Chapter 116 - Huntsville Hunters

After George calmed down about Armstrong eating his prisoner (mostly because George himself had wanted to eat him), he left to coordinate with the scrappers on the rescue mission for his king. I sat with Sourfang and Rufus to figure out our next move.

I had tried to make peace with the javeline, perhaps naively, in an appeal to my better nature and make allies rather than enemies on Rava. I was less inclined to offer the elves that courtesy now that they’d also greeted us with aggression. Once bitten, twice shy, after all. They and the humans that used goblin tongues for herbal stomach pain remedies could get stuffed as far as I cared. Especially if they never even bothered to try calcium bicarbonate as a first resort and went straight to the body parts of a sentient creature.

Rufus, the Ifrit, and the orcs had proved that there were allies to be found and friendships to be forged on Rava. But none of them, it seemed, would come from the northwest coast where the men of Habberport sent pigs and elves to hunt us down. Even Rufus seemed reluctant to revisit the city.

“They may not have figured out exactly what I’m up to out here,” he said. “But they know the ceramics didn’t come from the Ifrit. A goblin king has the prince worried, no doubt about it. I know you for a creature driven by knowledge and not of greed or hunger. But they will not see it this way. If the elves are here in force, it bodes ill. If they learn you’re consorting with, well…” Rufus glanced at Sourtooth, who scowled.

“They have to be dealt with,” I agreed, heading off the potential for insult. I knew Rufus didn’t have a positive impression of the orcs. Which made sense. He was a trader and a merchant, and they were a society of moneyless raiders.

The old orc grumbled under his breath before speaking up. “My lads you’ll need, should you wish a good show against this menace,” said Sourtooth.

The now empty cage lay discarded and forgotten. I looked up at the old orc. “Because you’re good at hunting elves?”

“Because we’re good at hunting beasts. What you described is elf magic. A controlling swarm whose venom addles mind and tugs nerve. They will command the beasts of the bog to multiply their strength. I’ll send word to the Dawn as well. Lura Sunstrider may spare hunters to vouchsafe your promise.”

I nodded. “First things first, Rufus. I don’t want you caught up in this. I don’t know exactly how their swarms work, but I do know goblins are immune to their venom. What about orcs?” I turned to Sourtooth.

“Immune to mind-magic. Too headstrong, we, to be swayed by wiggled fingers and fancy words—be they magic or manners.”

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I turned back to Rufus.

“Can you say the same?”

Rufus looked askance. “I have some natural resistance skills to venom. Badger.”

“But not outright immunity?”

He shook his head.

“Then you’re better off at Village Apollo—or, better yet, would you take a canoneer and some ifrit back to the City of Brass with a shipment of ceramics? We have to plead our case, and we can’t do that if it looks like we’re holding the exiles hostage. The longer we delay, the longer the idea that we’re kidnappers has to cement in their head. Er…”

They didn’t have heads. Smolder in their thoughts, maybe? Too many human colloquialisms referenced body parts that didn’t apply to the ifrit..

“I can do that,” said Rufus. “But I can’t promise you the king will listen. I’ll catch the next supply run back to the bluff.”

The wild-marked dwarf pushed to his feet and swung his oversized bag up onto his back. “Fare well, and good luck, o’ king. I hope to return with good news and potential profits.”

I leaned back. “There’s still the elves. What’s their end-state, here?”

“That’s easy, boss,” said Armstrong. “They want you.”

I raised an eyebrow, but Sourtooth nodded. “Right your scrapper is. They seek the renewed trade of goblin ear—a practice which will return only with your capture. Alive, at that, since killing you means killing too, their source of what they seek.”

“I’m the proverbial golden goose,” I said. “So they want to keep the population in check, and me off in a cage somewhere I can’t influence things. Attacking our infrastructure draws us out, forces us to waste time, material, and goblin lives. They’re trying to spread us thin.”

“Divide and conquer,” said Sourtooth.

“We have a similar strategy where I’m from. But we need a strong foothold.” I thought for a moment. “Does that mean I should stay here?”

Sourtooth shook his head. “Staying still lets them figure out where you are and mount a mission to take you—playing to their strengths. Best stay mobile. Your airships and choppers they are equipped to deal with not. They will have somewhere secure out of which to sortie.”

“Ringo’s island, Daytona,” I said, thinking of the beast defenders on the beaches and the swarm that rose from the fort to attack us. “It still has walls and infrastructure. It can be defended, and if we take it, it gives us a staging point for aircraft and watercraft to defend against Habberport’s next push. We’ll hit that and put Ringo back in his hall. We need to take the fight to the elves before they penetrate the forest. It’s bad enough that they’re hampering the harvest of kerosene and iron. If they made it on top of the bluff, they could do real damage.”

“Wings, they’d need,” said Sourtooth. “Both for the bluff and your flying fortresses. Great hawks and glide-paws in the bog will get them over your walls and onto the deck. But suited to fighting your weapons of smoke and iron bullets, are neither. They will need something more.”

“Ok, so we start clearing out airborne predators around Huntsville,” I said. “The scrapper patrol boats can handle that. Especially now that we’ve got bug zappers. With some extra orc muscle along, the bewitched elf animals will have a blunted impact.”

Which still left the problem of the elves themselves. Sending out swarms and familiars left the little creatures out of the firing lane. I needed to drive the little buggers into the light where they could be stomped. But we had our next step.

I looked up at the docked airship, where I’d be coordinating the searches and offensives. It did offer a solid logistical platform—an eagle-eyed view of the swamp from which to direct efforts. But two-way communication still hampered us. I whistled for a runner. A goblin trotted up.

“Have Sally join me on the airship, tell her to bring magnets and wires.”