The Quest for the Trilogy: Boneslicer; Seaspray; Deathwhisper

by Mel Odom

“It did,” Rohoh insisted. “In fact, we’re not far from it.”

  “How do ye know that?”

  “Because finding things is one of my skills,” the skink answered. “That’s why Craugh put me with this inept dweller.”

  Inept? Wick didn’t know whether to be hurt or angry. He supposed he was both.

  “Ye find things?” Bulokk asked. “How?”

  “By magic,” Rohoh said.

  “Ye’re a wizard?”

  “No. I just have a talent for things like this. It’s more like a—” The skink hesitated. “—a knack.”

  “Like a dwarf what can put his hand on a chunk of iron ore an’ know he’s gonna find something special in it,” Adranis said. “A sword. An axe. A ring with a little extra good luck in it.”

  Rohoh nodded. “Exactly like that.”

  Immediate curiosity filled Wick. Although he’d heard of knacks, he’d never before seen anyone who possessed them. Magic was something that came two different ways: either as a discipline through years of tutelage, or as a more primitive means of tapping into the elemental forces that drove the power. Having a knack for finding magical things only made sense.

  If you accepted the existence of knacks, Wick thought.

  Bulokk didn’t appear convinced.

  “What this un’s talkin’ about,” Adranis told the dwarven leader, “I’ve seen it fer meself. It’s a true thing. Just seldom seen, is all.” He turned and peered down at the skink standing on Wick’s shoulder. “Ye’re a-sayin’ ye can sense Master Oskarr’s axe?”

  “I can.”

  “How did ye get the scent of it?”

  Wick wanted to know the answer to that question as well.

  “Craugh gave it to me,” Rohoh answered. “He knew Master Oskarr and had touched the axe. It was enough to give me the scent.”

  “Even after a thousand years an’ more?” Bulokk definitely had a hard time believing that. “Where’s the axe?” Bulokk asked.

  The skink pointed. “Somewhere inside the mountain. It’s buried in there. But it’s near.”

  Bulokk took a deep breath. “All right, then.” His gaze raked the goblinkin and the mysterious ship. “First things first. We need to see what we’re up against.”

  Wick decided he didn’t like the sound of that. He liked it even less when Bulokk told him what he intended they do.

  “An’ ye,” Bulokk threatened the skink, “no yappin’. Ye talk again before I tell ye it’s okay to do so, an’ we’ll be a-takin’ our chances on findin’ Master Oskarr’s axe ourselves.”

  The goblinkin guards stood their posts but didn’t put any effort into it. There was more activity aboard the mysterious ship.

  Of course, that was where Bulokk insisted they go. Even worse, he ordered Wick to follow him.

  Cautiously, they crept down to the small harbor, easily avoiding the goblinkin guards, most of whom slept or stood in bored groups grumbling about their lot in life. The worst thing (if the constant fear of getting caught was discounted!) was the noxious smells coming from the great cauldrons that continued to simmer over fires in the center of the goblinkin camp.

  Wick tried very hard not to think about what was cooked in those vast metal pots. That was hard to do when he saw the pile of bones—most of them from humans, dwellers, and dwarves with a few elven bones thrown in for good measure—that lay scattered at the water’s edge on one side of the stone pier.

  Lanterns glowed in the stern of the ship, stronger than the moonslight that peered again and again between clouds. Hidden in the shadows gathered at the base of the cliffs where they met the Rusting Sea, Wick hunkered down beside Bulokk and listened.

  Up close, Wick saw the ship was crisp and clean, showing definite signs of immaculate care. The captain and his crew obviously cared about her the way a dwarven warrior cared about his axe. In the darkness, Wick couldn’t make out her name, or even if she carried one. She rode light and easy on the tide, obviously carrying no cargo.

  She carried something into the port, then, Wick thought, unable to keep from puzzling it out. But what? He gazed around the camp and knew at once. She’s a slaver.

  But that didn’t sit right either. A ship that clean, that well cared for, Wick knew from experience that she shouldn’t be a slaver. Ships used in that profession tended to be slovenly and piggish, cared for enough to keep afloat and keep turning a profit, but there was no pride in those ships. No matter what a captain and crew did, they could never wash the stink off such a vessel.

  So who made you a slaver? Wick wondered. And why did you agree? All of the crew appeared to be human. How did you come to deal with goblinkin if you’re as successful as you look?

  After a few more minutes, Bulokk waved them back. Wick went willingly.

  Once more at the foot of the stone steps, Bulokk conferred with Adranis. “We’ve got a two-fold problem,” the dwarven leader said. “I want to find the axe, an’ I’m not leavin’ here without at least attemptin’ to rescue them prisoners.”

  “An’ I wouldn’t let ye shirk on either of them duties,” Adranis declared.

  “The way I see it,” Bulokk went on, “we’ve got to manage both of them things at the same time.”

  “Means splittin’ our forces,” Hodnes said.

  “Not till we get the prisoners to the top of the cliff.”

  “We get them free,” Adranis asked, “how are we gonna get them off the island?”

  “Once we get them free an’ up the cliff, we’ll alert the goblinkin—”

  “Assumin’ they ain’t already been alerted,” Adranis said sourly.

  Bulokk nodded. “Even so. As long as we get ’em clear, it should only take a few men to hold the cliffs against the goblinkin. All we need to do is hold the goblinkin fer a while, long enough for the prisoners to circle around the island. Then whoever holds the cliff top simply has to outrun the goblinkin to the longboat.”

  “Simply, he says,” Drinnick grumped.

  “At the longboat, them defenders will cast off. If ’n we get lucky, an’ the Old Ones are known to favor the bold, them goblinkin will think their prisoners got away in other boats an’ aren’t circlin’ around the island to take their ships.”

  “That’s a daring plan,” Wick said, because it was. “But even if the goblinkin fall for the trick, I don’t think the crew of the black ship will leave their vessel unprotected. They’ll be aboard her.”

  “That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Bulokk stated. “I don’t see anything else we can do.” He paused. “We ain’t got all night, so let’s be about it.”

  13

  Walls of History

  Crouched in the shadows, Wick watched in helpless terror as Bulokk and his handpicked warriors crept across the shadow-covered space. They moved in concert, as if they’d committed actions like this all their lives. Swiftly, each of them targeted a goblinkin guard and brought him down, finishing them all off quickly with their knives.

  At that moment, the risk elevated to the point of no return. All it took was one goblinkin guard checking on another to throw them all into danger.

  “Relax,” Rohoh said, standing on Wick’s shoulder. “Bulokk and his warriors know what they’re about. They’re good at this sort of thing.”

  “You’ve never seen them at work before,” Wick whispered back.

  “I saw them in front of the goblinkin you were preparing the banquet for.”

  “You were the entertainment.”

  “Under protest, though. And if you’d been able to save yourself, I wouldn’t have had to bother.”

  Wick didn’t say anything, caught up in the drama taking place in front of his eyes. In seconds, Bulokk had the attention of the prisoners, then had the locks picked. Adranis took the first one under his care and guided him through the shadows to the stone steps.

  Several of the prisoners struggled to remain quiet as they made their way across the back of the campsite. They took advantage of the massive stone blocks that remained of the city,
making Wick wish again that he could see the ruin in the light of day (which would have adversely affected the escape plan, though).

  Only a few moments later, they began a staggered line back and forth up the stone steps cut into the cliff. Humans, dwarves, and dwellers aided one another in their bid to escape the goblinkin.

  For the first time, Wick thought about how much the rescue attempt was like the Battle of Fell’s Keep during the Cataclysm. He only hoped that this present effort didn’t end so badly as that one had.

  At Bulokk’s direction, Wick joined in with the procession toward the end so they could split off once they reached the mine entrance. He went up and his legs ached with the effort. He couldn’t remember sleeping last night, and now fatigue was hammering him. He truly wished he were back home, safely in bed at the Vault of All Known Knowledge, the only plunder on his mind one of the books from Hralbomm’s Wing that Grandmagister Frollo frowned upon.

  The escape proceeded at a snail’s pace.

  Long minutes later, the goblinkin noticed the escape attempt. It didn’t happen the way Wick thought it would, which was pretty much through chance as a goblinkin went to relieve himself, or happened to glance up while a stray beam of moonslight penetrated the cloud cover and highlighted the fleeing prisoners.

  Instead, what happened was that one of the escapees became too weak and lost his footing about thirty feet up the cliff face. Panicked, the man grabbed the man next to him and plucked him clean from the steps as well. Both of them screamed as they plummeted to the rocks.

  Neither of them moved after they hit. Unconscious or dead, they weren’t going to make their escape tonight. Wick felt badly for them. But only for a moment. Then panic exploded within him.

  “What was that?” one of the goblinkin guards yelled.

  “Something at the back,” another called.

  Hugging the cliff face because he’d suddenly grown aware of how far he had to fall, Wick glanced below, using his bare feet to search out the next step.

  At first, three or four goblinkin started toward the back of the canyon. They took torches from supplies near the campfires.

  “Hurry!” Adranis admonished from above.

  But even though they were afraid of the goblinkin, the fleeing prisoners were suddenly afraid of the climb, too. Doubtless some had fallen while on their way to the mine from time to time.

  The goblinkin guards called out. No answers came. Sensing that something was wrong, several other goblinkin roused from their beds and picked up torches as well. In practically no time at all, a horde of goblinkin had taken up the hunt.

  “The prisoners have escaped!” a goblinkin yelled. “The slave pen is empty!”

  “Over there!” someone shouted. “They’re climbin’ the wall to the mine!”

  Immediately, the goblinkin started for the steps and the fight began in earnest. Thankfully none of them appeared to have bows. But Wick remembered that the human crew aboard the mystery ship did. And they knew very well how to use them. They didn’t leave the vessel, though, presumably choosing to stay aboard and protect it.

  Bulokk and two of his warriors protected the flank, using short-hafted axes and shields to alternately attack and defend. Their efforts slowed the goblinkin attack, but also distanced them from their comrades.

  “Quickly!” Wick cried out. “Quickly as you can! More help is waiting at the top! Quickly!” As he moved, he helped the elderly human behind him, grabbing him once before he lost his balance and tumbled over the side.

  Loose stone, Wick discovered, also made footing more problematic. But it also gave him an idea.

  Adranis reached the mine entrance first.

  Wick thought about passing the mine entrance by and continuing up the steps. It would have been safer to do so, but he wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to see if Rohoh was right about the axe. He stepped off the steps only with extreme reluctance.

  A torch flared to life, causing Wick to jump a little.

  “Well, halfer,” Adranis said, “I see ye made it.”

  “I did,” Wick agreed. But he didn’t know how the dwarven warrior felt about that, or if he felt any way at all.

  Hodnes and another dwarf stood inside the mineshaft with Adranis. The shaft was narrow and long, swallowed up in darkness beyond the reach of the torchlight. Scars from the iron wheels of mine carts scored the stone floor. Four carts lined the wall.

  Wick ran to the carts and peered inside. “Here,” he pointed to the first two. “Pour this one into that one.”

  “What?” Adranis demanded.

  Grabbing hold of the cart, Wick barely managed to shift one of the wheels from the floor. “If you want to help Bulokk and the others, listen to me. Empty this cart into the other one.” Despite the fact that he’d been yelling loud enough that he heard his voice echo down the mineshaft, Wick didn’t really think the dwarves would listen. In fact, he didn’t know to whom he thought he was to give orders.

  Surprisingly, Adranis and the others put the torches aside and helped him lift the cart. Outside the door, the last of the escaping prisoners filed by. The gap opened up between them and Bulokk’s delaying action.

  “To the entrance!” Wick yelled. “Hurry!” He pushed the cart and—unbelievably—got it moving. The wheels creaked.

  With the dwarves’ help, Wick got the cart outside to the steps but he made sure to leave room for Bulokk and the others to get by. They were below, in anvil formation, taking the blows of the goblinkin on their raised shields. A dwarven prisoner filled out the quad formation.

  “Here!” Wick yelled. But he was so scared he felt like he was going to throw up. Despite Hallekk and Cobner’s efforts to train him, he wasn’t a warrior. He was a Librarian. Thankfully, as such, his mind was his greatest weapon. He leaned down and chocked the cart’s wheels. “Come on now!”

  “Axes!” Bulokk roared.

  The dwarves shifted into attack mode and chopped at the goblinkin, temporarily driving them back. A few of them fell, but others fell in pieces. Bulokk and his warriors were merciless.

  “Back!” Bulokk ordered.

  The dwarves moved together, thundering up the steps. Bulokk was bleeding from three or four wounds, but none of them appeared serious. At the bottom of the landing, the goblinkin regrouped and charged up after the dwarves.

  Wick shoved on the cart, rocking it against the chocks. “Turn it over!”

  Adranis and the others helped Wick lift the cart. A cascade of small rocks tumbled free and skidded down the steps. The initial plunge knocked a few of the goblinkin down, but the loose rocks tripped others. They screamed as they fell.

  “Great idea,” Rohoh said, hanging onto Wick’s shoulder tightly.

  “Thanks,” Wick said. He stood watching till the goblinkin got everything sorted and started back up the steps more slowly.

  “You’re not as useless as you look.”

  Wick frowned, but he didn’t let Rohoh’s unkind words rip the glow of victory from him.

  “Maybe you should get into the mine,” the skink suggested.

  A goblinkin threw a club that smacked into the wall only a few feet from Wick’s head.

  “You’re probably right,” Wick said. He ducked back inside the mine entrance.

  A quick glance up the steps revealed that the last of the fleeing prisoners was now disappearing over the crest of the ridge.

  Inside the mineshaft, Bulokk picked up one of the lit torches and wiped blood from his face. He had his shield slung over his back along with his battle-axe, and carried a short-hafted double-bitted axe in his other hand.

  “That was quick thinkin’, halfer,” Bulokk said.

  Wick nodded. “It won’t buy us much time.”

  Bulokk grinned. “Then we’d best make the most of it, shouldn’t we?” He nodded toward the other dwarf. “This here’s Rassun. He knows this mine an’ has an idea about what the goblinkin is after an’ who owns that ship down to the pier.” He nodded toward the mineshaft. “We can talk
on the way.”

  Wick struggled to keep up with the dwarves as they ran pell-mell through the mineshaft. The flames clinging to the torches fluttered and snapped as they ran. Within a short distance, the mineshaft split into three different shafts.

  “Which way?” Bulokk asked.

  Rohoh stood on Wick’s shoulder. The lizard’s tongue flicked into the air a few times. “To the right.”

  “Ye have a talkin’ lizard?” Rassun asked. He was fairly emaciated from his long imprisonment and the harsh life afforded at the mine. Scars crisscrossed his face and hands, offering testimony to past battles and hardships. Gray streaked his long, illkept brown hair.

  “Aye,” Bulokk replied. “An’ one that knows what we’re seekin’.”

  Only a short distance ahead, the mineshaft split again, but this time the choices were up and down.

  “Down,” Rohoh said before anyone could ask.

  Bulokk plunged ahead, holding his torch high. Shadows swirled and twirled around on the narrow walls of the shaft.

  In several places, building blocks and archways—the bones of the old dwarven city that had existed aboveground before the island sank or was covered in lava—showed through. Before he knew it, Wick stopped at one of them and studied the inscriptions he found there.

  There weren’t many words, of course, because the author had been dwarven. Most of the dwarven languages that had existed before the Cataclysm forced everyone to learn a common tongue were abbreviated. Except when it came to forging and armament. In those areas, the dwarven language waxed eloquent.

  The inscription was in the Cinder Clouds Islands dwarven tongue. It was also short and to the point.

  Welcome

  This is Master Blacksmith Oskarr’s Forge

  Metalwork Done Here

  Intruders Will Be Killed

  “Halfer!” Bulokk called. “What are ye a-waitin’ on? Fer them goblinkin to catch up?”

  “No.” Wick struggled to take his eyes from the stone block. He pointed. “This was a warning to everyone who entered Master Oskarr’s Forge. This stone was once placed at the entrance to the master blacksmith’s inner circle.” Drawn by other stones with engravings, he stepped slowly toward them to begin a deeper examination.