Fool's Errand

by David G. Johnson

  “Do you really think—” Duncan had not even been completed his thought before a loud ka-klack was heard from beyond the portcullis.

  “Why yes,” Donovan said through a snarky grin. “I do.”

  They watched as the sound of cranking gears accompanied the raising of the portcullis. Donovan gave the order to proceed cautiously and to attack only if attacked as they proceeded down the hallway. The looks on the faces of the bezrek showed caution and restraint were not popular orders to follow. Nonetheless, the disciplined warriors proceeded cautiously and with the discretion demanded of them by their captain.

  Their caution served for the best as they discovered a concealed pit trap in the floor halfway down the passage. After inspecting the pit, a thin cover was all that separated whoever would cross it from the deadly array of spikes below. There was a narrow ledge along the north wall, which allowed the Durgak to proceed.

  Upon reaching the large chamber ahead, they found two Ogre-sized beds in the room as well as what looked like the remnants of several caravans strewn about. A lone Hobgoblin knelt about ten feet from the entrance with his hands empty and extended in front of him, displaying how seriously he had taken Captain Donovan’s threat.

  The Durgak troops quickly and none too gently secured the Hobgoblin. After binding the prisoner, they began organizing the contents of the room to better assess what all was here. In the meantime, Donovan, Duncan, and Sable sat down with the Hobgoblin captive.

  “Do you speak Adami?” Duncan inquired. The Hobgoblin nodded in affirmation. “Oh good, a smart gobbler. That is both rare and welcome news.”

  “Let’s hope he is smart enough to answer our questions honestly,” Sable said with more than a hint of malice in her voice. “Otherwise I may need to start removing fingers and toes. Slow-learning gobblers generally run out before they figure out how to play the interrogation game well, which leaves me looking for other parts to cut off.”

  The Hobgoblin’s face filled with an odd blend of defiance and terror.

  “Mostly it appears to me,” said Duncan, “that he wants to throw up.”

  “Exactly the reaction I was aiming for,” Sable quipped. “He might be useful now, although I am not averse to removing a finger or two just to make the point if needed.”

  “Smart enough to know Blue Mystic get you for what you do today,” came the Hobgoblin’s reply. “You have me and these leftovers, but everything else already moved. You never catch rider who already gone. You no stop Mystic and plenty more Hobgoblins too.”

  “Well, that is very good to know,” added Duncan, ignoring the threats issued by their prisoner. His subtle motion to the others gave note of his intent of taking over the interrogation for now. “Look, my friends are a little emotional. They lost close friends today, so understandably they are a bit on edge. Fortunately, I am here, and if you will cooperate with me, then they won’t feel the need to get more directly involved in your situation. Do we understand each other?”

  A nod from the Hobgoblin showed his grasp of the good inquisitor, bad inquisitor routine. As long as he played nice, he would get to talk to Duncan rather than the one who threatened to kill him and the one who wanted to start cutting parts off.

  “So what is your name?”

  “Me name Grulik. Grulik subchief of Severed Foot clan.”

  The fact that he was a subchief and probably had to deal with many other clans explained his passable command of the Adami language, which was used for interclan trade and interaction since the subdialects of many clans were mutually unintelligible.

  “Well, Grulik, tell me more about this Mystic. It sounds as though the Mystic is a very powerful mage, yes? Do you know where the Mystic comes from or the Mystic’s name?”

  Duncan hoped his slightly patronizing tone would lure the simple Hobgoblin into bragging and revealing more information than he had intended. Unfortunately, the Hobgoblin was not as stupid as Duncan assumed.

  “Grulik know you being tricksy, but no matter. Grulik tell because Grulik know me dead anyway, and you still no stop Mystic. Mystic promise clan leaders if we help attack caravans for few months, Mystic can start war and win. Once Mystic war done, Mystic help clans unite. Together we destroy Durgak and capture Stonehold. Then clans own Dragon Pass. We tax all that comes and goes through. Then Durgak work for clans and dig nice holes and clans new kings of Stonehold. That all Grulik know. That all Grulik say. You kill Grulik now.”

  Before Duncan could respond, Sable had drawn her sword and prepared to strike the Hobgoblin. Duncan shoved the prisoner hard, throwing him clear of the arcing blade.

  “What are you doing?” Duncan shouted at the scout.

  “Granting his wish,” replied Sable. “He has said what he has to say, and now I am sending him on his way.”

  “You most certainly will not,” Duncan replied, his voice raising to a threatening bellow that even his brother had not heard before. “He is our prisoner and under our protection. My brother has granted him his life for opening the portcullis, and we will not change that because we feel his usefulness is expended. Barring him committing a new offense worthy of death, he will be brought back to Stonehold, questioned, and tried, and a proper court will decide his fate.”

  Sable glared disapprovingly at Duncan.

  “A lot of wasted time and effort to bring him to the end of a hangman’s noose or an executioner’s axe. We know the outcome, why drag it out? On top of that, we get to worry about our own necks the whole way back. If he gets loose, I am certain he will not reciprocate you sparing his life.”

  While the scout probably spoke the truth, it was still not in Duncan’s nature to go back on a promise. He would see the Hobgoblin delivered to the proper authorities.

  “Nonetheless, we do not know the mind of the court, which will also be informed by the mind of the priests. If it is the will of the One Lord, this criminal might be pardoned and may yet come to do good. Just because the bent of the servants of the Ayabim is toward evil, it does not mean that individuals must always and ever act in accordance with the will of their patrons. We will give Grulik that chance.”

  The Hobgoblin listened intently to the exchange, a puzzled look on his face. Duncan guessed the Hobgoblin was trying to understand why this Durgak, whose city he had just threatened with destruction and whose people he had just threatened with enslavement, would oppose his comrade and save Grulik’s life. Donovan added his wisdom to the argument.

  “Duncan is right, Sable. While it is true we might only be delaying his death, he did do what we asked him to do and opened the passage to us. In exchange for saving us the time and effort of ripping the gates out of the walls, we promised to spare his life.” He looked around at his men as he added in a commanding tone, “Unless Grulik takes action to harm someone in this company, not one warrior or scout under my command is to harm him. Am I understood?”

  Nods from all, and finally, reluctantly, from Sable as well, showed the grudging assent to the order given. Despite the clear disappointment in many of the faces, Duncan had no doubt that his brother’s order would be followed.

  It was well into the late night, by Duncan’s reckoning, before they completed inventorying the goods and reconciling what they could from the caravan manifests. They tore out the relevant pages from the manifests, matching the goods still present. There was no hope the twelve of them, plus one prisoner, might be able to remove all of the goods. They decided the best course of action was to destroy the weapons, armor, and kashaph books from the library so that any returning forces might not capture and make use of them.

  One particular weapon set was not destroyed. Sable, having spent some time among the southern Rajiki tribes as a tracker, spotted a unique Rajiki war bow, blue in color, and of extremely fine workmanship. Attached to the front of the handgrip was a pair of double blades extending upward and downward, mirroring the arc of the bow arms. They too were mostly of bluish metal with only the fine bladed edges made of shining bronze.

 
; With it was a beautiful Rajiki quiver sized to cover the whole back. It was a war-quiver and would hold three dozen arrows. Attached behind the quiver itself was another soft leather bag, which could be used as a small backpack without taking space away from a quiver’s arrow capacity. The emblem on the bag matched the emblem Sable had seen on the vest worn by Jeslyn, the young Raijiki archer. It was from her same Blue Arrow tribe, and the quiver still held almost half its capacity in finely-crafted Rajiki arrows all blue from fletching to broadhead. Sable would rescue this fine bow and quiver in order to return it to the young Rajiki.

  They loaded several thousand gold and silver pieces into three chests. While a heavy burden, these could still be strapped to the backs of three of the bezrek. There were few beings with the strength and fortitude, pound for pound, of a Durgak warrior. Beyond that, they made note of the valuable, nonmilitary, treasures left behind so that an empty caravan might be sent later to retrieve them.

  Return of the Berserkers

  Duncan and the weary Durgak warriors slept for several hours behind the secured portcullis with alternating guards watching the prisoner. For Sable, the night was much less restful. In the morning, they packed up what they planned to take out with them and headed for the front entrance. Their friends would be well off for Cyria by now, and Tropham should be nearly back to Stonehold by the time they made it back to the ambush site.

  “That’s the most beautiful thing I have ever smelled,” remarked Sable as they exited the cave and stepped into the morning’s fresh, mountain air.

  She felt as though she was emerging from a tomb after having been raised from the dead. She was exhausted from the restless night, but was not about to show her fear or weakness to her Durgak companions. It would be a long time before she agreed to venture underground again. Scouting in the mountains was what she had been hired to do, not exploring burrows and caverns devoid of the light of the sun and the kiss of the mountain breezes.

  This was where she belonged, but she felt lucky that working for the Durgak had not, in the past two years, required her to venture into the tunnels they so dearly loved. She would have a long, private talk with Captain Donovan once they returned to Stonehold and express to him in no uncertain terms that if this was a requirement of her job going forward, that she would need to resign her service and find work elsewhere. She dearly hoped the kindness and compassion they chose to show the Hobgoblin prisoner would be extended to her as well.

  She had no reason to doubt that it would. Captain Donovan had always been a firm but fair commander and not without passion for the needs of the Durgak under his command. This was part of the reason that his bezrek would follow him anywhere and obey his orders unquestioningly. They would follow him unquestioningly, even if it would cost them their lives. Such honor and respect was rare. Sable was no young pup, and the Durgak were not the first soldiers with whom she had served. They were, however, the best she had ever seen, both in their ability in war and, with Captain Donovan serving as their moral compass, in character as well.

  It was as they suspected. The ambush site was devoid of activity. The ash pile on the south side of the pass to the east of the ramp, where the bodies of the enemies had been burned, was still smoking. Beyond that, there were no other signs of the company. The damaged and destroyed carts had been hauled over to the south side of the pass, to the west of the ramp, leaving the pass clear of obstruction while clearly marking this spot as the site of some significant activity. They would serve as clear markers for any following caravans who would come to collect their goods from the ambushers’ cave.

  En route to Stonehold, only an hour or two east of the ambush site, Duncan and company were met by a small squad of eight Durgak scouts. Leading them was Ragar Truebolt, one of the few Durgak who Duncan counted as a dear, childhood friend. Ragar had stood between Duncan and bullies almost as often as Donovan had.

  “Hail, Duncan Silvermane. I see that beard of yours hasn’t turned yet. Are you sure you weren’t one of the Flamebeard boys switched at birth?”

  Duncan smiled at the good-natured ribbing.

  “As likely an occurrence as there being a Farspeaker or two in your family tree, brother Ragar.”

  The friends embraced, and Ragar exchanged greetings also with Donovan and a few other bezrek he knew well.

  “So are you boys lost?” Duncan continued, “Or you just trying to show up for a part of the glory after the real work is done?”

  “Well, I figured if there was fighting to do, you might need someone more than your brother looking after you. Boring Hobgoblins to death with bad jokes and endless trivia knowledge is a poor substitute for a sharp blade or a well-aimed bolt.” After more swapping of smiles, the scout continued, “In all seriousness though, brother, we were sent out to see if any further assistance was needed. Your scout, Arreya, reported to the high council what happened. We, along with a regular army patrol, met Captain Tropham on their way back in to Stonehold this morning. After he told us you all had set out in search of goblinoid stragglers, we came to find you and see if there were any other loose ends we might help tie up.”

  “Well,” continued Duncan, “we captured a Hobgoblin prisoner we are bringing back to stand trial. Other than that, unless you scouts have started carrying ponies and wagons in your packs, there is not much else you can do. Once we get back to Stonehold, we can dispatch a proper team to retrieve the rest of the caravan goods we found. Unfortunately, we found no survivors of the ambushes and less than a tithe of what was actually taken.”

  They continued the rest of the journey to Stonehold without incident. Duncan was glad to see his old friend, and they spent the rest of the journey catching up on the things that had happened since they had last seen each other. It seemed loquaciousness was one of the traits Ragar shared with Duncan.

  Arriving at Stonehold, they met with Captain Tropham and his men in the guesthouses. Kylor had regained consciousness and was already back with the troops. He refused to remain in the healing houses and face the relentless chiding of his brother for “lying abed all day.” Apparently, the two brothers had taken Kohana with them and gone off to explore the pleasures of the Mountain Spring Tavern. Upon hearing this, the remaining bezrek gained permission from their captain and set out to join the trio. The Adami had a head start, but Duncan was certain that the Durgak berserkers would catch up in no time.

  Duncan sent a messenger with the remaining manifest lists to the Ministry of Commerce along with a request to Field Marshal Bonecrusher that an escorted caravan be assembled to go and retrieve the unclaimed goods still in the bandit caves. Donovan thought it best that he hold onto the coins until a proper council could determine how they might be distributed to the merchants who lost caravans to the ambushers.

  “You are right in your caution, brother,” Duncan told Donovan. “If these coins were turned over to Minister Longnose, handling fees and processing charges would be levied until only the empty chests remained to be given to the hapless merchants.”

  “Aye,” Donovan laughed. “They have already been raided by bandits once, no need to let the renown greed of Longnose and his cronies victimize them a second time.”

  Durgak were generally good and honest folk, but there was something about the heat of battle and the sparkling shine of gold and silver that tended to blind many of Duncan’s people to all other matters of conscience. It was often said that all one needed to turn a Durgak into a Hobgoblin was a pile of coins and a wall of enemies between it and them.

  The following days were spent meeting with the council and burying the dead. There was a great deal of sorrow for the families of the departed bezrek. Duncan took the time to exercise his priestly duties by accompanying Donovan to visit each of the families of the fallen warriors.

  Envoys were dispatched to Aton-Ri with news of the deaths of Captain Tropham’s fallen troopers as well. Tropham and his remaining seven troopers stayed in Stonehold. Until Captain Gideon returned from Cyria, Tropham told Duncan that
his duty had not yet been fully discharged. The hospitality of the Durgak, however, helped to ease the hearts of the Adami soldiers wracked with the loss of their friends and comrades as well as longing for the comforts of home.

  The one bright spot during the waiting days was Duncan making good on his promise to see Kylor through the ritual of The Washing. The Washing was only an outward sign of the inward change, which had taken place in the heart of a human who had turned their heart to faith in the One Lord. There was nothing magical or transformative about it, but it merely served as a witness to others of the intended direction of the believer and was an identification ritual for those who chose to follow.

  “Well, lad, I promised you a river Washing, but with events being what they are, I would be honored if you would allow me to conduct your Washing in the temple to the One Lord right here in Stonehold.” Duncan continued, “Of course if you like, I am sure I could arrange for the high priest himself to perform your Washing.”

  “No,” Kylor responded immediately. “Although I’d heard many of these truths growing up, no one ever helped me put the pieces together the way you did. You invested your time and your care into explaining to me the whole truth. I can think of no one else I would rather perform my Washing.” This sentiment pleased Duncan considerably.

  Kylor’s brother, Bardrick, was less thrilled with this development in the life of his twin. He did not understand why his brother was suddenly becoming religious.

  “Blazes, Kylor, isn’t it bad enough that you learned how to traipse around in tights, shooting things with little pointed twigs instead of sticking with your brother and really learning how to fight? This, though, really takes the cake. Now you are going to join a monastery?”

  “Hardly, brother,” Kylor patiently responded. “The followers of the One Lord are found in all walks of life and all professions. Not only priests and monks serve Him. This changes nothing other than my understanding of where my eternity lies and my agreement to follow what He expects of me as I walk through this world. Perhaps, brother, if you have the time, I would be glad to explain things in more detail.”