"We're travelers from, ah, Fort Harlin. The Vosh drove us out, and so we ran here. On the way my baby sister got sick, and your friends Mayer and Rowland sent us to you."
"Mayer and Rowland? Yes, yes, I know them. Two damned fools not fit to guard a stump if you ask me." He turned his attention to Grump, arching the silvery caterpillar of his eyebrow. "Oh my, aren't you a big nan!"
Grump flashed an annoyed smile. Boil angled between them. "She don't speak."
"I meant nothing by it," Kole shouted, apparently confusing muteness with deafness. "Now here, bring me this child."
Grump shoved Boil aside and leaned to Kole. The man wagged his fingers, and he lowered Rose into the healer's arms. Kole pulled spectacles from a pocket, the left lens of which bore a thick crack across it. The man murmured to himself as his fingers poked and prodded Rose's sweaty skin.
While the healer did his work, Grump clasped his hands behind him and squeezed his fingers as hard as he could. The air in the healer's home warmed considerably as Grump watched, and the walls seemed to close around him.
Kole's cracked lips puckered beneath the curtain of knotted grey. "How odd. You say you came from Fort Harlin?"
"We did," Boil said, shooting a nervous look Grump's way.
"This child has Dannin's thrash. It's uncommon—rare, I'd hazard to say. You know why that is?"
Boil shrugged. "I think if we did we might not need you, don't you think?"
"True enough." Kole leaned back in his chair and inspected Boil. "I've seen it before, but only from those foolish enough to trek into the Ridge. Question is, why would a boy, a baby, and a nan be traveling alone in those peaks? Mayer and Rowland are dim enough to believe that tale you spun about Fort Harlin, but I've still got my wits even if I don't quite have my sight."
Boil threw up his hands. "Why does everyone want our life story? Can you cure her or not? She's got Dannin's thrash and we need it gone!"
Kole smacked his lips and shrugged. "Fine, fine. It's not like Alberlilly's some Order chantry demanding prayers and pious deeds from its visitors. I'm honestly a bit sad you aren't really from Harlin. If the Vosh were this far south and brought their war with them, my fortunes would change."
"What's wrong with your fortunes?" Boil asked. Grump frowned. He wanted to slap the little greenskin for prolonging their stay in this place.
"Eh, I came to this shit hole because there're always miners and morons needing a healer's hand in the marshes. Being so close to the Hordelands, pain is just a part of life. These days, though, not so much. There's not been so much as a peep heard of the horde in a good, long while."
That piqued Boil's curiosity. Frowning deeper, Grump reached for him, but the goblin danced beyond his grasp.
"Nothing at all? No goblin raids?" Boil asked.
"And no orc attacks. No trolls in these parts, thankfully, but plenty of the other greenskins. Or at least there were. They've gone somewhere. Some say they hide. Some say they prepare. It had something to do when the sign in the sky appeared. What else could it be? The Torn Ocean heals. The wizards come, and the roaches scurry to the shadows to keep from getting squished."
Boil pinched his chin, shaking his head. "No, they wouldn't care about that. There's got to be another reason why the horde's gone into hiding." His shiny human eyes flicked toward Grump. "I don't know if that's good or bad, but I don't like it."
"And you're some resident expert on greenskins?" Kole asked.
Grump cleared his throat and forced another smile. Boil remembered himself and turned his attention back to the healer. "No, just sayin' is all. So what's the cure and what's the cost?"
Kole pocketed his spectacles and groaned as he stood. With Rose in his arm he shuffled to the table and searched the multitudes of bottles littering the top. "Thought so," he finally said. "Cases of the thrash are so rare I feared I'd be out of what really cures it. Seems I can't help you there."
Grump huffed. He reached for Rose, but Kole held up a hand. "Didn't say that was all the help I could give."
Boil flashed a wide smile and clasped his hands together. "Anything will do. I just want my sis cured."
"Wraith blooms. When they're mashed into a fine paste and spread across the brow, they'll eat the fever right out of her. Unfortunately, the paste only works when the blooms are fresh."
"And where can I find them if you don't have 'em?"
"Not in town, but if my memory serves they can be found in Old Carrika. Head to Temple Hill and you're liable to see them pale against the grass. They smell like death sweetened with honey and never have more than six petals. Mash the petals, and only the petals, with a bit of clean water until it forms a thin paste. Apply the paste to the child's brow and make sure she gets plenty of rest, although by the looks of it, the little girl won't have any problems with that."
Grump latched onto Rose and pried her from the old man's arms. Kole bowed, grumbling as he slid back into his seat before the fire. "No payment necessary."
"You're too kind, Sir Verillion," Boil chirped.
"Eh, I'm not as kind as you might think." He leaned to the side as Grump and Boil made for the exit. "Good luck to you and safe travels. I hope you enjoy your time in lately-quiet Alberlilly, but mind yourself outside the walls. You never know what might be lurking in the shadows."
Grump nodded as he prodded Boil into the wet air. Once the door closed behind them, he breathed a huge swell of relief. "Ancestors take my nose, I hate human towns. It smelled like horse dung, sweat, and rotten cabbage in there."
"Maybe that's what they smell like when they get older?" Boil wondered.
"Who cares? We made it out easy enough. Just keep your head down and your mouth shut until we get back to the barn."
"I dunno, Grump, all this talk of the horde going under mountain worries me. The high mountain clans never do that. They think the sky's for them. Plus, orcs don't ever hide. You know how they love to set forest fires and whoop. A quiet Hordeland is a wrong one."
Grump contemplated Boil's words as they passed beyond the gates. This time, Rowland and Mayer hardly noticed them. A caravan of monks on horseback had arrived. The travelers wore burlap cloaks caked with mud and dripping rainwater. Loose hoods hid their faces but didn't hide the weight of their stares. Their horses' muscles rippled as they shifted in the road's deep muck.
"Horse's would've been handy," Boil whispered, motioning toward the mounts.
"Doubt a horse could carry me very far."
"I dunno, Grump, those are a hardy breed. They're made for long distance and heavy hauls. Not sure why a bunch of fair folk monks have them. Probably stolen, if you really think about it. I'd wager they're not even monks, but grave robbers looking to pilfer what they can from Old Carrika."
One of the hooded men turned his attention to Grump and Boil. Grump batted his lashes and bowed, then shoved Boil down the road. "Then I guess we'll have to be extra careful when we get these flowers."
He turned his attention to the road ahead. The hooded man's eyes bore into him like two blunted drills slowly twisting against his back.
"Humans," Grump mumbled.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Ruins of a Lost Age
Inside the abandoned barn skirting Alberlilly's unfriendly walls, Grump slammed the doors closed and breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Now how do I get out of this damned illusion? I don't want breasts anymore!"
The goblin grinned. "Why, Lady Grump, but you look so ravishing!"
"Boil."
"Fine, fine," he said, holding up a finger to the moonlight streaming through a crack in the door. "Prick your finger. An illusion won't hold when blood's spilled. I guess magic can't hide who you are on the inside."
Boil whipped out a dagger and nicked his finger. His human form burst into black dust and faded away.
"That's too bad. You're much better looking as a human." Grump took the dagger and winced as he sliced the blade across his thumb. Like dried parchment catching flame, the human disguise he
wore simmered and peeled from his true form, billowing away like ash in the wind. A heartbeat later, the pale, pudgy flesh of a human was replaced by the hard, sinewy muscle of a troll.
The arm that held Rose once matched the child's pale tones. Now the child's fair complexion contrasted against the deep, mottled greens of his own. He sighed, his breath toying with the threads of her hair.
"What're we waiting for then?" he asked, more to himself than to Boil. "Let's get to these ruins."
Boil danced on his heels and clapped. "Right!"
Grump slipped Rose into her satchel and slung it over his shoulder. He pressed a hand to the moldy door and cracked it open. The storm clouds had rolled southward, leaving stars in their wake and revealing a sight that froze Grump stiff as a statue.
Horses trudged through the muddy road, heads bent, manes dripping. The robed monks from Alberlilly's gates rode on them, steering their mounts in the direction of the ruins.
While at the gates, the monks had been unarmed. But beyond the town, they brandished glinting hatchets, wet nets, sharp javelins, and curved longbows bobbing beside quivers stuffed with arrows.
"Out for evening prayers?" Grump muttered, quietly sealing the door. He turned to Boil, hand passing over the scar on his chest. "Those odd monks from Alberlilly are heading for the ruins. I'm no expert on fair folk religions, but it's no risk to say these monks have more than piety on their minds. They're armed for hunting."
Boil scurried to the door and peeked through the hairline crack. He cursed and turned around, wiping his wet palms on his chest. "And straight to Old Carrika. What's got them in a hurry? It's late. They look wore out from a long ride. The ruins are no place to camp when there's an inn with a dry bed for them waiting in town."
"I don't like this, Boil. They're here too ... conveniently. Why're they hunting? Is there game here? It can't be greenskins since they're not in the woods."
"It's not just greenskins in these woods. Sometimes the souls of the dead come back for the living." Boil shivered and rubbed his elbows. "When you see the dead walk, it's a terrible thing. They're so cold. But they burn."
"I'm not afraid of walking bones. Men with arrows are another story." He looked at Rose's satchel and shut his eyes. "I'll go alone and gather the blooms. You keep her safe here."
"Really?" Boil's voice cracked. Grump opened his eyes to find the goblin's red ones wide.
"Yes, really." He opened the satchel and gently removed his little Rose. Grump held her before Boil, passing a tongue over his tusk. "Boil, you have to be careful with her. She likes being held. Rock her a little. Let her know you're there."
Boil took her in his arms, and his veins bulged with the strain of her weight. "Don't you worry, Grump, I'll take good care of her."
Grump nodded. He grabbed his shovel and nervously wrung the shaft. He faced the door, staring at the silvery light peeking through its gap. Sweat rolled down his back. He whipped around. "I—I don't know. Can I...?"
"Trust me?" Boil asked, scowling. "I could've waited for daylight any number of times while you were snoring away the day and danced off to the wizard with Rose in my arms. Did I? No."
"It's just that she's mine. She's mine. If I leave what's mine, I lose it or it gets taken from me. Rose can't make the journey without me, I know it in my heart. She'll suffer and hurt. I can feel it. I ... I...."
"You care for her. I know that. I wouldn't ever let anybody hurt her, buddy. You've got to trust me on this. Let me guard her while you get the flowers. By tomorrow, she'll be better and the three of us will be on our way to the Grand Mountain without any stupid haunts or humans to worry about."
Grump swallowed, closing his eyes. His grip on the shovel tightened. "I don't know if I'm strong enough. I'll lose her. I can't lose her. You don't know...."
"All your life you've been hurt, and it's the things you loved the most that hurt the most when you lost them. Everywhere you turn, even when the eyes that look back are just like yours, you know you're the stranger. You can't tell others how you really feel, because you know they'll laugh. And when you sleep, you can feel the hole inside you, because you know that no matter what you do, you'll always be different, and this world hates different. So you close your eyes, and you wonder if it would really be all that bad if you never woke up. Maybe in the next world, you'll find a way to fill the hole. But eventually, you open your eyes, and it's a new day, and you brush yourself off and try to make the best of things before you lie down to sleep and think it all over again."
Grump blinked the tears from his eyes. He cleared his throat and shook his head at Boil. "How do you know all that about me? Did the wizard give you something to read minds?"
"No, Grump. I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about me."
He stared at the goblin for a long while. Eventually, he nodded at the greenskin. "I think you were talking about us."
Boil smirked. "Maybe so. But I promise, no matter what, I'll keep her safe."
Grump turned to the door, quietly cracking it open. "I believe you." He stepped outside and began to close it behind him, but paused. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "You're an infuriating little greenskin. But, I am glad to call you my friend."
As the crack of air between them shrank, Boil's eyes shot wide, and his smile popped from ear to ear.
A fat beetle buzzed past Grump. It landed on a log, looking like a wart against the mushroom-spotted wood. He kept the road to Old Carrika by his side but travelled in the protection of the unkempt woods. The dank, dripping forest quieted as it watched him pass knotty sycamore and tired willow. The ripe scent of deer dung hung in the air. Mixed with it, he caught the oily reek of a bear.
Thin mist drifted through the trees. It curled and coiled around the bent trunks like curious cobras circling a mouse. Grump's feet sunk into frigid, shallow ponds. The mud seeped between his toes and clung to his ankles.
Grump paused at a bent sycamore with branches twisted and curled like corpse fingers. Its bark was rough to the touch and spotted with warty burls seeping dark sap like sticky tears. The cypresses of the Blackwood Swamp were old, and the redwoods of the Russet Forest older still. But in the Sighing Marshes, the sycamores and willows were old enough to have offered shade to wizards or kindling for dragons, and they let their age be known in the creak and groan of their heavy branches.
He trudged through the muck, ignoring the sharp branches clawing at his shoulders. The going was slow, the night drawing on. As the woods thickened, signs of Old Carrika peeked from the forest floor. Hewn stones barely more than rounded boulders appeared beneath tangles of hard roots. A twisted willow's trunk held the stone face of a forgotten god. The crown of a gargantuan pillar shimmered beneath the surface of a shallow pool.
"Wizards did this?" he whispered, dipping his finger into the water and prodding the stone. Once the wizard claimed Rose, he wondered if there would be a hundred more Carrikas littering Oya. If wizards warred once again, it might likely happen. Or perhaps it would happen if he failed.
Grump swiped the pond and continued on his way. "It's not your problem, Grump. Let the wizards and the fair folk have it out. As long as you get your wish and your garden, let them turn all their filthy cities to ash."
He rubbed the scar across his chest. "Not like you deserve any better."
The forest crested before spilling into a long valley of rolling hills, tall grasses, and the stony remnants of a city smashed into crumbling ruins. Woods once filled with the chirp and croak of night quieted. A breeze whooshed into the valley, rattling the leaves around him.
Grump stood still as the old stones littering the mud. His gaze drifted over the starlit landscape, searching every shadow and watching every nook and cranny. Convinced the robed hunters weren't lurking somewhere out of sight, he carefully crept from the forest's safety and entered the unobstructed night.
What remained of the road spilled into the valley and vanished. He knelt at its end and pressed his hand against the mud. "And so e
nds the world of men."
He straightened and wiped his hand across his overalls. With his trusty shovel before him, he passed beneath a broken arch and entered the labyrinth of Old Carrika.
His shadow washed across the lichen-covered arches of an aqueduct that ran deep into the valley. Ferns sprouted around stones and shifted mischievously in the light breeze. Every slight movement was a human brandishing steel, every sighing of the wind one of their mages summoning thorny roots to lash his wrists and ankles.
Around a corner, he came to a broken courtyard. Once it held a mighty statue. Now the pedestal only showcased feet shattered at the ankle, ringed by a nest of broken marble.
Grump pitter-pattered across the courtyard and circumvented an estate lined by cracked and shattered pillars. He passed an enormous fountain with a pool of stagnant water. The blanched bones of a crow slept beneath the surface, the bird's hollow eyes staring silently at the intruder in its grave.
"Nothing to fear," he whispered. "It's just you and the bones, Grump. Be a troll for once."
He rounded another ruin with walls at least four times as tall as he stood. Beyond it, the valley became a gently-sloping hill. A shattered structure topped the knoll like the broken crown of a titan king. Columns as tall as redwoods surrounded the structure and cast their long shadows downhill.
The breeze picked up, rippling over the hillside. Pale flowers flapped in the wind like butterflies flexing their fragile wings. The petals were so intoxicatingly white they might have been molded from moonlight itself.
Grump's lips slipped into a grin. "Temple Hill."
He darted for the flowers. Wind whistled in his ears. Dewy grass kissed his ankles while ferns tickled his arms.
Grump reached the slope and plucked one of the flowers. Like Kole had said, it smelled of death and honey. Carefully, he counted the petals.
"Six," he said, dropping the first bloom in his pocket and patting his chest.
He repeated this again and again for each flower until his pocket was full of wraith blooms and their scent so strong it turned his stomach. Grump struck the shovel into the earth and leaned upon its handle, surveying the ruined city with a smile. "See there? No fair folk, no greenskins, and no ghosts. Teacher, I wish you could have told me more about the West. There's sadness in it, but there's something else here. There's peace, too. It's in the stones, in the air. Why did I fear the world beyond our canyon's walls? I crossed the Grey Plains and lived. I saved a goblin from the haunts of Getshabal and lived. I tricked a town of humans, and now here I stand in the rubble of a wizard's war and I live. Who would've thought a runt of a troll could cross so much of the world and not be ruined by it?"
Grump & Rose Page 33