Othello built a small fire that produced only a little smoke, and they ate in heavy silence. All the while, Lilac found herself watching her companions for signs of a deepening alliance.
They slept in shifts. During her turn for watch, Lilac tried to put her thoughts in order. She knew, whatever the wisest move might have been, it was too late to go back now. There was no use pondering “should have” or “could have.” The three of them had to be united in purpose, or they were already defeated.
For better or for worse, they would learn what had happened to their missing companions.
She also tried to put Othello and Opal’s nebulous relationship from her mind. She had far more important things to worry about than a budding romance.
They set off again when the morning light colored the sky a dull gray, retracing their steps back to where they had left the goblins’ trail. While they still traveled in silence, Lilac felt a great improvement in her mood. Putting things into perspective—not to mention sleep and food—had mollified her temper.
The morning was blessedly uneventful, but what they discovered in the early afternoon sunk Lilac’s mood back to the point of despair.
She knew that something was wrong when Othello jerked to a sudden stop and then slowly continued forward a moment later. A feeling of absolute dread washed over her as she followed. When Othello stopped again, Lilac forced herself to step beside him.
What she saw made her knees buckle unsteadily and bile rise in her throat. Lying there in the middle of the path was a pile of gore consisting of bloody flesh, broken bones, and dismembered appendages. The ground was stained a deep red.
“Oh gods,” Opal gasped.
Tears clouded Lilac’s vision. There was no need to ask who the mutilated corpse had been. Despite the fact that the remains had been torn nearly inside out, there was no mistaking the coal-black skin clinging to the various body parts.
It was by far the vilest thing Lilac had ever seen, and she would have given anything to be spared the gruesome sight. A sudden dizziness assailed her head, and she had to lean up against a nearby tree for support.
Opal fell to knees, her head buried in her hands. Lilac didn’t know much about Opal’s relationship with Cholk—how long they had known each other and whether they were as close friends with each other as they were with Colt. Lilac herself had said no more than a few words to Cholk. She had engaged him in combat more often than in conversation.
Fate had made them enemies first and allies second. But never had she wished such a deplorable fate for him…or for anyone.
Fixing her gaze on her feet, Lilac concentrated on steadying her breathing. When she was convinced her sparse breakfast was going to remain in her stomach, she made the mistake of looking up. There, hanging by rope from a low-hanging branch, was Cholk’s head.
Eyes wide in horror, Lilac could only stare into the dwarf’s dark, unseeing eyes, before falling down to her hands and knees and vomiting.
She heaved until her stomach was empty. After a time, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see the tear-blurred shape of Othello standing over her. The forester helped her to her feet. She wiped her eyes in time to see Opal draw a small knife from her belt and reach up to cut the rope suspending the dwarf’s head.
“Don’t,” Othello said, clutching the woman’s arm suddenly.
Opal looked too weary to argue, though the confused look she gave Othello was enough to ask what she couldn’t express vocally.
“We cannot leave signs of our passing,” he explained, gently removing the knife from her grasp and returning it to the sheath at her hip.
“So we can’t even bury him?” Opal asked. Lilac had never heard the woman sound so weak, so defeated.
“No.”
Opal let out an unsteady sign. “I guess it’s just as well. I don’t know how we would have managed it…”
Without another word, Opal walked away from the grisly remains of her friend. Othello strode after her. Lilac inhaled until her lungs were full and then let out the air slowly. The prospect of death had not frightened her overmuch before, but now she knew death would come only after a time of torment if she were captured.
Lilac could only pray Cholk had died before the goblins began dissecting him.
Brushing away the fresh tears that streamed down her cheeks, she hurried to catch up with Othello and Opal. Cholk was lost, but there was no sign of Colt. Apparently, the goblins had wanted the commander alive—for at least a little while longer. Lilac vowed she would save Colt from a similar fate or die trying.
She said a silent prayer for the dwarf’s soul. In spite of herself, she cast a final look back at Cholk and saw a great blackbird descend onto the pile of remains. The crow seemed to stare at her for a moment before letting out a jarring caw. Then, without ceremony, the bird began to peck at the dead dwarf.
With a shudder, Lilac turned around and followed her companions deeper into the dense forest.
* * *
Colt’s thoughts dwelled on Cholk for innumerable hours. He tried to remember every conversation he had ever had with the dwarf.
He lamented how little he knew about Cholk. He didn’t know where in Thanatan he had come from or why he had left his homeland in the first place. He hadn’t even learned Cholk’s surname! Cholk had been evasive with all questions pertaining to his past, though now that the dwarf was gone forever, Colt wished he had pressed a little harder.
I don’t deserve the honor of your sacrifice, Colt told the dwarf’s ghost. I made a terrible commander, and I’m not even much of a Knight. I’ve failed the company, and I’ve failed the mission. To make matters worse, I got captured, and the gods only know what the goblins plan to do with me now.
You should have killed me, Cholk. You were the stronger of us…
His eyes stung as tears welled up in his eyes. Since he couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to wipe away his salty sorrow. Eventually, the tears overflowed their small pools and streamed down the side of his face, leaving a tickling sensation in their wake. It felt as though his entire body were crafted out of granite, and he could only lie there like a toppled statue.
Colt tried not to feel sorry for himself. After all, he had gotten himself into this mess—had gone so far as to find a loophole in the Knighthood’s law so that he could abandon his post and personally join the company bound for Rydah. He had no one but himself to blame for ending up in the goblin war camp.
When he wasn’t mourning the loss of Cholk, he was worrying about the remaining members of his company. Had they escaped the goblins? Were they all dead? Captured? He had no way of knowing, but he secretly hoped that if they hadn’t escaped the ambush, they had found a quick death.
Death was far preferable to this.
He felt his heart tremble at the thought of Opal lying dead in the wilderness, her soft skin ripped open by a blade, her shapely body riddled with black-feathered arrows. The thought of losing both Cholk and Opal was more than he could bear.
Colt had no way of keeping track of time except for the gradual changes in illumination inside the tent. He could make out the beginning and the end of a day, but the hours themselves drifted by tediously and unremarkably. He supposed he should be grateful his captors weren’t torturing him. Then again, leaving him alone to ponder all of the terrible things that might have happened to Opal and the others was torture enough.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, though his sleep was never deep or restful. He still couldn’t see out of his left eye. He was also aware of other scrapes and bruises on his body. Most of all, he tried not to think about the emaciated body on the other cot.
At one point, he awoke to find Drekk’t standing over him. Once again, the goblin general carried the skull-tipped scepter. It was difficult to judge the goblin’s intentions. To Colt, all goblins seemed to wear the same expression at all times. Their slightly slanted, catlike eyes and black-lipped smirks always held the promise of horrors to come.
“I hope you have rested. I have many things I would like to ask you.” As before, Colt’s mind translated Drekk’t’s foreign words into comprehendible sentences.
Colt had a rejoinder on the tip of his tongue, but since he had no control over his extremities, he couldn’t speak the sarcastic reply. He laughed inwardly, wondering how the goblin intended to interrogate a mute.
You’ll have to remove your hex, he thought, and the moment I can move again, I’m going for your throat.
For an instant, Colt feared Drekk’t had heard his thoughts as clearly as he had heard the meaning behind the goblin’s strange words. But the general appeared none too concerned with the momentary stalemate. Colt watched, then, as the skull portion of the staff came closer and closer until he was staring into the dark caverns that had once contained eyes.
An involuntary shudder coursed through his body.
Drekk’t started talking again, but this time Colt couldn’t understand the words. In spite of his ignorance, he sensed something powerful in the phrases. He’s casting another spell on me, Colt realized, but no matter how hard he struggled against his invisible bonds, he could do nothing but sit and stare at the old, yellowed skull.
As Drekk’t completed the incantation, the skull’s eyes glowed red.
Pintor, protect me! Colt prayed.
The Knights of Superius had a long history of mistrusting magic, and Colt was no exception. He had been privy to a plethora of magical feats since coming to Capricon—thanks to Noel and Chrysaal-rûn—but there was something different, something terrible about the goblins’ spells. Gooseflesh crawled over his arms and legs, and his stomach twisted in knots.
The goblins’ vuudu—as Noel had called it—emanated evil and evoked terror.
Colt would have tensed if he could. As suddenly as the rite began, it ended. Drekk’t withdrew the fearsome scepter. In the next few seconds, nothing seemed to change at all. Colt found the uncertainty of the spell’s effect as terrifying as the spell itself.
“How do you feel, Commander?” Drekk’t asked. The goblin’s tone was lighthearted, almost conversational.
Colt had another snide retort in mind, but then to his surprise, he heard himself reply, “I’m scared out of my wits.”
A wide grin spread across the general’s face. “You should be. Are you frightened because you have heard tales of goblin…hospitality?”
“No,” Colt answered. Panic filled him anew, drenching his skin in a cold sweat. He couldn’t stop his mouth from speaking. It was as though he were listening to someone else talk. “I know nothing about goblins other than what I have witnessed firsthand.”
Drekk’t nodded sagely. “So what you have seen has instilled you with fear?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean by that?” Drekk’t pressed.
“I fear your magic more than I fear death.”
Drekk’t stared at him thoughtfully for a moment before glancing down at the staff in his hands. “Truth be told, Commander, I don’t care for it myself. I am not a shaman, you see. As a priest of Upsinous, T’slect could channel our god’s power without the use of a talisman. I, however, must use this.”
The general raised the skull scepter.
“This was a gift from the Emperor. With T’slect and his abilities out of the equation, we needed a new way for our troops to maintain communication.”
There were many things he would have liked to ask Drekk’t. If nothing else, he might have tried to keep the general talking to give him time to think of a plan of escape. But he remained paralyzed and could speak only when something was asked of him.
“In my opinion,” the general continued, “shamans depend too much on vuudu. That was one of T’slect’s many flaws. I use this staff only out of necessity. I am a warrior. My skills are best demonstrated with a blade.”
How comforting, Colt thought dryly.
He found it odd that his captor was sharing so much information about himself. Maybe, like Colt, Drekk’t felt his authority created distance between a commander and his soldiers. Maybe he didn’t have anyone else to confide in.
Or maybe Drekk’t was just toying with him.
“But I won’t lie to you, Commander,” Drekk’t said. “Were it not for this staff, I would be forced to resort to more barbaric methods to get you to talk. Vuudu makes my job easier, and it spares you much pain. And unlike torture, this spell ensures I learn the truth…the whole truth. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I have told you a little about myself. Now I want you to know about you,” the goblin said. “What is your name?”
“Saerylton Crystalus.”
Drekk’t looked momentarily confused. “But your comrades call you Colt?”
“Yes.”
“And you are the Commander of Fort Faith?”
“No.”
“What?” Drekk’t’s easy manner deteriorated immediately. He glanced suspiciously at the skull staff and then back at Colt. “You cannot lie to me, Commander. The Emperor showed me what you look like, and when you were captured, you were wielding the same magical sword that destroyed T’slect’s illusion. Now…what is your name!”
An unpleasant prickling sensation swelled inside Colt’s head, as though the spell was reacting to the intensity of Drekk’t emotions.
“I am Sir Saerylton Crystalus, former Commander of Fort Faith.”
Drekk’t’s hairless brow wrinkled in surprise. “You were demoted? Interesting. Who commands Fort Faith in your absence?”
“There is no Fort Faith anymore.”
Drekk’t was scowling once more. The buzz in Colt’s head grew into a throbbing ache. In other circumstances, he might have laughed at the goblin’s confusion. Maybe you should stick to swinging a sword, he silently taunted.
Drekk’t was quiet for a moment before asking, “What has become of your fort?”
“Fort Faith has become Fort Valor.”
“Fort Valor has been destroyed,” Drekk’t stated.
Colt said nothing.
Drekk’t paused for another moment, and to Colt it seemed as though the general was considering recasting his spell in order to be sure that his prisoner was, in fact, telling the truth. Finally, he rephrased his question. “Who is in charge of the castle you came from?”
“Commander Stannel Bismarc.” The confession left a bitter taste in Colt’s mouth.
Drekk’t followed up with a few more questions about Stannel. Specifically, he wanted to know how the Knight had escaped the devastation of his own fortress and come to command at Colt’s fort. The forced interview was an awkward exchange, but in the end, Colt told him everything, hating himself more and more with every word.
Abruptly, Drekk’t changed the subject. “What about the midge?”
“His name is Noel,” Colt provided.
“As if that matters,” the goblin spat. “Why did the midge come to stay at your fort?”
Colt probably would have laughed aloud if he been capable of it. “I don’t know.”
The general’s wild eyes narrowed dangerously. “You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Are there any other wizards at your fort?”
“Maybe.”
Drekk’t looked as though he was going to resort to violence after all. Gritting his sharp teeth, the goblin said, “What do you mean by ‘maybe’?”
“Stannel arrived with an injured man who was dressed like a wizard, but he might be dead by now.”
The general cursed. “What about the other forts on the island? Are there wizards residing at any of the others?”
“There’s only one that I know of,” Colt said. “A spell-caster was stationed at Fort Miloásterôn to work with the Knighthood.”
Drekk’t said nothing for a while. Colt imagined that the general was organizing all of the new information in his mind. In the momentary silence, Colt could do nothing but fume. I should have followed Cholk’s lead and killed myself, he thought.
I’ve put everyone in danger.
He had never felt so pathetic, so despicable. What Drekk’t said next made Colt scream inwardly.
“I want you tell me everything you know about everyone who is currently residing at your fort, starting with Klye Tristan.”
Passage VII
Rain had been pouring on them an hour before they were finally forced to stop. Drenched and shivering, Lilac held her knees to her chest and watched the column of goblin soldiers march past. She hardly breathed, peering through the branches of a pine and mouthing a silent prayer that none of the monsters would give her evergreen a second glance.
Othello and Opal had ducked beneath an adjacent spruce. Despite their nearness, Lilac felt utterly alone.
There were perhaps twenty of the creatures walking single-file along the game path the three of them had been following. They had no way of knowing whether these particular goblins were the ones who had killed Cholk and taken Colt, but Lilac half expected to see a bolt from Opal’s crossbow fly from the branches of the other tree.
And then we’re all dead, she thought.
The arrow never appeared, though, leaving Lilac to deduce that either the hot-tempered archer had finally found some personal restraint or Othello was physically pinning her arms to her side. Whichever the case, Lilac thanked the gods for small miracles. Their only chance of survival was to lay low and hope none of the goblins looked too closely at the trees.
From what little she could see of the passing fiends, they didn’t appear to be too watchful. The troupe hastened by with a single-minded determination. The goblins were extremely confident, it seemed. Then again, judging by what Sir Dylan had said, a large-scale counter-attack against the goblins wasn’t likely to occur anytime soon.
She waited a full three minutes after the final goblin was lost from sight before disengaging herself from the tree. Once she was free of the scratchy branches and the sharp needles, she saw Opal and Othello emerging from their hiding place.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 77