by Kris Greene
“Mealtime, meat sacks,” the goblin mocked them. Yellow fangs jutted from behind mutilated lips in what passed for a smile.
“Wow, I didn’t know you guys had room service at this fine establishment,” Lucy said sarcastically.
When the goblin laughed it sounded like two pieces of metal being rubbed together. “That was rich. And here I thought witches weren’t good for much other than lying on their backs and providing entertainment for their sorcerer masters.”
“If I had my powers I’d wipe that smile off your face,” Lucy warned.
“I’m sure you would, but since you don’t that’s something that I don’t have to worry about, is it?” He addressed the dwarf. “You, hurry and feed the prisoners and get back to your duties. Nott needs your help in the kitchen.”
“Yes, my lord,” the dwarf said just above a whisper.
“Eat up, flesh sacks,” the goblin told them.
“Aww, I didn’t know you cared. Wouldn’t want us to starve on your watch, would you?” Lucy said.
The goblin looked at her. “I couldn’t care less if you choke on your own tongues and die, but Prince Orden wants to make sure that you’re healthy for the banquet.”
“Banquet?” Redfeather and Lucy asked at the same time.
“Yes, and you two are the main courses.” The goblin snickered and disappeared back down the corridor.
The dwarf continued to stare at the floor until he was sure the goblin was out of earshot. When he looked up at Lucy, his big blue eyes seemed frightened. “It’s not wise of you to taunt Brutus that way.”
“Screw him and the rest of these freakish bastards. If I could cast my spells I’d show him a thing or two!” she shouted down the corridor.
“Please, miss, he may hear you. The goblins have ears all throughout these caverns.” The dwarf was so frightened that he nearly spilled Redfeather’s bowl as he knelt to slide it through the feeding slot at the base of the cage.
“If my memories serve me correctly these mountains were once the stronghold of the dwarves, weren’t they?” Redfeather asked.
Shame crept across the dwarf’s face as he lowered his head. “Yes, many seasons ago.” The dwarf cast a cautionary glance down the corridor. “When the rightful kings of Midland still ruled, the dwarves held a place in the great court. We were praised as the greatest weapon smiths in all the lands. Even the first tribes of men came to us to craft their armor and blades. None could match us when it came to manipulating steel.” His big blue eyes took on a faraway glint. “How proud we were in those days.”
“What happened?” Redfeather wanted to know.
“The goblins,” the dwarf said. “When Hades sought to overthrow Mica, king of the seventh level of hell, he tried to enlist the goblins to aid him in adding to his steadily growing kingdom. They refused, as at the time they were loyal subjects of Mica. Hades succeeded in overthrowing Mica anyhow, and when he claimed the seventh level of hell he forced the goblins topside as their punishment. Many of them fell to the sunlight or things fiercer than they that roamed Midland, and the ones who survived found temporary shelters where they could. If things had gone differently the goblin race would likely be extinct now and the dwarves would still rule the Iron Mountains.”
Redfeather weighed what the dwarf was telling him against what he had read and some of the blanks began filling in, but the stories had always painted the dwarves as not only skilled blacksmiths, but battle-hardened warriors. From what he had seen during his unexpected stay in the Iron Mountains, these creatures were little more than slaves.
Redfeather measured his words carefully so as not to offend the dwarf. “The goblins are feared warriors, but so were the dwarves. If the goblins were as displaced and weakened as you say, then how could they take the impenetrable Iron Mountains?”
To everyone’s surprise the dwarf smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, more like an insane thought had just floated into his brain. “That was the work of Belthon and the fool King Isa of Themus. Themus was a small kingdom that sat at the mouth of the Iron Mountains, and only by crossing through Themus could you access the mountains directly. Our king proposed a bargain to King Isa, entrusting him to be our first line of defense against attack in exchange for us providing Themus with the finest weapons our fires could craft.
“The deal forged between our people was a boon that would have been gracefully accepted by any of the other kings of Midland, but not Isa. Themus was one of the smallest kingdoms in all of Midland, so Isa was always looking to expand his territory. Though he barely had enough troops to hold his own borders, Isa continuously went off on foolish crusades to assuage his ego. It was during one of these such times that Belthon offered him the fool’s bargain. Isa would be the king of kings if he would provide refuge to a handful of refugees loyal to the dark lord. Belthon promised Isa warriors so fierce that all the kings of Midland would tremble in the face of his army, but what he gave him were the goblins.” The dwarf leaned against the wall wearily. “King Krull and his people wasted no time in establishing who truly ruled Themus. They bled the people and the land before setting their sights on the Iron Mountains. Because we had become dependent on Themus to guard our main entrance we never even had a chance to prepare for the attack. It was the darkest day in our long history.”
“One day the yoke will be lifted from the neck of the oxen,” Redfeather said sincerely.
The dwarf mustered a weak smile. “It has been more seasons than even the oldest of us can remember, so I doubt if I will see this great miracle in my lifetime. My friend . . .” The dwarf’s words were cut off when a lick of fire ran up his back, dropping him to one knee. Brutus stood in the archway sneering at the dwarf and holding a bloody whip.
Brutus stormed into the room, raining spittle as he cursed the dwarf. “Miserable worm, who gives you the right to talk?” he grabbed the dwarf and slammed him into Lucy’s cage. “You speak of a history that not even your whore of a mother was here to see?”
“That’s enough!” Redfeather shouted from his cage.
“Mind your business, human. Your blood will be spilled soon enough,” Brutus warned. “Stinking dwarf.” Brutus cracked the whip across his back again. “I’m going to beat the skin off you, then fry it!” Brutus drew back the whip, but when he tried to swing it he couldn’t. He turned and saw Redfeather holding the end of the whip.
“I said enough!” Redfeather snarled, straining to hold the whip.
“Human, you are as stupid as you are ugly.” Brutus yanked the whip, slamming Redfeather face first into the bars. Brutus opened the cage and snatched the dazed old man to his feet. Redfeather struggled as Brutus forced his hand up and examined his fingers. “Orden says that he wants to cook you alive, but he didn’t say anything about bringing you in whole.” Brutus’s jaws opened incredibly wide, exposing his jagged teeth. He had come within inches of Redfeather’s fingers when something sharp jabbed him in the back. The dwarf was standing there with a terrified expression on his face, holding a broken dagger. Brutus backhanded him across the room. “The cheap blade of a slave is no match for the skin of a goblin.”
“How about a wooden heel?”
Brutus turned in time to receive the roundhouse kick Lucy sent his way. She dropped under his counterstrike and delivered a combination of quick blows to his gut. Hitting the goblin was like punching a brick wall. Brutus grabbed her by the throat and slammed her violently into the wall. “Where are your sharp words now?” Brutus spat as he tried to crush Lucy’s windpipe.
“A little help here,” Lucy croaked, trying to break Brutus’s grip.
“I would if I could.” Redfeather rattled the bars of his cage.
“Yes, be afraid, witch. Fear makes the blood sweeter.” He drew a jagged nail over Lucy’s collarbone, drawing blood. Brutus licked his finger and rolled his eyes back in his head in ecstasy. “Sweet indeed.” Brutus eyed Lucy like a starved animal. “To blazes with Orden and his orders. The first taste of your flesh will go to me!”
He clamped down on Lucy’s collar and drank greedily as the blood flowed into his moth. Lucy was in such intense pain that she couldn’t even think of a spell, much less cast it. She pressed both her feet against the goblin’s gut and pushed with everything she had. Brutus flew backward and bounced against Redfeather’s cage.
Redfeather reached through the bars, locking his arms around Brutus’s throat and squeezing as hard as he could in the hopes that he could break Brutus’s neck. He was incredibly strong, but the goblin’s bones were like oak. “Child, if you have a plan I suggest you execute it!”
Still favoring her shoulder, Lucy rolled into a crouch in front of Brutus and placed the palm of her hand over his heart while chanting softly, but nothing happened. It was either her proximity to the enchanted bars or the lingering effects, but either way she needed to do something because Redfeather was losing his grip. “Come on,” she urged. After a few seconds she could feel the power trying to build in her hand.
“Lucy!” Redfeather shouted as Brutus broke free.
There was a sound of air being released and Brutus’s face suddenly took on a puzzled expression. A spot of gray appeared on the skin just above his heart. Lucy looked up at him with power sparkling in her eyes. “I told you I’d wipe that grin off your face,” Lucy told him before putting her fist through his chest, shattering it and his heart. Piece by piece Brutus’s body began to crumble away until there was nothing left but a pile of debris. Lucy collapsed to her knees and let out a breath. “That was too close.”
“Are you okay?” The dwarf crouched next to Lucy and checked her wound.
Lucy shooed him away and checked the wound herself. The gash was a nasty one, but thankfully none of the muscles or nerves had been damaged. “Yeah, he just broke the skin.”
“Luckily for you. A goblin bite can fester quite easily,” the dwarf told her. He looked at Brutus’s body and the realization of what they had done filled him with dread. “Orden will surely have us all killed for what has happened here.”
“He’ll have to catch us first.” Lucy snatched the keys to the cages off Brutus’s belt and tossed them to Redfeather. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”
“That will be near impossible. The Iron Mountains are a maze of tunnels that stretch for miles in every direction. It’ll take you hours to find your way out. And with that wound of yours, you will have every predator that hunts these mountains chasing the scent of your magical blood. The blood of a witch is a most precious thing down here.”
“We should have no problem making it out before that happens with you to guide us,” Lucy told him.
The dwarf shook his head in protest. “I cannot. Orden will have me killed it he finds out that I helped you escape the mountains.”
“And what do you think that he will do to you when he finds Brutus’s corpse?” Redfeather asked. “I know you’re afraid, as are we all, but you must help us. We have friends topside who may even be able to free your people from the goblins.”
“No, we are doomed to suffer at the hands of our tormentors forever.” The dwarf looked at the ground shamefully.
“Nothing is forever,” Lucy said, thinking of how the sorcerers had once enslaved her people. “Help us and we’ll see what we can do to help your people.”
The dwarf weighed his options. It was better to let death catch him as opposed to sitting around and waiting for it. “Very well.”
“Cristobel, what’s keeping you? We have kitchen duty.” Another dwarf entered the chamber. When he saw Lucy and Redfeather free of their cages his eyes went wide. “Are you insane? The goblins will punish us all for this!” the dwarf shouted.
“Please, keep your voice down!” Cristobel urged the other dwarf.
“No, I’ll not have you seal all our fates because of your bleeding heart. Sound the alarm! The prisoners are escaping!” the dwarf shouted down the corridor. “Alarm, alarm—”
The dwarf’s words died in his throat as what was left of Cristobel’s dagger sailed across the room and planted itself in the dwarf’s chest. Everyone turned and looked at Lucy, who had thrown the dagger.
“Sorry, but he was going to get us caught and I, for one, don’t relish the idea of being anyone’s meal. Now, we can stand around and pray for the life of this little snitch or we can get outta here while we still can.”
The sound of an alarm filled the halls outside the corridor. In the distance they could hear the scraping of feet across the floor and weapons being drawn as the guards closed on their position.
“We are too late,” Cristobel said fearfully.
“The hell we are.” Lucy yanked him by the arm and headed for the door with Redfeather on her heels.
As Redfeather followed Lucy and the dwarf through the archway and out to face God knew what, he couldn’t help but wonder what had become of his grandson.
CHAPTER THREE
By the time they made it to Queens the sun was up and shining brightly. Though the sun’s rays couldn’t pierce the UV-resistant windows, Gilchrest still freaked out at the sight of it. The only way they were able to calm him was by putting him in one of the chests in the back that were used to transport weapons. It wasn’t the most comfortable means of transport, but it would have to do.
All the other occupants of the van breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the morning sun. Traffic had begun to thicken when they exited the 59th Street Bridge and the shops were just opening for business. New York was starting to look like New York again, instead of the war-torn freak show they’d lived through the night prior. For the time being they were safe from the threat of the flesh-craving Stalkers, but they weren’t in the clear. Titus had agents everywhere, so they had to be constantly on guard.
Gabriel stared out the window, watching the changing scenery. They were stopped at a traffic light when he noticed an old homeless man standing on the corner watching them. At first, Gabriel thought that the man was staring at the strange Hummer, but his eyes seemed to be fixed right on Gabriel, who should have been impossible to see through the heavily tinted glass. Testing his theory, Gabriel waved at the old man, and the old man waved back. A passing bus cut off his line of vision, and when the corner was visible again the old man was gone.
“Strange,” Gabriel said to himself, absently stroking the area on his forearm where the trident had taken root. He could feel the waves of the tattoo rolling softly under his fingertips. When he looked at it he thought he could almost see the waves shifting beneath the malevolent trident, but it was only a trick of the shadows cast across his arm. Against his better judgment Gabriel let his guard down and tapped into the connection he shared with the magical relic. The magic answered in the form of the tattoo growing slightly brighter, but there was an emptiness to it that he couldn’t place. Then it hit him. He couldn’t hear the Bishop. Normally when he tapped into the magic he could feel the Bishop looming, but there was nothing. He wondered if it had had anything to do with the strange vision he had received earlier.
“How much farther to the Bat Cave, Morgan?” Rogue yawned.
“Not far at all,” Morgan replied and turned his attention back to the road ahead.
“What’s up with all this James Bond stuff? You’re taking us to your hideout, but won’t tell us where it is,” Asha said.
“Because we still don’t know how much we can trust you. For all we know any one of you could be a mole for the shitheads,” Jackson told her.
Asha frowned. “Well, if that’s the case, what would stop us from attacking you when we get to the secret location?”
Jackson smiled at the young witch. “Out here in the open you might have a chance, but not on our turf.” He flicked his forearm blades out, then retracted them. “The fight would be over before it started.”
“That one might be up for debate.” De Mona raked her claws together and smirked.
Gabriel stared out the window, taking in the sights. He had passed through Queens a time or two, but had never bothered to give it much attentio
n. The Hummer rumbled through a desolate area composed mostly of warehouses and lots. Above them loomed the gigantic letters that spelled out Silvercup. Seeing it brought back memories of The Sopranos reruns and other cheesy things that he had no business thinking about in light of his present crisis. He was possessed by a dead priest, bound to an ancient relic, and wanted by the police. His life had gone into a royal tailspin in the last twenty-four hours, but he no longer had the strength to care. All Gabriel could do was laugh and wonder how much further in the toilet his life would slip before it was all said and done.
“Share the joke. I wanna laugh too,” Asha said.
“It’s nothing,” Gabriel lied.
Asha slid closer to him. “It doesn’t seem like nothing. You’ve been slipping in and out for the whole ride. What gives?”
“I wish I knew.” Gabriel rubbed his arm. “Lately I’ve been having trouble making heads or tails of stuff.”
“It’s the magic,” Asha said. “Ever since I was a kid I was able to do stuff that most people couldn’t, but it wasn’t until I hit puberty that I really got a taste of what was coming. It can be hard when your powers mature faster than you do, and it can often be confusing. The thing that I’ve learned is that it’s an easier transition if you stop fighting and let it in.” Asha placed her hand on Gabriel’s arm and immediately felt the power rush through her. “Own the magic, don’t let it own you.”
For a minute Gabriel allowed himself to find comfort in Asha’s words, but the jolt from the transfer of magic brought him back to himself and he quickly snatched her arm away. “And what do you care? I find it hard to believe that you’re just so god-awful concerned about me when you hardly know me. Just like everyone else I’m sure you’ve got an agenda too.”
