by Elliott Kay
“You should concern yourself with traitors. I ran the prison for the wizard. These fuckers let a bunch of hellhounds loose on us and killed all my guards. Orc guards, all dead now. And then they set loose all the wizard’s ghouls. Dozens of them, ready to attack anything that moved. I had two goblins guarding the front of the prison, too. Couldn’t find them later. What happened to them, Scars?”
“Kind of hard to believe you give a damn considering how you treated them,” said Scars.
“Don’t try to change the subject. This isn’t about my mistakes. It’s yours. Backstabbing, treacherous murder.” Chatter rose to his full height, no longer bleeding. He towered over even Shady Tooth and War Cloud, but he turned his attention back to Scars and the mayor. “I hid while I healed up from your prank with the hounds. The adventurers passed me by. After that I found Gutspike and his guys. That didn’t look like the work of adventurers. You kill them, too, Scars? Shady Tooth? Lots of knife wounds on those bodies.
“How many goblin folk in Zition had friends and family working for Olen Zuck? How do you think they’ll feel when they hear you left everyone for dead—or killed them yourselves? How do you feel about that, Mayor?”
The seething troll turned to face the door. He paused to glare at War Cloud. “You’re right on one point. I don’t have allies here. Not yet. Give me five fucking minutes.”
The crew gave way to allow him to leave without a fight. Chatter stalked away into the camp, plunging Karana’s hut into a palpable silence.
“The dungeon was hostile to everyone,” said Scars. “The wizard and Mierrek wanted to keep us all divided.”
“We’ve got a problem only you can deal with. I have to trust you on that.” Karana sat back down at her desk without looking at him. “I don’t have any other options and I’ve got too many other things to deal with now. Ruck,” she said, turning away. “We need to get organized. I need to meet with the clan heads and family leaders—oh, and I guess we’ll have to strip the barn after all...”
He didn’t need another hint. Scars left her hut with his crew to find somewhere to regroup. The task proved to be less about finding space than giving enough glares and challenging words to get all the eavesdroppers to back off. Even with that, there was no way to be sure every bugbear was out of earshot.
“Should’ve known he’d come back to haunt us,” said Shady Tooth.
“We may prove to be haunted more by our escape,” said Yargol.
“We talked about this on the way out,” she fumed. “None of us had anyone to rescue. That place was full of scumbags and assholes. Like she said, most of this camp has worked that sort of job. They know.”
“I’m not sure anyone will be comforted to hear we abandoned their sons and daughters only because they were assholes,” muttered War Cloud.
“It’s not like we left behind family,” said Shady Tooth.
“Neighbors,” said DigDig. “Couple neighbors came out with my sister and me.”
“Oh gods, I’m sorry, DigDig,” said Teryn.
He threw up his hands in exasperation. “They were assholes, too!”
“Other than a couple feuds, we didn’t take action against anyone,” said Scars. “We did what we had to for survival. Anyone who doesn’t accept that isn’t going to care what else we have to say, so don’t bother arguing it. We need to focus on the bigger problems. Karana said she’ll take care of the defense against the army. She’s relying on us to handle the other thing.”
“Do you even know where to begin with that?” Teryn looked to Yargol and War Cloud. “You couldn’t sense anything before, right? Has that changed?”
“Only in knowing where to direct our efforts,” said Yargol. “The danger lies beneath us. It is buried. We have the perfect tool for uncovering it, but there is still the matter of knowing where to start.”
“Haven’t found anything by digging for it yet.” DigDig frowned skeptically at his shovel. “Think it finds stuff?”
“I suspect if it had such an ability, you would feel it. You have discovered the shovel’s abilities intuitively all along.”
“I what? How?”
“You have followed your hunches,” said Yargol.
“Oh yeah. Good at that. Don’t feel a hunch now.”
“Then we’re back to active searching. Our danger is a form of magical corruption. The druids described it as unnatural and say it is buried. Surely it must have some effect on the natural world. We are looking for sickness and decay, perhaps a stand of sickly trees or some bare patch of ground. Those living closest to the corruption may suffer disease and ill luck—or possibly unnatural fortune if they give in to its corruption. It need not exercise active magic to influence the world.”
“That shouldn’t be hard to find,” said Teryn. “All we need to do is ask around, maybe spread a little coin. It’s better than trying to scour the whole camp ourselves. Someone has to have some sense of where to start.”
“We’ll see better in the morning,” said Scars. “Most of us are more comfortable at night, but if we’re looking for discolored and sick plants they’ll be more recognizable in the day. We’re all worn out and I don’t want anyone exhausted before a fight comes. It might be better to bed down until dawn.”
“That gives Chatter more time to work against us,” noted Shady Tooth, though she hardly sounded like she wanted to argue. No one was more fatigued than her.
“We took the lead in turning back an attack and we brought in weapons. He’s a complete asshole. You think he’ll turn people against us?” asked Teryn.
“He’ll find some fools who want to hide behind a bigger and scarier leader. There are always a few of them around. It’s almost inevitable. We’ll deal with it when it comes,” said Scars.
“War Cloud?” asked Yargol.
“I don’t know.” The paladin shook his head. “I didn’t know what to say to the druids. I don’t know what to do about Chatter. We know the king’s army will attack, we know this evil is buried somewhere beneath us, and...” His thick shoulders sagged. “I don’t know.”
* * *
Goblin folk worked, talked, and even played through the night. Aromas from what little food they could share drifted through the air along with voices and the clatter of tools. Someone practiced fighting sticks with their children. Someone else blew a goblin tune on crude pipes.
Yargol worked a little magic to diminish the noise around the tents to help the crew sleep. No one slumbered deeply, but it was enough to at least rest. Life in the camp carried on around them. Robbed of belongings and their homes and exiled into the woods, the goblin folk of Zition lived and prospered as best they could.
That thought woke War Cloud at the twilight of dawn. He sat bolt upright on his bedroll. “I know where to go,” he said.
Teryn grumbled, rolled over, and pulled the bundle serving as a pillow over her head. “The waking up with revelations bit is cuter when I do it,” she complained.
Sitting cross-legged on his own bedroll, Yargol looked up from meditation. “Has your goddess spoken to you?”
“No. Not in some vision, anyway. I don’t get those.” War Cloud threw off his ragged blanket and started strapping on his armor. “I thought about the problem until I had an idea.”
“How oddly inspiring,” said Yargol.
“We’re going somewhere?” Teryn yawned. “Hold on, I’m coming.”
“You have time to wake and get caught up. I need to go. Don’t want to miss the sermon.”
“Huh?” she murmured.
War Cloud grabbed the coinpurse from his backpack before he ducked out of the tent.
Yargol paused only long enough to make sure Teryn was on the way to full waking before he followed. He was the only member of the crew who didn’t need to suit up before trouble. The only difficulty came in keeping up with War Cloud’s long legs and purposeful stride. “Do you plan to buy the answers we need?” Yargol asked, jogging along to keep up.
“Something like that,” War Cloud
replied.
Already, the pair found Zition stepping up its preparations for defense. Most of the camp had only the trees and rocks to work with, but clubs and slings weren’t so hard to fashion. Orcs and goblins practiced in small clutches wherever more pressing work wasn’t done.
Only as they came to another end of the camp did the populace thin out. Tents stood silently with their flaps tied down tight. Unlike other areas, few belongings sat out in plain sight. The silence accompanying the deserted lanes broke with a single voice: a loud, orc voice.
“They say we face another attack from the humans. The bandits of the last attack were the king’s soldiers in disguise, and more are on the way to wipe us out. Our backs are to the wall, but we will fight!”
A roar answered the orc’s call. There had to be dozens. Maybe even hundreds. War Cloud and Yargol emerged from the tents into the bank of a stream branching off from the river on Zition’s border. The audience was gathered along the shore, focused on one orc standing on a large rock amid the water. Ostiin still wore his black and white garb, only now he brandished a well-polished shield and a shiny sword.
“When they come, the fittest will be the faithful and the faithful will be the fittest,” he said. “Battle is dangerous for all. Survival is a mark of favor from the gods. You will know the faithful by their victories in war as you know them by their wealth in peace.
“We have all fallen on hard times because we have incurred the wrath of our gods. We have disappointed them. We have not shown them proper respect and sacrifice. I come as a messenger of the gods, and I say to you on the eve of battle: those who show their devotion now will be rewarded. Are you the faithful?” Another roar answered him. “Will you survive?” They roared again. “Show me your sacrifice!”
Hands rose all around. Many held up coins in their fingers, most bearing little value but significant in such numbers. A few offered up jewelry. Others held up whatever belongings they still had, ranging from tools to hats.
Ostiin’s sword took on a greater shine. He raised it above his head, showing a light that didn’t come from reflection off the sun still not over the horizon. “The gods look with favor on those who sacrifice the greatest in value. Is that you?” he asked, pointing to one orc. His finger turned to a goblin. “Or you?”
“Ah. Hardly divine magic, as I expected,” said Yargol. He rolled his eyes beneath his hood. “He knows how to make a sword glow. It’s merely a spell, not a miracle.”
“Lucky for me. I can do that, too.” War Cloud strode forward as Ostiin continued his sermon, ignored by the preacher and his crowd until he reached the stream. He pulled the greatsword off his back and imbued it with the golden glow of his patron’s favor. “Ostiin!” he shouted. “I come to you with a question, one servant of a god to another.”
The orc turned and wanted to step back, but he had nowhere to go on his rock. “You come with a blade out and glowing with magic.”
“Only as a sign of fellowship.” War Cloud grinned, knowing it likely sent the wrong message given the bestial shape of his mouth. “Your god protects you, doesn’t he?”
Ostiin looked to the crowd. The hands had all come down now, as did the voices. Everyone watched in silence. Ostiin pointed to them. “The protection of my god stands before you. These are the faithful. They know the favor the gods will show them for protecting me!”
War Cloud looked to them once. He shrugged. “Great. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“We already know you betrayed your own kind in the wizard’s dungeon,” said Ostiin. “Your crew are nothing but backstabbing thieves. No one here wants to listen to you.”
“That got around fast,” muttered Yargol.
War Cloud was undeterred. “That’s fine. I’m not here to steal your followers. I only have a question.”
“What is it?”
“You say these are the faithful.” War Cloud gestured with his blade to the audience along the bank of the stream. “Who are the faithless? Surely you’ve got an example. Who in this camp do these people fear becoming?”
Ostiin’s eyes narrowed. He sensed a trap, but didn’t see it until he glanced to his followers. The crowd watched and waited. “The goblin wretches in the willow grove on the south edge of camp,” he answered. “We all endure hardship. Some of us rise above. They sink in squalor. We’ve tried to show them the way, but they refuse us every time. Go see for yourself.”
“Thanks. I will.” His blade lost its glow as he returned it to its harness on his back. War Cloud turned to the audience. “Apologies for the interruption. Your priest is full of shit and he has no god but greed. Good day.”
With that, War Cloud trudged out of the stream on his way south. Yargol stuck close to his side. “We’re bringing an audience,” said the magician. “Ostiin and many of his followers aren’t far behind.”
“Good.”
“I thought you said you weren’t there to steal his followers?”
“I’m not. I’m a paladin, not a priest. It’s not my place to lead a congregation. Setting others free is another matter. Also, fuck that guy and that stupid strip of cloth hanging from his neck. If that catches on as a style I’ll never forgive him.”
The small crowd never caught up to them, nor did they show any such desire. Most seemed only to want to watch. War Cloud and Yargol passed through the camp without any other incident until they came to the right place.
A slight drop along a gentle ridge explained how they could miss the section of camp in the night. Geography’s influence on the placement of tents guided traffic right past it. Leaves on the overhanging branches grew as thick as the rest, but darker and wilted. Thorny vines and dried-out underbrush carpeted the top of the ridge to make for an added deterrent. An unwelcoming stench hung in the air as if to form a curtain of odor from garbage, rot, and bodily waste.
If the rest of Zition showed poverty and improvisation, this small cluster of tents held abject squalor. Every shelter bore holes. Every path worn in the ground held puddles. Goblins sitting on rocks, stumps, and barely-dry ground looked emaciated and despondent. Some were plagued with an ugly wet cough. A few wore rusty armor or ragged leather aprons over threadbare rags. They had one another for company and seemingly little else. Faces looked up from their meager campfires and menial tasks. Few of them bothered to mask their suspicion and fear, but even those who put up a brave front seemed more taken by resignation.
“How did we miss this?” Yargol murmured.
“It’s hiding from us,” said War Cloud. He took in a deep breath, scanning the scene from one side to the other. “It’s still hiding. But it’s here.”
A goblin in an oversized cloak stood from one of the campfires. He was thin and weary like the rest, but the image didn’t feel natural. This one was meant to be robust. He had a leader’s posture even if he couldn’t stand his full height. “What do you want?” he croaked bravely.
“To help, mostly,” said War Cloud. “What’s your name, and might we enter?”
“Not if you’re looking for a meal, gnoll. Might look like easy prey, but we’ll put up a fight.”
War Cloud dismissed the insult with a shake of his head. “We’re here to help,” he repeated. “What’s your name, and can we talk?”
“Girvig,” he replied. His eyes narrowed. “Everyone offering to help us has only swindled us. Like your friend back there.” He spat on the ground.
War Cloud glanced back once at Ostiin. The preacher and his followers lingered only a few yards behind, doing nothing to hide themselves. “He’s no friend. He’s wondering how I’m a threat to him.”
“Are you?”
“Maybe. Not a violent one. I’m a paladin of Dastia. My friend Yargol here is a magician.” War Cloud walked forward slowly with Yargol sticking to his side. “You all look farther down on your luck than the rest of the camp.”
“Someone always gets the shit end of it,” said Girvig. “Even when everything is shitty, some part of it is worse than the rest. Gu
ess we’re the ones that got it.”
“I suspect it’s no fault of your own. I’d like to help turn your fortunes around.”
“Yeah? How?” Girvig asked with open suspicion.
“We are both capable of healing magic. We’ll see to your sick and injured as best we can, free of charge. It’s best to have as many of us healthy as possible. War is coming.”
“Free of charge? You don’t want anything for that help?”
“I do, but not in coin. How attached are you to this side of the camp?”
Girvig looked around skeptically. “We’re here ‘cause this is where we were allowed to settle. Most other good spots were taken. Might be nice to get closer to the river or one of the streams, but Karana says we need something to offer first. We don’t have that, so here we are.”
“We can work with Karana,” said Yargol. “Are you willing to relocate?”
“Why?” asked Girvig.
War Cloud glanced back once to their entourage and held back a grin. He reached into the large pouch on his belt to pull out the fat sack that nearly filled it. Curved bulges in the fabric and the distinct jingle of coin left a distinct enough impression to draw gasps from Ostiin’s followers. “This patch of ground is cursed with ancient evil. I’ll give you this whole sack of gold for it.”
Girvig stared at the bag. “Shit, you could’ve just skipped straight to that.”
Chapter Eight
“You paid them to leave this place that’s making them sick?”
“Yeah.”
“And then you paid others to help them move?”
“Yargol kicked in for that,” War Cloud admitted.
Shady Tooth stared at him with her mouth agape, absently stepping aside for a pair of goblins carrying a bundled tent out of the foul grove. Much of the clan cleared out as the sun set, though they left more than a little refuse behind. “Why in the hell would you pay someone to do the only thing that’s good for them?”
“Because they didn’t have anything to work with in the first place.”
