By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles) (19 page)

Snog then swore his oath, in careful Dunshor. He made it conditional, however, on Lian swearing his own oath, exhibiting a great deal of common sense, but he refrained from making it complex in an attempt to slip through the wording. He added, without being asked, that he would refrain from harming the human or his companions for one turning of Lushran’s cycle.

“I want you to untie me, and you won’t do that if you have to watch your back, lord,” he said by way of explanation.

Gem said,
It was a very powerful oathbinding ritual, and left no magics on him that I can detect. I imagine that breaking it would be a very, very bad idea
.

Lian agreed with his teacher. Being forsworn was a bad thing in general, but becoming known as an oathbreaker to some dark, subterranean god would be foolhardy in the extreme.

Snog allowed Lian some time to evaluate his efforts. Lian nodded at him to continue. The goblin proceeded to incant once again, sending more shocks of power up Lian’s spine. He paused in his singing, indicating that Lian should swear his part. This Lian did, promising three silver coins to the goblin as well as the pledge to release him. He’d have given the scout more, but that was before losing his pack and its valuable supplies.

Since his companion was still unconscious, he untied Snog and told the scout to resecure the other goblin. Snog drew a dagger from his weapon belt and said, “May as well put him out of his misery, milord. We’ll have cause to regret if he lives.” The goblin was limping from his thigh wounds, but Lian had been careful not sever any of Snog’s leg muscles during the goblin’s torture.

Lian drew his lips into a thin line.
He’s right, Lian
, said Gem.
We can’t have him following us, or reporting my appearance to others.

Lian sighed deeply. To Gem, he said,
If it must be done, then I will take the responsibility.

“You are right. Would you rather I take care of it?” he asked, drawing the enchanted blade. “He is your clansman.”

Snog looked at him with new respect. “You’ll do your own dirty work. I like that, milord.

“But you don’t have to concern yourself with this bit of slaughter. I owe him a life or three,” he finished, brandishing the knife. Without further comment, the scout slit his companion’s throat, cutting through both carotid arteries cleanly. Goblin knives were
sharp
. The victim’s bright arterial blood soon covered his body and the ground beneath him, and he mercifully never awoke.

“You might want to use that death ritual you spoke of earlier, milord,” Snog said. “Be better if he weren’t to be questioned, no?”

Lian shook his head. “The ritual only prevents the body from being animated. Necromancers know spells to summon the spirit for interrogation, and the ritual won’t prevent this.

“Teg!” he shouted to the ogre, who was frolicking with Snarl in the spring water, oblivious to the cold.

The ogre bounded over, leaping free of the knee-deep pool with agility. Snarl splashed after him, plowing through the water. “Yeah, Alan?” the ogre asked.

“Can you get rid of this body? We don’t want it to be found,” Lian said.

The ogre snorted. “Sure, Alan. I knows a manticore. He live near. He be grateful for snack, even goblin snack.”

He turned his jovial face to Snog. “Sorry.”

Snog shrugged. “No problem, big friend.” He was already considering the advantages of befriending the big ogre.

The ogre removed an oilskin bag from his huge shoulder sack, and dumped out a half of a pig carcass. Snarl came over and sniffed at it, turning his nose up at the rancid smell. Teg chuckled and shoved the goblin into the sack, pausing to pick up the pig and munch on it, bones cracking and snapping, as he walked. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “We meet in Greythorn, yes?”

Lian nodded, trying not to reveal his distaste. “Be careful, Teg. That archer’s still out there somewhere, and next time Snarl might not be so lucky.”

Teg stopped and looked at Snog, as if he’d just realized that the goblin was unbound. “You be okay with he?”

Lian said, “Yes, my friend. He and I are sort of friends now.”

Teg smiled broadly. “He be Teg’s friend?”

“Unless I say otherwise,” Lian said. “Yeah, for now, he’s your friend.”

When Teg’s brow furrowed in confusion, Lian explained, “He promised to be a friend until the next time Lushran is waning like he is now. Then, we’ll have to see if we are still friends after that, okay?”

Teg’s confusion faded, and he nodded, waving as he left.

Snog shook his head, coiling the rope he’d salvaged from the second scout. “That’s the most well behaved and educated ogre I’ve ever seen. Will Snarl look after the big lout?” he asked.

“Actually, Snarl is his,” Lian said, entering the springhouse. “Now, what were you and your companion doing here?”

Snog went to his companion’s pack and drew out a small vial. He opened it carefully and poured a few drops on his calf muscle where Gem had pierced him. The wounds bubbled and frothed, but when the goblin rinsed off the blood with some of the water from the spring, the flesh was its normal dusky grey hue, and no trace of the wound was evident.

Such healing draughts were fairly common, and Lian’s own pack had held a variety of curatives. It was a reminder that he’d regret the loss sorely.

Gem observed,
Whatever they did didn’t poison the spring, you’ll notice
.

He nodded mentally. He suspected that they released some creature into the spring water, and that the goblin wasn’t worried about it returning to bite him, at least at present. He had decided it wasn’t poison when the goblin had come sputtering out of the water, without taking any particular pains to keep the fluid out of his mouth.

Snog picked up a crossbow, one of two, and began inspecting its mechanism. Goblin-made, it was ugly but efficient. Lian retrieved its twin, glad to have a bow of any sort again. It had an extremely powerful draw, but fired very short, heavy bolts. It would hit hard, but have a short range. Both bows had a cranequin for cocking, and would take a fair amount of time to draw. Lian was strong enough, however, that he didn’t really need as much mechanical advantage as a goblin.

Lian examined the bow and determined that he could refit the mechanism to allow for faster loading once they reached a town with a smithy. He was good with machines.

“We need to keep moving, so you’ll have to talk on the way,” Lian said, shouldering the second goblin’s pack after taking inventory of its contents.

“That won’t be problem, milord,” Snog said. “Do you mind smoke?”

Lian knew that the smell of the goblinish tobacco would leave a trail that could be followed, but neither of them would be taking the time to cover their tracks anyhow.
And the knight won’t be following my footprints, either
, he thought to himself. It would be relying on other senses entirely.

At Lian’s nod, Snog sighed and took a pipe from his pack, filling it with a black substance. He lit it with a small glowing coal which he kept in a metal box along with a small pair of tongs. The enchanted, perpetual coalstone probably represented a large share from a raid, but was invaluable to a scout operating far from home. This done, the two of them left the springhouse and crossed the stream, heading northwest toward Greythorn City.

With the smoke, redolent of mushrooms, pouring around him before becoming lost in the mists, the goblin scout began to tell his tale.

Chapter Ten

“Krysa’s school suffered opposition from its very inception, in the person of a priestess of the goddess M’Shara Earthmother. This woman, whose name has been lost to antiquity, believed that the presence of Krysa’s school in her community would lead to tragedy. Her arguments to force the school to move on might have eventually seen fruition, but in the third year of the school’s presence, she caught her death in a particularly harsh winter. In addition to the priestess’ death, rats had destroyed the winter grain stores, and the severe weather drove ogres and trolls (and worse) down from the mountains in search of food. Krysa and his students led the defense of the town and developed magical means to extend the food stores as well. Krysa was elected mayor after the spring thaw, and thus was born the Theocracy.”

-- From “A History of the Theocracy of Krysa” by the Sage Alionur

 “It’s been four years now, since Lyrial arrived in the mines beneath that waste of a town, Whitefall,” Snog began, clenching the pipe between his teeth as he talked.  “Our first warning of his presence was when he marched a thousand Undead troops into our living warrens.  They were armed with clubs and the like, and while they were taking some pains not to kill us, they were a lot more force than we could handle.

 “We learned later that he’d animated them from underneath the Whitefall cave-in and that he couldn’t actually keep such a large force active for very long. At the time, though, it was enough to force our surrender,” he said, spitting a blackened glob onto the ground. His flat goblinish features mirrored his disgust for the decision to submit.

“Me and Lesh, so recently relieved of his worthless life, were leading a scout party at the time, and weren’t available to assist in the defense against the damned things. Either one of us would have had the sense to go for the necromancer, though that wouldn’t have been a picnic, either.

“He’s got some fairly powerful bound Undead close to hand, and they’d have acted to protect him.”

Lian nodded and said, “I know of at least one, but we’ll get to him later.”

Snog glanced at his new companion with alarm. “I’m
quite
certain I don’t want to know what you mean, milord.”

He shrugged and continued. “Lyrial’s a black-hearted mage, but I have to admit he’s got a good understanding for the usefulness of goblins. He has us run the mining operation, and his Undead keep guard and retreive surface game as provender. Except that we’re basically slaves, it wouldn’t be a terrible lot.

“That and the fact that he animates our dead to fill the ranks of his own troops. That just gives me the shits in a big way,” the goblin said with a shudder.

“I get the impression that he’s looking for something more than precious metals in those mines, though. Some artifact, or some dead hero’s bones. He likes the
lashthirin
and silver well enough, but they don’t seem to hold his interest. I also have a strong feeling that once we find whatever he’s looking for, he’ll have no more use for Death’s Hand, at least as living folk. That’s one reason why I volunteer for scout work as much as possible.”

Lian asked, “Why didn’t you just defect? Surely some other goblin clan would have taken in a scout?”

Snog shook his head. “Actually, I’ve been asking myself that for over a year, now. I guess I was just lookin’ for an excuse, ‘s all. You provided that, and removed Lesh as a consideration. I’ve worried about him doggin me if I left. He approved of Lyrial and the ‘improvements’ he had brought to our clan.

“Sick fuck . . . beggin’ your pardon, milord,” he said with a nod to Lian.

Lian said, “No offense taken, Snog. I would expect most of your people would be opposed to the necromancer’s presence.”

They reached a small stream and both of them leapt. Snog lost his footing, sliding backwards, and Lian grabbed his arm. The young human’s strength surprised the goblin scout.

With gratitude that surprised him even more than the helpful act had, he said, “Thank you, milord.

“No, actually, most of ‘em like the work. It’s a lot safer to mine than to fight, and them zombies and such don’t back down when some terrible thing comes out of the deeper dark wanting to eat the mine crews. Goblin guards would probably break and run, more often than not, a result of piss poor training,” the goblin replied.

“Where’d you and Lesh train? You aren’t exactly equal to your fellow clansmen, from what you’ve said.”

Snog grinned, revealing his pointed and surprisingly straight teeth. “Lesh an’ me, we were kinda new to Death’s Hand. We used to be scouts for
Sh’rek k’lass’rik
, before Lesh fucked up an’ we had to run. He was my father’s cousin’s son.

“The Spider Lords weren’t very forgiving when their plans went awry, and since it was Lesh’s mistake that done it, he was on their short list. And since I was workin’ with him and should’ve prevented the fuckup, I got added right under his name.

“That’s one reason he would never have let me leave, for fear that I’d get word back to
Sh’rek
about where he’d gone.”

Must have been a major screwup to have warranted death sentences for leader and followers both. Deep goblin clans don’t generally waste useful material. And whatever else he is, he’s quick and intelligent
, Lian thought to Gem.

Yes, but
A’kra Vilsha
would have gladly taken them in, no questions asked. Spider-clan scouts would have been an incredible opportunity for a minor clan like the Hand of Death. He hasn’t told you what they put in the water, though
.

I noticed that
, he replied, saying aloud, “So what were the two of you doing at the spring?”

“I was gettin’ to that, milord,” he said, tamping out his pipe and carefully making sure it was completely extinguished before burying the ashes under a bit of loamy soil.

“Lyrial wants to draw the druid out, you see. My guess is that the blackrobe thinks that he would be the one most likely to have the knowledge that would help him. Those jars held water parasites that will swim upstream toward the spring source, where they’ll grow. Once they reach a certain size, they’ll spawn and eventually the spring will slow down, though it won’t ever stop.

“We have a lot of experience with that sort of creature, so we know when to start waiting for him to emerge and search out the source of the problem. Eventually, the water parasites grow so numerous that they start to die off a little. That’s actually when they’re at their worst, because the immature ones drift away from the headwater and eventually enter a major waterway. We figured, though, that since the Villas River flows into the Villas Swamp and the salt marshes there, they would be contained. Salt in any significant amount is the bane of those things.