Something in him loved a fight. Something in him enjoyed risking it all, his whole life on a single throw of the dice. That part was howling for this moment.
This is the conclusion of a six-part series. Previous episodes can be found in these links: part one, part two, part three, part four, part five.
Ada watched the two strangers. They seemed as wild and dangerous as the goblins, in their own way. At least the goblins were no bigger than her. These men were enormous. She had met humans often enough, but a quiet, polite cowhand was not the same as a wild northern giant jumping out the dark, shield raised and sword flashing.
The northman, Lofric, leaned against the stone wall of the grotto. He was within easy reach of the other man, and of Ada. His eyes were unfocused, settled on the middle distance, but she had a feeling he was taking in everything. Temporary alliance or not, this man did not trust the goblins.
The other one, shorter and darker, was named Comillas. He was some kind of wizard. She had seen him blast part of the ceiling to bits earlier. It shook the whole grotto. Now he was very still and quiet, studying those strange circle-drawings in his spellbook. That was part of the plan, she knew. He had to prepare certain spells.
“Jilaru.” It was Dzowi, the goblin chieftain. The goblins gave her that name, one from their own language. She thought they meant it kindly. No, not kindly, exactly… respectfully.
“Yes?”
“We go soon. You go home. You live. You tell Jilaru tribe, war come.”
“Why, Dzowi? Why make war on our people? Why leave your home and come here? Is it the sickness?”
“No. Not us. Tell tribe, war come. Dzowi tribe, no home. Soon Jilaru tribe, no home. Tell tribe, war come.”
“Ada.” It was the bigger one calling, the northman. “It’s time.”
Dzowi stared hard at her for a moment longer, then turned and whistled. A long-legged riding dog loped over and he mounted. His tribesman followed suit. The chieftain turned to the two men.
“Dzowi first, Cobba first. Make spell, he go. Big man go, take Jilaru. Good?”
The northman grunted.
* * *
The appaloosa pawed the earth restlessly. It must be picking up on the party’s tension. Or maybe just Comillas’s. He stroked its neck and whispered to it, trying to comfort it.
There was no good way to do what they were going to do. The first ones out would catch the creature’s attention. The plan depended on Comillas getting a spell off, so he couldn’t be first, which meant the spell would do no good for the ones in front of him. If he’d been a religious man, he would have prayed. He wasn’t sure the spell would do any good for the people behind him, either. But if it was made for anything, it was made for this.
At the front of the line, the dogs eased forward. The goblins leaned low in the saddle, crooked clubs in hand. They were probably useless against something the size of that thing, but again, it was all they had.
Behind him, the halfling was sharing Lofric’s saddle, his shield covering her whole body on one side. Good luck to her, he thought. Good luck to them all.
Beneath the nerves, though, Comillas felt something else. Excitement. Excitement at testing his new spell, that was part of it, an insane part. But the other part was even wilder. That was excitement for battle. Something in him loved a fight. Something in him enjoyed risking it all, his whole life on a single throw of the dice. That part was howling for this moment.
Up front, the chieftain raised his club. Comillas’s grip tightened on the reins. The club went down.
Dzowi shot out from the fissure, racing across the stony field at the mesa’s foot. An enormous form leapt at him from behind a boulder. Comillas was out, the other goblin racing to his chieftain’s aid. The mage poured energy into the arcane key in his mind and the spell roared to life. The beast, a lion bigger than a bull, a lion with the face of a man, raced towards the goblin chief, hideously human mouth wide, baring a thousand dripping, glistening needle-teeth. The spell went home.
Comillas watched. That insane part of him was roaring with delight. The monster’s mouth snapped shut, and did not open. The spell had worked.
The shut mouth did nothing to stop the tons of flesh hurtling at the tiny goblin warrior. He went down under the massive creature, whose momentum carried it forward, rolling. Dog and goblin lay apart, fallen in the dust behind it, unmoving.
The second goblin rider, a big one, reached down as he passed and grabbed his chief by a limp arm, dragging him across the saddle as he raced away.
The creature was confused, furious, tossing its head back and forth and trying to open its mouth.
The rest of the goblins seemed to fly from the mesa, up a nearby rise and out onto the plain. They were going east. Back to their tribe. Comillas lead Lofric and the little halfling girl at a gallop, due south.
* * *
Ada was silent on the wild gallop away from the mesa. She was silent when they slowed to an even pace. She was still silent while the wizard tried to make polite conversation.
She should be happy. She knew that. She was going home. These men had rescued her. She had been a captive, and they had rescued her.
Dzowi had been limp when Cobba picked him up. She didn’t see blood, but you could be dead without bleeding. Dzowi’s dog had not moved. If the collision with that thing had killed the dog, could its master have fared any better?
“Do you know why they’re this far east?” That other, rumbling voice came from behind her, from the northman whose saddle she shared.
“No,” she said. She did not know. She did not know many things. “I think maybe something drove them out. I think they were desperate.”