Chapter 8

Ludmila wanted to pinch her nose as the smell of Goblin wafted through the air. Presumably, they smelled that way for the same reason that she herself avoided using perfume or picking up any other strong scents whenever she could: to prevent being detected out in the wilderness. Goblins, however, never ever seemed to wash, for fear of losing the odour they had accumulated. She could smell them from quite a distance away if she was downwind. It was not pleasant, if she were to be pleasant about it. This one had added to the already noxious odour by soiling himself.

She produced a length of twine to bind the unconscious Goblin’s wrists in front of him, then sniffed her hands gingerly. Blech. She would probably have the Squire Zombie scrubbed clean and left out to dry in the wind after this.

Instructing the Squire Zombie to pick up their new captive, she led them to the other side of the pass and below into the trees. She tied the Goblin’s bindings to a tall sapling, then frowned down at him as she prodded his leg with a boot. The diminutive Demihuman did not stir.

“Is there some magic that will wake him up?” She asked.

“None in my repertoire,” Nonna answered, “though I believe that there is a spell developed in this region called Alarm that serves a related function.”

“I thought that one just drew attention to whoever tripped it…well, I suppose that is neither here nor there.”

Ludmila reached into the Infinite Haversack on her right hip, withdrawing a flask. She removed the cap and poured a thin trickle of water onto the Goblin’s greasy scalp. Again, the Demihuman showed no reaction.

Fine, be that way.

She put the flask away, drawing out an enchanted one. A glob of steaming village stew spattered onto its head.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

The Goblin shrieked, shaking his head violently. A trickle of stew ran down his cheek, and he abruptly stopped to start awkwardly lapping at it.

“Hey, you. You’re fina–”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

He shot to his feet abruptly, then jerked and fell over when his tether went taut. The Goblin rolled around for a bit before finally getting back onto his knees.

“No dead!” He squealed as he tried to get away, “No dead! No dead! No dead!”

Was he frightened by the presence of the Undead? Ludmila looked up at Nonna. The Elder Lich returned her look as if to refute her unspoken assertion.

“This is obviously your doing,” Nonna said as she floated down to stand beside her.

Ludmila looked back at the Goblin, who continued to pant ‘no dead!’ as he attempted to break free of his bindings. She put away the enchanted flask, then stepped away from Nonna. The Goblin’s bloodshot eyes followed her. She took a step towards him, and he shrieked again, resuming his desperate attempts to free itself.

How is he more scared of me than an Elder Lich? I’m not even Undead, for Surshana’s sake!

“Look,” she said, “I am not going to hur–”

Well, no – she would hurt him if she had to. For whatever reason, the stupid Goblin caught on to what she was going to say and panicked even more. The sapling quivered violently as the Goblin ran this way and that, seemingly unable to comprehend that he was tied to the tree.

“Stop that!”

The Goblin stopped.

“Name?” She asked, trying to look friendly.

“No–”

The Goblin stopped partway, peering at Ludmila suspiciously. Her frown returned.

“Nob!” It squealed in a panic, “No dead!”

“Alright, Nob,” Ludmila said, “where are you from?”

“You?”

“No, you.”

“No, you.”

She wanted to reach out and slap the thing. Instead, she tried settling herself with a deep breath, which she instantly regretted.

“Where is Nob from?” Ludmila tried again.

“Nob from there,” it used its chin to point south, over the pass.

“How far?”

“Not know,” Nob’s eyes widened after the words left his mouth. “No dead! No dead!”

It would have been much better if they had sent a Hobgoblin instead. Unfortunately, time was precious now that they were starting to poke their noses north.

“Does Nob’s tribe live over there as well?”

Nob nodded.

“What about this new tribe that’s appeared?”

“New tribe…new tribe not from there.”

She would need to keep her words simple, but Ludmila thought she could get what she needed out of the Goblin.

“So, this new tribe–”

“Army.”

This little…

Ludmila cleared her throat and the Goblin backed away, tripping over its tether. It fell into a panic again. Ludmila sighed.

“Nob.”

The Goblin stopped and looked up at her again.

“Where did this army come from?”

“From other side – where sun goes.”

“Why did the army come here?”

“Army big – can go where army wants.”

“So there is no reason why the army came here?”

He stared at her blankly for a moment, then shook his head.

“Nob not know. Hob take Gob…to be big big? Take all.”

She supposed that it was what it boiled down to, which was what she already knew. Gleaning any in-depth information from a Goblin was just an exercise in frustration. Her immediate priority was to figure out what their plans were, then move according to what she could discover. She examined the scrawny little Demihuman, wondering how she could loosen its tongue. Even the slightest movement made him panic, but firm words seemed to grab his attention.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Ludmila withdrew another enchanted flask, this one filled with icy cold water. She took a long, refreshing draught, watching Nob out of the corner of her eye. The Goblin swallowed audibly.

“Is Nob thirsty?” She asked.

Nob nodded. Ludmila knelt, placing a wooden cup on a large stone and filled it halfway to the brim. The Goblin eyed the cup for a long moment before moving forward. He jerked to a stop about half a metre away, once again reaching the limit of his tether. Nob shot her a betrayed look. She lifted the cup from the stone.

“Does Nob know why Nob is here?”

“Hobs send Nob.”

Ludmila remained silent at the answer. Nob looked at the cup in her hand, licking his lips.

“Nob go look, but Hobs deaded Nob. Said no go, but no! Stupid Hobs.”

She leaned forward and placed the cup of water in Nob’s hands. The Goblin raised it to his mouth and drank in greedy swallows that sent rivulets off of his cheeks and down his neck. When he finished, he looked around before throwing the cup at the rock it had been placed on. The cup bounced off and went skittering into a bush. Ludmila ordered the nearby Squire Zombie to retrieve the cup, and she filled it again.

“Look where?” She asked, holding up the cup out towards the Goblin.

“Look where Hobs want go?” Nob answered, looking past Ludmila’s shoulder to the north, “Nob say no – Nob say no! But Hob say no, so Nob go. Nob deaded…Nob not deaded?”

He looked across at her hopefully.

“If Nob continues to work with me,” Ludmila handed over the cup again, “I will forgive Nob just this once. Now, why does the army want to go north?”

“Home…home no good. Skies turn bad.”

“Skies turn bad…”

“Sun always,” Nob shook his head. “Water shrinks. Plants turn brown. Animals go away. Skies turn bad – no good. Tribes fight for springs; for food, then army comes. Army…belly big. Take all. Eat all. Drink all.”

Aside from the part about the army, everything he described sounded like it was the Sorcerous Kingdom’s doing. While the Krkonoše corrected the weather in their own stretch of territory, she hadn’t dispatched them to work along the rest of the southwestern border yet. The two months of ‘perfect’ weather provided for the farmlands for the Sorcerous Kingdom resulted in decidedly imperfect weather south of them. It was sunny unless Lord Mare had it rain, and the rain was only enough for the areas where he wanted it to rain. The Katze river was two metres lower as a result, and she could only imagine how dry the upper reaches had become.

The implications of being able to control the weather at will were both promising and terrifying at the same time. It could mean freedom from the whims of weather, providing great plenty for an entire nation, or it could ruin one by forcing drought and turning fertile fields and forests into parched wasteland. Ludmila wasn’t sure if the Royal Court only intended to manipulate the weather to compensate for the delayed sowing season this last spring, but, if it continued, vast swathes of the Theocracy would probably be devastated.

Shelving her thoughts on the matter for later, Ludmila turned her attention back to the Goblin quietly waiting for her to say something. She reached into her Infinite Haversack again, drawing out several strips of venison jerky. Nob’s eyes latched onto them, and drool started leaking out of the corner of his mouth.

“It sounds as if Nob does not like this army much,” she said, handing a piece of meat over to him. “Nob was forced to come into my territory, and the army is taking everything for themselves.”

Nob nodded his head empathetically as he chewed on the tough strip of meat.

“In that case,” she smiled, “There is something I would like for Nob to do…”

* * *

Leaning in the shade of a withered birch tree, Zrol watched a dozen Goblins carry the newest shipment of supplies into his camp. Their skinny green forms glistened with sweat, and just looking at them increased his own discomfort. It was hot – damn hot. Every single day, the sun beat down on them without a single cloud in the sky, and the night brought little in the way of a reprieve. His Dwarf-forged plate mail felt like that damn Human chef’s infernal grill, and he could only remove it when he was off duty.

Damn Gnolls – this basin is more like a cauldron.

Well, he supposed he couldn’t rightly blame them. The landscape was as they had described, and no one realized that there was some sort of drought going on at first. The weather on the western side of the pass was exactly the same, except that the river basin on the other side was much larger. A dry spell was a dry spell – it wasn’t as if anyone could control the weather, so there was no one to hold responsible.

Things were going slower than everyone would have liked. The local tribes were uncooperative, food was scarce, and water could only be found in the streams and rivers fed by underground springs. With so many dried conifers everywhere, he felt like they were walking into a giant pyre. General Avod shared his concerns, as did all of the other captains, so he had volunteered to lead an advance contingent north to locate greener lands.

“Captain,” one of his lieutenants walked up and saluted, “scout’s returned.”

“…really?”

“Ayup. Scampered in to report just now.”

“Bring him over here, then,” Zrod told the Lieutenant.

“Yes, sir.”

The Hobgoblin saluted smartly, then marched off in the direction from which he had come.

Zrol honestly hadn’t expected the first scout he sent off to return. The first reconnaissance forces they sent were weak Goblins that hadn’t been extensively trained, with the idea that they’d most likely fall prey to whatever was out there. A detachment had been left at the impressive-looking territorial marker to await its return – or observe whatever it riled up. The Goblin hadn’t returned for over two days, so he figured something got him along the way. It wasn’t uncommon, and they’d have sent a real scouting force since nothing ridiculous had reared its ugly head.

Every local tribe in the area had the same basic fears: that the Humans to the south were too strong to fight, and the Humans to the north…they couldn’t even tell you anything substantial about the ones to the north. Only that they were supposedly there, and that death awaited anyone that dared to cross the markers. As the officer in charge of leading the foray north, he entertained these fears that bordered on superstition, but only to a point. Armies that fell prey to rampant, unsubstantiated rumours did not remain armies for long.

The lieutenant returned with the Goblin in question. It was as skinny as the rest, though it actually looked better than when it had parted with them. It was also quite a bit dirtier if that was possible. Zrol frowned at the stains that ran down its chin and chest.

“Let’s hear it,” he said.

The Goblin looked up at him hesitantly, and Zrol grew impatient. He straightened to his full height, glaring down at him.

“Report!”

“Nob…Nob back.”

Nob smiled up at him. The average Goblin was dumb, but this one seemed especially idiotic.

“Okay…now that Nob is back, what did Nob see?”

“Nob see…Nob see trees, bushes, rocks, stones, stone rocks…”

Zrol sighed as Nob listed every possible thing that he saw, noting the rocky pass and the forests on the other side.

“…Nob see pond and stream – water from ground. Nob come back. Nob see–”

“That’s enough,” Zrol held up a hand. “So there weren’t any traps or anything?”

Probably not. A Gob this weak wouldn’t have returned if he set one off. As expected, Nob shook his head.

“So none of these Humans you’re all so scared of popped up to kill Nob?”

Nob flinched at the word Human, frantically looking everywhere as if one would appear upon mention. Zrol sneered at his reaction. Pathetic.

“Human…Human no kill Nob,” Nob replied. “B-but Human smell everywhere!”

Zrol scowled down at the Goblin. Was he still trying to justify his obviously nonexistent fears? He exchanged a glance with the other officer, who shrugged in return.

“One last question,” Zrol said. “What are all those stains on the front of Nob?”

There was obviously blood mixed in with the mud, but Zrol wondered if the little scamp would try and lie to his face.

“Nob find rabbit. Eat. Drink good water from pond. Find bird. Eat.”

Nob patted his belly with a satisfied look on his face. At least he didn’t lie to him – maybe there was hope for the guy, after all.

“Return him to the training camps in the back,” Zrol told his lieutenant. “Thirty strikes with an iron rod when he gets there.”

Nob made a strangled sound upon hearing his punishment.

“W-why?!” He cried, “Nob did job! Nob good Nob!”

“Nob did a good job,” Zrol nodded, “but Nob still broke the rules. Everything scrounged up is to be brought back to the quartermaster for redistribution – can’t just eat it all yourself. Tell you what: since Nob did good, we’ll take five off the top.”

Zrol started walking off, then looked over his shoulder at the lieutenant.

“Tie him up good and throw him on the next litter out. Twenty-five strikes with an iron rod when he arrives – the trip’ll give him some time to reflect on what he did.”

“Yes sir.”

The lieutenant dragged the screaming Goblin away. Zrol smiled grimly to himself as he made his way through the camp. A good water source; food just out there for the taking. The path that was taken back and forth was clear of obstacles, and, judging by the Goblin’s time away, it couldn’t be more distant than a day’s march. Probably less, if he had been sneaking around and getting sidetracked. He looked up to the evening sky – the timing couldn’t be more perfect.

Zrol returned to his command tent, where several of his aides awaited. He looked at each before speaking.

“Our canary came back,” Zrol told them. “There’s clean water; food; everything we need. I want two contingents formed: one to hold the pass, and another to set up camp on the other side. There’s Human territory somewhere beyond, so let’s make good use of the night while we can.”