Chapter Forty
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“What did ya do, invite them to put an arrow in ya? Was it a new experience ya had to try?” Fists on his hips, Ike stood over the doctor as he worked on the goblin. “Ya single handedly ruined a perfectly good plan. The next one will be for ya to come up with.”
“My plan will entail hangin’ ya from a tree by yar neck, ogre.”
“As useful as any plan ya’re likely to come up with. I’ll cooperate within the next hour if I get to watch ya hoist me off the ground by yar lonesome self.”
“Why are ya blamin’ me? I was just the interpreter. Yar friend is the one who failed to calm those two bloody siblings.”
“Them, the bloody siblings, eh? Knew they were gonna be a problem.”
Maertin grimaced. “Maybe those siblings don’t trust ogres too much right now, considerin’ one of ya killed their best friend.”
“The stinkin’ goblin was sneakin’ up on us with a notched arrow. What would ya’ve done? Oh wait. Ya would have let ’im put an arrow in yar gut, and whined about it afterward, how it was an unfortunate misunderstandin’.”
The goblin actually chuckled, grimaced at the pain it caused.
“Doesn’t look like it penetrated anythin’ ya can’t live without,” the doctor mumbled. “Ya might want to clench yar teeth for a moment.” He hardly paused before yankin’ the arrow out. I woulda thought he’d use a little more finesse. Ike or me coulda done that. Ike prolly would have enjoyed doin’ it. He seemed a little riled up.
The goblin screamed, but managed to cut it off quickly. “What are ya, a merchant of beads and trinkets, or a doctor?”
“Just be glad ya have a wizard to help ya with the fever tomorrow,” Adam said. That was a little cold. Not the kind of bedside manner I woulda expected from a human doctor.
“Warlock. Not a wizard.” Does it matter? “Ya idjits gab all ya want. I’m gonna go speak to that elder.”
“How are ya gonna do that? Ya majically learn how to speak Goblin since last night?” Ike asked.
“Then come with me.”
“Ya notice I didn’t do so great myself, communicatin’ with him. Ya’ll get near those trees,” he pointed behind him, “and get yarself filled with these.” He picked up the arrow the doctor dropped on the ground and tossed it against my chest. A little rudely. But we ogres aren’t known for tact.
It felt no less insultin’ than if Ike had thrown dirt in my face. I turned and walked south before I even realized I’d decided to do as I stupidly prattled. It was as stupid as lettin’ hundreds of souls perish in a senseless battle. I wanted it over. Have ill to visit in the valley.
The goblins accepted me into their camp once. Maybe they’d do it again.
Ike shouted at me but I kept walkin’. Without lookin’ up, knew Taiz’lin followed me high overhead, watchin’ me through the thickenin’ canopy. The dragon would be no help. He could report back how many arrows it took to take me to the ground. My hope was I could take at least eleven before they really started to hurt.
I climbed into the more rugged terrain before figgerin’ I neared the goblin position. Wasn’t wrong. Met a dozen goblin warriors that folded out of the surroundin’ brush. They stood braced, feet at an angle, shoulder distance apart, ready to raise their bows, arrows gripped in their right hand.
I only paused. The bulls made way for me, but one waved and grabbed for my gifted bow.
“No! I’m not goin’ forward as a captive.”
The bull glared at me, eyes dartin’ back and forth from my lopsided, white-black hair, I figgered. He finally nodded, and one of the warriors led the way.
We didn’t have far to hike. The entirety of the clan seemed huddled as a mob, the unease simmerin’, resonatin’ like the waterfall at their last camp. Took no genius to imagine they expected to be attacked any moment.
“Don’t tell me ya wandered in here alone again. Do ya have a death wish?”
I searched the shadows for Lucas. He was tied to a tree, a leather lashin’ around his throat and around the tree. Looked uncomfortable. But I ignored him for the time bein’ and walked directly to the elder and his small group of counsel. Many of the goblins didn’t like it, considerin’ their grumbles, but the clan leader barked a command and they allowed me through.
I stopped near the tall goblin and studied his eyes without speakin’. What difference would unintelligible words make anyway? I lifted Bacchus up and set the staff closer to the goblin, and nodded to it. The goblin gabbed on a moment, and I shook Bacchus again, leaned it so the ram head reached near the goblin’s shoulder. The clan leader mumbled somethin’ I took as a confused query, and I thumped the staff into the ground again. The elder’s eyes widened in understandin’, but he hesitated. Finally, the elder stepped forward and tentatively reached for Bacchus. He uttered a single Standish word. “Yes?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
The goblin grasped the staff just above my grip. I closed my eyes and took two slow breaths, calmin’ myself. Sensed the goblin’s anxiety lessen as well. I visualized the dozens of fortifications a mile away, of tense ogres restin’ against pilin’s. They were farmers, herders, not warriors. The soil and sweat stains of the previous days’ toil coated their overalls and shirts.
I moved on, past the crest that bookended the eastern edge of the valley. The elder and I seemed to float past relaxed human sentries on horses waitin’ to see what would develop. The humans within the camp brewed coffee. Card decks lay spread out on pine needles, and men laughed at and teased each other. They were certainly not plannin’ an attack.
“Is this real?” the goblin asked.
I opened my eyes. The goblin looked down at me. Every year, every wrinkle, etched the elder’s face. He was tired. Exhausted. Wanted a home to go to.
I closed my eyes without tryin’ to answer, and Bacchus took us south. The terrain rolled, fell before us. Scrub replaced the pine and hardwoods dotted the land. Rabbits nibbled at underbrush. A long-tusked boar rooted in deep leaves. A herd of deer twenty strong meandered in the distance. We crested a rise and the world fell below us. The horizon lay hazy below a sky filled with billowin’ clouds that promised summer showers.
I reopened my eyes. Both of us jerked at the feel of the Earth under our feet. The elder slowly let go of the staff and tapped his chest, pointed south, and nodded. “Yes.”
“Yes.” I let out a relieved breath.
“No,” shouted one of the bull’s sons.
The two goblins erupted in a verbal battle. The throng separated, leavin’ elder and sons standin’ alone. The eldest of the two sons did the speakin’, and thumped his chest. The younger took a step back, and nodded.
Was the elder son claimin’ leadership? Sure looked like it.
The goblin dropped his bow, pulled his knife and turned toward me. Not what I expected. One of the other gray-haired ones spoke in a monotone, as though he rattled off—the rules. Rules? No. No.
The son crept forward, knife held slightly out, ready to stab.
“No,” I shouted.
But the son smiled and nodded, and stepped closer. The others circled us, creatin’ a battle perimeter.
Fight or die? Maybe both!
The goblin lunged, his long arm dartin’ for my gut. I barely pivoted and got Bacchus between me and the blade. The ornate bow and quiver fell to the ground, and a quick hand retrieved them. I better get them back.
The goblin brother and I danced between alternatin’ thrusts for five minutes before the goblin managed to dig the knife into my forearm. Ouch. Double ouch. Blood ran down my sleeve, soaked my hand, makin’ Bacchus harder to hold. Very noble of Bacchus to stay out of this particular battle. Jerk.
Become aggressive or exhaust myself and die! Ogres are built for grapplin’, not dancin’. With his long reach and speed, definitely had the edge in this kind of fight. Maybe not the best thought to be havin’.
I needed to turn this to a style that fit an ogre’s strength. The next time the goblin lunged, I swung the foot of the staff toward his head, to send him a message. It clipped his cheek and opened a three-inch gash. Blood quickly covered the exposed bone. The goblin screamed in anger, and lunged again. Jerked the staff upward, graspin’ it lower and jabbed, the heavy ram’s head leadin’ a desperate charge.
I connected with the goblin’s forehead, and the bull stumbled backward.
I followed, swingin’ Bacchus left and right. The goblin raised one arm to deflect, and the crunch of bone proved that defense a bad choice. Bacchus struck the goblin’s shoulder, and he dropped his knife.
I lunged to the goblin’s right, grasped Bacchus with all my might and shoved it hard into the side of the goblin’s head. Blood exploded, splatterin’ me. The goblin, what was left of him, teetered backward, like a tree with the last notch hacked into its trunk, fell hard to the ground, unmovin’. I couldn’t help but think of Faeylin.
Another life stolen. Poor choices.
The hillside remained utterly silent, except for my deep breathin’. No one moved. I scanned the crowd wonderin’ if the rules allowed another challenger. It appeared not—I hoped. Found the bull sibling in the crowd. He didn’t rush forward for his turn.
The elder knelt over his son and wept. No one else moved, yet. Several minutes later the clan leader gathered himself, and stood, facin’ me.
Would he exact his own revenge?
He spoke slowly to his folk, though he continued to look at me often. The goblin’s eyes still flowed with tears. He ended his monologue and nodded at me, and walked past. I hesitated, unsure for a moment, then followed. Murmurs floated about. When it quieted, the elder paused to allow me to walk abreast with him.
The goblin began to sing softly, perhaps some kind of dirge. It occurred to me it was a version of an ogre song, one I had even heard trolls sing. I joined along tentatively, in Standish. The elder didn’t seem to mind. He may have even stood a little taller, chin higher.
We entered the narrow valley and Ike walked down from the tree line on the left. It wasn’t until that moment that I thought of Lucas. Grinned, wonderin’ if he was still lashed to that tree. When I saw Ike look behind us, I had my answer. Lucas followed at a distance. Ike met us in the middle of the watershed. The goblin shared a nod with Ike but continued walkin’, up the southern face. I followed, alone.
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