Goblin Apprentice

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2019 Gerhard Gehrke

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording, or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Published by Lucas Ross Publishing.

  Author website: gerhardgehrke.com

  Edited by Brittany Dory at Blue Minerva Copyediting

  Cover Design by Abbyanna.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  Goblin Apprentice

  by

  G. Gehrke

  Goblin Reign Book Two

  Chapter One

  Spicy crawled towards the human camp. Whatever game they were roasting smelled divine. By his count, there were ten soldiers. Each was much taller than him, with better arms and armor. Spicy carried no weapon. He only had to get close enough to listen.

  One man who was louder than the rest spoke with a full mouth. “By the Divine Mother, why didn’t you bring any salt?”

  “It’s salted,” a second man said irritably. “It’s also rubbed down with sage and rosemary. If you chew slower and less like a pig, you’ll taste it.”

  A few of the men laughed.

  “I don’t taste salt,” Full Mouth grumbled. “Pass me another slice.”

  “Wait your turn,” the cook said. “Everyone gets to eat.”

  “You’re not giving any of our meat to the prisoners.”

  A third man coughed and spoke with a hoarse voice. “They can pick on the bones when we’re done.”

  More laughter. Then more sounds of chewing and swallowing that both disgusted Spicy and made his stomach grumble. The meager forage over the past few days had done nothing to curb his appetite. He forced himself not to think about food as he craned his neck. He counted again.

  But now there were only nine around the fire. There was a dangling red guidon leaning on a tree near the men’s packs and armor. Nothing else was moving.

  Where was the tenth man?

  He froze. The tall pines surrounding the camp made enough shadows for fifty men to hide in. He had been careful, having gone around the ring of trees before getting closer. The humans had no horses and he was certain of his count, which hadn’t included the two prisoners.

  One man and one goblin were tied up and sat in the dirt at the periphery of the fire’s glow.

  Lord’s mercenary band had held a goblin as a slave when they had taken his sister Thistle along with his friend Rime and five children from his village. His sister was now free and the mercenaries dead. But Rime and the children remained missing.

  Judging by his scent, the goblin prisoner was the same slave the humans had kept around camp. The only reason he was tied up now was that these men weren’t part of Lord’s band, Spicy reasoned. And Lord’s men had never carried any banner. There were too many questions. Where were Rime and the others? And who was their human prisoner?

  The troll he’d named Hog claimed she had killed the humans who hadn’t chased Spicy to Fath’s lair.

  Even now she and the dragon waited for him. Fath was irritated to even have the troll in his company and less than pleased at this delay. But Spicy had insisted on his eavesdropping mission. He had to find Rime and the others. Now all he had to do was get close enough to the slave to talk.

  A twig snapped just behind him.

  “The water is foul here,” the tenth soldier said. He stomped through the grass and stopped just next to Spicy. “Told you we should have set camp back near the stream.”

  “Quit your complaining and quit shouting,” the man with the hoarse voice ordered.

  “Aren’t we setting a watch?”

  “Sounds like you volunteered to take the first one.”

  The men laughed. The soldier next to Spicy mumbled an oath. Then he looked down.

  “There’s someone here!”

  He grabbed for Spicy, but the goblin sprang to his feet and bolted past him. The man’s fingers only grazed the back of his coat. Spicy ran towards the break in the trees, but it took a moment for his night vision to adjust. Then the trees before him moved. There was one that shifted directly in front of him, blocking his path. But the tree had two arms and was holding something big. It swung a branch at the man chasing Spicy and caught him in the midsection, sending him flying into the darkness.

  Hog bellowed and strode past him towards the campfire. Men shouted. Their leader barked orders but there was little time as the massive troll assaulted the camp, swinging her monster club to the right and then to the left, knocking men down with the sound of crunching bones. Then she began to pummel one poor soul into the ground like she was driving a nail.

  Someone threw a burning log at the troll.

  She stumbled backwards. Two men remained standing. They pressed forward, one brandishing a makeshift torch that he stabbed at the air in her direction. The second held a spear. He thrust it and skewered her hand, causing her to drop her club.

  Spicy picked up a rock and threw it at the man carrying the torch. The glancing blow surprised the man and got him to turn to face him.

  Hog lunged and smashed the man down into the dirt with the flat of one giant hand, sending the torch spiraling away. The soldier with the spear drove it into her side. She grunted as she pressed down and crushed the torchbearer. Spicy ran forward and tackled the man with the spear, not quite bringing him to the ground. They struggled for a moment. The man released his weapon and clamped his hands on Spicy’s arms, prying the goblin free.

  Spicy bit a wrist.

  The man yelped and let go and shoved him away. Spicy scrambled back past several flattened soldiers. The disarmed spearman appeared to be the cook. He wore a stained apron. From his belt he drew a thick knife that looked like what Spicy’s mot
her would have him use to chop vegetables.

  Spicy’s eyes were locked on the weapon. But there was motion behind the man. Spicy pointed. The cook turned as Hog was pulling the spear free from her side. Blood oozed from the wound.

  “Human smell makes Hog sick,” she said.

  The cook just stood there trembling as Hog reared up and towered over him.

  “Hog, wait,” Spicy said. “Human, if you want to save your life, tell us where the goblin children are.”

  “I…I…what?” the man asked.

  Hog squashed him with a two-fisted haymaker. When his legs continued to spasm, she drove a fist down on his head. The cook stopped moving.

  “Hog! I needed to ask him questions.”

  She considered the lump of flattened soldier. “So ask.”

  Spicy moved through the other men Hog had struck down. A few continued to twitch. None appeared conscious. Looking at the carnage made Spicy’s stomach go queasy. But the two prisoners remained alive.

  Hog was busy probing the spear wound with a thick fingernail. She made a cooing noise with each prod.

  Spicy took the butcher’s knife from the cook and began cutting the ropes from the prisoners.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “The troll won’t hurt you. She’s with me.”

  Spicy recognized the man as one of Lord’s raiders. His eyes were filled with terror as he watched the troll. His lips moved but no sound was coming out. The man looked young, with naked cheeks and chin, perhaps no older than his mid-teens.

  “Hog, promise the human you won’t hurt him.”

  Hog grunted.

  “See?” Spicy said.

  The man rubbed his wrists. Spicy worked to free the goblin.

  “Now tell me what happened with the goblin children.”

  The man bolted. Hog just watched him flee. The man let out a wild laugh as he ran. But before he could get beyond the glow of the fire, another shadow darted at him, large and fast as a snake. A claw tore the man down with a single swipe. The man gurgled as the dragon wiped his talons clean.

  Fath snorted and slunk towards the campfire. “Are you finished yet?”

  “No, Fath,” Spicy said. “We needed to talk to him. Talk.”

  “You don’t give orders, child.”

  The dragon was eyeing the goblin slave. Spicy moved to block his path. Fath lowered his head towards them both and let out a snort that reeked of sulfur. The freed slave grabbed Spicy and hid behind him.

  “Move, apprentice.”

  Spicy shook his head. “This goblin poses no threat. And I need to ask him more questions. Remember, Fath, you said it yourself. We need a better map if we’re to go as far south as you desire. We also need to know where humans live so we can avoid them.”

  A low bass growl sounded deep in the dragon’s throat.

  “I know you didn’t forget,” Spicy said. “I didn’t mean to imply that you did. But this is important. No map means we have trouble. More men. More weapons. Maybe men with bombs like before.”

  “You used my name in front of this low creature.”

  “I’m sorry. But not your full name. I recognize it and keep it dear. In my heart.” He offered a bow, uncertain of how deep he had to lower his head as he had seen his sister do. The creature still made him nervous.

  The dragon scratched at the ground as he deliberated. Hog had come up behind him, the tree club once again in her hand. Spicy gestured for her to back off. A long moment passed in which he believed they all were going to die in a spectacular display of steam and bone-crunching violence. But the dragon turned and slithered away.

  “Find the map,” Fath said before he vanished.

  The slave clung to Spicy. The embrace was difficult to break. Spicy managed to free himself only when Hog moved away too.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Spicy said. “I promise. Now tell me about the goblin children.”

  Chapter Two

  Alma hung from the edge of the rock precipice by the strap of her quiver. As she returned to consciousness, her feet could find no purchase. Beneath her, the drop was high enough to end her life several times over. Above her, a blanket of clouds lay across the setting moon.

  A flood of questions rose inside her head, but she dismissed them all. The wheres and whys could wait. The what was all that mattered. Surviving to the next moment was her sole focus.

  Her head throbbed. Her arms were tingling and numb. With one hand, she felt the smooth rock. At first it felt featureless with no suitable handhold. Reaching further, her fingers found the smallest lip. She grasped it. Her callused hands had no problem gripping the stone. But it was too dark to see if there was any place for her feet.

  As her toes reached out and tapped at the rocky face, the quiver strap slipped.

  She dropped a few inches and cried out. Cursed herself for showing weakness. The strap would fail at any moment. She continued to probe with her toes.

  Nothing. No ledge, not even a rough surface for the tips of her boots. The wind-smoothed stone was as slick as soap.

  She needed her other hand. But raising her right arm would mean letting the strap of the quiver slip off her shoulder. That would result in a fatal plummet.

  But she was going to fall anyway.

  She placed her weight on the fingerhold and swung. Her right hand slapped at smooth stone. The quiver strap went slack but caught again on whatever above her held it in place. She grabbed the strap. The taut leather stretched to its limit. Yet it held. But as she tried to pull herself up, the strap gave way with a soft snap.

  Her entire body weight hung on just four fingers.

  The hand began to cramp. The tiny lip of rock grew slick with sweat. Her entire body was trembling as she reached up and found another fingerbreadth of stone for her right hand. But it was enough to allow her left to edge to the side in search of a better purchase.

  No good.

  The lip only grew narrower.

  With arms and back muscles accustomed to drawing and firing arrow after arrow using a bow with the highest draw weight, she pulled herself up. With her shoulders higher, she was able to reach above her head. Her hand found a solid hold. Soon she was scrambling over the precipice and onto flat ground. She collapsed on the stone and let out a dry laugh.

  Curse the goblins and their Mother Mountain, curse Lord and his fantasy of hidden dragon lore, curse the bastard dragon who nearly killed her, and curse the goblin youth that led her platoon of mercenaries to their doom.

  The bow she had dropped when the dragon had struck her with its tail lay nearby. It was intact except for a busted string. Her own bow had been lost when they first went up against the creature. This weapon she had salvaged from a fallen soldier.

  Even in the diffuse moonlight she could make out the dark stain of the glyph on the white oak.

  Luck.

  Maybe the soldiers in her mercenary company who believed in the power of the glyphs were right. It was good to have luck. But the glyph hadn’t done anything for the man who had owned the bow.

  Now that she had a weapon, she made a quick examination of herself. No broken bones. Bruised ribs, no doubt, judging from the pain each breath caused. All her joints ached. Multiple scrapes. But she had suffered worse.

  The quiver still hung from a dry branch growing out from a crack in the rock. She drew it up by its broken strap. The arrows were all gone, but she discovered a spare bowstring in a side pouch. Finding any of the arrows fired during the last encounter would be next to impossible at night and would require her to climb down into the canyon where the dragon lived.

  For now she needed to move.

  There was no knowing where the dragon may have gone, and she had to assume it might be searching for her. The last she had seen of Lord and the remaining men of her platoon, the monster had torn them to pieces. And then there had been the explosion.

  Her mouth was too dry to spit. She wanted water, but that would have to wait.

  Lord had trusted in his satchel of bomb
s as if the devices could compensate for poor tactics and stupidity. She shook her head at the memory. Lord and his bombs.

  Curse those weapons as well.

  She needed to find her way down to the mouth of the canyon. That was where they had left their horses and two guards. They could head back west to the sea and figure the rest out as they went.

  The top of the canyon proved treacherous, as the rock held many hidden crevices that might twist an ankle. Stumbling might result in a fall down either side of the ridge. Yet she pressed on. The sooner she could get out of the mountains the better. This was a foreign land to her, too cold with too much rock. She’d had her fill of goblins, trolls, and dragons.

  Soon enough the way forward widened and there were even trees that grew from the sandy soil between the granite.

  From ahead of her came the scrape of a boot. It was a single sound that didn’t repeat.

  She held her breath and waited. A less experienced hunter might dismiss the sound. Darkness and adrenaline activated the imagination. But Alma watched and listened until she could find out what was in front of her. She was perfectly concealed in the shadow of a fir tree. The only thing that could give her away was her scent.

  Someone groaned and then a shape moved. It came towards her at an awkward gait, hobbling as if burdened by an uneven load.

  She hissed.

  The person ahead of her froze. “Hello?” a man’s voice cried.

  “Martin?” Alma rose from her hiding place. Martin was one of Lord’s lieutenants. The other men called him Blades. The acne-scarred merc should have been dead several times over. Yet here he was, hitch-stepping his way up a dark ridge with a branch as a crutch. Blades had twisted his ankle badly after the dragon attacked and their goblin prisoners had escaped.

  “How is it you’re alive?” she asked.

  “I played dead.”

  “Who else made it?”

  “No one. Lord’s gone. The rest of the men fell when the dragon came out. And then the bombs went off…all of them.”

  She heard the panic rising in his voice. “Are you sure they’re all dead?”