T Lain: The Sundered Arms

“Goblins?” said Tordek.

Vadania made an affirmative hum. “Not the same ones, surely. Their lives are so brief, and it has been so long.”

“Perhaps,” said Tordek. His fingers moved as of their own will to the thong around his neck. They spoke no more throughout the long, quiet hours of the night.

Four days later they skirted the northern shores of Adder Lake and turned south to find a naked road, muddy from the steady summer drizzle that had followed them since the previous night. Except for the ruts carved by the occasional passage of wagons over the course of decades, it was barely more than a path marked with crude milestones. After counting six of them, they came to a forking path where Devis found a fallen post with three pairs of nails. On the ground nearby he found a pointed sign whose faded paint read “New Koratia, 80 Leagues.” Lidda pulled a second sign from the muck. “Croaker Norge,” it read. “6 Leagues.”

“Which way?” asked Tordek.

Vadania pointed west. “Toward the fens.”

“Joy,” grumbled Devis, “and me without netting for my tent.”

“Without a tent, even,” said Lidda. “Don’t be such a dandy.”

“Besides,” said Vadania, “the mosquitoes will not pester us while it rains.”

Less than an hour later, the rain stopped.

As the day wore down, the ground to either side of the road grew increasingly damp. Even Gulo remained on the road, where before he had been happy to stray just out of sight of his two-legged companions. Where they had seen occasional streams, now they passed more and more still ponds, many darkened by black, buzzing clouds.

“Why does anyone live here?” complained Devis, slapping his bare arm and grimacing at the three bloody stains where the tiny bloodsuckers had been perched.

“Mud,” said Vadania.

“What?”

“Clay, actually. For years the swamp folk sold the finest clay to potters in New Koratia.”

“What happened?” asked Lidda.

“I know little of such things. Prices dropped, fashions changed, the gods frowned.” The druid shrugged. “What I do know is that those who remained can barely eke out a living.”

“Why do they stay?” asked Lidda.

“Because it’s home,” suggested Tordek.

“That’s no good reason,” replied the halfling. Behind her, Devis nodded agreement. Vadania looked to Tordek for support, and a look of old veterans among striplings passed between them.

They camped near the road that night, for they could find precious few dry spots in the marshy terrain. With nightfall, a choir of frogs kept up an incessant serenade. The sound seemed to soothe Lidda, who had been complaining of spider dreams since they emerged from the Gossamer Wood, but the constant noise put Tordek on edge. He became downright irritable when Vadania took her reverie on first watch, leaning back into Gulo’s vast flank as she closed her eyes, leaving Tordek with only the bard for company.

For hours, Devis pestered him for more details on the fall of Andaron’s Delve, but Tordek was in no mood to humor the half-elf. Unlike most of human blood, Devis did not seem to understand that Tordek wished to sit in silence. Despite the dwarf’s refusal to answer his inquiries with anything other than a short grunt, Devis continued to press him for the details of Holten’s ill-fated quest for Andaron’s warhammer.

“What a song it would make!” urged Devis. “The honor-bound dwarf avenges his brother’s death.”

Tordek grunted. To any dwarf the sound plainly said, Be quiet, you nattering fool.

The ground pattered with rain once more, a cool shower that did little to improve Tordek’s mood. At least, he hoped, it would quiet Devis. The hope was fleeting.

“Just tell me what kind of demon—”

“Hush,” said Tordek, holding up a hand and pretending to listen to the night sounds of the swamp.

Devis obeyed, cocking his head as he listened for some sound amid the constant croaking. After a long minute, he whispered, “I don’t hear anything.”

“You had better have a look around. With the moon so thin, I can’t see a thing out here.”

“Think there’s something out there?”

“No idea,” said Tordek, honestly enough. “You can never be too careful. You had better make several circuits before returning.”

“Good plan,” said Devis. He rose silently and crept away to stalk the perimeter, peering in all directions with his keen, half-elven eyes.

Tordek allowed himself a faint smile as he settled back against the bole of a black oak. By the time Devis was finished scouting the campsite, it would be time to wake Lidda, and he could have some peace at last.

Less than an hour after breaking their fast and resuming their trek, they spied the first columns of black smoke upon the leaden sky. Soon after, the acrid smell of burned wood overcame even the earthy stink of the marshland. These twin harbingers steeled them for the sight they encountered as they reached the remains of Croaker Norge.

The rain of the previous night had smothered most of the fires but only four houses remained standing, and two of those had lost most of their thatched roofs. The rest were a black cemetery of cinders and withered beams where a community of more than twenty homes had been. Soot mingled with the road mud to form a dark morass between the ruins. Nothing stirred among the wet ashes until a whimpering yellow dog came padding down the street with a severed hand in its jaws.

“Here, boy,” called Lidda, scrunching her nose at the dog’s gruesome prize. The dog whined and shied away.

Vadania pointed with her chin to send Gulo back, out of scent range, then she walked away from the others and squatted low to the ground, reaching out with one hand to beckon the dog. When the skittish animal still would not come to her, she chanted a spell.

Tentatively at first, then more confidently, the creature approached her. When it came near, it dropped the grisly parcel at her feet. Vadania stroked the dog’s head, scratched under its chin, and picked up the severed hand.

She showed it to Tordek.

“Definitely goblin,” he said. The ruddy hand was smaller than a dwarf’s and larger than a halfling’s, with ragged, dirty nails and warty knuckles.

“At least somebody here got a lick in before the end,” observed Devis.

“So where are all the bodies?” asked Lidda.

“Good question,” said Tordek. “Let’s have a look around.”

Vadania and Devis ranged outside the village while Tordek and Lidda searched among and between the remains of the buildings. At first they found a few incinerated corpses scattered in and around the ruined buildings. Soon after, they discovered the mound of the main pyre still smoldering between the blackened foundations of razed cottages. They counted another sixteen bodies, big and small, bringing the total to just over twenty dead. From some of the corpses jutted sharp, slightly curved spikes, like short javelins. Others had crushed skulls or severed limbs. Judging from the number of burned homes, Tordek reckoned the total number of dead accounted for no more than half the village population.

The furnishings inside the surviving buildings were smashed and overturned. A few hastily inscribed glyphs were smeared on the walls: obscenities and threats.

“Goblin work,” snorted Tordek.

“Yeah,” agreed Lidda. Even in the few months the two had spent together, they had seen much of the same carnage in other villages, where the people had hired them too late to save them from the raiders.

In one of the two least-damaged buildings, Lidda spotted a trail of sooty footprints leading into the kitchen and back out again. She pointed them out to Tordek.