T. Kingfisher - Nine Goblins

“It isn’t me,” said the wizard. Not a question this time.

“It’s bad magic,” said Sings.

“It is?” He met the elf’s eyes with an expression of naked entreaty. It reminded Sings, for a moment, of a troll, all good nature and confusion.

Then Sings had it, and his heart broke a little for the human, because he realized that what the man was asking.

He knows he’s supposed to react somehow when I tell him these things, and he doesn’t know the right thing to say. Poor baffled soul. Worst case of magic I’ve seen in a while, and if Nessilka’s right and he’s able to kill people with that blue stuff as well as “make holes”, then nobody’s getting too close to him to teach him what’s normal.

“It’s killing people,” said Sings. “It’s bad. We don’t like it.”

The wizard nodded once, firmly, as if committing this to memory. “Sorry,” he said after a moment. “I get confused.”

“That’s okay,” said Sings. “If I tell you about the magic, can you tell me if you know anything about it?”

“Yes, sir.” He lowered his head slightly and pulled the goblin cloak tight around his shoulders. Sings-to-Trees had the feeling that no one had ever listened to him so intently in his entire life. The forest itself seemed to quiet down, out of respect for the intensity of the wizard’s concentration.

“It’s some kind of sound. It’s as if you can almost hear a conversation, but you can’t make out the words. It makes you try to get closer, no matter who’s in the way. People run toward it from miles away. In fact—”

He stopped there, because John had sat bolt upright. Some of the vagueness vanished from his face, replaced with dawning horror.

“It’s Lisabet,” he said, and it was clear he knew exactly what he felt about that. “That’s her power. She makes the voice.”

“Lisabet?” Now Sings-to-Trees was the one who didn’t know how to feel about something. “Who’s that?”

“My sister,” said John. “We have to find her, sir.” He didn’t look vague at all now, just very worried and very determined. “It’s very important that we find her at once. Before something terrible happens.”

Their bonds had been loosened and they had been given water. When the goblins were retied, the elves let them keep their hands in front. Nessilka debated requesting the teddy-bear again, then decided not to push her luck.

“Do you think he believes us?” asked Murray.

“No.”

“He has to know we couldn’t have killed all those people. And they’ve been dead for days.”

“He doesn’t have any way to know how long we’ve been here.” Nessilka sighed. “Think it through, Murray…”

He did. She saw his face fall. He scowled. Nessilka nodded.

“He’s caught us. There could be dozens of goblins in the woods, and he just doesn’t know it yet. We could have been transported here weeks ago. We could have been killing people all that time. We could have our own wizard with us.” She considered this. “I’d be surprised if they hadn’t heard that voice thing as they were approaching. That girl had a heckuva range.”

Murray considered this. “I think she might have been focusing it on us. When we were hearing it before, it didn’t give me that horrible headache, and we could move a lot faster.”

Knowing that your enemy has the ability to focus her powers was somehow not comforting. Nessilka rested her forehead on her knees. “Well, regardless. They don’t know how many of us there are. They may think we’ve got a wizard. Hell, maybe Blanchett here’s a wizard, they don’t know.”

Blanchett focused his eyes with apparent difficulty and said, “No.”

Nessilka forced a smile. “Glad to have to with us again, Blanchett.”

“The bear?” he said.

“Still on a mission.”

“I’ll wait, then.” He lay down on his side and, to all appearances, went to sleep.

Nessilka envied him.

A few minutes slid by, and then Murray said, “Sarge?”

“Mm?”

“It’s worse than that. It may not matter if he believes us or not.”

Nessilka glanced over at the tent. Late afternoon shadows stretched over the grass, but there was no movement. “It doesn’t?”

The other goblin gestured as well as he could with his wrists bound together. “Look, there are people who don’t like the war, right?”

“I’m not terribly fond of it myself, Murray.”

“No, no. I mean civilians.”

“Oh, them.”

“Well…Sings-to-Trees thinks the war is bad. And there’s probably more like him out there. Maybe not so many elves, but what about the humans? They’re doing most of the fighting and they’re probably getting tired of it.”

“The great grim gods know that I am.” Nessilka glanced at their guard. He had not moved an inch in the last two hours. She had to watch for a minute to make sure he was blinking.

“So…” said Murray. “Say you’ve got people getting tired of the war. Then you get a bunch of goblins showing up and wiping out a whole human village. Do you think those people are still going to be tired of it?”

Nessilka scowled. “That’s politics, Murray.”

“Well, yeah. Lotta people die of politics.”

She was suddenly very glad that she hadn’t told the elf captain about the rest of the regiment, or about Sings-to-Trees.

They sat in the sheep pasture while the shadows grew so long that they joined up to each other and became evening.

“Hey, Murray?”

“Yes, Sarge?”

“Maybe they’ll figure out we were right, and they’ll give us medals.”

“Very funny, Sarge.”

Torches were lit outside the tent, and someone started a campfire. When Nessilka looked back to their guard, she saw his pupils dilated as wide as a cat’s in the dark. It was an unsettling look. Goblin eyes didn’t do that.

She engaged in a few moments of recreational xenophobia, which didn’t help at all but did pass the time.

Someone came toward them with a torch. Nessilka was hoping for food, but it was Captain Finchbones again.

He did not crouch down this time, but said without preamble, “The human girl says that you and a wizard killed everyone in the village.”

Nessilka shook her head. “No,” she said.

Finchbones narrowed his eyes. “Where is this wizard?”

“Not us. Girl is wizard.”

What’s the point? They’re not going to believe a couple of goblins. If Murray’s right, it doesn’t even matter if they do or not.

“Ask the old man,” said Murray suddenly.

It took Nessilka a minute to remember what he was talking about—it had been that long a day—and then she sat up. “Yes! Old man! Old man alive, in house. Old man saw us. Gave him water.”

And he may decide we’re responsible. Or he may be dead. But I suppose it’s better than nothing. At least he can testify we didn’t kill him when we had the chance.

Murray nodded. “We told the wizard girl he was alive. She didn’t like that.”

Finchbones shook his head slowly. “It’s very likely you are lying,” he said, “but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why you’d lie about this. It’s easily checked, anyway.”

He turned to the elf with the torch and issued a few short commands in Elvish. The man nodded and hurried away.

This left them in relative darkness. The elven captain’s eyes dilated in the same fashion as the guard’s. Nessilka hadn’t noticed that effect with Sings-to-Trees, but she supposed she hadn’t been paying attention.

What was Sings thinking, now that they hadn’t shown up? Would Algol wait until Thumper had healed, then take the group of them to Goblinhome? They’d practically walk by the elven camp if they did…