The Goblin Reign Boxed Set

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Chapter Ten

  It was too dark to see anything. Branches slapped at his face. Roots seemed to rise to trip him. He fell more times than he could count. The chain attached to his neck was heavy and kept making noise. He had wrapped it around a shoulder but it kept slipping down.

  He had no idea what direction he was going.

  The sky grew dark and soon he lost track of time and distance. His world was the gloomy forest. To stop meant capture or worse. Yet all he could think about was his sister and that he was abandoning her and the others. Around him were the sounds of night birds and bugs. He knew he was making too much noise as his feet crunched on leaves and fallen branches. But he pressed on until his lungs burned and he realized he was climbing a hill. He collapsed to the stony dirt, panting.

  Above him the sky was mostly obscured. There would be no way to know the time or which way was east until the sun appeared. Going further would be a waste of strength. He strained his eyes for any signs of torches or a search party.

  He listened.

  No one was coming. He wasn’t important enough to pursue. The humans wanted Sage Somni. His sister was their consolation prize. His village and all those murdered were mere obstacles and their meager treasures were hardly enough to satisfy the raiders’ greed.

  But why had they come? What could Somni possibly know that would interest humans? Surely they boasted larger libraries in the ruins of their own failed civilization. The world of man had collapsed in on itself more than once. Even Spicy knew the last man-blight had decimated the Old Bay Kingdom and its surrounding cities a decade ago. No wonder human traders rarely came north of the Inland Sea to set foot in their village.

  Spicy drew his knees up and shivered.

  What would one of the adults do? What would a hunter do?

  Not waste any more energy, for one.

  Once there was light, he would find a tree or a high vantage point on top of the hill. Orient himself. They hadn’t ridden that far. He would return to his own village. Find the other survivors. And go to their neighbors. Someone would help. With enough goblins together, they would marshal a large enough force to strike back at the raiders. Free his sister and Rime and the children and the goblin slaves.

  He tried not to think about the fact that humans had horses and weapons and armor. He would leave that to whatever goblin warrior took charge of the rescue mission.

  With the light of predawn he was on the move. He scrambled over a rough, stony streambed that led to a slick waterfall where he slaked his thirst from a flowing trickle of icy water. He climbed the rocks to the top and soon reached the crest of the hill. Upon taking in the scenery he knew exactly where he was. The green, oak-lined ridges were his home. His own village of Boarhead was only a half day away if he moved quickly. From there, he would bring the survivors to Thousand Groves just to the north.

  The goblins would rally when they heard of the crimes committed by the humans.

  He didn’t see the massive troll until it was nearly on top of him. It pushed its way through the branches of the nearest oak, shaking the tree. Wood splintered and leaves rained down as the creature lunged forward.

  Spicy turned and tripped over his own feet as he tried to run. A giant hand shot out and grabbed at him. Spicy rolled and clawed across the soil but another hand smashed him down, knocking the wind from his lungs.

  The creature swept him up and held him close to its nose. It sniffed him.

  “Meat,” the thing said in a hollow voice.

  Like the troll captured by the humans, this one too had a tangle of hair, but it hung in loose locks knotted with leaves and branches. At first it seemed to be ornamental, but the arrangement was too much of a mess to be purposeful. Two milky, bloodshot eyes studied Spicy head to toe as he dangled. The troll’s skin was a lighter shade of green, and blue streaks ran along its face. It also had a pair of enormous breasts.

  The female troll’s jaw opened, revealing a mouthful of jagged teeth.

  Spicy screamed.

  But the creature was having trouble. She paused to work her jaw. The bottom of her chin bore a massive wound that seeped black blood. It appeared as if a chunk of flesh and muscle had been ripped away. Similar wounds marked the creature’s belly, shoulder, and legs. Each had a crust of blood around it.

  Spicy was lowered but not released. The troll had an arrow in her back. She pushed at her jaw and dry-chewed a few times. Then she reached around with her free hand but was unable to dislodge the arrow.

  “You were fighting the humans,” Spicy gasped, fighting to catch his breath.

  “Meat shouldn’t talk,” the troll said.

  “I’m not meat. You can’t eat me!”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not an animal. And we’re on the same side. I escaped the humans. They’re my enemy too!”

  She sniffed him. “You smell like meat.”

  “I’m a goblin.”

  “Delicious. Shell eaters taste best during the salmon run when they’re well fed. You don’t smell the same. But close enough. Meat.”

  “You mean the goblins out on the coast by the big ocean? Is that where you’re from? Then what are you doing here?”

  She pressed a heavy finger into his belly as if checking for doneness in a roasting deer’s haunch. “Chasing humans. They stole from me.”

  Spicy reviewed everything he had seen the humans carry. They had looted all the jewelry they could find from Boarhead but didn’t have any other obvious treasures on display. Their leader had only been interested in books.

  “Wait a minute. Wait. You’re trying to free the other troll, aren’t you? Is that it? Did the humans take him from you?”

  “My mate. I wasn’t finished with him and they took him while I was hunting.”

  Spicy tried to nod enthusiastically but the hand around him was iron. “They have him chained up and are using him as a slave. He has wounds all over his body. They’re torturing him to keep him in line.”

  The troll grunted but didn’t say anything.

  “We can go back and try to save him. They have my sister and friends.”

  “You just want me to let you go.”

  “No. Yes. I mean, that’s not what I’m talking about. We are on the same side.” Spicy managed to get a thumb under the chain still connected to his collar. “See? The humans are against us. You and me. We can go and fight them together.”

  “Shell eaters don’t talk this much.”

  Spicy offered a weak smile. “Maybe you should try to know them first. My name’s Spicy.”

  She sniffed him again, confused.

  “That’s the name my mother gave me. When I get proven an adult, I get to have a new name.”

  “Meat has two names?”

  “I’m not meat. I’m a friend. We’re allies. Spicy is your ally. Why don’t you tell me your name so I know what to call you. What does your husband call you? You know, the other troll?”

  “My mate doesn’t call me anything. No one does.”

  “Surely you have a name. Don’t the two of you speak to each other before, you know…”

  “Sex? I scent my cave entrance and my mate shows up. Then I wait until he’s ready.”

  Spicy tried to wriggle an arm free but failed. “My mom named me after she had me and ate a flatbread with too many peppers. But she loves peppers. What’s something you love? I can call you that.”

  It took the troll a moment to answer. “Hogs. My favorite meat.”

  Spicy stuttered before getting the words out. “Hog. Okay. Can I call you Hog?”

  The troll stared at him.

  “Hog. I’ll call you Hog. It’s a good name, isn’t it? Your mate will love it, having something to call you after you…after he…after we rescue him.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The troll kept a sharp eye on Spicy as she let him go. Spicy took a moment to catch his breath and to loosen the loop of chain, which had become tangled.

  “If we go back to the humans,
they’ll shoot more arrows,” Hog said.

  “So we don’t go alone. We’ll go downhill and find more goblins…more allies. Not meat, remember? They’ll bring their own spears, their own arrows and bows. They’ll help Hog and Spicy.”

  The troll continued to study him, her jaw slack.

  Spicy considered the option of running. But the troll had caught him once before and was surprisingly quick for such a large creature. He raised a finger for Hog to wait while he fetched a stick. There in the dirt he drew five stick figures.

  “These are the humans.” Next he drew one large figure. He considered adding anatomy so her identity would be clear, but then put a tiny stick person next to it instead. “This is us. One big you, one little me. But what if…” He drew many more tiny stick figures. “What if we had this many? More than the humans. Many more. Wouldn’t that be better?”

  He wondered if he was going too fast for her.

  “I counted twenty-eight humans,” Hog said, surprising him. “How many meat you planning on bringing?”

  “I don’t know. They’ll send everyone, I’m sure. Goblin warriors. But we have to get going and head down to my village. Then we go and get more goblins up in Thousand Groves. I’ll go in alone because, well, because they might not be expecting a troll to show up who isn’t looking for a meal.”

  They headed downhill. During their descent, Hog slid on a patch of leafy ground and almost took Spicy down with her. The ruckus sent up every bird in a mile. How such a large creature ever managed to sneak so far inland was beyond him. But their progress quickened when they reached the grassy floor of the valley.

  They found the road after an hour.

  Spicy knew the land well. This was where his village hunted and foraged and gathered wood and played. When they came upon their first rice paddy near noon, he ran ahead of the troll, his throat tight.

  Much of the village was burned. A few of the structures were only somewhat damaged, the mud bricks singed and rooftops partially collapsed. But there was no one in sight.

  “Hello! Anyone here?”

  He called and called but no one answered. Each family’s winter store of wood had gone up in flame as well, and the smell of burned lumber hung heavy. His own home was mostly gone. He picked through the ruins but found nothing salvageable. He also saw no signs of his mother. Had she escaped? What of the others who had been left behind?

  In the road leading down to the drying house he found a few goblin bodies. He tried not to look, afraid he would get sick. But he had to know. He knew all the faces. Grannie Ardens, the potter. The glassmaker Brucie. The widow Constans, who tirelessly worked the rice fields from dawn to dusk. So many others. But none was his mother.

  The livestock was all gone, no doubt taken or slaughtered. The hoofprints told the tale that his neighbors had been ridden down and murdered. Some of the raiders had torn down homes and there were sections of dirt dug up, all in their search for gold and valuables.

  “Hey, anybody?”

  The troll had caught up, her head visible above the remaining rooftops. He realized any survivors wouldn’t come out if they saw her. She appeared oddly fearful of the goblin structures.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  He led Hog to the wall by the mill. The mill was burned. So was Sage Somni’s home. Of all the destruction he had seen, this gave him the greatest pause, as it was completely leveled. He had a hard time catching his breath. Somni’s house wasn’t close enough to the village for the fire to have spread from there. The humans had destroyed it deliberately. Its library, maps, and wealth of knowledge were all ash. Its glyph hadn’t protected it.

  He searched the ground for any signs of the other goblins. He whistled a few times but there came no reply. After another pass through the village, he was tired and thirsty.

  “Everyone’s gone,” he said to Hog. “We keep going. Thousand Groves isn’t far. That’s where the survivors went. That’s where we’ll get help.”

  Again he worried the troll wasn’t understanding. But she ambled along behind him as casually as if they were taking a stroll.

  Managed apple orchards and a pig farm marked the edge of the village grounds of Thousand Groves. The sun was already dropping low above the tall ridge to the west.

  “Wait here,” Spicy said. “Eat some apples if you’re hungry. But no goblins. Do you understand?”

  Hog was moving her tongue around in her mouth and staring at him. Her expression was unreadable. Before Spicy could move, she dropped a hand in his path.

  “How do I know you won’t come back with many meats with arrows for me?”

  “Because I promise. We’re here to get help for you and your man. My sister needs our help and I need you. We’re in this together. But you’re going to have to trust me. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Let me find the mayor—the chief, the head goblin. Okay?”

  Hog grunted and removed her hand.

  Spicy ran towards town. The excitement in his belly grew. His first thought was to find the town bell. Summon everyone. Get every hunter, young and old. They’d have to believe him. They might even have enough for two war parties. They could surround the humans, cut off their retreat, send a rain of shafts down on top of them. Even if a few arrows were stopped by armor, most of the soldiers wore no helmets.

  “Hello!” he cried as he ran forward.

  The village was silent and no one was out. Thousand Groves was larger than Boarhead, with bigger homes and longer streets. He continued to call out, moving from doorway to doorway.

  The stench that greeted him felt out of place. As he neared the center of Thousand Groves, he coughed, smelling something pungent. Something foul. It was all the worst smells of hunting, the reek of the slaughtered deer’s insides as the animal was gutted and cleaned.

  He covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve.

  At least thirty goblins hung from an oak that grew at the center of the village. The tree had been set on fire but only the base was blacked. The clothes of the dead were mostly tatters and ash. Brown vultures plucked at the bodies, and most of the goblin faces were scoured of their eyes.

  Spicy vomited into the weeds. He hacked and gagged until he had nothing more to spill from his stomach. A thick string of mucus clung to his lips. After catching his breath he stood, even as his legs threatened to fail him. He walked forward, his feet not feeling the ground beneath them.

  There was a town bell. A metal bar was strung next to it. He began to clang the bell, softly at first, then desperately. Someone had to be left. Anyone. Surely there were hunters who had evaded the slaughter. Men. Women. Any grown-up to whom he could pass the news of his own village’s attack.

  Klang-klang-klang.

  But much of the village beyond the great oak was blackened. How had he not seen it when running in? Other bodies were visible, scattered, left bloating where they had been struck down, the blood long mixed into the puddles and mud.

  Klang-klang-klang.

  “Someone,” he whispered. “Anyone.”

  Klang.

  He dropped the bar and it dangled. What of the survivors from Boarhead? If they hadn’t stayed, surely they would have fled here. He realized he would have to look at the faces of the goblins hanging on the oak. But although he walked numbly to the tree, he couldn’t bring himself to look up at them for a long moment. But he had to. What he saw made him drop to his knees. He didn’t know how long he knelt there.

  Hog lumbered his direction. “Humans bring the fire.”

  “They murdered everyone.”

  His mother had indeed survived the raid on Boarhead. Other faces were too high up and soiled to recognize. But the clothes and hair of some were easily identifiable. Young and old had met the same fate. Their hollow faces stared down at him.

  “No little meats to help us,” Hog said.

  He couldn’t answer her. With one hand he yanked on the chain, as if each tug on the collar might wake him from his nightmare.

  Hog began to scratch in the
ground. She nudged him until he looked down. The drawing was of two stick figures, one large, one small.

  Spicy shook his head. “No. It’s no good, the two of us. You said it earlier. The humans shoot many arrows.” He wiped at her drawing with his hand. “Then both of us are dead. My sister lost. And your husband—”

  “Mate.”

  “Whatever. He stays a slave along with everyone else.”

  Her stomach grumbled. It was a millstone being spun at full speed.

  “No,” he gasped. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Hog smelled the air and looked at the tree. “Meat here is spoiled.”

  Spicy waited. If the creature was going to eat him, it would at least end it. He had nothing else to offer.

  Hog prodded him. It knocked him down. “You’re sad. Don’t worry, Meat. I won’t eat you.”

  “By the moon, why not?”

  “Because you said you would help. So help.”

  Spicy got up. There was nothing in the village but the dead. As he pondered, he headed towards the closest home. He didn’t look at any of the bodies on the street. Couldn’t bear it. But Thistle still lived and so did he.

  “No meat alive here,” Hog said.

  “Maybe not. But maybe we can find something for you to eat. And then we think about what to do next.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Thousand Groves had a drying house that was intact. The door had been torn away and much of the stores ransacked. Underneath the shelves were beds of sandy soil. Spicy dug. In minutes he began to uncover trays of packed fish slathered in gelatin. Several glass jars had been knocked down but lay unbroken. These held pears, potatoes, and pickles.

  Spicy brought a tray of fish out to Hog. She sniffed at it suspiciously. “This fish is wrong.”

  “It’s just preserved. Here, let me show you.” He pulled a long trout out from the packed gelatin, wiped most of it clean, and put it in his mouth. He hated fish bones and would have picked them clean before eating, but his own stomach grumbled. “If you won’t have any, that means more for me.”