When Goblins Rage (Book 3) (6 page)

“Tell them,” she said through her teeth. “Tell them you were behind the tent. You saw me come out. Tell them I took you hostage. That you struggled to stop me. That you pissed me off. That I tried to kill you.”

“But-?”

“Tell them,” she hissed. The scar on her cheek made her look even more cruel, and the young man blanched.

“I'll-”

“What's your name?”

“My-”

“Your name,” she spat. “Quickly. We don't have time.”

Already the Grey Jackets were converging.

They had only seconds. He knew it, too.

Another arrow buzzed between the trees.

“I'm called Daved,” he said.

And she stabbed him.

Hard and low. The blade ripped into his side to tear a gaping hole in his flesh. His blood gushed warm and wet down her fist and she kept his shocked gaze as he let out a sharp scream.

Lowered him gently to the ground before pulling the blade free. Began to turn away.

He reached for her, still trying to understand what had happened.

She gave him one last glance. Saw the look of confusion drowning in his mask of agony as he thought he was dying. Thought she'd killed him. And couldn't understand why.

“Hold on, Daved,” she said softly. “They'd never believe you if I just let you go. Had to cut you. But I reckon your cleric can fix you right up. I still owe you, though. And who knows? Maybe you'll live to collect.”

With that, she turned to sprint through the brush, feeling the wild shards of adrenaline pour into her blood. She ran hard, ducking and diving through the forest. Despite the terror in her heart, she couldn't resist a savage grin as she led her pursuers deeper into the shadowed depths of the forest.

In her ears she could hear their shouts, and though many stayed with Daved when they found him, the rest kept coming.

Arrows sliced the air, sometimes coming close. Other times just probing.

The darkness grew more and more oppressive, and she soon found it harder to move with speed through the undergrowth. But so did those behind her.

Their curses rang out more frequently. Their swords cut at the thorn-crusted bushes.

Frustration quickly turned the soldiers into a mindless mob. A bonus she hadn't expected. She'd figured them to be more efficient. They'd certainly looked to be more professional. But they weren't even communicating with each other.

Instead, they rushed blindly with no thought of how to recapture her.

But it didn't stop them coming.

And that made her more nervous. Did they have something else up their sleeves? Some surprise she couldn't take into account?

Mouthing her own curses, but fearful of making too much sound, the elf pushed onward. Even if it meant moving into a trap. After all, she had no other choice.

She strained to get through a small wall of thorns, accepting the raking cuts that came with it. Shielded her eyes from the sharp needles which were sometimes longer than her fingers. And burst out through the other side with a gasp.

Which quickly turned into a yelp as she tumbled down a relatively steep incline. She landed with a heavy crash before rolling across a pebbled bank into a narrow stream. The icy water froze her for a moment, the numbness spreading through her body as the shock of both the fall and the sudden cold left her mind searching for coherent thought.

Long enough for the Grey Jacket, who'd been paused beside the stream scratching his head as to where to go next, to blink in surprise before pouncing.

His sword gleamed.

He roared in triumph.

Startled, the elf scrambled back, splashing deeper into the shallow stream. She tried to grab a knife, but her numb fingers fumbled for a decent hold on
Go With My Blessing
's slender hilt.

Without balance, she couldn't use her foot to lash out and push him back.

The sword's reach ensured a killing blow.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Taste of iron in her mouth. A ball of fear rolled frozen in her belly. Then stopped.

Awestruck by the sense of the Shadowed Halls opening its drooling maw to embrace her soul.

Oh fuck
, she thought.
I'm dead
.

And then the soldier's mean eyes widened as he caught sight of something behind her. His jaw dropped open, and he staggered as he tried to reel in the blow. His feet stuttered, almost tripping over themselves as he battled with the decision to keep moving forward or to run away.

“Shit,” she spat, throwing herself sideways.

The sword cleaved the air where her head had been, but the soldier's eyes were no longer pinned to her. His face pale, he tried taking a few steadier steps back. Began to turn away.

A heavy thunk made him stumble. Lurch a little to his left, then fall to his knees as all strength was lost to him.

He looked down, puzzled.

Saw
Go With My Blessing
buried in his chest, slightly left of centre. His head turned, just enough to look at her with the same kind of confusion Daved had shown not too long ago.

On her feet, the elf took two quick steps toward him. Shivering from cold and the aftermath of looking death in the face, she aimed a kick which shattered his cheek and sent him sprawling on his side where he never moved again.

“Bastard,” she hissed, snatching the
Go With My Blessing
from his body. With a powerful flick of her wrist, she sent his blood spattering into the stream. Dipped the knife once in the water, then dried it on her pants.

Frowned, wondering if this single Grey Jacket was bait, or the trap itself. Why was he alone?

Then remembered the look of surprise on his face and felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl.

Scrambled around, spitting curses, and saw goblins.

Eight of them. Lined along the opposite bank.

Eyeing her with a mix of indifference and lust.

Indifferent because they saw in her no challenge, given their numbers. And lust because they saw something they could kill.

And goblins loved to kill. Especially when they knew the odds were with them.

They looked like all the others she'd been fighting. Dressed in scraps of loose mail armour and stolen cloth. Massive goblinknives in small fists. Heavy. Spiked. Dusted with rust and the stains of old blood.

Little balls of savagery held in check only by their leader, who stood to the fore.

Heavyset in comparison, and bristling with menace, the goblins' leader waited for her to register shock before he let his mouth widen to reveal the rows of sharklike teeth.

But none of them moved.

Just stood there watching.

As, beside the leader, a small goblin took a few steps forward and paused. She was struck by the thought that even for a goblin he looked odd. Something about him made her head hurt, and she felt the now-familiar sensation of iciness moving across the back of her neck.

More insects.

But she couldn't think about that.

Could only think about the little goblin and the way he was looking at her. His smile unlike the others. A calm smile. Almost welcoming.

He lifted one arm, fingers splayed in a wave of greeting.

Then skipped back, almost shyly, to stand beside the leader. Who sniffed and tried to look like he didn't care if she was an elf or a fly.

“You elf,” he said at last. “Me Bigshot. Me lead mobs for Eventide. We hunt thief. You seen thief.”

It was not a question.

She kept very still, aware that at any moment they could attack. Or the remaining Grey Jackets still pressing through the trees behind her, could suddenly appear at her back.

Licked her lips, and kept her eyes on him. Knew any sign of impending attack would come from him. The others would obey with a fanaticism that bordered on the psychopathic.

“Don't reckon I know what you're talking about,” she growled.

“You kill Howling Wolves mob,” he said, ignoring the surprised mutters from the goblins behind him. “And kill Leadbellies, too.”

She inched sideways. They ignored her movement, following only with their eyes. “Ain't my fault,” she said. “They attacked me first.”

“They not matter,” Bigshot shrugged. “No loss. Me not care what happens to Howling Wolves or Leadbellies.”

“Then we got something in common, feller.”

The goblin cocked his head. Though they possessed a certain kind of feral intelligence, goblins weren't much for thinking. His fist thumped his chest and his gaze was now suspicious. “How me like elf? Me goblin.”

“Maybe on account of we both don't like the blues.”

CHAPTER SIX

The elf skirted the edge of the stream, searching not for a way across because it would only take a few long leaps and she'd be on the other side, but for a chance to make it past the goblins and therefore away from the Caspiellans still searching the brush behind her.

Unconcerned, their green eyes followed her every move.

“Don't reckon you fellers are gonna let me past without a fight, uh?”

Bigshot looked down at the small goblin, whose gaze was still on her.

That was a surprise, she thought. Goblin bosses weren't much for democratic decisions. They didn't look to other goblins before making choices.

In any case, the little goblin gave no sign of his intentions. Just kept smiling his shy smile and hovering close to the big goblin leader with childlike innocence.

Bigshot sighed, and shrugged for the elf's benefit. “We not know yet. We thinking about it.”

“Think quick then,” she snapped. “Because there's a bunch of Grey Jackets on my tail and they ain't about to play nice. Not with me, and not with you. Especially after what you did to their wagons.”

“Wagons?”

“You attacked them, right?”

The goblin boss glanced again at the small goblin, who only smiled wider. Bigshot scratched at one of his long floppy ears and looked disappointed. “Maybe we attack wagon. Maybe not. We big mob now. Go in many ways. Snagtooths go south. They look for thief there. But we know better. Quietly say we go here. Find thief. Because we Hatchetboys Mob. Best there is.”

“Hatchets,” grumbled a voice from behind him.

Bigshot frowned at the female goblin who'd spoken. “Me sorry, Stormer,” he said in a resigned voice. “Hatchets. We Hatchets Mob. Best there is. Eventide said so.”

Some of the goblins nodded at that, while the female goblin grinned broadly. She carried a goblinknife bigger than almost everyone else's. A long handle so she could swing it with both hands. A massive bloodstained spike ripped out of the side of the blade and the elf wondered if she used the knife more like a mace than a chopper.

And didn't want to find out.

She glanced back over her shoulder. Saw no sign of the Caspiellans, but knew they would find her soon. Could still hear them shouting. “Said you're hunting for a thief? Any idea how hard that is out here? Deadlands is filled with thieves. All kinds.”

“We not care. We find thief,” Bigshot said. “We cut head off. Give to Eventide.”

“Kill thief hard,” another goblin said.

The thought of mobs of goblins scouring the Deadlands made her want to hide. What scared her wasn't a fight with a goblin. But that if they really had joined their mobs into a small army they'd be practically unstoppable. A wave of hideous blades which chopped everything in their path in a rush of fury and blood.

Though, what puzzled her was the reason for it.

What could anyone steal from a goblin that would mean so much to the rest of them? Which would cause mobs to put aside their territorial differences and work together to hunt down a single thief?

She couldn't think of anything. Goblins didn't actually have any belongings.

They'd steal from each other without thought.

In their minds, might made right. If someone was strong enough to steal from them, they'd protest. Maybe put up a token fight. Mostly just run away.

And while mobs were certainly frightening, it wasn't common for them to act like this. To attack similar or even larger groups of armed fighters.

Attack a lone traveller, certainly.

But to consider attacking a well-armed army?

She couldn't remember ever hearing of such an event.

Her violet eyes settled on Bigshot. “What'd your thief steal? What's so important?”

“It not for you,” the boss replied in a matter-of-fact way. “You not need to know. Just need to tell where thief.”

“Trying to tell you fellers since you first jumped me, I don't know what the fuck you're on about. Ain't even sure I care. See, I've had a shit year so far. But we won't get into that. You don't want to know about it, and I'd rather forget it ever happened. Now, all I was looking for was a way out of this shithole. A path to the mountains. Through the Bloods. Maybe head north as far as the Wall. But every time I get on my way, a bunch of you fellers show up and send me running in another direction. And frankly, that's beginning to really piss me off. So, someone stole your sweet rolls. Or your shinies. Or whatever the fuck they took. That means fuck all to me. It's your business. But you're quickly making it mine by following me around. Soon, I'll get the idea you ain't after any thief. I'll get the feeling you're just trying to kill me. And then I'll have to do something about that. Something your kind won't like at all. I'll have to kill you. All of you. Every single fucking goblin I meet. And you want to know something? I've had a lot of practice on your kind this past few weeks. Reckon I'm getting good at. Reckon I might even kill all of you here right now if I wanted to.”

She let that last part sink into his thoughts. Let him struggle to understand what she was saying. Knew, too, it was mostly a bluff.

But she hoped he'd take a nibble. A bite.

Swallow the bait and move aside. Because it was all she had left short of trying to outrun them. Which would be pointless.

The female goblin, Stormer, screwed up her face in distaste. “Kill elf,” she growled. “We waste time.”

“Just try it,” Nysta spat back.

And before the goblins could make a move, the small goblin took a step forward, laying a hand on Bigshot's arm. Something unspoken passed between the two of them.