When Goblins Rage (Book 3)

by Lucas Thorn

  “And why are you so sure of that, Eli?”

  He winced, and sadness welled in his expression. “Because he cannot help himself. We all have our obsessions. For me and you, it is the little things. Survival. Revenge. For him, he has bigger dreams. Dreams he cannot ever hope to achieve. It is the way he is. And this is not the first town he has tried to rule. Nor the first time he has tried to put himself on a throne. He has led many men to their deaths chasing this dream.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again as she heard a dull thump just outside the window. He'd heard it too, and his hands shot to his knives.

  “Fucking Sharpe,” he murmured, loud enough for only her ears to hear.

  He said nothing more as she pressed a finger to her lips.

  Sliding Peace Makes Plenty from a sheath across her ribs, the elf shifted her weight slightly to angle away from window. The curtains were closed, but enough light speared through the gaps and around the edges for even Eli to see clearly in the room.

  She glanced at him once, her fingers taking hold of the curtain. Suddenly aware of how trapped they were in the room, she jerked her head toward the door.

  He nodded, creeping back slowly to press against the door, spinning his beautifully efficient knives in his hands.

  The glass on the window let out a muted squeak as someone used their hand to wipe the frost from it.

  She could hear them press their face against the glass.

  A snuffled breath.

  She flung the curtains aside with a snarl, using her boot to kick at the clasp and send the window smashing outward. The small figure let out a yelp and had to snatch hard at the window to stop from tumbling down.

  Frozen air hissed into the room, whipping at the elf's jacket.

  Eli swore.

  But this time it wasn't Pryke. Or any of Sharpe's men.

  Instead, it was a goblin.

  She sighed. “You fuckers are beginning to piss me off. Always appearing out of nowhere like this. Reckon if I kill you, another would pop out of the shadows?”

  The little creature, terror spread across its face like a wet mask, looked up at her. A pleading expression in its glowing green eyes.

  “No kill me, Bloodhand,” the goblin squeaked as she reached a hand out and grabbed hold of his throat. “I Spoonfed. Quietly send me. Give words to Bloodhand! Is all! Words.”

  “Words?” The elf's violet eyes stared grimly. Her gaze flicked toward the goblinknife on his hip.

  “Just words,” the goblin nodded. He spread his hands wide, far from the handle of his heavy goblinknife. “No fight, Bloodhand.”

  Eli stepped up beside her.

  “Is that a goblin?” He sounded amused.

  “Little bastards have been following me,” she growled, dragging the goblin inside.

  “It is as I said, my friend. The whole world is after you.” He slid his knives away. “I still would not trust him if I were you.”

  “I ain't in the habit of trusting anyone,” she said. Then pulled the window shut, ignoring the curious looks of several guards posted in the street. Pulled the curtains half-closed, then nudged the creature with her boot.

  He sat up, rubbing his head where he'd hit it against the window on the way inside. “You tough, elf,” he said reluctantly. “Me remember from before. See you in forest. You kill good.”

  “You said your name is Spoonfed?”

  “I Spoonfed,” the goblin nodded. He looked proud of it.

  “Funny name,” Eli observed.

  “What funny about name?” Spoonfed jumped to his feet, small hand wrapping tight around a large goblinknife. Defiance burned in his green eyes despite the obvious advantage in size Eli had over him. “Eventide say it best name. What name you have? I tell you no name. Because Eventide not give one. So, you fuckface. Nameless.”

  Eli bent down to glare into the goblin's eyes. Fingers tightening around the handles of his knives. “You say that again, you little bastard.”

  “Eli,” Nysta snapped. “Take the door.”

  The mercenary muttered under his breath, but obeyed.

  Dusting himself off, the goblin turned toward her. His feral grin showed teeth sharp enough to tear through bone.

  “As for you,” she said, spinning Peace Makes Plenty in her fingers. “Talk. Say your words. But make them fast. I ain't known for being patient. And watch your mouth while you do. Might feel inclined to let Eli cut you up if you piss me off some more.”

  “I not worry,” the goblin shrugged. “He nameless. I die, I go to Eventide's Hall. Knock on door and he know my name. Let me in. It warm.” His large luminous eyes boiled as they stared unblinking at Eli. “But when he die, he stay out in cold. Eventide not know his name. He warm only when goblin piss on him. He beg for pissing on. Me laugh ever and ever.”

  Eli scowled. “It is me who will piss on you. Nysta, my friend, kick him back out into the snow. Let the little bastard fall to the street. Maybe it will break his mouth when he lands. Why would you want to talk to a goblin, anyway? He will tell you only lies. All the world knows they are nothing more than rats.”

  “You quiet,” the goblin sounded imperious as he held up his hand. “Me talk Bloodhand. Only named speak now. Eventide not give shit what you say.”

  “Now you're both pissing me off.” The elf heard noise outside and took to the window again. Saw a group of guards rushing down the street. She frowned at them. But spoke to Spoonfed; “You gonna get to the point?”

  “Quietly send me. He say Spoonfed give words.”

  “Yeah, you said that. And I got it the first time. Still waiting for you to get around to actually saying what you're supposed to say.”

  “I not good word carrier,” the goblin said without trace of embarrassment. “He say we more goblins now. Many goblins.”

  “How many?”

  He scratched his head. Face screwed up in concentration, he counted off his fingers. Grinned happily and said; “Ten.”

  “Ten,” Eli sighed. “Big help.”

  “Shut up, Eli.” She turned to the fuming goblin. “Where are they?”

  “Some in town. Some in trees.”

  “How many here, in the town?”

  “Maybe three?”

  “Tell Quietly we need him at the gates. The Grey Jackets are going to try for the gates. We'll need to hold there.”

  “I tell him,” Spoonfed said reluctantly. “But he not do that. He say one at gate, then eight come behind. Kill Grey Jackets. Lots of them. Open way for Bloodhand to kill thief. He say Bloodhand be ready.”

  “That's only nine.”

  The goblin scratched at his armpit and shrugged. “Bigshot go for wagons. Man with big sword, he have treasure. But he take magic sword to gate, Quietly say. Where Bloodhand can kill him good.”

  “Treasure?” Eli's face lit up. “Did you say treasure?”

  “Goblin treasure,” Nysta pointed out.

  “Oh.”

  Spoonfed peered up at them, unsure what to make of their exchange. “We take treasure back. Eventide happy. We best there is.”

  “Sure.”

  “It good plan.”

  The elf thought about the armed men waiting in front of the small fort. Thought about the handful of weary defenders who struggled without the help of a healer.

  And wondered if ten goblins could really tip the balance in their favour.

  Then sighed.

  Probably not.

  “If you say so, feller,” she said, accepting his beaming grin. She pressed her fingers to her temples. Pain pulsed acidly through her skull. “It's a good plan, I guess. Better than any others I can think of. And a handful of goblins won't make much difference no matter where you are, I guess.”

  The goblin's face was grim, his wide froglike mouth parted to show those sharp bladed teeth. “We kill Grey Jackets when gates fall. We good at killing Grey Jackets. Better than humans.”

  “I hope you are better at killing than you are at sneaking,” Eli
countered.

  Spoonfed's cheeks flushed. “You nameless,” he sneered. “You nothing. You fuck self.” And he bounded toward the window with a dismissive sniff. “I go now. Quietly say I hurry back. He want words. I take words from Bloodhand?”

  “Just tell him to be there, feller.”

  “It be good fight,” Spoonfed licked his lips in anticipation. A fox before a henhouse. He paused on the window's ledge. “You see. We fight with Bloodhand. Bloodhand kill thief good.”

  When he was gone, Eli shook his head. Sighed deeply. “Ah, Nysta. How well do you know my good friend, Ffloyd?”

  “Not sure he thinks of you as a friend, Eli.”

  “He has a saying.” The weasel-faced mercenary ignored her barb. “Have you heard him tell it?”

  “What's that?”

  “We are so fucked. He says this a lot. This time, I think I believe him.”

  She watched Spoonfed as he slipped into an alley.

  Thought she caught sight of another set of green eyes looking up at her. But they were quickly consumed by the shadows.

  Lord Sharpe was again on the walls, looking out at the campfires. She wondered if he'd really sent Pryke to her room. She'd met many men who preferred to let others do their killing, but Sharpe just didn't seem the type despite Eli's adamant explanation.

  Especially given how he handled the heavy falchion at his side.

  While she'd never accuse the former-mercenary of being an honest man, she just couldn't quite see him using someone like Pryke to attack her in her room.

  His head half-turned toward her, as though he felt her gaze on him.

  Eli peered over her shoulder and down at the man on the wall.

  “Bastard,” he muttered.

  “You gonna tell me what it is between you two?”

  “Is this a thing you really want to know?” His voice breathed in the dark of the room.

  The elf slid onto the bed, leaned up against the wall and lifted her knees so she could rest her arms. “Not really. But we've got time, and you look ready to talk.”

  “That is as good a reason as any, I suppose. Very well. It is a simple thing. We fought for him, raiding fat merchants and small towns. We do this for many years beyond the Wall. He was a murderous bastard. Ruthless and cunning. He was a complete sonofabitch and you could not trust to turn your back on him. I liked him.” His gaze didn't soften as it stared through the window at Sharpe's back. “Many times we saved each other's lives. We got drunk together. He was like family to me and Balki.”

  “Balki?”

  “My brother. He was a good man, but not a good fighter, my friend. Not like you or I. To tell the truth, he was terrible. But he was good at other things, so it worked out.” The mercenary suddenly looked a lot older in the dim light. His gnarled fingers reached out to grip the window as bright tears edged the corner of his eyes. “I found his body, only a week ago. East of Highwall. I buried him in the dirt, Nysta. My brother. Who had given up fighting so he could make a family. I told him! Don't make it here, I said. Go north. Go back beyond the Wall. But he would not listen. He wanted to stay close. To be close to his brother, he said. So, for me, he stays. And for me, he dies. I loved him. He should not have been here. Never should have been here.”

  “You followed me from there?”

  “I found your footprints in the snow. At first, I think it is you who killed him. But then I have time to think about what I saw there, and I realised something was different. There was no blood on top of the snow. It must have fallen after he was murdered. I believe you arrived after his killers left.” He half-turned toward her. “Do you remember seeing him? Was he alive when you found him?”

  She couldn't recall the farm he was talking about. Her memories were still murky, hidden by the clumps of fog still lingering in her brain. And getting cloudier by the day. “Can't say I do, Eli. Saw plenty of places with people in them. All of them in the same way. Dead. In any case, I don't reckon I'd have recognised him anyway.” Her mouth curled slightly. “To me, we were perfect strangers.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The elf reached inside her jacket to rub at her side, where she felt muscles twitching. Felt them clench and unclench under her fingertips before settling. She frowned, but her clouded mind still struggled to concentrate on Eli's words.

  “We grew too bold, Nysta. We let Sharpe convince us to settle down. To claim land. Land the Emperor most certainly did not want us to have. But Sharpe believed we would be ignored long enough for him to make himself a king of this land. A foolish idea. But it didn't seem so foolish at the time. The Emperor is losing his power over the Fnordic Lands. There are many kings now. How could one more make a difference? Especially in a place like Whisperfall. Have you been there?”

  “Whisperfall?” She tried to remember the old maps. Knew only that Whisperfall was on the south-eastern coast of the Fnordic Lands. “No. Never been beyond the Bloods, Eli.”

  “It is a terrible place. There are more Draug haunting it than there are in the whole of the Deadlands. But Sharpe did not see them. All he could see was a place he could claim for his own. A place he told us the Emperor would not care about. We believed him. Why? Because we were fools. Fools who dreamed of an easier life than the hard one of a bandit.”

  “Emperor didn't like it, uh?”

  “No.” His grin was mirthless. “He did not like it one bit. And who would blame him? He is the Emperor of the Fnordic Lands. Even Icereach is not too far for him. And he decided to make Sharpe an example to all the others who thought they could take their own land. So we went to Trollspit. Into the high mountains there. And we hid in the caves like cockroaches even when we had run out of food. But still we could not leave. Because the Emperor had sent his daughter to deal with us. Do you know of her?”

  She recalled the name Chukshene had given her. “Asa?”

  “That is the very name of the bitch. She turned every stone in search of us. Would not let us go. Many times we had to fight our way from one cave to another, losing more and more friends. And then, one day, they cornered us. Rats in a cellar. And she, the great cat licking her lips above us. They came in a wave. But this time, Sharpe was not there to lead us. You see, he had crept from our cave during the night like the coward he is. Slithered away to leave us to die. He knew we could not win. But he knew she would chase him forever unless she thought he was dead.”

  “You lived.”

  “Yes. My brother was with me. Two others. We managed to fight free and ran. Ran so fast I thought my legs would take me past the Shadowed Halls themselves. The screams of our friends still in our ears. We could not go back for them. But I swore one day I would make that bastard pay for what he did to us. It has been a long wait, my friend. I have watched him for many months now. Seen how careful he is. How he keeps his guards so close to him. He is afraid of me. And so he should be! He knows I will catch him. That I am only waiting for the right time. Letting him sweat it out. To feel the fear of dying. But still he clings to his hope. His dream that he might be King of something. I tell you this, my friend. He is already King to me. King of the Betrayers, I call him.”

  Studying his face, she was struck by the granite expression which didn't seem to fit his face. She'd always thought of Eli as a weasel. A man whose killer nature was masked by a flippant, if somewhat contrived, mask.

  Yet, now he looked like a man whose mask had been stripped away to reveal the scarred and indestructible skeleton of hate which must have always been there.

  She wondered if she had looked the same when she was hunting Raste.

  Had Chukshene seen a merciless killer with only relentless hatred to keep her alive?

  No wonder he'd run from her as soon as he could.

  She grunted at thought of the warlock.

  Taking her grunt for a comment, the mercenary by the window nodded slowly. “I am melodramatic, my friend. I am sorry for this. It is not like Eli, I know. But my brother did not deserve to die as he did. And though I kno
w for sure Sharpe had no hand in his death, I blame him for it anyway. His childish dream led us to our doom. Which drove us from our home in the Fnordic Lands. I can never return there, Nysta. Not even to tell our mother, if she is still alive, of my brother's death.” His hand gripped his knife tightly. “So I must kill this man. I must feel his blood warm my fist. Or else, Eli will die trying. And that, my friend, will be enough to face Balki's face in the Shadowed Halls without feeling the shame and humiliation of not trying at all.”

  Raste's face flashed in front of her. His dying face. The red hair across her lap. Smell of his blood, a warm tang in the air.

  And the feeling of cold relief as her thirst for vengeance was slaked, leaving only emptiness behind.

  “Good luck to you, Eli,” she murmured into the dark.

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  “I mean it,” she said.

  “I know. It is why I thank you.” He turned toward her, sucking a deep breath as he put his back to the window. “But do not think this means Eli would not fight you, too.”

  “Easy, feller,” she said with a mocking twist of her mouth. “Try to stay alive until after breakfast.”