The Goblin Reign Boxed Set

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Spicy peered through the hatchway. It led to where Fath had been held.

  “Back to the main hold,” Spicy said. “He’s down there.”

  Fath let out an angry grunt and his head receded. Blades remained a blubbering mess. There came a series of thumps and crashes as Fath made his way back through the crew quarters and out onto the main deck.

  Spicy braced his nerves and ducked through the hatchway.

  The archduke was crouching over his son. Despite his horrific wounds, the son yet lived. His body convulsed. The archduke was whispering soft words, as if soothing his boy. It was the same way Spicy’s father would speak to him after he had suffered some minor scrape or cut. The son’s arms lay nearby, having been torn completely away.

  As Spicy got closer, he heard the archduke whisper, “They will pay.” He then set his son down on the bloody floor. The air reeked with the foul orange smell. The archduke stood and arched his back, the bones cracking. He turned to Spicy. When he moved, it was without a sound. He began to circle the goblin.

  Spicy took the bomb out of his pocket. The archduke appeared confused as Spicy tossed it to him. The he caught it and smiled. The bomb wasn’t lit. It couldn’t hurt him.

  “Fath, you can smell that, can’t you?” Spicy asked. “Because he’s holding the bomb right now.”

  From the opening above came a sharp sniffle as the dragon sucked in air through his nostrils. Then he sprang downward. The archduke let out a sharp hiss as Fath’s massive body crashed on top of him. Fath ground a foot onto his chest.

  The archduke fecklessly clawed at the dragon.

  Spicy had to back away to avoid Fath’s tail as it whipped about. “We need him to order his men to stand down.”

  That was when Fath roared and slashed deeply into the archduke’s neck, almost severing his head.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The archduke finally lay still alongside his son as Fath circled the hold. He busily sniffed the ground and air as if trying to decipher where he was. Discovering a series of rungs up one wall, Spicy was able to climb up the hold. Peering over the side, he watched for arrows and prepared to duck, but none came. He eased himself onto the main deck and looked out at the shore.

  The line of red capes and sailors were standing where they had been and staring at the boat. A few of them carried torches that threw back the encroaching gloom of dusk.

  Spicy couldn’t spot the third son among them. He ran to all sides of the boat and even up at the rigging. He didn’t imagine the son would have fled. Why the soldiers hadn’t pressed their advantage remained a mystery, but no doubt they had seen the dragon loose and heard the roar.

  Returning to where he could see the gathered men, he stepped up on a crate. “Your duke is dead,” Spicy called. “There’s nothing left for you here. You can leave with your lives, if you go now. If you don’t, the dragon has told me he will kill you.”

  “You’re bluffing,” a red cape holding a torch said. “That monster was barely alive when we dragged it out of its cave.” He took a tentative step forward. The other men adjusted their weapons. A few had wounds, but the assault by the villagers appeared to have done little damage.

  They appeared acutely aware of the surrounding darkness. Had the son retreated, leaving them? Or was he somewhere nearby, perhaps even on board the Cormorant?

  The wood around the hold creaked. Fath emerged, but he was breathing hard as if the climb up had exhausted him.

  “Let them know you’re alive,” Spicy said.

  The dragon kept low but his ears were perked up. “Why?”

  “So they don’t board and kill you.”

  “No, apprentice. I’m asking why did you return? The children of your tribe…they live?”

  “They’re safe, as are your brother’s books.”

  “Hmmm. You’ve learned loyalty, apprentice. Perhaps your people will one day make you a sage.”

  Spicy backed away as Fath rose up tall. He bellowed. “Flee now or suffer my vengeance.”

  The men on shore shifted in place. Some of them looked at the torchbearer, who held his ground.

  “We’re taking our boat back, monster,” the red cape said.

  Fath cut loose with a roar that shook the air. Spicy almost stumbled back at the ferocity of the sound. The line of men broke. They sprinted every direction, some even dropping weapons and torches.

  Where would they go in the dark swamp? At that moment, Spicy didn’t care.

  He began to shout at the running soldiers. The noise coming out of his mouth was a wordless scream, all his anger and sorrow rolled into a primal sound. His was the voice of a hunter, a survivor, a goblin who had bested men, even if just for the moment.

  With the dragon beside him, he didn’t feel afraid. There, on a boat in the strange swamp, deeper in human country than any of his kind had ever come, Spicy felt the weight of all those he loved who had fallen lift from his heart.

  His mother and father. Rime. The people of Boarhead.

  Those who remained might survive whatever was coming. There was hope for him, for his sister, for Domino and Dill and Flora and Eve and Pix.

  That was when Fath collapsed.

  Once again, the dragon was unconscious.

  The boat and the mud village were deathly silent. The swamp around them was still too, a signal every hunter knew meant a predator was close.

  Spicy strained his ears and nose but detected nothing. Besides the few dropped torches, the shore stood in complete darkness. He put his hands on Fath’s warm skin. The dragon breathed steadily. Spicy tugged the arrow out of Fath’s claw. The dragon had never recovered from his injuries suffered from being struck by many arrows and his fight with his brother. Spicy couldn’t guess whether it would take him days or weeks to heal, assuming he ever would.

  But they couldn’t stay there.

  The soldiers who had fled would regroup and return. Once they discovered the dragon was no longer a threat, taking back their boat would be child’s play, as it only had one defender. He hoped he had until morning so he could prepare.

  For the moment he leaned against the dragon and found himself listening to the creature’s pounding heart.

  Someone moved towards him across the deck. The softest scuff of a shoe on wood caused Spicy to spin in alarm. He had no weapon.

  Goldbug was staggering to the rail.

  “You’re alive,” Spicy said.

  He rushed to support the young pirate, who leaned heavy once Spicy got under a shoulder. Goldbug still had an arrow in him. Spicy set him down near Fath. He ran to the archduke’s cabin. It took a moment to find matches and to light a lamp, but once he did he ransacked the place. He discovered a bottle and clean cloth napkins that would serve as bandages. He pulled the cork out of the bottle and sniffed. It had the penetrating smell of strong spirits. He took it all and returned to Goldbug.

  The arrow didn’t appear to have sunk in deep into his shoulder, but the head was beneath the skin and just touching it caused Goldbug to cry out. Spicy rolled up a napkin.

  “Bite down.”

  Spicy splashed the alcohol all over the arrow wound. Then he tugged at the arrow as gently as possible. It was stuck in bone. Spicy had to pull hard to dislodge it, trying carefully not to jostle it more than necessary as the wound around the shaft continued to tear. Blood poured freely from the gash. With a final tug, the arrow came out, the pointed metal head still attached. Spicy poured more of the alcohol and then stanched the blood with a wad of cloth. He pressed it firmly in place as Goldbug sagged and lay down on the deck. Goldbug had wrapped a towel around his thigh where he had been stabbed with the dagger, but this wound appeared to no longer be bleeding.

  “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

  But Goldbug’s fluttering eyes went wide. Someone was standing at the lip of the main hold. The third son. Before Spicy could do anything, the son vanished, dropping down through the opening.

  Spicy maintained pressure on Goldbug’s wound. Bu
t he knew he couldn’t carry him far.

  “Fath,” he hissed, “the archduke’s son is here. Wake up!”

  But the dragon kept sleeping. Spicy tried to rise while helping Goldbug to his feet, but Goldbug was dead weight in his arms, having passed out.

  Spicy’s hands trembled as he set Goldbug down. All he had was the lamp and the bloody arrow, but it wasn’t enough. It had taken many wounds and a firepit to put the first son down. They’d needed a dragon to tear the second one apart. There would be no stopping the third son.

  He watched helplessly as the son appeared again, climbing out of the hold. Over a shoulder, he held the body of the archduke. The son studied the dragon and then Spicy as if trying to make a decision. Then he secured the bloody form of his father with both arms and jumped to the forward deck. From there he bounded away into the darkness.

  Spicy picked up the lamp and ran to the end of the boat. There he stared out into the night. But the son was gone. Returning to Goldbug, he did his best to make him comfortable as he kept watch.

  After what felt like an hour, the sounds of night came on full force. Cicadas and frogs chirred and croaked. A chill breeze blew, taking the stench of the smoking village and the spilled blood from the air.

  From the crew quarters, he found needle and thread. He used this to suture Goldbug’s shoulder and thigh wound and applied clean dressings. Once the pirate fell back asleep, Spicy had to fight not to doze off.

  It was just before dawn when he heard a whistle and footsteps on the dock below the ship.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Spicy rose stiffly from the deck and found a bow and the arrow pulled from Goldbug’s shoulder. The footfalls on the floating platform below were getting closer. His fingers kept fumbling as he tried to ready the arrow.

  “Is it safe up there?” Middle Finger called.

  Spicy looked over the side. Middle Finger and the remaining crew they had left behind were keeping low behind the stacks of crates on the dock. When Spicy appeared, Middle Finger stood erect.

  “It’s safe,” Spicy said. “The dragon’s up here, but he’s asleep.”

  “The archduke? His sons and men?”

  “Gone for now. There’s a lot to tell. But I need to know, can you pilot this boat?”

  Middle Finger approached, a hand running along the side of the Cormorant. “She’s a lot of boat. With the men I have, we’ll just manage. Where are the soldiers and sailors?”

  “Some fled, some captive in Bird’s Landing.”

  “Well, with a few volunteers from the old crew who might be looking for a change in careers, I believe I can make this work. She’s a beauty, this one.”

  “Right now, I need to you to come and watch the dragon.”

  The pirate captain looked apprehensive. “And where will you be?”

  “Bringing the children out from hiding so we can get out of this swamp.”

  Spicy felt his heart burn as he whistled for a third time. No reply came. With the archduke’s last son and his men scattered, the children’s hiding place was too close, even though there was a wide waterway between it and Bird’s Landing. He saw no boats moored along the shore. But it was always possible some of the soldiers or sailors had swum.

  He marched forward, gazing from shadow to shadow as he searched for any sign of the children’s whereabouts. But it appeared as if the swamp had swallowed them up.

  “Dill?” he cried.

  From a nearby tree, a solid mass of woven branches rose up. Dill eyed him carefully, scanning the waterway behind him as if Spicy might have been a decoy to draw them out. Finally she and the other children emerged from their hiding place. Then the other four burst past her towards him.

  Spicy laughed in relief. “You built this?” he asked as the children clustered around him for an embrace. “Not bad.”

  “We all helped,” Pix said.

  “I’m sure you did.”

  He helped them all climb into the rowboat he had taken from the mud village. The satchel of books lay safe beneath one bench. He was exhausted but he managed to work the oars and take them across the water back to the Cormorant. A part of him dared worry that perhaps the boat would have departed, that Middle Finger would have stolen her and the dragon and vanished in the short time he had been away.

  But the boat remained, and the pirates were preparing her sails.

  Middle Finger helped pull the children on board. “We won’t be able to row her. But I intend to go back to Bird’s Landing. Time for a bit of recruitment. From what Mister Goldbug tells me, some of the men might not be keen on continuing in the employ of a monster.”

  Fath continued to sleep right behind him. Spicy would have laughed but for the nagging sense that they needed to leave without delay. He took a good look at Middle Finger.

  The captain’s cheeks were sunken, and his skin looked pasty. The other sailors had fared no better during their trek across the delta. They looked frail and moved about their tasks slowly. They gave the dragon as wide a berth as possible. The children clustered around him to keep out of the way.

  Spicy found Goldbug inside the archduke’s cabin. He now lay where Rime had died. He promised himself to take time to mourn. But it would have to wait. He went outside to see the sails had been dropped and prepared.

  Middle Finger was inspecting the crates, which had been all brought aboard. More than a few held bombs. Just how long the mud village had been manufacturing them, Spicy didn’t know. He wanted to throw them all into the water but knew he needed the captain’s cooperation.

  Their departure was almost brought to a complete stop as the weakened crew struggled to pole the boat around. But Spicy helped heave against a long pole buried into the shallows and the breeze finally cooperated and did the rest. Soon they were rounding the cape and approaching Bird’s Landing.

  Middle Finger studied the dock carefully.

  Sensing trouble, Spicy tried unsuccessfully to get the children away from Fath and into the crew hold, but he paused to look at the empty waterfront. No one was in sight.

  Spicy tugged at Middle Finger’s sleeve. “Captain, if the soldiers who were at the village came here and freed the prisoners, that’s more than we can ever hope to handle. They’ll take the boat from us.”

  Middle Finger nodded as if he understood the other implications of being captured. Yet he allowed the boat to coast in towards the dock.

  A man came jogging down from the nearest building. It looked like the last of the Sin Nombre crew who had helped fight the first son. A sword dangled from his belt. He gave a single-handed wave.

  Middle Finger waved back. The Cormorant headed in.

  “It could be a trick,” Spicy said. “How do you know he’s not trying to fool us into coming in?”

  “The one-armed wave. If it were both hands, that would mean danger.”

  “What if there’s an archer aiming an arrow at him?”

  But Middle Finger didn’t answer. He moved to the prow and guided them forward until the boat bumped the pier. The men lowered sails and went over the side to tie her off.

  Trust the crew, Spicy reminded himself. But he kept close to the children and remained on board even as Middle Finger climbed down to the dock to speak with the waiting pirate. They walked off out of sight. Soon a group of locals came out, mostly women with children.

  Middle Finger rang the ship bell a few times once they were all aboard. He watched Bird’s Landing for a minute.

  “What about the Pinnacle crew?” Spicy asked.

  Middle Finger grunted. “I might be getting paranoid in my old age, but I’ve decided they’d be more trouble than they’re worth. With the condition of the men, I’d be hard-pressed to fight off three or four sailors in good health if they wanted to take us. We’re leaving them tied up in the tavern. The bell’s for anyone left that wants to come. I know some of the wives here. They can sail as well as any of the men, probably be better sailors if they could only keep their legs shut to keep babies from popping out
.”

  The last comment rankled Spicy, not least because Eve perked up and appeared to want clarification.

  “I’ll explain it later,” Spicy said.

  The Bird’s Landing women who came aboard indeed knew the business of the boat. After stowing their few belongings and herding their children to the forward cabin, giving Fath a wide berth, they worked the sails and followed the captain’s orders.

  Middle Finger was looking over the side near the bow.

  Spicy glanced over the rail. The brown water looked deep enough. “What’s wrong?”

  “Paint, Master Goblin. While the Sin Nombre doesn’t declare herself, the Cormorant needs a rechristening.” With that, he pulled a scrap of paper out and made a note for himself.

  Spicy took out the banner. Middle Finger smiled.

  “Fly the colors, captain?”

  “Maybe one day, Master Goblin. But for now we remain nameless.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Spicy had been leaning on the rail and he jerked awake as a group of the women from Bird’s Landing pulled the still-wriggling disfigured son out of the hold. His legs were wrapped in cord and a gag was fixed to his mouth. Without ceremony, the gang of women pushed him over the side, where he sank into the murk.

  Of the children, only Dill watched, her expression blank. Once the son vanished, the women began spitting into the water. Dill joined them. The other goblin children had mingled with the young humans and were busy with a game that kept them on the rear deck.

  The remaining crew and its new additions remained on alert even as they left Bird’s Landing a half day behind them and coasted out onto a wide expanse of water.

  Middle Finger was busy attending to various concerns. Spicy was waiting for a moment to speak with him in private. From belowdecks, Blades kept calling out for someone to untie him, alternately promising and threatening whenever anyone went into the crew cabin. Spicy didn’t know what should be done with him. He knew he wouldn’t stop the women if they decided he merited the same fate as the archduke’s son.