by Marin Landis
Melvekior knew then that this was a dream. He was an adult and never had he worn chainmail at this age, about ten years old he estimated with clarity. The fear he felt when he looked at the corpse of his mother floating before him was real enough. It started off as doubt. Could this be real and his previous deduction a mere folly? What if this was real and his life and travails the actual dream?
A voice emanated from the figure in front of him. Certainly not his mother’s voice and the lips of the cadaver did not move, but it was coherent speech. “Your father is with me now, Melvekior.” The voice was hollow as if spoken from a long way away, not in miles but in time. “As is the man who tried to befriend you and yet you slew him without a second thought.”
From behind his mother he saw his father’s corpse rise up. Limp and inanimate, it appeared as though a puppeteer’s marionette. Over her other shoulder, the bandit whose face he had ruined, the corpse’s face mostly hidden in shadow but glimpses revealed a mangled mess.
“Soon we will have the girl too. You have failed, Melvekior, failed those who depend on you. You could have saved her.” There were more but he did not hear it clearly. His world went wild and he fell to his bedchamber floor, the room spinning.
“The boy, the boy,” echoes of words, hideously spoken brought him to consciousness with a start. He jumped from the hard bed, scrabbling for his weapons until he realized that there was nobody in the hut but he. Must find her, he thought and then took a deep breath. It was a dream, guilt mixed with the effects of the alcohol leaving my body. Utter fantasy. To be ignored.
He almost laughed with relief and was still feeling the euphoria that one experiences when waking from a nightmare, when he reached the Great Forest. Eage is was called and many were the legends of creatures and cities and treasures in its depths. All he was concerned about at the moment were potential outlaws and of course, Tashers, the crown-sanctioned bandits. Despite those potential dangers, his confidence was high as he entered the slowly darkening woods. Until he heard the scream.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Maid and the Goblin
“You can’t kill a Goblin easily. They’re like cockroaches. Strangle them, beat them, you’re wasting your time. The only solution is to separate their heads from their disgusting little bodies.” - Melvekior
Chalonga was Chief of the Goblins. The goblins that lived in the eastern part of the tree country. There were other tribes, but they stayed away because they were cowards. Living in such close proximity to the tall people was dangerous and it took a special type of courage to live and forage there. Chalonga was lucky because he had found a perfect home for his family. A cave well hidden behind walls of thorns and woe betide any outsiders who set foot in his Cave. He had set clever traps that would spell their end.
He had his two most trusted men with him today. Every day in fact. His family was small. There were the three adult males, two breeding females, the shaman, Ukinashaw, whom nobody knew was a male or a female. There were some children too, but until they were old enough to breed he cared little about them. There were more previously under the old Chief, but Chalonga had lured the Punishers to kill the Chief and he took his place. Stupid Punishers. Without them he wouldn’t be Chief, but without them he wouldn’t have to hide. But they were stupid. They had a routine that made it easy for Chalonga to avoid them. Highly intelligent, for a goblin, he was able to deduce their patterns. In this part of the forest there wouldn’t be a patrol until a couple of hours after dusk. Any travelers would be fair game. Any lone travelers or weak looking ones. Many of the caravans that traveled the Great Forest had armed guards. Three goblins weren’t that much of a threat. While they were cunning and hardy fighters, their cowardice was legendary.
They had a spot, on the north side of the trail, that was hidden from the road but afforded a good view of anyone passing. There was a fallen tree on which to sit and rabbit warrens below which allowed them some sport when they were waiting for potential prey. Their favorite game involved keeping very still for long periods of time, incidentally good for staying unnoticed which ordinarily would not have happened, and pouncing on unsuspecting rabbits. Were they semi-clean the rabbits would sense them, but Goblins smelled like whatever they’d been sleeping in, mixed with the foul odors of creatures who have never in their lives washed. For some reason this wasn’t an offensive odor to many small mammals, making the job of hunting rather easy.
Janesca had an epiphany. She would do it all herself. Soria had and if she had to use the same tactics as her best friend, namely exchanging favors for favors, then she would. At least she would be her own woman. And she wouldn’t have to rely on anyone. She especially didn’t want anything from that Knight. She had expected more from him, but he pushed her away, even though she could tell he found her attractive. The way his cheeks went red and he kept sneaking sly glances at her bosom. Most men just stared regardless, so that was sweet.
When he left she stormed over to Fulgrin and slapped him about the face. He was too shocked to retaliate, but he did twist his jaw in pain and disgust, “Just fuck off, Janesca, before I stick a knife in you.”
She didn’t think he would dare, not with her savior in the same building, but she took her cue, ran to her room, grabbed a bag of personal things she had packed ready for a quick exit and then took off down the Caravanway, west to freedom.
The initial rush of anger and euphoria at eventually escaping wore off quickly and she began to fret. She had a total of five silver coins and some coppers, the sibbit that Fulgrin had knocked from her hand earlier was safe in her secret pocket. He’d probably spend hours looking for that. The thought made her smile. She rued leaving yet another job under a bad cloud and still felt guilty for again letting down Mistress Moine who had secured her the position at the Forthcrest Inn. She also rued that she had turned down the opportunity of learning how to ride. She would have stolen the knight’s horse and had a quick ride to Amaranth. She didn’t really understand how big the world was, not having traveled ever, but Amaranth couldn’t be that far away could it?
After an hour of walking she was starting to regret her haste. She should have waited for a caravan and just taken the beating Fulgrin would have no doubt dished out once Melvekior had left. The road was completely deserted, if well cared for and the air was clear, warm though it was and the countryside on either side of the road bare. Fields of long grass, some hills in the distance to the north but not even very big ones. The only sound was the swishing of the grass and the odd bird or insect, but there was something else. A horse. Behind her coming along the road, there might be a rider but it would have been very far away. Melvekior, surely. She didn’t want to see him, so she ducked out of the way, down into a shallow depression at the side of the road and waited a few minutes for the rider to pass.
It was him, trotting by with not a care in the world. Janesca resisted jumping out; she was still chagrined and though she knew it to be the safest thing, for he could hardly turn her away now, she stayed hidden.
Waiting until the hoofbeats could no longer be heard, she emerged from her crouching position and carried on down the road, pausing once for a pee, but making good time. She expected to be in Amaranth by nightfall but noon had come and gone and now it was starting to reach that late point in the afternoon where the shadows grew longer and the weather started to cool. Worried about spending a night in the open she was overjoyed to reach the edges of the woods. Dark and creepy looking though they were, they represented safety to Janesca.
The only thing she had to eat was some dried fish she had stored in her room. A customer had left it and she felt that there was no sense in wasting it. It was dry and salty as she gnawed at it. This was the first time she’d really had to look around and try to appreciate what she had done. A wave of relief flooded her. She’d done something by herself and succeeded. Sure, it was only a half day in the wilderness, but nobody had helped her and nobody had stopped her. Whatever else the day, or any day, might b
ring, she was confident that she would meet it head on.
She stood up, brushing her slightly greasy hands on the grass as she rose and then stopped. There were three figures in front of her. At first she mistook them for children but after a further second she realized that no child looked like they did, lest it were the child of demons. Their skin was green, a dark green; the one at the front had drawings on his skin and then she noticed that he was almost naked. She could tell it was a ‘he’ because of the tell-tale manhood jutting out from between his legs. All three were virtually naked, she noticed, beginning to panic. The features of the trio were just odd enough to be inhuman. The noses too large for the face, the nostrils huge, their mouths almost lipless and their ears were enormous and floppy.
“What do you want?” she managed to squeal. The larger on in the front stepped forward, within arm’s reach of her and sniffed. Was he smelling something? She went to push him away, but he brushed her hand away. He grabbed hold of her sleeve at her shoulder, not in an aggressive way, more curiously. She started to whine and tried to move from the creature’s grasp, but he was stronger than he looked.
The little man beckoned to his companions and they too advanced on her. It became too much for Janesca and she started crying. Her display of emotion had no effect on the Goblins and Chalonga’s men pushed her to the ground and each held a shoulder. It was at this point that she could see quite clearly what was coming and she screamed. The larger one hit her then, his bony little fist, the size of a ten year old’s, cracked into her jaw with more strength than she would have given him credit form. She saw stars and screamed again, a heart-wrenching howl of agony and desperation.
A hand over her mouth silenced her and had little fight left in her. The virtually nude humanoid now stood over her, an odd grin on his ugly face. He fell upon her, a dagger previously unseen in his hand. She felt a rending pain in her side and she gave up consciousness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
All Gone Wrong
“A dwarf can slay a giant. Never underestimate any opponent. Kill him and think about it later.”- Mikael
He burst into the small clearing from where he estimated the scream to have originated. Already dismounted, he trusted his horse to stay where he was left and ran as fast as he could in his chain shirt. He was nearly through the small glade when he noticed the source of the noise. A young woman, lay on her back, her hair dark and her dress darkening rapidly. Straddling her with his hands around her neck was a horrible little creature and a further two dancing obscenely next to her body. She was quite plainly dead, but it must have been her that screamed bloody murder.
“Vermin!” he shouted and moved with the speed of the righteous, lifting his foot at the last moment and kicking the strangling goblin in the back, sending him flying. His two compatriots ran, like the hounds of hell were at their feet. He couldn’t catch them, but the one he kicked was getting up and he now noticed that it carried a weapon. Good, he wouldn’t feel too bad about slaughtering it.
He flew at it and it spun with surprising speed and slashed at him. The knife it carried was about six inches long, poorly made and covered in blood, presumably that of the woman he had just slain.
He brought his chain clad arm up, deflecting the blow and eliciting a yelp from the creature. His blow wasn’t so easily deterred, he fist slamming into the little bastard’s face, snapping the head back viciously. Blood flew from its mouth as it hit a large tree hard and sunk limply to the ground.
Breathing heavily Melvekior looked down at the figure. Was this a Goblin? He’d read of them; a vile and primitive group. Carrion eaters and parasites. Yes, he thought, that’s what it is.
Turning away, he knelt by the body of the woman and recognition hit him like a bolt from the Heavens. Janesca! How did she get here? She must have ran straight down the Caravanway after storming out of the Inn. A wave of regret washed over him. Why didn’t he just agree to escort her? He should have known.
He could feel tears coming but he held back from crying, instead channeling that feeling into something other than sorrow.
A desperate whinny could be heard from somewhere close by. His horse! He jumped up and ran to the road, not fifty feet from the small clearing where now two dead bodies lay. As he neared the path he could see his horse galloping by, his eyes wide with fear, on his back the two Goblins he had chased off, daggers rising and falling in a frenzy of stabbing. They looked to be laughing and jeering.
Furious, Melvekior, sprinted after them, his mount slowing as it lost blood. The horse fell after a last attempt to dislodge the nimble little humanoids, dropping heavily onto his right side, the marauding Goblins leaping away before being crushed, shouting what sounded like Goblin obscenities at Melvekior and ran off into the tree line.
“Oh Mithras, you poor thing,” Melvekior half sobbed. He knelt by the heavy breathing horse, its eyes rolling in panic. “The Sun God take thee!” he said in blessing. He drew his sword and swiftly, horribly, pushed it into the dying animal’s neck beneath its jaw. With terrible force he pushed until he met the resistance of the thick bone of the skull. His faithful mount was mercifully dead. He stood, equine blood staining his armor and cloak; had there been any witnesses his fury would have been plain to behold.
Melvekior strode purposefully back to the clearing, not fully understanding his motivation, but he knew he went for the girl. He wouldn’t leave her to rot. He also wanted to search the dead one to see if he held any clues to his origin. Melvekior fully intended to destroy whatever nest of these disgusting primitives existed in the Forest. Where were the King’s men? Too busy extorting money, no doubt. No wonder his father had such little respect for the Monarchy.
Janesca’s corpse lay where he’d left it. He was relieved and felt a bit silly, she wasn’t about to rise from the dead. He heard a groan and spun around, hand going to his sword hilt. It was her murderer. Still alive and trying to get up.
Melvekior strode over and grabbed the Goblin by the neck as it attempted to lever itself up on its feet by way of the tree trunk at its back. “Where did the others go?” he hissed, not sure why he felt the need to keep his voice down.
The creature made a noise, almost like a growl but also a feeble sort of grunt.
“Wrong answer,” he shouted, lifting the child sized psychopath fully off the ground by its neck. “Where…Are…The…Others?” He bellowed each word right in its face. The Goblin squirmed and squealed in terror and Melvekior felt that he had no other choice but to start choking it. It began to make choking noises so he loosened his grip. “Well?”
“Heads, tree, heads,” is what it sounded like it was saying.
“Stupid beast,” said Melvekior and flung the body against the tree. There was a crack and for the second time today, the body stopped moving and lay as a corpse. Satisfied that it was definitely dead, Melvekior moved over to Janesca’s body. Blood had stopped flowing from the wound, but it had soaked the dress. Deciding not to denude her in death, he wiped off what he could on grass and found some large leaves that made his hands stink, but nonetheless could clear away some of the gore. He picked her up in his arms, much like one would carry a sleeping child and started to move towards the road. He wouldn’t go back, but he’d collect his gold pouch, store his packs and weapons and return for them later. Now he’d take Janesca somewhere pleasant to see her off to the Halls of Mithras. He was extremely upset that this was his fault. She just wanted to find a better life than constantly being threatened with violence and rape and he didn’t help her. He left her to the mercies of those worse than the Innkeep or the dreadful Forthcrest lot. The Forthcrests had visited Saens Martelle on a couple of occasions and he’d found the daughter vapid and the son, who was a few years older then Melvekior, boring and stupid.
He couldn’t make up for that mistake, but he’d do what he could for her now and he vowed to never forsake a woman in need ever again. He lay her on the horse blanket that normally sat beneath his saddle. He had no need for that
any more and couldn’t carry it. It took a bit of work to do it one handed with a heavy corpse over his shoulder but he wouldn’t lay her down on the bare earth of the road. He was sweating by the time he was finished and unclipped his bags, noted the trees and road carefully, walked into the forest for about two hundred yards and hid them behind a large tree. He made an attempt to disguise the bags with some branches but they were invisible from the road which was what he wanted. He returned to the Caravanway and draped Janesca over his shoulder. He had left his sword and shield with his bags so was only armed now with a long dagger, but was so determined to give the girl a decent burial that he didn’t let thoughts of his own safety undermine what he needed to do.
After a mere few minutes, an odd sight caught his eye. A huge pine tree had been stripped of branches to about four feet off the ground. There were numerous axe and sword marks in the tree as though passers by had taken umbrage to the tree and struck it with their weapons. He wasn’t too surprised seeing as there were skulls nailed to the tree in various degrees of putrefaction. He recognized rabbits, a fox or small dog, what he hoped was goblins rather than children, a couple of human sized skulls and what could be a bear, but Melvekior wasn’t sure. There were pieces of bone scattered around as well as some pieces of colored cloth also nailed with small metal spikes in between the heads and skulls.
