A whip cracked. The beast slid down the runny slope into the caverns of the ancient library. Six legs splashed mud as it swerved sixty degrees upon exiting the tunnel. The goblin rider stomped his feet against the creatures back while pulling on the reigns. The skid hitched to the leathery harness missed the wall of the tunnel by inches. The whip cracked again. The bite-bite-mite lifted its spindly legs.
“Moooooooooore!”
The mite wailed. Its multiple mouth tipped tubes tied together by twine into two portions, neither of which could reach the pool surrounding it. They gnashed so the goblin rider tugged on the twine. The tubes squeezed together as twine rubbed over the small chitinous plates barely protecting softer flesh. Teeth clamped shut as chittering escaped the small mandibles at the head.
The rider rode the beast into the goblin camp on a dry plain rising from the murk. Several hills and stalagmites surrounded it. Long hairy legs pounded clay-like ground. It came to a halt in the middle of camp.
A portal platform containing a sigil of subdued purple glowed nearby. Several goblins, some with stone swords and others with wooden staffs, stood guard there. Small fires burned around it. Fat worms and skinny rats cooked for those huddling near them. Pikes were stacked in neat circles. Hide mats sat in stacks on makeshift pallets made from the rotten wood of salvaged bookshelves.
A goblin holding a large gnarled staff called to those at the fires. They grunted as they shuffled to unload the mite rider’s cargo. Logs, mushrooms, bricks, stones, and ceramic pots holding preserved food were unloaded as they detached the pallet from the mite’s harness.
Mike observed the arrival of the giant mite until it stopped moving and the cargo finished being unloaded. He commanded a flattened hill overlooking a vast flat expanse of runny mud that soaked ankle deep. Hidden within the mud were deep pits, but the goblins knew most of their locations. Fifty warriors armed with spears and daggers stood facing the dimly lit expanse in five lines of ten. Two smaller formations of ten archers formed two lines to the back of the rectangular pike formations.
Sollerets chopped a mushroom at the stem as Mike shuffled. Dung laden mud clung to his greaves. Carrie’s arms hugged around his neck. Dry leather wrapped his shoulders. Withered lips kissed at his left ear. Shriveled fingers rubbed at his cuirass.
“They’re doing fine love. We should try to go a little softer.”
“Please, you’re always taking their side. Spare me your love of these vile creatures. Would you prefer to take one of them as your lover?”
“Dearest love, don’t say such hurtful things.”
The elder goblin sat hunched over a wooden throne as the knight spoke to the corpse. Mildew grew in the scraggly hair and over the leather armor. The humidity of the library made exposed skin peel off the bone.
A single thin pillow cushioned the elder’s scrawny bottom from the lumpy log seat. A thin scratched elbow with saggy skin pushed against a splintery arm rest as he struggled to keep his head up and eyes open. The goblin mage stood to the right of his village elder with his skull tipped staff raised. A glowing orb above them provided a soft even glow.
A makeshift table made from dried fungus and twine served as Mike’s desk. Library cabin maps rested on it. Gauntlets pressed the material. Mike stared at the top map as he leaned over the table.
He glanced to a tall stalagmite, where a beefy goblin almost as tall as himself stood on the elevated ground. Mike decided on giving him a new name: Grug. This muscular goblin with his overshot jaw looked like a miniature neanderthal with pointed ears. He wielded a club of compacted fungi tied with twine. Thorns interlaced the bindings. The club never left him. For now, it hooked to his back strap as he munched on a soft looking blue moss from a large cloth bag.
A scout approached from the caverns. Feet arched with each dip into the water to minimize the splash. Wirey calves tensed as he darted from column to stalagmite until he reached the path. Bare knee pushed into the soft soil as it knelt before Mike, who slapped his gauntlet covered hands over the table before pointing to the hunched village elder sagging on his makeshift throne.
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“Go speak to your leader.”
The goblin scout raised, bowed, and crept toward the village elder. Mike took a break from surveying his forces to listen to them chatter in that crude goblin noise. If it wasn’t for his love, he’d have already slit their throats to end the suffering of his ears. The noise continued far too long.
“Get to the point of it. What have you discovered? Where is she? We’ll move camp immediately.”
“Calm yourself dearest, they’re doing their best.”
“They’re doing they’re best. They’re doing their best! Would you shut it you goblin loving-”
“Really Michael!? Really!?”
The village elder rolled his eyes, then stretched his hunched back and stood. His legs trembled for a bit, then stilled, “He has yet a bit more information. Please be patient and I’ll tell you what I have learned.”
“Don’t think of lying or you’ll taste my steel in the name of Azoria.”
“You wound us, sir knight. We are Azoria’s humble serv-”
“Bloody ‘ell! Get on with it then!”
Mike narrowed his eyes as the village elder exchanged some final bits of information with the scout, who stepped back to the side of the throne and knelt waiting. The village elder used his staff as a crutch as he approached the knight and knelt on one knee.
“A new hunting party arrived. Three of your kind. Servants of Azoria bearing the mark on the back of their right hands. They slew a bite-bite-mite on their own. Our scouts suspect they are searching for Azoria’s quarry as well. Would you know them?”
“Perhaps I do. It’s no matter to you. We’ll proceed as planned. I was here first. Miss Sheffield’s head belongs to me. What further details about this party?”
“Two men and one woman. The leader wields a medium sword with deadly precision. The woman has strange time powers. And the third is a dark skinned of your kind that summons hands of earth.”
“I see.”
“Sir knight, if this group fulfills the will of Azoria, what more does it matter? I’ve already lost several cherished sons in this pursuit.”
The village elder found a sword pointed against his throat. The wizard turned with his upraised staff. The light above them flickered. Grug raised his club as his muscles tensed. The village elder raised his hand slowly with two slow waves of his fingers. He said nothing as the tip of the sword poked his collar bone. Nobody moved further.
“Did these warriors have armor and weapons granted by Azoria herself?! The only reason you still have command of your pitiful tribe is your ability to translate. But don’t push it. Your kind must obey the strongest. If we say jump, you will ask how high. And if you refuse, we will bring justice in the name of Azoria until the rest of you fall in line. Do I make myself clear? Or must we demonstrate the full extent of our powers, right here, right now, before you understand?”
“Mike, love, calm down a bit, won’t you?”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. They test my patience with their crude stupidity! Your kindness is wasted on these wretches. I swear to all that is holy!”
The village elder gripped his staff with both hands and nodded weakly. Grug put his club back over his back and stuffed blue moss in his mouth.
“We are in your service sir knight, but should you decide I am unworthy to serve, I willingly offer my life in exchange for my kin. In the name of Azoria, don’t sacrifice my kin in vain.”
The sword slid back in its sheath, “At least you know your place. Have the scouts learned anything of actual value? Like where our target ran off too?”
The elder hobbled to the table, pulled a map from the bottom of the pile, and spread it open. A trembling finger pointed on the map, “Here, about five thousand steps distance, our scouts discovered a roach wall. They could not break through it. Those who tried were consumed. We believe the one you search for hides there.”
“And what plan have you idiots devised for dealing with those insects?”
The elder pointed to the bite-bite-mite that had just arrived in the encampment. The mite stretched its tied feeding tubes toward the spiky cavern ceiling as the rider kept it still by pulling on reigns tied around its stubby head.
“Graktork is a fine beast tamer and rider. That mite will make quick work of those vermin once its tubes are released. It will obey him and devour only what it is told, so long as he is on its back.”
Mike examined the beast, “It’ll make a fine mount. Carrie and I will ride with Graktork.”
The village elder’s head listed. He looked at his feet as he clung to his staff, “I’d advise against it, sir knight. I can arrange to have your party carried by litter.”
“A litter, what are you implying?”
“Our strongest porters will make sure that your feet do not touch the mud.”
“And why can’t we ride the beast?”
“It won’t recognize Graktork’s commands with others upon it. I’m very sorry. The weight of your armor could cause you to sink into it. If you find yourself inside the beast, you’ll have to cut yourself out before the acids burn you. That would leave us with nothing to deal with the roaches. Our tribe has only one tamed biter-mite.”
“Fine. Have any other hunter parties been spotted?”
The goblin elder pursed his lips, “Nothing of further interest has been reported.”
Mike waved his gauntlet covered hand with a wave to dismiss the elder from the conversation. The old goblin hobbled back to his makeshift throne.
“Prepare a litter for my party. The hunt begins.”