by Lucas Thorn
She sighed.
Pulled the box from her pocket and tossed it to the young axewoman, who looked at it with a frown.
“I believe in that,” the elf said. “Believe it means something. Ain't sure what, though. Reckon the 'lock knows more than he's letting on, but it means something. Aim to find out what.”
“It's a box,” Melganaderna said. “The writing, though, looks so familiar. Like I've seen it somewhere before. Hem might know. He reads a lot of old languages.”
The elf reached out and took Talek's Cage back. Looked at it for a second, then stuffed it back in her pocket beside the ring Asa had given her. Shrugged. “Ain't sure who to trust with it, though. My husband, before he was killed, said it was important. Said it needed to be hidden. He weren't the type to believe in superstition. When it opened, it infected me. Cursed me. It's a darkness inside me. Like a river. A stream. And it flows in my veins. I can feel it now, while we're talking. Moving around. Exploring.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“It ain't the best feeling in the world.”
“Was it hard to lose him? Your husband?”
“Yeah.” She looked down at her hands. Not sure what to think. “It was.”
“And that's all you have left of him?”
The elf nodded. “We left Lostlight with just the clothes we wore.”
“I don't know how I'd feel if Hem died,” Melganaderna said. “And right now, just in case we don't make it, I wish I could tell him goodbye. Maybe give him something to remember me by, too. If we fall here, he'll have nothing. I reckon there's a lot of people who lose someone they love and have nothing. I guess what I mean is, it must mean a lot to you. And maybe that's something to live for.”
She felt a flush as she thought, not about the small box with its alien runes, but the gem-encrusted ring. Then the door thundered, the sound echoing up the stairwell on the back of splintered wood torn loose.
“They're almost through.”
“Yeah.” The elf slid A Flaw in the Glass free. Grabbed the bloody sack with her other hand. It dripped thick red drops to the ground. “Won't be long now. You ready?”
“I think so.” She squeezed water from her soaked hair and rubbed her feet through her boots. “You know, since meeting you, all I can think about is something Gormen used to try and teach. He used to say there's a danger in what we do. That we can find ourselves in a place we don't want to be. A place of extremes. When I look at you, I see that place. He said sometimes a person needs limitations. A few rules to live by so they don't tread too close to the edge and become something they can't recover from. It's why he joined the army. Because he couldn't make any rules of his own. I reckon you haven't had many people you can trust. I think what I'm trying to say is, don't feed the darkness. Don't give it more.”
“Trying to save my soul, kid?” The elf's voice was soft. But the words penetrated something inside her mind. Something which took the words and looked at them in the way a healer looked at wounds.
“No.” The young axewoman's smile was impish and infectious. “I'm trying to save a friend.”
The door downstairs exploded with a shockwave which sent air rushing past their faces.
Nysta was on her feet in a second, A Flaw in the Glass flaring brightly. Melganaderna pressed her shoulder against hers so all she could smell was metal, sweat, and blood. Side by side they stood, prepared and at ease with what was coming.
Violence.
A storm of it.
In a thunder of steel and ragged sheets of Ruleist magic.
“Good luck,” she murmured to the young axewoman.
And then a small voice spoke from further up the stairs. “Is there anybody out there? Oh! It Bloodhand. Bloodhand? You want big fight here? It not good place to fight. Stairs not safe. You fall. Hurt head. It happen to Nofoot. Nofoot dead now.”
The two spun around as one, Melganaderna's jaw dropping open as she caught sight of three goblins crouching above, left of a small doorway where only seconds before there'd been only stone. They held their heavy spiked goblinknives at the ready, but didn't look particularly concerned.
Bloodhand.
Nysta's heart raced at the name. “You fellers know me?”
“We know Bloodhand,” one said with a cheerful nod. “Eventide say Bloodhand best there is.”
Shouts from downstairs and the scuffle of booted feet.
“Shit,” Nysta growled. Glanced at the uncertain axewoman. “Come on.”
“But, they're goblins! Aren't they killing everyone?”
The elf turned to the trio. They looked back, green eyes wide and mouths smiling broadly. Broad sharklike teeth gleaming.
Innocence didn't quite ooze from their expressions, but it was the next best thing as the first goblin waved them upward. “Come, Bloodhand. We go now. We not fight on stairs. It bad luck. Eventide said so.”
Nysta gave a curt nod. Grabbed Melganaderna by the arm. Looked her in the eyes. “Goblins. They're fucked in the head, so who the fuck knows what they're doing. But right now it looks like a rescue. You wanted to talk about being saved?” The elf began rushing up the stairs. “Well. Now's the time to back up.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As soon as they were inside, an old goblin kicked the door shut and gave it a slap with his thick gnarled hand. Growled something under his breath. She could hear the soldiers rushing up the stairs, shouting madly. The clatter of their weapons.
The old goblin looked up at her and flashed a feral grin. “You hold onto something, Bloodhand.”
Then there was a click from somewhere deep in the stone. Like two pebbles snapping against each other. Followed by a roar of metal and a cloud of acrid steam hissed from the door's hinges.
She reeled in place, feeling like the world was spinning beneath her feet.
The goblins, and there were six of them in the room, didn't bother trying to stand.
They fell about, rolling and tumbling into the already-splintered furniture. Cackled loudly, throwing themselves into each other with childish delight.
She thought they were falling. Thought they were speeding toward the ground. Any second they would crash and die. Her stomach reared and her heart beat in panic.
Melganaderna stumbled to her knees. “I think I'm gonna puke.”
The room groaned, its frame flexing. Shifting Dust spat from a few cracks in the stone. The lights flickered faster. Then resumed their slow throb as everything braked to stillness with a grinding crunch.
The goblins picked themselves up off the floor, tossing the last pieces of debris at each other with playful sniggers. They were dressed, like all goblins, in scraps of armour cut to size from clothing stolen from the dead. Shreds of chainmail and heavy spikes seemed popular with this gang, and they'd all painted dark black lines under their luminous green eyes.
Their green skin gleamed in the bright light cast by the flickering energy between the stone. Bodies small and froglike. Hands seemed a little too big. Their heads, too. Large ears with long points drooping almost like dogs. Wide mouths with bladed teeth.
Good for tearing into the toughest skin.
Reminding her that while it was often easy to mistake goblins for harmless balls of snot, they were predators who hunted in packs. And this pack had experience.
Lots of it.
“You fall five times,” one said to another. “I fall six. You owe bit of troll.”
“I not fall five! It seven. You owe me bit of bat! Tophead saw me. Tophead? You tell Stingnose me fall seven.”
Tophead, the eldest and obviously their leader, scratched at a wiry grey beard which clung like a weed to his chin, and closed his eyes. Muttered to himself before holding up a hand, displaying three fingers. “You fall six. You both owe me bit of lizard.”
“That shit,” Stingnose said, looking down at his feet. “You just want bit of lizard.”
The old goblin held out his hand, green eyes glowing bright. “Bit of lizard. You fall six. You say so. Ki
ckleg fall six, too. You not see last fall, because you not looking her. You looking Dimrod.”
Dimrod blinked. Lifted his goblinknife and scowled. “Why you look me?”
“I not look you! Why I look you? You have ugly face. Why I like big ugly face? It not good for appetite.” Stingnose dug in his pouch for scraps of shredded flesh, which he slapped into Tophead's open hand with a grunt. “There. You get bit of lizard. You fuck off now.”
Kickleg handed over her bits of lizard and grinned to where Stingnose stomped away to squat down near Dimrod. Not too close, but close enough the other goblin looked sideways before crouching down himself.
Tophead thrust the bits of lizard into his mouth and chewed with open delight. “I like bit of lizard,” he said, scratching at his bald head. Then seemed to remember something. Turned sharply to where Nysta and Melganaderna were still recovering from the spinning room's sudden stop. “Bloodhand! I forget you here. We try find you at Big Gate, but you not there. Where you go?”
Kickleg looked confused. “We go for Bloodhand? Me thought we go Big Gate for ork ear.”
The sixth goblin snorted. She lay sprawled on her back with her goblinknife by her hand. “Tophead like ork ear too much.”
“You shut face, Deadeye.” Tophead took a few steps toward the elf, pausing only to shoot a look of disgust at the young goblin girl. “You like ork ear too much, too. You eat six.”
Deadeye patted her stomach. “You wish you me. You old man. Old man gut only eat two.”
Kickleg laughed loudly, pointing at the old goblin. “You eat two!”
“Two!” The other goblins echoed as one.
“Shut up!” Tophead grabbed fistfuls of hair he no longer had on his head. Pulled hard. “You shut up, or you eat bits of stone. Eight bits! With face! Who want eight bits fed to face?”
He waited until there was total silence. None of the other goblins dared to look him in the eye. Even Deadeye rolled away, looking instead to where Dimrod struggled to take off an oversized helmet.
When he was sure no one was going to say anything further, he turned back to the elf. Held out his hands in apology. “I sorry. They fuckheads. I not want them, but we Wallrats so I stuck with them.”
“Wallrats. Best there is,” Stingnose said softly.
The others nodded in grim agreement. All eyes now on the elf.
“Best there is,” the elf echoed, drawing a delighted smile from Tophead.
“Eventide say you know goblin,” he said. “He say Bloodhand coming. We happy to meet Bloodhand.”
“Bloodhand only have little knife,” Deadeye said, looking mostly unimpressed. “What good little knife? Cut mouses?”
She drew Queen of Hearts and watched the goblins all coo as one when the black enchantment ribboned down the blade. The elf pointed the knife at Deadeye. “You look like a mouse, girl. How about you come over here and we see if this thing's as useless as you think?”
Deadeye blinked. Looked to Stingnose, who looked at Dimrod.
Who shrugged. “I not fuck with elf. She have little knife, but have hundred of them. I look like target practice?”
Deadeye groaned. Glanced back at the elf and sighed. “I sorry. Eventide say you best there is.”
Tophead smiled at the young goblin. “You learn good manner. You go Eventide when die. He give good place and Wallrats laugh at all other goblins.” Thumped his chest hard. “I teach well.”
“It not you teach,” Deadeye sneered. “It I learn.”
Kickleg laughed, her voice echoing through the room. “She got you good one, Tophead. You give bit of man.”
“It not good!”
“It good,” Dimrod said. Flashed a sagelike smile. “I use Deadeye words in poem.”
Melganaderna rubbed her face with the back of her gloved hand. “Poem?”
Dimrod nodded suspiciously. “I've got little black book with me poems in. You not like poems?”
“Forget poems,” Stingnose interrupted, waving Dimrod down. “We not fight about that. Bit of man, remember? It right?”
“Bit of man,” he agreed.
“Little black book,” Kickleg snorted. “What good books? I've got silver spoon on a chain. It better.”
“You fuckheads,” Tophead grumbled, fishing through his pouches. “I not have bit of man.”
“Bit of man in left pouch,” Deadeye said craftily, earning another look of respect from the other goblins. “Red pouch. You not eat all, yet.”
“How you know?”
Deadeye lifted herself up onto her knees and rocked back and forth in triumph. “It like you said. I learn.”
The old goblin's gaze held hers for a while, then he shrugged. Untied the pouch and tossed the whole thing to her. “You earn all bits of man.”
Clearly surprised, the young goblin caught the pouch in fumbling hands and looked at it. “It too much!”
Tophead scratched at his beard. Then tapped his upper arm with two fingers. Some kind of ritual, the elf thought, though she didn't understand what it was for as the old goblin said; “I go Eventide soon. It time. I say Deadeye be big boss when I go big Hall.” He looked around. Green eyes solemn. “Any say no? Any want to eat bit of stone?”
“Deadeye smart,” Dimrod said. “It right.”
“I not smart!” Deadeye yelped. “You say me elf? I not elf!”
“It right,” Kickleg said. “Deadeye take big boss name when Tophead go Hall.”
Deadeye jumped up and stomped her foot. “I not elf!” Then looked at Nysta. “Not sorry. Me not think like elf. You elf. I goblin. Tophead, I goblin.”
“You say I not goblin?”
“I not say that,” she said, clearly uncomfortable. She looked away. Found herself looking at Stingnose. “You not think me elf, Stingnose?”
“You not elf,” Stingnose said. “But you good boss, Deadeye. You always find good bits. You kill troll all alone that time, too. You break head with goblinknife. We had many bits of troll for days. It good days. And you find treasure two times. Tooth of dwarf and rock from sky. You smart. Not elf smart. You goblin smart. I say, it right.”
“Eventide say Deadeye next big boss,” Tophead said. Something seemed to leak away from him in that moment, and his green eyes relaxed a little. His back, slightly bent, curved a little more as he stopped trying to hold himself up so high. “Deadeye best there is.”
“Me too small.” Her green eyes were wet, though she clenched her jaw and refused to let the tears flow. “Not yet five. I not good leader, Tophead. It mistake. You joke on me. Not funny joke.”
The old goblin swept her into his arms and laughed. “It not joke, Deadeye. You best there is!”
She hugged him back, fear and confusion mixing to create an expression Nysta had never seen on a goblin's face before. The elf glanced at Melganaderna, who was looking to the elf for an explanation.
Nysta shrugged. “Goblins.”
The others leapt up and rushed to join the group hug. They pressed tight against Deadeye, slapping the young goblin on the top of her head. Slowly, the young goblin stopped looking so confused and instead began to grin wildly. “I next boss.”
Kickleg gave a whoop and began dancing in a wide circle, kicking the shattered remains of a chair so it bounced off the wall. “We got new boss soon!”
Tophead frowned. “I not die yet.”
“Soon, you die, though,” Stingnose squinted at him. “Right?”
“You fuckhead,” the old goblin growled.
“You all fuckheads,” Deadeye said. “You forget we got elf and girl with big axe. It big axe, too. It chop goblin right in half if want. And you got back to her like she nothing special. Look at big girl. She got mail, too. We make many shirts with mail. And gloves. Do me have gloves? I not have gloves. Me want glove. We could cut her pieces and take gloves. All have good leather for new belt. But you all jump up with back to her. Why she not kill us? She kill us and take bits of goblin.”
“Bits of goblin?” Stingnose wheeled around, horrifi
ed. Held up the goblinknife in front of him and prepared to charge Melganaderna. He foamed in rage. “You not take my bit!”
Deadeye used the back of her hand to send the bigger goblin to the ground. “You fuckhead. She goblin guest. And that Bloodhand. You stupid? No wonder me next big boss. Me not say they kill us. Me say they kill us if want. They not want. But why you turn back on them? Stupid.”
Stingnose rubbed his head. Looked at Dimrod. “You got other helmet?”
Dimrod smirked, but said nothing.
Tophead watched it all with growing glee. Then patted Deadeye on the shoulder. “You true Wallrat. Me see in Hall one day. We drink blood of bat with deadlight mushroom.”
The young goblin lifted herself proudly. “I not forget.”
“Good,” Tophead said. “It good.”
Nysta, her patience finally beginning to gnaw at the edge of her teeth, spun Queen of Hearts in her hand. Didn't sheath the evil-looking blade. “You fellers going to tell us what the fuck is going on? Or is this shit gonna go on all day?”
Tophead slapped his thigh. “Me sorry, Bloodhand. Me old. Get lost in moment. Forget you there. It important boss time. Eventide say so.” He skipped toward the elf, though his left leg seemed to want to give way beneath him at any second. “We want tell Bloodhand we do what Eventide say. We do number one job.”
“Eventide?” Melganaderna pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to remember something. Then nodded to herself. “He's your god, right?”
“God?” Tophead scratched at his beard again. “What god? He not Mother. He Eventide. He say so.”
“So, he's not a god?”
“He Eventide.”
“But-”
Nysta cut the young axewoman off with a wave of her hand. “Just tell me what the fuck Eventide wants this time, feller.”
“He not tell elf?” The boss of the Wallrats looked confused for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. “That's right. He say you broken. That different. Me tell story.”