Vashti Valant - Slave of the Goblin

Akraz had given her directions earlier, but now when she checked him, he had fallen into unconsciousness. His face had reverted to its monster shape and the warty skin was pallid, clammy to the touch. Beads of sweat drenched his brow and chest.

Laya feared he would not survive the rough trip. Such was the weight of his massively muscled body, however, that she had no choice except to stop frequently to catch her breath.

She dragged him to the mouth of one of the habited warrens. Every muscle in her body trembled with exertion. When her knees buckled beneath her, she knew she could go no further. She hid him as best she could and continued alone, following the directions he had given her to thread the maze of goblin caves.

The public tunnels had almost no light, which was all to Laya’s advantage as she slipped from shadow to shadow. Nor was there much foot traffic. More of a problem was distinguishing one goblin’s hole in the wall from another, for the entrances were not labeled and all looked the same, with tiny, square, rusted iron doors hunched under lowering lintels of raw rock wall. Laya counted the ninth door down a certain winding corridor.

She knocked.

There was no immediate response. Laya grew nervous in the thick, black silence of the corridor, hoping no one would pass by while she waited there.

At last the iron door creaked open a smidgeon. A dirty child peeked out from the crack. Boy or girl, Laya honestly could not tell through the encrusted grime on its face and rags.

“I am looking for Hwega,” said Laya gently.

Laya had never seen such surly suspicion in so young a child.

“Why?” the child demanded. Snot dribbled from its nose.

“Does she live here?”

“Maybe. Are you going to kill her?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you going to throw her in a dungeon?”

“I should say not.”

“You’re a stranger,” the child pointed out. “Strangers are bad. They hurt you. Are you trying to hurt my ma?”

“Is Hwega your mother, then?”

The child, suddenly afraid of having said too much, began to slam the door shut.

“Wait!” Laya grabbed the door before it could close. “I’m not here to hurt your moma. I just need her help. Her brother is sick.”

“Uncle Akraz?”

“Yes! You know him.”

“He brings me nice things,” the child confessed shyly. “One time, he brought me an orange. I never had an orange before. It was the best thing ever.” A little pout. “But he made it share it with my brothers and sisters.”

Laya’s heart melted. What kind of life must this child lead that the memory of a slice of orange was a precious gift?

“Uncle Akraz needs your help now. Will you help him? Will you tell Hwega, your moma, that he’s in trouble?”

“She’s working,” said the child. “I’ll get my brothers and sisters. We’ll help you.”

Laya had her doubts about the wisdom of it, but that was how, a short time later, a small army of goblin children followed her back to where she had hidden Akraz’s body. They ranged in age from three to ten, all grubby, scrawny and ragamuffin. But they all seemed to adore their Uncle Akraz and since there were at least a dozen of them, they were able to help Laya lift and carry the big man back to their den.

The den was just a long, narrow hole in the wall, with no furniture, no candles, no adornments of any kind. Ugly iron hooks protruded from the raw stone of the upper walls and ceiling of the den, to hold baskets and animal skin containers. Rats scrambled from one basket to another with impunity. Roaches moved in herds across the walls. A hearth fire burned in a niche to one side and a big clay jar filled with brackish water sat at the very back of the cave. Greasy leather mats, now heaped together in one tall pile, indicated what probably served as beds during sleeping hours.

To Laya it more closely resembled a dungeon than a fit place to raise a dozen children. She could hardly bear the thought of bringing Akraz into this filth. How could she heal him in an environment like this? The very air of the den made her skin crawl and her throat itch. The miasma stank of smoke and dust and urine and rot.

No other options existed. Laya had no choice but to try to find the least soiled of the mats in the corner to form a bed large enough for him to stretch out upon. She poured some of the unsavory water from the back pot into a smaller pot over the fire, to boil.

“You wanna eat?” one of the older children, a girl, asked Laya. The girl grabbed one of the baskets off the wall to show Laya the skinned and dried rats inside. “We also got centipedes, if you want soup.”

Laya felt her last meal flip upside down in her stomach. “No, thank you.”

Once the water came to a boil, Laya lanced the spider bite on Akraz’s shoulder and cleaned out the wound. She wrapped his shoulder in spider silk. Without her people’s magical salves with her, there was little else she could do for him but pray to the gods of Light for his recovery.

Please , she begged them silently. I know he is not one of your own, but he is a good man inside, where it matters. Surely you can see into his heart .

“One of the big spiders downstairs bit him, huh?” asked a little boy. He nibbled his thumb. In his other hand, he clutched a toy sword made out of several rat bones tied together with tendons.

No one would ever mistake these scallywag children for elf children, but Laya could see that these young goblins had not yet been deformed by dark fires of Zathstragomal. They had smooth skin, pointed ears and big eyes, like elf children. Under their smudges and snot, they were actually quite cute.

“Yes,” said Laya. “But Akraz killed three of the big spiders before they got him.”

The boy’s eyes lit up and he waved his sword. “I’ll bet he did! Uncle Akraz can whop anybody! He’s killed more than a thousand elves!”

“Yes,” sighed Laya. She caressed Akraz’s fevered bestial brow. “I know.”

Unholy caterwauling jerked Laya out of an uneasy nap. An adult goblin woman with sagging breasts and a hideous countenance waved a stone club at Laya.

“Thief! Intruder! Invader! How did you get into my home?”

The gaggle of children surrounded Laya to protect her from the attacking banshee.

“Ma! Ma! It’s okay! We let her in. She knows Uncle Akraz!”

“Akraz?” The goblin woman hesitated.

“Look!” The children pointed to his form, barely visible in the dim, ruddy light of the cave. “There he is.”

“A spider bit him.”

“But he killed three of them!”

“We helped carry him here.”

“You must be Hwega,” Laya said. “Akraz’s sister.”

“What if I am?” Hwega said belligerently. “What business is it of yours? And who in the Thirteen Hells are you? You’re not even a goblin! What are you? A human?”

“A friend.”

“Non-goblins don’t make friends with goblins. Even goblins don’t make friends with goblins. Tell me the truth or I’ll bash your brain in. Don’t think I can’t!”

A cough, low and male, interrupted them. Almost too weak to hear, a wheeze followed, whispering, “Hwega.”

“Akraz!” Laya rushed to his side. “You are awake!”

“Akraz? Is it really you?” Hwega also came to his side and searched his face. What she saw in the monstrous abomination there must have reassured her. “It is you. Who is this woman? Why is she helping you?”

“She is my slave,” said Akraz hoarsely. “Do whatever she asks as if the order came from me.”

“If you say so, Akraz,” Hwega said dubiously. “But—”

But Akraz had passed out again.

Hwega frowned. “If Grob comes home and finds Akraz here, weak like this, he’ll kill him.”