Douglas Niles: Lord of the Rose

“Yeah, Cornellus. Now that you mention it, we need to see him,” the warrior said softly.

She blinked and cocked her head as if she hadn’t heard right. Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned over the bar. “Be careful what you ask for. You just might see up him up close and personal.”

“That’s our idea exactly. Can you tell him that we’re here?”

“Who’s here?” she demanded, shaking her head skeptically.

“Dram Feldspar,” said the dwarf, standing and reaching across the bar to shake her hand. “Originally from Kayolin. Tell Cornellus that we’ve brought a bounty he’ll be interested in. He’ll want to see us right quick.”

“It’s your own funeral,” the old woman muttered. “That’ll be two steel,” she said. “I think you better settle up now.”

“Two steel for three drinks?” sputtered the dwarf.

“One steel for the drinks,” she replied, glaring at him. “Another for making me go back there and face Cornellus.”

T he hag had been gone for about five minutes, her absence arousing an increasingly restive thirst along the length of the bar, when a door slammed somewhere in the back of the room. A sudden hush fell over the chamber as a hulking bozak draconian emerged from the shadows, swaggering and sneering. He held his muscular wings half-spread as he advanced, an arrogant gesture that forced customers to back out of his way or get whipped by one of the stiff, leathery pinions.

This draconian was even bigger than the gatekeeper. A least a dozen heavy chains draped his neck, jangling as he walked. A belt of the yellow metal encircled his lean waist, and golden cuffs gleamed from his ankles and wrists. He halted before the dwarf and the warrior, looming over them. Massive, taloned fists rested on his hips, and his forked tongue flickered out insolently, almost brushing the man’s nose. The warrior didn’t flinch, though his eyes narrowed slightly.

“You got the bounty? You show me the bounty,” growled the bozak.

The human glanced sideways at his companion, and the dwarf raised his right hand to show a strand of cord that pierced a number of leathery flaps, like some crude, gigantic necklace.

“A score of goblin ears!” declared Dram Feldspar, tossing the grisly strand toward the draconian-who made a flailing swipe to try and catch it but had to bend over, muttering, to pick it up off the sawdust-covered floor. A growl rumbled within that massive chest, as he squinted at the first ear.

“Huh, real goblin.” He nodded in apparent satisfaction, and starting sliding the dried ears past his fingers on the leathery strand. “Four… eight, ten… twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen. Yep, two more makes a score.”

He looked at the pair with somewhat more interest, filmy lids half-closing over the vertical slit pupils of his snake’s eyes. “Come this way. Cornellus will see you. If he likes you, you might even come back out alive.” The draconian threw back his head and roared with laughter that was echoed by appreciative chuckles from the dozen or so other draconians in the rooms.

The hobgoblins, close relatives of the goblin race, were not laughing. Instead, they glared murderously at the bounty hunters. One burly chieftain put his hand around the hilt of his knife, but-at a sharp glance from the bozak-made no move to draw the weapon.

Still chuckling, the gold-bedecked messenger raised a paw, the sharp talon of his forefinger extended like a stiletto toward the door at the back of the inn. The bozak stood back to let the visitors pass in front of him. The man led the way while Dram Feldspar stepped right behind, with a glance at the draconian who followed at a respectful distance.

Two baaz draconians armed with short swords flanked the sturdy, iron-strapped door. At a nod from the bozak, one of them pulled it open and the other drew his weapon, warily studying the dwarf and the human. The two sauntered inside.

Cornellus the Large was seated upon a stout wooden throne, a chair that would have held two normal sized men with room to spare. The bandit lord not only covered the seat, his body seemed to bulge outward over either arm of the massive platform. His half-ogre lineage was clear in the small, round eyes that glared from the folds in his fleshy face and in the twin tusks that jutted upward from his lower jaw. Those tusks were gold plated, an ostentatious display of the bandit lord’s wealth.

Beams hewn from solid pine trunks supported a ceiling dozens of feet overhead. That space was cloaked in shadow, for no windows broke the solid stone walls of the chamber. A massive blaze roared in a cavernous fireplace, shedding light if not much heat. The flaring illumination revealed several other doors leading deeper into the mountain.

A plump human woman stood behind Cornellus, holding a fan. She gaped stupidly at the man and the dwarf as they approached until the bandit lord reached back and cuffed her. Quickly she began waving the huge feathered device.

Not that it was hot in here; it was frigid as a root cellar, half-buried in the bedrock of the mountain. The fire was so far from the throne that it had no effect on the chilly temperature. Still, Cornellus was sweating like a slave laboring in the hot sun. By the time the visitors reached him, another female slave had stepped forward with a towel. Gingerly she mopped the perspiration from his forehead, cheeks, and jowls.

“So, you claim to be brave goblin-slayers? Is this true?” His voice rumbled as though it came from a deep well, gurgling on the last words.

“As a matter of fact, Your Lordship, that is true,” said Dram, stepping forward. He grinned, bowing with a flourish. “We are only too happy to-”

“I was asking you, warrior.” The bandit lord raised a massive paw, pointed a wrinkled finger the size of a large sausage at the human. “You like to kill goblins?”

“I kill my share.” His voice was quiet, matter of fact. “We work as a team.”

“A score is many goblins. Where did you find them?”

“In the foothills of the Garnet range. South of the city the Solamnics call Solanthus.”

“Ah, yes.” Cornellus allowed himself a rumble of amusement. The sound was like a massive cauldron full of boiling water. “A realm of the knights. But the goblins breed like maggots down there, fill the valleys, spill through my woods. They are a plague upon my humble business.”

It was well known that the bandit lord’s humble business was the import of smuggled elf slaves and other contraband from the lands south of the Newsea. Goblin raids ate into his profits.

“We have heard of the bounty you offer for those enemies of your humble business!” said the dwarf. “That is what brings us here.”

“Ah, the bounty. No one kills goblins just for the sport of it anymore-always, there has to be a reward.” The half-ogre sounded rueful and contemplative. “Snaggart, have you inspected the ears?”

“Aye, Lord Cornellus,” replied the bozak draconian, who had followed the visitors into the room. He still clutched the dried flaps and their leather thong. “Indeed they have a pretty score.”

“Well, ahem, I regret to inform you that the bounty has changed,” said the bandit lord tersely. “I pay only one steel for one ear, now.”

“One steel?” sputtered the dwarf. “For years the bounty has been five!”

Cornellus shrugged, a massive rippling of his flesh. “You are out of touch. I offer one now. Take it, or do not take it. The gobs are no longer such enemies. Maybe soon they collect bounty for human and dwarf ears!” The bandit lord guffawed momentarily at that thought then scowled and added, sniffing, “Either way, you bore me. It is time for you to go. Maybe I tell gobs where to find you.”