*****
A goblin captain looked out the landscape around him as the dawn begun to break. He had lifted his palm against his forehead above his eyes to shield from the sand blown about by the desert wind. After staring into the void long enough he came to a sort of conclusion about their current location – lost in the desert. He turned to face his troop and his numerous jewelleries and all the accessories of war bound on his belt, a sword, two daggers and a scimitar, jingled and clattered audibly against one another even in the howling wind. The captain was clad with various pieces of armour collected from several unlucky opponents. His ring mail, for instance, was clearly too big for him – the orc he had slain to get the valuable piece of armour had been much larger than him – but he disregarded the fact, since the armour, he felt, was the only piece of clothing worthy of his status right now, leading a quest issued by Raelia herself. Staying here at the oasis was not an option, however. They had already used up all it had to offer; the spring had dried up as the company had used all the water for their animals, and made a horrific mess of everything in every possible manner. A group of messy goblins was not something a tiny oasis in the middle of the desert could sustain for long.
Yes, he deduced, they were a bit lost in the desert all right. But the captain – Strutto – was wise enough to keep that knowledge to himself, not wanting to cause unrest among his underlings. Surely he was not a commander of a goblin troop for nothing. And after all he was a quarter-blood orc, which certainly had helped. However it might be, he had a couple of platoons at his command. Or to be more exact, about a dozen short of the full headcount. Nevertheless, he had just been promoted to a rank of a Captain, a fact that he attributed to his good looks and skills as a warrior, to replace an unfortunate captain who had met with an accident. There were quite many accidents among Raelia’s hordes, he thought, numerous indeed. Because of his lack of experience in the field he had been given but two platoons, but it would be enough for him to show his true mettle as a leader. He considered his sudden promotion well earned. Perhaps he had been a little slow sometimes, but he had always compensated for it with his cruelness. He needed to be cruel and keep an iron hold over his troop. It was not only to keep the discipline tight, but for the reason of avoiding these frequent accidents he had often heard would happen to captains.
Strutto looked at his platoon – definitely not a lot of the best warriors, drew his gauntlets back onto his hands and grunted,
“We shall continue towards northwest” even though he really did not have a clue on what direction northwest really was from here. But he would be damned to let his troops know he was lost. He turned on his heels and made to move forward, when someone interrupted him.
“But sir”, a nasal voice started, “I think the northwest is in that…” but did not make it any further. The outspoken goblin warrior’s last words were cut short as a rush of blood burst from his mouth and his eyes rolled down to witness how a quick hit of Strutto’s scimitar had pierced his chest. Without further noise he dropped on his knees, a wondering expression in his eyes forever fixed on his chest where the blade had just been. Strutto looked angrily down at the dying footman, then lifted his gaze to the rest of the lot and bellowed:
“No one will ever interrupt me! No one.” All the rest of the goblins stirred restlessly, with both fear and hatred, but also respect in their eyes. They understood to keep silent when Strutto stared them down with a dark gaze.
All you need is some cruelness, Strutto thought, and heard laughter inside his head. They will learn…they will learn. He lifted the scimitar over his face, and shoved the dead warrior down on the sand with his boot. The corpse collapsed with a rattle of equipment, its eyes still stupidly fixed to its chest. Strutto licked some blood off the blade with his tongue, still staring at his troops. There I have a pack of numskulls. He slipped the scimitar in its sheath and spat on the dead goblin.
”Take his equipment”, he snarled and without further ado started walking towards what he thought to be northwest, lifting and dropping his hand forward in a commanding gesture. The rest of the platoon started after without further interruptions, except for two goblins remained to strip off the equipment from the dead body – and cut themselves a few juicy pieces of meat while they were at it too – and only then ran to catch up with the rest of the group.
While Strutto left the tiny shelter of the palm trees behind them and led his troops towards an unknown destination, he pondered over the fact of why had Raelia commanded them to find a stupid grave to begin with. And here? There were no graves in desert. Who had ever thought of burying something or someone here where the wind constantly shaped the landscape and could easily bury even entire cities – if there would ever be one built around here – while revealing other secrets, even over one night of strong gales. This is useless, he thought, sulky but cringing a little as if afraid Raelia might actually be able to read his thoughts from afar. Be it as it may, Raelia certainly believed the grave to be somewhere here. She had even trusted him with a magical stone, which she said would begin to glow when they got near the grave. But Strutto could not help wondering if the stone was actually a means of spying on him on his quest. Strutto felt quivers run down his spine. The Mistress surely was something to be afraid of. Strutto certainly did not want to end up a target of her rage. However much he brooded over the facts, there was nothing to do but obey. At least here in the desert he would be safe from Raelia and her whims. In presence of her was another matter, and Strutto pondered if there really was but one person who could feel safe near the Mistress. Another mystery there – an elf for crying out loud – how could she stand an elf of all creatures near her. But as it was, there was nothing to do but obey, and rule his platoon, show his worth and return later to collect a better position he was definitely going to get. Even with such belief, he secretly wished he had the courage to just cut and run, for the prospect of ending on the wrong side of Raelia’s favor was a horrid thought indeed. Still, he once again decided it was best to be loyal, at least as long as it would be safe to keep it that way, and continue seeking the grave. He gnarled and muttered to himself while walking and cursed, in his usual manner, all the creatures he knew existed.
Little did he know that what they were searching for had already been found.
Amashanae - Book 1 Page 8
