Dragon Bones And Tombstones (Book 2) (5 page)

CHAPTER 8

I froze. It wasn’t my inclination to freeze; that wasn’t natural. Not when someone had a bowstring stretched and pointed at my back. At least, I supposed my aggressor did. No, I wanted to move and move fast, but Brenwar's eyes suggested otherwise. Whoever was behind me needed serious consideration.

“Arms up, I suppose?” I said. I’d been in this situation before. They always wanted your arms and hands where they could see them.

“Just turn around and keep your hands where I can see them,” it demanded.

See, I told you they’d want to see my hands. So I spread my arms out to my sides as far as I could reach them and turned.

It was a goblin. And it was one a little higher up on the frightful scale. Goblins come in a variety. Some are taller than dwarves, others as tall as a man. Some heavy, some thin. Not much different than men, except they never bathe, and they have an affection for mud and dirt. They abhor crossing a river and will languish and brag to one another of their grimy coats. If you ever want to make a goblin mad, really mad, give him a bath. It’s torture. They hate water.

This goblin stood tall, his muscles thick, hands meaty, greasy brown hair hanging over his shoulders. He wore leather armor and a necklace of small bones tied around his neck. One of his long pointed ears was cut off, and the other displayed a painful looking earring, chained to his nose. Even goblins have their own sense of fashion, I suppose. But the worst thing about this goblin was that he had the drop on me.

“A dragon poacher,” I said, “except it seems that you are missing a dragon.”

I got the feeling he didn’t care for where my conversation was headed. The aim of the goblin's arrow rose from my chest to my face. He wasn’t going to miss. 

“Drop all your gear―both you and the dwarf—and toss it over, quickly.”

Brenwar was rumbling behind me.

“There’s only one. Take him.”

I objected.

“You aren ‘t the one with an arrow pointed at you.”

The goblin's eyes narrowed, and he let out an awful hiss.

“Foolish dwarf, more are coming, don’t you know. I’m the scout. Now leave your gear, and I’ll let you go. Tut-tut!”

Goblins aren’t patient, nor kind nor merciful. If they say they won't hurt you, they're probably lying. If they say they have more support coming, they are lying. Goblins are liars. They'll say anything to get what they want and then cut your throat, but they’d rather cut your throat first.

This goblin, judging by his size, figured he'd shoot me down and then battle Brenwar. I didn’t want to get shot, not from this close. Besides, I’d already been shot just a couple days ago.

“Dragon,” Brenwar said, “I’m not yielding to any goblin.”

You see, this is one of the problems you have traveling with dwarves: they aren't going to bargain with anyone, especially with those evil races. Brenwar would rather that he or I died first.

The goblin spat a big glob on the ground and smiled wide. I swear I could see bugs crawling around his teeth.

“The dwarf is foolish,” the goblin pulled back the bow string, “and you get to die.”

Twang!

I plucked the arrow from the air, inches from my nose. The look on the goblin’s face said it all as I held the arrow in my dragon arm.

“Impossible!” I gaped in my own incredulity. I hadn't even had time to think; I’d just reacted, or at least my arm had, anyway.

Brenwar pounced on the goblin, his stone-hard fists raining down blows, knocking the goblin unconscious. He kicked the goblin in the ribs once more for good measure and dusted off his hands.

“Did you see that?” I said, marveling at the arrow.

“I saw it, alright. Luck is all, Dragon. All you had to do was duck.”

I tried to recall the last thing I’d been thinking.
Duck! Dodge! Dive! Evade!
Any of those things I was committed to, but catching an arrow? Well, that never entered my mind. I squeezed the arrow in my grip and snapped the shaft with my dragon thumb. What else could my amazing arm do?

“Quit playing with it, will you?” Brenwar tied up the goblin with some rope and stuffed a gag in its mouth. “We’ve got to find dragons now. This one stayed behind for some reason, or was tracking back. Me thinks they're worried they might be followed.”

“Other poachers, you think?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time." Brenwar slung the goblin over his shoulder. “You know that.  Now carry my sack. Daylight's burning.”

“What are you going to do with the goblin, Brenwar?” I held my nose. “It stinks.”

“Evil stinks. You should be used to it by now.” He started hoofing it up the mountain. “When it comes to, I'll beat what we need out of it, but there ain’t no sense in waiting for that when the poachers have a lead on us.”

I slung Brenwar’s pack over my shoulder along with mine. His pack was twice as heavy. Of course, most of the stuff was mine anyway, so I shouldn’t complain. But it didn’t do my ailing leg much good. So I tried to block out my discomfort, opting to marvel at my incredible arm all I could. It was fast! Insanely so, and I liked it.

“Quit looking at it,” Brenwar growled, forcing us deep up the mountain and into the woods.

CHAPTER 9

After the first few miles, my wounded leg was in agony, and I’d forgotten all about my dragon arm. I just wanted to stop. I had no idea how Brenwar carried so much, no problem, no complaint, no issue at all. I wiped the sweat from my eyes and groaned. I could see the trail of the goblins. Moving a dragon over the faint and rugged pathways wouldn’t be easy, but they had their ways. Judging by things, there were many to carry the load, too, so at least I had a good idea about the sizable force we’d run into. They were careful to cover their tracks, but it wasn’t enough.

Ahead, Brenwar stopped. The goblin had awoken and now was wriggling in its bonds, eyeballing us with hatred. Brenwar’s shoulders heaved up, and the goblin fell to the ground with a wump.

“Interrogation time,” Brenwar said, a row of white teeth showing over his beard.

Now, you might be thinking that an interrogation could be cruel and painful. And that it might conflict with the higher standards that I’d set in life. And you’re right; they can, and they will sometimes. Of course, that’s what Brenwar’s for. 

I dropped the two packs on the ground and started rubbing my aching shoulders. “Finally.”

Brenwar jerked the rag from the goblin’s mouth and drew back to wallop it in the nose.

“Easy Brenwar,” I said, “let’s give it a chance to speak first.”

Brenwar stayed close, eyes intent on the goblin's mouth. Goblins have many tricks, and they only need a few seconds to send a warning.

“Nah, I don’t trust him.” Brenwar wrapped his fingers around its throat. “Just ask yer questions and make it quick.”

The first question was the obvious choice.

“How many in your troop?”

“Heh … heh … I’ll not tell—
urk!
”

Its eyes widened as Brenwar squeezed. I could see its grimy coat of skin begin to turn red in the cheeks.

I checked the dirt under my dragon claw nails. My, my black claws were so shiny.

“Oh goblin,” I wagged my finger in his face, “I don’t think you want to toy with us again. Now, when I ask you a question, I suggest that you answer, with all the forthcoming integrity I’ve come to expect from your race.”

Brenwar’s fingers slacked.

“I don’t have integrity,” the goblin said. “Goblins don’t know what that is.”

“Ah, an honest goblin, that is a good thing. Perhaps we can compromise on the information I require then.”

It cocked its ugly head. It seemed as if it wanted to scratch its head and consider what I had suggested. Goblins were always open to bargain, especially when it concerned their lives.

“C-Compromise,” it said, eyes sliding over towards Brenwar then back to me. “What kind?”

Now that was good. The goblin was open to negotiate, but I think it had more to do with its own self-preservation than anything else.

“You tell me where they are taking the dragon and what to expect, and I’ll add a few coins to your purse.”

“What!” Brenwar objected. “You’ll not be giving the rotten life such a thing. I’ll not pay for answers I can get for myself.

“No! No! NO!” the goblin cried. “Take the coins I will. I like the coins. Fair deal. Fair deal. I like my life. I’ll give you all the information you require, just don’t let the dwarf hurt me.”

Even the biggest of goblins could turn out to be the biggest of whiners and babies. One thing was for certain: every creature valued its own life in Nalzambor. The problem was they didn’t all value the lives of others.

I tossed the first gold coin at its feet.

It licked its lips.

“Tell me where they are going and how many?”

Sure, a single coin didn’t seem like much of a sacrifice in comparison for a dragon, but this goblin wouldn’t see any of the profits anyway. He’d be lucky to get so much as a few coppers or a silver for his efforts. Poor goblins. And whatever they’d sell the dragon for, they could have gotten a hundred times more.

“Around the mountain where the sun sets, there's a city in the cliffs that overlooks the valley. Small city, cut from stone, ancient and abandoned long ago. Our hideout is there.”

It seemed simple enough, assuming there was such a place. But I needed to know more about what they intended for the dragon. I tossed another gold coin at his feet.

“Nath …” Brenwar growled at me. “That’s quite enough!”

I held my hand out.

“Are other dragons kept there?”

It was a good question. For all I knew, they might have a dozen up there.

It shook its head.

“How many dragons have you sold?”

I didn’t want to ask them how many they’d killed. I didn’t want to know.

“Three.”

I couldn’t hide my sneer. My guilt was also beginning to overwhelm me. If only I had gotten here sooner.

I kneeled in front of the ugly creature and held the biggest gold coin it had ever seen in front of its face. Its beady eyes blinked repeatedly in the reflecting gold light, and a drop of drool fell from its lips onto its chest.

“Who have you been selling the dragon to?”

It didn’t answer.

I didn’t like that. I enclosed the gold coin in my hand.

“Do you want this coin or not?”

It nodded. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“Who are you selling the dragons to?” I shook my dragon fist in its face.

It closed its eyes and turned its chin away. Whoever they were doing business with, the goblin had greater fear of them than of me, or Brenwar.

I caught the light of the gold coin and reflected it into the goblin's eyes.

Its eyes popped open. Its breathing became loud and heavy as it made a raspy sigh.

“With this coin you can start another life, far far away. We won’t say a thing.”

It was in turmoil now. Its eyes shifted between me, Brenwar and the coin. But something was holding it back, something dark and powerful. I could see the fear in its eyes, and goblins didn’t scare easily.

“Tie him to the tree then, Brenwar. It seems he would rather suffer than enjoy a fistful of gold,” I said, picking up the other coins and dropping them into my pouch.

“I’d be happy to. But I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to do to a tree.” He looked around. “I’ll see if I can find a fallen log instead, or maybe a rock.”

I shrugged. “Whatever you think is best. I just want to get going.”

The goblin's face was contorted with emotion.

“I’ll tell! I’ll tell! Please, show me my coins again.”

“A change of heart, I see.” I set all the coins in my hand, the biggest one in the middle. “Well?”

“The Clerics of Barnabus.”

My heart stopped in my chest.

CHAPTER 10

“Finnius!” she screamed.

Finnius's heart jumped as he emerged from a side room in the great hall, rubbing the ornate tattoos shaved in his head, then wringing his hands. He was medium in build with a slight hitch in his step. His large eyes probing and evil, he approached with caution.

“Yes, High Priestess,” he said, bowing.

She sat on her throne, shoulders back, chin up, shifting on the tangerine colored cushion and tapping her perfectly white teeth, an impatient look on her face. On either side of her, two bald headed men sat cross-legged, muttering incantations under their breath. Finnius felt his heart flutter.

She was different. Radiant. Exotic. Evil incarnate. She was the High Priestess of Barnabus, Selene. The acolytes of Barnabus
―loyal, dutiful, and deadly―would do anything she asked, anything she asked at all. But at the moment, their task had escaped them. Finnius knew her wrath would not be contained much longer.

She smoothed her dark robes over her chest as she rose from her c
hair and walked down the steps. Six lizard men with barbed spears stood tall, heads bowed as she passed. Her black dragon tail spilled out from under the hem of her robe and cracked one lizard man across the face, spinning him to the floor.

“Walk with me,” she said.

Finnius shuffled a half-step behind, watching her tail disappear under her robes.

She led him into the depths of the temple, down a stone stair case, and into a torch-lit room. The lizard men and acolytes kneeled down. Two eight-foot tall lizard men stood guard at a tall heavy iron door. He had little desire to go in there, but he had no choice in the matter. On the bright side, it wasn’t a torture chamber, but what lay within was far deadlier.

“Open it,” she ordered.

Her voice was commanding and persuasive, a rushing river with the power of a waterfall. He’d seen her speak and crack stone walls. He loved it and feared it, but he wanted such power for himself, as well. Of course, he wanted her just as much. After all, she was the High Priestess, as pretty and evil as they come.

He unhitched the ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the door. One lizard man slid the bar from the door while the other pushed it open, before stepping out of the way. Selene took the lead, the cool draft billowing the dark hair along her face. Finnius fell in step behind her as the door was closed after them. Selene snapped her fingers, and a row of smokeless torches flared to life. They had an orange hue and only lit one side of the tunnel that seemed too long to be underground.

“Finnius” she said, slowing her pace, “how many dragons have we captured this season?”

His mouth became dry as an empty well.
She knows this already, but I must squirm, anyway.
 

She always asked questions. Probing for failure. Searching for a reason to pounce.

He cleared his throat. 

“Eleven.”

“Ah, I see, and how many did we acquire last season?”

“Ahem … eh … Twenty.”

He felt himself shrink when she stopped, turned, and looked down in his eyes. He scratched a dry patch of skin on his hand and swallowed hard.

She folded her elegant arms across her chest. “Hmmm … so we have caught fewer dragons this season than the last, yet we have more resources at our disposal than ever before.” Her voice rose up to a higher volume. Her pleasant expression faded. “How could that be, Finnius?”

Finnius could hear his heart thumping in his ears now. He knew why. She knew why, so why did she have to ask? Even worse, why did he have to answer? He remembered the last acolyte who'd failed to answer a similar question before. He’d been brought into this tunnel with the Priestess, and never emerged. Finnius was that cleric’s replacement.

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

He wanted to say that. The truth was he couldn’t actually say for sure, but that is what the last cleric had said. He looked her in the eye.

“Nath Dragon.”

Selene’s perfect lips curled, and her nostrils flared. She was getting taller now; he was certain of it as he watched her face contort in the orange light. It was dragon-like. Mysterious. Then gone.

“Nath Dragon, indeed,” she said, putting her arm over his shoulder and leading him down the corridor where another large door waited. “Come.”

This lone door was as tall as the last, a black slab of stone, no key holds, locks or bars, just a smooth surface. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and sweat beaded his forehead.
Always something different and dangerous every time.
He drew little reassurance from her arm around his shoulder, despite how thrilling it was to have her touch him.
She can’t be killing me. She just can’t be. She needs me. Doesn’t she?

She stepped in front of him, raised her arms up, and loudly proclaimed a series of mystic words. It was in a language even he didn’t comprehend, and all his attempts to pronounce it himself met with failure.

The black door shimmered and wavered. Selene reached out for his hand, smiling. He was trembling when he took it and she pushed him in.