From this escarpment, Endolkin Farmville is indeed visible. The freshly-ploughed southern fields are black against the verdant landscape. The barn, which is still standing I note, is a faint impression against the trees. The burned-out houses and granary blend in with the ground. I can see that there is an outbuilding at the edge of each field—probably the extents of the family’s acreage.
I wonder if anyone is living in those outbuildings. Friends, family, hired help, maybe even the enemy. Too bad we didn’t investigate them. If no one has come, the animals in the barn might be dead or dying. Pil tended to them as best he could and made sure they had extra feed and water when we left, but they’ll certainly die if no one comes to care for them. Alerting the next farm over might have been a good idea.
I can see it from this vantage point. Some three miles northwest, a farmstead of about the same size. Possibly even relatives. Relatives who will be devastated to learn so much of their family is now dead.
Thinking on the dead farmers I realize that, with all the idiocy going on around me at the time and the rush to follow the tracks, I did not remember to say a prayer to Ner Ngal for the departed. I do so now, soundlessly.
“Check out that tower to the northeast,” points Vong.
Sure enough, what appears to be a dilapidated, stone tower is situated on a much better hill about 10 miles away.
“I see it,” says Twitch.
Vong looks around to see that everyone is looking, and then turns his attention back to the tower. “If I were a goblin, that’s where I’d be.”
Good thing you aren’t a goblin. Otherwise, you’d be tied up and forced to march for miles with a band of merry morons prior to being slaughtered.
I can already sense that Vong will want to go there. Is it in our sector? Definitely not. Does he appear to have any consideration whatsoever for the job he was hired to do? Just barely. We’ll be lucky if we make it, lugging these goblins, by the time we have to turn back to town. Then again, I haven’t actually observed him having any care about the time either.
I don’t bother involving myself in the discussion about whether we should go to the tower, if we should camp here for the night or move under the shelter of the trees, and all the other pointless minutia.
Camp is made at the base of the escarpment. As the light of the day melts into the sea of trees, I sense my owl awaken and prepare to hunt. I think about the tower and the trek to get there, coaxing my owl in that direction. It will comply as it sees fit and my need is not urgent.
As I prepare for sleep, I contemplate how I might improve the goblin situation in the night. Letting them go is the easiest since, if untied, they would surely run off into the night. This has the distinct disadvantage of allowing the enemy to return with intelligence about us and being completely counter to our assignment. Killing them, as would be preferable, would throw suspicion on the members of the party and cause delays and turmoil. More delays and turmoil, anyway. Killing the comatose one could be plausibly overlooked. This would, at least, save Rakatha the trouble of carrying it.
My ambitions are dashed when Vong remembers to arrange a watch rotation. As a magic user, I am exempted once again so I will not have the opportunity to execute any plans in regard to the goblins. I put it from my mind and begin meditation. Poor creatures.
I’m jolted awake during the night by my warding spell. I don’t sit up or open my eyes, but quickly try to get my bearing through what I hear. My hand still grips my dagger beneath my blanket.
Whispers. Rustling grass. Rummaging through equipment. It’s not close to me, so I peek through barely-opened eyes to see who is in our camp.
It’s two of the goblins. They’ve got loose.
I try to locate who is on watch and see Twitch propped up against a tree, out cold. Turning my attention back to the goblins, I watch as they disappear into the night.
At least they didn’t try to slit our throats in our sleep. I would have. I go back to sleep. If they change their mind and come back, my ward will alert me.
Morning comes and the first words of the day are from Vong, “Twitch, why didn’t you wake me?” Then, after a long pause, “Twitch?” A longer pause. “Twitch! You fell asleep on watch and look, some of the goblins got away!”
I sit up and direct my gaze to the tree the goblins had been tied to. Something looks off.
Standing, I see that two are missing and the other two are dead. Walking over to further inspect the unexpected scene, I can see that they were obviously strangled. The cordage is still bound around their bloated, purple heads. From what I can tell, these are the two injured goblins—the one that appeared sickly and the one that was unconscious—and their conditions are decidedly worsened.
I discreetly offer their souls to Ner Ngal in a silent prayer.
I return to my morning ministrations, but overhear that some foodstuffs were stolen from Vong’s pack, a dagger from Rakatha’s armory, and a note from Ralith’s sweetheart.
The love note theft baffles the rest of the party but, to me, the obvious answer is that the goblins are illiterate and thought it might be valuable intelligence.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
Follow @LieseAdler