Alan Foster - Kingdoms of Light

It was the opinion of the soldiers guarding the castle among whom the aireq landed that they should skin the unexpected arrival for its fine feathers, which could be sold in what remained of the city market, and then add the plucked body to the communal stewpot. Fortunately for them (not to mention the understandably agitated aireq) an officer of the Horde with some knowledge of such things and a good deal more insight into matters of advanced communication interrupted the incipient plucking and rescued the bird. Upon hearing its tale, the officer promptly conveyed it to the fortress keep where the general staff of the Totumakk and the horrid Khaxan had established their headquarters.

Kelkefth relieved the aireq of its communiquй, considered eating it herself (raw), and was stopped by her sister Knublib. "What kind of information would we glean if word were to spread that we devour the messengers?"

"Pagh!" Wiping green snot from the end of her exceedingly bulbous, tumorous nose, the other Mundurucu spat at her sister. "It be only a bird."

"Messenger still." Seeking to settle the argument, Knublib added, "Let Kobkale decide."

When presented with the message and its attendant controversy, that distinctively overbearing but perceptive goblin quickly validated Knublib's perspicacity. Left unconsumed, the greatly relieved aireq was sent on its way in possession of a suitable pouch of gold coin to reward its tattler of a master. In its absence Kobkale, Kieraklav, and the Hairy Kwodd debated the significance of the missive that had been delivered to them.

"So fighting travelers who spoke of that miserable dead amateur, Susnam Evyndd, stank of cat and dog." Kieraklav's nose itched, and she rubbed her flat face with a palm big enough to easily cover the entire grotesque countenance. "So what?"

"Not just of Evyndd." Hairy Kwodd always sounded as if he was speaking from the bottom of a well because he was entirely covered from pointed head to protuberant toe with a cascade of dirty white hair. No one, not even his fellow Mundurucu, knew what he really looked like. This caused no problems because no one was sure they really wanted to know. "According to the message, these strangers referred to him as 'Master' Evyndd. That suggests a connection that is deep and personal rather than casual."

"I agree." Kobkale was sucking the marrow out of a human bone of indeterminate age. "Not that any such as are described in the report appear to present much of a danger."

Kieraklav shrugged blunt shoulders, and unpleasant things shifted beneath her leathery blouse. "Tell Drauchec. Have him send a detachment to find these apostates and remove their faces."

"Rush to judgment, be it now?" Kobkale struck her a capricious blow that sent her spinning. Landing on her feet, she straightened her jumbled attire and voiced no umbrage at the reprimand. Among the Mundurucu, kicks and punches were often used in place of more formal grammar to punctuate argument. "I think not," Kobkale went on. "There may be more here than meets the eye."

"What say you, brother?" gurgled Hairy Kwodd.

Kobkale gnawed on a fingernail that was blunt, sharp, and filthy. It required daily refilthening to keep it that way. "I say that while Susnam Evyndd might have been an amateur, he was a talented one. The Mundurucu differ from other goblinish necromantics because we have acquired wisdom as well as talent. There may be nothing to this tale—or there may be something to learn. Learn first, kill later, says I."

Kieraklav grudgingly grunted assent. "I prefer to kill right away, but it is not worth arguing about."

"Whether it is worth anything remains to be seen. That is my point." Kobkale squinted at a high, narrow window. Outside the castle keep, all was gray, dank, and wretched. Just as things ought to be, he reflected contentedly. Only an occasional scream wafted weakly up from the occupied city below. Not even the stubborn resistance of the company of humans holding out in the distant fortress called Malostranka could spoil his humor.

"I would not put a postmortem transforming spell beyond the capabilities of the extirpated amateur Evyndd. Is it known if he kept any familiars?"

Kieraklav exchanged a glance with Hairy Kwodd—or feigned one, since his eyes were hidden behind his hellacious hirsuteness. "If he did, he brought none of them with him to the battle."

"The travelers described in the traitor's missive could not be very effectual familiars." Hairy Kwodd shuffled barely visible oversize feet. "They have done nothing to avenge the dead amateur."

"And yet." Kobkale had not achieved the standing he held among the Clan by rushing to judgment, or by taking opponents—any opponent—for granted. "It is true this may amount to nothing. The informer may have heard wrong, or smelled wrong. But it is better to ensure that there be no threat to us in this."

"Should I tell Drauchec?" Kieraklav quite fancied the Horde general, his expression of revulsion when she touched him notwithstanding.

"No." Kobkale's deviant mind was hard at work. "If there are animals involved, they may well be able to avoid or to fool the simple minions of the Horde. Our bloodthirsty brethren are most righteous killers, but they are not particularly perceptive. Kind to kind, like to like. Set similar to catch same, says I."

Kieraklav frowned, which made her appearance even more distasteful to look upon than usual. "You wish me to find among the Horde cats and dogs suitable for transmuting?"

"No, not cats and dogs. Besides, I have seen cats and dogs among our retinue within the Horde, and they are kept for food, not as pets. Search among them for attendant animals, yes, but not cats and dogs. I will describe to you the type that I would like to have for this spell."

So Kieraklav and several other of the Mundurucu went among the fighters of the Totumakk, careful in their questioning not to interrupt the looting and torturing and rapine. This was not difficult, since by now there was very little left to loot, and few left to rape. The Horde was compelled to resort to casual torture for amusement, an undertaking at which they were adept if not imaginative. They were always grateful to receive suggestions and pointers for improving their skills from the far more inventive Mundurucu.

When at last Kieraklav and Hairy Kwodd reported back to Kobkale, it was with suitable subjects in tow.

"We could only find three who fit anything of your description," she complained.

Kobkale promptly smacked her halfway across the room.

Picking herself up immediately, she dusted off the new, fungus-infected dress she was wearing and rejoined him. Kobkale did not deal Hairy Kwodd a similar blow because no one had ever seen that shaggy individual knocked off his feet. Also, Kobkale sensed instinctively that it would not be a good idea. Like the rest of his brethren, he did not want to see what really lay beneath that enigmatic, tangled, ambulatory thicket.

Instead, he proceeded to examine the confused but combative trio of creatures his kinfolk had procured. "They'll do," he announced finally. Lifting both arms, which in the case of even stout goblins is not very high, he raised his voice. That was not very high either, but his words still resounded off the walls of the keep. Below, shackled humans heard, and shuddered at the import of the fresh evil they could feel sifting through the fortress.

Lowering his hands at last, Kobkale joined fingers with Kieraklav and took hold of a fistful of Hairy Kwodd's cascading whiskers. Both of them joined him in the concluding chant. Stuttering green-gray light suffused the room and focused on the three restrained creatures in their midst. There was a sound as of paper ripping, a distant, forlorn yowl, and then silence.

Where the three confiscated pets had clustered defiantly together there now stood three naked human figures. The taller male and one female were slim, muscular, and possessed of devastating smiles that reflected not an inner good nature but preternaturally long canines, a legacy from their former state as vampiric night fliers.