by T. H. Lain
“Then we won’t go back to Fairbye,” Lidda cut in. “What are we talking about this for, Jozan? There must be dozens of goblins stuck in there. There could be hundreds, maybe thousands of those spiders or more.”
Jozan’s heart sank. As always, at least to Jozan’s mind, the right thing to do was evident. They needed to continue. They needed to eradicate these spiders before they ranged any farther on the surface, before they established a pantry like this in the village.
But Lidda was right. There would have to be more of the spiders than the two of them could possibly kill. Regdar and Naull were gone-who knew where. They might be dead, at the bottom of a deep shaft if they were lucky, in a web like the goblins if they weren’t. He and Lidda were lost. They’d thought they were going back to the bottom of the shaft but must have gone deeper into the labyrinthine cave. Regdar and Naull could be alive, like them, but lost. There might be miles of caves. They might never find each other, might never find their way out.
Jozan began to whisper, “Pelor grant me the wisdom-”
Lidda had to reach up way over her head to clamp a cold hand over his mouth, but she managed it. He looked down at her, and she held a finger to her lips, her sword dangling upside down in that hand. Her eyes darted away, in the direction of the web, and Jozan could have sworn one of her ears actually twitched like a dog’s.
He nodded once, and she took her hand away, then brought her sword back up and slid the lantern off the loop at her belt. She set the light down on the cave floor and seemed to almost sink into the side of a stalagmite. It was all Jozan could do to keep track of her slow, deliberate movement as she crept ever closer to the web.
Not sure what to do, he stood next to the lantern and waited.
The sound of that pained, desperate wail washed over him. It was the voice Lidda had mistaken for Regdar’s, and it was coming from the web.
Jozan closed his eyes and tried to center himself, hoping to wrap himself in the reassuring presence of Pelor, but he could feel his hands shaking. He hated that sound.
There was a grunt that broke through the low wail, stopping it cold and sending echoes of the two sounds passing each other from cave wall to cave wall. There was a growl that Jozan thought might be Lidda, then another growl, then two rumbling grunts. It sounded like voices-muffled, heard from far away through intervening walls.
Jozan scooped up the lantern and dared to whisper, “Lidda?”
There were two more grunts, then Lidda called back, “Jozan, up here.”
The priest held the lantern high in front of him and did his best to follow the sound of the halfling’s voice. In the time it took for him to find her, standing in front of a wall of webbing, there were at least three more of the grunting couplets, and Jozan realized that Lidda was speaking to someone.
The halfling barked out two harsh, nonsensical growls, then turned to Jozan as he slipped past a stalagmite to stand next to her. A tear traced a curving path down one of the halfling’s dirty cheeks. Her eyes were red, and her face was quivering.
“Jozan,” she said, “you have to help him.”
She turned away, and Jozan followed her gaze to the wall of webs. Stuck there, hanging nearly upside down, its right arm twisted behind its back at such an extreme angle that its shoulder joint, obviously dislocated, bulged under its pale yellow skin, was a goblin-and it was alive.
“His name is-” Lidda barked out a harsh grunt that sounded like it might have begun and ended with a “k” sound.
Jozan studied the goblin. Its-his-skin was wrinkled, and there were splotches of orange and muddy brown showing through its tissue paper surface. Age spots, Jozan assumed. The goblin looked up at him with one bulging, cloudy eye. His other eye was swollen closed, a gray bruise flowering around it.
Lidda pronounced the goblin’s name again, more slowly, and Jozan repeated, “Kink.”
“He is chief of the Cavemouth Tribe,” Lidda said.
“You speak their language?” Jozan asked her, still looking at the pitiful old goblin. “You never told us that.”
“Can you help him?” she asked, ignoring his question.
Jozan hung his mace on his back and crouched down in front of the restrained goblin. He reached out but stopped just short of touching the web. The strands were fine, at least compared to the spidersilk strands of the rope ladder he’d climbed down earlier. The spider that made this web was smaller.
“If we can get him out of the web,” Jozan said, “I can try.”
“You healed Regdar,” she said.
He turned to look at her. Though he was crouching, he looked the little halfling in the eye.
“I can do that again,” he said, “but it will mean one less of another spell.”
Lidda drew in a breath. She was probably going to ask him what other spell might be more important, or tell him that the old goblin wouldn’t last long enough to debate it, but she stopped herself.
“You have a dagger,” the priest said. “We should try to cut him loose.”
She reached to her belt, then visibly sagged. “I threw it,” she said. “It’s still stuck in the-”
She looked at the old goblin, whose one eye rolled up to meet her gaze. The goblin barked out two grunts, then two more, then two more. Lidda listened with narrowed eyes, then grunted herself twice. Jozan couldn’t imagine that was really a language, that ideas could be transferred with these simplistic, guttural vocalizations.
“What did he say?” Jozan asked.
“They keep the spiders for food and…” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not sure, maybe something like ‘livestock’? The spiders turned on them, because of something another goblin tribe did.”
Jozan said, “Keep talking. Find out as much as you can while I try to figure out how to get him down.”
It took the better part of an hour, but Jozan, using the lantern flame to make a tiny torch out of a broken crossbow bolt, managed to get the old goblin out of the web. As he worked, Lidda grunted her way through a halting conversation with the dying humanoid. Jozan brought to mind the prayer that would help him replace one spell with another that would at least begin to heal the goblin’s grievous wounds.
When the old goblin was laying still but alive on the floor of the cave, Lidda said, “He’s speaking a funny dialect and can’t manage the sign language, but I think what happened was-”
She stopped short when a spider appeared as if from nowhere. Jozan went sprawling backward from his crouching position to clatter onto the floor. The creature was on top of the old goblin, and before either Jozan or Lidda could react, it sank its sharp fangs into the old goblin’s chest. There was an awful wet, cracking sound, and the goblin let loose another low, long, echoing wail.
Jozan fumbled for his mace while trying to kick the spider, but he was at an odd angle, wrapped up in his own armor like a turtle rolled on its back. The old goblin went limp, and Jozan knew he was dead. There was a flash of reflected light, and Lidda’s sword came down at the spider. The thing released its grip on the dead goblin and launched itself backward with all eight legs. Lidda’s blade sank an inch into the already dead goblin, where the spider had just been. The halfling barked out a curse that, under normal circumstances, would have made Jozan blush.
Instead, he scrambled to his feet and managed to get his mace in front of his body just as the spider leaped at him. It smashed into the mace, and it took all of Jozan’s strength to keep the weapon from rebounding into his own forehead. The enormous brown spider wrapped its legs around the weapon and clapped its mandibles together, snapping at Jozan’s face.
The priest almost threw his weapon away, then he saw Lidda skip in front of him, dragging her blade along the spider’s back as she went. There was a splash of yellow ichor, and the spider dropped off the mace.
Jozan couldn’t help but smile. There was something reassuring in Lidda’s reaction to the spider on his mace. It was like something Regdar would do.
He looked over to her and said
, “Thank you, L-”
“By the Protector,” Lidda interrupted, still holding her short sword in both hands, looking up into the darkness. “We need to run away-as fast as we can.”
Jozan looked around and saw shadows move and come together and pass through each other. The webs were waving as if in a stiff breeze.
“Spiders,” he whispered.
Lidda grabbed him by the arm and pulled, shouting, “Lot’s of ’em-let’s go!”
***
Regdar hopped up and down in the cold water, moving gradually to his left, but all he felt above him was the same smooth rock. He kept his eyes closed and tried not to imagine what might be in the water with him. His chest burned, his throat burned, his eyes burned… he had less than a minute to live. Regdar was determined to spend that time trying to save his life.
When the darkness behind his eyelids turned glowing red, Regdar was sure he was dying. Was that Pelor’s light? Was it his time to pass into the embrace of No, he thought, don’t give up.
Regdar opened his eyes, and there was a shaft of bright light in the water with him. He could see everything all at once: the water, clearer than any he’d ever seen; the smooth gray-white rock above his head; the slivers of black fish no longer than his thumb; and the surface of the water in front of him.
The shaft of light bounced up and down, and Regdar could see that it was a staff of wood that was somehow glowing with a cold white light. He reached out and grabbed it, and someone pulled the staff up. It slipped out of his hand, but he bounced after it, coming out from under the little ledge that might have been his tomb for the fact that he didn’t know that air was two steps in front of him.
He pushed off the bottom and grabbed the staff again. When his head came out of the water he drew in a deep breath, and his head spun. It was the finest air he’d ever breathed.
“Thank the Lord of All Magics,” Naull said. “I thought you were going to drown.”
Regdar reached out and with Naull’s help managed to get a firm hold on the side of the clear pool. He coughed, hearing and feeling a little water rattle in his throat. He crawled the rest of the way out of the pool. Regdar was shivering and self-conscious in front of the young woman.
He saw that they were in a small chamber at the foot of another waterfall. His eyes settled on Naull’s plain wooden staff, aglow with obviously magical light.
“If you… could do that,” he said, still panting for air, “why… were we… fumbling around with that damn torch?”
Naull opened her mouth to form an excuse but burst out laughing instead. Regdar laughed with her.
10
The caves of the Stonedeep Tribe were cut from solid rock by forces Tzrg couldn’t begin to fathom. Goblins moved into the tunnels a long time ago, but the caves were ancient even then. It was as close to a perfect environment as any goblin could ask for, but it was not without its idiosyncrasies-even dangers. The caves held many surprises for anyone who wasn’t careful where he stepped, even if he could see in the dark.
Only steps from the ksr pit was one of the cave’s most dangerous places: a sheer drop-off as tall as ten goblins. It was as if the floor of the cave just fell away.
A stairway of piled stones had been constructed along one wall so the goblins could move from the ksr pit and the higher caves down into the deeper chambers where the tribe made its nests and kept its females and young. The stairway was just wide enough for two goblins to climb it side by side. The cliff stretched the whole way across the width of the cave-lots more than eighteen feet across.
Rezrex had ordered a number of torches to be lit. They were held by Stonedeep warriors, stuck in cracks on the floor and walls, and propped between stones on the stairway. Hive spiders scurried in and out of the flickering shadows, the tap-tap-tap of their feet mingling with the echoes of goblin voices that filled the chamber. The ceiling was so high that Tzrg had never actually seen it, though he knew it was up there, in the reassuring darkness.
The captured goblins were brought out in groups of five tied to each other by thick queen spidersilk. The whole of Stonedeep Tribe-even the females and young-was gathered around them, with Rezrex watching the whole thing from the top of the tall ledge. Behind the hobgoblin was the ksr pit, in front of him, the cliff. The Stonedeep goblins gathered at the foot of the dropoff, most of them staring up at the hobgoblin with frightened reverence.
Rezrex’s hobgoblin cronies and a few of the Stonedeep goblins hurried the prisoners along, pushing and prodding at them with hands and the sharp points of javelins until they were lined up, more than eighteen of them in all, along the edge. Most of the captive goblins looked scared, and Tzrg couldn’t help thinking that those were the smart ones. He watched Rezrex pacing back and forth behind them, huge arms crossed in front of him, the extraordinary mace swinging from a strap at his back. He held his chin up high in a way that Tzrg had never seen before. There was something about the way the hobgoblin carried himself, not just his size, that commanded obedience.
“You left your females behind,” the hobgoblin said, his voice so loud in the high-ceilinged chamber Tzrg wanted to put his hands over his ears.
The Cavemouth goblins looked down at the floor, most of them purposefully avoiding looking over the edge of the tall drop-off. Tzrg scanned the line of prisoners, ignoring the hive spiders that scuttled across the wall under them, confused by the gathering.
One of the Cavemouth prisoners wasn’t looking down. Tzrg recognized him-his name was Glnk. He’d seen the other prisoners defer to him. Was Glnk their chief, then? Tzrg thought the Cavemouth Tribe’s chief was Kink-a much older goblin than this Glnk. If Glnk was their chief now, his defiance made Tzrg feel weak enough, if he wasn’t the chief, he made Tzrg feel even weaker. It looked like Glnk was going to stand up to the hobgoblin, which was something Tzrg-the Stonedeep Tribe’s legitimate chief-couldn’t do.
“There is no more Cavemouth Tribe!” Rezrex roared.
His hobgoblin henchmen laughed, nodding and sneering at the prisoners. A murmur spread through the Stonedeep goblins, and some faces turned toward Tzrg. He winced and looked down at the floor, then realized that he should get them to look at Rezrex. Rezrex was the chief and would always be the chief. They needed to stop looking to him for anything. Tzrg was just a goblin, just a warrior, just a servant of the hobgoblin invader-just like everyone else.
Tzrg turned his chin up to look at Rezrex. The hobgoblin was pacing behind the Cavemouth prisoners, towering over them, looking down at them with that uncanny self-assurance that Tzrg was sure he’d never have himself, even if he was twice as big.
The hobgoblin caught Tzrg’s eye and lifted one eyebrow. Tzrg’s blood ran cold, but he twisted his face into a toothy smile and pumped both fists in the air. His arms felt as heavy as flowstone, but when he saw the corner of Rezrex’s mouth curl up and the hobgoblin looked away, he knew Rezrex had fallen for it.
The hobgoblin turned his attention back to the prisoners, and Tzrg let his hands fall back down to his side. He watched Glnk, who was in the middle of a group of five prisoners with two tied to each side of him. Glnk kept his chin held high, while his tribe-mates were trying desperately not to meet the hobgoblin’s gaze.
One of the prisoners tied to Glnk glanced at the defiant goblin, then forced his chin up. The second goblin tied directly to Glnk swallowed hard, then did the same. The three goblins, two of them emboldened by Glnk’s courage, gazed directly at Rezrex as if challenging the hobgoblin to notice them.
But Rezrex didn’t notice them, at least not at first. The hobgoblin was too busy scanning the reactions of the Stonedeep Tribe.
“There is only one tribe now,” Rezrex announced. The hobgoblin was beginning to master the sign and body language that made Goblin a more expressive language. “There is only one tribe, and I am your chief.”
A cheer rose up from the Stonedeep Tribe, and Rezrex grinned, soaking it in. He continued to pace back and forth behind the prisoners, his arms still folded in front
of his chest. The goblins he passed behind flinched when he came close. They were afraid of being pushed off the edge. Tzrg had fallen farther into the water, but there was no water under these goblins, just a hard death on even harder stone.
“Bring your females down here,” Rezrex commanded. “Join the one tribe and march with me to unite all goblin tribes. All of them! Everywhere!”
Another cheer went up, and Tzrg cringed again. How could anyone imagine such a thing?
A few of the Cavemouth prisoners looked up but kept their heads down. The lines on their faces softened, and they looked less frightened, almost relieved. More than one head turned slowly but deliberately to their leader.
This, Rezrex noticed. Tzrg watched Rezrex follow the prisoners’ gazes to Glnk, who stood between two of his tribemates, heads held high, looking up to make eye contact with the huge hobgoblin.
Rezrex smiled and said, “You have something to say?”
“Cavemouth fights,” the defiant prisoner said.
Tzrg sighed. He had to respect this goblin who had more guts than sense. Rezrex would kill him-maybe quickly by pushing him off the cliff, maybe slowly in the ksr pit. It was the certainty of that fate that had compelled Tzrg to surrender his own tribe, weeks before.
Any thought that the Cavemouth chief would follow Tzrg’s example faded when Glnk said, “Hobgoblin dies.”
One of the two goblins standing next to the foolish chief smiled and actually had the audacity to laugh. Rezrex laughed with him, his huge, deep, hearty guffaw drowning out the goblin’s defiant cackle.
The hobgoblin strolled over to the laughing goblin, who stood tied to Glnk and three more of his tribemates. Glnk started to laugh as well. Other goblins, among both tribes, glanced nervously at their neighbors and began forcing smiles, ready to laugh along with them.
Rezrex still seemed too far away to reach the laughing goblins, but his foot shot out and pushed Glnk off the edge. Any trace of laughter echoed away and there was only silence for the half a heartbeat it took for the spidersilk ropes to tighten. The Cavemouth chief swung back into the face of the stone cliff and smashed against it with enough force to drive the air from his lungs in a resounding grunt.
