NPCs (5 page)

“The fuck?” Gabrielle said at last, eyes trained on the smoldering building uncomfortably close to them. It was strange, the way the flames were cascading through the smoke; it almost appeared that there were shapes moving in the wreckage. It must be a mirage. Her party members were the only ones large enough to make such shadows, and they were all stuck in cages.

“We need to go,” Thistle said, grabbing his companions’ attention. While the others had been caught up in shock, he’d examined the hole that the axe had carved through the cage’s bars. It wasn’t too large, big enough for him to fit through without much trouble, though the same couldn’t be said for the humans. In this instance, however, the cage’s flexibility worked to its disadvantage. While a material that moved made breaking through more difficult, once a hole was carved, it meant areas could be stretched as needed.

“Go?” Eric asked, still unwilling to look away from the axe that tried to behead him.

“Vamoose, escape, do the kobold charge, run away,” Thistle clarified. “Someone blowing up part of an entrenched goblin encampment means an attack, and I prefer not to be unarmed and trapped in a cage during such circumstances.”

“You’re wrong,” Gabrielle declared. “These goblins are smart and safe. No one could have surprised them like this. It was probably just some magic item they didn’t know was going to blow up. We’re in no danger.”

“That theory is a good one,” Thistle complimented. “But it doesn’t explain why the goblins all seem to be braced for attack.”

A quick glance confirmed he was right. The children and non-warrior goblins were being herded toward the other side of the camp, while those with armor and weapons slowly advanced toward the remains of the storage shed. It was then that Eric’s human hearing finally caught up to what the goblins’ large ears had already noticed.

“What is that noise?”

Thistle and Gabrielle cocked their own heads, listening intently. Now that he’d pointed it out, there was a strange clacking sound coming from the burning building. To Gabrielle, it was completely alien; however, Thistle went white as a wight when he heard it.

“We need to get out and get clear, now.” Thistle tugged on Eric’s tunic. In a motion quicker than one would have suspected his knobby form capable of, the gnome slipped through the hole and landed softly on the ground.

“Why? Do you know what it is?” Eric asked.

Thistle opened his mouth to speak, and as he did, the first of the monsters stepped into view. It was hideous—six feet tall with red, gnarled flesh along its twisted body. Atop its shoulders sat the head of a malformed rat, upper jaw stretched out inches further than its lower. Instead of hands, it had claws like that of scorpion, the clacking sound suddenly making a sickly amount of sense to all in attendance. The legs were birdish, long and lean with feet that spread into four individual claws. Despite all of this, it was the eyes that were most disconcerting, black orbs like midnight dipped in ink. Looking into one, a person couldn’t help but feel like they were being sucked into that abyss.

“Demons,” Thistle said, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

* * *

Grumph had put the book down when the celebration began, and he’d stood up in the cage after the explosion rocked the camp. However, since he was closer to the lines of warriors than the others, Grumph was less impetuous about getting free from his mobile prison. As they began advancing toward the building, Grumph shuffled his position slightly. The goblins had their back to him, and the explosion had dropped his importance in their list of immediate priorities, yet he was patient. Grumph did not move until he saw something that compelled him to. It was not seeing the demon emerge from the smoking ruins, nor was it observing a few of the goblins near the rear drop their weapons and flee. No, the signal that told Grumph things were getting dangerous was when he caught sight of the terror on Thistle’s face. He’d known the gnome for many years, and anything that spooked him in such a manner was not to be taken lightly.

The goblin cages were sturdy, well-designed, and built to last. Grumph was impressed by their construction. Had he been a mere mindless brute, the cage would have proved more than a match for his strength. By contrast, had he possessed the knowledge to assess such a contraption, but not the power to act on such information, he would also have been stuck. Thankfully, Grumph was an experienced craftsman with muscles cultivated by centuries of half-orc breeding. In a controlled motion, he seized one of the areas in the corner where a bar had been improperly bound. With a grunt of effort that would have been noticeable in any other situation (demons do tend to steal focus), Grumph tore the bars apart. From there, it was a simple matter to disassemble a few exposed binding cords and knock away a section large enough for him to emerge from.

He landed softly, choosing stealth over speed, the whole process having taken less than a minute. In that time, three more of the creatures had stepped forth from the fire. In the chaos, Grumph couldn’t quite make out whether his friends were free from their cage yet. A quick survey of the ground at his feet netted Grumph an abandoned goblin polearm. It felt more akin to a dagger on a stick in his considerable hands, but he would take it over nothing.

With careful steps, Grumph began edging his way around the bulk of the goblin troops and toward his friends’ cage. He might have made it unnoticed, too, if the demons hadn’t chosen that moment to leap.

The first landed dead center in the mass of the goblin warriors, letting out a horrendous shriek as it seized one in each claw. Another came down on the side of camp where the largest exit was, clacking its claws excitedly. The initial demon to emerge stayed put; evidently it felt no need for relocation. The final demon leapt the furthest, soaring through the air and landing with a muffled thump.

It was less than four sword lengths away from Grumph.

6.

When the demon emerged, the humans had needed very little in terms of convincing to leave the cage. Eric slid out with relative ease, his narrow, lean frame no longer encumbered by the heavy metal burden that had weighed him down. Gabrielle had found the task a bit tougher. Though brought up a proper lady, her love of horse riding and self-defense courses (in a vain attempt to stem her kidnappings) had left her strong and somewhat more muscular than one might imagine. After two unsuccessful tries to squeeze through the cage, she took a new approach.

Seizing the axe wedged on the far side, Gabrielle jerked it free with a solid pull, then slid its head through the hole and set it on the ground. Using the shaft for balance, and with Eric’s help, she was finally able to maneuver her way out of the wooden cage and land safely on the ground. Safely, here, was a relative term, since she was still in proximity of a claw-clacking demon and several dozen armed goblins. Still, she wasn’t trapped, and that was progress.

Gabrielle’s freedom nearly coincided with the demons’ leaping; she landed only moments before they took off. For an instant, she thought it was a good thing. After all, fewer demons near them meant a higher possibility of living to see the sunrise, didn’t it?

“Dragonshit,” Thistle muttered as he watched the horrid creatures crash back down to the dirt.

“What?” Eric asked.

“They’re coordinating,” Thistle explained. “The one in the center is there to draw focus and stir up chaos among the warriors. Meanwhile, the three on the outside can pick off the ones on the edges of the crowd, while still cutting off the best exit routes. This is very bad. Demons set on a random slaughter are troublesome, but can be outmaneuvered. When they’re smart enough to work together, well, let’s simply say our survival chances just got lower.”

“What do we do?” Gabrielle asked. Without thinking, she pulled the axe up from the ground and brought it to rest on her shoulder. It might not be of much use to her, but better a clumsy weapon than none at all.

“You two get clear,” Thistle ordered. “Grab any weapons or armor you see on the way out — it wouldn’t do to be picked off by wolves after escaping demons — and get out of camp.”

“And what will you be doing while we’re turning tail?” Eric asked.

“Someone has to go check on Grumph,” Thistle replied. “And I certainly draw far less attention in this crowd than you two.”

That part was true. The gnome stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with the goblins, meaning he could blend in easily. Two humans would stick out like, well, like a pair of humans in a crowd of goblins.

“I don’t want to leave you like that,” Eric said.

“Good sentiment; hold onto that later on when we’re back to playing our roles. This isn’t you abandoning me, though. This is you trusting me to do my job, and not making me worry about you as well. We’re a party. We each have our own tasks to fulfill,” Thistle explained.

Eric didn’t particularly like that answer, but he also didn’t foresee changing Thistle’s mind, and the longer they were here, the worse their chances of survival grew.

“Fine,” Eric agreed at last. “We meet at the clearing we passed on the way in.”

“Deal,” Thistle said, almost immediately darting off into the crowd.

“Works for me,” Gabrielle added.

“Glad we’re all agreed. Now, which way should we go to get out of here?”

“I’m going for a gap I know about on the west side of the camp.” Gabrielle pointed somewhere past the goblin warriors. “You should probably go another route. I have to pass a lot of goblins on my way. They know me and won’t attack in surprise. I can’t say the same for you. Plus, it’s probably better to go separate ways… just in case.”

Eric nodded; there was no need for explanation. They were in a very dire situation and the odds of all of them making it out were slim at best. At least going different ways meant one might find a clear path.

“Be safe,” he told her.

“You, too.”

With that, each hunkered down and began moving away as quickly and quietly as they were able to manage.

* * *

There are few sensations like staring eye to eye with a demon, nothing between you and it but a polearm that somehow felt even smaller than it had moments ago. Grumph and the beast locked eyes with each other for less than half a second, yet both could feel the weight of a lifetime in that glance. There was no need for pretense: this moment ended with one of them dead. No other outcome was possible.

That sentiment was dispelled when three arrows lodged in the demon’s back, earning a sickening twist of its rat-like head in an unnatural angle toward its attackers. Behind it stood three goblin warriors and a quartet of archers, separated from their main force. The warriors were advancing slowly, polearms extended, while the archers nocked fresh arrows into their bows.

With a series of jerking steps, the demon turned its attention toward the goblins. Evidently, it cared more for quantity than size, as Grumph was left largely forgotten, facing its rear. One of the goblin archers met his half-orc gaze and began speaking fiercely at him. Though Grumph didn’t speak Gobleck, the “shoo” hand-gestures that the goblin made sent the message quite clearly. They were going to handle this thing; he should run away quickly while the opportunity was there.

Moments earlier, staring down a demon, Grumph might have considered it. But now, watching his captors, small though they were, confront this monster on his behalf, such an idea was ludicrous. He felt no particular love for these goblins; they were merely beings who’d captured him because he was easy prey. Be that as it was, he loathed demons, and he’d be damned to see these four ravage the camp. At the very least, he would assist until the children and non-warriors escaped.

Grumph tightened his grip on the polearm and felt it creak under the pressure. He dearly wished he’d found something more substantial.

* * *

Eric, in a show of either cunning or stupidity (the difference between the two being an idea works or not) elected to go the one direction that no one was paying attention to. Creeping along, he made his way to the storage building, which was still burning, but rapidly turning into more of a smolder than an inferno. The first demon had advanced several feet forward, and was now in the process of slicing through a pair of goblins while others of the tribe slashed at it angrily. In the soft light of the fire, Eric slipped through a gap between the storage building and the rubble of what had once been a home.

The heat from the flames was strong; sweat materialized on his face as soon as he was alongside the building’s remains. It was slow going, as the gap between the two areas had been designed for only goblins to fit through. Moving through the area at all would have been impossible if the explosion hadn’t destroyed large sections of both buildings’ walls. Even with that, it took careful footing and balance as, at times, Eric had to climb from gap to gap, getting several feet off the ground. He marveled at the speed of his body, feeling, for the first time in years, the freedom of movement when not confined by that damned armor. He’d only ever taken it off for bathing and bed, activities which rarely offered the chance to stretch his limbs.

He was back on the ground, moving beside a gap in the storage building so large it accounted for at least an eighth of the wall, when he saw it. Sitting there, miraculously untouched by the explosion or the fire, resting on a pile of wrecked chests, was his sword. Not the cumbersome one he’d lifted from the paladin’s corpse, but his sword. The one his father had given him when he was a child, meant to be a training blade. The one he’d used as a guard, even though the others had laughed at him for it. The one he’d been unable to leave behind, even when packing light less than a day ago.
His
sword.

Without a thought, Eric reached through the hole and grabbed the hilt of his blade. It was warm, but not as hot as he’d expected, given the environment. The scabbard had melted slightly, however, the blade still pulled free with a little effort. Eric sheathed it once more, tucked it into his belt, and continued his movements toward freedom. In almost no time, he’d passed the final few hunks of rubble obscuring the way and stepped out of the narrow gap.