Black Dagger first noticed the smell of smoke at the first signs of dawn, with the blue-ish light of the sun peeking in from the east, bleeding amidst the trees.
He marched swiftly, less bothered by the steep inclines of the terrain than he'd expected. He walked with his head high, a head taller than the rest of his goblin retinue, wrapped in a traveling cloak with a hood to obscure his head and face. As much as possible, he preferred to keep his presence here a secret. The mission was a vital one, but that didn't change the fact that relations between the clans of Bloodweald and the rest of the world were more precipitous than ever. It was one thing for a band of goblins to be sighted navigating the Sloughbacks, and another for their leader to be recognized as a member of goblin royal blood. His capture--or death--would mean war between Bloodweald and the West Kingdoms, and Bloodweald was already embroiled in its own mounting conflicts, subtle as some of them might seem for now.
Not that the war itself was Black Dagger's reason for being here, far from it. Some things were even more important than the struggle for power and succession in the land of the goblin hordes. All-important, even.
Fifteen goblins marched behind and beside Black Dagger, forcefully pushing their way through and over the undergrowth. He'd arrived at the Sloughbacks with thirty goblins, his best and most elite trackers and fighters. His right hand man, Blight Horn, had charted a path to the valley north of the Sloughback hills: a valley considered by the mountain-dwelling locals to be the quickest, safest route to the nearest town, Stenibrook.
Then had come the hardest part, or at least the most tiresome: waiting for their quarry to descend from the mountains.
Two weeks, it took. Two. Weeks. And it felt like twelve. Each night had been brisk and windy, and every morning wet, and almost as cold as the night before. The days passed like a herd of tortoises crossing the grassland plains north of the valley. Nothing to do but stay huddled and hidden in rocky alcoves during the day, and the nights were too quiet and dark for a good hunt, even considering the keen night sight that a goblin's eyes afforded--the valley was too open, and the creatures that inhabited it too flighty. In the end, there'd been nothing to do but talk, and all of the good stories had already been spent during the voyage across the Blackwater, as well as the southwest march to the Sloughbacks. Which ultimately translated into a number of days simply spent staring into the distance, or speculating the shapes of clouds in the open sky, all the while waiting for some word, some sign.
Finally, thirteen days in, a scout named Ember Glare returned with news of Kallen's passage through the valley(Kallen was what they called him around here, a new name for a new place, Black Dagger supposed). He was travelling with a younger man, probably the husband of his oldest granddaughter, according to intelligence. It shouldn't have been a problem; or so Black Dagger had believed at the time. He led his crew south by cover of darkness, into the hills and trees just North of the Sloughbacks. Then, they'd waited.
It all should have gone according to plan. If not for Ember Glare. He always had a sharp eye, and a keen mind, but once he set his mind on something, it was nigh impossible to convince him to shift course.
They had been settled. Hidden. In wait. And it was Ember Glare who had made the first move, before Black Dagger had given the order to do so, forcing him and the rest of the crew to move into action.
Capturing Kallen would have been ideal. Simply tracking him back to the huts where he and family lived would have worked just as well. But Ember Glare had other ideas.
Hidden as he was, up high in the trees, and a good distance away from the rest of the group, he began creeping from tree to tree, loping and clambering amid the thick, interconnecting branches.
And of course, Kallen spotted him, sharp fellow as he was, even in his old age. But then, Ember Glare had also managed to cause a pine cone to fall to the ground from one of those tall branches. A mistake that was just one ripple in a river of impending consequences stretching into the future.
Even now, as they tramped uphill through the trees, heading toward the source of that smoke, Ember Glare kept glancing over at Black Dagger apologetically, waiting for the moment when they would talk it out, when Black Dagger would finally yell at him, and Ember Glare would apologize and promise to make up for it, and everything could go back to the way it was before.
He doesn't understand what he's done, the implications of it. He doesn't get it. He thinks this will all blow over.
There was a diagonal cut marking one side of Ember Glare's face--left by the blade of the man who'd been traveling with Kallen. Ember Glare had responded by drawing his own sword and slicing the young man's leg, ignoring Black Dagger's orders to stand down.
After that, Kallen had dismounted, yelling at his grandson-in-law, telling him to run. And the boy did. Not that it will have done him any good, considering the coatings Ember Glare liked to use on his blades--as most goblins did. Who knows what was going through Kallen's head, at that moment. And at this point, Black Dagger supposed it didn't matter.
It had been a neat plan. Simple. Until now. Now, the best they could hope for was to find the human boy fallen from his horse, dead--and even that would be a far cry from the original plan. At any rate, Black Dagger suspected the boy had managed to make the journey home. He was convinced by the smell of the smoke itself. There was a note of sickly sweetness, if he wasn't imagining it. It reminded him of the way his own father had burned on the funeral pyre, all those years ago. The smell of charred flesh. On a prolonged diet of touch game meat and old, dry rations, it was enough to make him feel...hungry.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The grounds began to level out as they marched. Boot heels sank and slid in the moist earth. Beads of dew clung to the branches of trees, and the limp brown leaves dangling over their heads. The air was misty, and the stench of smoke push-pulled against the omnipresent scent of petrichor.
Finally, they happened upon it. Three hut-like structures nestled among the trees. What was left of them, anyway. The black, hollowed-out ribcages of what used to be a shed and two hillside cabins. Trails of steadily dissipating smoke weaved among the trees. Flakes of ash swept along the ground in the slight breeze like drifts of snow.
There was nothing left. Everything that had been here was gone, leaving a trail of ash in its wake.
Most importantly, Tavlen was gone. That was the main thing.
"Blight Horn," Black Dagger said. "Split Fang. Rock Foot. Scout ahead. Find their spoor."
His guess was that Tavlen and the grandchildren had tried to loop around and past him and his goblin crew, fleeing south to Stenibrook. But there was no way to know for sure, not yet.
If they were heading south, it would be a simple enough thing to catch them. Tavlen would be traveling on foot, and with two young children in tow. The grandson-in-law's horse would be too exhausted for another trip so soon, and Black Dagger doubted Tavlen finally had a third horse; if they did, Kallen would have brought it into town to better distribute the load of furs.
The three soldiers acknowledged his orders with goblin military hand gestures, like un-like salutes. They took off at speed into the trees.
"Let me join them, my lord,” Ember Glare said, eager for a new chance to prove his usefulness.
He really didn’t understand.
Black Dagger sighed, pulling back the hood of his cloak, exposing his face and neck to the crisp morning chill. “Don't you think you've done enough, Ember?"
He winced, drawing back. His skin was ashy green, and shiny with sweat from the long march. "I made a mistake."
"A mistake that could have cost us everything," Black Dagger said. "Lucky for us, I'm resourceful for a half-blood Lordling. I'll fix this. No thanks to you."
The words seemed to visibly sting Ember, and he turned away, making a pretense of examining the ashy remains of what had likely been some kind of shed.
"I want you here, where I can keep an eye on you," Black Dagger said, calling over his shoulder as he moved the largest structure, one of the cabins. "We're going to search these homes, top to bottom. What's left of them, anyway."
"What are we looking for?" Slate Fist said, nudging some of the shed's burnt rubble with one boot.
Black Dagger stopped in front of what was left of the big cabin. "We'll know when we see it."
Perhaps it was optimistic to think he could find some clue as to where they'd gone, but it couldn't hurt to try, in Black Dagger's mind. As his eyes roved, taking in the scene Tavlen had left behind, he tried to put himself in her shoes. If I was Tavlen, what would I do? Where would I go? Would I do my best to disappear into the wilderness, trusting that I could shake my pursuers? Would I make a break for Stenibrook, and civilization, to get help? Or would I...help myself?
It was ridiculous, of course. As far as Tavlen knew, there could be dozens of goblins on her tail.
Besides, what about the grandchildren? Particularly the two younger ones? Confronting their stalkers would be dangerous, to say the least. Unless...
Unless Tavlen didn't think she had a choice. Unless this was her way of buying time so her grandchildren could escape.
It seemed unlikely. But at the same time, wasn't it interesting that Black Dagger's group was already divided, somewhat? Three of his men were already off tracking some trail in the woods. Clearly they'd found something already, otherwise they would have returned. The question was, what had they found? What is it they were tracking? Where would it take them? Or was he being paranoid?
Perhaps these long, hard days are finally starting to get to me. I need a warm bed and a good drink.
But before that could happen, he needed to finish the job. And right now, that meant searching this burned-down cabin.
The cabin was mostly four support beams and a floor, at this point. There was a stove at the far end, as well as a charred, partially disintegrated cabinet. Then there was the table in the middle, still standing somehow. Black and desiccated, but still upright.
There was something on top of it. A piece of parchment, laid flat on the middle of the tabletop. There was writing on it. Impossible to read from where Black Dagger stood.
He had found something. Something very much in the vein of 'you'll know it when you see it'. Perhaps too much so.
Investigating it suddenly seemed like a not-so-good idea. Black Dagger stood just outside the boundary of the cabin, examining the note, but not wanting to get any closer, unable to explain why, even to himself.
On the other hand, neither Slate Fist or Rot Nail seemed to have any such qualms. They'd both already spotted the parchment and were taking interest.
"Wait," Black Dagger said, perhaps too quietly, and probably too late. He had to actually say it aloud before he realized the truth, his tongue being quicker than his mind.
The two goblins stepped onto the threshold of the cabin at a near identical pace, and they were both two steps inside when the charred floorboards crackled ominously underneath them. Before either of them could leap back, massive chunks of the floor gave way underneath them. They slipped down through the jagged gaps, disappearing completely into some kind of basement or cellar. And the calm morning air was rent with the sound of their screams.
The thought came to Black Dagger as he tentatively circled the threshold of the cabin, peering into dark holes in the floor to discern what was underneath. Perhaps not so paranoid, after all.
Sounds came up out of those dark gaps. Loud gasps. Panting. Escalating into fullblown yells and screams.
There it was. Illuminated by the morning light filtering through the trees and down. Both of the fallen goblins were on their stomachs, with their backs to the holes they had fallen through, suspended, impaled on carved wooden spikes.
A trap.
And there would be more. By the gods, why hadn't he seen it!? Had he really forgotten what Tavlen was capable of?
There would be more, and it was a miracle they hadn't been tripped already.
Or was it a curse?
"Nobody move!" Black Dagger yelled.
But the ball was already rolling. The other goblins were in motion, racing toward the cabin to see what had happened. And that was when everything started to go wrong. Actually wrong.
Black Dagger watched it happen. Heard it happened. A metal creaking sound as one of his goblins stepped on a section of ashy ground--identical to the terrain that surrounded them in a wide patch around the burnt buildings--and the jaws of a metal animal trap snatched upward, clamping down on his leg and causing him to fall down on one, stuck, his face stricken with shock and pain.
That was it took for the rest of the goblins to skid to a halt, wary, starting to realize what was happening. Blades were drawn, while others reached for their bows.
Somewhere on the opposite side of the cabin from Black Dagger, the ashy ground shifted, and something emerged, sitting upright. An ashen spectre with dark, flailing hair, flecks of ash thrashing in the air about her from the sudden motion, a bow and arrow in hand.