Spicy pulled a second fish out. Hog took the entire tray away. She tilted it upward and sucked down the entire contents, at least thirty fish. With a few wet smacks of her lips, it was gone.
“Not fresh,” she said. “Too sweet.”
“Unless you’re the cook, you don’t get to complain, right?”
She just looked at him. “Bring more.”
He brought out the rest of the trays. She ate it all. Spicy swallowed down his second fish and settled in to eat a jar of preserved pears, but then stopped.
“Thousand Groves has its own sage,” he said.
Hog tossed the last empty pan away and began to tear the roof off the drying house. “What does Meat say?”
“I’ll be right back.” He was up and running.
He passed many homes, which were decorated with columned pergolas and scrollwork on their outer gates and elaborate mosaics of polished pebbles and smooth colored glass chips mounted by the front doors. The village had many kinds of artisans that Boarhead didn’t possess. It had always been a trade hub.
They too had a sage.
He was an old blind man named Thurten who had been at death’s door ever since Spicy could remember. Sage Somni had borrowed most of Thurten’s library so it could be properly cared for as, according to him, Thurten had neglected so many volumes of irreplaceable books.
Maybe, just maybe, something remained.
But determining which home was Thurten’s proved difficult. Spicy found himself running between homes that had been obliterated by fire.
Unlike the sage’s house in Boarhead, Thurten’s house lay in the center of Thousand Groves’ wealthier homes. What distinguished it was that it had a metal windmill out front with a weathervane and anemometer. Spicy finally spotted it. The windmill had been knocked over. The upper part of Thurten’s home was destroyed, the remaining beams standing bare and blackened.
The keystone of the front gate featured a carved glyph of a raised finger, as if someone were signaling for another to wait. Like Somni’s glyph, it made Spicy uneasy, even if Rime and the others dismissed such things as mere decoration. He had never entered the home himself on any of his visits.
The front door was off its hinges.
Spicy’s spirits sagged as he picked through the ankle-deep ash and rubble of the gutted home. Broken dishes and slagged glass were the only things not consumed by the fire. There was nothing left. He stood up a fallen cupboard and looked down at the shattered remains of a collection of cups and fanciful glassware.
A dark black ring by the stone hearth caught his attention.
He brushed soot away with his foot. Beneath the ash of a burned rug was a small trapdoor. He tried it but it didn’t budge. He straddled it and used his legs and it rose one tug at a time. The cellar was filled with smoke. The ladder down held his weight. Enough light filtered in that he could make out the nearest shelves.
Thurten collected junk. There was no food, but plenty of dusty books lined the shelves in greater disarray than Sage Somni’s library had been, haphazardly stuffed in among bottles and metal scraps of a dozen half-finished projects.
He picked up a tome off the nearest shelf.
Tiny white mushrooms had sprouted from the decaying cover. When Spicy opened it, the cover almost separated. It was a book on the life of some human royal, a prince. He set the book down.
It was written in standard text, the writing all the goblin children learned. But Lord had been searching for books written in the old script.
Stack by stack, he brought each to the bottom of the ladder in order to catch enough light and examined the volumes. Some were duplicates of books Sage Somni had owned. All were in poor condition.
Then one blue cover caught his eye.
Wiping the film of dust away, he saw the title consisted of four squares with symbols he couldn’t read. But he recognized them as the old script. The ancient lettering that only Somni and his peers could read, along with those deemed worthy to become an apprentice.
Like Thistle.
But as he opened the cover, the top pages crumbled and stuck together as one giant clump. His hands trembled as he tried to peel the pages apart. He saw corners and portions of pages where the print on the pages was still legible, but the more he tried to separate it all, the more the paper began to disintegrate. He closed the book and tucked it into his waistband.
From up above, Hog looked down the cellar hole. “More fish?”
“No. No more fish. There’s nothing left here. It’s time to leave.”
At the remains of the glass smith’s shop, he found a pair of pliers. Hog offered to help but Spicy was afraid her giant hands would take his head off his shoulders. It took dozens of tries and he pinched his fingertips several times, but finally the pin of the collar snapped, freeing him of his collar and chain.
It was evening by the time they left Thousand Groves. Spicy refused to look at the tree again and led Hog away from town by cutting through one of the orchards. Hog collected apples as they went and began popping them in her mouth. But Spicy only wanted to make distance as quickly as possible.
His mother deserved a burial. So did all the rest. But that would take many hours and the dead wouldn’t change. Thistle still lived. At least with the pliers he could try and free her and the others. He wasn’t feeling optimistic.
Hog was plucking the few remaining apples off a large branch as they walked. “We catch up with the humans now.”
It wasn’t a question.
Spicy nodded. “With all their horses they shouldn’t be hard to follow.”
“And we free mate.”
Spicy gripped the pliers. “Yeah. We go and free him. And the others. Maybe if you make a big enough noise, we might just scare all of them off.”
Hog grumbled. “I tried that. Didn’t work. You’re trying to trick me?”
“No. I’m just thinking. And frustrated. If I sneak in and get caught, it’s over. If you go in, they kill us both.”
Hog tossed the picked-clean branch aside. “Then maybe we follow them back to the water.”
“Wait, is that where they’re going? East to the Inland Sea? I thought you came from the coast.”
“I don’t know your place names. They captured mate where the waters-rush-at-high-tide. My cave is hidden behind rocks-where-waves-crash.”
Spicy couldn’t tell if these were place names or just descriptions. “But then you followed them. So they have boats that can hold horses.”
Hog didn’t respond at first. “Yes. Boats. They sail the river into the sick waters that make my skin itch. Past towns. Water really bad there. I got lost until I smelled mate. Found tracks up on the sandy shore where they rode their horses. Easier to follow them on land. But better to catch them when on their boats.”
“So that’s where they’re going back to. The Inland Sea.”
The Inland Sea was maybe a week away from Boarhead if they kept to the road. He would need supplies and a way to keep warm. He didn’t even want to think what it would take to keep the troll fed. If he was the closest thing at hand when her stomach began to growl again, nothing but their promise to each other would prevent her from gobbling him up.
And this presumed that the humans were indeed returning to their boats. Had Lord found what he was searching for? And would his sister and the others even survive if that was the case?
“I guess we don’t have a choice,” Spicy said. “We head for the Inland Sea. Maybe we can get in front of the humans or at least catch up with them. But first we find a place to rest on the road. Tomorrow morning we go back to Boarhead.”
“And then more fish?”
“Hopefully. That and some blankets and anything else we can scavenge before trying to catch up with the humans. And why don’t you tell me what else you might like to eat. Because I want to make sure you’re well fed.”
Chapter Thirteen
Tracking a deer meant spotting the smallest hoofprints and the animal’s tiny black droppings. In
contrast, the humans and their horses left clods of dirt and mud everywhere along the road leading back to Boarhead. They had attacked so quickly. His village had rarely set out sentries, and never on the road to Thousand Groves. But the humans had come with such numbers and such force, what could even an entire hunting band have done?
He worried his father and the other missing hunters had been swept aside like dry weeds.
Hog led the way back through his village. She didn’t appear interested in anything there and didn’t wait for Spicy anytime he lagged behind to pick through the vacant homes.
Behind the remains of the huntmaster’s home he found a clothesline with a goat-hair cloak. He took it and wrapped it around his shoulders.
He found little food.
Boarhead’s own massive drying house had burned to the ground and with it all of the village’s winter stores. He pushed aside a blackened beam and sifted through the ash. So many shattered jars. The scent of dried meats and rice lost to the fire hung in the air.
No fish meant Hog would be hungry soon.
As he brushed soot off his hands he heard a killdeer warble. The sound was close and loud and too imperfect to be made by an actual bird. His first excited thought was that his father was back. Spicy began to reply but stopped and looked again for the troll. But she had moved along out of sight.
Spicy placed his hands to his lips and answered with his own bird call. From the shadows of a nearby holly shrub, someone waved him over. Spicy felt a rush of emotion as he raced towards the figure. It would all be better. His father had returned and with him all the other goblin hunters.
But it was One Stone who waited for him. The large youth’s skin was painted in tawny mud. The whites of his eyes shone brilliantly. He held a short javelin in one hand. He grabbed Spicy and pulled him down behind cover.
“One Stone?” Spicy said in surprise. “Where’s everyone else? Where’s the hunting party?”
“Didn’t you see that troll?” One Stone hissed. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No. Wait. It’s with me. Kind of. Tell me where the grown-ups are.”
One Stone shook his head. “There’s twenty of us. Mostly older ones and four of us young hunters. Now come on.”
Spicy shook his head. “I can’t. The humans have Thistle and Rime and some of the children. The troll is going to help.”
“It’s a monster.”
“Yeah, I know. But right now it’s on our side.”
“Don’t be stupid. Come up to the south ridge with us. We hide up there. Wait for the hunting party to return. We’ll be safe.”
“I was just at Thousand Groves. My mother…everyone’s dead there. There’s no hunting party coming.”
One Stone just stared. His own father was one of the missing hunters. Spicy saw doubt in his eyes.
Spicy grasped the boy’s hand. “But we’re still alive. You got everyone away. The humans are gone for now but there might be more of them. Did Preemie make it?”
“Yeah. He said he tried to rescue you.”
“He’s brave, I’ll give him that.” He studied One Stone. If the youth was the only one left who would look after the survivors of Boarhead, then Spicy couldn’t ask him to come with him. They needed him here. But Spicy knew he couldn’t stay with One Stone. It would be up to him to rescue Rime, Thistle, and the children. Besides, there was no knowing what the troll might do if tempted with a second goblin.
“Look, I have to go. The men are riding east to the Inland Sea. I’m going after them.”
One Stone set his jaw. “But you’re not even studded.”
Spicy offered a weak smile. “Take care of everyone. Maybe I’ll get my first stud after I come back.”
They didn’t waste words on goodbyes.
Hog was waiting for him at an old stump which marked the mud road that led east. He had nothing but his cloak to show for the time spent in the village. She had no comment and began to march down the road, following the horse tracks left by the band of raiders. Spicy followed and forced himself not to turn back for a final look at his burned village.
***
He didn’t light a fire that night on the road. He reasoned the smell of smoke and the light might draw unwanted attention.
When Hog finally slept, she snored. She sounded like a tree bowing in the wind.
Spicy managed only a few fitful moments of slumber. By morning his body ached and each step took effort. He shivered. He gathered the goat-hair cloak around him. The clouds had passed, replaced by a biting wind that didn’t let up.
It wasn’t until after dawn that they made it to the camp the humans had set down that first night. It continued to confound him that the humans had come in such numbers. Was there any goblin settlement that could stand up to them?
He picked through the human camp. There was nothing to find but horse poop and the remains of the campfires.
“Well, they’re not afraid of anyone following them,” Spicy said.
Hog prowled the area around where the tent had been set up and sniffed the ground under a pine tree. “His scent is mostly gone.”
Spicy only knew of the one main road that led to the Inland Sea. There were other trails that the hunters from the goblin villages used, but all of them were less direct.
“We need to make better time,” Spicy said.
Fighting exhaustion, he set out. Hog kept up easily.
By late afternoon they made it to the place in the road where Hog had ambushed the column. A dead horse still lay out in the open. It had been stripped of anything useful. The humans had taken their own dead and injured.
Spicy looked down at the horse. “Is this meat fresh enough for you?”
Hog didn’t reply.
The humans had set up camp two miles down the road. Fire rings were placed in a circle around where the men had slept. A defensive position, Spicy decided. Judging by the ground, the tent hadn’t been erected.
On one of the rocks of the fire ring he found a glyph drawn in chalk. The symbol looked like a three-prong flame set in a square. He kicked the rock over into the ring so the glyph was out of sight.
He was about to leave the camp when he discovered a dozen books all unceremoniously dumped at the base of a tree. Some were from Somni’s library, but not all. Had Lord found what he was looking for or had he merely eliminated some of the volumes as having no use?
Spicy scoured the ground for signs of Thistle but didn’t find any. She was still of value to the humans. Which meant Rime and the young children would still be alive as well.
There was no time to collect the books and do what he could to preserve them. He went to find Hog.
She continued to prowl the heavy brush. Crushing bushes, she reached down and produced a spear dropped by one of the humans. This she handed to Spicy.
Spicy declined the offering. “It’s too long for me to hold and it’s heavy. And I don’t plan on fighting.”
She pressed the weapon into his hands, nearly bowling him over. “Follow.” She trudged into the heavy undergrowth, cutting a path that he could easily travel. A few moments later they came to a stream with a shallow pool. The clear water eddied around stones. Hog strode down to one end, where the pool spilled downstream.
“Meat scares fish. Hog catches them.”
Spicy stepped out onto the rocks, not seeing any fish. But he wasn’t going to argue. With the tip of the spear he prodded at the base of the rocks and swept the tip along its shadow. Numerous tiny shad appeared, darting away from Spicy and fleeing straight towards Hog. She lowered herself to the surface of the pool and began to push the water towards her open mouth. She made a terrific sucking sound as she inhaled. Then she began to swell.
To Spicy, Hog became the stuff of nightmares.
She rose, her jaw and neck filled like giant sacks. Her mouth began to spout water until the bulges shrank. Then she began chewing.
There were many more shad racing about, but none large enough to skewer. Spicy tried to shepherd more
fish her direction but the tiny things refused to be driven. Finally Hog stepped from the pool and spat more water.
“That’s it,” Spicy said. “There’s no big fish. I thought there might be a catfish or bass but there’s only the little guys.”
She was cleaning her teeth with her tongue. Her stomach rumbled. She began to sniff at the water. Spicy scurried to get out of her way. She headed upstream.
“Where are you going?” Spicy cried.
“Hungry.”
He hurried to catch up. She trampled through a large growth of poison oak. To avoid it, Spicy had to get down into the stream and get his feet wet. He paused for a moment to see if Hog would notice but she continued to push through bushes and past trees, taking them far away from the road.
The stream grew narrower and shallow. He didn’t know the ground they were crossing. They were heading uphill and the soil was rocky. Tall eucalyptus dominated the forest here, their seeds and shed bark scattered everywhere along with their cloying aroma.
And still Hog continued to forge ahead.
“This is quite a detour!” Spicy shouted. “It’s taking us away from the humans. Do you want that?”
Hog didn’t answer. She led them to a trickling waterfall. The slick rock face was covered in slime. It was slick to the touch. Yet the massive troll had no problem climbing, even as she dislodged several stones and other debris that Spicy had to dodge.
She vanished over the top. He waited. “Hog! I can’t climb this!”
No answer came. All was silent. His own hunger gnawed at him. It took a while to find a place where he could ascend. He slid a few times, unable to find good hand- and footholds. The spear only hampered his progress. He discarded it. Finally he found a manageable slope and scrambled up, having to fight through a dried blackberry bush devoid of fruit. Its thorns scratched him.
He listened but heard no signs of Hog.
It took fifteen minutes just to find the stream that fed the waterfall. A footstep in the soil marked Hog’s passage. She was continuing to head uphill. Now he could see a ridge through the trees, and the hill they were on was almost a mountain. His knowledge of local geography told him he was on the Fallen Ridges, which ran along the northwestern edge of the Inland Sea. There were few goblin settlements beyond that point and none he knew well.
The Goblin Reign Boxed Set Page 7