“Kassal told us to ask for the people once held at Fugoe by Hovus Black Smile,” Wayland continued. “Hovus sold some of them to a road knight, but the rest were sent back into the Priwak and down onto the Dimm. If I could ransom a few of those back, it would get the stone man to ease up off my neck.” The goblin leader scratched its head with a claw, causing the bells on its coat to jingle.
“That will be hard to do, and it will cost you a lot,” Weech said. “I will see what I can find, but the Dimm is a big place.” Wayland didn’t need him to say it again. The lake was a small inland sea, with the great islands out upon it not even visible. He nodded, showing he understood the way it was.
“He wanted me to ask after the one that the troll Kulith took, the little noble girl that belonged to Golden Sword. They wanted to get that one back most of all.” The goblin looked about, eying the benches and the walls of the hall, considering what to say back to Wayland. When he finally looked back, his eyes had now narrowed.
“That one is not for sale, even if I knew where it was.” It took a big swig of wine from the jar. “Have you ever seen Golden Sword?” he asked, changing the subject.
“No,” Wayland replied. “Should I go ask him?” The goblin lord chuckled.
“Ask if you will, when you see him again. Bring back your wine and your money later this evening. I will see if I can find any slaves that were taken at Fugoe.”
Wayland and Sir Bryning went back out of the hall and took charge of the trading. When things slowed down he went over and talked to the other trader from the Golok March.
“Bit of good luck, coming up here when they are in such a good mood,” he said.
“I’ve not seen you here before,” the man considered, wiping his bald head off with his black wool cap. He spoke the language of Mancy, with the twang in it from Bezet.
“Nor are you likely to again,” Wayland said. “I usually work out toward the east, but ran afoul of some of the reeves there.” He squatted down and looked at the old Mancan stones sticking up, at the cropped grass running between them. “If I brought back a couple of the ransoms for them though, they said they would loose track of my charges. I don’t much like this place, and will not risk a return back here. But I need one or two of those people, to make things right with the lords.”
“I was offered a couple,” the trader said. “Maybe there was one of them off the wall at Fugoe. He was an archer with a limp. I was tempted, and maybe I will, but Bezet is not Gece or Alonze, and it would be a hard thing for me to return him and try to get paid. Maybe you are in luck.”
“Thanks for the word,” Wayland said. “Let’s not try to undercut each other’s prices.”
“Agreed,” he said back, and added, “but I do not think that will be a problem now.”
“Yes, this is a dangerous business,” Wayland said, “but it is the right time to do it, if ever there was a time. There seems to be a fair bit of plunder about, and the goblins are being free with it. I was warned there was a great troll causing trouble here, but it seems that news was wrong.” The trader shook his head.
“That troll is sitting right over there, on that keg of nails.” They both turned to look at the figure still there near the front of the hall, squatting with his swords, leaning them together against one leg. It was hard to see the hilt of either weapon, but Wayland had to wonder now. A magic sword would be quite a thing to see. Then he thought if it was indeed Kulith, then what had happened to the Countess Sunnil?
“Kulith wandered in here with a couple of slaves after his army fell apart out on the Stones,” the trader said. “He went around and tried to get the clans of the east shore to rally to him, to go back after Sterina, or after his brother Ovodag who took the Stone Pile from him. But they didn’t want any part of it. So he got drunk, and then Weech stole his slaves. Weech won’t give the girl back, which Kulith planned to ransom unless he does as he says, and now he just guards his hall.”
“Weech is in charge here,” Wayland stated. “He built that hall, and figured out how to bend such a powerful creature to his will. He has to be the smartest goblin I have heard of.”
“You should tell him that later,” the trader said. “It might get you more over on his good side. Weech stood back when the trolls moved food and supplies through here for the big fight over on the Stones. Perhaps he is paying back his brother Ovodag for something that went hard between them, by pushing Kulith around. That might just make him the dumbest goblin that I have heard of.”
Wayland went back to his goods and became a merchant again for awhile. He waited for something to happen during the day, as he sold things to the goblins, trolls and thyrs that came by. Sir Byrning clouted a goblin once that got too close to the horses, but it just turned some heads and made Weech’s guards snort out and laugh. The creature quickly slunk away, not wanting to chance any more trouble.
At noon Wayland beckoned Johnas and Sir Byrning over to him and they ate some cheese and bread together. He got hold of a cup of tump which they sampled, and then they washed the taste away with a skin of wine. Wine went bad in a skin quickly, but Wayland doubted the goblins cared, or could even tell the difference when they drank it. Even in its off state, it was still better than tump.
“I have learned of something that might be worth seeing,” he told the others. “Don’t react on your own, just listen and watch me for now. We have walked into a tricky situation here. You may defend me of course, if that becomes necessary, but I think it will not.” They got up and walked across the grass to the front of the goblin hall, where the troll was still sitting on his keg. The troll eyed them as they approached, and shifted the swords so that the grips were easier to reach, to be taken up into his hands in a moment and used.
Wayland stopped well away and rocked back there on the heels of his boots. He hooked his fingers into his belt, appearing to relax. The creature was on edge a little, and by all accounts was extremely dangerous.
“I’ve heard that you are the great general of the goblins, the one they call Golden Sword,” Wayland said to it. He took a skin of wine and held it out, offering it to the troll. “We would like to see the sword, the one that they call the Tuvier Blade.”
The great troll looked the three over, and then again eyed the skin of wine. It reached out and took it from Wayland. He shook it and sniffed at its contents, and then he drank a little off, rolling it around in his mouth. The legs of the creature moved first, and then the troll slowly stood up off of its keg.
He lifted one of the swords free of the cloth covering it and snapped it straight out from its sheath, where he held it poised at the end of his arm. It was all done almost faster than they could follow, and they moved back involuntarily, then crowded forward right after to look at the sword.
The metal had a pattern weld that shown through, perhaps with more contrast than any others that Wayland had seen. The troll lowered the sword’s point carefully down, but finally just let it stab into the dirt and grass and sit there as he rocked it back and forth. He held the hilt loosely, so that they could see the gilding and gold work, and the few jewels that were upon it.
“When in battle,” the troll said, “it lights up like it is made of fire, as hot as a forge. Thrings go to ash under its sharp cut, and it sings softly to the one who wields it. I have a handy tool here, and have done with it what none of the knights and lords of the West Lands ever could.”
“It’s magnificent,” Wayland said. “But I reckon there are some things that people might want more.” The troll looked at him more closely, then moved the magic blade back up and sheathed it. He sat down and flicked part of the blanket back over to cover it, but they could still see the leather wrapped gilded grip and the crossbar.
“Some things you do not want, but they want you all the same,” the troll said. He looked about to see who was also watching, and then he took a small drink off the wineskin. “Hard to get what one wants sometimes, when you don’t know where it is kept. There are too many little
buggers around, always watching me. When the thrings come here, only then are the grateful to me for my help.”
“You should come by my stall later,” Wayland told him. “I may have another skin of wine for sale.” The troll shifted, reached down and took something out of a pocket.
“Save that one for me,” he said, and flipped the coin to Wayland. He caught it in his hand and looked down at it. It was an old gold petal from Mancy, worth about half a star.
“At you service,” Wayland said, and gave a little leg, as the troll watched him with thoughtful eyes. They went away, back across the grass to where they had set up. Wulman was using his pair of scales to find the weight of a piece of broken silver plate one of the goblins was buying something with. He was arguing with the creature now, and Wayland quickly changed places with him, because Wulman hated the creatures and this was against his nature. If they survived though, he might still make a good trader Wayland mused, because he was hard, but had not as yet provoked a fight. But now was not the time to explore that fancy more. He turned around after the trade and brought the two who had seen the troll with him back into a circle, away from the buggers.
“What do you think about the troll?” he asked them both. “Why is he so bent on retrieving the countess still, if he is by rumor already sitting on a keg full of gold?”
“The creature was a not what I expected,” Sir Byrning said. He fingered the pouch at his waist that held the thief catching chain in it, and then he crossed his arms. He had figured out his odds against the creature in a fight, and realized he would surely be undone.
“He’s lost her though, by being stupid,” Wayland observed. “Don’t get too focused on that sword, sir. We must find her, and save her, because that is the right of it, and it will make the fortunes of us all.”
“That might still include the beast in some way,” Johnas Tygus considered. “He is our natural ally for the moment, for he is in a spot that Weech has put him in.”
“Yes, it’s obvious he has been outnumbered by them, but why does he still care?” Wayland thought about it. If the troll knew where she was, why had he not simply marched over there and taken her back? Weech and his warriors were making it hard, and as the troll had hinted, he was unsure of where she was. Would he agree to let them take her back to the West Lands with them, or was that not his plan? It seemed like he had abandoned her, and then he had not. The creature was very complicated, and a fight with him might be inevitable.
“Perhaps we can rescue her while Weech is busy watching him,” he offered.
Johnas Tygus shook his head, opinioned perhaps that Wayland was trying to be too clever. “That seems too much like the main thrust of a fairy tale. The goblin chief has coerced a dangerous opponent, and holds him to his will on a fragile chain. He must be watching all the time to keep it tight. In fact, they are watching us also right now.”
“I point out to you that if we rescue her, the goblins will chase us, and the troll may chase us if they do not. We are interfering with their arrangement here, as precarious as it now must be. Perhaps somewhere in its breaking, the knight here will have his chance at the sword, but I see his success as very small.” Sir Bryning blew out angrily, but he did not deny the creature’s obvious ability.
“You saw him just now,” Sir Bryning said. “You must admit he is a great knight among these monsters, and carries himself as such. I can see why they referred to him once as their king.”
Wayland considered the knight and Johnas’ assessment. Both were colored over by their noble standings and bravado, but they also seemed sound. He picked the two views neatly with his own reasoning, and then added to them. Since the countess was not at Warukz, but was still being held, Wayland considered what that meant.
“If we found her, we would be well away from this place when we did, and getting farther away all the time, as our deed becomes known to the goblins,” Wayland said. “The girl is at least a day’s walk from here, or the troll would have found her himself by now. That’s a lot of time before the news comes back of what we have done.” Johnas smiled, reached across and slapped Wayland down on one shoulder with a hand, then grudgingly turned and did the same to Sir Bryning.
“This was a good venture,” Johnas Tygus said. “Here’s to our future profit!” And with that he turned and walked off, over to water and feed the animals they had brought, which the leader of their group or a nobleman would never have stooped to doing. He appeared to be in a very good mood, both happy to be on the adventure, and with its progress so far.
The sun crossed over the great lake behind them, the fishing boats racing back against its reflection to tie up along the wood and stone waterfront. One larger lake boat also came in, bringing a group of warriors as passengers. Some were looking for trade to take back across to the Stones, and some departed out into the surrounding hills, going home it appeared. Another boat went back across to the west, filled with grain, salted pork, fresh fish in barrels, some local ironwork, and a dozen jars of Wayland’s wine.
These goblins and trolls continued to venture by and look over Wayland’s wares, purchasing a skin of wine, a kettle, some salt, or clearing out what was left of the cheap cloth and beads. Wayland mostly did the trading, because he could passably speak with them, and gently argue, as Johnas Tygus and Sir Byrning looked on, one hand on their sword grips. The goblins that had just arrived from the Stones seemed more aware of what passed for prices, and Wayland took it to indicate that things were stable in some places, and that they had not taken part personally in the sacking of the Stone Pile.
When the sky had turned gold and red, and the lake water under it gone to dull gray, they packed up all their remaining goods and moved out of the village area, off the old cobbles to a small flat hill just outside the old moat ring. There was a tower foundation there, and signs that it had stood once at the center of a larger compound. They took turns standing watch as dinner was cooked. Wayland then prepared to go back and see Weech as promised, picking out four ponies and loading them up with most of his remaining wine. When they were ready, he went back to the bugger hall on the swale top with Sir Byrning, Horwit, and Johnas Tygus.
Fires were burning outside many of the huts, with the smells of what had been eaten, and smoke was coming up through the roof gap in Weech’s hall. If Wayland did not look too closely, he could imagine that the village was in the Middens of Tolwind, inhabited by genial peasants. They led the ponies up to the hall and stopped them there where the troll sat. Kulith stood up off his cask and held the ropes that Wayland offered to him. They ponies snorted and pulled back away, but they weren’t going anywhere.
“Easy little ones,” Kulith said to them. “I am not going to eat you just yet.” They took the wine jugs off in their panniers of netted rope, and carried them into the hall two at a time. Wayland went inside first, and indicated to the others where they should be set down on a trestle table to the side.
A large group of goblins were sitting over closer to the fire pit, halfway down the hall, eating, drinking, and talking in their particular broken form of Mancan. They turned and looked at the men bringing in the wine and some stood up and made noises, mostly sounds of approval.
Weech came out of the back rooms and walked over to them. He commanded two of the other goblins to go forth, into the night. He bent over and looked at the jugs, counting them, and then turned and held one to check at its fullness and weight. The two goblins soon came back with four people, locked in foot chains. He displayed them in a line, and used one hand to point at them.
“Here are the slaves that we are willing to sell you,” he said. And such was the situation that Wayland now found himself in. He disliked the practice, but it was something that most of the people in the kingdoms also did to each other, though it was gentler, and called a number of different things. And he could not hate the goblins any more for it now, just because it was being done right in front of him.
“None of them look like Golden Sword’s slave,” Wayla
nd remarked instead, after a pass. They stank, and appeared badly used. Now he supposed he might hate the goblins a little more. “If I had some indication that she is alive, and could bring that back with me to the stone men, they would reward me well.” The goblin shook his head and narrowed his eyes.
“So much that you would risk my anger, by asking about her again?”
“Yes,” Wayland replied. “It that is important to me.” He was quick though, to change his tone and reasoning. “There were letters being delivered to Krolo, and the men who brought them were paid off well by the road knights. Do you have any of those?”
Weech shook his head. “I do not have one of those to sell. And as for the girl, Golden Sword would only try and take her away from me, or from you. That is why she is gone from here. I told you that I could not sell her.”
He turned back to the people he had brought in, a tired and ill clothed lot, as if the previous argument was now closed. The one that got Wayland’s attention first was an older woman with dirt in her wrinkles, who was now sobbing quietly to herself. But she was not the one that Weech wanted him to look at first.
“This is Ludt,” the goblin chief said, pointing out an older man in the group. “He showed me how to build this hall, but now all the other chiefs along the shore are jealous of me. They will try to take him from me eventually, so now I want to sell him out of here.”
“Why not just sell him to another chief?” Wayland asked.
“Then he will build that bugger a hall just like mine,” he explained. The statement summed up to Wayland the way the goblins thought about most things. No one here cared much about one another, let alone what happened over on North Stone, on Big Stone, or in the human land of Rydol. It was just the chief here and his fifty-odd warriors getting their way, and fighting as they had to with Kassal and the other West Lands lords. Weech had just been right about one thing: now that Wayland and Johnas Tygus knew of this place, his authority wasn’t going to last much longer.
A War of Stones: Book One of the Traveler Knight Page 56