When Goblins Rage (Book 3) (3 page)

Rubbing the scar on her cheek, she headed north. Angled back toward a winding path she knew lay beyond the trees. Rolled her shoulders as she walked.

Stretched her neck to clear a few twinges burrowing between the bones beneath her skull.

And realised she was hungry. Very hungry.

She hadn't eaten for a few days. For an elf, it was strange to feel so hungry so quickly. Sure, most elfs would eat every day if given the choice. But their meals would be small portions by human standards.

Many times in the past she'd gone weeks without eating. Mostly when she was a child struggling to survive in the city's predatory alleyways. Then later as an assassin for the Jukkala'Jadean.

She'd been good at it. Had always been able to control her hunger.

Lately it was getting to be she couldn't go more than a day. And the hunger seemed to be worse. More frequent.

She added this to the growing tally of things she didn't know how to deal with and didn't want to think about.

Raised in a city, the trick of catching game wasn't something she'd ever been good at. She wasn't that kind of hunter. Hadn't had the patience for it.

Knives were for a different kind of killing. And she'd never been hungry enough to eat goblin flesh.

Fruits and berries were also in short supply this far into Winter. And digging for roots?

Well.

She wouldn't know where to begin. The most she knew how to do was cook from the stores of food she kept in her pouches. All of which were now empty of anything edible.

What she wanted, she thought, was an inn.

One which served hot food. Steaming on a plate.

A mug of beer.

Fire crackling in the corner.

She licked her lips and felt her heart beat a little faster in anticipation. If she picked up her pace, she could be in Tannen's Run by lunchtime.

The smile stretched languidly across her lips.

Then turned into a scowl as the manic hoot of a wild troll echoed through the trees from the east.

Far enough away she didn't feel concerned. But close enough to remind the elf to keep her eyes scanning the encroaching trees.

“Thinking too much about fast food,” she growled. “Could end up being me who gets taken out.”

CHAPTER THREE

She saw the smoke not long after leaving the cabin.

It curled into the sky from within the forest's cryptic belly to be lost among the leaden clouds.

For a long time after seeing the smoke, the elf didn't move. When she did, it was with cautious stealth that she left the knotted path and entered the treeline to creep through the bristling undergrowth.

The forest, like much of the woodlands this close the Bloods, was mostly a riddle of densely cluttered trees, each with a trunk rarely thicker than her leg. But which reached high up toward the sky.

They yearned for space, jostling each other in the breeze in a slow fight for light and moisture. A fight measured in centuries and where death could last a decade.

Despite the branches wrestling above, snow still managed to slide down to wet the earth and spread in mottled patches.

Crawling from trunk to trunk, rivers of vine strangled the younger trees and nestled seductively up the older ones.

But it was the dense and tangled underbrush forming ragged walls which proved the difficult obstacle. While not often taller than her, they were made more despairing by the thorns which bristled like savage needles hungry for blood.

The journey through the forest, then, was slow. And gave her plenty of time to wonder at what might lay buried beyond the trees.

There had been too much smoke for just one fire.

And even if it had been only one campfire, she'd still be as careful in her approach. Because the Deadlands was unforgiving.

Expecting bandits, or perhaps more goblins, she kept silent and alert. Eyes scraping away the shadows. Peeling back the foliage to reveal the slightest hint of danger.

She moved slowly, crouching low and with one fist wrapped around
Go With My Blessing
's sweat-stained handle as she weaved through narrow gaps.
 

Didn't take long until she could hear a bubbling of voices. Couldn't make out any words yet, but her frown deepened as she recognised the basic pitch and tone of Caspiellans.

She saw a slight flutter of movement and froze.

Waited a moment, then dropped lower to the ground. Pressed her belly against the snow-speckled ground and lifted her head in the direction of the loping shadow.

A sentry, perhaps.

And not a good one by the noise he was making.

He approached from her left side, muttering curses as his grey clothes were snagged by the thorny bushes. The elf watched through the corner of her eye as he moved closer. Didn't want to move her head just in case he caught the movement.

He yawned loudly.

Found a tree he liked.

Gave a cursory look around, then waggled his hips as he fumbled with his trousers.

Unconsciously, his need for privacy had made him turn away from the camp. Which meant he had his back aimed almost directly at her.

The elf's violet eyes glittered.

If the man turned, even a little, he'd see her. He couldn't help but spot her.

Go With My Blessing
shivered from its sheath and she slowly turned the blade in her hand, holding it in a reverse grip.
 

She'd have to be fast.

She licked her lips.

Heard his piss riddle down the tree. A satisfied sigh shook his body.

Then she moved.

The first two steps were silent.

The third touched dry twigs buried under a small patch of snow.

The crack of wood sounded louder in her ears than a scream.

He half-turned, still holding his dick in one hand. Aimed at the tree. Feeling safe enough not to clench and disrupt the flow of piss. Not until his gaze touched hers. And his pupils widened at the hatred burning in her eyes.

Managed a puzzled “Wha-?”

Then her arm wrapped around his head, hand pressing tight against his mouth. Her knee thudded into the small of his back, bending him back and slightly down. He staggered, venting a roar which was stifled by her firm hold.

Go With My Blessing
flashed, spearing into the back of his neck, aimed upward. The blade entered at the point where his spine kissed his skull. It drove explosively into his brain and his body gave a wracking shudder as he slumped in her arms.
 

Bright blood sparked at first, then became a river down his back.

He crumpled so suddenly she couldn't hold his weight and, as he dropped, the knife was jerked from her grip.

Drunk on the kill, the elf swivelled to check for sign she'd been detected. Heart pounding in her ears and a killer's grin forming wildly. Saw nothing through the trees but shadows.

Heard no sudden shouts.

She sucked a hard breath, and let it free with a soft whistle of relief blending with satisfaction.

Knelt beside the body and tugged the blade loose with a sickeningly wet crunch of bone and meat.

Smell of piss and blood still steaming in the air, the elf turned away from the corpse and headed quickly toward the sound of voices. Felt an insatiable curiosity overriding the curdling fear in her guts as she approached the edge of the treeline.

She saw the flicker of fires through the brush. Cookfires preparing the first meals of the day. The smell of meat made her stomach clench.

Inching forward, the elf licked her lips. Wondered if it might be possible to sneak closer. To steal food.

Hunger made her marrow ache.

She reached out slowly and pushed a few dry limbs aside, catching her first glimpse of those who had made camp.

More Caspiellans. Dressed in the drab grey uniforms of Leibersland. Grey Jackets, then. Fanatical and utterly devoted to spreading the word of their god through the land.

And to killing those they deemed Tainted.

Tainted simply for not being human.

Tainted like her.

She could see fifty or so of them. Maybe more. But certainly not less. Some worked at pulling down tents. Others attended the fires.

A few patrolled the edges of the camp, and the rest looked to be resting still. Waiting their turn to take up tasks. Oiling bright blades.

Their faces were mostly young, though a few grizzled elders littered the pack. At first glance, they appeared orderly and well-trained. But as she watched, she noticed a few signs of irregularity which puzzled her.

Such as scruffy uniforms and mismatched boots.

Not what she'd learned to expect from Grey Jackets, who normally had a reputation for working beyond enemy lines. For going where they shouldn't.

Also, there should be more sentries. More defences.

Given they were in the Deadlands and so close to the Bloods, they should have been more cautious. They hadn't dug ditches. No stakes or blockades. Nothing which was normal routine for a Grey Jacket force.

It was too easy. As if they didn't care at all who might see them, or attack in the middle of the night.

She wondered at the confidence of the men.

Yet despite their slightly ragtag appearance, the elf still felt sweat trickle down her armpits and soak into her undershirt. She imagined that at any second, the entire ocean of soldiers would pause what they were doing and their heads would slowly turn to where she was hiding.

“Shit,” she breathed, suddenly feeling the need to run away. There were too many of them. Some had bows, and she could easily imagine the thud of their arrows piercing her flesh.

Nysta squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as she contemplated just how dangerous her position was. And how reckless she had been in getting even this close. Then she opened her eyes and started backing away.

Carefully.

Had moved maybe two or three metres before she heard a rustle of undergrowth and froze. Her belly roiled in fear as she heard a boot press hard into the earth somewhere behind her. Couldn't tell if whoever was there could see her or not.

A trickle of frozen air crept across her body.

Another cool press of boot to earth, crunching a crisp patch of snow.

Soft curse.

And the elf, certain she'd been spotted, moved.

Looking for Love
snickered from her hand, the broad blade aimed straight at the startled head looming out of the shadows between the trees. He gave a yelp and twisted back, faster than most humans. The blade shot past his jaw, snaked between his long hair, and buried itself in the folds between two tree limbs clawing at the sky.
 

“Fuck,” she spat. Rolled forward as the soldier yanked a slender sword from his scabbard. The steel shimmered in the grey light.

“Tainted!” he roared. “I've got Tainted!”

His shout was quickly echoed from the clearing, and the elf felt a sudden rise of uncertainty as she realised in only a few short seconds she would be swarmed by soldiers hungry to avenge the death of one of their comrades.

Battling fury and fear, the elf darted away, attempting to flee into the forest. Hoped to lose them in the maze of twisted trees and thorny underbrush.

Knew if she headed north, the forest grew thick and practically impassable. There would be plenty of places she could hide.

Plenty of chances to evade even the most ardent pursuer.

Maybe even the opportunity to kill a few.

But the soldier with his sword drawn had other ideas. And he moved with incredible speed to block her path. The sword flicked out like a steel tongue, aimed at her face.

Surprised again, she ducked under the blow, forced to stagger backward.

The man grinned, pleased he'd managed to cut off her escape. The sword moved laconically in his hand. Tip following her like it was a living thing.

He'd be good with it, she thought.

Unconsciously, she remembered how her face had gained its scar. Another Caspiellan, good with his sword, had managed to skewer her cheek. He'd been fast, too.

Violet eyes flat, the elf drew
Fulci's Last Joke
and
Attitude Adjuster
. Still not feeling sure of her footing, she feigned slightly to her left before leaping to her right, anxious to slide around his sword. Maybe stick him in the ribs before rushing past.

She could hear heavy footfalls as more soldiers burst into the forest behind her. Could hear them snarling and snapping to each other.

Searching.

The sword, however, ignored her attempt to mask her intention, and instead she found it thrusting straight at her chest.

“Bastard,” she choked, again forced to cartwheel back, this time off balance.

He thirsted for the kill. Wanted to cleave her in two. But something held him back. Stopped him from rushing in.

Aware he was simply waiting for the others to surround her, she felt panic rise on a wave of bile in the back of her throat. The icy ball of fear spun hard in her guts. Her eyes flicked, seeking an opportunity.

A break.

A moment of hesitation.

Blink of any eye.

Something.

But he gave nothing, except the smug grin which was fixed on his face like a mask.

“The General wants to speak to anyone we find,” he told her, almost conversationally. “Or I'd kill you right here. Cut you into little pieces. Now, I can see you looking. This way. That way. You reckon you got what it takes to get around me, maybe. But you ain't got it. Trust me, Tainted One. You ain't got it. All you're gonna get if you try, is hurt. Or dead, and damn his orders. So best you make it easy on yourself and put down those stickers. Just drop them. Nice and easy. And believe me, you want to make it real easy, because I'll be the one who kills you when the General's through with you. And I can make it quick. Or I can make it slow in ways you couldn't begin to believe. You get me?”

“Not yet,” she growled. “But I will.”

And she launched herself at him with a shrill scream of defiance. A sound which split the trees and made the advancing soldiers hesitate.

Just for a moment.