The Goblin Reign Boxed Set

by Gerhard Gehrke

  The dragon let out a low grumble and pondered for a moment. “Go. Climb. Create your distraction. I’ll do the rest.”

  Spicy looked into the hallway and up at the hole.

  “All right. But can I get a boost?”

  He climbed. Once up through the hole there were ample handholds as he ascended past the wider hollow where the dragon had hidden itself.

  Holding onto the lantern proved troublesome. As he juggled it, trying to keep it upright while not falling, he scanned each shadowy pocket for any alternative routes. The only way forward was up.

  Among the rubble of a stone shelf, he discovered a lone section of tile he guessed had once been a floor. Pieces of rusted metal were embedded within the rock. What hands had crafted this place? The breeze picked up and tickled his nose. He climbed until he could go no further. But a section of stone wall was visible. It had a fissure wide enough that he might squeeze through.

  A metal box lay wedged within the wall. It was empty, but faint lettering was legible. Spicy sounded out the words.

  In case of emergency, break glass.

  The meaning of the plain script was a mystery. There was no glass. Perhaps the emergency had long since passed.

  Using his free hand and both feet, he slid into the fissure. The lantern wouldn’t fit if he intended to continue moving. So he set it down and climbed without it. The breeze blew down, stronger than before. It was the right way, but could he make it? He pulled himself higher. The opening narrowed further. He began gasping for breath. He couldn’t inhale. The space was too small and the stone around him felt as if it were pressing in. Crushing him. He was going to suffocate. He tried to back up. No good. It was as if the rocks had closed behind him. He suppressed a cry as he tried to wriggle forward, but his hips and shoulders were wedged in.

  A wave of dizziness struck him.

  He could see a trace of light above him. He had almost made it but would now die trapped inside the rocky chimney of a dragon’s cave.

  For some reason he thought of his mother. If she had been there, she would have scolded him for being foolish enough to get stuck. But then she would have told him what to do. His earliest memory was of her instructing him how to lace his own pants and shoes up.

  If the knot frustrates you, first calm down. Then make your fingers do their work.

  His left hand was able to move. He managed to reach up and extend his left arm. Ignoring the pain, he curled his injured right arm tight against his body and tilted his shoulder. Exhaling meant letting out the last of his breath, but he blew out and counted to three.

  He could wiggle.

  Inch by inch, he squirmed upward until he felt the edge of rock below the opening. He was able to thrust a knee forward enough to brace himself so he wouldn’t slide back down. The space was large enough that he could breathe. He greedily sucked air into his burning lungs and tried not to cough. With a final scramble, he pulled himself higher and was outside.

  The sky above the boulder had begun to darken. The voices of the raiders echoed from below. Several torches flickered. Judging by the sounds, the raiders were busy piling wood. Soon they would have their fire.

  The dragon was counting on him. But up on his high perch, Spicy knew he could wait it all out. No one would know he was there. The dragon and the raiders could kill one another, and he would slip away.

  He entertained the thought for a moment, but it quickly faded.

  How much had been lost at Somni’s library? What knowledge was inscribed below in the dragon’s script? And what if the humans recovered it? Somni had lectured about the responsibility of a student. And the sage’s role as a steward of knowledge. What was an apprentice but a sage in training?

  And now that Somni and the other sages were gone, perhaps he was the only one left in a position to do anything.

  He rose on shaking legs and surveyed the men moving just below him. Placing both hands to either side of his mouth, he roared with all his might.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  An arrow barely missed Spicy, forcing him to duck. The high rock had little cover. Another missile flew past before Lord shouted from below.

  “Spread out. It’s above us. Up there. Get back in case it jumps.”

  Spicy peered over the edge. Men carrying torches were now forming into a line. Alma was moving back separate from the others, her bow ready. She also had more arrows in her quiver. Spicy put his head down and again roared but was less impressed with the result.

  “I don’t see it,” a man called.

  “It’s up there,” said another. “But it sounds funny.”

  Someone threw a lit branch up towards the top of the rock. It fell back down. But a second hurled brand came arcing in. Spicy grabbed it and tossed it away.

  “There!”

  Another arrow flew past.

  “Do you see it? I don’t see it.”

  “Get a better angle on it!”

  Spicy got as low as he could to the cold stone. Where was the dragon? Fear gripped him as it dawned on him that the creature might have used him. If he created enough of a distraction, it might slip past the men. Spicy knew he could never descend back down through the cleft in the rock.

  “Why isn’t it attacking?”

  “It’s up there. I can hear it breathe. Maybe it’s wounded.”

  “Everybody further back,” Lord said.

  Spicy dared a second glance down. Alma was nowhere in sight. If she was improving her angle on the top of the boulder, she might soon be able to get a clear shot.

  Lord was lighting something in his hand. It looked like a guttering candle. He threw it. It was one of the small white cubes, and it had a long wick that continued to burn even as it arced through the air. The cube fell short of the top of the rock. Suddenly an explosion shook the boulder.

  The boom rattled Spicy’s teeth and made his ears pop and ring. The massive force of the blast bounced him upward as if a giant had kicked the rock. He gripped the stone face as his skull rang and his teeth hurt. Dust was everywhere.

  His mind raced as he tried to understand what had happened.

  He had heard of humans in the far past possessing weapons that could explode or strike down enemies at extreme ranges but had thought the stories rather fanciful, like the ones about dragons. How much power could a tiny cube of clay hold?

  Enough power to kill him, he grasped. The metric didn’t matter if the next one landed on top of the rock. He had to move, or he’d be dead.

  As he rose, he saw Lord in the process of lighting a second cube. Spicy picked up a rock and threw it even as Lord touched the wick to the flame of his torch. The rock struck the large man in the head. The cube tumbled to his feet. The closest men shouted and dove away.

  “Calm down, it’s stable,” Lord said. As he bent to pick the cube up, a roar boomed from the cavern entrance. The fuse of the bomb had burned over halfway down. Lord was cocking his arm to throw. Spicy launched another rock. This one just missed. Lord ignored it. But the man’s attention was no longer on Spicy. He pivoted towards the cavern entrance and threw the bomb.

  Spicy dropped down and hugged the rock as a second explosion ripped through the air.

  Below him, men were shouting in confusion. Spicy couldn’t see what was happening. Then the dragon roared again. A layer of smoke rose and obscured everything. This was his chance. He looked down the side of the rock but saw few handholds. The fall was high enough that he feared he might break something. As he moved to the other side of the rock, he saw motion.

  Alma had climbed to a small shelf opposite the tall rock. Even though she was precariously perched, she had managed to ready an arrow. He had no place to hide.

  Spicy swung his legs over the side and began lowering himself, hoping he had cover. His fingers clung to a lip of stone. But he realized he was still too high to drop. His feet found a shallow toehold. With his bad arm, he managed to steady himself so he could find a new handhold with his left, but felt nothing. Then he found the
smallest crack. Pressing his hand into the opening, he eased himself down, sending a lance of pain through his arm. The wound where the arrow had punctured him was dripping.

  It happened instantly.

  He slipped.

  He crunched on top of a large rock above the stairs before smashing into the ground. The cave and stairs were next to him. Another foot to one side and he would have fallen in. Surely that would have shattered his legs. But even still, the impact jarred his head and sent waves of pain radiating through his body. For a panicked moment he couldn’t inhale. Finally he calmed down enough so he could breathe.

  Smoke hung heavy in the air and churned about like it was a living thing. From somewhere close, the dragon bellowed. It was the sound of pure rage. A man was pleading and crying. There followed a loud crunch and the man went silent. Another raider called for help. A snap and a gurgle and his cries ceased. Rocks shifted as something moved about in the smoke. The click-click-click of the dragon’s talons moved past.

  “Stay away!” Lord shouted. He stepped out into view. In one hand he held another bomb and in the other his torch. He was backing up in Spicy’s direction. From the curtain of smoke loomed the shape of the dragon. It rolled forward in a serpentine motion, its body coiling as if preparing to strike.

  “Where did you get those bombsss?” the dragon asked.

  Lord adjusted the pack so it lay across his back. “Don’t come any closer.”

  The dragon pushed out of the smoke and set one clawed foot down near Lord.

  “I’ll blow us both up,” Lord said.

  “Will you, now?” the dragon said. But it had stopped moving. As the smoke thinned Spicy was able to see the creature had suffered more wounds.

  “I know about you,” Lord said. “I can see you bleed like any other animal. And I know you only get to cough up your steam once a day. With you gone, your secrets will be mine.”

  The dragon let out a rattle from its throat. “You believe you’ll survive to enjoy your victory.”

  Spicy saw motion beyond the dragon from the opposite cliff. Alma had climbed even higher and was on top of a ledge. She was about to fire.

  “Look out!” Spicy screamed.

  Even as the dragon moved, Alma let loose an arrow which struck it in its side. Then Lord lit the bomb.

  Before he knew what he was doing, Spicy got up and ran for the man. He jumped and grabbed at the arm with the bomb. Lord was too strong. He tried to shake Spicy away. But Spicy continued to cling tight.

  “Release me, you fool goblin!”

  Lord tried to peel Spicy free. Spicy bit the hand and the bomb tumbled. The sputtering fuse kept burning, now only inches away from the white block. Lord smashed Spicy with a hard slap that knocked him away. Meanwhile the dragon howled as another arrow pierced it.

  “I’ll deal with you in a minute, goblin.” He bent to pick up the bomb. “Taste fire and die, wyrm.”

  Spicy sprang up and launched himself at Lord. He caught him dead center and drove his head into the man’s stomach. As Lord let out a hard “Ooof” and stumbled, Spicy pushed him down the stairs.

  The hard explosion caused the ground to lurch and knocked Spicy off his feet. A gout of black smoke erupted from the entrance. The world spun. A high-pitched keening filled his ears. The large rock above shifted as the ground trembled. Then the cave collapsed, sending up a wave of dust.

  Spicy coughed and choked and fought to breathe. He realized not just one bomb had gone off, but all of them. Sticky blood ran down his nose. It took a few tries before he could stand.

  The cave opening was gone.

  He stumbled to the high boulder and pressed his face to it. Caught his breath. At any moment an arrow would find him. Or the dragon. But for the moment the cool rock face was a balm. His jaw quivered and his breathing came in short gasps. Dust kept getting into his eyes.

  He knew he didn’t dare linger. He pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose and wiped his hair from his face. There was no dragon nearby. Spicy staggered forward and tried to be quiet, but his feet were heavy and he kept stumbling. There had to be other raiders still alive. He decided it would be better to crawl. The ringing in his ears only worsened and his head throbbed.

  It was only after making some distance that he dared to look behind him.

  He saw no one, even as a breeze blew much of the smoke and dust away. Had the dragon fallen? Was Alma still up above on the cliffs?

  Spicy kept crawling.

  He didn’t dare hope anything. All he wanted at that moment was to escape and leave the valley of death and dragons behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The humans had left two men behind with the horses at the bottom of the trail leading to the valley. It was the only way down that didn’t involve a climb. Spicy finally trusted his legs to hold him upright, but his balance was too far gone to chance taking any other route. The wound in his arm was still sticky. He kept tasting blood in the back of his throat, which made him want to spit, but his mouth was too dry.

  Without a doubt, the guards left behind would see him.

  He would have to tell them a story that would buy him time to once again escape. But as he descended the zigzag of rock, leaning heavy, several figures emerged from the night. They held no torches or lanterns. Faint moonlight, filtered through clouds, reflected blue on the tips of their spears.

  Spicy wobbled as he raised his hands.

  One of the spear holders hissed. Then Spicy was yanked forward and thrown to the ground.

  “Lord and the others were attacked,” Spicy blurted. “The dragon was ready for them, but they wounded it. If you run back now you might save him.”

  “Stop your yammering,” the spearman said. “It’s a goblin.”

  “Spicy?”

  From the gloom his sister ran to him and helped him up. He clung to her.

  “I’m sorry, Thistle,” he said. They were surrounded. Caught. And he had nothing left in him. “I thought you had gotten away.”

  “It’s okay,” Thistle said. “We’re okay. We’re safe.”

  Spicy shook his head, not understanding. Then he looked around at the shadows and saw he was surrounded not by humans, but by goblins. Among them he smelled familiar scents belonging to two hunters from Boarhead.

  “Father?”

  Thistle shook her head. “The hunting party was ambushed by the raiders. Father was wounded and didn’t survive his injuries.”

  Spicy could only stiffly nod as he took in the news. He counted over a dozen goblins around them.

  “Where are the other humans?” Spicy asked.

  Thistle stepped away and nodded towards one of the hunters. “This is the war party leader, Noe.”

  A goblin woman stepped forward. She held a bow twice her size. Her locks of hair were up in a bundled topknot, and a thick gold ring ran through her lower lip. “One human is dead. The other escaped but had enough arrows in his legs that he won’t make it far. Tell me what happened up there. We heard explosions.”

  “The human leader had bombs—some kind of old technology. But they’re all dead, or at least most of them.”

  “By whose hand?”

  “They ran into a dragon.”

  Noe’s expression was unreadable in the dark. “There’ll be time for explanations later. You’ll have to keep up. We can’t chance waiting here.”

  The goblin leader hissed and the signal was passed along into the shadows.

  Soon Spicy was following the line of hunters, with his sister helping him keep up. Both the goblins from his village placed a hand on Spicy’s shoulders and kissed his head as they passed. But neither spoke. There would be time for words and tears later.

  The goblins were phantoms that made no sound as they trekked in a column across the stony ground. Each carried their weapon at the ready. Following behind were a few goblins who led along a line of captured horses. The animals followed obediently. Spicy hoped he wouldn’t be forced to ride.

  From the nearest hunte
r, Spicy could detect the scent of dried blood. Human blood.

  “What about Rime and the children?” Spicy whispered.

  Thistle pressed her fingers to her lips. “We’ll speak later. It was hard enough to get Noe to return for you.”

  Spicy lost all sense of time and focused on remaining upright and placing one foot in front of another. Thistle bore his weight without complaint. Finally they took refuge underneath a grove of pine trees where they could see all around them. Noe set out sentries and the column bedded down. Spicy and his sister leaned on each other with their backs to a tree and were asleep in minutes.

  ***

  His eyes opened.

  He had heard something.

  A low fog had risen and engulfed the grove where the goblin hunters slept. Spicy listened but whatever sound he had heard didn’t repeat itself. Perhaps one of the sentries had made a noise as they shifted about to keep warm.

  Thistle still leaned on his shoulder. Spicy gently laid her on the ground. He needed water. He didn’t see any on Thistle so he went to lap some off any leaves he might find.

  A nearby hunter on sentry duty ignored him as he passed by. At the base of the small hill was a patch of long grass. He crouched down and licked a few precious drops, which did little to slake his thirst but tasted wonderful on his tongue.

  His entire body ached. His wounded arm was itchy and tender. The ringing in his head was a high-pitched whine he feared would never quit. He pulled a few stalks of grass and chewed for a while before spitting out the pulp.

  From the opposite line of trees came a low sigh. At first Spicy thought it was the wind. But the air wasn’t moving. He froze. He could smell the dragon—a trace of sulfur, the stench of blood. The black shape lifted off the ground and slid slowly towards him, its coils edging and pulling at the ground.