by P B Hughes
“Good,” said Rasta, turning to Daniel. “What did I tell you, boy?” he seethed, pushing his way through the goblins, “that if it was the last thing I ever did, I’d kill you.” He stood, inches away from Daniel, puffing foul foggy breath into his face. “Do you know what you did to me?”
Daniel stared back vacantly.
“Do you?” shouted Rasta, whipping a dagger from inside his cloak.
Daniel shook his head.
Rasta tossed his head and laughed. The goblins behind him shrank back warily. He reached up and slowly pulled back his hood, revealing half of a charred, grotesque face, melted like blood-red wax. The flesh around his eye had burned away, leaving an orb full of hatred.
“You made me a monster!”
Daniel’s fists clinched. If his fate had come, he would not die a coward.
“You were already a monster,” said Daniel.
Rasta grabbed Daniel by the throat and lifted him above the ground. Shade screeched in angry protest, pulling back and forth as the goblins fought to subdue her.
“Where is it?” hissed Rasta between clinched teeth.
“It?” Daniel wheezed.
“Where is the scroll?” He threw Daniel to the ground.
Daniel rose, bent over on all fours, coughing. “It’s blank,” he said. “That scroll you’re so obsessed with is a fake.”
“I’ll only ask once more: WHERE IS IT?”
“If that’s all you wanted you could have just asked nicely,” said Daniel, rising to his knees.
“I’m warning you, boy,” said Rasta raising his dagger to Daniel’s throat. “If you play games with me, I’ll let these goblins decorate their spit with Miraclist flesh tonight.”
The goblins cackled with delight, licking their lips with long red tongues.
“I’ll get it for you,” said Daniel, pulling off his pack. “But I’m telling you, the thing’s blank.” He untied the top and reached deep inside. He rummaged around at the bottom, and then pulled out the scroll, holding it close to his chest.
Rasta’s eyes grew wide at the sight of it. “Give it to me,” he demanded.
Daniel looked from Rasta, then to the goblins holding the ropes that tied Shade. Rasta wouldn’t let him go, that much he knew. The scroll was his only leverage. He locked his eyes on Rasta, a smile creeping across his mouth.
Rasta’s teeth clinched. “What are you—”
Daniel pulled back and hurled the scroll over the heads of the goblins, right into the creek.
“I got it!” bellowed a goblin, leaping into the water, clawing at it with greedy hands.
Rasta and the goblins were stunned for a split second, just long enough for Daniel to make a move. He lurched forward, seizing his staff while it was still in a goblin’s hands and froze the goblin in a solid sheet of ice. Daniel planted both feet in the creature’s chest, back-flipping with a snap as his staff broke free from the goblin’s root-like fingers. The rain around them froze into a flurry of ice, suspended for a split-second. Daniel couldn’t help but smile at the shock on their faces. Careful not to hit Shade, he sent the hail blasting this way and that, forcing the goblins to raise their shields. The sound of a sickening crack reverberated through the wood as an icicle pierced an archer’s skull.
Rasta howled and leapt at Daniel, slashing at his head. Dancing backward, Daniel sent up a wall of ice, blocking the blow. Another goblin leapt forward, thrusting his spear in and out of Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel’s arm seared with pain; he slammed his staff into a puddle, shooting five spikes of frozen brown water into the goblin’s belly.
The two goblins holding Shade dropped their ropes and fled.
“Get back here, you lily-livered cowards!” bellowed their commander. “Deserters! Filth!” Furious, he pulled his arrow back and shot down one of his fleeing soldiers.
“You’re wasting your arrows! Use them on the boy, you mindless slug,” Rasta cried, smacking the commander across the jaw.
The goblin commander stumbled backward and unsheathed his scimitar. “I’ve had enough of you, human,” he said, spitting out a bloody pointed tooth. “I’ll spill your guts where you stand!” He swung his scimitar. Rasta parried, stepped to the side, and riposted, stabbing the goblin in the heart. He pulled his dagger back, and with one swift motion, sliced Bozark’s head clean off.
Daniel grabbed the rope around Shade’s neck and pulled her up the incline between a rock and a tree.
“After them!” roared Rasta.
The remaining goblins gave chase, weapons raised. Daniel thrust his staff. A giant sea swell rose up from the ground and billowed down the hill, knocking the assailants from their feet.
“Let’s go!” Daniel cried leaping onto Shade’s back.
Shade scrambled up the trunk of a tree on razor-sharp claws, leaping from limb to limb, and burst through the treetops. The rain came down in torrents, buffeting and tossing them in the wind. Daniel’s vision blackened, his energy draining from use and blood loss. He clung feebly to the back of Shade’s neck. She could not remain airborne; she folded her wings, landed, and sprinted toward the caravan. A woeful horn blasted from behind them. The goblins were in hot pursuit.
Chapter 13
Lighting tore the sky in two; the wagons swayed as heavy winds pressed against the caravan. Rain roared against the taut canvas covering, filling Gregory’s ears as he sat huddled near the back of the wagon with the rest of the children, each wrapped inside a blanket. Daniel still hadn’t returned, and though no one spoke a word to him, Gregory could sense their judgmental looks—especially from Mrs. Doppledodger, propped up near the front, filling the wagon with smoke from her pipe. They blamed him, and if Daniel never returned it would be on his shoulders. He endured their stares, his eyes locked on the wagon bed, brooding. Of course it had to rain, he thought. And not just any rain. This was a flooding, icy storm—winter’s last hurrah—that screeched down from the mountains like a banshee. This kind of storm made Gregory afraid, bringing air so saturated he would never be able to start a fire with his powers; never be able to defend himself.
“All right,” said Gregory, breaking the silence. “Just say it. You all think it’s my fault. Daniel’s probably dead—drowned or some such nonsense—and it’s my fault.”
“More likely he’s been struck by lightning,” replied Mrs. Doppledodger.
He felt Martha’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure he’s okay,” she said. “He’s a Sapphire Miraclist. If anyone would be safe in a storm like this, it’s Daniel.”
“This isn’t an ordinary storm,” said Gregory as he shrugged off his blanket and crawled to the front of the wagon. He untied the flap and gawked at the grey sheets of rain falling in waves across the countryside. Mordecai stood by the side of the road, hands cupped around his mouth, calling out for Daniel.
“Any sign of him?” Gregory cried.
“None,” Mordecai said. “I’ll skin him for this—I’ll skin him alive!”
Suddenly, the ghostly call of a horn carried across the wind, sending ripples of dread across Gregory’s skin. Another replied, ringing out from a nearby grove of trees. Two large wolves, sleek and gray, emerged from the wood and galloped away from the caravan at full speed. On their backs were two black-armored goblin riders, bows raised for battle.
“Take cover!” shouted Mordecai. His eyes flashed amber and he hit the ground with the butt of his staff, causing it to rise up and circle the wagons with a waist high wall of earth. “Dorothy, guard the children—I’m going to find Daniel!”
A swell rose up behind Mordecai like an ocean wave of earth. He jumped upon its crest and rolled after the goblins: a surfer on dry land.
As Gregory watched Mordecai disappear over a hill, thoughts filled his mind of Daniel being torn apart by swampy green hands and jagged teeth.
It’s my fault, he thought to himself. They’ll kill him and it’s all my fault.
A horn blew again in the distance.
I have to do something. He bit his lip a
nd leapt down from the wagon, splashing in the mud.
“Gregory!” Mrs. Doppledodger shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Gregory ran and unbuckled the fastest horse from the wagon trace.
“Gregory!”
He looked up and caught Mrs. Doppledodger’s eye.
“Stay alive,” she said, tossing him a sheathed dagger.
A quick nod and he climbed onto the unsaddled horse. He knocked his knees together and the horse sprang into a gallop after Mordecai.
The rain froze in Gregory’s hair, biting at him as he rode up and down the hilly terrain. There was no sign of Mordecai and no sign of the wolves. Panic began to overtake him.
Faster, he thought. I’ve got to move faster!
As his last flicker of hope threatened to vanish, the wail of a horn filled the sky. This time it was near. With a new boldness Gregory continued, reaching the hill’s crest, catching a scene that stole his breath. Below, Shade darted across the green. Daniel hung from her neck, his body dangling to the side of her. Behind them, the wolf riders were quickly gaining ground. The wolves leapt upon Shade’s back, knocking Daniel asunder as they sank their teeth into her neck. Shade crumpled—sending the goblins tumbling off their gray steeds. She was pinned—helpless against the wolves’ weight and the onslaught of their snapping jaws.
Gregory unsheathed his dagger and raised it into the air. “Get back, frog-skins!” he cried as he tore down the hill.
The goblins’ heads shot up, twisting around to catch sight of their attacker.
Gregory’s bravado evaporated. The goblins were smiling, crooked teeth gleaming. Suddenly he knew how unimposing he must appear. Nothing more than a scrawny boy with an over-sized knife, riding bareback. They pulled back their arrows and released them with a twang.
Gregory deflected one arrow with a sweep of his dagger, but the other met him in the chest, knocking him off his horse and into the grass.
The arrow snapped as he tumbled and blinding pain exploded through his body. A scream clawed up his throat, though he made no sound, for his mouth filled with blood.
He was alive, and he had to think quickly. The clinking sound of rain on armor drew near to the spot where he lay face down in the grass, and a foul smell caught his nostrils. He gripped his dagger.
“Two Miraclists in one day,” cackled the goblin. “I’d say we’ve earned us a delicious reward tonight, eh Urdock?”
“Aye, and it’s about bloomin’ time,” replied the other. “Shera, Ripper—down, girls,” he ordered the wolves. “Boss says he wants the gryphon alive.”
“Capture that horse, Urdock—don’t want to have to share the good meat with the mongrels.”
Gregory squinted one eye. The monster’s boots were only feet from him.
He inhaled and forced himself up from the ground. The goblin’s eyes went wide as Gregory lunged forward and plunged his dagger deep into his thigh.
The goblin released a scream so shrill it made Gregory’s ears throb. The creature dropped his bow and yanked a rusted sword from his belt. Lighting cracked—thunder roared—sleet beat down from above. The goblin raised his blade high.
For a second, the rain stopped above the monster and his gaze rose to the sky. A boulder as wide as a horse-cart plummeted on top of him, sealing him beneath with a crunch.
“And here’s more for the rest of you!” roared Mordecai as he raced down the hill.
Urdock snarled, releasing an arrow that Mordecai repelled it with a turn of his staff. He raised green fingers to his lips and whistled. The wolves reluctantly pulled away from Shade and darted to his side. Urdock leapt on his wolf and they fled, the wolves’ tails tucked between their legs.
* * *
Daniel woke to darkness inside the wagon, alone, beneath a pile of blankets. A dull throb pulsated deep in his shoulder; the mask of sleep clouded his memories. Confused, he placed a hand on his wound only to find healed flesh, twisted with a new scar. And then he remembered.
“Shade,” he said, bolting upright, his vision swirling as blood rushed into his head.
The sound of muffled voices floated in through the canvas from outside. Head aching, he wrapped himself in a blanket and crawled out from the wagon.
The rain had moved on and the night was clear and cold. Daniel’s classmates, except for Gregory, lay sleeping under the stars. Relief flooded him when he spotted Shade, curled like a cat next to Martha, chest rising and falling with contented purrs. The realization that Martha healed both their wounds filled him with admiration and guilt. Likely she had to use several mana-crystals in the process, mana-crystals they no longer had for the Investiture.
“I’ll win with fewer,” Daniel muttered, though the thought of running out unnerved him.
The crackle of fire and smell of roasting walnuts caught Daniel’s senses. At the edge of camp, Mordecai stood watch, scoping the night. Mrs. Doppledodger sat on a low stump a few feet away, puffing on her long pipe that sloped to the ground. An iron roaster lay inside the fire in front of her. She looked up to see Daniel and smiled.
“Come here, boy,” she said, patting the ground next to her.
Without a word, Daniel went over and sat down, allowing the warmth from the flames to soothe him.
Mrs. Doppledodger wrapped a cloth around her hand, then took the iron roaster’s handle and pulled it from the fire. “He doesn’t hate you.” She opened the lid, revealing the smoking walnuts that lay inside. “Might be jealous. And afraid.” She set them on the ground to cool. “But he doesn’t hate you.”
“Gregory can hate me all he wants,” Daniel replied. “I don’t need you to try and make me feel better about it. Besides, now’s not the time to discuss Gregory’s latent soft side. I was ambushed. Almost killed—”
“In fact,” she continued, “I would venture to say he loves you like a brother.”
Daniel stared back into the fire, frustrated. But he knew better than to argue with her. She had a point to make, and trying to get around it would only lead to more frustration. He relented and allowed the conversation to follow her lead. “A brother would never say the things he said to me.”
“Bah. The things I’ve heard real brothers spit at each other would make you want to turn your ears inside out. Trust me—I had eleven. And they all loved each other fiercely.”
“True brothers have the bond of blood. They have to love each other.”
“Nobody forces them, my boy. Besides, if it’s a bond of blood you need, I’d say you’ve got that. Gregory’s spilled his blood for you.”
“Spilled his blood?”
“All over the place. It was a quite messy.”
“How?”
“There were four riders,” Mordecai interjected. “When they spotted me they split up. I had to make a choice and followed one pair; the wrong pair, I’m afraid. I made short work of them, but they did not lead me to Daniel.”
Mordecai explained how Gregory left the wagons, stalling the goblins long enough for him to arrive.
That’s twice, Daniel thought. Twice Gregory’s rescued me, ready to die in my place. And what have I done for him?
“He suffered worse wounds than even you did, Daniel. If it weren’t for Martha neither of you would have survived.”
Then I must do what I can to help him, Daniel resolved. Everything within my power to get him through the games.
Daniel proceeded to tell Mordecai and Mrs. Doppledodger all that had happened to them—of Rasta, the goblins and the scroll.
“I don’t get it,” said Daniel. “He wanted that scroll—that blank scroll. If I had thought that was all he wanted in the first place, I would have given it to him.”
“I fear there is more to that scroll than meets the eye, Daniel,” said Mrs. Doppledodger, offering him a walnut.
“Like what?”
“Something dark, something we cannot see,” she replied, setting the roaster down and taking a long draw of her pipe. “It cannot be good, especially if the goblins want
it.”
“But the goblins didn’t want it for themselves—nor did Rasta,” replied Daniel. “They’re working for someone else.”
Mordecai stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Goblins commonly sell themselves for human coin; but seeing them this far south is a bad sign. They’ve grown bold. How bold—that’s the question.”
“Tiberius will want to know,” said Mrs. Doppledodger. “Only evil will come with goblins on the move. Be ready my boy, you might see more sooner than you’d like.”
Daniel felt the hairs on his skin stand. As exhausted as he was, the thought of those beastly creatures attacking them sent his adrenaline pumping. He remembered their faces—the pain in their eyes as his ice pierced their flesh, their empty expressions as they lay dead on the ground. As righteous as he had been in ending them, death of any kind brought him no joy.
“I killed them,” Daniel said. “Not all, but some. I didn’t want to—I promise I didn’t want to.”
“Next time, kill a few more,” Mordecai responded. “It’ll do us all some good.”
Mrs. Doppledodger noticed the mortified look on Daniel’s face. “It’s not easy to take a life, my boy—any life. But remember: a goblin is an iniquitous creature. A soulless abomination, craven to its core.
The thought of a purely evil creature left Daniel unsettled. “I can’t believe that. There has to be some good in them.”
“If only that were so,” said Mrs. Doppledodger, staring blankly into the fire, her voice trailing off. “But remember: they aren’t human. Whatever goodness might have been in them was stripped away long ago.”
Mrs. Doppledodger released a ring of smoke into the sky.
Daniel stared at the fire, hot against his face. If something made him truly human, he thought, then what was it? And could it be taken from him and turn him into a monster? Soon he was entranced, mesmerized by the flames that danced before him. Dancing, swirling like snakes, they rose higher and higher. Before long, the fire went black and sleep found him.