Temple of the Dragonslayer (14 page)

“I’m not sure,” Elidor said. “It sounds like—”

“I’ll tell you what it
smells
like,” Jax interrupted, his large nostrils flaring. “It smells like goblin.”

As if responding on cue, a dozen short, squat figures stepped out of the forest and onto the trail in front of the companions. A strong, rank odor like rotten fruit filled the air. The goblins wore bits and pieces of rusty, ill-fitting armor—leather vests, chain mail, plate armor, helmets, gauntlets—and the pieces clanked as the goblins moved. Scavengers, Nearra thought. They were like parasites, living off the people they victimized.

The goblins brandished scavenged weapons as well: daggers, short swords, spiked clubs, hand axes, every kind of weapon Nearra could imagine.

Catriona stepped in front of Nearra. “Stay behind me,” she said softly, and Nearra felt a stab of fear.

Davyn nocked an arrow and took aim at the goblin in front, but the ranger didn’t fire.

Nearra realized that the others had formed a semicircle in front of her to protect her. She felt at once grateful and ashamed.

“Go now and you shall not be harmed.” Catriona was trembling, but her voice was strong and steady.

The goblins burst out laughing.

The one in front—who was slightly taller and fatter than the others—spoke.

“You speak bravely for one who is outnumbered.”

“There are six of us and twelve of you,” Jax said. “And considering that you are
goblins
—” he said the word as if it were something nasty to scrape off the bottom of his hoof—“each of us counts for two, perhaps three of you. Thus I say it is you who are outnumbered.”

The goblin grinned, displaying crooked, yellowed teeth. “Look behind you and count again, minotaur.”

“Oh, please!” Elidor said. “That’s one of the oldest tricks in the Book of Stupid Goblin Ploys.”

Jax sniffed the air. “It isn’t a trick.”

The companions glanced over their shoulders and saw another dozen goblins had stepped onto the trail behind them, making a total of twenty-four.

Without saying anything, the others shifted their positions until their semicircle became a true circle, with Nearra protected in the middle.

This is ridiculous! thought Nearra. I have the power to take care of myself! She had felt that power several times since she had first awakened, whenever she was in danger. She concentrated on trying to make her hands grow warm and begin to tingle, but no matter how hard she tried, she felt nothing. Maybe I’m not in enough danger, she thought. Maybe it would be better if the others weren’t protecting me …

“So now the odds are even,” Catriona said, though she didn’t sound as confident as she had a moment ago. “We have little of value. All you’ll gain by attacking us is death.”

The goblin leader sneered. “Death is what we seek. But not ours—yours.” The leader spoke a harsh command in the goblin tongue, and the two bands of red-skinned creatures shouted battle cries as they surged forward.

D
avyn grabbed Nearra’s hand and tugged her toward the trees. He held his bow in his other hand, though now the arrow pointed toward the ground.

“Come on! The others can handle the goblins!”

Nearra didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to abandon her friends, but the tingling sensation hadn’t started yet. She was terrified of the goblins, so she allowed Davyn to pull her off the trail and into the trees.

“Don’t stop!” Davyn said, not letting go of her hand. “Keep running!”

Hand in hand, they crashed through the underbrush, fleeing as the sounds of battle erupted behind them.

Catriona saw Davyn pull Nearra to safety. Though she didn’t completely trust the ranger, she was glad he had done so. Right now, this was a very bad place for someone who didn’t know how to fight.

But then the goblins were upon her and Catriona had no more time to think. Though she was only a squire and technically had no right to do so, she let out the Knights’ traditional war
cry, fought to ignore the fluttery feeling in her stomach, and moved in to attack.

A goblin came at Catriona with a spiked club. The goblin swung wildly, with more enthusiasm than skill. She sidestepped, easily avoiding the blow. She brought her sword around in a backhanded swipe and struck the goblin in the face with the flat of her blade. Her aunt had taught her never to take life—not even the life of a creature as loathsome as a goblin—unless there was no other option.

The goblin shrieked in pain and staggered backward, but he didn’t fall. Leathery red lips drew back from sharp, foam-flecked teeth. He snarled and attacked once more.

Catriona felt the cold icy grip of fear squeeze her heart as the goblin ran toward her, waving his spiked club, eyes blazing with lust for her blood. The goblins weren’t skilled warriors and they weren’t especially strong, but there were so many of them. Even with the aid of Sindri, Elidor, and Jax, how could she hope to stand against them all?

Her fear made her hesitate almost long enough for the goblin’s club to connect with her ribcage. But in the end, her training took over. She jumped back to avoid the blow. With the goblin off-balance, she thrust her sword forward. The creature cried out in pain one last time before stiffening and falling to the ground.

She felt a surge of triumph, as well as gratitude to her aunt for teaching her so well. But she had little time to celebrate, for another goblin came at her, this one wielding a rusty hand axe. Catriona felt fear rise again, but she fought it down and ran forward to meet the attack.

Soon she fell into a rhythm, fighting and dispatching one goblin after another. She parried strikes from all sorts of weapons: long knives, spiked clubs, halberds, flails, maces, and more. It seemed almost as if she were fighting the same goblin over and over, only somehow he managed to switch weapons when she wasn’t looking.

During those few seconds when she wasn’t attacking or defending, Catriona glanced around to see how her companions were faring. Jax was having no problem whatsoever with the goblins. The minotaur cut them down with his axe as if he were a farmer reaping a field of wheat. Elidor held a pair of his throwing knives, but instead of hurling them at the goblins, he gripped them tightly and used them as miniature swords. Moving with inhuman speed and agility, he turned aside blows and lashed out at his attackers with devastating results.

It was Sindri she was most worried about. The kender had virtually no training in the arts of war. Unless he was able to make use of the magic skills he seemed to have recently acquired, she feared the goblins would strike him down.

Sindri jumped aside just as a goblin swung a flail at him.

“You call that an attack?” the kender said. “My great-great grandmother has a steadier hand and surer eye than you! She’s easily twice as fast, too!”

The goblin snarled in rage and lunged at Sindri, but the kender stuck out his foot, tripping the goblin. The red-skinned beast staggered forward, unbalanced, only to end up spitted on the sword of another goblin standing nearby.

Catriona smiled grimly. She had forgotten about the kender ability to taunt a foe into a mindless rage. More often than not, it resulted in the foe making a foolish—and in this case, deadly—mistake. Sindri could take care of himself.

“Hey, you!” Sindri called. “The one with the face like red-colored cow manure!”

A dozen goblins turned to look at the kender.

Of course, there was such a thing as being too good at taunting.

The goblins ran toward Sindri, shouting.

“Death to the kender!”

“Slit his gizzard!”

“Save me the wishbone!”

Catriona tried to run to her friend’s aid, but just then the large
goblin leader—who was large enough to be a hobgoblin—stepped into her path, and grinning with its fang-filled mouth, swung a war hammer at her head. She brought her sword up in time to counter the blow, but it was a close call. As strong as the goblin was, she didn’t think she would be able to defeat him in time to go help Sindri.

The goblin swung again with his hammer, this time at her back. As Catriona spun around to block the weapon, she saw Elidor standing still in the middle of the battle. He reached into his tunic and pulled out what looked like a bulging purse. He opened the sack, poured steel coins into his hand, and then hurled them into the air above the onrushing goblins. He then spun around and threw another handful over the heads of the second group of goblins.

Both goblin squads halted instantly, as if they’d had a stasis spell cast over them. But this wasn’t a magic spell: it was a monetary one.

“Steel!” one of the goblins shouted.

“Mine!” another yelled.

“Get your hands off my money!” screeched the leader.

Within seconds, the goblins had forgotten about Catriona and the others and were fighting each other for possession of the coins littering the ground.

Catriona looked at Elidor with a mixture of amazement and admiration. The elf threw the empty purse over his shoulder and smiled. “Sometimes it pays to have your enemy do the fighting for you,” he said.

Goblins argued, screamed, and shrieked as their battle became increasingly more savage.

Catriona looked at the spot where Davyn and Nearra had fled into the woods. “Come on! Let’s go before the goblins remember we are here!”

Jax scowled. “Minotaurs do not run from battle.”

“We are not running
from
anything,” Catriona said. “We are running to Nearra and Davyn. There may well be other goblins
in the forest—or worse threats. They may need our help. I took an oath to protect Nearra, and I will not fail her!”

Still scowling, the minotaur ignored her and turned to Elidor. “That was my money you threw, wasn’t it, elf?”

Elidor tried to smile, but Jax was far too intimidating—especially when holding a double-edged battle-axe.

“Let’s quibble over such minor details after we’ve found Davyn and Nearra, shall we?” Elidor didn’t pause to listen to the minotaur’s response. Instead, the elf turned and dashed past Catriona and Sindri and plunged into the trees.

Without waiting to see how Jax would react, Catriona ran to catch up, Sindri following close behind.

“We should slow down!” Nearra said as she ran. “If we don’t, we’ll lose the others!”

“We’re still too close to the trail,” Davyn said. “Just a little farther, and we’ll be safe.”

They continued running, dodging around trees, ducking beneath branches. Sweat poured off Davyn’s body, his heart pounded, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

They ran past a copper boulder. Then the ground sloped downward, and the trees became sparser, their branches broken off and their bark scarred as if someone—or something—had been hacking away at the trees with a large axe or club.

Davyn knew the reason why the trees looked this way, and a cold fear gripped him. Not fear for himself, though. Fear for Nearra.

They slowed down until they stopped, unable to run any farther. They both gulped air as they struggled to catch their breath.

“What’s … that … smell?” Nearra said between breaths.

The air was thick with a rank odor, slightly different from the smell of goblin. It was earthier, the scent of a large creature that spent all of its time in the wild.