Chapter Thirty-Five
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I looked over my left shoulder and caught the eye of the man leadin’ the group of twenty humans. If only he knew three times as many goblins shrank in the shadows with notched arrows.
The man held his arm in the air, and the column of horses halted, bunchin’ up. A perfect killin’ zone—not that I’m an experienced warrior familiar with warrior terms. But an arrow couldn’t help connect with flesh, human or equine.
“Back!” I shouted.
The man looked left and right. Fear colored his face and he waved his troops to reverse themselves. Horses were kicked into a run.
The leader was the last to rein his horse around. Before he did, his face turned to anger, as though a life-long animus had been built. He glared a moment longer, perhaps to capture my face in memory.
“Live another day. Hold no anger in that.”
The man pivoted his horse and lurched forward into a run, kickin’ sod twenty feet into the air. It fell around me like enormous acorns shed by the wind. Goblins stood, and my knees shook. I swallowed and reminded myself only self-confidence would get me out of this alive. And a lesson learned from Ike, in a way, in a dream. Don’t bluff with anythin’ ya aren’t willin’ to follow through on.
I didn’t’ have much to bluff with. I pointed up the mountain and said, “Take me to yar clan leader.”
I repeated it, droppin’ the tone of my voice. A goblin stepped before me and looked down his long nose at me. Bacchus vibrated. The goblin reached out. My chest fell from the earth-sized rock that must be crushin’ it, unseen. The long-fingered hand moved past my shoulder, slowly, drew back a single cord of dreadlocks. A ray of the sun gleamed off the newly white hair. The air snapped between it and Bacchus. The staff shook in my hand—it might have been my fear, or power rushin’ inside Bacchus. I preferred the latter sentiment. Whatever generated it, the goblin yanked his hand back and grunted.
He turned and shouted somethin’ to his companions, too many words to be good. His voice rose and fell for a full minute. Grandstandin’ sounds the same in every language. The one word that sounded anythin’ like Standish helped me reclaim my wind. Wizard.
I may live yet. I’d never tell them I’m not a wizard. Just a humble warlock healer.
The goblin turned and ran the way we had come. The others fell in behind him, except for two who rushed toward me. One of the creatures pushed me.
“Ya could have just asked?” I mumbled, as I followed after the others.
We ran without stoppin’ until mid-day, followin’ the narrow gorge deeper into the Range. We stopped in a canyon surrounded on three sides by sheer cliffs reachin’ fifty feet in the air. To the left and right, the tops disappeared from view as they eroded inward. Directly in front of me the creek cascaded down the far face. The mist formed rainbows that danced as the breeze shifted the air.
The beauty of the place made me forget my predicament for a moment, and I failed to see the encampment. It blended into the rocks. I estimated twenty, thirty—possibly more canvas and fur-covered hovels. The gray-haired elder exited one, and the war-party’s leader strode to him. Their voices quickly out-battled the noise of the waterfall.
“What’d ya do to piss him off so bad?”
I jerked. I had studied the two goblins so closely I didn’t notice Ike walkin’ toward me from the right. His wrists were bound like they were in my dream. He had a single goblin guard that peered at me with eyes made of iron.
“Hopefully kept the peace for one more day,” I answered.
“In another two weeks these folk will be blocks of ice up here. If they don’t hightail it for the rest of their clan, wherever they are, there will be a lot fewer of ’em.”
“They don’t plan on waitin’ that long, and ya’ll be the first to go.”
Ike studied me. “Some warlock majic ya makin’ or somethin’?”
“Somethin’.” I cocked my head. “If we don’t find at least somethin’ that humors them by tomorrow—”
“They found the grave of the fellow ya—”
“I figgered they did,” I said.
Ike eyed me. “How’d ya figger?”
“A war-party hit a group of Johanson’s men.”
“Of course. Ya would have heard about that. Ya been around our dragons more than we have, lately.”
“Where’s Lucas?” I asked.
“Finally, somethin’ ya don’t know. What’s with the hair?”
“Kept Ugly-face over there from puttin’ an arrow between my eyes.”
Ike grinned. “Lucky. Didn’t come with yar own militia, did ya?”
“Not gettin’ out of here by the bow,” I said.
“Oh, ya just ruined my day. Since they found Missing-head, they haven’t been too open to conversation. Not that we had much to say to each other before.”
“Why ya suppose ya’re still alive?” I asked. “Or me?”
“If I must suppose, honor or some such. Noble kind don’t go killin’ their unarmed captives. Especially if they strode in with talkin’ peace on their mind. I guess, unless they’re gonna eat ’em later.”
“Send Taiz’lin for yar friend Maertin.” The thought had just leapt into my mind, spilled out of my mouth unrequested.
“I don’t recon Maertin will want to come here. I didn’t mention it before, but the two clans—may have come to blows—a bit. No love lost, if ya get what I mean.”
“We need someone to interpret, and the dragons won’t do.”
Ike eyed me, head a kilter, shakin’ back and forth.
The goblin guard took that moment to give Ike a rude shove, and shouted. The words sounded as unpleasant as the gesture, maybe more so. He waved his bow toward the direction Ike had come. Ike growled and lunged toward the goblin, and he leapt back a step, grabbin’ for his huntin’ knife at his hip.
“Another push like that and we’re gonna have words, goblin.” Ike pointed at him, which looked a little odd, considerin’ his wrists were tied together.
The goblin shouted again, and Ike ambled in the direction the creature motioned, continuin’ to glare at him.
“Do what I said, Ike.”
“No dragons, huh?”
“They distrust them. Are afraid of them.”
“As they should.”
“Maertin.”
Ike was quiet, and the trumpet of two dragons miles away echoed against the cliff face, over the sound of the falls. Every goblin peered into the sky.
Ike laughed. “He’s not very happy about leavin’. But he’s goin’. Why, by the way, am I tied up, and ya’re walkin’ around with a stick that can bust a skull to bloody dust?”
“I think they respect their wizards.”
Ike grunted. Our guard pointed at a fur sittin’ near a campfire we approached. Ike used his foot to unfold the fur and gave me a little bow, but shoutin’ behind us interrupted. One of the siblings I retrieved from the noose ran toward us, motionin’ around one hand with the other.
“Oh bully,” Ike said. “Here comes the one ya’ll struggle to make happy. I think he and the fellow ya bashed were best friends.”
Another goblin rushed forward, slicin’ a strip of hide as he came. They obviously intended to tie me up.
Time to make a stand. Why that ignert thought came to mind, I’ll never know. Never considered myself totally ignert, before.
I stamped Bacchus onto the ground dramatically, at the same time, sendin’ the jolt I was gettin’ pretty good with, leapin’ toward the two goblins. With it I sent the only sensation that came to mind—imaginin’ the worst headache I had ever had—the reverse of what I do when I heal. Both goblins shrank back, pain clear on their faces.
“No!” I shouted. That word works in most every language, I think.
Why stop there?
I motioned at the first goblin’s knife on his hip and waved him forward. Amazingly, the creature did as I bade. I took the leather strip wrapped around Ike’s wrists and pulled it toward the goblin. The goblin looked back at the clan leader’s son, but proceeded to cut the strip in two.
The sibling walked away, and our guard turned and sat under the flap of his tent, on his own fur. Ike and I looked at each other for an instant, before sittin’ down.
“I’ll merit ya have a worthy wild hair now and again,” Ike said softly. “Shame it ain’t more often.”
The camp settled down except for the shoutin’ that continued from the elder’s tent. How odd the squabble was, a clan member arguin’ with his leader like that. A wise leader listens only to respectful counsel, and decides. Don’t accept overt dissent. There was significant debate occurrin’ on the other side of the camp, and it implied a problem with the clan hierarchy. Could chaos benefit us, or derail peace?
The debate continued over an hour. Finally, the tent flap flung back and the war party leader that brought me to the camp sprinted to the middle of the encampment and shouted three words. Fifty warriors gathered around him and a moment later they trotted away in a double file.
“They don’t look like they’re in a good mood,” Ike said. “On the way to a social gatherin’.”
“How long?” I asked.
Ike nodded. “A bit before he nears Maertin’s territory, on the east edge of the Range. Let’s hope they haven’t moved to new caves.”
I lay down close to the fire and closed my eyes. “Wake me if thin’s get interestin’.”
Ike mumbled, “I suspect interestin’ won’t be the best description for what we’ll see when Taiz’lin returns.”
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