by Elliott Kay
“Right, sure, whatever you say. You’ll be here to defend the place. I get it.”
“No. We’re not hanging around here every day and night waiting for you,” Shady Tooth said flatly. She leaned in close, her catlike nose almost touching his.
“You wear your socks to sleep,” she said. “Sometimes you snore. You get up to piss at least once every night. I know your tent, I know your horse, I know your lantern by its smell and your boots by the tracks of your heels. We don’t need to hang around here waiting for you to come back when you think you’ve got a plan. If anything happens to this place, I’ll murder you in your sleep. Just you. No one else. Your men haven’t stopped me from sneaking into your camp before now. They’re not going to do a better job of it in the future, either. It’s not like they have to worry about waking up with their throats slit. Only you.”
Barret said nothing. He wasn’t alone. Wide eyes and nervous, gaping mouths marked most faces in the tavern. The human faces, anyway.
“Are we done?” asked Scars.
“Yeah,” said the bandit leader. “Yeah, we’re done.”
“The door’s open.”
Barret picked his way through the men on the floor, who stayed where they laid until War Cloud stepped aside. They didn’t take their eyes off him as they shuffled out. The one with the arrow through his arm tried to steer an even broader path around the gnoll as if the scent of his blood might spark a frenzy.
Scars and his crew followed, leaving a crowd of unsettled villagers inside.
Well over a dozen horses stood in the torch lit road outside the tavern, all of them untethered and slightly wandering. Men in riding leathers and armor lay strewn about, some restless, others completely still. The only person standing amid the scene was shrouded in dark brown robes and a hood, no taller than a goblin. Yargol held an ornate metallic staff, his right hand scaled and taloned, the left coated in short, dark fur.
Barret stopped short of the scene. “And a wizard,” he seethed. “What did you do to them?”
“Some of them already stir to waking. Give them a moment,” said the hooded figure.
“You put them to sleep?”
“Not exactly,” he replied. “They fainted.” Mismatched eyes glowed in red and yellow beneath the hood. His grin could be heard in his voice, but the tilt of his head made Barret stop short at the sight of goblin, hobgoblin, and bugbear features stitched together to comprise his face.
“What are you?” Barret grimaced.
Yargol sighed. “I am the one who put down all your friends. Whether or not you understand anything else means little to me.” He nodded to the fallen riders. “They may not be up for anything strenuous for a while.”
“Good thing the rest of you can help get their asses in the saddles,” Scars said to Barret.
Though the bandits took the hint, their departure still happened slowly enough to grow awkward. More than one roused rider nearly fell from his horse before getting stable. Barret did his best to rally his people as they retreated. “Let’s go, people. We’ve got other places to be. Other ways to work this out, too. Ride!” With a resentful look back to Scars, he spurred his men down the road.
“Yargol,” said Scars, “you said they fainted?”
“The air grew thin right at the level of a human’s head if he sat upon a horse. I couldn’t pull it off on my own, but I had some help.” Yargol tilted the staff in his hands. “Even with the staff, I won’t be able to manage it often. It seemed worth the effort to put down so many enemies without a fight.”
“Stabbing them all wouldn’t take that much more energy,” said Shady Tooth.
“If they come home alive, the rest of the band has less to avenge,” said Scars. “They’ll get over their wounded pride easier than lost comrades.”
“Lost comrades are fewer comrades,” she muttered. “Then we could go get the rest.”
“She has a point,” said War Cloud.
“I’m not sure that many slit throats would make the impression we want to leave on the townsfolk, either,” murmured Teryn. She pulled the bandana mask down from her face. “People tend to remember a sight like that.”
“How is that bad?” Shady Tooth wondered.
“We talked about this. Word of tonight will spread. If we kill them all, you’re just another batch of monsters thirsty for human blood. Nobody needs that.”
“Except the king,” agreed War Cloud. “It works out great for him. You have a point.”
“I thought you were on my side?” Shady Tooth scowled at him.
“Tactically, yes. Strategically, it’s complicated,” he explained.
“Teryn’s right,” said DigDig.
“Names,” she grunted in warning. Townsfolk finally ventured out of the tavern into the road.
“Sorry. Right. Anyway.” He shrugged. “Bad idea to kill them all in the street.”
“Thank you,” said Teryn.
“Drag them out of town, do it in the woods, loot ‘em, and bury them deep,” he mused.
“DigDig, no!” she hissed. “Ssh.”
“Well, that seems as…effective as we might have hoped,” said Mayor Dunning, emerging with several more townsfolk.
“Anything would have been a risk,” said Scars. “How’s the messenger? War Cloud can heal him with magic. So can Yargol, if it’s minor.”
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” the mayor assured him—too quickly. His uneasy glance at the named pair spoke volumes. Dunning turned to the barkeep beside him, who handed off a sack of coins. “Here you are. Payment as we arranged. With our thanks.”
“You’re sure? About the messenger, I mean?” Scars asked.
“It’s no trouble,” said War Cloud.
“We’re sure. No need to worry about it. Again, thank you for your help. We’ll, ah, never forget you. Wishing you all the best. Thank you. May the road be easy on you.”
Scars frowned. The other townsfolk remained in sight but kept their distance from the conversation—and the crew. He didn’t see any smiles or signs of relief. “We were hoping we could stay,” he said. “You have empty houses here. You said yourself some of your townsfolk left because of the bandits.”
“Ah. Yes, but...” The mayor winced. “You see, the king’s edict of banishment against orcs and goblins is technically only for those south of the mountains, but in practice it reaches here in the north, too. Even with all the diplomatic treaties limiting the king’s forces north of the mountains, we still get visits from the king’s officials and small patrols now and then. Bounty hunters, too. It isn’t safe for your kind out here. We’d love to help, but you would be at risk if you stayed here. Us, too. We’d be charged with harboring fugitive outlaws.”
“You had no problem with that while we helped with your other problems,” said Scars.
“The last patrol wasn’t long ago. We knew it would be safe for a few days.”
“So we can stay a little while longer, at least?” asked Scars.
The mayor winced again.
“You don’t want us here now that the danger is gone,” Scars answered for him.
“Well…”
“You don’t want goblin folk here at all.”
“Now, it’s not about what you are,” Dunning corrected stiffly, but quietly. “Make no mistake there. We’re not thrilled by the king’s edict. We had monst—ah, goblin folk living here and nearby and they were fine neighbors. But the way you handled that lot is, um…well, it doesn’t truly leave a sense the danger has passed, you understand?”
“We handled them with words and a minimum of violence,” said Scars.
“True, but the impression…” Dunning frowned.
“If all of this was done by humans or elves, would it make a difference?”
Almost whispering, Dunning countered, “Humans or elves don’t threaten to eat people.”
“Mayor Dunning, we’re looking for a home. We know the king’s edicts. We also know this town is isolated and there are dwellings on the outskirts. A
ny old farmhouse or cabin will do. We can lie low from the patrols and hunters. We only need permission. We’re not here to bully or scare anyone. We’ll pay, as we have already.”
“I’m sorry, lad. It’s not going to work out. Not after this. You look like hardy sorts. You made it all the way out here, right? I’m sure you can handle the forests.”
“We’re not hermits. We need community as much as you.”
“There are other settlements.”
“Where? Most other towns and villages get the same attention from the king. Where else are we going to go?”
“Why don’t you try that goblin camp in the hills?”
Scars blinked. He leaned forward. “What goblin camp in the hills?”
“To the east. It’s not too many miles from here, over the first hills at the foot of the mountain. There’s an old farm, abandoned after a blight almost a generation ago. The goblin folk gathered there over the last few months after the exiles in the south. Some of them came through here. You didn’t know?”
“No,” said Scars. “Nobody told us. The whole time we’ve been here helping you, nobody told us of a goblin camp.”
Dunning took a deep breath, clapping his hands together awkwardly. “Well. Now you know. I’m sure that’s an option, isn’t it?”
“Which way?” asked Scars.
Turning with a grand, helpful gesture, Dunning raised his arm to the road—and then stopped, looking over the broad trail of hoof prints left by the bandits’ horses. “Oh,” he said.
“We just sent them on their way,” said Scars.
“Yes.”
“East. Toward the hills.”
“So it would appear,” agreed the mayor. “Unfortunate.” His eyebrows rose. “I assume this means you won’t want to stay through the night?”
With a final glare, Scars turned down the well-trod road. “Come on. We need to pick up our gear and go,” he said to his crew. He didn’t need to look to know they followed. The questions provided all the confirmation he needed.
“We’re leaving?” asked War Cloud. “What about the boy? Isn’t he hurt?”
“He’d rather tough it out.”
“We aren’t staying the night?” asked Yargol.
“No.”
“Why not?” asked DigDig.
“Because the neighbors are terrified of being eaten or murdered in their sleep. Or both.”
Teryn groaned, throwing a glance to Shady Tooth. “Did you have to go there with it? In front of everyone?”
“You told me what to say about him,” the bugbear countered. “I didn’t even know half of that shit on my own. It was all a bluff.”
“I know!”
“So? I know you know! What’s the problem?”
“Only that I wanted to sleep indoors again for once,” Teryn grumbled.
“You’re not the only one,” said War Cloud.
“It’s more than that,” Scars elaborated. “There’s a goblin camp to the east. Refugees. Maybe right in the path of those bandits.”
“Should’ve gone with Shady Tooth’s plan,” said DigDig.
“Now you tell me,” muttered Scars.
Chapter Two
“Thought we’d have horses by now,” DigDig huffed. He trudged uphill, one foot in front of the other in the dark. “Hiking is bullshit.”
“We looked for horses in Eastford. The only ones for sale weren’t suited to travel,” said Scars. Walking at the front of the crew, he hardly looked back to the others. He kept a wary eye on the hilly forest instead. Stealth seemed pointless and they needed speed anyway, but that still left them exposed. He could only hope the size of the group would ward off any trouble.
“Not talking about buying,” DigDig corrected. “Bandits’ horses were right there. Could’ve taken enough for us and told the rest to fuck off to their camp.” He looked to War Cloud when he heard a low chuckle. “What’s funny?”
“I’m not laughing at you. I like the way you think.” The grin on his bestial face struck an odd contrast with his reassuring tone. “You’re not wrong.”
“We wanted them to leave, not dither about lost horses and who rides with who,” said Scars. “Not all of us know how to ride, anyway.”
“I expected DigDig and I would ride behind the rest of you,” grunted Yargol. As he often did, the magician walked at the rear of the crew, leaning on his staff. Though neither sickly nor weak, he wasn’t as athletic as the rest. War Cloud slowed his pace to stay by his side.
“Horses wouldn’t get us over this terrain any faster, and not at night,” said Teryn. “This is a straight path to the village. Roads would take us around the hills. And the bandits might hear us and spark another confrontation. This is better.”
“Supposed to know how to ride by now,” said DigDig. “Never learned.”
“Is it true goblins ride wolves?” asked Teryn. “I’ve never seen it myself, but I’ve read of it.”
“What? No. Only in legends. Too small.”
“Dire wolves are large enough, but hardly any live in the southlands anymore,” said Yargol. “It’s history to some tribes. Not to all.”
“Goblins ride cave boars,” said DigDig. “Couldn’t keep enough in the dungeon, though. Olen Zuck said so. Didn’t like the smell.”
Teryn’s eyebrows rose. “You know, I had heard of that, but I didn’t believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Aren’t they unruly? Don’t they smell?”
“Yeah! Good for charging, too. Older goblins said so, anyway. Boars got left behind when King Mierrek marched us out to work for Zuck. Left the rest in Bak’Nor. Needed them more there, anyway. Farming and stuff.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” said Teryn. “Did Mierrek only recruit warriors from Bak’Nor? No goblin folk from other walks of life? I didn’t see much sign of families in the dungeon.”
“There weren’t any, or we’d have had a very different problem in getting out,” said Scars. “I wouldn’t have left kids behind.”
“Mierrek hired the goblins out as a mercenary army to Zuck,” said Yargol. “For most, it was work and shelter, and a way to get out of their homes. Goblin folk tend to have traditions of spreading out with each generation. With King Dostin pushing them out of the south, their choices for new homes were limited. Zuck offered an outlet. Mierrek took it.”
“Goblin folk keep getting pushed in closer because they can’t live in the south,” DigDig went on. “Puts young and old back together. Not supposed to be that way. Supposed to go out and make your own life. Come home only once in a while to visit. Staying home is bad.”
“Oh. That’s interesting. Different,” said Teryn.
His face scrunched up in thought. “You don’t know this? Goblin folk lived in the southlands before the king. Orcs, too. Common knowledge.”
“It might be common knowledge for people who see orcs and goblin folk frequently. I didn’t. We had some in the castle when I was a small child, but they went away as I grew up. I asked why and kept getting told humans did better at their jobs. It wasn’t as if I had any input in things. I saw goblin folk in the city before they were banished, but I rarely got to speak to them. And I’ve come to doubt many things about the education my father arranged for me, so I don’t want to take any of that for granted.
“For instance, the rhetoric always said the goblin folk would spread out until there was no room left for anyone else if they were allowed. I guess that may be based on your custom of leaving home. Something about it felt untrue.”
“It’s bullshit,” said DigDig. “Most goblins move from one goblin town to another. Don’t all want new land to ourselves. Goblins like being together, but you’re supposed to move on from home when you’re grown. Visiting is fine. Living around family all your life is...ugh.” He made a face. “Is it true humans pass farms down from parent to kid? Businesses, too?”
“It happens often, yes,” said Scars.
“Ugh. Why? Lazy. Old. Do your own thing.”
“Then how do so many goblins become mercenaries if it’s not a tradition?” asked Teryn.
“All goblins know how to fight. Born to the blade. Job comes naturally. Learn it like we learn to walk.”
“All goblins?” Teryn pressed, grinning.
“This much is true,” said Yargol. “Goblin folk are born with an understanding of how to use most weapons. Orcs, too. Expertise requires practice, but proficiency comes with ease.”
“You’re joking. I thought that was a myth?”
“Theology holds the goblin folk were created by the god Ravaj as a servitor race,” said War Cloud. “The other dark gods followed, creating the orcs and others, along with the demons who spawned my kind. They wanted armies in the mortal world, but a good warrior requires free will. Naturally, that free will led to rebellion in the ancient age. Now the orcs and goblin folk choose their own ways. Some say that rebellion served the interests of the gods all along.”
“Maybe Ravaj started that story,” muttered DigDig. “Maybe Ravaj is full of shit. Could try asking goblin folk.”
“That would be why we’re talking about this,” noted Yargol.
“Work’s work,” said DigDig. “Fighting gets work. Still gotta make your own way. Mom was a swordfighter? Learn the bow. Dad rides in cavalry? Be a scout. Be different. Not all mercenary work, either. Lots of goblins farm or work crafts. Lots of ‘mercenary’ work not so bloody, either. Some places just need guards. Goblins see in the dark. Good guards.”
“What did your parents do, DigDig?” asked Teryn.
“Both doc docs. Met as competitors.”
“Doc docs? Healers?”
“No. Document doctorers. Forgerers.”
Teryn lost a step. So did Scars. “You just say it openly like that?” he asked.
“Why not? Didn’t tell you their names. Didn’t say where they are. You’re my crew, anyway. Who are you gonna tell?” DigDig frowned. “How many secrets are you keeping from us?”
Scars shrugged. “I guess that’s fair.”
“Your parents met as competing forgery artists?” Teryn held in a laugh.
“Oh, yeah. Big business for goblins. People need papers. Or they did until the king decided to throw everyone out of the south, papers or no.” His bright expression fell. “Don’t know how they are now. Or where.”
