The Fifth Dawn (17 page)

The Vulshok hadn’t taken a single step, though Lyese was fighting his goblin warriors right in front of him. Lyese hadn’t gotten through the line as Glissa had, though she’d certainly put up a fight. Her sister’s sword rang as she batted back goblin spears. The human reached into his robes and produced what looked like some kind of silver mesh fabric. Before Glissa could shout a warning, the Vukshok had tossed the net over Lyese and her zauk. The bird and the elf girl quickly became entangled and fell over sideways, the panicked mount kicking wildly.

“Flare!” Glissa cursed and yanked hard on her zauk’s reins, trying to turn around. The bird’s muscular neck didn’t give an inch. “Come on, you stupid—” Glissa snarled, pulling vainly with all her might. “Stop!”

Maybe I kicked it a little too hard, Glissa thought as she fought the panicked creature. She looked back again at Lyese, who was kicking in the air as four goblin warriors dragged her out of the net. Her zauk was now motionless except for quick, shallow
breaths and blood that poured from several spear wounds. So the prohibition on violence didn’t apply to their mounts.

“Halt! Whoah! Slow down, bird brain!” Glissa was almost raving now, and started pounding the zauk’s necks with her fists. This only seemed to make the bird run faster.

When she again checked on Lyese, her sister and the goblin ambush team were specks in the distance, almost lost among the rusty, rocky spires of the Oxidda Mountains. She had to do something, or she really would lose Lyese again. She didn’t even want to think what this Vulshok and his goblins would do to her little sister, especially if the “new lord” the human had mentioned was who Glissa suspected it was.

There was really only one solution, and it was going to hurt. Clutching the strap that held the longsword to her back, she let her feet slip from the stirrups and rolled backward off of the zauk’s rump.

She landed hard, but was able to flatten out and keep the sword on her back from flapping around and doing her more harm than good. She came painfully to rest against a jagged black boulder, shattering her pteron-bone helm, which saved her skull from the same fate.

Dazed and bruised all over again, Glissa sprang to her feet. Still dizzy, the elf girl drew her blade with an unsteady hand and stumbled as fast as she could back to the fight. It took her a full minute to cover the same distance that had taken the zauk seconds, a full minute Glissa had to plan what she was going to do to that Vulshok. Size wasn’t everything, and Glissa had taken down foes that large before. But by the time she reached the enclosed area where the goblins had ambushed them, there was nothing left but an dead zauk and Lyese’s helm, which still wobbled back and forth on its side. She’d missed them by moments.

The elf girl scanned her immediate surroundings looking
for some sign of the goblins or her sister. It didn’t take her long to spot the band of diminutive figures surrounding the towering Vulshok as the group moved over a narrow path that cut into the mountains. They had a good head start, but they gave no indication—no quickened pace, no shout of alarm—that they had spotted her yet.

Glissa, on the other hand, had good aim. She pounced behind the dead zauk and heaved it over into its belly. She fumbled with the saddle until she freed Lyese’s longbow and arrows.

Staying low, the elf girl dashed from hiding place to hiding place, slowly gaining on the surprisingly fast-moving goblin pack. Glissa almost lost them a few times when they rounded ferrous outcroppings or passed under natural bridge formations, of which there were many. After twenty minutes she had closed within bow range. Glissa stalked the goblins and their Vulshok leader, carefully selecting a target—a fat, slow moving goblin that was conveniently bringing up the rear. Far enough from Lyese to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally be hit, close enough to Glissa for a successful shot. With a quick inhalation of held breath, the elf nocked an arrow, took aim, and let fly.

The arrow whistled in the air, and the elf saw the fat goblin look up in surprise just before the shaft skewered him through the leg. Fatty went down, howling in pain. The remaining goblins scattered and took cover behind massive natural growth of copper ore and scatter, scraggly trees and bushes. Glissa charged, ducking the goblins’ wild return shots and a few wobbly spears with ease.

The Vulshok, however, remained perfectly still, and so did Lyese. The human had a wicked-looking dagger pressed against her sister’s throat. “Stop!” the human bellowed. “Come any closer and you’re an only child again.”

Taken by surprise, Glissa blurted, “How do you know—?”

“You’d be surprised what I know, Glissa,” the human said. “How about this one? I know what you’ve been seeing in your dreams. A world without metal. A world of flesh, and wood, and rock, and earth and bone and skin. A world where life, as they say, goes on. Something like that?”

Glissa was baffled, but tried not to let on. “No need to do anything rash,” she said. “Yes, you’re right. We can talk about it. Just let her go. If you hurt her, the next shot goes through your eye. I don’t care how big you are, you’ve got to have a brain in there somewhere.”

“No deal,” the human laughed. “I thought you were smarter than that, Glissa. You want to deal? Drop the bow and come quietly, or she dies.”

Glissa slowly released the bowstring and slipped the arrow back into the quiver. Her eyes never leaving the human’s steely gaze, she crouched slowly and set the bow on the ground.

“The sword too,” the man barked.

“You’re too far away for me too—”

“The sword. If it helps, you’ll get it back. You just can’t take it where we’re going,” the human said conversationally, though he didn’t loosen his grip on Lyese for a second. In fact, he pressed down a little on the blade, making Lyese yelp. Her feet kicked uselessly in the air.

“Okay,” Glissa said. “No problem, just relax.” The elf girl reached slowly over one shoulder to draw her sword then cautiously set it next to the bow.

She hoped the goblins would attack her now. If they thought Glissa was helpless just because she didn’t have a sword or a bow, she’d love the chance to correct them with her bare claws.

The human feinted lowering his knife a few times, probably to make sure Glissa wouldn’t jump him as soon as he did. Apparently the Vulshok knew exactly how dangerous she could be.

Finally, the massive human released Lyese and gave her a shove that sent her stumbling into Glissa, who barely managed to catch her. By the time Glissa had propped her sister up with her shoulder, the goblins again had them surrounded, arrows trained on the elves’ chests. The fat goblin wore a crude brown bandage around his leg and looked like he might fire an arrow no matter what kind of deal the Vulshok struck.

“Now ladies, please,” the human said, “It appears we have gotten off to a bad start. I had hoped we could be friends. My lord wishes it. And so I wish it.”

“You ambushed us, ‘friend.’ Who’s this lord of yours, anyway? Wouldn’t be a really ugly son of a vorrac with four legs and six eyes, would it?” Glissa was in no mood for small talk.

“I’ll be sure to put your lord’s head and your own on the same stick,” Lyese said darkly. The younger girl rubbed her throat gingerly and stared daggers as the short man.

“You are bitter. Understandable. Forgive me, I’m operating under a different set of rules these days, but sometimes I still slip. Now, come with me, won’t you?” He turned and started to walk away. Two of the spear-toting goblins ran forward and collected the elves’ weapons.

The other goblins hadn’t moved, apparently waiting to see if the elf girls were going to try anything. Glissa remained still and noted with pride that her sister didn’t move either.

“Why should we do that?” the older elf girl called after the strange human that dressed like a goblin. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“My girl, you do not know my name, but I had thought my … position would be apparent,” the man said, turning to favor them with a toothy smile. “I am call Alderok Vektro. I am the Vulshok high priest of Krark’s Prophet. My other titles include master-at-arms of the revolution, commander of the Prophet’s
commandos—” he waved an arm, indicating the goblins holding them at arrowpoint—“and I believe I’ve been made chief of Oxiddagg village. Don’t worry. I’m assured it’s an entirely honorary position. The real work is done by the elders.”

“Krark’s what?” Glissa asked.

“Prophet,” Alderok Vektro replied. “Do try to keep up. Do not be alarmed. My lord tells me you are an old friend. I believe you know him as ‘Dwugget.’”

“Why does it resist, my Creator?” Memnarch asked the empty air. “Does it not know how fragile life truly is? Has this creature not yet seen enough pain?” The Guardian paused, listening to a voice that Slobad couldn’t hear. “Oh, very well. More pain, then.” He lumbered over to where the goblin hung in the rack and pressed a blue jewel mounted on the base with one pointed clawtip.

Flaming agony shot through Slobad, making his tortured muscles spasm chaotically. But a tiny part of his mind ignored all of this. A tiny part of Slobad had walled itself off within his brain, like the goblin himself had done so many times to escape danger. And that part of his mind refused to give up.

Glissa was alive. When Memnarch had given Malil his orders, Slobad could hardly believe it. Now that slim thread of hope—Glissa, alive, and still causing trouble for Memnarch, no doubt needing Slobad’s help—was all that kept the goblin from dropping into an open pit of despair. So while Slobad screamed as every nerve in his body burned, his hidden self still held out hope of rescue.

Finally, the Guardian stepped forward and depressed the blue gemstone a second time, and the fire dissipated.

Slobad sniffed gingerly—his nose was already broken in at least three places—and detected the distinctive aroma of cooked
goblin. It was a lot like normal goblin, but with many of the more noxious surface odors burned away. He spat blood and bile.

“Hey … uh … ugly,” the goblin wheezed. “Call that … torture? Should try to eat … my cooking. Huh?” He laughed, which came out sounding more like a dry, persistent hack, then descended into a half-minute coughing fit. When that had run its course, Slobad added, “Oh yeah … where Glissa. Huh? Can’t find crazy elf … some god.”

“It tests me, my Creator,” Memnarch said. “It actually think it can taunt me. Me.” The Guardian chuckled, and reached out with a silver claw. He gently stroked the side of Slobad’s face, and the goblin found the energy to jerk back as if burned. Which he was, now that he thought about it. “Such a curious creature. Does it know it’s here by accident? Rusty, dusty,
aggravating
goblins crawling over this world like vermin. They
all
crawl, my Creator. Elves. The cat folk. The thrice-damned humans. Even my vedalken are truly nothing but infections, like this spore. I know that now.” Memnarch chuckled again, which disturbed Slobad a great deal more than the Guardian’s more predictable maniacal laughter. That laugh was maniacal, but something about that low chuckle was
insane.

“Look who talking, bug,” Slobad managed.

The Guardian waved a claw, and Slobad felt an invisible hand slap him hard across the face, leaving three thin lines of ochre blood welling up on Slobad’s cheeks.

“Does it appreciate the honor?” Memnarch’s claws curled into a fist, and the goblin flinched, but the Guardian just rapped lightly on Slobad’s forehead, like a nervous suitor knocking on a lady’s door. “The instrument by which I ascend. It is in this puny insect brain. Waiting to be realized.”

“What?” Slobad managed. “I got spark now too … huh?”

“The vermin attempts another joke, my Creator. Yet this little
ovoid atop its shoulders has displayed a remarkable affinity for building. It is an artificer. A designer and builder of things.”

Slobad couldn’t imagine what Memnarch was getting at. Or how he knew about Slobad’s abilities, for that matter. Then again, the Guardian had thousands of years to study the denizens of “his” world. Maybe it wasn’t such a surprise. “Been over this, crabby. You built a world, huh? So build your own stuff—Slobad’s busy. All tied up, huh?” Slobad giggled a little too madly.

Memnarch smiled, a look Slobad had grown to fear ever since his capture. He scuttled over to the goblin and pressed the flat side of a clawed finger into Slobad’s esophagus—not hard enough to break the skin, but Slobad preferred his windpipe open.

“Its torture is about to end.”

“Great,” Slobad rasped, his voice reduced to little more than a squeak by the claw tip now pressing against his throat. “How about now?”

Memnarch released his pressure on Slobad’s throat and crab-walked over to a small, radiant scrying pool. “Its body is alive, and it will stay that way. The machine will see to that.” He muttered a few soft words Slobad didn’t understand and the pool flashed brightly for a moment then went dark. “The vermin-with-a-mind is about to touch greatness. And then we shall reassess the timetable, yes, Karn?”

Memnarch held out a fist, which shimmered briefly, then opened his hand palm-upward. A pair of flat, pearly shapes, each no bigger than a goblin’s ear, undulated rhythmically in the Guardian’s open hand. Something about the way they wriggled reminded Slobad of the slagwurm he and Glissa had faced in the Tangle.