Taker Of Skulls (Book 5) (7 page)

A man went down with a spear through his chest. Otto turned just as a wolf sprang at him. He wedged his weapon in the beast’s jaws. The momentum of the creature overbore him and he landed on his back. The wolf’s rider lifted its spear and made to stab him in the chest.

Kormak’s blade cleared its scabbard and took off the goblin’s head. His return strike split the spine of the dire wolf. Still howling ferociously it fell, jaws attempting to close on Otto’s arm and his weapon.

Boreas clutched his hammer and glared around him. Sasha reached down and picked a brand out of the nearby fire. She began to whirl it around her head, fanning the flames to maximum incandescence. Karnea looked lost in thought, but not alarmed, simply as if she was trying to remember a difficult recipe or a complex poem. There was a look of concentration in her eyes. Her brows frowned over the frame of her glasses.

Kormak strode forward, slashing at the wolves and their riders. They parted around him seeking to escape his deadly blade. One goblin raised a dart and threw it at him. Kormak stepped aside. A high-pitched scream from behind him told him that the missile had hit another goblin.

A goblin vaulted from the saddle at him. In each hand it held a rusty blade. Its expression spoke of a desire to carve his flesh as a butcher might carve a pig. Kormak extended his sword and impaled the creature. With a screech of agony it lashed out at him with both weapons. Kormak lowered his blade and let it slide off. At the same time he turned sideways so that his foe’s weapons slid past him.

He glanced around. Boreas stood beside Karnea and Sasha, hammer smeared with blood from where he had hit his opponents. Sasha whirled her brand, keeping the wolves at a distance. Otto’s men stood in a tight knot weapons facing outwards, ready to confront their attackers. Otto himself lay on the ground, beneath the corpse of the wolf Kormak had killed. His eyes were wide and he looked scared that someone might notice him and do away with him. Kormak caught a glint of fear in Otto’s eyes as their gazes locked. With a desperate effort the prospector threw the beast’s corpse off. It was as if he was scared that Kormak might attack him while he lay on the ground.

Kormak knew he would have to watch his back. What a man like Otto feared most was usually what he would do himself given the chance. Even as that thought struck him, Otto sprang, raised his hammer and said something to his men. His eyes widened and he pointed a warning at Kormak. The Guardian risked a glance and saw there was nothing there. He turned as Otto and his lads swept towards him, weapons raised. Clearly they intended to kill him in the chaos of battle when no one would notice.

He parried the blow of the hammer, and stepped aside eluding the blow of one of the prospector’s swords. He cut at the handle of the hammer, splitting it and separating two of Otto’s fingers. The big man’s eyes went wide and Kormak’s blade slashed his throat. He lashed out killing two more of the prospectors and the rest turned to flee. Kormak made sure they were gone before giving his attention back to the conflict. He needed to locate Karnea and Sasha. They were nowhere to be seen, lost in the chaos of battle. He had been ordered to keep one alive and made a promise he would do the same for the other.

The camp was full of wolves and scuttling goblin figures. The spindly little humanoids called to each other in high-pitched gibbering voices. Kormak saw Heidi wrestling with a group of three on the ground. They were crawling all over her, trying to stab her, and bite her with their sharp teeth. He strode across and killed them with three quick strokes. The big woman rose to her feet, shaking. She was bleeding from a dozen bites and cuts. She pulled her cleaver from the skull of one of the little monsters and began to hack at a body in a frenzy of fear-fuelled hatred.

Not all of the goblins were attacking with insane ferocity. Some were scuttling through the tents, grabbing things. What they took seemed quite random. Here one danced, wearing a man’s shirt. It looked like a long dress on the goblins small form. Another lay sprawled on the ground and poured rot-gut whisky into its mouth. Others were fleeing from the camp carrying anything they could. Some were struggling to pull heavy chests or large statues. They were quite prepared to face their own brethren in defence of their ill-gotten gains. Kormak saw two brawling so hard they rolled into a campfire, scattering burning wood and hot ashes.

The wolves were no different, one moment they attacked with mad ferocity, the next they were pulling forth a corpse as if to take it and devour it at their leisure. Their disorganisation seemed to be the only thing that kept them from over-running the camp.

A hail of short spears, more like darts than javelins descended in a cloud around him. He swept them from the air with his blade and looked around to see who had thrown them. Overhead he saw what looked like a flock of giant bats. Saucer like eyes looked down and he thought he heard whooping goblin cries coming from their backs. More missiles descended, hitting humans and goblins alike.

A horn sounded from nearby. Kormak glanced around looking for the source. There was a pack of goblins, larger and leaner even than the others, mounted on white wolves that looked even more fierce than the rest. At the centre was a massively muscular goblin. In each hand he held a blade. Another pair of arms were folded across his chest. A chain of skulls and teeth descended from his neck. There was a look of intelligence and calculation about him that made him different from any of the other goblins. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed the blade in the Guardian’s hands, as if he had seen it before. If the creature was truly Graghur then he had. Graghur had fought at Brightmere over a thousand years ago when Areon the Bold had slain the Old One Masarion with it.

Graghur was bigger than the other goblins, almost as tall as a man, and with his enormous build he probably weighed more than Otto had. The wolf carrying him was the size of a plough horse and could not be a natural creature. Curls of flame emerged from her nostrils. When Graghur saw Kormak looking at those, he smiled, his mouth becoming wider and wider until it was larger than his head, and his teeth looked like daggers.

No definitely not a goblin, Kormak thought. An Old One. He charged towards it. The Old One’s wolf wheeled and bounded to meet him at terrifying speed. Kormak prepared to step to one side and slash at its neck but, with a more-than-animal intelligence, the creature sprang to one side at the last second. His slash went wide. The wolf turned its head and spurted a jet of flame at him. It was his turn to leap as the ground seemed to catch fire around his boots.

The Old One riding the wolf let out a peel of mocking laughter. “Well done, Fenang,” he said in the tongue of the Old Ones. Hearing him speak the goblins turned to look at him.

“Graghur, Graghur,” they began to chant in their squeaky voices. The dire wolf opened its mouth and let out a long terrifying howl, so loud it threatened to deafen Kormak. There was something in its eyes that suggested that it understood what its rider was saying. Was it possible it was an Old One that had shifted shape?

“Ho—mortal! I am Graghur, Taker of Skulls, Lord of Goblins, Ruler of Khazduroth and you are on my land.” His voice was loud and boastful but he was eyeing Kormak’s dwarf-forged blade warily. He seemed reluctant to press his attack.

“This is the first I have heard of it,” said Kormak.

“It will be your last chance if you do not leave soon,” said Graghur. “This is not your territory and I am bound by no Law. I am tired of these interlopers stealing my treasure and killing my people. I am tired of them plundering my domain. Tell them to go and I will spare their lives. Tell them if they stay they can expect only death.”

The goblin raised the great horn that hung on his chest and blew out a long mellow note. He heeled the wolf and sprang away, his guards swiftly following, and shortly after that the rest of the goblins had scuttled away into the darkness, carrying their loot.

Big Heidi came running up a bloody cleaver in her hand.

“I don’t know what you said to him,” Heidi said. “But you certainly sent him packing.”

“I didn’t say anything and he left of his own accord,” said Kormak. She slapped him on the back and did not seem inclined to believe what he had said.

“For months now, the goblins have been sneak-attacking. This is the first time they’ve done anything like this. It’s the first time I have seen their king too,” she said. “He was kind of impressive.”

“He was an Old One,” Kormak said. “They usually are.”

“Looked like a goblin to me,” Heidi said. She seemed less happy now and more worried.

“Goblins don’t ride on wolves that breathe fire,” said Kormak. He turned around and looked for his companions, praying to the Holy Sun that nothing had happened to them.

WOUNDED MEN AND women lay sprawled by the fires while their companions tried to staunch their wounds any way they could. Others looked at toppled tents and plundered supply packs and shook their head.

“A month’s work gone on one night,” a man said. “Bastard goblins.”

Karnea, Sasha and Boreas were standing in a cluster around their fire. They looked all right. Kormak strode over to Karnea. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide behind her glasses. Sasha stood nearby, her stonethrower clutched tightly in her hands. Kormak noticed that her knuckles were white.

“That was not a goblin,” Karnea said, as Kormak strode up.

Kormak nodded. “It was an Old One.”

“Did it flee because you invoked the Law?”

“No,” Kormak. “Its name is Graghur and it claimed this land was his, and that everyone here is a trespasser and must go.”

“This land belongs to no one. It is not covered in any of the old treaties,” Karnea said.

“I suspect he claims it by right of possession,” Kormak said.

“What are you talking about?” Sasha asked. “And what did you say to that goblin?”

“The goblin’s name is Graghur,” said Kormak, “and he is not a goblin but an Old One.”

“Graghur is the goblin king,” Sasha said. “They chant his name some times when the moon is full. King or not, he turned tail soon enough when he saw you.”

“I think he was just surprised to encounter me, and he departed to consider his options. He’ll most likely be back when he’s thought things through.”

“Tonight?”

“I don’t think so, not unless he is particularly tricky. He gave me a warning for the prospectors. If he was serious, he’ll wait and see what affect it has.”

“A warning?”

“Leave this place or die.”

“That sounds serious,” Sasha said.

“It might be a trick,” said Kormak, “or a bluff. Old Ones don’t think like men. He may even forget what he said by the morning. I’ve known it to happen.”

Sasha frowned as if she did not quite believe him. Karnea said, “It’s true. Sometimes the Old Ones have perfect recollection of events that happened millennia ago but don’t remember what they did this morning. Their minds do not work likes our do. Do not make the mistake of thinking so.”

“That does not seem to be a very useful way of remembering things.”

“They have advantages that we do not,” said Kormak.

“Were any of you hurt, during the attack?” Karnea asked. Kormak shook his head. The others did likewise. “Then I think there are those here I could help.”

She bent down and rummaged around in her pack, producing herbs and bandages for poultices, then she walked over to the nearest wounded man and began to bandage him. Soon his groans eased and he fell into a deep sleep. Others began bringing their wounded companions to her, carrying them when they could, begging her to come take a look when they could not.

The healer worked until dawn, staunching bleeding, cleaning wounds, comforting the dying. Kormak walked the edges of the camp, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of the goblins’ return.

In the grey morning light the camp looked, if anything, bleaker. A number of the tents had been trampled down and flapped around in the morning breeze, like grey ghosts come to haunt the living. Lean-tos had been kicked over and smashed. Bodies, human and goblin, lay everywhere. The mountains, huge and forbidding, loomed over everything.

The inhabitants of the camp had gathered around their tent. The wounded and the dying lay in improvised cover nearby. The rest of the folk stood in a circle, listening intently as Kormak relayed Graghur’s message. After he had spoken, there was silence for a moment and then people all started to speak at once. Kormak raised his hand to still the babble, and quiet returned.

“We’re not leaving just because you say so,” said one of the prospectors. He was tall and broad, with narrow eyes and a mean slit of a mouth. He had the look of one of Otto’s friends.

“I am not telling you to,” said Kormak. “I am just giving you the Goblin King’s message.”

“Why did this Graghur give you the message?”

“Because I speak his language,” said Kormak.

The prospector raised his fist. “This one speaks a language goblins understand. And he wants us to leave.”

“I speak two languages they understand,” Kormak said. He tapped the hilt of his sword meaningfully.

“Aye, we killed more of them, than they did us,” said another man. Some of the prospectors nodded their agreement. Others looked worried.

“That won’t make much difference if there are more of them than there are of you.”

“What gives this Graghur the right to tell us what to do?” asked a thin, pock-faced man. Kormak did not recall seeing him doing any fighting last night.

“The fact that he has an army,” said Sasha. “He has no right except that.”

“We can fortify the camp,” said a tough looking old man. “We’ve talked enough about it. This gives us reason to. If the little bastards are going to be this aggressive we need to.”

“I don’t know,” said Heidi. “It’s near the end of the season anyway. I was going to be heading back down to Varigston for the winter. I know a lot of the rest of you were talking about that. It won’t do any harm to pull out a few days early.”

“You mean run?” Pock-face asked.