Excerpt: Goblin Hunters

Goblin Hunters
Oracle Vision

Zazan was sitting by herself, holding the oracle as if it were an egg. Her cheese and biscuit lay beside her, cold and untouched.

“What’s wrong?” Naveshk asked.

Zazan jumped, then a blush darkened her cheeks. “I think it wants to tell me something,” she said softly. “I can feel its power swelling below the surface but—”

Just at that moment the crystal started to glow golden. Naveshk cried out, the light so yellow and bright he was afraid it would burn Zazan like real gold. The light dimmed until only several pinpricks burned through the dark black surface. One pinprick glowed brighter and brighter, expanding until the whole oracle was ablaze again.

The light dimmed and the shadow of a dragon crossed the still glowing surface. The dragon’s abdomen was painfully swollen and it screamed. The scream filled the whole clearing. Sarb, Tooxub and Gakon bolted upright. They lurched to their feet and stumbled over to Naveshk and Zazan. The glowing Oracle mesmerized all five goblins.

Arrows flew up towards the dragon and again the scream pierced the marsh mists. All the males covered their ears. Zazan would have liked to do the same, but she couldn’t take her hands away from the precious Oracle in her lap.

Then a familiar goblin face filled the oracle. The bumpy, glassy surface distorted it, but everyone recognized him.

“Buten Throatrot!” Sarb spat. The goblin in the oracle grinned and chuckled evilly, raising bumps on everyone’s arms. The goblin’s face finally faded to a majestic picture of the dark, snowy mountains. Then the Oracle dimmed until it was a lifeless rock again.

Tooxub finally broke the silence. “What was that?”

Gakon slapped his shorter friend’s shoulder. “That was an Oracle Vision, stupid.”

“I know that!” Tooxub replied and hit Gakon back.

“Shut up!” Naveshk barked. If he let the two, they’d start really fighting and he didn’t have the patience for that. “Zazan, can you give us any clues? Is this a vision to guide us?”

Zazan’s eyes were dark and her cheeks were wet. Navashk realized she’d been weeping. Finally she replied, “This was a vision of the future. Buten will attack that dragon.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trick?” Sarb asked.

“Oracles do not trick,” Zazan retorted. “Besides, dragons are Truth-Speakers, and compel the absolute truth from anyone and anything around them.”

“But what are we supposed to do?” Tooxub wined.

Naveshk replayed the vision in his mind. Suddenly inspired, he pulled out a map from the protective case. “Zazan, in the beginning of the vision, there were those bright points of light, remember? Those points match these cities.” He excitedly traced a series of large dots on the map. “And one of them got brighter than all the rest…here it is. The Pass of Nariku , Right next to…”

“The Mountains of Fire and Thunder,” Gakon whispered. “Those are the mountains of the Silver Dwarves.”

“Is that we’re the Oracle wants us to go?” Tooxub murmured in awe.

“That’s easily two weeks away, on foot,” Sarb interjected callously.

“Naveshk,” Zazan suddenly interjected. “How much easier would it be for you to claim the goblin throne with a dragon behind you?”

Revelation dawned on Naveshk, even as the last flames of the campfire flickered out. A dragon would be such a display of power and might that even the most foolish of his enemies could not deny him the right to lead. A dragon would also declare to all the ruling races that he was a force to be reckoned with. Goblins from all four corners of the world would come to take part in his new kingdom. He could do what no goblin king had done in over ten goblin-generations. He could rule the goblin people in a real kingdom.

They would build universities like those of the humans and elves—universities that would train goblins to be pioneering engineers and brilliant gift-seers. Goblins could build anything, impossible bridges, impenetrable forts, and mechanical wonders—maybe even the flying machines humans kept failing with. Their gift-sight would allow them to measure the abilities of others, weeding out the lucky-fools and assassins and leading only the most skilled of other races to accomplish unimaginable feats of mechanics. Other nations would send ambassadors bearing silver and gems to employ goblins as technicians and surveyors and encrypters and bodyguards to royalty.

For several sweet moments, Naveshk saw a future brighter than gold for the goblin race.

Slowly his eyes focused on the dark and misty marsh around him, but the bright vision stayed burning in his chest like gold.

“We are going to save that dragon,” he said in a way that allowed for no argument.

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Goblin Knights

Prologue: Three Gifts

Brotex Throatrot woke up chained to a wall. The iron manacle was clasped so snugly around his throat it made swallowing uncomfortable. He ached from his ear tips to his toes, down to the bones and he felt parched on the inside even as the damp chill of the dungeons clung to his skin. He recognized the smell of King Irazan’s underground prisons—he’d thrown enough victims down here himself.

He remembered the terrifying flight as a small dragon carried him in an iron cage south. The dwarf judge had banished him back to the goblin kingdom as punishment for attempting to kill the dragon. The dragon had dropped the cage on a grassy knoll close to the river that fed the swamp. Brotex had been so overcome by vertigo that he had passed out before the cage had landed.

A patrol must have found him and brought him here to wait for Irazan’s final judgment.
Remembering the battle at the foot of the Silver Mountains made Brotex’s rage simmer to the surface. If that rat dropping Naveshk hadn’t burned the crossbow, Brotex would have succeeded in his mission to kill a dragon and be carrying dragon skin to the king right now.

Perhaps that dark Goblin Hunter should have killed him outright instead of taking him to the dwarves for judgment. Was it mercy or cruelty that made the legendary hunter hold his gilded sword away from Brotex’s black heart?

The dwarves had tried Brotex in front of a dragon and he had been forced to speak the truth about his dark intentions. He remembered the truth burning his lips as he confronted his own evilness and confessed Irazan’s orders. He knew, deep down, he had no one to blame but himself, and yet he rejected his shame and cursed everyone, human, dwarf, and goblin alike that had contributed to this imprisonment.
Time dragged by as Brotex wallowed in his self-pity.

The hinges to the door protested the years of damp as two guards and King Irazan entered the cell. Brotex bolted upright and then bowed on hands and knees, touching his forehead to the floor to grovel before the king.

“Unchain him,” Irazan ordered.

One of the guards quickly unlocked the manacle around Brotex’s neck. Brotex didn’t move, didn’t speak, and could barely breathe through the fear that held him paralyzed.

“Rise, friend,” Irazan said, kindly. “I know what happened in the north. Don’t let it trouble you.”

Brotex glanced up at the king’s uncharacteristically sweet words.

“My king,” Brotex whispered, “I failed you.”

“I know a traitor brought the Goblin Hunters to destroy you,” Irazan continued. “No one can expect you to defeat those murderers. Come, I have a new assignment for you.”

Brotex slowly stood up and eyed the goblin king suspiciously. Something was different about Irazan. His smoky green skin was cleaner than before. His clothes were inky black and not torn or dirtied by squabbles. His brass crown had been polished until it mimicked gold with spooky perfection. He seemed more like a king than a goblin.

“What assignment?” Brotex asked suspiciously but hopefully. Perhaps this new kingly Irazan would give him a chance for redemption.

“Come,” Irazan said, waving a hand to brush away the question. “We are to meet with a human king.” Then he walked out of the cell, followed by the guards. Brotex hurried after them, afraid that if he lingered, they’d lock him in the cell for the rest of his life.

The king led him to a strange sight: a black carriage pulled by a matched set of black boars. Their black bristles were oiled so that they glistened like beetles in the spotty sunlight. Their tusks were capped with steel points and their ears and noses were pierced with multiple silver hoops. The carriage itself was as black as polished obsidian and a dark goblin sat in the driver’s seat, sneering at Brotex.

“A good thing I kept some of Naveshk’s students, wouldn’t you say?” Irazan boasted. “They built me this carriage and a few other wonders like it.”

“You are wise, king,” Brotex murmured. He followed the king and his guards into the carriage and they rolled away from Palecor.

Hours passed. Irazan spent most of them gloating about the improvements he’d made to the castle since Brotex had left. Brotex murmured anything to please the king as he fretted about where they were going.

Irazan’s claim that he had made and alliance with a human king was strange and frightening. Goblins and humans were old enemies. For generations both sides had indiscriminately killed each other. In the last eight years, the two human champions, Lorn and Tokori, also known as the Goblin Hunters, had murdered hundreds of goblins.

Finally, they reached the meeting spot.

Brotex was half surprised and half relieved that they weren’t meeting the human king in a human city, or worse in a real castle. The place they were meeting was a circle of stones on the top of a blustery hill. The king’s carriage was red and his sharply uniformed footmen and guards created a protective semicircle. Irazan’s goblins completed the other side of the circle. On the ground between them were two prisoners.

One was a centaur, his arms and all four legs tied. His coat was marked with dark burgundy blood. His long nose looked slightly crooked and one eye was swollen shut.

The other was a harpy, her glossy pale wings plucked nearly bare and her clothes shredded. She sat, unbound, in a dejected heap, silently weeping.

As Brotex got out of the black carriage, one of the guards shoved him forward. Brotex fell on his knees beside the harpy. The guard pinned him with the butt of his spear. Confused he looked up.

The human king, dressed in red was beaming at Irazan. Irazan wore an evil grin.

“Past, future, and present,” the goblin king murmured. “Three gifts ready to be used for our gain.”

“You brought the final gift, and I brought the sword, just like we agreed.” The human king turned to one of his guards.

The guard held up a short golden sword on a velvet pillow. He picked it up and admired it in his hand. Blue flame started to flicker around it.

“Spelled not to kill until I will it, and to extract the truth,” he said almost fondly. “It’s not as powerful as a dragon, but we shall get our answers.”

The goblin king approached the harpy and grabbed her short, feathery hair. He pulled her head back to look up at the human king.

“Come now songbird,” Irazan said sweetly in her feathered ear. “Sing us a tale of the past. What do we need to know?”

Without waiting for an answer, the human king plunged the fiery sword into her stomach. She screamed piercingly. Even in the empty space around the hill, her cry rebounded. When the echoes of the scream died away, Irazan asked again, “What to we need to know?”

In a husky voice, the harpy spoke, “When He finished creation of the world, God gave each of the seven races a particular gift. The Goblins coveted every gift and asked God for them all. God was displeased, and cursed the Goblins so that they could see and measure the gifts of others but never own them.”

“Yes, we know that,” Irazan snapped. “What else?”

“Orphaned brothers…A dragon’s heart stolen…a secret locked in your vaults,” the harpy gasped. Death rattled in her throat as the blue flame licked the wound around the sword. “You goblin, are of the blood of Jorn the Bridge Builder but not of his mind. You, human, are bereft of any royal blood—”

Suddenly she slumped over, dead.

“Oops,” the human king remarked sarcastically as he pulled his sword out of the bird-woman’s body.

“Doesn’t matter,” Irazan said, letting the harpy fall. “Her prophesy of the past was the least important.” He turned and grabbed the centaur’s head the same way he had the harpy’s, although this time he had to stand on the creature’s back to reach his hair.

“Your turn, star gazer,” Irazan growled. “Tell us what you see!”

Again the human king stabbed with the ensorcelled sword, piercing the centaur where human and horseflesh met. The centaur only grunted.

“Speak beast,” Irazan ordered. “Or you will know much pain before you die.”
The centaur hesitated, then said in hollow tones, “I see two new crowns of glory. In two years, two shall come to power. Blood will run before them like rivers, but nothing will stop them.”

“Who exactly are these two?” the human king demanded suspiciously.

“A goblin and a human. I do not see names, only vague images of what the mists of time allow me to see,” the centaur moaned.

“What can stop us?” Irazan insisted.

“A dragon,” the centaur replied. His face lit up. “She is beautiful, deep blue like the twilight sky. She comes for you both to fulfill an oath.”

“Good, I would like to have a fresh reason to kill a dragon,” Irazan licked his lips greedily. “What else?”

“The owl and the fox,” the centaur said with grim finality. “They are your greatest enemies.”

“Glad to know it,” the human replied and withdrew the sword. The centaur shuddered and died.

Next, both kings turned to Brotex.

“Your majesties,” Brotex begged in panic. “I will do whatever you desire. Please—please don’t kill me!”

“We desire your gift-sight,” the human said as he admired the mixed blood already staining the blade.

“I will use it for you,” Brotex cried. Quickly he flared his gift-sight and strained to see every ounce of talent the two kings had. Unfortunately, Brotex had never been trained to read gift-auras. All he knew came from hard experience, and he was ill equipped to read the complex auras of the two tyrants in front of him.

“We don’t want regular gift-sight,” Irazan said. His fingers wrapped around Brotex’s scrawny throat. “Death augments your abilities so you can see what others cannot.”

The human king plunged the gold and blue blade into Brotex’s stomach. The sword was not just gold in color but pure gold to the core. It burned the vary marrow in Brotex’s bones until he thought he might catch fire. He felt death envelope on him, hang over his had like a low branch, but the power of the sword kept it from claiming him. True to Irazan’s words, new meaning came to the colorful auras surrounding the kings. Brotex screamed at what he saw.

Sin, stark and sickening, hung around both kings like a mantle. Their perverted gifts twisted and distorted the features of the kings until they were barely recognizable. The human’s skin was red with violence, his teeth black with gluttony his eyes burning with hate and ruthless will. Irazan was no better. His green skin was crawling with black leech-like spots of greed and jealousy. Brotex could see them collecting around Irazan’s eyes and ears.

“NO!” he cried. “You are both evil. Everything you touch is corrupt. Your footsteps are hounded by death.”

“You’re not being very helpful,” the human said and he twisted his sword. The gold seared Brotex’s insides and he screamed again. “This sword could keep you alive indefinitely. Tell us something useful, or I’ll leave it in your gut until the day the world ends.”

“You, human,” Brotex gasped, “have the gilded tongue of an emperor. Your ingenuity is dark and cunning. You can also manipulate people better than most. You have no talent for charity, but your curse is your pride. King Irazan,” Brotex turned to his traitorous monarch. “Your gifts are violent but equally as powerful. Your gift-sight will always be weak, but your leadership is brutal and strong. Your darkness draws the darkness of others. You have no heart to loose in battle so your ruthlessness will be your legacy.”

“That’s all we asked for,” the human said and he withdrew his blade.

Instantly the burning was gone. Brotex sagged into cool darkness and let death whisk him away from the evil he had once been so keen to serve.