by Scott
“Well, that’s the easy part out of the way,” she told Saeter as he ran up and tossed her a bag of medical supplies. The scout grunted, and she wiped herself off and applied a salve to her face.
Once she was done, Herad ordered the spearmen to keep everyone away from what was left of the ghouls. Blacknail tried to get a closer look at the remains, but the spearmen shooed him away. The goblin wasn’t too upset. The creatures’ mangled bodies smelled really bad anyway.
Herad then had some of her men use their spears to push the ghouls onto a tarp and had the tarp dumped into the pit Blacknail had helped dig. Everything touched by the ghouls or their blood was thrown in the pit. That included clothes, even Herad’s. She stripped off her leathers and threw them in. Blacknail got a brief glimpse of a thin muscular and scarred body before Vorscha draped a clean cloak over her boss’s shoulders and handed her some new clothes.
Herad cursed. “Damned ghouls! I liked that armor. At least we shouldn’t have to worry about further infection now.”
“True, but we still have to worry about those already infected. Those ghouls probably already infiltrated the camp several times before they got hungry enough to start abducting people,” Saeter responded. He cast a disturbed look toward the remains of the wounded who had been used to lure the ghouls out. He clearly didn’t like that they had been used as bait.
“What about you? How do I know you’re not infected?” Herad asked him with an upraised eyebrow.
“I always carry a flask of powdered silver and garlic extract on me for occasions like this,” Saeter replied.
“Expensive and paranoid—I approve. If I wasn’t already immune, I would have to steal it from you,” Herad said as she flashed him a quick grin.
“That’s the only reason I told you. Just don’t ask me to share. I barely have enough for myself.”
“That’s too bad. Here I was hoping to skip this next part,” she responded as she began walking toward the center of the camp.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” Saeter said. “We’re still going to have to lock the camp down and isolate everyone as much as possible. You won’t know who’s infected until the disease progresses enough that silver and garlic start burning them, and even then, you have to worry about the turned breaking out and spreading the disease further.”
“How many ghoul attacks have you seen?” Herad asked with sudden curiosity.
“Three now, and that’s far too many,” he answered with a scowl.
Blacknail was trailing his master. They walked by a group of shocked-looking bandits seated around a fire. The goblin was glad to be away from the creepy ghoul things. They didn’t act like animals at all. Blacknail took a deep breath of clean air to calm himself, but he sneezed violently when an unwelcome scent tickled his nose. Instinctively, he turned to look at one of the nearby bandits and sniffed him. Curious, he moved closer to get a better scent.
Saeter stopped and gave the goblin an inquiring look. “What are you doing, Blacknail?”
“Smell ghouls,” Blacknail replied as he gazed intently at one man sitting nearby.
The bandit was staring back at Blacknail with a concerned expression. Before the man could say anything though, Herad walked over and gave him a look. The man wilted under her attention. It was impressive how without even speaking, she could give orders like “shut up or I’ll stab you.”
“You can smell infection?” she asked the goblin.
It was the first time she had ever addressed Blacknail directly. The goblin froze as he suddenly became the center of everyone’s undivided attention. The bandit chieftain’s dark stare was making him uncomfortable and upsetting his stomach.
“He smell little like ghoul,” the startled goblin replied.
Herad smiled viciously. “Well now, I guess you’ve finally made yourself useful.”
A pleased Herad quickly had Blacknail tour the camp and sniff everyone. If someone smelled wrong, or if Blacknail just didn’t like them, several of Herad’s goons dragged them away.
The infected were isolated, even from each other, until they could be tested. Archers were put into position around the infected zone to kill them from a distance if they tried anything. None of them did. Herad made it plain what would happen to people who tried to run, and no one wanted to test her.
Eventually, the disease progressed enough that the bandits could be tested. Blacknail watched with interest as a small silver knife was applied to each one’s skin. The flesh of the infected burned and rose into red welts at its touch. Then came the killing. The burned couldn’t be saved. Herad either decapitated them, or they were brought down by archers as they tried to flee.
Their corpses were thrown into the pit, along with stacks of firewood. The remains already in there had been covered lightly by dirt to dampen the smell and risk of exposure but had otherwise been left alone. As everyone watched in silence, a stone-faced Herad dropped a torch in the hole. Roaring flames burst out and consumed all trace of the dead.
The camp was quiet and morose for several days after that. Between the raid on the weapon caravan and the ghoul attack, the population of the camp had been drastically reduced. Many of the bandits had lost friends or comrades. Some of them had even taken a hand in their friends’ deaths.
There were exceptions to this though. As usual, Herad revealed no attachment to anyone but herself, and Saeter thought most of the bandits were scum anyway.
Oddly enough, these events caused Blacknail to make some new friends. A few of the sick had been identified early enough that they were able to cure themselves with powdered silver and garlic. Like Saeter, a few other bandits had their own stashes and were willing to trade it once they were sure they themselves weren’t infected. Without the goblin’s warning most of the infected would have died.
Blacknail thus became popular with several bandits. They even began sneaking him treats, and he started putting on weight. Not only was he getting yummy food, but he also felt like a real member of the tribe! Herad herself had told him he was useful. She never told anyone that!
Then one night, Blacknail the goblin curled up and went to sleep next to his master’s tent for the last time.
Part 3: Written in Blood
Chapter 18
Saeter woke feeling tired and sore, which he supposed just meant he hadn’t grown any younger overnight. The ground was hard beneath him, even with a blanket between him and it, but he had become used to the feeling over the years. He had spent so many nights sleeping on the earth that the softness of a bed now seemed alien and uncomfortable to him.
He opened his eyes to see the morning light slipping through the cloth walls of his small, cozy tent. With a grunt and a not-inconsiderable act of will, he tossed off his blankets and quickly got dressed. With that done, he took a small sip of water from the canteen beside his bed. His mouth was always dry in the morning.
“Well, another day dawns. It’s time to go out and see what Tera-Nan plans for me today,” he said with an air of practiced ritual.
Saeter flipped open the flap of his tent and stepped out into the crisp morning air. As was usual lately, the sight of the outlaw camp greeted him as he looked around. Once he was sure no one was close, he let out a small sigh of fatigue before forcing himself to get his gear together for the morning’s hunt. He just didn’t have the energy he used to have. A lot of people called Saeter an old man, but he really wasn’t one. He was just barely the oldest person in the camp.
But his lifestyle had aged him and kept demanding more when he had little left to give. He had seen somewhere around forty winters but had forgotten the exact amount. In his youth, he had known many men and women over that age and well beyond it, but they were rare out in the wilds.
He refused to let himself give in to misery though. Out here in the green was exactly where he wanted to be. He looked past the nearby tents and people to the forest beyond them. A slight wind caught the trees, and their branches shifted like the waters of a calm sea
. In his youth, he had loved the forest, and that feeling had never left him. He could not think of a better place to live and die than the wilds of the North.
Saeter’s heart fluttered slightly and his soul stirred as he remembered recent events. The dream he had thought long dead had shown the tiniest bit of life again after all these years. Hope, it seemed, could do what all else couldn’t—make him feel young again.
As Saeter looked around he spotted Blacknail sleeping in his usual spot, and a small smile crept onto his face. The goblin had dug himself a shallow dirt bed and was hidden under his blanket.
Blacknail had sure been a great find. When he had first seen the little beast, he’d just thought the goblin might be useful for carrying things and such. Saeter was past the point in his life where he wanted to drag carcasses through the woods for half a day. He wasn’t about to ask one of the other scouts for aid though; he could still keep up just fine by himself. He didn’t need other people’s help just because he was getting older.
But after Saeter had taken him in, Blacknail had quickly proven to be so much more than a porter. His ability to learn so swiftly was impressive. He had shown he could do almost any simple task that Saeter took the time to teach him. The goblin had also shown far more loyalty and discipline than Saeter had thought his kind were capable of. He had thought the goblin would try to run before a few days were up. That hadn’t happened; instead the goblin had clearly become attached to him.
Sure, Blacknail might be kind of ugly and cowardly, but he had also shown his loyalty beyond a doubt. Saeter didn’t know what he would do if the little guy wasn’t around anymore.
The old man walked over and gave Blacknail a kick to wake him up. The goblin didn’t stir. Saeter frowned. That was unusual. Blacknail always at least turned to look at Saeter when his master woke him each morning.
Saeter gave him a harder kick. The goblin still didn’t move.
With concern, Saeter pulled the blanket free from the goblin’s form. It snagged on something and wouldn’t come free though. Saeter gave it a twist, and it came off. The blanket had gotten stuck on Blacknail’s little horns, was all. It was nothing to worry about. His horns…
“Misery and bloody damnation. Corodus drown you in vile darkness, you miserable bastards!” Saeter swore vehemently as he punched the air and shook with rage.
Swearing was hardly unusual in the bandit camp, but Saeter’s tirade drew the attention of everyone within earshot. He got quite a few concerned looks and several laughs. Saeter didn’t give a damn what the people around him thought, but he forced himself to calm down and chided himself for using a god’s name in a curse. That was terribly bad luck and would only make things worse.
Suppressing his rage, and his unacknowledged fear, Saeter threw the blanket back down over the goblin and stomped off to find Herad. He really didn’t want to speak to her. She had always… no, this wasn’t the time for that. Saeter focused and pressed onward.
He made his way to Herad’s commandeered farmhouse and marched up to the door. The usual two guards were there. Saeter didn’t have the patience to deal with them.
“Move or I’ll shoot you,” he growled as he stomped toward them.
The two men’s eyes went wide in surprise, and they hurriedly stepped out of his way. Saeter wondered why Herad even bothered with them. They were obviously useless as guards. Knowing Herad, she probably just wanted to keep them away from anything important.
One of them spoke up as he moved out of the scout’s way. “She’s not actually in there, Saeter. She went to find Red Dog.”
Saeter glowered at him from where he stood in front of the door with one hand ready to knock. He huffed and turned back the way he had come. The stupid ruffians should have immediately mentioned that Herad was out, instead of wasting his time.
Saeter started walking again. He thought Red Dog’s lean-to was over by the south end of the camp, so he headed that way.
“He didn’t even have a bow,” one of the bandits remarked as Saeter stomped off.
The old scout realized they were right. He could have sworn he had strapped it to his back earlier. Well, it wasn’t like he needed a bow to show those brutes who was boss anyway.
He passed several groups of early risers cooking or sitting around their campfires. When he got close to his destination, he saw Herad talking to Red Dog and Vorscha. Geralhd was standing in the background, being a useless lump and following Vorscha around as usual. That stupid young man didn’t realize what it took to survive in the North.
Red Dog saw him coming and said something to Herad. She turned to look at Saeter as he approached. She mustn’t have liked the look on his face because she grimaced at him. Vorscha also gave Saeter a confused look. Bah, what did he care what they thought! Saeter walked over to them without saying anything. Now that he was here, he was a little lost for words. He wasn’t quite sure what would be the best way to say what he wanted.
As he thought it over, Herad gave him an exasperated look. “What’s got up your backend, Saeter?”Saeter glowered at her. He was having trouble controlling his emotions. “It’s about Blacknail.”
Herad waved him off. “Yes, yes, he’s made himself quite useful. You can keep the goblin.”
“No, that’s not what I was saying. I can’t keep the goblin because—”
Herad interrupted him with an annoyed look. “You can’t seriously be telling me that now you want to get rid of him?”
Everyone around them looked confused or surprised. Geralhd in particular seemed startled.
“No! I can’t keep the goblin because I no longer have one,” Saeter explained.
This just earned him more confused looks.
“He ran off?” Vorscha asked at the same time Geralhd yelled, “You killed him?”
Saeter scowled at them. These people were idiots.
“Listen, Saeter, just come out and say it. Oh, and if you’re playing some sort of stupid game where you’re trying to make me ask you to keep the goblin, then I will stab you. Are we clear?” Herad said with an annoyed tone.
Saeter took a second to gather his thoughts. He decided to be thorough in his answer so there would be no more stupid questions, or stabbings. He was too useful for Herad to kill, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hurt him. She would undoubtedly enjoy it too.
“Blacknail wouldn’t wake up this morning, plus he’s growing horns. That means he’s gone into the sort of hibernation that goblins go into when they’re transforming into hobgoblins,” he explained carefully.
Everyone’s reaction to the news was different. Herad’s face instantly went blank, so Saeter had no idea what she was thinking. Vorscha looked confused, while Geralhd looked excited, and Red Dog had a horrified expression. Saeter scowled and waited for them to start asking him dumb questions.
“I thought goblins and hobgoblins were two different things,” Vorscha said first.
It was Geralhd who answered her. “No, hobgoblins are a rare and usually latent adult form of goblins. No one is quite sure what causes the transformation to occur when it’s obviously not needed for breeding, but it’s a fascinating question. Some salamanders do something similar.”
His enthusiasm made Vorscha throw him an amused look.
“He’s changing because you kept sneaking him treats! I had him on a diet for this very reason, you idiot,” Saeter told the now flushing young man. Saeter knew he was partly to blame, because he had stopped enforcing that rule lately, but he would never admit it. He had even noticed Blacknail putting on weight and hadn’t done anything about it because he had gotten too attached to the goblin. That had been stupid of him. He was too nice for his own good.
“Huh, I guess that means little Blacknail is growing up,” Vorscha said.
“What it means is that you need to kill him,” Red Dog interjected angrily.
Geralhd looked shocked, but Saeter had known that was coming. Even if Red Dog didn’t say it, over half the camp was still sure to. Hobgoblins were far
from popular.
“I need? Watch your language,” Herad told Red Dog with a raised eyebrow.
The bandit lieutenant hastily rephrased himself. “We should kill him. Hobgoblins are bloody dangerous. They’re killers that would rather slit a man’s throat than look at them. There’s a reason most countries have a bounty on their ugly green heads. Evil and ruin follow them. Taking one for a pet would be like taking a sea serpent for a mount. It can only end one way.”
Herad’s face was still blank and unrevealing. She seemed content to let the others speak, and Saeter wanted to see what the others thought before saying anything himself.
Geralhd huffed condescendingly at Red Dog. “That’s nothing but myth and superstition. It’s leftover nonsense from the Goblin Wars, which weren’t even real wars. They just involved the early colonists killing a whole lot of goblin tribes as they cleared the land. As for the bounty, well, there’s a bigger bounty on your head. Also, you kill people all the time and you don’t see me being all terrified of you.”
“I can take a hobgoblin easily,” Vorscha added as she stood tall and crossed her arms.
Red Dog ignored her and turned to Geralhd. “Don’t give me that scholar crap, city boy. I’ve actually fought a hobgoblin, and it killed a good friend of mine. If you had actually ever been anywhere near one before, then you would be dead! No one here should even be considering letting one into camp. They’re accursed savage fiends. That’s what hob means, it means demon!” Red Dog’s face grew red with anger.
“That shows the worth of your so called knowledge, Red Dog. Hob comes from an old imperial word for home,” Geralhd said. “The original settlers called them hobgoblins because they were more tribal than normal goblins and would occasionally build their own shelter. It was only after the Goblin Wars that ignorant people, like you, began to associate them with demons.”
This didn’t seem to reassure Red Dog. He looked as though he was about to explode and take Geralhd out with him, but Herad intervened.