A large tent was set up beyond the closest fire. Lord’s black horse was being tended to by a human woman. She threw a blanket over it, brushed it down, and provided it a feed bag.
Meanwhile the goblins shivered.
Alma lounged at one of the fires and ignored everyone. She shook the last drops out of her wine bottle into her mouth before flinging it away into the dark.
“Get me something to drink,” she barked at one of the passing men. He hurried away and returned with another bottle. She pulled the cork and continued drinking.
Spicy remained too afraid to allow himself to drop to the dirt in exhaustion. There were too many humans about in the flickering orange light and shadows of the fires. Neither of the goblin servants gave him more than a cursory glance as they attended the soldiers.
He massaged his arms back to life. They ached. The arrow was now securely tucked up one sleeve. But what good would it be against the steel cuff on his ankle?
He strained his ears for any words or conversations to indicate why the humans had even come. Lord’s tent was too far away to make out anything.
His mother was dead, he decided. Perhaps his father, too. But he kept the crushing tide of emotion at bay. Thistle still lived, and he had to remain calm if he was to help her—help them—to escape. Rime needed help too, as he remained paralyzed by the day’s events. And then what of the five children?
Spicy knew all of them and their parents well. None of their mothers or fathers had been brought to Sage Somni’s home. Surely they were dead. But even if he could get them all free, was it even possible to evade the humans with so many needing to be cared for, or even carried?
He looked at them and tried to smile. Dill, Flora, Eve, Domino, and Pix. In their faces he saw the same exhaustion and fear he felt.
“Tss,” Spicy hissed. “You’re going to be okay. Do what they tell you. I’m going to help you.”
Only Flora met his eyes. The young girl was soaked through, her curled hair drooping over her face.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said again, and he wanted to believe it.
Later the rain stopped and a few stars peered out from behind the curtains of clouds. Spicy found himself nodding off even as he remained sitting. He had placed his back to Rime. His friend kept gasping as if he couldn’t get enough air.
The five children were all huddled together.
More humans came riding into camp. They carried lanterns and torches and the line of new arrivals looked like apparitions in the gloom. The camp stirred. The riders tied off their horses and filtered in among the other sleepers. Two of the men went into Lord’s tent.
Spicy felt a growing apprehension and strained his ears, but it was impossible to hear any of the conversations.
A goblin waddled past, lugging a bucket that reeked of excrement.
“Hey!” Spicy whispered. “You’ve got to help us!”
In the faint light the goblin’s face was hard to see. His ears bore large ragged cuts and appeared tattered, as if they had been clawed by a mountain lion. He had other scars on his face. He ignored Spicy and continued on, only to return minutes later with the bucket empty.
Spicy reached for him but the chain kept him in place. “Tell me what’s going on.”
The goblin servant said nothing and continued to head for the big tent.
“The girl Lord’s taken is my sister,” Spicy said.
The servant hesitated only for a moment before vanishing into the camp.
Most of the men around the camp had climbed into their sleeping rolls near the fires. But in the dark were others keeping watch. All of them kept their spears and other weapons at hand.
Spicy felt a renewed sense of helplessness. Had his father and the other hunters encountered this lethal force? Had they tried in vain to fight trained men with horses and armor? The one arrow that had found the human named Blades had barely penetrated the leather.
And where had Sage Somni gone? He been packed to leave. His comings and goings had often gone unannounced, yet why had he picked this particular time to set out? Had he known the humans were raiding their lands?
“Rime, you awake?”
“Shhh. They’ll hear.”
Spicy looked around. No one was close to them. “We’ve got to figure out how to get free.”
“No. They’ll catch us. Kill us.”
“They’re going to do that anyway once Thistle tells their boss what he wants. You’ve got to help me.”
“How? I have a chain around my ankle.”
“Same. But I still have the arrow.”
Rime shifted and looked back at Spicy. “So? There’s over twenty-five of them. And you won’t even kill one before they murder you.”
Spicy had only counted twenty. He gently pulled at the chain on his ankle to take up the slack. The nail in the hard root was hammered in solid.
“We both slip away. We run to Turtle Rock or Thousand Groves and get help. The arrowhead is steel. I can pry the nail out.”
He wriggled towards the root and removed the arrow from his sleeve. Every rustle of his clothes, his own breathing—it was all too loud. He began to work the edge of the arrow at the nail. Rime began panting as if he were running.
“Rime, stop it.”
“You can’t…we can’t…please, don’t!”
Rime was no longer whispering but speaking at full volume. He began to make a mewling sound.
Spicy looked around at the camp. Alma was sitting up and looking their way, her white hair radiant even in the firelight. He slid the arrow back into his sleeve.
“The next one of you to make a sound gets thrown into the fire,” she called.
But Rime wasn’t quiet. Spicy shifted over next to him and drew him into an embrace.
“It’s going to be okay,” Spicy whispered into his friend’s ear. Rime began sobbing. Spicy shushed him until he fell silent and his breathing calmed.
They stayed there in a half-sleep stupor until dawn began to brighten the white sunless sky.
The humans struck camp after eating the last of the food prepared the night before. The men stooped near the pot of porridge, each scooping out the cold lumpy breakfast with his own spoon. The game had all been eaten. Alma finished off her bottle and refused when Blades tried to pass her a bowl of food.
Horses were watered and fed.
No one offered the goblins anything.
Spicy, Rime, and the children were roused and their chains connected to the harness of one of the packhorses. They would not be riding but walking. The horse stank. The men smelled worse.
Spicy kept his eye on the tent, keen to catch a glimpse of his sister. Lord’s woman servant was outside, feeding and preparing the black horse.
Thistle appeared. Again she was carrying the satchels of books, which the servant helped place on the animal. Lord emerged next. A few of the men waited and conferred with him. Lord was at least a head taller than all of them. He gave an order. The soldiers hurried to remove a folded cot, a chair, and a table from inside the tent.
“Stand clear,” a man called. The men stood away from the tent.
Something big began moving on the far side of the camp. It was enormous. The humanoid figure grasped the tent by the top and lifted the heavy canvas off the wood frame. The tent poles fell away as the monster slowly folded the fabric into a giant bundle.
A troll.
The humans had a troll, and it was working for them.
Chapter Nine
The troll was almost twice the height of a man.
Spicy had never seen such a creature but had certainly heard of them. Some of the books in Somni’s library listed the animals and monsters that lived in the surrounding lands, describing dragons and trolls in the same manner as deer and mountain lions. Supposedly, a cache of bones they had once discovered while out hunting had been troll bones, if some of the older boys were to be believed.
Huntmaster Sorrel would share stories of such monsters when duly prompted. Accordin
g to him, trolls were rare. The solitary creatures ate goblins and men alike. They consumed everything they got their hands on, but rarely came inland. The race stuck to the waters of the big ocean and lived under the waves, in caves, or beneath sand dunes, like massive trapdoor spiders awaiting suitable prey. The fact was no one knew, and Huntmaster Sorrel’s stories would change with the seasons.
The books were frustratingly vague.
Yet here was a creature with arms like trees, and a narrow misshapen head with an angled nose that looked like a twisted piece of driftwood. The thing’s pale green skin glistened, slick with moisture. A shaggy bush of dirty hair hung around its head. It moved with deliberate precision, collecting the tent poles and adding them to the folded tent. The troll next pulled the load up onto its back before settling to its haunches.
It waited.
Around its neck was a collar fixed to a chain. On its arms and legs were numerous dark blemishes that looked like festering wounds. The nearby soldiers began loading the tent furnishings onto the troll as if it were nothing but another packhorse.
“Pretty neat, huh?” Blades asked.
He had come up behind Spicy without him noticing. He was finishing eating the haunch of a rabbit, taking a final bite before tossing it to the dirt. There was still meat on the bones. Spicy’s stomach grumbled.
“The things you can accomplish when you apply the right kind of force. Best not get too close to old slimy there. He ate two goblins just yesterday and it barely dented his appetite.”
Blades wiped his hands on his trousers before marching off towards his horse.
Some of the men rode off. Lord took Thistle up onto his saddle again. He wheeled his horse about and gave the troll a signal. It grunted and obediently followed. The giant creature had an awkward gait, as if its legs were uneven. The woman servant followed behind the creature with a short metal goad in her hands.
Mounting his own spotted mare, Black Tooth led them on. Spicy, Rime, and the children had no choice but to hurry to keep up.
They paused at midday.
Spicy’s feet and legs were sore and his knees and elbows banged up from having fallen numerous times. Rime appeared in worse shape, having struck his face against a rock while trying to match pace with the packhorse. Amazingly, the children kept pace well enough and only a few times had given in to tears.
The guard with the medallions came around and handed each goblin a biscuit. It was as hard as stone. Spicy hurt his teeth trying to bite down but found that if he sucked on it for a bit it softened enough to chew. He shared his knowledge with the others and soon they were all eating their hardtack, which proved nastier than acorn paste and nearly impossible to swallow. The guard eventually came around again, this time with a half-full metal cup of water. They each took a sip. It wasn’t enough to clear the chalky breadstuff from Spicy’s throat.
“Where are we going?” Spicy asked.
The guard sniffed. “You’ll see when we get there.”
“The children are tired. They can’t keep up.”
“Then they’ll be dragged.”
“Lord will be upset if they get hurt.”
The guard leaned down into Spicy’s face. Spicy prepared for a blow but it didn’t come. “Don’t suppose you know what Lord is feeling any more than the rest of us. Think he’ll notice one more or less gob in tow?”
He marched off. Spicy straightened and tried to calm himself.
“Why don’t you stop?” Rime asked. “He’s angry. You’re going to get us killed.”
“They’re going to do that anyway. If not now, then tonight. Or tomorrow.”
“Then at least we get to live a day longer.”
“You saw what they did to the village.”
Rime glared at Spicy and spoke through gritted teeth. “I saw them kill my mom.”
“But we’re still alive. Thistle needs us. So do the kids.”
Spicy waited for an answer. Rime just nodded.
“I’m scared too,” Spicy said.
Black Tooth had used pliers to attach the chains to the packhorse. He was nowhere in sight. Spicy walked slowly to the back of the animal. It grunted and chuffed and began to shift. Black Tooth came out from behind a tree, buttoning his pants.
“Hey. Get away from there unless you want your face kicked in.”
Spicy backed up from the horse.
Black Tooth checked the horse and gave the goblins a hard look before climbing back on his own horse and leading them along. They fell in with the procession and walked until evening.
The lead horses noticed something amiss first. They nickered and tossed their heads, and a few of the soldiers had trouble getting their animals under control. Near the front, Lord called for the column to stop. Shouts echoed along the line. The woods around them had grown silent and the shadows were running deep. A chill carried in the air. Finally the horses settled down. All was still.
“Can you see what’s happening?” Rime asked.
Spicy craned his neck but the packhorse blocked much of his view. He didn’t dare get any closer to the beast as he was afraid it might bite or kick. But he could see that the trail continued, with trees all around them. It didn’t appear to be a good place to set a camp.
The sharp crack of splintering wood echoed around them. Then a large stump came sailing through the air. It smashed a horse and rider both, knocking them down into a broken tangle of limbs. The impact spooked the closest animals. A man was thrown as his speckled pony bolted.
A thick branch as large as a man flew out of the shadows and nearly took another of the raiders down. He fell from his horse as his animal spun out of control.
“There!” someone shouted.
All attention went to the line of trees to their left. Alma was off her mount. She had her bow strung and an arrow nocked. She fired and in quick succession let off another three arrows. Something in the shadows bellowed.
“Attack! Attack!” she screamed, but the men around her remained in a disarray of confusion. Their horses were in a panic.
Blades came charging forward but his mount suddenly balked, not wanting to vault the thick undergrowth growing up along the side of the trail. From the front of the line, Lord, sword drawn, spurred his horse forward. The black beast crashed up through the trees. Lord let out a shout and some of the men began to dismount and pull their animals back while others brandished their spears. Blades slid off his horse and began clambering through the thicket. A few of the men followed.
Alma urged others forward and then began shouting, “Fire! Make fire!”
Black Tooth ran past them. The packhorse the goblins’ chains were attached to became agitated and started to turn in place.
“Come on!” Spicy hissed to Rime. He moved cautiously forward and placed a hand on the side of the packhorse. The animal ignored him. He pulled the arrow from his sleeve and began to work at the ring holding his chain. The tip of the arrowhead snapped. He almost dropped the shaft as his hands trembled. Rime had gotten closer but was frozen in place.
“Help me!” Spicy said.
Using the remaining edge of the arrowhead, he kept prying. The saddle ring wouldn’t budge. But one link on the chain wasn’t completely closed. He worked at it. The metal of the chain bent before the remaining side of the arrowhead broke. Pulling with all his might, he separated the links and immediately gathered the several feet of loose chain still connected to his collar.
Rime was still secured to the horse. “Don’t leave me!”
Spicy tugged at Rime’s chain one final time but it didn’t give. It had no bad links.
“I have to get Thistle. I’ll come back for you.”
Rime’s eyes were wide but he said nothing as Spicy scurried off. Using the cover of weeds on the opposite side of the road, Spicy ran past horses and men. Thistle had been riding with Lord. He made his way to the front of the column.
She was kneeling in the center of a muddy patch, a similar collar and chain around her neck. In front of her
squatted the troll. It still carried its burden and appeared oblivious to the chaos happening in the forest beyond.
Thistle got up once Spicy appeared. The side of her face was swollen. She held up the chain. “You need pliers.”
“I don’t have any. Are you okay?”
“Never mind that. Hurry, Spicy.”
He examined her collar. It too was metal. He tugged the chain and then saw it was connected to the troll’s belt. The massive green creature was truly hideous now that Spicy was close to it. The last thing he wanted to do was get closer. But he had no choice.
Step by step, he inched forward. The troll let out a sharp sigh that sounded like the bellows of their blacksmith’s forge. There came more calls for aid from the trees. Someone had lit a torch, and soon more torches were being passed among the raiders.
He needed a tool.
Lord had dropped his saddlebags. Spicy went to the closest but only found books.
“This is no good,” Thistle said. “You’ve got to run.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You don’t have a choice. Mom and Dad are dead. If you don’t run, it means we’re all gone.”
Spicy dumped the contents of the bag out onto the ground. He pulled open every side pouch. There was a collection of pencils, but nothing hard enough to pry with.
Thistle grabbed his arm. “You have to run. You have to survive.”
He pored over the chain links. Perhaps it was a trick of his eyes, but one appeared thinner than the rest. He put it in his teeth and began to pull.
His sister shoved him. “Go, you idiot!”
He dropped the chain. From the line of trees, the men were returning. Alma was helping one man along whose leg dragged. The undergrowth nearby crashed. Lord was riding through the dry bushes and was a moment away.
Thistle pushed him again. He felt his breath catch. His eyes stinging, Spicy turned and ran into the forest.
The Goblin Reign Boxed Set Page 5
