Goblin Rogue

by Gerhard Gehrke

  The son shoved the chains aside.

  Spicy pulled the bomb from his pocket.

  The son cocked his head. Did the dim offspring understand that Spicy had no means of lighting the device? And even if he did, it would mean both Spicy and Fath would be blown to pieces. But he felt sure the son would survive.

  Spicy shoved the bomb against Fath’s nostrils. The rancid cube only took a moment to have its desired effect. The dragon jerked and bucked beneath him. He let out a hoarse cough and began to gag.

  “Wake up!” Spicy shouted.

  The son drew back as Fath shook his head as if clearing it. His ruined eyes were masses of pus and scar tissue. He snapped at the air and jerked his neck against the loosening chains. The pulleys squeaked as the chains clattered to the floor of the hold.

  “Fath, can you hear me?”

  “You’re shouting,” Fath said as his claws gripped the chains and began to pull them away.

  “And you’re in trouble. We’re in the hold of the ship. The archduke brought you here and is going to take you someplace you don’t want to go.”

  The son had backed to the opposite side of the hold. From a fixed rack of tools, he drew a long metal skewer.

  “One of his sons is down here with us. They’re real bad news and he’s holding a weapon.”

  Fath’s head swept from side to side. “I’m blind. My head is fuzzy. Apprentice, what is that horrible smell?”

  Spicy pocketed the reeking bomb. The son stepped softly towards them. The skewer looked long enough that it would stab the dragon clean through. Would the archduke risk killing the creature in his attempts to control it?

  Fath was looking all around and everywhere but at the approaching man.

  “He’s right in front of you,” Spicy whispered.

  Spicy ducked as Fath’s tail snaked out. It just missed as the son leapt to avoid it, but it hit him on the return swing. The blow wasn’t particularly strong. The son stumbled as he fought to regain his footing.

  Fath didn’t wait for him to recover. He sprang forward, dragging loops of loosened chains along with him. He caught the son between splayed claws and landed on top of him. With a snarl, he bit down. The son shoved the skewer between Fath’s teeth lengthwise, but the weight of the dragon pushed the son flat. The dragon dug in with his talons. They pierced the son through his arms and shoulders. The son made no cry as he squirmed, trying to free himself.

  With a flick of a claw, the dragon tore an arm free. Scraping his claws along the son’s side, Fath ripped the other arm and the skewer away. The overwhelming aroma of oranges filled the hold. The son was gnashing his teeth as if trying to bite the dragon.

  The archer came into view directly above them.

  “Archer! Straight up!”

  Spicy looked for something to throw. But even as he picked up one of the locks, Fath turned his head upward. The archer’s bow creaked as he pulled the bowstring. Fath belched a jet of steam. It blasted the archer and the man fell out of sight, screaming. The arrow fired wildly into a wall of the hold.

  That’ll teach him not to make a sound near a blind, angry dragon, Spicy thought.

  The son continued to wiggle and squirm even as the dragon got off him. Fath rose, tugging the chains free. He explored the space of the hold and started to stick his head up out the opening.

  Spicy slapped at Fath’s body. “Wait! They have more archers.”

  Fath hesitated. He was breathing hard and something inside the creature gurgled. His breath attack was spent, so he wouldn’t be able to use it to defend them again for hours. He moved lethargically as if he wasn’t fully awake from his hibernation.

  “Boost me up,” Spicy said.

  “You dare.”

  But Fath obliged the goblin by offering an arm. Spicy climbed on and shimmied up to Fath’s neck and head. Fath lifted him to the lip of the hold. He peered out at the deck. An arrow streaked past. At least two archers on the upper deck faced the hold as the others continued to fire at the Wind Bonnet.

  “Where’s the duke?” Spicy called. He was answered with another arrow. “Tell him we have his son. I’ve killed one. The one down here dies if he doesn’t talk to me.”

  The archers turned to face behind them and began speaking, but Spicy couldn’t hear what they were saying. At least no more arrows were flying.

  “Spicy? What are you doing?” Goldbug hissed. “Stay down!”

  His friend was somewhere on the opposite side of the hold opening. Fath rumbled as Spicy leapt off him and pulled himself over onto the deck. Head down, he crawled to find Goldbug taking cover against the lip of the main hold, the fallen archer’s bow in hand. The arrow remained in his shoulder. Blood dribbled to the wood from the knife wound in his leg.

  Goldbug offered him the bow.

  Spicy took it. “I got Fath loose. But we can’t leave unless we take care of those archers. What’s happening on shore?”

  “They’re fighting. I don’t know how, but it’s not over.”

  How a group of villagers were able to hold off against trained Pinnacle soldiers and one of the archduke’s sons was beyond him, too. They wouldn’t last long, and then he and Goldbug would be killed and Fath would remain a prisoner.

  “Does he yet live?” the archduke called.

  Spicy peered over the hold. The archduke stood at the handrail of the deck with his archers to either side.

  “Is that most marvelous creature still alive?” the archduke asked. “Lower your weapons, men. Lower them! That’s an order. No one will harm the dragon. He is a guest on this ship. And his command is ours to obey.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Spicy waited until the last of the archduke’s red capes lowered his bow. Eight of them now faced the open hold. The incoming missiles from the Wind Bonnet had ceased. On the shore, he could hear shouts from the soldiers. He rose and ran to the rail.

  The red capes stood among the fallen men and women of Bird’s Landing. The battle was over. And the Wind Bonnet was almost out of sight, oarsmen rowing, as it towed the second boat behind in its wake.

  Fath pulled himself up from the hold. The wood beneath him creaked as he perched on the edge.

  “So you’re this archduke from the city of Pinnacle,” Fath said.

  The archduke offered a deferential bow. “I am, Lord Dragon. You will be my guest in a place more suitable for you. None will harm you while you’re under my protection.”

  “The blood of my servants is in the air. I was placed in chains.”

  “Alas, you could not be awoken from your slumber. Although my solution was imperfect, I wanted to be sure you would not suffer injury during our journey.”

  A low grumble rolled up from the dragon’s belly. “You come and take what isn’t yours. You murder. And now you lie. I smell something foul from you that I don’t like. It’s somehow familiar.”

  “Unfortunate circumstances,” the archduke said in his overly calm tone. “A misunderstanding between my servants and yours. But this muddy pit is no place for one such as you. You deserve to be revered. I’ve come to rescue you from those who would use you for profit.”

  The dragon sniffed the air and bobbed his head from side to side before once again facing the archduke.

  The red capes watched Spicy carefully. He made a show of setting the bow down. He could only wonder what Fath was going to do.

  Goldbug limped over to Spicy at the rail. His attention was fixed on the shore. His face barely masked the pain from the arrow in his shoulder, but as he gazed at the aftermath of the slaughter, tears ran down his face. The pirate had a dagger palmed and tucked out of sight under the sleeve of his uninjured arm.

  “Trust your crew,” Spicy whispered.

  It was as if the young pirate didn’t hear him. He tried to get past Spicy to climb the steps leading to the archduke.

  Spicy blocked his path. “Trust me.”

  Fath’s tail brushed back and forth behind him. His talons clacked on the wood as he felt his way dow
n to the deck. “You say you came to rescue me? At least when the soldiers assaulted my cave in the mountains, there was no pretense. Tell me, archduke, what other lies have you told those around you? About yourself and what you are? That thing that lies bleeding in the hold below bears only a surface resemblance to a man. But it smells of something much newer. Who made it, archduke?”

  The archduke began to back up from the handrail. His archers looked at him as if waiting for a signal to act. But as Fath rose to gaze blindly across the aft deck, they fell back.

  “Won’t you come forward so I can give you a kiss of gratitude? Archduke? What, no words for me now? You say you’re mine to command? I order you to step forward.”

  One of the sailors who had been hiding on the main deck got up and ran. Fath swept his tail and knocked the man into the air and over the side where he landed with a splat into the muddy bank. The red capes with the bows fumbled for their arrows as Fath leapt up to the deck.

  Spicy charged up the steps and shoved an archer standing at the top. The man tumbled over the side, taking his weapon with him. Others were jumping overboard to get out of Fath’s way.

  “Don’t run, archduke,” Fath said. “I will find you.”

  The dragon pounced onto a pair of red capes, their bones crunching underneath his weight. He took a moment to bite down on both, ripping skin and meat away in a savage frenzy. The archduke had retreated to the rearmost part of the deck and appeared ready to jump. And yet he hesitated. He was watching the dragon with his cool eyes.

  “He’s right there in front of you!” Spicy shouted to Fath.

  Fath spat a wad of bloody flesh from his mouth. “I’m blind, you foolish goblin.”

  The archduke swung over the rail. Spicy ran to look over the side. The archduke moved like no one Spicy had ever seen. He clung to the side of the boat, gripping the wood like a spider might cling to a wall. The archduke made his way to a porthole, punched in the window, and squeezed inside. He was below them now.

  Spicy rushed back down the stairs. “Follow me.”

  He ran into the dark hold, almost slipping on the wet floor where the piss pot had spilled. It took his eyes a moment to adjust. In that moment a shape rushed forward, colliding with him and knocking him against the wall.

  The archduke’s face pressed up against Spicy. “You should be helping me. Talk to your dragon. Get him to see reason. You and your kind could hold a special place in the world. Tell him to yield.”

  Spicy fought to control his fear as he looked at the man’s distorted face. Like the son, the archduke’s features had changed. It was as if his jaw and face had elongated. His teeth crowded the lower portion of his mouth. And as the archduke spoke, Spicy smelled rotten citrus.

  “He’s in here, Fath!” Spicy shouted.

  The archduke snarled. His mouth opened and he was about to bite down when Goldbug charged into the hold and slammed into him. The archduke and Goldbug tumbled to the floor. Spicy reached about for a weapon, for anything, before grabbing the piss pot.

  Fath landed just outside the door. The impact caused the hold to shudder.

  The archduke knocked Goldbug aside. The young pirate slammed into a post, where he lay still. Before Spicy could do anything, the archduke was retreating. He raced to the rear of the hold where he knocked a stack of gear aside before vanishing into the shadows. A door creaked.

  Fath stuck his head inside the doorway. “Where is he?”

  “This way.”

  Spicy held the pot ready to throw as he moved cautiously to the back of the hold. The door to a rear storage compartment stood open. He had to step around supplies that had been spilled from shelves. But the archduke wasn’t inside. A quick search revealed a trapdoor leading down. But as Spicy tugged on it, the door wouldn’t budge.

  Spicy fought to calm his breathing. He pressed his ear to the trapdoor to listen. He heard someone whimpering. The voice sounded familiar.

  “Get away from me,” Blades said. “Just let me go. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

  The mercenary sounded about as afraid as anyone Spicy had ever heard.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Blades began screaming. The screams gave way to a whining plea of “please, please, please,” which then devolved into a hard sob.

  Spicy could hear nothing else. But the archduke was somewhere down below, and the trapdoor was impossible to open.

  “Blades! Martin! It’s Spicy!”

  After a moment, he heard Blades call out. “The gob?”

  “Where’s the archduke?”

  “I don’t know. He’s down here somewhere. It’s dark. Get me out of here!”

  “I’m above you at a trapdoor, but it’s locked from your side. There must be a way to open it.”

  “My hands are tied.”

  “Can you move?”

  Spicy heard shuffling and boots shifting across wood. There followed a thud and thump.

  “Ow! I can’t see. Why can’t you open the trapdoor?”

  With a sigh, Spicy fought to keep his voice calm. “Like I said, it’s locked from your side.”

  Something beneath the trapdoor creaked. Then from outside the hold, Fath roared. Spicy looked behind him to see Fath crouched low. He had an arrow in one claw. Spicy ran to the porthole. The troops on the shore were lining up opposite the boat. Half of them carried bows and they were looking for targets.

  A red cape pointed at Spicy and an archer pivoted and fired. He ducked as the arrow struck the side of the porthole.

  The trapdoor in the storage area shook.

  “I think I got it,” Blades cried. “Now open it!”

  Spicy straddled the trapdoor and pried at it with his fingers. It lifted.

  Blades squinted as he stared up at him. Both hands were bound before him and he had a length of chain connecting his ankles. One side of his face was red and swollen as if he had just been struck. He was standing on a short, fixed ladder and he tried to climb past Spicy.

  “Move it, gob!”

  Spicy stood to block him. “No, Blades, you’re not getting out. Not yet. I’m coming down there.”

  “But he’s down here. I thought he was going to kill me.”

  “The dragon’s up here. If you come out, he’s going to kill you. Now move.”

  Blades stepped back down as Spicy descended the stairs. The hold had a low ceiling and Spicy realized Fath would never make it down through the tiny porthole. Somehow, he had to flush the archduke out. It would only be moments before the soldiers charged the boat.

  The strange orange smell lingered. Yet no sounds came from the recesses of the hold.

  Blades was breathing heavy next to him. “When he came down the trapdoor and shut it behind him, I thought I saw…” He trailed off.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

  A nervous laugh escaped Blades’s throat. “With what?”

  Spicy realized he still held the piss pot. He shushed the mercenary and made his way slowly into the darkness. The space was cramped with stowed sacks of grain and barrels of wine and water, along with baskets of produce. Enough for weeks. Further along, sacks of charcoal had been knocked into the aisle.

  The wood creaked ahead of him. A shape busied itself at the back wall of the hold, but in the poor light, Spicy couldn’t see the archduke’s features. He appeared to be struggling to open another hatchway.

  Before Spicy could do anything, the archduke turned and charged at him, knocking him to the floor. The archduke bared his teeth as he leaned in towards Spicy’s face. Sharp fingernails dug into Spicy’s neck. When he spoke, the words were hard to make out.

  “We must rule them forever,” the archduke whispered. “Or they will kill our kind.”

  Spicy fought to ignore the pain. “It’s not the humans we need to worry about. And it sounds like your men are about to kill your dragon.”

  “Tell the dragon to yield and we will spare his life.”

  “Fath!” Spicy cried. “He’s down here with
me. And right now he’s trapped.”

  The archduke shoved Spicy aside and hurried to the hatchway. The wood thumped overhead as something dragon-sized moved across the deck. From above came Fath’s roar. The archduke tore the cover of the hatchway off its hinges and vanished through it.

  Blades screamed as Fath stuck his head down through the trapdoor. But the rest of the dragon would never fit.

  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.