Halfur held the door open and his uncles both followed him; Lobuhl slowly while looking back over his shoulder, and Balvor in a rush with one hand against his forehead. Urum and his father came next, followed by Ephraim and a trio of weary heartsmiths. Several hundred soldiers had fallen to the strange plague, and the soldier’s city of Forvangur was nearing a state of panic. Gund had sent all his strongest captains to to keep the men in line, all the while leading the search through the food stores. He had come to the bonesmith’s halls only moments ago, just as a dozen men all died in one instant. His father had come close to tears, and his uncle Balvor wept openly. His mother was doing her best to aid the bonesmiths and heartsmiths, but the plague was rapidly overwhelming the worn out physicians.

“Where’s your brother?” his father growled.

“He took Neri on a hunt,” Halfur said, “to give him respite from…”

“A hunt?” his father’s face was red with anger. “Our soldiers are dying by the hundreds and Ror is off to play? I’ve half a mind to name you heir apparent here and now. When did he take Neri on this respite?”

“Just before dawn. No more than an hour ago. I can send for him..”

“No, Halfur. All the men I can rely on are with me now,” his father cast his eyes on Balvor, “among others.”

It was his uncle Lobuhl who spoke on Ror’s behalf. Of all his father’s mighty counselors, only Lobuhl ever dared to confront him when he was provoked in earnest. “Was Ror trained to be a heartsmith without my knowledge? Is that why you begrudge his absence? Because it seems to me that he’s serving perfectly well by attending to the soldiers who still live. I was by Neri’s side when we hunted the centaurs, and when our men first took ill. The man needs a respite, just as Halfur said, and Ror is showing him a kindness by sharing a hunt with him.”

It was Urum who spoke next. “He took Salimod’s elder son along as well. Ror is aiding us in that regard as well. It would look suspicious to Salimod if we were all indisposed at once.”

His mother exited into the hall and gave his father an expectant look. There was an unsteady silence while his father took in a series of deep breaths. “Fair enough,” he said at length. “Gund, I need answers. Have you found anything in the stores?”

Gund clapped his hands and a trio of soldiers came from around the corner. Each bore a stone chest. Gund took the lid off one of the chests and produced a handfull of small leather pouches. They were empty, and a few threads showed where they had once been sewed shut.

Lobuhl took one in his hand and peered into the pouch, then pressed his nose against the fabric. His father gestured toward the pouches with his eyes and Halfur took three, one for him, his father and his mother. The leather was exceptionally smooth and the threads were strong. They must have been cut by a very sharp knife. He looked at the ends of the threads. The cuts were clean, and the seam was close. Whatever was stored in these pouches was not meant to get out prematurely. He pressed his nose to the pouch as his uncle had and sniffed. For a brief instant his nostrils were filled with the scent of rot and pus, but after a moment the smell changed to that of fresh ink on parchment, and the cool dusty air of his mother’s library.

Balvor had leaned over his mother’s shoulder and was sniffing the pouch Halfur had handed her. “It smells like Idana’s perfume!” he exclaimed.

“This is no time for japes,” growled Lobuhl.

“I smell lemons,” said his mother, “and honey cider.”

“Mine smells like an aster,” said Urum, "and nectar of pomegranate."

His father signaled the soldier with the open chest to him with a look and put his pouch back with the others. “Where were they found exactly?” his father asked.

“Near the pantries,” Gund said, “but not within. Most were found in the air shafts, a few in dark corners behind benches and stools, or in scarcely used halls.”

“Some sort of gas?” Uncle Lobuhl mused.

“Would it not seep out from between the threads?” asked Balvor.

Urum nodded and grunted his agreement with Balvor. “Goblins would have the means of using poison vapours for sure, so it cannot be ruled out entirely, but my guess is that some sort of spores were inside these pouches.”

“The granaries make the most sense,” his mother said. "The spores would feed off the grain and spread quickly. It could be the growth of the fungus that's inflicting such agony on our men."

“I agree,” said Gund. “Our men eat a lot of grain. It boosts their stamina. What now Grar? We have as good a guess as we can as to the means.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“I want Salimod’s goblin!” shouted Lobuhl.

Halfur looked intently at his father, who had been silently soaking up everyone’s words until now. The King’s bushy brows huddled close together as the man’s powerful mind ground up all the facts before him. Halfur had often observed how his father was quick to listen to all his advisors, no matter their knowledge on a given matter, and to take every detail into account, no matter how seemingly trivial. “We know nothing,” he said, “not for certain. I find it likely these pouches were used to deliver parasites and our men have consumed their larvae, and such a thing is within reach of the Goblin King’s agents.”

“Let me take Salimod and his goblin spy,” Lobuhl urged. “Brother please, I beg you give me leave. That snake has been creeping around the walls of every kingdom, looking for cracks to slither through. He’s wormed his way into ours and has sold us to the Goblin King. Send me after him now before he escapes.”

“Lobuhl, you’re being absurd,” said his mother.

Urum and Gund looked as if they had things to say, but were holding their tongues. Wise men, Halfur thought. His parents and uncles often bled their family squabbles into official gatherings, and it never paid to step in. It was a storm that was best weathered.

“Am I?” Lobuhl turned his head sharply toward the Queen, but was careful not to move any closer to her when he saw her fierce glare and balled fists. He looked to Gund and Urum when he spoke his next words. “We’ve all seen how humans view matrimony. Their lords and kings pawn their children off like studs and broodmares. Salimod’s sister is no more than a piece of coin to him, and he’s finally found a patron desperate enough to take such a cheap sum, and now he…”

Balvor moved like silent lightning. His left fist struck Lobuhl hard in the gut, doubling the thinner man over, and his right hand came down like a hammer on the back of his head. Lobuhl was no more than a second on the ground, and rose like lava bursting from a volcano to strike Balvor hard in the chin. The two were gripping at each other’s throats when their king brother swept over them. Grar took both their heads by the roots of their hair, pulled them back, then brought their skulls together with a crack. They both reeled and dropped to their knees, blood trickling from burst veins above their brows. “My solar,” his father roared, “both of you! NOW!”

“I used to find their hijinks amusing,” Urum said after they both had gone.

“I find nothing amusing now,” his father replied.

His mother placed her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll sort all this out my love. We’ll save what men we can and avenge those we’ve lost. King Gurgu won’t last the year.”

His father dismissed him and the two Chieftains, and his parents made way to the King’s solar. Halfur didn’t envy either of his uncles, though he suspected his father would agree at least to Lobuhl holding the goblin captive, if not Salimod as well. He thought back to a time years past, when he had seen an opportunity that could not be passed up. The Captain of the Grim Whimsey had been taken captive by Meromis Bladedancer and was to be hung from one of the half felled igdrus trees in the Nine Bones Grove, where all green things grow tall. Convincing Neri to aid in their scheme had been easier than he expected. The then new Captain of the Owl Guard was all too trusting of the royal household, even so far as to take Halfur’s word over Gund’s. He’d sent Neri to scout the river that wound through the hills of sorrow, the great burial mounds north of the grove. Neri had not asked for any further information, he simply obeyed. I wonder if he’s grown any shrewder since then?

Only Neri’s presence was needed, so his blind compliance had suited his goals well. The Bladedancer left his daughter to see Ridzak’s execution through, and once she caught word that Neri had been sighted Ridzak was soon left unguarded, feigning death at end of a noose of hemp.

Halfur obviously hadn’t believed the story Ror told him of cutting the igrus stump down to save the goblin. He took it as Ror’s way of saying “I’m not telling you”. Since then Ror had been privy to priceless information about their neighboring kingdoms, and even more importantly, the dealings of Konistra’s many brigands, bandits and ne’er-do-wells. He’d often speculated on Ridzak’s means of gathering information. Halfur himself had only met one of the Whimsey's operators, the skulking little beast called the Ixix. The Ixix was always cold and silent when in Halfur’s presence. The stout little brute would lock his gaze on Halfur and never look away. After hearing some stories of Grandel’s prowess as a killer, Halfur took it as a compliment to be the focus of his watchful instincts. But grandel was an assassin, and while he surely could go unnoticed in a crowd, the gathering of information was a vastly different art than the killing of a target.

That Salimod had a goblin in his employ seemed curious to say the least, and especially so in the current circumstances. Halfur couldn’t shake the suspicion that this goblin was associated with the Whimsey some how. He hurried to the Royal Tempus, not wanting to waste time finding a more discreet route. He’d stepped on the stage and the ohr-tempus whirred to life, when a voice like a war horn called for it to hold. It was his uncle.

“Care to join me?” Lobuhl asked as he stepped onto the stage.

“I despise company at all times. You know this, uncle.” Halfur found honesty to be a far more useful tool than most people.

His uncle smiled. “Then keep silent and at my heels. We go to bring the gift of solitude to another.”

So dad sided with you, eh? Halfur sighed quietly and kept silent as they journeyed to Ormazzum. They made their way through a network of hidden tunnels used by the bear riders to escape with messages in times of siege. Lobuhl wrangled up a detachment of twenty men at arms along the way and bid them to arm themselves with bucklers and spears. They exited the mountain on a high spur of rock above the wide space outside of Malgond, and descended quietly to a small path that brought them outside the human’s camp. A pile of boulders had fallen over a stream near the humans’ sheep pens and a group of their men and boys were working to clear the rocks away. Cara was in the camp, with the war-weary old knight Dennel standing by her side. Standing in front of them both, his head bowed in reverence before Cara, with limbs covered in wiry sinew and ears laden with clink, was a goblin that Halfur had never met, but seemed annoyingly familiar.