Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (3 page)

Not
surprisingly, Phaelan was the first to reach the back wall. He hoisted himself
smoothly to the top and stopped, something my cousin rarely did. Phaelan only
acknowledged one direction, and that was forward.

“Goblin
shamans,” he said.

That
was unexpected. I heaved myself up beside him. As far as I was concerned, there
were two types of goblin shamans—one good and one bad. These particular ones
wore black robes lined in silver. Khrynsani. Quentin’s new acquaintances were
the bad kind. Why wasn’t I surprised?

The
Khrynsani were an ancient goblin secret society and military order, with even
more outdated political ideas. The Khrynsanic credo was simple. Goblins were
meant to rule, and if anyone disagreed, they weren’t meant to live. Those who
disagreed included every other race. Unfortunately, the minds behind the
Khrynsani weren’t simple, or without influence. Some of the most powerful
families of the goblin aristocracy were secret Khrynsani members. The new goblin
king was a Khrynsani and proud of it. So it wouldn’t be long before the rest of
the old blood nobility traded in their secret membership for openly fashionable
affiliation.

Nigel
hated all goblins, good or bad, so it was safe to say that these four weren’t
invited houseguests. Then again, neither was Quentin. But there they all were
on Nigel’s bedroom balcony. Quentin did the only thing a nonsorcerer and a
human could do in his situation: he jumped. It wasn’t a bad distance. Not a
good one, either. But it was survivable, and his chances were better than
staying where he was. Fortunately, Nigel was fond of bushes. It gave Quentin
something to flatten beside himself when he landed.

The
shamans didn’t follow him, but four impeccably armed and armored goblins did.
They effortlessly vaulted the railing and landed catlike on the ground below,
missing the bushes entirely, covering the distance to the middle of the garden
in about half the time as Quentin. The quartet obviously weren’t street thugs,
and they had made no effort to conceal their uniforms. Khrynsani temple guards.
When Quentin found trouble, he didn’t fool around.

Quentin
was running toward the back wall, and us. He looked glad to see us. No surprise
there. But the four goblins were gaining on him, and Quentin would never make
it to the wall before they caught him. I swore and scrambled over the top,
making a wobbly landing on the lawn below. Phaelan was right behind me. Quentin
turned his back to us, leaving himself ample room to maneuver and drew a pair
of long daggers.

The
four goblins were larger and faster than I would have liked. But opponents,
like family, were something you didn’t get the luxury of picking for yourself.
Realizing that Quentin’s intention was to fight rather than escape, the goblins
slowed, each leisurely drawing a scythelike saber. They saw Phaelan and me, but
it didn’t seem to have a negative effect on their morale.

Goblins
were generally tall, long limbed, and leanly muscled, like elves. This quartet
was no exception. Their features were angular, their large eyes dark, and their
upswept ears slightly more pronounced at the tip than elven ears. Their pale
gray skin set off their most distinguishing feature—a pair of fangs that
weren’t for decorative use only. Just because a goblin smiled at you didn’t
mean he wanted to be friends. The danger didn’t detract from the race’s
appeal—some would say it fueled it. I guess all that sinuous grace and exotic
beauty can make you overlook a lot, and there were plenty of half-breed children
running around to prove it. Some said that elves and goblins came from a common
ancestor; a theory hotly denied by the old blood of both races.

The
full moon provided more than ample light to fight by. I’m sure the goblins
would try to maneuver us into the shadows of Nigel’s orchard. They could try,
but the only place I was going was back over the wall when this was over. Not
that I couldn’t see well in the dark, but goblins could see better. What looked
pitch dark to an elf or human was as bright as day to a goblin, which of course
meant the perfect time to cross blades with a goblin was high noon in full sun.
I didn’t think the goblin who broke off from the group and was moving toward me
would be willing to reschedule. Pity.

They
fanned out to surround us. Two of the temple guards centered their attentions
on Phaelan. Apparently they saw him as more of a threat. I don’t think he was
flattered. The one who had chosen me for a dance partner grinned, exposing an
alarmingly sharp pair of fangs. His face, framed by long, black hair, bore
several scars. That told me he’d made mistakes in the past. Good. Hopefully I
could help him make at least one more.

He
circled off and feinted a quick, stabbing attack. He wasn’t serious yet, and I
didn’t take the bait. They didn’t intend to kill us quickly. As long as things
stayed quiet, and their work uninterrupted, they would want to play first. I
agreed with the silence, but I had no intention of being anyone’s evening
entertainment. This toy had teeth.

The
goblins wore tooled leather covered with a combination of blued-steel plate and
scale armor. The single serpent of the Khrynsani insignia gleamed in vivid, red
enamel over the heart. The etching in the steel made the armor look delicate,
but I knew better. There were a few vulnerable points, but those were next to
impossible to reach without getting yourself carved up in the process. Care and
patience was called for here. Unfortunately, I wasn’t well known for either
quality. I let my breath out slowly and willed myself to relax. Let the goblin
make the first move.

The
first cut came at my left side, near the ribs. It was meant to annoy and test
my defenses, not inflict serious damage. I parried it with my dagger, but
wasn’t lured into riposting. Not yet. The goblin was just out of my range, and
I would have to completely turn my back on one of the two others circling
Phaelan. I didn’t want to find out the hard way that goblins were willing to
share.

The
goblin’s grin dimmed. He lunged at my legs, but at the last instant flicked the
blade’s point up toward my abdomen. I leapt back and managed to deflect the
blade, but just barely. The goblin’s grin returned. He was playing again, but I
wasn’t.

I
attacked, something he obviously didn’t expect. The temple guard retreated, but
not fast enough. My rapier darted out, giving me just the reach I needed. Only
the top inch of the blade penetrated, but it was enough. I struck where his
armor buckled at the top of the leg near the groin. The goblin’s face blanched
in pain and surprise, and a low hiss escaped from between his clenched teeth.
His blade slashed down. He was aiming for my sword arm, but instead took a
sizeable chunk out of one of Nigel’s prized rose bushes. I grabbed the falling
branch in my gloved left hand, and lashed out with it. The hooked thorns raked
furrows in the goblin’s unprotected face, and I was treated to language you
wouldn’t expect he learned in the temple.

I
jumped back as the goblin’s blade sliced through the space I had just vacated.
Pain and the sudden absence of his target threw him off balance, and I slipped
the tip of my rapier under the section of armored scales connecting his chest
and back plates. His forward momentum pushed the blade on through. A tug and a
sharp twist of my wrist extracted my blade as the dead goblin slid to the
ground.

Quentin
was leaning against an apple tree, dark blond hair hanging in his eyes, his
normally tanned face blanched pale. I didn’t see any blood on him, which was
more than I could say for his opponent. The goblin was sprawled on the grass,
one of Quentin’s throwing daggers protruding from his throat.

Phaelan
still had one goblin to contend with, and this one was showing more caution
than his dead comrade. My cousin was armed with only a dagger, his rapier
sticking out of a dead goblin’s chest, probably caught on a rib. I was debating
tossing him one of my blades when the remaining goblin attacked, moving faster
than I thought any mortal creature had a right to. Phaelan dodged the first
swing, and dove for the dead goblin’s saber lying in the grass. He rolled as he
hit the ground, the goblin’s scythelike blade whistling past where my cousin’s
head had been an instant before. Phaelan grabbed the saber and brought it up,
slicing into the creature’s unarmored hip. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it
bought him some time.

My
opponent had been scarred before I got hold of him. Phaelan’s attacker had the
high cheekbones and handsome, angled features of the old blood. There were no
scars, and no doubt the goblin was proud of his face. That’s where Phaelan
struck. The goblin parried, but it wasn’t a clean deflection. Phaelan’s saber
sliced through the creature’s exposed ear. My cousin then followed the goblin’s
scream with a solid knee to the nethers.

Silence
was no longer anyone’s priority as the goblin writhed on the ground clutching
his slashed ear, among other things. Dogs began barking and whistles sounded in
the distance as the watch was alerted.

I
felt something crawling on the air around us. I looked toward the house.

The
goblin shamans had made no move to join us in the garden. They didn’t need to.
I couldn’t hear the words of the spell they were weaving, but I could feel what
it was doing. A power was building, and we didn’t want to be here when they
released it. It was particularly nasty, and would reduce us to smoldering
corpses, if not ashes. I had no intention of being made into mulch for Nigel’s
roses. There were faster spells, but from the sound of things, the shamans were
going for fun over speed.

I
could shield us if I had to. I felt confident in my ability to keep us from
being fried, but I felt less certain about being able to damage three Khrynsani
shamans. This wasn’t a time for a brawl—this was a time to get the hell out of
here. But their spell was reaching its conclusion, so it wasn’t my decision to
make.

They
didn’t expect to be attacked, so they hadn’t wasted any power shielding
themselves. Their magical britches weren’t going to be any farther down than
they were right now. I didn’t have to break their spell, just their
concentration. My nose had already told me that Nigel’s gardener had been
fertilizing today; my eyes discovered he’d graciously left a bucket of said
fertilizer for my use and enjoyment.

I
could move small objects with my mind. A bucket of manure was a small object.

I
tossed the bucket—and its contents—toward the balcony. As far as defensive
spells went, it wasn’t powerful, it certainly wasn’t pretty, but it got the job
done. At the very least, the goblin shamans were distracted. At the most, they
were discouraged from trying to roast us. They also looked like turning me into
rose mulch was the nicest thing they wanted to do, but I wasn’t going to stick
around and find out for sure.

Lights
came on in the windows of the houses next door, and more goblins came over the
wall beyond the orchard. They wore tooled leather and blued-steel armor, and
wielded blades of the same fine steel—the sort of steel and leatherwork only
royal retainers could afford. More temple guards joined the shamans on the
balcony. Oddly enough, the goblins from the house didn’t look happy to see the
goblins from the orchard. Dissent in the ranks? Opposing factions? Either way,
we weren’t about to stay around to welcome any newcomers.

Phaelan
used his foot to brace against the dead goblin’s body, freed his trapped blade,
and made for the wall. Getting over the top was a lot easier the first time,
but then again, survival is a powerful motivator. A narrow alley ran on the
other side of the wall. Once over, I had a feeling the goblins would only
pursue us so far. I knew Mermeia. And Mermeia was teeming with humans and elves
who would gladly serve Khrynsani temple guards their cods on a platter.

I
swung myself over the top and dropped to the ground, slipping in something I
didn’t have the time or inclination to identify. Quentin followed, and I took
this opportunity to lay hands on him. They weren’t particularly gentle hands,
but then after a fight with goblins who wanted me dead for no other reason than
that I knew Quentin, I wasn’t in a particularly gentle mood.

Quentin
gasped, trying to get his wind back. “I’ve got to get to Simon Stocken’s.”

“What
did you take?”

Quentin’s
expression was somewhere between mere panic and basic terror, probably inspired
by the goblins, not me. “What do you mean?”

I
gave him a shake. “What’s in the box?”

He
pulled a chain out of his shirt. On its end spun a plain, silver amulet. “You
mean this?”

I
winced, expecting a repeat of my alley experience. But there was no pain. No
urge to be sick. I also couldn’t believe my eyes.

“What
is
it with you and necklaces!”

Phaelan
dropped down beside us. He couldn’t believe we were still there.

“Go!”

Beyond
going to see Simon Stocken, I didn’t know what Quentin’s plans were. But if it
involved another extended stay in the Daith Swamp, he was on his own.
Friendship only went so far.

Few
things stirred a man’s protective instincts like ill-gotten
goods.

To
anyone who had no business there, Mermeia’s east waterfront district was a
place best avoided after dark. Chances were, if a man had killed to obtain
certain objects, he had no qualms over killing to keep them a while longer, at
least until he saw fit to sell them for a healthy profit.