Smoke in the Hills – Part Five

This is part five  of an ongoing series. The other parts can be found here: part one, part two, part three, part four.

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Comillas paced counter-clockwise around Lofric and the horses, his face averted from all that lay within the circle as he muttered the incantation. With each step, the arcane key in his mind unlocked another strand of power that wove itself into those already writhing above their heads. When the circuit was complete, he stepped inside the circle. The fragile webbing of the spell, unseen but potent, drifted down and settled on them all.

“Is it done?” Lofric asked.

“Yes. Don’t distract me.”

The fighter grunted. It was not that he lacked confidence in Comillas, or magic in general. It was just that this particular spell, designed to cloak them from enemy senses, had absolutely no effect on those inside it. They could see each other just fine, lit silver and blue by the light of the full moon. Worse, it required enough concentration that Comillas could not direct his own horse–Lofric would have to lead it. That meant the spell was fragile enough to break at any moment, and he might not realize it.

Comillas understood all this, and shared Lofric’s unease, but that didn’t change the fact that it was the best solution he had. Once mounted, he pushed those thoughts from the corners of his mind and focused entirely on maintaining the spell.

The two of them rode over the crest of the hillock and descended onto the flat, dusty field surrounding the towering mesa. Somewhere in the shadows of the fallen rocks that littered its base, something was waiting. They did not know what. Something enormous. The dog-mounted goblins had fled from it into a crack that split that mesa’s face, taking their captive with them. It had been too big to follow. He did not think it had given up. It was, surely, keeping a hungry watch nearby.

Comillas felt the spell tense, as if about to snap. He cleared his mind again. If only that night-eye brew they drank earlier had lasted a bit longer. If only he could see– No. There was this spell and only this spell.

They made it the rest of the way to the crack without distraction. Comillas’s nerves had grown worse and worse, but he ignored them. Once inside that gap, though, surrounded by the high stone walls, he allowed himself a quick glance over his shoulder.

It was not in the shadows. It stood in the moonlight, shaped like a massive lion with a bristling tail, its gleaming eye turned up to the moon as it scented the warm night wind. But it was not the size of the thing that unsettled Comillas, that caused the mage to finally lose his grip on the spell and send it shattering into a thousand motes of arcane dust. It was the face. That monstrous thing had the smooth, pallid face of a human being.

*     *     *

Ada crouched by the fire, not daring to look up at the goblins now that night had fallen. She had sympathized with them earlier, or begun to, as she raced with them across hill and plain. She had seen something noble in them, something thrilling. Now, though…

Black shapes stirred in the half-light, bulbous heads and crooked limbs. Their harsh voices seemed to croak, even in a whisper. From time to time the firelight caught their eyes, and circles the size of saucers flashed in the dark. Now, she shuddered, now they seemed monstrous.

But another part of her protested–that was not fair. They had treated her well, especially Dzowi, their chief. He sat beside her now, close to the fire and not at all half-lit. She could see his rough, masculine features set in grim determination. This grotto, embedded deep in the mesa, was a death trap. He had known that coming in, but every moment he spent leading this chase out into the wilderness, every delay that kept his pursuers busy, was another moment his brother had to get back to the tribe with the precious medicine they had stolen from Ada’s parents.

No, Ada would not let the darkness change what she thought of these people. There was nobility there, even if, in the shadows, they looked like monsters.

Rocks clattered as Batla, the old veteran of the party, returned from his lookout post. It had startled her how easily he had scrambled up the wall, like a four-legged spider, when Dzowi had assigned him the duty. He was no less nimble now, nor less uncanny.

Batla rattled off his report in the twangy goblin tongue, and Dzowi got to his feet. He drew a crooked sort of club from his belt. The others drew similar weapons, or set stones to sling. The dogs, barely perceptible in the shadows until now, stood at alert.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“Two come,” Dzowi said.

Just two? If that was all, the goblins might survive the encounter–but then what? Two men dead, men sent to rescue her, and the rest of them would still have to either sit here and starve or risk going back out there, with that thing.

“Dzowi, wait.”

He stopped issuing orders and looked at her. There was no surprise there at boldness, only courtesy. He was actually listening.

“Dzowi, how did they get past that monster?”

A quiet moment passed, then his eyes grew wide. “Make spell?”

“Yes, ‘make spell.’ What if… what if we worked with these men, instead of killing them? They could use the spell to get us out.”

‘Us?’ What did she mean by ‘us?’

Dzowi shook his head. “They come kill us, Jilaru.”

“Not if you talk to them. Not if you give them a chance.”

There was a long moment where she could see the doubt in his eyes warring with something else. Then the war ended.

Dzowi barked orders that sent goblins scattering into the shadows, most joined by their loyal riding dogs. Those Ada could still pick out in the darkness had eyes turned towards the fissure by which they had come to the grotto, the fissure by which the two men were coming to them. It would be an ambush.

But the chieftain still stood before the fire. He ran his hand along the smooth side of his crooked club, then looked up at Ada.

“Please, Dzowi. Give them a chance.”

*     *     *

Comillas cursed himself again. They might have gone the whole way cloaked, might have taken the girl from under the goblins’ crooked noses. Not now. He had lost them that advantage. Now it was brute force.

He brought to mind the key for an attack spell, one which could hit three or four targets at once. Chain lightning would hit far more, it was deadly in crowds. But that would kill the girl right along with the goblins. Besides, the arcane residue of the cloaking spell was still drifting about his mind. It would pollute a working as complex and powerful as chain lightning, which could lead to a brutal misfire.

Lofric crept silently ahead of him, crouched behind his shield as they advanced down the narrow passage. They had left the horses behind them. Their mounts would have fit, barely, but they were going into a fight now, and horses in a space that tight would be a liability. So they walked, two men in the dark against a dozen goblins.

Comillas drew his dagger. They would fight this one to the hilt.

Ahead, the passage twisted and firelight flickered on the wall. Lofric stopped, his eyes forward and waited for Comillas’s silent signal. He tapped the big man’s back one, two, three times. On three, they rushed around the corner and into the chamber.

The grotto rang with Lofric’s war cry. Comillas stepped around him. Two, three, five shapes, dogs and goblins. One by the fire, a clear shot. His mind poured energy into the mystic key and the spell sprang to life. Four missiles coalesced.

The one by the fire had his hands in the air.

Comillas swept his own outstretched hand up and away from the goblin, trying at the last moment to sling his bolts of invisible force up at the ceiling and the dark sliver of open sky. Four loud cracks, and dust filled the grotto. A girl screamed.

 

The story concludes in part six.