The Goblin Reign Boxed Set

by Gerhard Gehrke

  He hiked towards a flat rock surface where he could take in the view. A haze hung in the air. Somewhere beneath it was the Inland Sea, a place he had only read about.

  A lone pine grew from between a pair of boulders. Moss coated one side of its trunk, and its branches were thicker on the other side. An imperfect but general guide, he knew, as the sun wasn’t visible. The moss marked north, and the denser bark on the tree marked south. The sea lay to the east. That placed the road down the hill to his south. It led to the sea, but it didn’t run in a straight line. Other sections of ridge were in view all around him, green with trees and white with granite.

  The road wound between it all. This region of the Fallen Ridges held multiple bogs. Mire Linda, the area was affectionately called by those who didn’t live there. The men on horses might be slowed even with the benefit of the rutted trail.

  Even as his idea formed, he renewed his search for the stream’s origin and for Hog.

  An hour later he came upon a clear blue lake. The water rippled. Her footsteps led to the shore. After a few minutes, Hog rose up and spat a jet of water before chewing.

  She ignored him as she again sank into the water.

  Spicy walked the shore of the lake and began plucking at some of the water lettuce with its yellow flowers. He chewed the leaves. Further along was a chinquapin shrub with enough tiny nuts to settle the grumblies in his belly. All the while Hog rose and dove every few minutes.

  He lapped up some water until his thirst was quenched, then rested on his heels. Hog finally waded out of the water. A long belch erupted from her throat.

  “You have enough to eat?” he asked.

  “You have more?” she asked.

  “I certainly do not. I don’t suppose you caught any extra.”

  She looked to her left and right and back at Spicy.

  He sighed. “I didn’t think so. Look, Hog, if we take too long we won’t catch up with the humans. I know you have to eat. I’m hungry too. But there’s a chance if we keep going straight for the sea, we can turn this into a shortcut. The road they’re on heads further south through marshy hills. But for us to close the distance, it will mean we go over more hills and through more trees.”

  “Done eating,” she said.

  “Good.” He stood and pointed east. “That’s the direction we’re going. You lead and I’ll follow. Just make sure I can keep up.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Once she got going, Hog moved quickly.

  Spicy had to hurry to follow as the troll forced her way through the thickest undergrowth with casual disregard for slashing tree limbs and treacherous footing. Any obstacle she couldn’t move, she climbed. She slid down embankments and rarely waited to see if Spicy managed his descent without harm.

  He chewed pine tips as he went, and even found a few snails, which he slurped greedily out of their shells. He desperately wanted to wash the crusted dirt from his hands and face and elbows. But keeping up with the troll meant not stopping. By evening he was beyond exhausted, trotting along as best he could in the fading light.

  They had ascended another hill, and Hog had stopped at a cluster of stony slabs. She was leaning against a giant rock. As Spicy caught up to her he heard her snoring softly.

  “This is where we’re bedding down?”

  She didn’t answer. He searched for a flat piece of dirt or sand where he could curl up. The top of one boulder proved suitable, and the surface was surprisingly warm from the day’s sun. Before he knew it, he was asleep, and he only woke a few times at the sound of nearby coyote howls. The pesky predators kept clear of the goblin villages most of the time and were hunted if they persisted. But the animals could be dangerous to a lone goblin.

  The vibrating snorts coming from Hog were suddenly comforting.

  At dawn, Spicy slipped as he descended the slabs. He landed on top of the troll.

  “Could carry Meat,” Hog said as she picked him up and placed him on solid ground.

  He studied the troll. Many of her wounds from the humans were completely gone, but she had dozens of fresh abrasions from the previous day’s travels.

  “That’s okay, Hog,” he said. “Just lead the way and I’ll follow.”

  Without any further discussion, she began to cut a path.

  Three mornings later the Inland Sea came in view. It was still a distance away, beyond the tallest crowns of the trees below, but he could see the pale blue water stretching away out of sight.

  Spicy’s stomach was tight and he was tired of hearing it complain. The mushrooms, snails, and termites he had gleaned had sustained him, but he could have eaten an entire whitetail by that point.

  Hog’s belly grumbled too, and she had grown sullen, rarely answering when spoken to. Spicy had caught her eyeing him on more than one occasion. But now they were close to the sea. More fish were within reach.

  They descended their final hill by late afternoon. After crossing several miles of relatively easy swampy grassland, the smell of briny water greeted them.

  A muddy, sunken roadway ran along the shore. Spicy searched for distinguishable footprints but didn’t see any. Goblins used carts but so did humans. The road was no doubt used by both.

  He was no longer in Athra and was venturing into lands unknown.

  They headed south. The road ran through high grasses and was flooded in many areas from runoff or the tide. The road leading down in that direction over the Fallen Ridges would take them to the shore.

  Gulls circled. The white birds weren’t unheard of up in the hills, but Spicy had never seen so many.

  Strange trees grew partially submerged in the mire along the shore. A wide sandbar stretched along the edge of the water, where several goblins were at work. Racks of drying fish were set up alongside an overturned skiff.

  “Wait here,” Spicy said. “You’ll scare them. We need to know where we are and if they’ve seen anything.”

  Hog got down to a crawl and crept up to the edge of a dune so she could watch. Spicy walked across the sand towards the goblins. There were three girls, one about his age and two who were younger.

  “Hello!” he called.

  All three looked up. Then all three ran. The two youngest fled down the beach and were quickly out of sight, but the oldest wasn’t able to move as fast. Her gait was a side-to-side series of short hops forward as she struggled to keep moving using the sides of her feet.

  “Hold on, wait a sec,” Spicy said. He caught up with her and grabbed an arm. She uttered a wordless cry and yanked free but then stumbled to the sand. Her eyes were wide, her arms raised to protect herself, and she kept yelping, like a choked scream.

  Spicy crouched and raised both palms to her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The goblin girl kept trying to scramble back. She had dark tattoos under her lips and on one yellow-green cheek. Her mouth was partially open, and he saw her tongue had what looked like a loop of steel piercing it. Then he noticed her feet. Both were curled in like an insect’s claw. The bones under the skin appeared misshapen.

  “I just want to talk to you,” he said.

  But it was no use. She was in a complete panic. Struggling to rise, she again began her awkward flight. Spicy watched her go. Several bundles of nets were stacked near the skiff. The girls had been working on one net, as there were spools of fabric and bone needles left on the sand.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. She was his age, yet her malformed feet spoke of some malady he wasn’t familiar with. And what of the tattoos and the ring in her tongue?

  An adult goblin appeared, heading his direction from down the beach. The girl with the misshapen feet was just making it to him and passed him by. But he continued straight for Spicy.

  Spicy stood erect and gave a wave. The gesture wasn’t returned. The goblin had long wisps of white hair that dangled down over his bare upper body. Numerous metal rings hung from the skin of his chest and nipples and he wore more in his ears. A thick metal-banded cudgel was in hi
s hand.

  “Hello, I’m Spicy. I’m visiting from Boarhead in Athra.”

  The goblin just scowled as he looked Spicy over.

  Spicy began to back up. “I saw the girls working and I came over. I didn’t mean to scare them.”

  A low growl came from the man’s throat.

  “I just…I just need to ask directions. I’m looking for a large party of humans on horses. Soldiers.”

  The goblin finally spoke with a raspy voice. “No humans here. Just goblins.”

  “Oh, phew. That’s a relief. These humans, they attacked our village, and at least one other. They’ve killed—”

  The shaggy goblin made a chopping gesture with his free hand. “You don’t belong here. You frightened my slaves. Made them stop working.”

  “Your slaves? What do you mean?”

  Before Spicy could react, the goblin grabbed Spicy’s wrist. He prodded his stomach with the tip of the cudgel.

  “Soft. Fat. Good bones.”

  Spicy shoved at the man but his grip was solid. “Let go!”

  The cudgel went to Spicy’s mouth. “No mark on you. You’ll need training, to be sure. And if you can’t sew or fish, Chock will find someone who will pay for your other uses.”

  Spicy began to jerk and scream.

  “A ring in the tongue for discipline,” Chock said. “A hobbled foot for obedience.”

  From the nearby sand dune came a low grumble and the thud of heavy footsteps. Chock let go of Spicy and began backing away as Hog came ambling towards them. He dropped the cudgel and ran. Hog rushed past Spicy in pursuit.

  “Hog, no! Wait!”

  Chock stumbled across a running stream that fed into the sea. Hog leapt forward and landed on top of him.

  “By the moon,” Spicy whispered and turned away. Even covering his ears, he could hear it when Hog fed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Goblin fishing boats were heading to shore.

  Hog had been surprisingly quick with her meal and she followed as Spicy urged her towards the shadows of the nearby trees.

  “Not good,” he said, and kept repeating himself.

  He led the way towards the road, all the while watching their back. The boats would be on shore in minutes, and it wouldn’t take them long to find what little remained of Chock.

  Hog was making wet sounds with her mouth. Spicy didn’t want to look at her.

  Through a break in the trees he spotted several small huts. These were rough structures with no symmetry of craftsmanship, walls of sticks, and clumps of brown mud and straw forming their rooftops. No one was in sight.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Spicy hurried along the road. The further they made it from the village the better.

  “Meat angry.”

  “Is that a question? Yes, I’m angry. You shouldn’t have done that. I would have gotten away from him.”

  Hog didn’t comment but kept up as Spicy trotted along. The road passed through enough wooded territory that they could easily hide if anyone came. But no one did.

  A few hours later Spicy hiked up a small hill, where he climbed a tree. Much of the shore to the south was obscured. He saw a trickle of white smoke in the distance. More gulls. A few crows were navigating the air and circling where the smoke rose.

  He shimmied back down. “Smoke. Another village, maybe. Or it’s a human camp. But this time you’re going to stay hidden.”

  “Meat gets into trouble.” She put a finger to the ground as if to draw the stick figures.

  “Just stop. We can’t go together, Hog. You have to wait. I’m small and can be quiet. Do you understand?”

  Hog just stared.

  “Good. It’s settled. This is as good a spot as any. You’re going to wait here and I’m going to go down there. I’ll be back.”

  She began poking at a tree branch and watched the needles fall. Spicy just shook his head and let out a sharp exhale. Without another word, he marched downhill. Even if he managed to save the others, what would stop Hog from eating all of them once he helped rescue her husband? In what world was two trolls better than one?

  The road was quiet. He focused on the silence, as even the birds had grown still.

  From the ground came the percussive beats of horse hooves.

  Spicy climbed into the bushes and waited. From the direction he was going came a half dozen riders. He held his breath as they thundered past. All humans. They carried no baggage and no goblins rode with them. But they carried weapons, wore capes, and appeared to be of the same band that had attacked Boarhead.

  He got back on the road. He jogged along for about a mile towards the line of smoke. From up ahead came the sound of more horses. Their loud snorts carried in the quiet air, but they weren’t on the road. Past a turn was a field with thirty of the animals. They were unsaddled, and the pasture where they were munching grass was roped off. He got low and crawled closer.

  A dog barked. He froze.

  There weren’t many dogs in any of the goblin villages. For some reason the animals were hard for goblins to train. They also ate too much and smelled. But humans never had a problem with dogs or horses. He knew that like coyotes, domestic dogs could detect scents and had remarkable hearing. Some of the larger ones Spicy had seen were as tall as he was. The horses appeared unperturbed by the barking.

  At the far side of the field he saw people moving. From his vantage he couldn’t see who they were or how many. The dog sounded like it was closer to the road, which meant by leaving the road he could avoid it. But the only other cover was the grass in the field. That meant getting closer to the horses.

  He tried to breathe as calmly as possible as he crawled forward. One of the horses nickered. The animals were clustered together among tall growths of mustard and darnel. Their dung lay everywhere and Spicy carefully avoided it. He could hear men speaking, and one shouting orders. He was passing the nearest horse when the dog started up again. The animal sounded savage and vicious, and it gagged as if it was straining against whatever held it in place.

  Spicy paused to listen. Then, directly in front of him at the rope marking the pasture’s perimeter, a human stood from under a pine tree.

  “Quit it!” the man ordered.

  The dog fell silent, but only for a moment. Soon it barked again. The man marched down the line of trees and Spicy heard a sharp yip.

  “Dumb mutt.”

  The man returned to his post but remained standing. He banged a pipe against a tree before loading it with something from his belt. He walked out of sight, but just as Spicy again started to move, the sentry reappeared. His pipe trickled smoke. The smell of pungent herb drifted toward Spicy.

  “Smoking while the rest of us are working?” a second man said, coming up to the sentry.

  “I’m watching the horses. Don’t like it? Take it up with Alma.”

  “Laggard,” the second man grumbled before departing. Around his neck he wore a goblin medallion.

  So these were the raiders who had struck Boarhead. At least some of them. But from his location Spicy couldn’t see far enough through the trees to spot Lord’s tent to know for certain. What if they had all split up? He needed to get closer.

  Dropping to his belly, he inched forward until he was just underneath the rope line.

  The sentry was oblivious, leaning on a pine and puffing away.

  The humans had five large, flat boats that were being loaded with gear, including the folded-up tent. The captive troll was hauling an armload of saddles to the back of one boat. Moving among the men was Alma, her white hair unmistakable.

  “All right,” she barked at a group of men. “Let’s bring the horses over and get them loaded.”

  The gang of workers headed in Spicy’s direction. He rolled into a clump of thistles. The workers untied a section of rope and led the horses away by the reins of their bridles.

  They were getting ready to depart.

  His heart began to race. There was no time to summon Hog. She was too far away.


  The sentry had his back turned. One man led a horse past the cluster of weeds where Spicy hid. Spicy rose and trotted along on the opposite side of the animal and then dove forward to the cover of another tree.

  The camp clearing had a massive fire ring lined with stones. The goblin slaves, along with a couple of the humans, were packing up bedrolls. Just past the fire were the five goblin children and Rime, still chained.

  They were alive. He felt a rush of relief even as he looked for Thistle.

  A few of the men idled nearby, speaking softly, their spears and bows at hand. Blades was with them, as was their doctor, Medico. Blades paced about, staring at each horse as it was loaded and scraping at his thumbnail with his knife.

  Lord’s voice boomed. “Either you’re lying now or were lying yesterday.”

  The group of guards went silent.

  Lord appeared, dragging Thistle along with him towards the fire ring.

  “It’s true!” Thistle cried. “When the symbol is at the start of a sentence, it changes the meaning. It’s just a rule of grammar!”

  Lord went to where the children were huddled. He hauled Rime to his feet and smacked him. Thistle screamed. Rime was dazed but fought to remain standing. Blades wandered closer, a grin on his face.

  “The next time you lie, Blades takes one of his ears. And then a finger.”

  “I’m telling you the truth! Give me the book.”

  She pulled a book from Lord’s hand and opened it and pointed. “‘The Spirit Rock is the holy heights,’” she read. “‘And beyond where two of us gather, the holy treasure is with us.’”

  “Enough of this riddle,” Lord said. “What does it mean?”

  “Treasure, spirit, it’s the same symbol. While it can mean gold, it can also mean anything precious, like spiritual things, truths, knowledge.”