“No one was moving,” Blades said. “You think I waited around to dig through the rubble?”
“Relax, Martin. I’m just trying to find out what our assets are. We need to make it back to the horses and get out of here.”
“It’s too dark. I can’t see where I’m going. We have to take shelter and wait for morning.”
“Maybe you don’t remember the pile of human bones by the dragon cave. It’s not just the dragon we have to avoid.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shhh.”
A softer sound. A rustle. She had missed it while talking to Blades. But they had been following him.
Figures moved in the gloom around them. Even as she bolted past Blades to race down the ridge, two men holding spears blocked her path. More emerged from the shadows on all sides.
The barbarians who lived in the mountain and called the dragon their god were here.
Chapter Three
“Several of Lord’s band rode off before we crossed the water in the boats,” the goblin slave said. “Lord let them go as a show of good faith to the rest of his men. He said they were all free to find their fortune, but the ones who stuck with him would be rich.”
The slave grabbed a mouthful of dried and salted fish scrounged from a soldier’s pack and chewed noisily.
Fath had retreated into the darkness but might change his mind about letting the goblin slave live.
Spicy gestured for him to go on, glad the slave was finally calm enough to talk. He was a young adult with freckled tan skin and several broken teeth. His jaw appeared misshapen. It was difficult to tell whether this was from some old accident or abuse suffered from his captors.
Food swallowed, the slave was about to continue speaking when a wet crunch made them both jump. Hog had moved closer to the fire and had just stepped down on one of the raider’s heads, crushing it.
Hog giggled. It was a deep, bouncy chortle. The slave looked horrified and began panting hard as the troll moved to the next raider. Another crunch. Another laugh.
Spicy felt his own stomach sour. “Hog, please stop.”
Hog looked at him for a moment before dragging two more of the humans off into the shadows. Spicy could only hope both were already dead.
“I don’t want to die,” the slave whispered.
“You’re not going to. Believe it or not, she’s my friend.”
“And the dragon?”
“He’s okay, too. Just not used to being around people. What’s your name?”
“My old owners called me Mouse.”
“What did your parents call you?”
A crunch from the dark interrupted Mouse just before he spoke.
“Hog!” Spicy shouted in irritation.
There came a wordless grumble from Hog, followed by silence. Mouse eyed the backpack with the salted fish. Spicy closed it up and placed it in his lap. He ignored the pang of guilt. Mouse looked lean and exhausted.
“Your parents?” Spicy prompted. “Where are they? What village are you from?”
“I was born in a human village on the coast out on the big ocean. My earliest memory is me being given away and put to work. I never knew my mother. There was only one other goblin in the village where I lived and he had his tongue cut out. There were only a few younger humans who ever spoke with me beyond giving me orders. But then Lord’s men came through.”
“They attacked other humans?”
Mouse nodded. “Some they murdered, most scattered. The ones they captured they made dig up anything precious they might own. But no one had much. The village sold fish and salt for trade. Can I…?”
Spicy opened the pack and let Mouse grab up another handful of fish. At least he seemed calmer. Spicy fed the fire while Mouse ate. It felt good to get warm. The mountain air had only chilled further, with snow threatening in the wind. There wasn’t much left of the fish inside the pack.
“How long ago did Lord’s men take you prisoner?” Spicy asked.
“Two full changes of the moon. Except for having to ride on horses and then being on the boat for so long, it hasn’t been too bad. Although a few of the men threatened to feed me to the troll if I didn’t mind them.”
Spicy shook his head. “Why didn’t you try to escape?”
“And go where?”
“Anyplace would have to be better than being a prisoner.”
“I’d have no idea where to run to. Or where to find food.” Mouse eyed the pack.
Spicy realized his own nascent survival abilities were a world ahead of Mouse’s. At least he could fish, identify edible foods, and navigate. But Mouse’s life had been restricted to menial domestic work with a liberal side helping of abuse.
He handed Mouse the entire backpack but kept his hand on it when the goblin tried to open it. “You’re going to have to make that last. But first I need you to tell me what happened to Rime and the children.”
“Two of the men said they’d take them south and sell them at a town one of them knew. A place called Bliss, somewhere on the shore of the Inland Sea. They exchanged oaths and promises. At least one of the men didn’t trust the two would ever return with their share of the sale price. Another thought they’d be murdered by the humans who live around here. That was all I overheard. Then they left. That was the day after Lord departed to chase you. Then the troll attacked the camp, and me and the other human were the only ones who made it. Then we got captured.”
“So south? They headed south? The same direction we’ve been going?”
“Yes. All I know is I don’t like it here. The sea water smells funny. Your troll frightens me. And now I don’t know where to go.”
“Well, you can’t follow us. Take the fish. Find your way north along the coast. It’s a long walk. You’ll have to hunt or gather shellfish to live. Further to the west up in the hills is Athra, where I live.”
Mouse’s eyes were wide. “I’ll be your servant. Do your cooking and cleaning. Wash you. Anything. Let me go with you.”
Spicy shook his head. “You’re free now. And you coming with us is just not possible. You see who I’m traveling with. You have a chance if you stick to the coast. Avoid everyone. There are a few goblins out there who were fighting the humans, but they’re going back home. If you can find them, join them.”
“Please don’t leave me.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
Spicy dug through the rest of the gear near the fire. They didn’t have much, but there was a rough map drawn on smoothed hide. It bore little resemblance to the expertly illustrated charts from Sage Somni’s library, but surprisingly, it showed the entirety of the Inland Sea. A rough unlettered arrow indicated north. Spicy saw labels on a few villages and towns. Perhaps it would be enough to fill in the blanks so Fath would know the route to travel. But that would mean he wouldn’t give Spicy the chance to save the other goblins.
He tucked the map away into a pocket.
“The fire’s yours. Anything left here is yours for the taking, but it’s not much, and the less you carry the faster you can travel. I wouldn’t linger.”
Mouse looked as frightened as any goblin Spicy had ever seen. But he didn’t follow when Spicy got up and left him at the fire. Spicy forced himself to ignore the sting of guilt at the thought of what would most likely happen to the young goblin. But Spicy had to care for his own.
He called to Hog. She emerged from the darkness and followed him. Hog was working something out of her teeth. Spicy tried not to notice the stains around her mouth as they went to find the dragon.
“You have a map?” Fath asked.
“No,” Spicy said. “But I know where we can find one. A town to the south called Bliss. We go there and I sneak in and get us a map.”
Hog kept her distance. She was always content to hunker down on her haunches and lean on a tree. Even in daylight she became part of the landscape. But Fath preferred to lie out in the open, which was odd considering his lair had been a cramped cave created from some long-
ruined building set in a mountain.
Spicy waited as Fath absorbed the news. “That goblin heard my name.”
“Like I said, he heard only what I called you. He was in such a panic he doesn’t even remember. And I don’t even know if he’ll last long out here.”
Fath grunted. “So by setting him free you’ve doomed him. Killing him would be a mercy.”
“No, it’s not like that. Those humans were evil. Keeping him as a slave was wrong, and at least now he has a chance.”
“Indeed. He has a strong chance of death.”
“He’s not going to die.”
“I’d set a wager, but you have nothing to bet with that interests me. We go to this town, then. You procure a map. And then no more delays. We head south to the Devil Mountain and find my brother.”
Chapter Four
The tribe folk were painted white. Hands, skulls, and other patterns glowed on faces and bare chests in the cool moonlight. The obsidian spear tips sparkled as they flashed in Alma’s face.
One broad man with tiny bones twisted in his locks snatched her bow away. He hissed an order and another man nudged Blades and got him to kneel.
Alma raised her hands in surrender and tried not to stare. In her experience tribe folk could take offense at anything—a hard look, a gesture, a piece of jewelry that reminded them of a bad spirit. Alma wore only a few rings. But her white hair must have been unusual to them, as a few of the men surrounding her grabbed and tugged at it as if not believing it was real.
She resisted the urge to cry out.
One of the men was going through Blades’s pockets.
“I don’t have anything,” Blades said.
But the tribal found something and showed his prize to the leader. The leader took the offering without comment and put it into a pouch he wore around his neck. Someone pushed Alma. Blades was prodded as well, and soon both were being directed along an unseen path that wound back up the back of the ridge.
A waiting tribal had another man from their platoon held in front of him. The man was the mercenaries’ best horseman, named Redruth. He had been one of the two left behind at the horses. As he was pushed along with them, he appeared dazed and barely able to remain upright.
The trail had numerous rocks and other trip hazards. Alma was able to navigate them easily enough, but Blades had been deprived of his crutch and wound up falling numerous times.
The tribesmen only laughed.
When Blades finally cried out and refused to rise, the leader cuffed him. “Keep up or we kill you.”
The sharp command had its effect. Blades kept up. Alma finally got a look at Redruth. He too was limping badly and had an eye crusted shut with blood.
At the top of the slope, they stopped. A group of the tribals gathered around their leader. A hushed discussion followed.
“What happened?” Alma asked Redruth.
“Ambushed. But not by them. By goblins.”
“You sure?”
Redruth nodded. “They came at us from all sides. I got hit in both legs with arrows. Never heard them coming. They got Warren. I’d made my way up the canyon when I heard the explosion and then a roar. I hid just in time. What was that thing?”
“A dragon,” Blades said. “Lord took us here to get killed by a dragon.”
The tribal leader approached them. “Dragon,” he said in a deep voice. “You came to see dragon.”
Before Alma could reply, Blades said, “Yes! We saw it. It was magnificent. But we’d like to leave now. Mission accomplished.”
The leader gestured up the hill with a chopping motion. “You see dragon.”
“No. Wait.”
They were pushed onward. A tribal right behind Alma tugged again at her hair. The gaunt man had scars along both sides of his face and painted stripes on his arms. Alma tried to give him an alluring look but was rewarded with a hard shove that knocked her into Blades and sent him sprawling. As he cried out, the tribesmen around them laughed.
“See dragon,” one of the tribesmen repeated, and the words were echoed by the others with glee as if it was a joke they never tired of.
“See dragon. See dragon.”
They reached the top of the ridge an hour later. By Alma’s best estimation they were over the dragon cave and the collection of human bones in the floor of the canyon. Her legs trembled. She wanted nothing more than to collapse in exhaustion. The tribesmen were chanting now in some unknown tongue and making no attempt to keep their voices down. If there was a dragon below, it would know they were there.
The tribal leader then shouted. The rest of his men grew silent, and then their voices wove together in a joined whisper, a susurration that reminded Alma of the prayers the faithful back in the delta made to the Three-Who-Are-One. It rose in volume until it became a full-throated chant.
Another shout from the leader, and the tribesmen stopped. He put a hand to his ear as he stood at the edge.
“He won’t answer,” Alma said.
The tribal leader turned to glare at her, anger flashing in his eyes.
“You understand my words. Your dragon lord. He’s gone. We drove him out. We hurt him. You must have heard the explosions and his cries of pain. You could hurt him too. You don’t have to serve him like slaves. He’s nothing but an animal. Like a lion or a bear. Surely you don’t worship the monster that feeds on your children if you turn your back on him?”
“Shut up,” Blades hissed.
The man stepped towards her and looked her over. “If our master is hurt, then your blood will feed him and make him strong.”
The tribal leader grunted and made a chopping motion towards the edge of the precipice. The meaning was plain. One of the tribesmen grabbed Redruth by the arm. He screamed and struggled, but the tribal warrior had no problem dragging him to the ledge. With a firm shove, Redruth was pitched over. His cry was short and only briefly echoed up the canyon.
Blades was to be next. “No! Stop! You can’t do this! We have more gold! Horses!”
The tribesmen’s low murmur began again as he was brought forward.
The leader had a knife on his belt. Alma grabbed it and drove it into the man, catching him under the breastbone. He let out a gurgling and pawed at her. But Alma didn’t wait for him to die. Withdrawing the stone blade, she slashed the hand that grabbed at her and then sprang at the tribal, sinking the weapon into the man’s belly. As he stumbled back, the knife still in him, she ripped the spear from his hand.
A man with a skull painted on his chest charged at her. He held a stone hatchet. She smacked him with the butt of the spear before turning it and driving it down into him. She let out a roar. Three of the remaining tribesmen formed up around her.
She pivoted the spear tip from man to man. No one wanted to be first.
The one holding Blades near the edge screamed. Blades was pulling a thin knife from the man’s side. With a push he shoved the tribal over the ledge. But the three around Alma weren’t distracted. As if by some unspoken cue, they attacked.
She braced the base of the spear against her foot and impaled a man brandishing a club in the abdomen. He thrashed and fell. The other two thrust tentatively at her with their spears. She stumbled back, avoiding them.
The leader’s body lay at her feet. Attached to his pack was her bow. She snatched it up in time to avoid a spear tip stabbing at her chest. With a vicious swing, she smashed the bow across the side of the man’s head. The second one almost caught her with a jab. She closed inside the reach of his weapon and drove the heel of her hand into his jaw and followed up with a knee to the groin. His spear slipped from his hand as he staggered. She dropped the bow and grabbed the spear. She drove it down into him and held him pinned to the ground until he stopped moving.
Someone rushed at her, a volcanic glass knife gleaming. Blades caught the man with a spear. The man groaned as he was struck through. Blades maneuvered him to the ledge.
“Bye-bye.”
He shoved the skewered man, spea
r and all, over the side.
“What, no thanks?” Blades said.
Alma began going through pockets. “Get whatever food and weapons you can gather.”
She expected a protest or at least Blades’s usual whining. But like the professional mercenary he was, he helped loot the bodies.
Chapter Five
It was the dragon who woke Spicy the next morning. The sun was just rising on another gray day. The patch of stone where they had slept remained warm, but the air was freezing. Frost covered everything.
“It’s time to leave, isn’t it?” Spicy asked groggily.
Fath nudged the satchel next to him. “Time for letters.”
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Slumber came easy when lying near a dragon. Fath had Spicy work on his writing every morning, and he took to it eagerly even though it was difficult to please Fath. Three pages of the ledger now held lines of the strange characters that had marked the dragon lair’s walls.
Spicy got his pencil ready. The dragon scratched a complex mark into the stone. Spicy copied it onto the paper.
“That’s not right,” Fath said.
Spicy compared the word written by the dragon on the stone and what he had produced in the ledger. The marks looked identical. But then he spotted it. The complex character had a tiny flourish above one line that he had missed. He added it. The dragon snorted and drew another word. Spicy’s stomach growled.
“We might have a ways to go today,” Spicy said.
Fath tapped a claw impatiently. “You said you’d learn this.”
“Yes. I want to. But surely there’ll be time for writing later. You haven’t even told me what any of it means. These letters are all different from the ones I’ve been taught.”
“This is no child’s language. And the meaning isn’t important. Preserving it is.”
Spicy nodded as if he understood. “Preserve it. But also keep it out of everyone’s hands, right?”
A yawn bellowed up from the trees. Hog was stretching her massive arms over her head. Her hands were able to clutch the higher branches. After producing several turbulent body noises, she stared up at Spicy and the dragon. Spicy gave a small wave. Hog sniffed the air and lumbered out of sight.
Goblin Apprentice Page 2