream toward the spring source, where they’ll grow. Once they reach a certain size, they’ll spawn and eventually the spring will slow down, though it won’t ever stop.

  “We have a lot of experience with that sort of creature, so we know when to start waiting for him to emerge and search out the source of the problem. Eventually, the water parasites grow so numerous that they start to die off a little. That’s actually when they’re at their worst, because the immature ones drift away from the headwater and eventually enter a major waterway. We figured, though, that since the Villas River flows into the Villas Swamp and the salt marshes there, they would be contained. Salt in any significant amount is the bane of those things.

  “In their immature state, they’re about the size of a real big leech, and about as ugly. They aren’t dangerous to goblins, or to humans for that matter, because blood’s no good for ‘em. Makes them swell up and pop, actually, and they know it. I once saw one latch on to a rock lizard, and even though it let go as fast as it could, it was too late,” he said, making a splattering noise and gesturing expansively.

  “My clan kept some of ‘em on hand because we used them to locate freshwater sources. They’ll bore through rock to get to a good breeding ground, but we don’t let ‘em get away from us. Uncontrolled, the bloody things are a nuisance to get rid of.”

  Lian didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “Forgive me, but those things sound positively revolting.”

  Snog nodded with an
other grin. “Yep. We don’t like ‘em much, either, but they can serve as emergency water supplies if you’re caught without water. Taste pretty bad, but even a human can drink their fluids without harm. And they sure can find the water, if there is any.

  “You surface dwellers take water for granted. Underground, you can’t always find it easily, and it’s a valuable commodity. There’s more deserts underground than you’ll ever see up here on the surface, I’d wager.”

  I am often reminded why my existence as a piece of steel is preferable to the needs of a body, Gem observed dryly. These water leeches must be something from the elemental plane of water that crossed over into the physical world somehow. He refers to them as parasites, so I’d guess they will attach themselves to water elemental creatures.

  “So to get rid of them, what will the druid have to do?” asked Lian.

  “Oh, that’s easy enough,” replied the goblin, picking at his teeth with a long, sharp nail. “I would think that any druid worth his keep could summon an earth elemental creature to poison the springs with a little salt. It wouldn’t require enough to harm the surface plants, and at this stage of their life cycle the parasites are particularly vulnerable to it.

  “Alternatively, he could call up something from the water planes to lure the things out where they could be crushed. There’s an even dozen of them, so they are easily accounted for. They won’t reach breeding size for months yet.”

  “They’ll follow a water elemental?” Lian asked, with an aside to Gem. Looks like you were right. He could feel her satisfaction at having guessed correctly.

  Snog nodded. “Oh, yeah. They’ll try to suckle on it, and they’ll ignore mundane water sources as long as there’s such a being around. Unless these springs are a water elemental gateway, they’ll come right up on its heels.”

  Gem said, The water here doesn’t have the traces of power that such a gate would leave. It’s a natural spring.

  Lian said, “No, I don’t think that’s the case. I haven’t heard any local legend that say this water is special, other than the fact that it comes out cold and clear.”

  “Then there’ll be no problem unless there aren’t any spellcasters available. Then, it could get dicey, but that’s not my problem.”

  Lian shook his head, ducking under a low-hanging oak tree branch. “It could become your problem, if the druid takes offense at your actions. They know some pretty hefty curses, the druidkind.”

  Snog looked at him sidelong. “I was sort of hoping you’d put in a good word for me, milord. It was Lesh that actually released the damned things, anyhow. I just carried them.”

  Lian made a decision. “I won’t call attention to your complicity, if that will help. But Teg is a native of this area, and is acquainted with the local druid. He may not realize what you were doing, but his description of what he saw is pretty damning evidence.”

  Snog made a face. “Maybe it would be better if I left the area, then.”

  “That’s probably not necessary. I’m likely to be in almost as much danger from the druid as you, simply because I let you live. The druidkind are quite elder in their view of right and wrong. If I am not your enemy, then I am obviously your friend.”

  “You don’t have to explain the elder viewpoint to a goblin, milord,” he said. “We’re one of the elder races, too.”

  Goblins were the youngest of the elder races that included elves, dwarves, kossir and kossir-teh, ogres, trolls, and the Faerie. They were also the least of them, in both individual ability and intellect. A majority of the mortalkind considered goblins to be the most inferior of the humanoid races, though Lian personally ranked trolls at the bottom. Trolls were bigger and stronger, it was true, but they were, in his experience, uniformly cruel, stupid, and evil.

  Before meeting Teg, he’d have placed ogres right behind trolls in the scum scale among the elder folk. Now, he wondered if trolls might possess the capacity to behave in a civilized manner, too, beneath their cruel demeanor.

  Next thing you know, I’ll be allowing trolls onto the Advisory Council of Dunshor, he thought sardonically.

  “You’ve heard my tale, milord,” said Snog, taking out more tobacco and packing his pipe. “Mightn’t it be time for me to hear yours?”

  Lian didn’t answer, and they walked in silence.

  I don’t know what to tell you, son, Gem said. You didn’t agree to tell him, yet he’s sworn to keep your secrets indefinitely. He’s got skills that could be useful, and his presence could serve as camouflage, making you a less likely candidate for heir to the throne.

  Dunshor had a long history of hostility toward the goblins, literally dating back to the founding. That hostility hadn’t ended with the rebellion against the Theocracy. Indeed, the clans who dwelled beneath Dunshor had seen the rebellion as an opportunity to finish the job that their ancestors had begun. The rebel army, exhausted from the overthrow of the Theocracy, had been forced into several heavy engagements with goblin forces before the subterranean kings had decided that the humans could defend themselves.

  Most of the unbiased reports of the time had opined that the goblins could have wiped the newly liberated Dunshorans out if their strategy had relied on small-unit engagements and they had kept their armies inside their warrens. Instead, the goblin kings had assembled their armies aboveground to “crush” the surface dwellers. Unaccustomed to open ground warfare and an enemy used to fighting off demons and other horrors, they had been driven back below the earth by several crushing defeats.

  The goblin assault that followed the rebellion was also the key reason that Rishak was allowed to maintain a large standing army, since his forces, led by his famed Ironheart calvary company, had been instrumental in fighting off the goblin kings’ armies. Evan felt that Rishak’s southern army was necessary to the stability of the kingdom.

  This long-standing hostility made it all the more unlikely that “Prince Lian” would be traveling with a goblin scout. While it wouldn’t disguise him from a professional such as Elowyn, who wouldn’t overlook any suspicious boy of the right age and approximate description, it would serve as some cover.

  If Snog was foolish enough to remain with them after he learned just who his “lord” was.

  Lian took a deep breath and started speaking. Long before he was done, Snog was glancing reflexively over his shoulder quite often. When he described the Undead knight, Snog’s grey skin turned pale. Lian omitted any mention of the Key of Firavon, which still graced his belt pouch, instead explaining that Gem accorded him some protection against scrying.

  “Sir Temvri?” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Shit. He won’t give up until you’re fertilizer, milord. You’ll forgive me if I don’t address you by the proper honorific?”

  Lian said, “I’d prefer that you not, actually.”

  Snog nodded, a measure of composure returning. “But if your blade there can shield you from magical tracking, how is Temvri still following you?”

  That question had been bothering Lian, too. According to Lord Grey’s words, the Key of Firavon should have prevented the Undead’s magical sense from locating him.

  Gem had been considering this for a while, and had settled on an answer. The tracking power of a creature like Sir Temvri, if that’s his name, is like the sense of a bloodhound. The Key wouldn’t protect you from that, either. I’m afraid it means that you might have to worry about other Undead, ones sent from Dunshor, that pick up your trail. For now you should be safe from that, because they need to know where you are to start tracking you.

  And won’t they know where I have been? They’ll know, at least, that I was in my chambers with the assassin, Lian asked, concerned at this possibility.

  No, I think perhaps that the Undead has to have been in direct contact with you in order to track you in this way. The knight saw you, and approached within twenty yards of you, so he was able to “scent” you directly. An Undead dispatched by Rishak’s mages hasn’t had the same opportunity.

 
Or so I believe, at any rate, she said. But if they can track you, they can teleport an assassin to your location, and you simply won’t wake up one morning. My recommendation is not to worry about things that you can’t control.

  They walked on for nearly an hour before the goblin reached into his pouch for more tobacco. He packed the pipe without looking at it, keeping a wary eye on the surroundings. He paused only to light it, while Lian kept watch on the forest.

  “How well can you keep up the pidgin accent, Snog?” asked Lian as they resumed their trek.

  “Pardon, milord?” Snog asked, surprised at the change of subject.

  “At first, your Dunshoran was broken and heavily accented. Now, your speech is as good as some native speakers,” Lian explained. “You obviously have a complete command of my language, and my question is an important issue.”

  “If I don’t have to speak at length, I’ll be able to stay in character, sir,” Snog said with a touch of chagrin. “I suppose that it would be best if I wasn’t too talkative, in any event.”

  Puffing deeply on the mushroom-scented smoke, he changed the subject. “I take it your plan to vacate the area, and as quickly as possible, milord?”

  Lian answered, “Yes. Even protected from magical sight, there will be enough hired killers coming after me to make your hair straight.”

  The goblin smiled. “Not mine, milord. It’s against my better judgment to remain with you, but them what’s after you probably’d let a poor wee boggle like me go. And I be thinkin’ that helpin’ a king, even one in hidin’, might turn me a pretty profit.” The goblin slipped back into his pidgin without apparent effort.

  Lian looked at him and said, “You’re not likely to profit by me for quite some time, Snog. Rishak’s not going to apologize and turn the crown over to me without a fight.”

  The goblin laughed and took a deep pull of the smoke. As he spoke, it curled out of his mouth. “Oh, I be knowin’ that, milord. But one day, ye’ll be returnin’ home, and if ye win back yer throne, ye might remember poor Snog and how ‘e helped you when the world were out to get you.