10. Long Shadow

“Gudmund’s greatest foe, Gahr’rul, casts a long shadow for a creature who has never been seen. Every goblin knows his name, yet none can describe him. Or, rather, they all describe him differently. He is as a mountain, hidden only by merit of the Black Wood’s towering trees, looming over Braguk and Dalpho both. He is a weapon smith, kin to Ragadin, unmatched in honest combat. Or he is agile, so swift as to be unseen, like a miniature more deadly version of Lazoor the Black.

He has immense magic, or none at all. He fights with great fists or sleek claws or manlings blade. Through all this I begin to wonder whether he truly exists. I myself had been nowhere and everywhere in the Midderlands, after all.”

Lazarus’s rasped his long claws against of his blackened brazier as he scrutinized the dying coals. He stood warmed by fading heat with only one other goblin to keep him company.

Dalpho blocked the cavern with his blubbery bulk, beady eyes glistening with the sullen red of the flames. “What now?”

“Now?” Lazarus asked, glancing upward. “Now we have succeeded and failed at the same time. Ragadin’s plan has left our clans savaged while Braguk Moonbear and his ilk have hardly met with any real losses. We can only hope that he holds to the deal we made. And, if he does, we can use our friend here to convince Gudmund the Wolf to open his gates.”

The friend in question, a wretched man with only one arm, his shaking frame covered by a newly skinned deer, lay in a crudely wrought cage between Lazarus and Dalpho. A similar prison, housing a silent and seated man in a robe, stood opposite.

“Do you think that will work?” the robed man asked. “Truly?”

Lazarus riled slightly at the interruption. “Is that not how you manlings think?”

“I dare not speak for the multitudes, Lazarus.”

Lazarus scowled up at his enormous friend. “Who is this manling?”

“Balluk captured him,” Dalpho rumbled. “He was in company with a small group of manlings.”

“Men,” the robed man said. “They worked for Brolli.”

“The Black Heart?” Lazarus asked.

“None other.”

“You are well informed for a manling in a cage.”

“Am I?” he asked, plainly amused. “Perhaps I can rise above even that estimation.”

“In what way?”

“I am a wandering prophet.”

“Prophet?” Lazarus asked, unsure of words.

“I see things that have yet to happen.”

“Oh. Then I am not interested, manling seer.”

“Yet I will tell you all the same.”

“That might cost you your life.”

“What are the chances?” he asked as if he didn’t want an answer. “Your prisoner will avail you nothing.”

“No?”

“No. Braguk Moonbear is serving the manling known as Jarl Thrand of Timilir. He rules the settlement in the place you know as the manling mountains. Braguk will come, tonight, asking for this prisoner. He will take him when you refuse. Your alliance will be at an end. And you and your large friend here will be next to useless while Moonbear claims this entire region.”

Lazarus sighed. “Good for you that I am not easily riled.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “Will you free me if I’m right?”

“Perhaps. Well… no. Your death is certain. I only spoke those words because I doubt the foresight of one captured.”

“I do not like this manling,” Dalpho put in. “We should slay him soon.”

Lazarus hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

“But why doubt the foresight of those captured?” the manling asked.

“One who could predict would in turn avoid.”

“Perhaps,” he replied. “Unless, of course, I wanted to be captured.”

Lazarus crept closer. “And why ever would you want that, manling?”

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“I wanted to meet you, Lazarus. I wanted to see some things for myself. And I thought you deserved to know, given your motivation, that those you have made peace with are in fact aligned with the manlings you so despise.”

“And why would Braguk Moonbear need the help of a manling?” Lazarus asked.

“Food.”

“Food?” Dalpho asked.

“To feed those who now owe him loyalty. To feed himself so he could spawn those triplets.” The Salt Sage upturned his gloved palms. “Goblins will eat anything, won’t they? Unless there’s nothing to eat and then they eat each other. And wasn’t that the problem all this while? Not enough food to remake the clans of old? Not enough land?”

“We take no food from manlings,” Lazarus replied.

“Perhaps that is why the Moonbear’s clans dwarf yours?” He shrugged. “Besides he got more than food from that bargain. Braguk Moonbear is a coward, a fact well known. But he was hiding in the Midderlands Pass. As were others. Others who died at the hands of the men of Jarl Thrand.”

“You have convinced me, seer,” Lazarus said. “Braguk Moonbear would indeed profit from such aid. Now you need only tell me why a manling would want his neighboring clan to be destroyed by goblins that will one day turn their greedy gazes to the manling mountains. Tell me that and I might well let you go.” He reconsidered. “That, as well, was a lie.”

“I will tell you all the same,” the robed man happily answered. “The manling mountains cannot be, and have never been, broken by goblins. But the very presence of goblins in this region allows Jarl Thrand to claim that he is now defending his other neighbours. He also hates Gudmund, as Dalpho hates Braguk, and would want nothing more than to see all those that have supported him drown in blood.”

“Then this… Thrand is mad?”

“Cruel.”

“Mm.” Lazarus glanced back at the dying fire. “I have never understood cruelty.”

“I’m afraid I understand it all too well.”

“Then I needn’t feel guilt for ending your life. Stay still, manling, and I will open the gate. A clean cut, I swear.”

“One more prediction?” he asked.

“Go on.”

“When you open this gate, I will be gone.”

Lazarus’ lips drew up over his sharp teeth. “Then let me open it and see.”

“Be wary,” Dalpho rumbled.

“He is harmless,” Lazarus assured, slicing through the rope that bound the cage. Iron creaked as he pulled back the gate. Empty. He stepped inside, and swiped an idle claw through the air. The manling was indeed gone. “Curious.”

“What is?” came a sibilant question. “What is curious?”

Lazarus managed to stop himself from flinching. He turned to see the tall night-black figure of Lazoor. “Nothing.”

Lazoor bared sharp teeth in an eerie smile.

“Where is Braguk?”

“Busy,” Lazoor answered. “Very busy. He sends me to retrieve the captured pup.”

“He is safe here.”

“He will be safe with us.”

“He is mine,” Lazarus warned. “Braguk should come here himself.”

Lazoor’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I will take him.”

Dalpho remained crouched, arms and legs tensing, at the cavern mouth.

“If you do,” Lazarus replied, “our alliance is at an end.”

“If our alliance is at an end then we will crush you,” Lazoor hissed. “Your clans are savaged. I have seen your camp.”

Lazarus could not refute that. “Why do you need him?”

“Because our alliance has changed,” Lazoor explained. “Braguk rules both the Eastern and Western Clans now, and he has asked for the pup. Or,” he added quietly, “I could simply slay you both and take him. The decision is yours, oh mighty Lazarus, small goblin with large claws.”

“Will Horvorr be ours?”

“Of course. It was agreed.”

“And are the Eastern Clans close?” Lazarus asked. “When do we slay the Young Wolf?”

“Soon,” Lazoor answered. “They will be here soon.”

“You have not slain those of the Blackwood?” Lazarus reasoned.

“They prove troublesome for our weaker kin. And Braguk, such is his way, proves hesitant to involve the Great Chiefs.”

“Himself least of all,” Dalpho grumbled.

“Indeed.” Lazoor turned to smile. “But we will win, eventually. One way or the other.”

“What other way is there?” Lazarus asked.

“Krakan Bonesipper believes he can reason with the manling forest clans.”

“We will have no part in that,” Lazarus rebuked. “They betrayed us before and they will betray us again.”

“How the younglings speak of history,” Lazoor lamented. “But, yes, no part for you. The Western Clans will stay among the trees north of Horvorr. They will remain, quiet and silent, until the coming of the Eastern Clans.”

“How long?” Lazarus asked. “How long will we wait while the Young Wolf prepares?”

“Until the coming of the Eastern Clans,” Lazoor snarled. “As I have already said. Now may I take the pup?”

Lazarus thought for a long moment. “Of course, Lazoor.”

Lazoor might have bowed as was his habit but he was too tall for the cavern so he was already bent. Dalpho and Lazarus remained silent while he took the shivering manling from the cage and then disappeared with the same ease as the robed prisoner.

“Lazarus,” Dalpho spoke with quiet concern. “I do not like any of this.”

“Nor do I. Nor do I.” Lazarus strode back towards his brazier, throwing in fresh fuel. “Have the clans start gathering wood.”

“For what?”

“Horvorr’s Guard leaves once each season. Perhaps they are foolish enough to try the next. If not then we will need some other way to get past the walls. We will need some other way to conquer the town without grievous losses.”

“But Braguk—”

“Has sold his honor to a manling. Our alliance is at an end.”