The Goblin Reign Boxed Set

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “We’re not pirates,” Goldbug said.

  “No? Then what pirates did you steal that flag from? If that’s the case, then there’s definitely a bounty for your skins. Probably more than you’re paying me to take you to your destination.”

  They were far enough past the bridge that the guard wouldn’t be able to see.

  Spicy took the flag out again and showed it to the pilot. “Our boat was burned out from under us by one of the archduke’s ships.”

  “So maybe two bounties for you lads, eh?” the pilot asked. “Merchants always willing to pay to have a pirate swung from a yardarm. And Pinnacle, well, they’ll pay in scrip for the honor.” But his craggy face now wore a grin. “What did you do to piss off the archduke?”

  “We broke into his keep and freed a prisoner.”

  The pilot laughed. “Hail the esteemed rogues. Never had I such talent aboard my humble vessel.” The man shook his head but then grew silent as he continued to move them along.

  Goldbug remained sullen during the exchange. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that he spoke to Spicy as they waited on the pilot, who had tied off the boat and gone ashore to relieve himself. Their route had taken a new turn, and now they were fighting the current.

  “Why did you give away so much?”

  Spicy looked around at the empty waterway. “Who’s he going to tell?”

  “He might try to catch us and sell us.”

  “I don’t think there’s any bounty on us. No one knows who we are. The Sin Nombre, maybe. But not Goldbug and Spicy.”

  “Still, you said things which he might pass along later. And you did it for free.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I just thought he needed to hear what we were up to. So he could, you know, trust us.”

  Goldbug sighed and shook his head. Spicy could feel his friend’s disappointment. It was as if all the lessons he had been given up to that point had been wasted. The pilot came out of the weeds and was hitching up his pants as he waded back to the skiff.

  The conversation was over.

  “Orchard City’s just to the east, but we’ve cut past her. The delta’s further along this route.” The pilot hauled himself on board. “That completes my contract. It’s getting late. So it’s time to choose where you want me to set you down.”

  Goldbug directed him up the waterway for another hour and then chose a shore. It was a forested hillside with no signs of life.

  “You sure?” the pilot asked. “Opposite bank will take you through the farmlands, where you might hire a horse and pay for a meal. This is rough country out here.”

  The man actually sounded worried.

  “This is fine,” Goldbug said. “Forget you saw us.”

  “Thank you,” Spicy added. “The crew of the Sin Nombre never forgets those that treat it well.”

  Goldbug elbowed Spicy as the pilot turned and caught the current downstream. Soon he was out of sight.

  “You told him our boat’s name,” Goldbug said.

  “He saw the banner I was carrying. If the Sin Nombre has the reputation I think it does, then he knew who we were. He won’t go report us. Besides, it’s not like there’s an actual Sin Nombre anymore.”

  Goldbug began to trudge away from shore. “There will be again. There always is. That’s a rule.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Neither wanted to be the first to stop. But Goldbug’s sense of direction and Spicy’s keen sight couldn’t overcome the thick black of night as they traversed the rough ground of the forested hill. Exhaustion took Spicy as they found a place where they could rest.

  Spicy hovered somewhere near sleep. His stomach continued to grumble. The memories of the discomforting dream came on strong. Spicy couldn’t stop thinking about the children relying on him. Surely this shortcut was faster than any boat could travel. But his own sense of direction was off. How far had they actually gone? Did Goldbug know where they were going?

  Goldbug was vomiting into the nearby grass. Spicy rose and tried to comfort him.

  “I’m fine,” he gasped as his body was racked with a fresh series of dry heaves.

  “Did you eat something?”

  “Nothing. Maybe it’s the air. Or the bugs.”

  After a few more rounds of his stomach squeezing itself dry, Goldbug lay down on a bed of grass and hugged his knees as he shivered. Spicy sat beside him until the night ended.

  At predawn, Goldbug finally slept. Spicy rose to scout but saw no path. Cutting one with his knife would be foolish. The overcast sky and the trees around them gave no clues as to direction. Without Goldbug’s help, choosing a way to go would prove impossible.

  “We can’t wait here,” he said when he returned to his companion.

  Goldbug didn’t answer. Getting one of Goldbug’s arms over his shoulders, Spicy hauled him to his feet. The pirate reeked of dried vomit and sweat and his eyes were bloodshot. His skin felt sticky. Spicy nodded towards the lip of a sandy slope that would take them over and past a thick grove of trees that looked otherwise impassable. Otherwise the only accessible route was heading back from where they had come.

  “Is that the way?”

  Goldbug’s eyes fluttered and he remained limp, placing his weight on the goblin.

  The sandy slope became his goal. Spicy carried him along as they traversed the treacherous path. He cursed his supposed luck even as he took care to not slip. An hour later, they were skittering downhill towards a canopy of high cottonwoods. Water lapped on a muddy bank nearby. He had to set Goldbug down and rest. The young man was shivering though the morning wasn’t cold.

  Spicy soaked the Sin Nombre banner and washed Goldbug’s face before draping it around the young man’s neck. Goldbug nodded his thanks and wiped his face down before handing the banner back. Spicy shoved it into a pocket.

  “Can you tell where we are?” Spicy asked.

  It took a moment for Goldbug to answer. He surveyed their surroundings with half-mast eyes. “Close. We’re close.”

  Together, they moved on, finding a game trail that followed the shore.

  Hours later, the waterway visible through the trees looked similar to the one outside Bird’s Landing. But Spicy couldn’t be sure. The trees looked right, as did the reeds and other foliage. But how much of the delta looked exactly like the rest of it? He tried to get some kind of confirmation from Goldbug, but the lad nodded listlessly no matter what he asked. Goldbug then motioned that they needed to continue further.

  After what might have been hours, the aroma of cooking food and woodsmoke carried in the air.

  “We’re close. If not Bird’s Landing then there’s a village nearby. Wait here, I’m going on ahead for a look.”

  He set Goldbug down against a rock and did his best to hurry. The ground only grew muddier. He was wading thigh-deep through black mire when he saw a ship’s mast above the trees. He got down into the brackish water and pushed through the reeds to where he could see.

  The Wind Bonnet had dropped anchor and was blocking the inlet leading to Bird’s Landing. Her crew were up on deck, the giant crossbow manned and ready. They were watching the town. Some held bows, and most appeared to have weapon belts strapped on their waists and over their shoulders.

  Captain Breaker paced among his men, his unlit pipe clamped between his teeth.

  There were too many eyes on all sides of the boat. Spicy retreated.

  Goldbug had limped to the flat ground behind him, an arm clamped across his stomach, his face sweating. He took in the sight of the boat and then gestured inland.

  “Path here will lead us to the landing.”

  Spicy ran on ahead. As he passed an outlying hut, he saw a line of black smoke rising from over the hill behind Bird’s Landing. There was only one possible reason. The mud village was burning.

  He hurried but resisted the urge to call out. Something felt wrong about the pirate outpost. It was too quiet.

  The first person he spotted was the smiling woman who had taken care of him and
the children. But instead of her usual smile, her face grew fearful when Spicy approached. She set down a basket of vegetables and began shaking her head and talking quickly in Cityspeak. She was pointing to the woods where Spicy had just come from as if to warn him off.

  “What’s going on?” Spicy asked. “I don’t understand.”

  But she kept going on and then began physically pushing Spicy away even as he tried to get past her. Where was the rest of the Sin Nombre crew who had been left behind to protect both the mud village and Bird’s Landing?

  “Middle Finger’s crew,” Spicy said, talking slowly. “Where are they?”

  The woman answered in a frantic whisper. “Run.”

  From the doorway of the tavern, a man emerged. Tall, thin, hair shaved down to the scalp, and wearing a black short coat. It was one of the archduke’s sons. He saw Spicy and pointed at him. Two soldiers in red capes came out the door behind him. The son opened his mouth to speak. A dry whisper escaped his lips. The guards must have understood. They moved forward.

  “You!” one of them barked. “Come here, goblin!”

  The woman grabbed Spicy and pushed him away. Spicy stumbled but caught his footing. The guards charged after him, only to be stopped as the woman screamed at them. One shoved her aside.

  Spicy had to make a quick decision. He could retreat and try to lose them in the heavy growth, or chance them catching him as he tried for the trail that led to the mud village, where Fath and the other goblins were clearly in trouble.

  He vaulted a pen gate and raced past a group of miniature pigs. The animals squealed in fright. Once he jumped out the opposite side of the pen, he veered and made the dirt path between the line of shanties.

  The guards behind him were shouting. Their heavy footfalls were gaining on him. Where was everyone that lived here? Besides the woman, it appeared Bird’s Landing was empty.

  He made the trailhead at the end of the road. He slapped branches aside as he stuck close to as much cover as he could in case anyone started shooting arrows. The mud village was well over a mile away, perhaps two. The guards with their long legs would surely catch him.

  But behind him he heard nothing. No crunch of leaves, no snap of twigs, no more shouting. They had let him go.

  Spicy didn’t wait to see why. His legs burned and his chest was tight. He felt as if he had nothing left. But he kept running.

  The smoke from over the hill was no longer visible now that he was under the cover of trees. But something was happening at the mud village. Somehow the archduke’s boats had beaten them there, and Captain Breaker was helping. Had Breaker been in his employ all along? Was their entire deal in purchasing the bombs a ruse to find the dragon on behalf of the archduke? If that was the case, the Sin Nombre chasing Alma had played perfectly into Captain Breaker’s hands.

  The mud village had only a handful of defenders.

  The growing dread made him sick. He concentrated on not falling as he ran on, even as the smoke sent the clear message that once again he was too late to save the ones he loved.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Someone was after him.

  Spicy turned but saw no one on the wooded path.

  But there had been the snap of a branch. He hadn’t imagined the sound. He fought to keep his hard breathing under control. The birds had all gone quiet.

  From a sickly pine came a trickling cascade of dried leaves. There were no low branches. But someone was up there. A shadow moved. The slender form of a man sprang out of the tree and into another. Spicy caught a glimpse of a black outfit and pale skin.

  Impossible.

  It was one of the archduke’s sons.

  Spicy scrambled up the hillside as his pursuer crashed into a tree right above him and then leapt and plunged into the undergrowth ahead. Spicy pivoted and dove through a nest of thick creeper vines. Thorns scratched at his hands and face. Behind him, the son had survived his drop from the tree and was on the move and racing after him. The thicket ahead was too dense. He could go no further.

  Spicy drew his knife and turned.

  The archduke’s son was taller than any man Spicy had ever seen. His face appeared misshapen, the bones in his skull raised, with blue veins pulsing under the bone-white skin. He studied Spicy with unblinking dark eyes. He sniffed the air.

  “You…were at…the keep,” the son said in a halting whisper.

  “Stay away from me.”

  “My father…wants you.”

  A hand grabbed for Spicy. Spicy stabbed the son in the wrist, sinking the knife to the hilt. The son jerked his arm away and then stared at the blade jutting from his flesh. Dark blood began to dribble. He wore an expression of curiosity, as if he had found a sliver. He jerked the blade from his arm and flung it into the brush.

  Spicy wanted to back away but there was no place to go. The son seized him and led him back to the trail.

  A cloying scent hung around the son. It was as if the man had slathered himself with orange peels, but there was something medicinal about the aroma that made Spicy want to gag.

  Spicy had to hurry to keep his footing. “Where are the other goblins? Where are my friends?”

  The son didn’t answer. When he made it to the trail, he paused. A second son appeared, descending the hillside and coming from the direction of the mud village. The second son was identical to the other.

  Spicy tugged at the hand gripping him but couldn’t slip free.

  The two sons moved their heads close to one another. A series of whispers and clicks followed. Spicy could make out no distinguishable words. Then both stared at Spicy.

  Spicy met their gaze. “Just tell me what you want. There’s no reason for you to hurt anyone.”

  Without comment, they escorted him along the trail towards Bird’s Landing.

  Spicy couldn’t stop looking at the son’s arm where he had stabbed him. It was no longer bleeding. As he worked not to stumble, he wondered what sort of creatures these sons might be.

  Inside the Bird’s Landing tavern, a pair of red-caped guards waited. They kept watch over some twenty men, women, and children collected in a large room. Spicy was shoved inside and told to sit. While there were a few chairs, most of the captives sat on the floor. Among them were two crew members of the Sin Nombre. They bore injuries that were covered in filthy wrappings. Their feet were fixed with fetters and chains hooked to a large table near a brick fireplace.

  The two sailors looked at Spicy and then each other, but neither said a word.

  The smiling woman came in from the kitchen. She had a bucket and a rag and began to wash Spicy of the mud that caked his body.

  One of the sons hissed a command. One of the red capes barked, “Leave the gob be. Enough trouble and fussing with you. Take a seat with the others.”

  She answered back in Cityspeak. The second red cape replied to her in the same language, the order sharp, the meaning clear. She sat down.

  The two sons walked outside. Captain Breaker had come over from his ship and was speaking with them in sharp tones, but neither son replied. One of the red capes intervened and he and Breaker began a heated discussion.

  “What happened?” Spicy whispered to one of the sailors. “Where are the other goblins?”

  The sailor nearest Spicy had an arm in a makeshift sling. A bandage on the side of his neck needed changing. “They showed up at dawn this morning.”

  “No talking,” a red cape said. But as the minutes passed, he and the second guard became distracted by the argument in front of the tavern. They wandered out the front door to eavesdrop.

  “They jumped us,” the sailor said in a soft voice. “Captain Breaker’s crew, the Pinnacle men, and those three pale bastards with them. I saw one of them get stabbed through and not go down. We lost three men before they captured the rest.”

  “What about the mud village?”

  “No word. Where’s the captain?”

  Spicy wiggled closer. “Long story. But he’s coming. I’m going to get you ou
t of here.”

  The lock holding the fetters to the sailors’ feet didn’t look complicated. Spicy still had his picks. A hiss of warning came from the smiling woman. A red cape stuck his head back in the room and eyed Spicy and the others before returning outside. In front of the tavern, Breaker had only gotten louder and he cursed the red cape.

  “Back off, pirate,” the red cape shouted. Spicy guessed he was the officer.

  “You promised me the Sin Nombre and Bird’s Landing,” Breaker said. “I don’t see my prize boat here. And my men want the landing before you people dig up anything worth having.”

  “The archduke ordered you to wait,” the red cape said. “So you wait.”

  Spicy got up. He could barely believe he was walking towards the tavern door and realized it might be the last thing he ever did.

  The closest guard spun on him and readied his spear. “Sit back down or I’ll stick you.”

  Spicy raised his hands before he called out. “Captain Breaker, I can tell you about the Sin Nombre.”

  He was prodded back inside.

  “Bring me that goblin,” Breaker ordered.

  “He’s our prisoner,” the red cape officer said.

  “You can keep him. But I want to hear what he has to say about my boat.”

  Captain Breaker approached the tavern doorway. The guard blocked his entry.

  “What do you know about the Sin Nombre, gob?”

  One of the sailors inside shushed Spicy. But Spicy faced Captain Breaker and revealed the crumpled, dirty banner.

  “What’s that?” Breaker asked.

  “All that’s left of the Sin Nombre. There’s nothing for you here. Everything Middle Finger had that was worth any gold is hidden at the mud village. And if you want your bombs, you’ll have to talk to me.”

  “Where’s Middle Finger?”

  “He’s not in charge anymore.”

  With that, Spicy sat down with the other prisoners. The guard got Breaker away from the door. Captain Breaker complained again to the red cape officer, but this time one of the sons blocked him and stared him down. He was ordered to return to his boat.