Jean Rabe - Redemption

The two days on the fishing boat had done wonders for his health. The serious wound caused by Fiona had nearly completely healed. The pain from the scales had abated somewhat, and his fever had broken early this afternoon. He felt alive and alert, and he found himself almost anticipating a fight to test his recovered strength—though goblins would not present much of a challenge.

“No, they shouldn’t be a problem,” Ragh agreed, “depending on just how many of them are out there.”

“Doesn’t matter how many, I said.” Dhamon saw one of them clearly now, crouching among the leafless branches of a stunted shadberry bush. It was about three dozen yards away, and the fading light served to make it look especially grotesque. It was a small creature, not quite three feet tall, with a mottled red-brown hide dotted with warts. Its visage was flat, as if it had run into a stone wall, and its nose was far too broad for the rest of its face, its ears lopsided and irregularly pointed. Looking closely, Dhamon saw that its forehead sloped back a little, giving way to a coarse smattering of black-brown hair tufts on the top and sides of its head. Its large eyes for night-seeing were wide and fixed on Dhamon’s.

“A damn nuisance, goblins,” Dhamon hissed. “Worse than rats.” He took a step in the direction of the shadberry and watched as three more scurried out from the pines and jumped in the clump of bushes.

They were all carrying crude-looking short spears in their twisted hands. Their spindly arms hung down almost to their knees. They were foul, ugly creatures.

The goblins were chattering behind the bushes, and the words, sounding like snorts and grunts, reminded Dhamon of a pack of dogs arguing over a bone.

“What are they saying?” he asked Ragh.

“They’re talking about us,” the draconian returned. “Mostly about Maldred. They’re worried about him. They know by his color he’s an ogre-mage and can cast spells. They’re frightened of magic.” After a few moments: “They’re puzzled by you, however. They think you’re some sort of spawn or draconian, but they want to get a better look at you. And… they’re wondering how many steel pieces Fiona might fetch.”

“Let them worry and wonder. Then let them die.” Dhamon strode purposefully toward the clump of bushes. He tossed his hood back so the goblins could see his scaly face. “I’m wondering just how long it will take me to finish them off.” A glance over his shoulder. “Ragh, watch Fiona and Maldred.”

“There are a dozen,” Ragh said, just as that many creatures came out of hiding, waving their spears and shouting. “There are a dozen of them that I can see.”

The goblins spilled out from the bushes, though they didn’t advance more than a few yards. They stank. A gust of wind drove the stench into his nostrils, and Dhamon had to work to keep from gagging.

They raised their dissonant voices to a shrill and annoying chorus. Dhamon loped toward them now, expecting them to run, half hoping some would stay and fight. To his surprise, the goblins all held their ground, shaking their spears at the air, the smallest one hopping and whooping.

“Suit yourself,” he said, as he raised the glaive and swung. “Let’s see how many of you I can kill with one pass.” The blade fairly whistled as it swept forward, and only then did the goblins in its path leap back. Dhamon pulled the weapon around for another swipe, then stopped himself before he managed to cut any down. “Damn it all.”

None of them were truly threatening him, he realized. None had darted in, not a one had lobbed a spear. They just hobbled around and hooted annoyingly.

Dhamon let out an exasperated sigh. Maldred’s good-heartedness—the Maldred who once had been his friend and who, back then, seemed to revere all life—had perhaps finally rubbed off on him.

“Fight me!” he cursed. Dhamon couldn’t bring himself to attack the foul little things unless they made a hostile move. They held their place, whooping louder.

“Wonderful,” Dhamon grumbled. “Are you going to fight or just shout and dance?”

There came more noise, grunts and clicking sounds. The goblins continued to chatter as they formed a semicircle around him, their grunts and growls sounding almost rhythmic now, like a chant. The tallest of the lot, a bent old fellow with a dirty yellow hide and more than a dozen steel rings threaded through his lips, cheeks, and nose, was waving wildly toward the pines. Another was pointing behind Dhamon, to where Ragh and Fiona and Maldred waited.

From behind the pines came forty more goblins, all with spears, and half of them wearing pieces of leather they’d cobbled together into breastplates. One flaunted a helmet, human-sized, that had been hammered in places to keep it from falling down over the goblin’s head. Two carried wooden shields garishly painted with the images of open-mouthed goblins. They were animated and snarling, though not one waved a spear menacingly in Dhamon’s direction.

“Ragh!”

“Coming,” the draconian said. He pointed the long sword at Fiona, then Maldred. “Both of you, move. Stay in front of me so I can watch you.”

“What are they saying now?” Dhamon asked as Ragh and the others approached.

This time it was Maldred who answered. “Essentially they’re welcoming you to Throt, save that they call it Goblin Home. They are honored by your presence. They apparently have decided that you and the wingless sivak are among Takhisis’ greatest creations. They believe they are blessed by your presence.

The chief argues that Ragh is the greater blessing, however, as you still have some flesh on you and might be part human.”

“And you, ogre?”

“They believe I’m your slave, and Fiona is your property”

“Ragh?”

The draconian snorted. “Maldred’s translating well enough.”

“They talk a lot. Are they saying anything else worth knowing?”

Maldred paused, shifting his glance between the goblins and Dhamon while deciding how to answer.

“They’re asking how they can serve you—the ‘perfect children’ of their revered god.”

The sky continued to darken along with Dhamon’s mood, and he felt the ground tremble again beneath his feet—perhaps the precursor to an earthquake. “Perfect child of Takhisis. Ha. So everyone thinks I’m a monster,” he said softly. And maybe everyone’s right.

The goblin prattling stopped when Dhamon raised the glaive high, and as one the odd little creatures stood at some semblance of attention, breathing shallowly, eyes flitting between Dhamon and Ragh, faces all nervous. The stillness was broken by a wolf howling, and moments later by the screech of some night bird overhead. Again the ground trembled slightly, longer this time, before subsiding.

Ragh moved up alongside Dhamon, speaking in barely a whisper. “Use them, Dhamon. Put them on our side. Then we don’t have to worry about them.”

“Worry? I’m only worried about one thing.”

“Yes, I know. Finding the shadow dragon,” Ragh finished.

“All right. Let’s see if they can help,” Dhamon said. “Let’s see if they can guide us to Haltigoth, that is, the village near Haltigoth where Riki and my child are.” They’ll be a welcome nuisance if they do that, he thought. They can help against the hobgoblins outside the village if need be. “We’ll start now. The clouds are breaking and with the moon out it will be clear enough for travel.”

Ragh was quick to relay Dhamon’s commands to the ogres. When the draconian finished, several of the goblins grinned wide and bobbed their misshapen heads.

“They’re quite happy to help us,” Ragh told Dhamon, “though they say there are several human villages near Haltigoth. How will they know which is the right one? They fear they will displease you if they guess incorrectly”