by Elliott Kay
“No, it’s real magic,” DigDig spoke up.
“Nobody’s got healing magic here ‘cept that crew who just came in,” said another hobgoblin. “And where the hell are they?”
“Out at the front,” someone answered. “Doin’ the job. Real heroes, that lot.”
“Piss. Heroes would be more about savin’ lives than endin’ ‘em.”
“I’m right here,” said DigDig. “I’m one of...” He sighed. None of them looked back. DigDig stuck his shovel in the ground, tugged once, and sent half the crowd stumbling back and out of his way. “Got a healing potion for her,” he said with his hand already in his pocket.
Zana sat on the ground cradling Karana’s head in her lap. She looked distraught—but also suddenly impressed. DigDig blinked away his surprise at her presence and knelt to provide the potion. “She awake?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Karana croaked. “Don’t know for how long.”
“Drink.” He uncorked the vial and brought it to her mouth. “Should fix the worst of it.”
Pale and weak, Karana struggled to accept the potion, but her first sip gave her the strength for a swallow, and then a gulp. Her face quickly returned to its natural gray. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out with relief. “You’ve had that all along?”
“Loot from the dungeon, yeah,” said DigDig. “Saved it for an emergency.”
“Glad I count.”
“Camp needs you. We didn’t all die. Better figure out what comes next. Need a mayor.”
“How bad was the battle?”
DigDig opened his mouth, glanced at Zana, and closed it. “Don’t know. Missed it all ‘cause of the demon thing in the pit. Took care of that, though. Didn’t make it to the battle.”
Karana patted him on the knee. “We needed that done, too. Good job.” Then she sat up. “Guess I’m not all better, but I can walk and give instructions. Gotta get to work.”
That left him with Zana. She stared up at him. “Demon pit?”
“Yeah. Stupid. Wasn’t fun. You fought?”
“Yeah. Wasn’t fun.”
DigDig nodded. “Brave, though.” When her expression didn’t change, he shrugged. “Should go find my friends.”
Her hand caught his. “Other friends.” She tugged herself up. “You ever have sex?”
He blinked at her, wide-eyed. “No.”
“Me neither. Want to?”
“Hell, yeah. Other friends can wait.”
* * *
Confused infantry regrouped near the tree line. Frightened, haggard cavalry came in with even less order, some overtaking those on foot while others showed enough nerve to wait for their fellows amid the brambles. The overgrowth halted at waist height, but it remained green and lush and unlikely to burn easily given its magical nature.
Most of the cavalry remained on the other side of the field and wouldn’t come back.
“Well. I think we’ve had about enough of this,” sighed Mayor Dunning. He tightened his grip on the reins of his mount and guided her forward. Before the battle, it was easier to pick out leaders and organization what with all the flags they carried. Now things were a mess.
A mess, he thought, and a bit of a relief.
“Sergeant? You there, sergeant,” Dunning beckoned. The footman stood out among the rest mostly by virtue of shouting orders and waving his arms, but the sash and the plume on his helmet suggested at least something. “You’re in charge here, yes?”
“I—ah, of a sort, sir,” said the other man. He was already looking around for someone else to speak up. “If you’re looking for—?”
“No matter. You can pass this on when the rest get organized,” said Dunning. “It’s clear Lord Chadwalt and Barret aren’t coming back. Whenever someone takes charge, please inform them I have led my auxiliaries back to town where they will return to their homes.”
“Yes, sir—ah, sir?” the sergeant stammered. “You’re leaving?”
“Sergeant, I am the mayor in these parts. The only men with authority over me lie dead on that field after consorting with dark magic. This battle is over. It seems our neighbors aren’t going anywhere. I therefore have no interest in antagonizing them further.
“Stay and fight on if you wish. My people are leaving. We may as well get a move on so we don’t clog up the road once the rest of you get sorted. Good day.”
* * *
He walked on short, weary legs, but his friends weren’t that far from the trench. Though his magical energy neared exhaustion, he could manage at least one healing spell.
Yargol arrived beside them to find need of a different kind of strength.
They looked largely unharmed. Both were scraped up and filthy, but neither bled from open wounds. Teryn knelt at a corpse and sobbed. Shady Tooth loomed over her with knives sheathed and her brow furrowed in silence.
He looked up to the bugbear with an unspoken question on his patchwork face. She shook her head. “We got dragged out here by magic and held our own until the retreat began. As soon as the fight ended, she just...” Shady Tooth gestured at her. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t know how to cry?” asked Yargol.
“I don’t know how to help.”
“It’s not you,” Teryn sniffed, only to sob again. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Yargol put a hand on Teryn’s shoulder. The man in front of her lay dead. He seemed young. The magician spotted Barret among the dead, too, but Teryn didn’t seem to mourn over him. “Did you know this one?”
“No. I don’t know any of them.” She wiped her nose with her wrist. The tears kept falling. “I recognized some of Barret’s men before. Not any of these.”
He waited. Shady Tooth took his cue. She crouched at Teryn’s other side, mirroring his reassuring hand on her opposite shoulder. Eventually, the sobs gave way to words.
“They called me princess and I cut them down. Others saw me do it.”
“It was a battle,” said Shady Tooth. “Us or them. All of us. And you didn’t want that life.”
Teryn shook her head. “It’s not about the title. It’s about what I could do with it.” She looked up at the field. “I wanted to end all this. Bring down the king and turn it all around. But now? How do we come back from this? Why would anyone want to go back to living together? And I fought here, too. Who’s going to listen to me now?
“I don’t belong anywhere.”
Yargol’s grip softly tightened around her shoulder. He stepped around to face her, one yellow and one red eye meeting hers. “You belong with us.”
Epilogue
“We can’t stay. We’ll have to keep moving.”
His words broke a patient silence among his companions. Gentle sunlight streamed through the leaves overhead, with birdsong and a soft breeze adding to their relative physical comfort. Trees and bushes kept them concealed on the rise, going all the way to the sharp end to the foliage at the edge of the wide road. Grey rock rose up sharply on the other side of the passage, far higher than any of the trees. To the other side of their spot, the mountain sloped downward just as sharply.
They sat close together, with most oriented toward the downhill run of the road as it curved back down toward the lowlands. Yargol’s staff lay across his legs as he meditated. War Cloud and DigDig relaxed with their backs to the same tree trunk. Teryn’s arms were wrapped around her knees as she stared into the distance. Only Shady Tooth was out of sight, but close by.
Scars stepped close to put a hand on Teryn’s shoulder. She nodded in agreement. “They’ll try even harder to run me down after this. They know I’m involved. I’m a threat.”
“They’ll be after more than you,” said Yargol. “They want DigDig’s shovel, too.”
“Fuck ‘em,” said DigDig. “Can’t have it. Finders keepers.”
“Seems likely Dostin would win the backing of the dwarf clans if he can return their relic,” said War Cloud. “Not just in Theralda but probably others beyond, too.”
/> “And it is a powerful relic at that. One that must not fall into the wrong hands,” said Yargol.
“I wouldn’t say dwarven hands are wrong,” War Cloud mused. “But it’s all complicated with the whole ‘persecute the goblin folk’ thing.”
“Exactly. And they’ll keep coming at Zition if they think the shovel and their princess are there,” said Scars. “We have to lead them away. Head in some new direction and make some noise. Lead them on a chase. Give our people a shot at building up something they can defend. Are you all good with that?”
War Cloud nodded. Yargol, too. DigDig sighed, looking back up to Scars. “Got time to head back and tell Zana goodbye? And my parents?”
“Can’t argue with your priorities,” War Cloud chuckled.
“Told me she didn’t expect more than what was. Hadn’t thought it through. Me neither.” The goblin shrugged. “Not supposed to settle down with your parents, anyway.”
“No, but we might ask a favor of them before we move on,” Yargol considered. “I have some scribe’s supplies, at least. It may be enough to work their trade.”
Scars felt Teryn’s hand close around his at her shoulder. She looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“No less than you’ve already done.”
She tilted her head, then squinted up at the trees. “We might consider someplace warm. Maybe even tropical?”
As if summoned by her voice, leaves rustled up above. A dark form descended fast, landing in the middle of the group on her feet. “They’re coming,” announced Shady Tooth.
* * *
Supplies, camp wagons, and siege equipment could move through the foothills and into the mountains with only so much speed. Even without the need to breach an entire fortified castle, the objective required more than simple arms and armor. All of that gear required transport, and the transporters required even more supplies, and people to carry those.
King Dostin knew the complexity and expense of such logistics. His wrath and urgency compelled his forces to muster and march within a week of the news, cost and inconvenience be damned. Reaction had to be swift and decisive.
Several of his counselors advised against it. He left them at home. Others were happy to join him on the march.
The king rode near the front of the column as a king should, wearing the crest of his rule on a surcoat. Flecks of grey marked his dark beard in recent years, but he was still fit and strong. Dostin took pride in his service as a knight of the realm as a youth. He never left the lifestyle far behind. It gave him strength to deal with all the challenges of ruling.
Despite his air of independence, he rode surrounded by bodyguards, knights, and more than a few courtiers. Naturally many saw their chance to curry favor. He could hardly blame them. He recognized the same opportunities.
“Legend has it we ruled every one of these mountains once,” said the dwarf beside him. “A clan under every mountain, a family in every hill, and a stonehold in the center to bind them together.”
His dark beard covered much of his surcoat, with the gold cords of office hanging from his shoulders crossed over it. Ortun Barnard Gareth Hammerheart served as Advocate of the Clans, reducing the voices of a dozen dwarven factions into a single voice at Dostin’s court—not that the other clans preferred it that way. Yet as far as Dostin was concerned, Ortun went on enough for twelve dwarves.
“It’s not possible, you know,” Ortun went on. He always went on. “Not every mountain and hill is suitable for tunneling and inhabiting. At least, not naturally.”
“Not without the tools of the gods, I assume?” asked Dostin.
“Tunnels and strongholds were built, of course,” said Ortun. “Many of them ancient, and thus tied to legends as all ancient things are. I’ve seen enchanted hammers and picks and even shovels in my time, but none with more than a little extra strength or shine.
“I’m not saying this shovel is a myth. Yes, the legends speak of tools given by the gods. You have listened to your advisors and I’m flattered by it.” Ortun threw him a look that reminded the king of how much the dwarf still hid with his words—and how he was still here on the march despite any spoken skepticism. “Such a relic would bring together every clan in this kingdom and no small interest from those beyond. We’ll all have you to thank for that...assuming it exists in this world.”
“I’ve no doubt it exists, Ortun,” said Dostin. “No less than I doubt the presence of the rebel goblin folk on the other side of the pass. Reports from before and after the goblin rebellion are consistent.”
“And your wayward daughter?” asked Ortun. “What happens when...?”
The question faltered under Dostin’s withering glare. “Rebellion and treason are crimes, dear emissary. The goblin folk were given a measure of tolerance in the north and they squandered it. Now they will face the consequences. Teryn is no different. I mean to keep my realm safe and united. Theralda will remain whole.”
Wisely, Ortun let the conversation drop. He was a diplomat by profession, after all.
Dostin turned away, seething in silence, his eyes turning up toward the mountain. The pass was now in sight: a fortunately wide road curving around a mountain slope, the only viable route for traffic this heavy short of traveling all the way out to the eastern coast or crossing the border on the west. Only small caravans and travelers could trickle through the other passes.
Dostin planned to remedy that one day. Another large pass through the mountains would cost dearly. Perhaps the dwarf clans would be happier to help if a relic was returned to them. Perhaps Dostin might squeeze enough money for it from other sources. After this errand was done, he would have options.
Plans for the future fell from his mind as a pair of outriders came rushing back from around the edge of the pass up ahead...on foot, waving their arms, and shouting.
Though he rode near the front of the column, even the king did not take the literal lead. The knights and cavalry ahead of him reacted with predictable concern, taking up arms and shields and calling a halt to the procession. Signal flags rose up to spread the word farther and faster down the column than voices could carry. Bodyguards drew closer to the king’s side with spells on their lips and bows in hand.
“How many outriders were sent up ahead?” asked the king.
“Eight, my lord,” came the answer. “Fully armed and with a skilled magician.”
The outriders closed the gap. Dostin could not make out their words, but others at the front of the column could at least communicate with them now. Everyone expected an ambush of some sort. If it came, they were ready.
A collection of figures walked out into the open around the curve of the pass along the slope of the mountain. He saw a brown-skinned warrior who might as easily have been human or orc, a goblin in robes and a hood carrying a staff, another in piecemeal armor, a gnoll, a bugbear, and a human woman in leathers and flowing brown hair.
His heart stopped. He knew her at a glance, even at this distance. His knuckles turned white with the reins in his hand.
The little one in robes made some gesture, but it was the half-orc who shouted. His words carried down the pass at a volume possible only through magic: “Theraldans! King Dostin has banished the goblin folk from the south, and yet he still attacks us in the north. He has no reason for bloodshed besides his own hatred and greed.
“Turn back. Go home. We are not here to play his game.”
“Sorcerers, archers,” Dostin growled, “silence that—”
Dostin never finished the order. The goblin in the horned helmet stepped forward, pulling a shovel off his shoulder. He sank it into the ground at the center of the road, stepped on its head to push it deeper, and pulled.
The entire pass rippled away from the shovel like a blanket caught by a strong wind.
Earth and rock flowed up in a thunderous rumble from the side of the mountain to the edge of the path. Horses whined and cavalry shouted, all turning away and running from the landslide. Everyone farther back from the nar
row pass bolted left and right, including Dostin himself. The road crashed in and threatened to bury them all.
Dostin looked back over his shoulder only as the wave of earth passed behind him. Riders and wagons were pelted and even half-buried, but the king escaped the worst of it. A glance up at the source of the destruction stopped his heart yet again.
Where the pass once curved around the mountain, Dostin now saw only a sheer cliff face and a steep gap. The path from the foothills to the pass was effectively gone.
“It’s real,” shouted a frightened Ortun trying to control his horse beside Dostin’s. “Gods save us, it’s real!”
Knights and cavalry fled. Wagons broke and the horses pulling them tore free. Perhaps only a few men were lost in the collapse of the road, but panic still reigned. Dostin had to flee with them.
At the edge of the cliff that was a road only moments ago, the goblin shouted two words:
“Keep running.”
About the Author
Elliott Kay is a survivor of adolescence in Los Angeles, service in the United States Coast Guard, a career in teaching high school, a motorcycle crash, chronic seasickness, summers in Phoenix, a winter in Alaska, serial monogamy, and reading comments on the Internet. He lives in Seattle with his wife and two cats.
His other works include the military sci-fi series Poor Man’s Fight and the urban fantasy series Good Intentions (please, for the love of all that is good, read the warnings first). Both series will continue. To stay up to date on new releases, please send an email to be added to the notification list or click “follow” on Elliott Kay’s author page on Amazon.
Wandering Monsters will continue!
Short stories and sneak peeks are available on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/elliottkay
Email: [email protected]
Website: www.elliottkay.com
Twitter: @elliottkaybooks
