Chapter Fifteen
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The goblins sat waitin’ for us when Ike and I completed the deep descent. It may have just been my imagination, but they seemed to wear a smug look of superiority, as though sayin’, “Ogres aren’t much for climbin’.”
We aren’t. Reason most of us live on the plains.
Bent and Big didn’t give us time to catch our breath. They headed up the gorge, eyes glued to the far rise. It irritated me how the two managed the smooth-eroded boulders and deadwood, as though they levitated, when Ike and I frequently had to resort to climbin’ hand-over-hand.
The two stopped at a bend ten minutes later, but it wasn’t to let us ogres catch up. Bent Nose pointed at a smudge of oxide on a rock. But it wasn’t mineral. Loomin’ over Ike’s shoulder, I could see it was blood. Not a pool. Nothin’ that implied a gapin’ wound. It could have been a smear from a cut, rubbed over the rock when gettin’ a handhold. I breathed in the coppery smell.
Bent pointed up the far side and said somethin’. Ike nodded and muttered six syllables that sounded like, “Drag cat the ate punch not.”
I used to think Standish sounded odd.
Bent and Big seemed to understand. They rushed up the cliff, allowin’ gravel and rocks the size of a dragon’s head to roll toward me and Ike.
Ike shouted, but a raspy laugh filtered down through the rumble.
“Wouldn’t try to catch them if they were runnin’ from me,” Ike mumbled.
“They wouldn’t have to run from me,” I said. The suckers are really athletic.
Why am I here today, followin’ two goblins, of all thin’s. Lookin’ for a human who never oughta been here.
With an inwardly private expression, Ike hiked up the gully twenty more feet to get away from the fallin’ debris, before he climbed. Three steps up, before slidin’ two back.
Stinkin’ goblins. Show offs. So sinewy sometimes trumps hard, ogre muscle.
The incline leveled off quickly, and Ike and I made better time. The two weren’t sittin’ when we caught up with them this time. They pointed northwest, toward the mountain range called the Spine, and headed off.
The trail quickly twisted about in circles. Lucas was obviously tryin’ to get his bearin’s. But why didn’t he just stay put until sunrise? Wait on us to find him?
“Hit his head. Dazed,” Ike suggested.
Or evadin’ somethin’. “Smell ’em?” I asked.
We ran to catch up with Bent and Big. We didn’t have far to go. The two goblins stood over blood-soaked, well-stirred pine needles. Somethin’ had scrapped for its life.
“Why didn’t we hear ’em?” I asked. “This struggle woulda—“
“A lot of blood. Never seen a pack of wolves hunt anythin’ this large and healthy before.”
“No bones. No scraps of clothin’.”
“Carried everythin’ off,” Ike managed with a deep intake of air.
No bow, quiver, boots, hatchet, nothin’. Didn’t sound right. But a human—couldn’ta lost this much blood and survived, could he?
Ike walked away from the three of us, arms cradlin’ his head as though he avoided objects fallin’ from the sky. Perhaps the sky was fallin’ upon the ogre’s head. Lucas was his best friend. He and his dragon shared the lair Ike, his mate, and dragon claimed on top of that mountain. So I was told.
I shook my head and walked off in the opposite direction, needin’ my own space. Images of the human’s freckles, quick smile, light-colored eyes, and blond hair crossed my mind. Guilt roiled. Tightened my gut. I’d hated the human at first. He was an obstacle to holdin’ Delia close. She might have followed Lucas to the Hamlet, to live among other humans.
I turned around to look for Ike. Maybe he needed my support, an arm over his shoulder. Encouragin’ words. The young bull stood frozen, lookin’ up into the pines. The crows bickered from the limbs, demandin’ the four of us go away so they could search among the soaked soil for a last tidbit, somethin’ the wolves overlooked.
Damn them.
The two goblins caught my attention. They knelt near the blood spatter, heads lowered. They held hands, right in left, silently, not movin’.
Prayin’?
I felt sick. A bitter taste invaded my mouth, a sense of vertigo washed over me. I slumped to the ground to keep from fallin’.
I killed one of them two days ago. Never said a prayer. Only thought about it, I think.
Bent and Big rose and walked twenty feet away, evidently to give me and Ike a moment to mourn the loss of our friend? They spoke softly, their backs to us.
I had wondered how Ike could be friends with one of them. Could they—my mind was aclutter.
Ike stood over me. Reached down to offer me a hand, his face emotionless.
“Let’s get goin’,” he said. “We can wallow like little hens another day.”
“What’ll ya tell Iza?” I asked.
Anger flashed across Ike’s face.
Why did I ask him that? “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. Not like the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
Ike flicked his hand to encourage me to take it. I did. As I stood, Ike grasped my shoulder with a broad hand and lightly propelled me downward, northeast, toward Black Lake.
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