by Elliott Kay
“And that’s why you went into mercenary work? To be different?”
“Took the job because it was there,” said DigDig. “Came with my sister and some cousins and neighbors. Don’t remember too much. Sis said, ‘Got a job, you’re grown, let’s go.’ Wasn’t really grown, but close enough. Not enough food and cash to go ‘round, anyway. It’s the goblin way, so I went.”
“I thought there weren’t families?” Teryn asked. “You have a sister and cousins?”
“Had. Sis died early fighting undead, clearing the halls. One cousin, too. Other cousins died in a brawl on payday.”
“I’m sorry.”
DigDig shrugged. “Don’t remember ‘em too well. Thought about going home, but that’s not the goblin way. Didn’t want to make the family ashamed.”
“Wow,” she murmured.
“You might find our peoples view death and grief differently,” said War Cloud.
“It’s true,” said DigDig. “Can’t even remember one cousin’s name.”
“How old were you?”
“I dunno. Was around four years ago, so I was... five?”
Teryn stopped in her tracks. “You’re nine? You’re nine years old?”
“Goblins grow up fast.”
“But nine?”
“Sure. Older now than they were, too. Outlived all of them.”
“You were considered an adult at four?”
“Almost. Close enough, ‘specially for rough times. Really don’t know much about goblin folk, do you?”
“I suppose not,” said Teryn. “So does this hold for goblins, or all goblin folk? What of—?”
Leaves and branches rustled to interrupt her, ending with a thunk. The crew froze in place. War Cloud leaned over to retrieve a metal flask, holding it up in the moonlight for the others to see. Nodding, Scars led them on, though this time they climbed the hill faster and in silence.
A hiss guided them to their left as they came to the crest. Shady Tooth emerged from beneath a tall tree. Though she made her way over to the crew, she mindfully stood facing their intended path. “That way,” she said quietly, gesturing off to the next hill. Her feline ears stood out, turned in the same direction.
They saw the light of the distant campfire as soon as they reached the top. The landscape made a gentler rise with its next hill. Concealed by trees and bushes, most couldn’t make out more than the light itself. DigDig climbed up the nearest fir for a better look.
“What do you think?” asked Scars.
“We’re upwind, so I can’t smell much, but I don’t like what I hear,” said Shady Tooth. “It’s several humans and at least a couple goblins. One boy and one girl, I think. They’ve both cried out. The humans think it’s funny.”
“That’s not good. How long have you been watching?”
“Less than a minute. Haven’t caught any sign of outliers or guards.”
“And it’s one fire, so there shouldn’t be too many of them,” Teryn thought out loud.
Another rustle and thump announced DigDig’s return from his climb. He shook his head. “No good. Can’t see anything more from here. Too much cover. Gotta get closer.”
“Then we move,” said Scars. “Keep quiet. Don’t show yourselves unless you must. I’ll do the talking. If they think I’m alone, that’s fine.”
“If they think you’re alone, they may be more apt to try something,” warned Yargol.
“Then we’ll get an honest impression of them,” said War Cloud. “Better to see that than the polite lies they’ll give a larger group.”
No one else spoke. They swept down the hill in silence, spread out amid trees and shadows. Teryn brought up her hood and mask before all but disappearing in the night. Shady Tooth was gone before Scars knew it. So was DigDig. Even War Cloud moved quietly despite his size and his largely chain armor. The bottom of the hill proved simple enough to navigate, as did the easier climb of this hill than the last.
Soon enough, Scars heard the same voices Shady Tooth had reported. Everything about her description held true as they closed in.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth, you ugly little shit?” taunted one easy, cruel voice in the darkness. “You’re poaching in the king’s lands. Running around the woods while armed. You’re not even supposed to be here in the first place. Oh, and you’re a fucking goblin.”
“Don’t have any gold,” protested the scratchy voice of a female goblin. “Why come out here hunting if we had gold?”
“Maybe you’re too greedy to spend it,” countered another human, this one a woman. “Why do goblins do anything?”
“We. Look. For. Food. Because. We’re. Hungry,” the goblin fumed. A sharp slap followed.
“Don’t hit Zana!” shouted the other goblin. “She didn’t do anything.”
“I’m fine, Fregg,” she assured him, though she didn’t sound it.
“How many more of you are there?” demanded the deep voice of another human.
“Lots of us from all over!” answered Fregg. “You know this!”
“We don’t know how many exactly, little shit. I want numbers. How many goblins? How many guards? How many of you are armed? How many can work magic?”
“Four,” said Zana.
“Four? Four of which?”
“All of it. Any of it. Four of whatever.”
“Do you even know how many ‘four’ is, goblin?”
“Yeah. One less than five.”
“Then why are you telling me there are four of everything in your village?”
“Thought five might be too high for you,” said Zana. “Do you know that one? Five? There are five, then.”
Stifled laughter drifted through the trees. Steadily walking forward, Scars saw more of the fire, along with its creators. By his count, the humans numbered seven in all, four men and three women, all of them rugged and unkempt from days spent in the wild. He saw little in the way of armor besides some leathers and furs, but the humans were able-bodied and armed.
The two goblins sat on the ground with their hands tied behind their backs, staring up at the largest of the humans as he loomed over them. He held a battle axe low in his hands, glowering at the pair with dark eyes under an irritated brow. Of those closest to him, a bald man with sword and shield over his back covered his mouth to hide a laugh. A woman with scraggly blonde hair and the same armament found it less amusing.
The others hung back, though they stayed close enough to hear. Scars spotted a crossbow, a spear, and a war hammer in the mix of humans closer to the fire. He also saw a slain deer strung up from a nearby tree. The beast had clearly been through some amount of preparation after the hunt, but nobody worked on it now. They all watched the conversation around the goblins.
“Is there a shrine?” asked a thin man by the fire.
“A what?” asked Zana.
“A shrine. An altar. Anything dedicated to a god. How do you worship, and who?”
“It’s a camp. Nobody has anything. We’re out here looking for food. Think we’ve got time to build a temple in the woods?”
“Slit her throat, Brok,” said the blonde. “Let’s slit both their throats. We don’t need their whole bodies. We get paid the same, anyway.”
“No, Rosile,” said the big one with the axe. “Don’t you see what they’re doing? They want us to kill them. That way we don’t get any information out of them.”
The female goblin lifted her head. In the firelight, Scars thought her skin might be green rather than grey, but her short black mohawk was easy enough to make out. Like Fregg beside her, she wore only ragged peasants’ clothes. “Wow. Got me good there,” she said dryly. “Saw right through me. Can’t fool any of you. Guess you can’t kill me now, huh?”
“Not until we get some answers, no,” said Brok.
The swordsman pointed at Zana as if he’d caught her in a trick. “Truthful answers,” he said.
“Oooh,” said Zana. “My bad.”
“Hey, Brok,” called the thin ma
n by the fire.
“Yeah, Oscal?”
“I’m starting to think she’s fucking with us.”
“If she’s doing that, she’s going to die,” said the swordsman.
Zana sighed, her shoulders dropping. She looked to her companion on the ground beside her. “Everybody dies,” she said. “Just didn’t want to die from something this dumb.”
“Keep insulting us and it’ll be slow and painful,” said Rosile.
“Already painful enough with all your talking,” Zana shot back.
The scene told Scars all he needed to know. None of them showed any awareness of his presence. Though he made an effort at stealth, he knew his success spoke mostly to their lack of vigilance. By contrast, he knew only of War Cloud off to his right, lurking behind a nearby tree. The rest of his crew had vanished. He had no idea if they were in position.
At this point, he didn’t feel terribly worried even if they’d all gone off in the wrong direction. Scars moved out of the trees and into the light.
Brok stepped back, bringing his axe up with both hands. Rosile and the swordsman drew their weapons. “On your feet,” Brok demanded. “Everyone!”
The other four men and women quickly rose and armed themselves, revealing at least one underestimation on the newcomer’s part: Oscal took up a staff rather than a spear. Scars kept his face expressionless, but he bit back an internal rebuke. He hadn’t counted on any magicians. The feathers tied to the staff and the little crystals embedded at the top suggested Oscal had at least some talent.
Though his shield hung on his left arm, Scars kept his sword-hand empty. He gestured to the prisoners. “How much?”
“What?” Brok asked.
“You’re bounty hunters,” Scars elaborated. “How much for the goblins?”
“Wouldn’t talk numbers with him,” suggested Zana. “Not a safe subject.”
Brok glanced to her, sneering, but focused on Scars as his companions spread out from the fire. “The bounty is the same as everywhere else in the kingdom.”
“No bounty for us north of the mountains,” Fregg protested. “Only in the southlands!”
“Do you think anyone will ask for the details, goblin?” asked Rosile.
“None of that is what I asked,” said Scars. He pointed to the goblins again. “How much?”
“The reward is five silvers for every pair of goblin ears,” said Brok. His eyes narrowed. “Orc ears pay a little more.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” said Scars. “How much are they worth to you?”
“They aren’t for sale, orc.”
“No. I’m asking how much of your own blood are you willing to shed to keep them?”
Brok stiffened, his eyes wide. The swordsman stammered. Rosile looked to the bigger man in shock. No one spoke to cut the tension until Brok said, “Oscal.”
Behind him, the magician raised his staff and an outstretched hand. Faint light rose around him from head to toe—and then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the ground. Scars tilted his head curiously. “Most people would take a man aggressively glowing at them as a threat, but I’ll let it slide if you walk away,” he said.
“Take him,” grunted Brok. “Now!” Axe up and ready, Brok charged in, flanked by Rosile and his swordsman companion—though the latter fell a step behind, running perhaps not as fast as he was able. Beyond them, the remaining bounty hunters also rushed forward. Only one, a woman with a crossbow, lingered at the campfire on the lookout for other threats.
Scars had his sword in hand as Brok and Rosile closed in. Their other companion never made it close enough to attack, spinning suddenly off his feet and falling to the ground with an arrow embedded in his neck. With only two opponents to worry about, Scars parried away a swipe from Rosile and brought up his shield to block Brok’s axe. The latter defense gave him a sense of the big man’s strength and speed. Scars could handle him alone, but not with a second opponent against him.
That problem ended with a loud growl to his side. Rosile yelped, hopping back and bringing up her sword to fend off War Cloud’s much larger blade. Like Brok, she demonstrated skill and ability. She backed up from War Cloud’s assault, though, giving Scars room to deal with his own foe.
The rush of reinforcements from near the campfire collapsed under a tackle from the side. Shady Tooth collided with the spearman, knocking him into the one with the war hammer and bringing both to the ground. Her knives came out of the spearman as she rose again. A crossbow bolt sailed over her head from the last bounty hunter near the fire. Heedless of that danger, Shady Tooth lunged for her remaining target, planting her knife-filled fist hard into his nose. The blow landed with a sickening crunch and laid him out in the grass.
The woman at the campfire tossed aside her crossbow in favor of the short blade on her hip. She made for the goblin prisoners, realizing they offered a better chance at survival than her skill at arms. She grabbed Zana by her mohawk, lifting her up with the blade under her chest. “Stop!” she demanded. “Stop or the goblins—”
Hard, unyielding metal slammed into the back of her head. Stunned by the blow, she had no chance of avoiding the follow-up from DigDig’s shovel. His second strike covered most of her face with much the same force. Knocked unconscious, nothing protected her head in her fall.
The victor of the fight greeted the shocked prisoners with a smile. “Hi. Name’s DigDig. Gotta cut you loose.”
“Damn it,” grunted Rosile, looking back for help as she retreated from War Cloud. “Brok, we’re on our own!”
War Cloud came in with another swing, this time fully expecting the parry. Rosile didn’t note his body language in time. The difference in force cost her the sword, battering it from her hand and drawing out a yelp of pain from her throat. He followed through with a rush of his thick shoulder to knock Rosile onto her back.
He had her dead to rights—then hesitated. His eyes turned toward the campfire. “Wait,” War Cloud grunted with alarm. Oscal still lay in the grass. “The mage. Watch the mage!” he warned.
“Blarg!” shouted Oscal. His back arched where he lay as shadowy tendrils exploded from his body. Thick as the boughs of the nearest trees, the appendages flailed in every direction, reaching as far as the light of the campfire. One wild tendril knocked DigDig and the other goblins to the ground. Another battered Shady Tooth from above. Even War Cloud stumbled under the assault.
Light and flame shot from the darkness outside the little camp. Yargol’s robes and staff stood out as the source of each flash. His magic unerringly struck Oscal and his shadow tentacles, yet seemed to do little harm. At best, he drew the attention of Oscal’s unexpected powers. Half or more of the shadows reeled back and turned on Yargol, who escaped only by virtue of Teryn diving in out of nowhere to push him away.
Scars had no chance to intervene before meeting another attack from Brok. The bounty hunter showed skill to match his strength as the fight wore on. Neither opponent had gotten more than a near-miss against the other. Scars recognized the greater danger presented by Oscal, now floating up from the ground with his eyes glowing red and green bile spewing from his mouth. Brok, on the other hand, recognized opportunity.
His axe crashed in against the half-orc’s shield once more. “Rosile! Go!” he shouted.
She snatched her sword from the grass as she rolled up to her feet again. War Cloud paid her little attention now. The two ran in opposite directions. Rosile escaped into the night while War Cloud charged at the mage in the center of the shadow tentacles. A new light pushed back at the darkness, emanating from War Cloud’s sword.
Despite his focus on his opponent, Scars never lost track of the situation around him. It was a talent that had kept him alive through all too many tight spots. With shouts and lights at his back and shadow tentacles flailing over his head, he knew which of his problems was more serious. The axe came in again, this time high, once more deflected by his shield. He put up his blade to parry the sudden reversal and backswing for his
shoulder.
“If you want to retreat, you can go,” said Scars.
“You’ll come at my back as soon as I turn,” Brok replied. He feinted again with his axe.
Scars stepped back farther than necessary to make his offer clearer. Brok feinted again, then backed up. He watched with suspicion as Scars stood his ground. Lights flashed across the trees and the grass all around them, only adding to the tension.
The big man’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll hunt you down one day, half-orc.”
“Why? Why would you say that when I’m letting you go?” Scars snapped. “Will you fucking get—oof!” He stumbled under the force of a sidelong tentacle against his shoulder.
“Sucker!” Brok shouted, fleeing into the night.
“Asshole,” Scars grumbled. He turned back to the rest of his crew.
The human magician hovered in the air over the campfire, still horizontal and still glowing at the eyes. His head lurched violently from side to side. Oscal’s arms and legs flailed much like the shadow tentacles that sprouted from all over his body—though no breach of the skin or clothes marked their origin.
Of the crew, War Cloud stood closest to Oscal. His blade no longer glowed. For all his faith, War Cloud couldn’t channel the power of his patron indefinitely. Still, her blessing helped him hack his way through the shadow tentacles to get close to his target. He only needed to make it the rest of the way.
“How do I help?” Scars asked, catching up to him fast.
“Keep the tentacles busy,” said War Cloud. “Your weapon may not harm them.”
“Good to know—hell,” Scars grunted. He already had a tentacle wrapping itself around his shield. Scars pulled back hard, fighting for it, only to feel another clutch at his blade. He tugged at that one, too. If he couldn’t hurt them, at least he could be a distraction.
Others in the crew had much the same impact. Shady Tooth jumped in with her knives only to feel them pass through the shadows with no effect. The tentacles provided plenty of resistance against her body, though, even holding her up and soon wrestling with her. She gasped in pain, or perhaps from cold. Scars soon felt the chill of the tentacles through his sword and shield. DigDig put himself between the writhing mass and the two goblin prisoners, both now freed but still unarmed.
