“We do that by making our own luck,” Lord said.
A third arrow flew. And several more. Each aimed shot found its mark. The troll remained crouched, its wavering hands raised to ward off the next arrow. But its breaths came hard and it was wheezing. A long moan escaped from it as Alma shot her last arrow, but still it lived. She pulled her short sword and got close to the quivering mass of green flesh. With a flash of her blade, she sliced its throat open.
Lord turned to his men. “If the troll in the water still lives, it has no more reason to follow us. It’s not luck that prevents another attack, but foresight. It was a mistake to bring this monster with us. We’ll have no more such foolishness. Now finish camp. Be sure to burn that thing lest it once again rises.”
White mist trickled from the dead troll’s mouth. Alma cleaned her blade before putting it away. The men piled wood on top of the troll and then set it aflame. Spicy watched it burn. Many of the men watched too.
He studied their faces. Was it fear or anger he was seeing?
With a small piece of driftwood he began to draw in a smooth section of sand. The symbol from the bow of the boat had intricacies to it, but now that he had seen it up close, he could recreate it perfectly. And next to it he drew the eye from Sage Somni’s house. The glyph was one he had avoided looking at for so many years. Once finished, he studied his handiwork.
Oren came near and looked down at the sand. His mouth moved without speaking. Spicy just pointed down at the two glyphs. Then he wiped both smooth with his foot.
The man’s eyes went wide and he hurried off.
But Spicy wasn’t done drawing. He drew a stick figure, a large one, and he made himself stare at it. Then this too he wiped away as he tried to ignore the pit in his stomach.
Chapter Eighteen
Spicy was put to work that evening loading buckets of water from a stream that ran into the sea. These he carried to a collapsible trough for the horses. The animals were as uneasy around him as he was with them, but they drank every drop he brought them.
Black Tooth hauled Rime over to Spicy and chained them together. “Keep on with the horses, gobs. No slacking.”
The chain didn’t allow much freedom of movement, but they could whisper as they went for more water.
Black Tooth kept watch on them as he chewed a hardtack biscuit. They dragged their loaded buckets back to the horse trough.
“Why are you here?” Rime asked softly. Both his eyes were swollen, his cheeks puffy and bruised.
“I came to free you.”
Rime just shook his head as he dumped his bucket. A bay horse with white markings on its nose nudged the other horses aside and drank noisily.
“I have a tool for the chain,” Spicy said. “We go tonight. I’ll get Thistle and the children and we run.”
A charcoal horse wasn’t waiting. It nearly knocked Spicy down as it thrust its face into his bucket.
“And then where? We have no home. Everyone’s dead. Why didn’t you find others to rescue us? Like the hunters from other villages?”
“Because they’re dead too. I went to Thousand Groves. Boarhead wasn’t their first stop.”
“They went to Thousand Groves?” Rime asked.
Spicy nodded. “But a few survived. One Stone is alive. He said there were twenty others from Boarhead.” The charcoal horse had almost drained the bucket. Spicy dumped the rest into the trough and they went back to the stream. Black Tooth didn’t follow. The camp now had three fire rings burning. The troll’s pyre had burned down to cinders.
“We’re too far away from anyplace we know,” Rime hissed. “They have horses. They’re stronger. There are trolls.”
“I know, Rime. I led that troll to the boats.”
“Not a word out of the both of you,” Black Tooth called.
They hauled their buckets back to the horses.
“I’m getting us free,” Spicy said. “Be ready.”
The troll handler came around and gave each of them a bowl of corn porridge. It was disgusting, but it was food. Spicy could see the children had a single bowl between them. One of the girls, Dill, was passing spoonfuls to the others.
After supper, Rime was put to work oiling down the saddles and other gear. Spicy was given a bucket of water and the pots and pans used to cook the porridge. The water quickly became filthy.
“Going to need more water,” Spicy said.
Black Tooth muttered something and unclipped Rime before following Spicy to the stream. The rest of the camp had fallen into subdued conversations, with Lord and his lieutenants around their own smaller fire. The dog patrolled the edges of the camp for a time before settling in with its handler, who puffed on his pipe.
Spicy waded into ankle-deep water. He sniffed at some of the rocks. He wanted to go further but was at the full length of the chain.
“You try to go any further and I’m dragging you back by your neck,” Black Tooth said. He looked forlornly back at the fires.
Spicy thrust his hands beneath a stone and began to collect a few thumbnail-sized mollusks. He found more amidst clusters of gooey seaweed. Some of the seaweed also went into the bucket. Soon he had a few dozen tiny shellfish. While he had never eaten the kind that lived in saltwater, they smelled like some of the mollusks that lived in the freshwater streams near Boarhead.
Climbing from the water, he saw a nearby stunted redwood that looked promising for mushrooms, but Black Tooth yanked the chain and almost made Spicy fall and drop his load. He had to hurry to not get pulled off his feet. Black Tooth secured his chain near the horses and children and then went to warm himself by the fire.
Spicy shared his small bounty and the children ate.
The pliers against the chain made too much noise. Each time Spicy tried to squeeze at a link, the metal jaws slipped and chinked.
One of the horses snorted. The camp was still dimly lit, as some of the men kept the fires burning. Black Tooth had bedded down nearby and hadn’t moved since climbing into his blankets.
“What are you doing?” Dill asked. The other four children watched, their eyes glowing in the faint light.
“Shh. I’m trying to get my chain free.”
He moved from link to link but couldn’t find any that would give. The chain was attached to a stake hammered into the ground near Black Tooth. It would mean getting closer. He gathered as much chain as he could and crept towards the sleeping figure. The horses continued to murmur.
A pebble smacked him in the back of the head. Rime was up and crouched on his haunches. He was shaking his head and mouthing something.
Spicy made a gesture for him to hold on.
Rime threw another pebble. It hit Spicy’s shoulder. Spicy crawled over to Rime.
“What are you doing?” Spicy asked. “I’m trying to get us out of here.”
“It’s not going to work. The kids won’t be able to keep up.”
“They’ll have to.”
Rime grabbed Spicy. “That’s just going to get us all killed.” He grabbed for the pliers. Spicy pushed at him and they started to roll in the sand.
The horses grew unsettled. Several grunted and snorted.
“Goblins!” Black Tooth called. It took him a moment to untangle himself from his blanket as he rose.
Spicy punched and jerked at Rime, but his friend had a hold of the pliers. Rime bit him. Spicy yelped and released the tool.
“It’s not enough that we have a troll hunting us?” Black Tooth said. He bent down and cuffed Rime, knocking him to the sand. The pliers had vanished into the youth’s pocket.
The man turned to Spicy. Before Spicy could say anything, Black Tooth slapped him. He tried to back away but Black Tooth had a foot on the chain.
“Seems you’ve not been properly broken, unlike your fellow gobs.” Another blow fell. It jarred Spicy and his ears rang. Black Tooth slapped him a third time. A fourth. Spicy tried to shield himself with his hands and arms. Before the man could strike again, a hand caught his and shoved Blac
k Tooth away.
“Let’s knock that off,” Oren said. The bald man stepped between Black Tooth and Spicy.
“What do you care?”
“This one knows his figures, so Lord says he’s important. And I’ll not have you bringing bad luck upon us.”
Black Tooth got in Oren’s face. “It’s already here. We’ve been attacked by trolls twice, we’ve found little gold, and we’re about to head east into the mountains full of wild tribals with no idea why. And you believe this gob is somehow going to change things for the better?”
“Leave him alone.”
Black Tooth backed away and gave a dismissive gesture as he returned to his blankets.
Oren waited for a moment before leaving Spicy and the other goblins. Rime and the children kept their heads low. Dill was crying softly. Spicy touched his sore face. His skin felt hot where the blows had landed, and the pain radiated through his teeth and jaw.
“Rime, give me the pliers.”
“No. And if you try to take them again, I’m going to shout for help.”
Chapter Nineteen
They were up and moving inland the next morning even before the sun rose. Lord allowed no time for a cooked breakfast. Each goblin received a chunk of hardtack. Spicy was ravenous so he forced himself to eat it. Soon they were being dragged along, the chain fixed to the saddle of Black Tooth’s horse.
Their path took them over slick granite. The trees looked somehow wrong. The young redwoods grew thin and the tall pine trees had yellowing in their needles. Manzanita clumps had to be avoided, taking the riders crisscross in their efforts to ascend the slope away from the sea.
But as Spicy suspected, there were mushrooms.
The chain had been drawn tight, so gathering was difficult, but the procession stopped and doubled back more than once and Black Tooth was content to be among the last of the riders. The frequent pauses allowed Spicy to pluck several handfuls of meaty gray- and cream-colored fungus that grew only a few feet away from their path. He ate more than a few, tasting before swallowing to be sure they were the right kind, and then handed the rest to the children.
He gave half of one platter-sized mushroom head to Rime. Rime took it and ate it without comment.
Black Tooth glared at Spicy but said little as they once again followed the procession, with a new route through the maze of thorny plants.
At midday they stopped at a pool of dark water. The horses and men drank. The water was filthy by the time the goblins were allowed to take their fill.
“Drink upstream,” Spicy said. Their chain allowed them enough slack to make the edge of the pool where the water flowed in.
“Suddenly you remember your hunting lessons,” Rime said in a low tone.
“You’re talking to me again?”
Rime lapped up some water and helped one of the children with her chain so she could also drink. “They feed us once a day. The children are weak. They won’t make it very far.”
“The humans have murdered children in two villages,” Spicy said. “They’ll only keep us alive as long as they have to.”
“Then we survive longer than following you out into the wild.”
Rime drank more as some of the men approached, Oren leading them. Blades followed the group, a bemused expression on his face. The goblins were led away from the water. Spicy was handed a piece of sharpened charcoal.
“You know your symbols,” Oren said. He presented Spicy with a buckler. The tiny shield was made of wood and bound with leather that was ragged and worn. Near the strap was a faded glyph that Spicy couldn’t make out.
“What was on here before?” Spicy asked.
“Courage. It falls under my star sign. But I want you to draw the one from the sand.”
“Luck.”
“Yes. Draw it.”
Spicy began to scratch the glyph into the shield, going over each of his lines over and over until it was dark and easy to read. “Who made the glyph on the boat?”
“The boat owner before had a proper glyph warden perform the rite, as is the custom. Medico knows some and drew it but he doesn’t like to disobey Lord. Lord doesn’t care for any of the rites and ordered Medico not to perform them. And Lord didn’t want to wait for us to find a glyph warden before we rowed up the Eel River. He doesn’t believe.”
A murmur of agreements followed. Other items were presented: a bow, a sleeve of an outer coat, the flap of a leather pack. The shape and lines of the glyphs were rough, but the men appeared pleased.
Blades grabbed the buckler and examined the glyph. “By all that is holy, we’re assured success now.”
“Give it back,” Oren said.
“Of course, the Three-Who-Are-One might take exception to your turning away from them.”
“You’re no man of faith.”
Blades tossed the buckler to Oren. “Who has it ever served? Resurrecting a twice-dead god never did our fathers any good.”
“But the glyphs call upon the gods within us.”
“Do they really? We’ve spilled enough blood and have seen little else but dung and bile flow. Goblin and men alike puke and disgorge their guts. But I’ve never seen a god come out of anyone.”
The conversation ended when Lord began calling for everyone to mount up. Once again they were on the move. A few miles inland they came to a wide trail in good condition. Alma spent no small amount of time studying the ground for tracks, and then Lord ordered the column south. Thistle remained seated on the black horse and Spicy never got the chance to speak with her.
The sun barely showed through the silver haze. It was afternoon when they stopped again at a fork in the road, with one trail leading downhill. The smell of woodsmoke carried in the breeze.
Alma emerged from the trees. She, Blades, and Lord spoke briefly. There was some difference in opinion, but finally Lord gave a wave. Alma whupped and ran to the front of the column, where another raider held a waiting horse. She mounted it and gave the column a signal to follow.
The men nudged their mounts forward. Alma whispered to them and set off downhill. A dozen of the raiders rode after her. The hoofbeats died away as the horses vanished.
Black Tooth got off his horse and picked through his pack until he produced a slab of dried meat. He began to chew noisily. The goblins sat on the trail.
The air was silent and still. After a few minutes came a hard whistle—three sharp blasts, followed by three more.
“Well, looks like it’s time to see what today’s spoils bring,” Black Tooth said to no one in particular. He got back on his horse and navigated it down the trail. The goblins had to hurry to keep up. Lord and the few remaining men brought up the rear with the pack animals in tow.
They came upon their first body at the bottom of a steep slope. A young goblin with a broken spear lay sprawled out. A single slice of a sword had split his weapon in two and cleaved a deep gash in his chest. Spicy felt his stomach lurch but he couldn’t look away.
The village had only some twenty homes, a large community garden, and a dirt lot where a meager selection of tiny fish dried on racks. A neat collection of nets was tucked away near a pen in which chickens were hiding in an open wooden coop. One of the soldiers was pulling the chickens out one at a time and wringing their necks. Several of the homes were now collapsed, and another caved in as a pair of raiders pulled the structure down and began picking through the rubble.
Alma roamed the far side of the village where more bodies lay. “Not much here,” she announced when Lord came closer. “Some food. Not even gold jewelry.”
“A waste of our time,” Lord said. “The village isn’t on our list. There’s no lorekeeper in residence here.”
Black Tooth lashed his horse to the fence post of an empty pen. He moved to the closest home and vanished inside. Soon came the crash of splintering wood as debris of wrecked furniture was thrown from the doorway. Lord dismounted and joined Alma, and they walked out of earshot towards a collection of small boats.
This
tle slid from the black horse and rushed to Spicy. A thin chain ran from her ankle to the pommel of the saddle.
“Thistle, I was trying to get you out of here,” Spicy said.
She shoved a book in his hands. “Shut up. There isn’t time. Take this.”
“What is it?”
“Hide it. Quick. It’s Lord’s journal. All his notes. And you’ve got to get out of here tonight.”
He shook his head. “No! I came for you and the others. We can escape together.”
She smiled sadly. “You know we wouldn’t make it far. Not all of us.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“Yes, you are. You have to. You didn’t come chasing me without a way to get away. I know you. You’re too smart for that.” She left him and returned to the black horse.
“Nothing here,” came a grumbling voice. “You said the gobs would have something.”
“I said they might have something,” Blades said. “Think of it this way. Whenever there’s have-nots, there’s haves. This is another village of have-nots. We just have to find the ones who aren’t mud-grubbing crawdad munchers. Are any of them still alive? Maybe they buried something worth some gold.”
Spicy pushed the book into the back of his pants as Blades and the other raider walked past. Black Tooth returned after his own search, his face in a scowl. He muttered curses and spat. Spicy avoided eye contact as the man went to search the chicken coop.
Once they were alone again, Rime hissed at him.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Spicy whispered.
“Give me the book. I’ll take it out of here if you won’t.”
“No. Now you’re interested in helping? I’m not leaving anyone behind. Why is this journal so important?”
Rime shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s the one Lord keeps getting Thistle to work on. It’s telling him where to go, but he isn’t quite clear on where that is.”
“I get that,” Spicy said. “They’re lost. So I’ll just bury it when no one is looking.”
The Goblin Reign Boxed Set Page 10