Book 2: Dirt Diver’s Dance

Lucky Black Cat Ch:13

“So we go in here, and come out on the other side of the mountain, where the king lives.” He asked again slowly, while eyeballing the dark rift in the mountain wall. A large stone stele marked the entrance, carved with scripts and glyphs that were unfamiliar to him. “This is a ward of forbiddance… a strong one too.”

“I has the key. Come come. The big stupid troll can’t follow, even if he stole poor Juniella's key.” She sighed. “I hoped to clomp him and bring back his hide and bones… Bringing a boy home better!” That brought a round of snuffling giggles from her pack.

“Tunnel is scary scary, just hold on and don’t look.” She instructed him to bury his face in Nightshade’s ruff, by shoving his face in and saying: “Stay!”

The next few minutes were jarring, disturbing and deeply unsettling, and he didn’t even think about peeking; after getting a scant glimpse of a glowing, red nebula in the vast, eternal night sky all around them. It was looking back at him… with fond recognition.

Shaken pale and barely standing, Gandree looked out on… the same ledge and valley they had just left.

“Only looks the same same. See, king papa’s castle and the town.” She whispered in his ear.

Below them in a heavily wooded valley stood a small rocky hill, with a red roofed, river stone house on its broad top. A palisade and town of thatch roofed log houses stood below the hill, encircling it entirely.

She pointed to the south west, where a broad lake lay. “There lies a land of men, we have a few dealings with them.” She pointed to a small town across the river on the banks of the lake.

“It’s the same valley… but different…” He stammered, looking at the familiar peaks all around.

“Yuppers. Is crazy, don’t think about it. Doggies can always find the way home.” Daisybelle said gently as she passed him a waterskin. “Drink… surviving scary stuff is thirsty work.”

A few minutes later they were riding down into the valley on a well maintained trail, rather than the desperate scramble up the overgrown mountainside that had led there.

“Your valley is full of goblin boys and monsters… Dumb stonebrained beardos on the pass won’t let anybody out. Nobody wants to go in.” Daisybelle assured him.

“You seem to know a lot about this…” He called over the running wargs’ excited breaths and footfalls.

“I’m Daisybelle… Warg knight of the goblin king…” She insisted again, as sunset brought sparkling lights up in the two towns below them.

#

Count Hiram Kines looked out over his little lakeside domain and sighed, it had been over fourteen years since the goblin king had strolled through town, murdered the entire cult of the Light and strolled on, playing his troll bone flute.

On the rare occasions the count had spoken to that mad, dangerous, strangely silly being, he had refused to speak of the matter; professing to have no memory of the act.

Hiram remembered that day, a strange, ragged, cloaked man had walked into town playing a long bone flute, lifting sweet, unfamiliar music into the sky. He’d sat on the curb by the fountain with a reed basket at his feet, swathed in dark, ragged clothes and played, hoping for alms.

When the first templar knight arrived from the cathedral and tore away his cloak, the world had shifted on its axis. “Away beggar! Begone from the sacred cathedral square!” He’d shouted, and snatched the man’s concealing hood away.

“Troll!” Someone screamed, as the ragged lips and fangs of a huge goblinoid emerged from the shredded rags of his cloak.

Huge brown eyes behind lenses of smoked glass glared at the screaming, fleeing people with a deep sadness, rather than the ravenous hunger the beasts always displayed.

“I’ds ok, I’ll go…” The being said as it backed away from the enraged templar.

When the knight drew his sword and attacked, it was hard to follow what happened next. Somehow the knight wound up face down in a rubbish bin beside the fountain; his sword on the roof of the temple and his conical helmet hammered firmly onto the rear side of his armored pants, creating a hilarious illusion of…

While the strange, mad creature was giggling and pointing at his clever jape, a squad of six men at arms and a cleric of the light emerged from the temple, crying out to the god for vengeance and blood.

The thing stopped giggling and smiling when cleric lord Hassan Burdan appeared. He saw nothing but the priest lord, and flew at his throat as if flung from a bow, a wild ululating cry of rage on his ragged lips.

Before the armsmen could react, The goblin terror had his sharp taloned fist plunged into the priest lord’s belly, up into his ribcage.

He ripped and tore, clawing at him as if to pull the man’s heart out before he could fall down properly dead.

What he pulled forth was a transparent orange slug, containing the decaying severed head of a human infant in its gelatinous core. The terrible green monster shredded the thing in its claws and spoke again.

“Demonspawn!” The creature shrilled into the sky, as it vanished into the forbidden cathedral of the god of Light.

None dared approach or interfere, as the bloody handed thing stomped out of town, wearing a fine silk robe taken from the high priest’s chambers.

“Burn that place, humans. I leave that part to you.” It called, in a voice that was strangely musical as it vanished into the forests.

When the first few brave souls dared enter the cathedral, where only the priest lords were allowed to go; they emerged, alive, but pale, wan and horrified. The town elders investigated; and also emerged deeply affected by what they saw. By unanimous decree they had the doors sealed shut and the building burned.

Skyrockets of flaming lights and beautiful, whistling balls of harmless fire scattered across the sky as the volatile liquors and desecrated human remains burned through the night and into the morning.

No more demands for the surrender of one in ten children of the town came from the cathedral ruins. No more pregnant women dragged screaming from their homes, never to reappear, or young men vanished in the night.

The ruins lingered as a stark reminder of what men can learn to accept, if the collar is tightened around their necks slowly enough.

#

The goblin king avoided the human town, save at great need; but his wives and daughters didn’t. It started with secretive dealings on the outskirts of town; laundry stolen off the line, a henhouse carefully robbed and valuable goods left behind in payment.

They traded in hides, meat, berries, herbs, mushrooms and simple medicines, products of the forest mostly… And in gold and silver nuggets, small jewels and gems, even musical handicrafts of startling intricacy and beauty.

They wanted cloth, thread, needles and dyes, and were formidable enough as traders and fighters to look after their own interests.

Goblin crafted drums and flutes were gaining renown in the larger region as the profitable trade blossomed. The law prohibited trading with ‘goblin men’... but these were goblin women and profit was profit.

#

A few miles from the palisade and the goblin king’s castle, a slender, lean goblin girl in a uniform like Daisibelle’s stepped from the bushes and saluted. She had morning glory vines embroidered around her cuffs and a wide smile for the warg riding girl.

“King papa snoops on trouble in human town. All knights should snoop on the humans and watch over king papa… what’s this…?” She peered into the huge black wolfhound’s ruff at the dwarf lad clinging there. “Hi, I’m Gandree Ward, Daisibelle’s friend…”

“He smells like king papa…” The as yet unnamed girl whispered too loudly to Daisybelle.

“He plays flute, too… and the shitter digger!” She whispered back excitedly.

“Really, it’s a ukulele I made from an old shovel…” He protested weakly.

“Oh… Yes, Gandree Ward is a shy pooper!” She agreed firmly. “Come, we snoop on humans and we meet king papa.”

#

The portly, golden robed priest shone bright and furious in the sun before the ruins of the temple and fumed.

“I’ve come all this way, to this benighted backwater for templar knights and a few hundred conscripts… only to find… this!” He shouted from behind his squad of six knights.

“We’ve given too light a yoke to you cattle… A problem I shall correct now!” He shouted out, before pointing at a coyote man in the crowd.

“All non humans and beast kin in this domain are now the exclusive property of the church of the Light, blessed radiance be upon the faithful. Submit for collaring and training immediately!”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The lanky beast man slipped back into the rapidly growing crowd and vanished, as the humans pressed closer to see what was going on.

“Where is the administrator of this town, priest lord Hassan Burdan?”

“He was slain a little over ten years ago, along with all his acolytes… it was a goblin raid.” Count Kines said coldly.

“I am the lord of this county… and will not be submitting anyone to anything.”

“Goblin raid indeed! Heresy! Rebellion! I’ll have the hearts cut out of a hundred of you to re-consecrate this temple and blind a hundred more!” He screamed at the man in light leather armor bearing a spreading oak painted on the breast.

“I am Hiram Kines, forestlord of this valley…” He said very slowly. As two dozen men in similar armor appeared among the crowd of unfriendly faces.

“Show me why I should submit to your rule… or take your men and go.” He leaned on his spear in a very balanced and relaxed way that said a lot, without any words.

“The holy empire of the Light demands your subservience!”

The radiant god will not suffer

disobedience under the Light!

The priest lord shouted, raising his hands aloft and calling forth a miracle between his palms. He finished his incantation and on the last syllable, hurled a blazing ball of coruscating fire the size of a peach at the smiling lord.

A figure swathed in a dark robe slipped from the crowd, wielding a primitive, stone tipped spear, decorated with strands of shell beads and bone ornaments that clattered and rattled around the point of gleaming obsidian.

He reached out, faster than a striking serpent and caught the ball of flame on the tip of his spear, impossibly capturing that additional impossibility on his weapon.

“Bad fake human, playing with fire in a wooden town.” The goblin king, Ghnash’Wharrgh scolded and chittered.

“Arson and attempted murder… crimes need justice…” The horrid little beast stalked in a half circle, back and forth before the nervous templars and their raging lord.

The crowd pulled back, fleeing for the edges of the former cathedral square in a rather orderly panic.

Even the count and his guards retreated, as three small, green girls in fitted jackets and pants, resplendent with bone epaulets and colorful beads and braid, stepped out of the crowded market where they had been invisible in the press of large folk. Each wore a tall shako cap and bore a stone headed club in one hand and a wooden oar shield studded and rimmed with shards of shaped obsidian glass.

“This is a goblin raid.” The count called out calmly.

“He made me promise that he could have any of your demon cult filth that might come calling.”

While the human count’s words were still echoing through the silent square, another goblin and three Wargs stampeded onto the scene, and a very confused dwarf lad, who fell from his mount with a soft thud when Nightshade skidded to a stop on the broad, paved square.

“Uh oh… Daisybelle is here… too late for talking.” The human lord called out when the tiny uniformed girl landed beside the other three, similarly armed; in an obviously planned and rehearsed super heroine landing.

“Knights are human…” The tall, muscular goblin man said softly to the four diminutive green maidens around him. “Demon is mine.” He reached out and snuffed the glimmering, radiant flame still imprisoned on his spearhead with one green taloned hand.

Six templar knights faced off against five diminutive, green forest goblins; even the largest would barely qualify as a small man… While the four girls were little more than child sized, with chubby cheeks and wide, white smiles on their faces.

Six gleaming mailed men and six long, steel spears addressed the gobbs, while the priest lord began another spell.

Infernal and eternal, from the depths of the endless flames, I call for the power to scorch the…

Four feet of seasoned blackthorn, with a few thorns still present flashed by the templars, as the spear’s stone head buried itself in the cleric’s guts, folding him in half around a gout of dark, strangely thick blood.

“Slay them, slay them all!” He shrieked, once his mouth was empty of viscous black fluids.

Mabeline was already in motion, slipping past the first knight’s spear with liquid grace. Her shield struck sparks when she bashed another reaching weapon aside, even as her short, jade headed mace was smashing the shin of the towering warrior in front of her.

The man screamed as his armored greave folded and his leg snapped with a satisfying crunch. His right arm found the return stroke of that little mace, with the same result, snapping bone and bent armor.

Down the line, Barbara-Ann kneecapped her foe, followed up with a strike to the groin that king papa was totally going to scold her for later… But the way he leered at her buxom sister Daisybelle, demanded a response in kind. His howl of agony was almost musical.

Roxanne finished two with quick, economical strikes of her mace, knocking the two templars’ ankle bones one after another.

The two knights still standing backed toward their lord, who was too busy wrenching the jagged, thorned spear from his guts to mind the rest of the battle.

Daisybelle’s stone mace found itself embedded in the steel abdomen of a tall, angry knight, who suddenly found himself folded in half around a bent breastplate, with his helmet full of his own vomit.

Her shield lashed out, bashing a sword strike aside, even as her first opponent was falling… and taking her mace with him to the ground, stuck in his folded armor.

The last knight was fast and skilled… far taller, stronger and more massive than the tiny goblin. Her sisters were busy dealing with the stubborn men who clawed swords and daggers out to continue the fight, even maimed and broken as they were.

“Sorry, papa… Might have to kill this one…” She called to the goblin king, who was stalking his own foe.

She drew a short obsidian knife from her belt and faced her enemy and his yard-long blade of gleaming steel.

Once more her obsidian and ironwood oar shield turned his sword, even though she was so tiny. She blocked and parried his strikes, slowly working her way closer to slash at his legs, and the straps that secured his armor.

He smiled at her simple, if clever tactic, useless now that he’d already seen her tricks. Steadily, he turned her back; pushing her into a rhythm he controlled…

She parried his sword with her short stone knife, pushing his thrust for her bowels out of line. With feline grace, she stepped inside his guard and brought her obsidian edged shield crashing up into his armored groin.

She stepped back in a spray of blood, wiping her eyes clear with a swift motion and dodging his last sword strike by a scant few inches.

“My salvation under the light is assured, foul monster…” He gasped, as he sank to the flagstones.

“Wasteful, dead knight; wasteful and a pity.” She sighed to the dying man, who spat unintelligible curses at her as the light faded from his eyes.

The five surviving knights were moaning piteously but the blood drenched, furious priest lord was still hurling bolts of fire and flashing arcane arrows at the goblin king. He stalked the man, swiping at him with a slender wand of willow decorated with dangling feathers and bones.

The diminutive green being caught each one, every time and flicked it away to burst in the sky harmlessly. “Not even a skilled wizard…” The king sang softly, in a voice that carried everywhere.

“My daughter killed a man… who died for filth like you! Disgraceful!”

“Help me! It is your duty! I command you under the Light!” the priest lord screamed through black, blood stained lips at the citizens and the lord of the town, silently watching from the edges of the square. That demand brought far, far less aid to his side than he had hoped.

“So be it!” He spat, as he flung a fistful of small steel darts at the goblin pursuing him across the ruins of the cathedral of Light’s Grace.

The goblin waved his cloak of tattered leather rags, engulfing the poisoned needles in the folds of his garment with a sneer.

“Not a good ninja, either…” Ghnash barked angrily, as the man used the momentary distraction to flee farther among the ruins. The priest’s voice came rising up from the blackened stone walls and tumbled blocks:

Izqic’intok, the clawed hunger, fleshrending shadow,

By the shimmering void between dimensions I call for aid, bring forth your fangs and talons to feed on this mortal…

“Hide, humans, he calls a demon of hunger to slay all.” Daisybelle shouted, as her three sisters dragooned idle, watching men into hauling their crippled foes away.

Poor Gandree watched in shock and horror, as the tiny, adorable, blood drenched girl cut the head from her slain knight with that jagged obsidian blade.

“Demon needs corpse to inhabit. No head, no brain to hide in.” She mumbled in embarrassment, when she rejoined him by the smithy, where he was still standing with his mouth gaping open.

The severed head in her hand still had its visor down… but the young dwarf lad was having trouble keeping it together anyway. When she clapped her blood spattered non severed head hand onto his shoulder with a friendly grin it was almost too much. With a soft sigh, the lad collapsed in a dead faint.

#

…bring bloody wrath and destruction,

I grant free reign, unfettered bloodshed!

The souls I consecrate are the bridge, this mortal flesh is my bond….

The priest had climbed atop a heap of ruined masonry to call for some kind of aid, his arms held up to the sky, the black, clotted blood and a few ropey strands of his entrails staining his once grand robes.

With a rending, wet shriek, a huge, boiling shadow erupted from the chanting cultist’s feet, giving a hideous feline scream, as the priest lord’s body ruptured into bloody rags in its many claws.

Clots of decayed, reanimated, possessed corpse rained down on the ruins, as the demon shook itself free of the clinging remnants of its summoner and started looking for fresh meat…

#

Gandree woke in the back of the smith’s shop, laid out on a pile of wargs and watched over by a serpent man smith, who was very nervous about the giant wolfhounds in his shop.

He seemed almost as nervous about the shrieking, shadowy thing chasing the goblin king across the ruined cathedral, crying out for flesh in the voice of a puma being strangled with a rattlesnake who also had complaints about what was going on.

“Come out, slinking mortal witch! Come out and feed me your essence and meat!” It wailed in a voice that seemed to whisper and hiss from every shadow.

Music answered; sweet, melodious and high. It had the warm, soft sound of a bone flute, played with skill and delicate expression.

The sound evoked the budding of fresh leaves in the first flush of spring and the warmth of the breezes that carry winter away.

“King papa is going to eat that whole thing…” Daisybelle sighed from her seat on the smith’s counter. “Big tummy ache coming.”

“Oh gods… not again…” The serpent smith muttered, wringing his red scaled hands together nervously.

“Does this kind of thing happen often, master smith?” Gandree asked, as he rose to his feet; shaky, but whole.

“Three times since the burning of the cathedral…” The reptile man muttered. “It’s always… upsetting.”

“Bah, shadow demon… With no body to hide its essence, this won’t even be fair.” Daisybelle muttered crossly.

“Watch, It begins.”

The darkening sky seemed to become subtly more gloomy as the sweet, warm music turned cold and sharp. It demanded attention, insistently tugging at the listener’s mind.

The goblin king stood among the ruins, atop a fallen pillar playing his flute into the evening. sky as a shadowy, faintly feline shape lurked just out of the light, waiting for darkness to fall.

In the gathering gloom, Gandree saw Daisybelle’s shadow slowly squirm and move, stretching out to the flautist among the ruins, unnaturally. With a jarring shock, he noticed that his own, the wargs’ and the smith’s were moving as well.

“Shadow demon against goblin king,” Daisybelle sighed softly. “It’s already over.”

The sun slipped down beyond the mountains, bringing darkness down quickly and bringing the amorphous, shadow cat into the open with a wicked chittering laugh. It leapt at the green musician with glee in its several golden eyes.

The thing had a confusing number of legs, tails and jaws, and way too many claws to exist in any sane reality, as it hurtled across the ruins in a liquid rush of dark hunger.

Its reaching claws were met by the black, shadowy talons of a legion of ghosts, slipping from the charred stones of the fallen cathedral.

They pressed in all around, in an almost invisible tide of half seen faces and reaching, desperate hands, tearing at and enveloping the creature as its roars of rage and hunger became cries of fear and dread. It ended swiftly and noisily after a few seconds of wailing and screaming.

The final, echoing wail seemed to carry on and on, until it became a slow, sweet melody rising from the goblin king’s flute as he began to play again from that dreadful note.

He spun the song out in wordless melody to a slow, sweet ending. The humanoid shades slowly sank down into the stones, to await… something, soothed by the flute’s song.

“Was that necromancy?” Gandree stammered softly.

“No, shadow magic. The dead can hear his song and decide for themselves what to do, he just gives their shadows substance and weight.” She whispered back.

“So those shades could have turned on him as well?” The dwarf lad asked, thinking back on his shadowy, dancing spirits.

“The angry, imprisoned dead hold grudges…” A man’s voice said from the doorway. His speech was musical and slightly faltering, as if he’d bitten his lip very badly.

“They have none against me.”

The goblin king stood the same height as Gandree, though he was thin and lean, in contrast to the much younger man’s bulk and muscles. A shock of wildly unruly black hair and huge brown eyes competed for attention with the long, jagged and slightly bloody fangs that filled his ragged mouth.

“Daisybelle…I’m sorry you had to do that. We’ll talk at home.” He said gently to the warg rider. “Bring your new friend.”

He stepped out of the smithy doorway, without ever having entered and leapt onto a huge, dusty brown warg, before vanishing from the square on fast flying paws.

“I really didn’t wanna kill that man…” She murmured just for Gandree’s ears as they rode toward the king’s castle, a few minutes later.

“He was too skilled to just beat up, without my magic womp.”

#