by Dorian Hart
“High fever,” she said. “Which is not surprising given that his leg is infected. We haven’t been cleaning it properly in our attempt to conserve water, though I doubt anything we do now will be enough.”
“He needs medicine,” said Certain Step, “or eventually he’ll have to lose the leg, and if it comes to that, we don’t have the means to keep him alive.”
Even after all this time, after all the good Dranko had admittedly done, Grey Wolf felt mostly annoyance. Why in the gods’ names had Abernathy summoned a goblin-touched to be one of them? Hadn’t there been a human channeler available? If not for Dranko’s heritage, the people of Culud wouldn’t have shot him, and they wouldn’t be in this mess.
And if his injury had gotten that bad, why had Dranko not called more attention to it before now? Grey Wolf admired stoicism and grit as much as the next man, but Dranko’s unwillingness to admit the severity of his injury had landed them in a right mess.
“Should we go back?” asked Ernie. “We can sneak back into Culud, get some water from the lake, maybe steal some medicine—”
“No.” That wasn’t an option. “We’ll carry Dranko until we find water down here.”
“That will only delay the inevitable,” said Step. “Without something to cleanse the infection, he’s going to die. Maybe he has a week.”
Kibi reached down and hoisted Dranko up onto his shoulder with little effort. “He said channelin’ for himself was dangerous, but maybe not impossible. If it comes to it, he’ll try that before we let ’im die. Someone else’ll have to carry his pack. Now let’s find that water.”
On they went. Kibi, never a fast walker, moved even more slowly with the burden of Dranko’s unconscious body. But he still could go faster than Dranko had been moving, hobbling on his cane. For another hour they trudged through the damp stone warren of caverns and tunnels, always hoping that each corner would bring them to the ever-louder river and not into a patrol of goblins.
Just as Kibi muttered that he’d have to stop for a rest, they came upon another branching of ways in a small cone-shaped cavern. One of the ways out stretched straight east (though how Aravia still knew that, given all the twists and turns of the last few hours, Grey Wolf couldn’t begin to fathom). The water was obviously louder in that direction, so loud in fact that it seemed impossible they weren’t practically on top of it.
From the western passage, far off but clear over the noise of the river, came the sounds of voices mixed with other noises. The voices weren’t growing louder, but there were many of them, as though a large crowd was gathered in the distance.
As they strained their ears, the sound swelled to something like a rough cheer. Were they goblin voices? They were too far, too faint to tell. The cheer died down.
“We’ve caught a break,” said Grey Wolf. “Sounds like the goblins are that way, and the way we want to go is directly away from them. But the echoes could be tricky in a place like this. If goblins are close enough for us to hear, they could be anywhere. Kibi, can you go a bit farther? I don’t want to stop here.”
“Few more minutes, sure.”
They took the eastern passage, a narrow twisting corkscrew of a tunnel that wound steadily downward. Behind them the clamor of voices receded until it was consumed by the increasing noise of water. A trickle of hope found its way into Grey Wolf’s heart. Maybe there was only one goblin city, and they were now moving away from it, toward the eastern edge of the mountains. Perhaps the gods were giving them another break.
A sound like a rocky landslide boomed down from the dark distance ahead, its grinding crash sounding even over the unseen river. Other sounds soon followed—voices?
“Did you hear that?” asked Ernie.
“Morningstar’s in trouble,” said Tor. “Come on!”
“Pewter says to run forward, swords out, ready to fight!” Aravia’s voice was sharp.
Fight? “Is Morningstar hurt? What has she found? Goblins?” But Aravia was already dashing forward, light-rod bright in her hand. “Damn.” Grey Wolf drew his sword and followed, heart pounding.
Fifteen feet later he emerged into another large cavern.
There was water.
There was a goblin.
And, gods help them all, there was a giant lizard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ernie drew Pyknite and held his light-rod out before him. The next five seconds were a nightmarish mixture of sliding shadows and fierce apprehension. Ahead of him Grey Wolf abruptly shrunk, but Ernie realized (just in time to avoid sprawling onto his face) they had reached a short downward flight of stone steps.
In front of him, Grey Wolf and Aravia had pulled up short, staring at a bizarre, frightening scene. At the far side of this new cavern, perhaps forty feet distant, a shimmering lizard the size of a large wagon pawed at a pile of boulders that rested in a noisy, swirling pool. Its scales were a greenish-black, its humped back ridged with little knobs. See, I was right!
A man—no, a goblin, complete with green skin and protruding tusks—was just picking itself up from the ground. It focused only on the lizard and whatever it tried to reach.
“A goblin fighting a lizard,” said Grey Wolf. “I can’t say I won’t enjoy watching. But get ready to back up if the lizard comes at us. It won’t fit in the tunnel we just came from.” Grey Wolf had to shout to be heard over the noise of the river, which they still couldn’t see, but which must have been just beyond the cavern wall. Water poured down from a crack near the ceiling, forming a large and relatively calm pool. At the pool’s far end, the outflow vanished into a low gap in the wall.
The goblin, brandishing a short blade in one hand and a bright torch in the other, limped over to the lizard, screamed at it, and stabbed into its flank. The beast spun rapidly, smacking the goblin hard with its long tail and sending it spinning away. The torch flew out of the goblin’s hand, briefly illuminating the rubble. Its blade remained sticking out of the lizard’s scaled body.
The scene was lit in part by the goblin’s torch—now on the ground—and otherwise by the light-rods held in the hands of Horn’s Company. But Ernie had caught a glimpse of what the lizard reached for beneath the boulders, lit up clearly for just a second by the torch before it was flung aside.
Could be the turtle’s nose. Could be the turtle’s nose.
He rushed across the cavern, barely keeping his footing on the spray-slick rock, and hacked with all his might at the body of the lizard. The creature tried the same maneuver it had done with the goblin, twisting its body and sweeping with its tail, but Ernie was ready for that. He jumped over the tail as it swished past. Though he stumbled on the landing, one foot sliding out beneath him, he quickly regained his balance and thrust again with Pyknite. The blade easily pierced the lizard’s scales, drawing a gush of thick, black blood.
This time the lizard turned all the way around, so quickly that, like the goblin, Ernie lost hold of his weapon. The creature’s narrow reptilian head was as big as a barrel, and when it opened its mouth, its sharp teeth gleamed in the light of Ernie’s rod. Its eyes were black and dispassionate, but its body language suggested it was about to lunge and bite Ernie in half. Ernie rolled to the side as the jaws snapped down; it caught the edge of his shirt, which ripped away in its teeth.
Still not the turtle’s nose.
Tor flew into Ernie’s field of view, slashing downward with his sword and opening a bloody rent in the lizard’s side. The creature let out something halfway between a screech and a bellow, loud enough to be heard clearly over the thundering water. It swatted at Tor with a foreclaw, which Tor instinctively blocked, but such was the lizard’s strength that Tor was bowled over backward.
Morningstar had moved up as well and slammed her mace into the thing’s face, denting the scales on its cheek. It turned to face her, tried to bite, but she ducked and rolled away. This exposed Ernie’s sword; without thinking, he leapt, grasping its hilt with both hands. The lizard reared up just as Ernie worked it free. Pyknite aga
in slipped from his hands and landed in the pool. Ernie dropped five feet and landed hard, scraping his elbows and knees bloody. The lizard brought its legs down, one pinning Tor’s ankle, the other raking across his chest. Tor’s mouth opened in a scream, though all Ernie heard was the river’s din.
A small boulder flew out of the shadows and bounced off the lizard’s neck. Whether Aravia had arced it or Kibi had thrown it, the lizard didn’t seem bothered, but the beast did turn its head in that direction, bringing its face directly into Morningstar’s mace. She struck it hard in its left eye.
That was enough for the lizard. It shrieked one more time, turned, and scuttled toward the wall of the cavern near the back of the pool. And then it vanished; what Ernie had taken for a shadow was actually a hole knocked in the wall.
Ernie lurched to his feet but stopped short in his rush to the pile of boulders. Grey Wolf stood in the center of the cavern, his face lit harshly by a fallen light-rod, his sword arm raised. The goblin lay at his feet, on its back, an arm raised to ward off the blow.
“No! Stop!” Ernie ran even as he shouted, knowing that his voice wouldn’t be heard over the river’s tumult and that Grey Wolf would probably ignore him either way. As Grey Wolf brought down his weapon, Ernie rammed his shoulder into his side, sending them both tumbling to the wet stone ground.
Grey Wolf got to his feet first, a terrifying look of fury on his face. He stepped again toward the goblin. “If we let it live, it will warn the other goblins and we’ll be finished!”
“No!” Ernie grabbed at Grey Wolf’s ankle, but his blood-slick fingers slipped free. He shouted as loud as he could to be heard. “Grey Wolf! You can’t! You’d be killing it—killing him in front of his own child!”
The goblin groveled, still prone on the ground. Grey Wolf raised his weapon again; it trembled in the air. Had Grey Wolf heard him?
“That’s what the lizard was trying to dig out from those rocks! There’s a goblin child in there.”
The goblin mouthed words that were lost in the din. Grey Wolf raised his sword arm another inch, as though he had made up his mind to kill the goblin regardless of circumstance, but he didn’t bring it down. His face contorted in something like frustration, and he let his blade fall to his side. “Morningstar,” he said, for she had approached, weapon out and ready. “Keep it from escaping, but don’t kill it yet.”
They stopped first at Tor. Step knelt over him, blotting his chest with cloths.
“Get me Dranko’s things,” said Step. “Tor’s wounds need attention, but we’re out of disinfectants. I should stitch up the worst of these gashes.”
Everything they said, they shouted, just to be heard over the rushing water.
Aravia dashed over to Dranko’s unconscious body, still guarded by Kibi, and returned with Dranko’s pack. Ernie stared at Tor’s bloody shirt and murmured a quick prayer to Pikon, Delioch, Kemma, and any other god who might be listening. Then he hurried toward the rocks and the pool.
Directly beside the lizard’s hole was a pile of loose rocks and boulders, half of which had settled into the pool. Ernie reached into the water where Pyknite had landed, terrified it had washed away, but his fingers found its hilt and he pulled it out, dripping. It quivered slightly in his hand, and he imagined that it moved itself slightly to point directly at the child trapped in the rubble. Hastily he returned it to its sheath and held up his light-rod. In a cavity inside the heap of boulders cowered a goblin boy, his skin a light green and his tusks even smaller than Dranko’s. His eyes might not be human, but they showed a childhood terror plain as plain.
“The lizard has gone,” shouted Ernie. “It’s safe for you to come out!”
The goblin child squirmed and scrabbled at the rocks, but his ankle was firmly wedged.
“Papa!” he shouted. “Where is Papa!”
“He’s safe,” Ernie assured. “We’ll get you out of there. Try to hold still so the rocks don’t shift. Are you in pain?”
“I’m stuck! Where is Papa?”
Grey Wolf put a hand on his shoulder. “We should leave it. If we’re not going to kill the goblins, here’s what should happen. We tie up the father, but loose enough that it’ll eventually escape. Let it rescue its own son. Or maybe other goblins come this way and will rescue them both. But that will give us time to put as much distance behind us as possible.”
Ernie was aghast. “But what if the lizard comes back, or a different one? It’ll eat them both!”
“You’re right,” said Grey Wolf. “It would be kinder and quicker to just kill them now.”
There was no appealing to Grey Wolf’s better nature. Ernie looked quickly around the cavern. Kibi still guarded Dranko’s unconscious body. Step was sewing up Tor’s bloody chest. Morningstar stood over the goblin father, holding her mace near his face.
“Where will we go?” Ernie asked. “There’s no other way out of here, unless you want to follow the lizard back to its lair. And Dranko’s going to need a healer, someone with more knowledge and resources than Certain Step. We need to help these goblins because we need their help in return.”
And also because a child is hurt and scared.
Ernie waited for Grey Wolf to fully realize what he suggested. He knew the moment from the way Grey Wolf’s face twisted up.
“No. No! You cannot possibly be considering turning to the goblins for aid. They’ll kill us. They’re savages. Brutal savages.”
“How are you so sure? You said you’ve never met one.”
They stared at each other for what felt like a long time, hearing only the roar of the river. Finally Grey Wolf swallowed hard and took a step towards him, so that their faces were only inches apart.
“I lied. Goblins murdered my parents. For no reason. They killed my mother in front of her child. In front of me. Murderers. That’s what they are.”
Ernie’s head swam. So much made a sudden, sickening sense, especially Grey Wolf’s dislike of Dranko. But Ernie also felt betrayed that Grey Wolf—the wisest among them, his mentor—would have kept a secret that could color his judgment so badly. Something cold gripped his heart, there in that thunderous, damp cave.
“Grey Wolf, I don’t think we can trust you to make decisions right now.” Ernie fought to keep his voice steady and forceful, fought as hard as he had in his life. “Go watch Dranko, and send Kibi here to me.”
Grey Wolf only stared at him, his face impassive. Ernie stared back, praying to the gods that he wouldn’t flinch from this.
“Go!” Ernie shouted at him. “Please. We need Kibi to move these rocks.”
Grey Wolf’s eyes were flat, as though he looked past Ernie at something far away. But he turned without another word and walked into the shadows by the entrance to the cave. Presently Kibi jogged over to join him.
“Kibi, there’s a goblin child trapped in those rocks. You’re the only one strong enough to move some of the heavier ones. Or could you convince them to move themselves?”
Kibi held up his light; it reflected off the rocks, off the water, and lit up the young goblin’s face. “I can move enough to get ’im out, I reckon. Best if I start off to the side; doubt my footin’ would be good enough standin’ in the water.”
Kibi first spent a minute or two examining the pile from every angle. Over the course of ten minutes, he disassembled the pile of rocks, easily moving boulders Ernie doubted he could have budged, until he could get at the ones trapping the child’s ankle. For that he had to wade out into the pool, slowly, obviously feeling for his footing on the slippery bottom. The water came up to Kibi’s knees.
As strong as Kibi was, it took him a minute to find a position that afforded him the leverage to move the final rocks. “Wait,” Kibi gently warned the child. “Don’t want anythin’ to come tumblin’ down on you.” But in the end he only had to tilt one rock slightly, which allowed the goblin to slip free. The boy scrambled out of the pool and ran to his father.
Morningstar stepped aside. The goblin sat up and embraced his so
n in a fierce hug. While the child babbled about his rescue from the pool, the father examined his captors. He put his hands in the air and tried to stand, but his leg buckled beneath him. Ernie and Kibi helped him to his feet.
The goblin didn’t look much different from how Old Bowlegs had once described his kind: tall, bandy-legged, and hairy, with mottled green skin and oversized jowls. His large tusks jutted upward from his lower jaw.
“You speak our language?” The goblin must have overheard them talking. His voice was low and guttural, the way Dranko might sound with a bad cold after smoking a dozen cigars.
“Yes,” said Ernie. “What is your name?”
“I am Worsk Fish Catcher.”
“Worsk, is this your son?”
“Yes. Dagalk.”
“My name is Ernest. Come, let’s get back to the tunnel, where we can talk without shouting.”
Worsk was still dazed and had trouble walking but was willing to lean on Ernie as he guided him back to the tunnel mouth. Dagalk stayed close at his side, casting wary glances at the group of humans. Kibi hoisted Dranko up onto his shoulder again while Step and Morningstar assisted Tor, who wore a smile even as Step held a bloody rag to his chest. Grey Wolf’s face was an empty mask.
They assisted Worsk up the stairs, after which he shook his head and shrugged Ernie away. He put an arm around his son.
“I can walk.”
The crashing of the underground river subsided as they retraced their steps. Worsk was able to move unassisted, but his movement was distinctly wobbly. When they reached the conical cavern, they all sat together. Step produced needle and thread and continued to work on Tor’s gashes.
Worsk wore a ragged shirt and trousers, gray and brown, a simple outfit Ernie might have expected a goblin to wear. He reached up a hand to touch the side of his head and winced.
“Thank you,” he said. “Ernest, thank you for saving my son. And me. But why? You are humans in goblin lands. Why?”
