Vong’s curiosity seems to have got the better of him and he comes up beside me and asks, “What are they saying?”
“I’m not finished. Go,” I command, but he stands there gawking at the goblins.
“Hey, the other one is awake. Should I try to wake up the last guy?” he asks.
Is he trying to be helpful to me or the goblins? I clearly didn’t beckon him to come over. At this rate, I’ll lose all credibility as even a “little boss”. His independent initiative reads like insubordination to creatures with such a strict social order.
I decide to make the best of it and point at the unconscious goblin, “Put that one out of its misery, Vong.”
Of course, rather than comply, he looks up at me questioningly and asks, “Why?”
Even though he asked how he could help just minutes before, I know him well enough in our short association to know that he won’t accept that it’s part of a power play with the goblins, or that it’s to demonstrate his subservience to me, and certainly not “because I said to”, so I go with the only plausible reason I can think of, “It is suffering and will not recover from its wounds.”
I haven’t taken my eyes off the goblins, and there is a questioning in their eyes. They’re not sure what is happening and only know that their unconscious tribemate is being discussed by my pointing. Precious seconds are ticking by to re-exert my authority in the conversation.
In my peripheral vision, I see Vong put his hand on his sword and his arm tense, preparing to unsheathe his blade. But then he says, “Maybe Ralith can heal him!” He turns and calls to Ralith, “Hey, can you heal this guy?” He points at the unconscious goblin and then wiggles his fingers.
Ralith stands up and comes over, much to my chagrin.
The goblin on the right asks, “What now do you he?” causing the middle one, the shrewdest of them, to then ask, “Kill you he? Think you make we you fear? Die soon that one already. Help not that one can anyone.”
Well, at least they’ll be surprised when Ralith heals it. I keep silent and try my best to act as though the party is doing my bidding.
Ralith looks at me and then Vong, “Do you really want me to heal this creature?”
I nod, anticipating Vong’s answer and wishing to keep up appearances.
“Yeah!” comes Vong’s excited reply. He sounds like a child whose parents just asked if he would like to go to the carnival that just arrived in town. Does he even understand life or death? Is existence just a big festival to him? I haven’t seen anything to convince me otherwise, so I make a note to consider it further as I suffer this association.
Ralith knees down and gingerly places his hand on the goblin’s swollen and bloody head. The blow from the butt of Rakatha’s sword most likely has fractured the skull, since it struck on the side of the face. Goblins have remarkably thick skulls, but their squat faces and large eyes give them no better protection in the face than a human. I saw many a head-butting competition between the members of my tribe where the participants were none the worse for wear. A blow to the face can still crush the nose bridge inward and drown the goblin in its own blood, the same as any man. Well, anything roughly human-shaped.
Ralith closes his eyes and I see his lips move, then energy flow from his hand into the goblin. The ragged breathing becomes more stable and the bruising fades somewhat. The pitiful creature doesn’t stir, but the healing appears to have helped.
Ralith stands and asks, “It should be stable now. Do you want me to heal it more? I have one more healing blessing I could cast today.”
“No,” I say quickly, “save it for an emergency.”
Vong nods and leans down to check on the goblin.
I take the opportunity to try to progress the interrogation of the conscious goblins. “Hurt now he less. Where go they who run away? Help we they.”
“No,” says the middle goblin. Then, addressing the others he, or she actually, tells the others, “Hear not we he. Be not we friend he. Lie he we. If be he friend, tie not we he, know he where be Bearbreath. All lie!”
The other two press their lips together and look away from me. It seems I lost the moment.
I exhale slowly through my nose and turn from the goblins. I address the human group, “These goblins know little. They know nothing of poisoning the well at the farm.”
Vong walks into the space between Ralith and I, near the goblins, and the rest of the party, who are still sitting a little ways away. He puts his hand on his chin, “Anything else?”
“They say their chieftain is called Bearbreath,” I reveal. I also decide I have no agenda—aside from getting enough money to leave—and the intelligence I obtained from the goblins is sufficient to ensure the Adventurer Corps continues to operate in the area, so I add, “The activity in the area might be attributed to this Bearbreath, with the intent to severely disrupt food supplies in Buknar Valley.”
“Good, good,” croons Vong thoughtfully, apparently lost in thought.
Ralith walks over to where the rest of the group is waiting. With Rakatha and Ralith standing, Twitch stands up. With Rakatha, Ralith, and Twitch standing, Apul stands up.
What a crew.
I turn to considering what to do with the captured goblins. We can’t let them go—they’ll just return to their activities and warn others from their clan about us. Taking them into town is a waste of time since they won’t have much more to glean, even from a professional interrogator. After all, they’re just goblins. If we could find a military patrol or outpost, perhaps we could drop them off but I have no knowledge of whether one exists nearby or not. The only real option is to give them a quick death. I draw my dagger.
The sound or the movement must have caught Vong’s attention, because he looks over at me and the announces exuberantly, “Let’s escort the prisoners back to town and report in to Level!”
Of course he chooses the worst option.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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