Cyrion Read online

  Yes. Restart, and win, the Southern Campaign. With himself as Supreme Battle Commander. It would complete what his ancestor started, and give him all the breeding rights he could ever want. He would not just breed one son. He would breed many sons. A multitude of sons.

  D’horek leaned back in his chair, steepled hands resting on his muscled chest, pondering the question: now or later? Moving now would catch the MataPerak unaware, and therefore have the greater likelihood of success. Moving later would mean a higher risk of failure, but would net him most, if not all, of the heretic Ha’rani.

  Later. Netting the Ha’rani heretics might earn him early breeding rights. His little mole would keep them under control in the meantime.

  After all, it would be nice to exercise some of those rights before he left for the Southern Campaign.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  RUMINATION

  Naeem and the rest of the grumps pulled their heads away from the ornate silver basin at the sound of the study door swinging open.

  “Come away from that there and eat somefin’.” Greta pushed a trolley laden with food into the candle-lit study. “Geoff, get us some more chairs? There’s a love.” She pushed the basin to the side and unloaded the contents of her cart onto the circular table. “Come on then, don’t make me tell you twice.”

  While Geoff left the room in search of more chairs, the rest of the grumps filled their plates with food arrayed on the table. They knew better than to argue with Greta. Only Naeem remained pensive and distant, pacing in front of the wooden bureau beside the open study window.

  “Those glyphs were elven script,” Arti said, toying with her food.

  “Yes, but which dialect?” Geoff deposited the chairs and rushed over to the spindly table. Tapping his blunt fingertips on the table, he frowned over the odd lettering he had frantically copied down only moments ago. “And what do they mean?”

  “Who cares?” Karin said, unconsciously mimicking her son’s words. “Goblins haven’t been seen in over a thousand years. Elves haven’t been seen for at least twice as long. I say we get them out now.”

  “Those glyphs, they were in the dialect of the Drow. Dark elves.” Naeem stared out the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Drow?” Karin’s voice rose in panic. “We truly have to get them. Right now.”

  Arti set down her plate of half-eaten food and bit her lip, her brows furrowed with indecision. Logan knew her well enough to guess the turmoil raging within—the battle between her first instinct, to protect the cubs, and keeping her solemn word not to interfere.

  “But they’re not in any immediate danger now, Karin,” Logan said. “The rationale for not stepping in still holds.”

  “Can you translate the elven script, Dad? You must have something which can tell us what those words mean.” She got up from her armchair and headed straight for Naeem’s wall of books. “Which references should I pull out?”

  Naeem continued to stare out of the window in silence.

  “Dad!”

  Naeem turned to Arti.

  “Which references should I pull out?”

  “No need. I know what they mean.” Naeem sighed. “Welcome ye fortunate, ye blessed. Welcome to twilight, everlasting. Welcome to thy rest, eternal.”

  Logan heard Karin gasp.

  “I don’t care what you say.” Karin rose from her armchair. “We get them and we get them now.”

  Geoff grabbed her waist and held her. “No.” He pulled her close. “We made a promise. And he’s not in immediate danger.”

  Karin twisted in his arms and then pushed him away, her eyes wild. “Your fault.” She backed away from him. “This is all your fault.”

  “Karin, you’re not being fair. I don’t want this either. He’s my son too. I love him too.”

  Karin advanced on him and beat her fists against his chest. “You push him too hard. You’ve always pushed him too hard.” Geoff tried to pin her arms and hold her, but she whirled away. “He’s not you, Geoff. Don’t you understand? He’s always tried so hard to please you. To make you proud. And it was never enough, was it? Never enough. Now see what you’ve driven him to do.”

  “Karin—” Geoff said.

  “No. No. Enough. You’ve said enough. You’ve done enough. If anything happens to him. If anything happens to my little cub…I swear, by all that is holy, I will never forgive you. And you’d better run far and fast, because I will spend the rest of my life hunting you down. Do you understand me, Geoffrey Guntherson?”

  “Karin, things won’t come to that.” Naeem stepped between the couple. “My only grandson is also in this. Upon my word of honor, things will not come to that. I will see to it.”

  “Are you making a solemn oath, old man?”

  Naeem stared at Karin dead in the eye. “I give you my solemn oath, as a Watcher.”

  Greta glanced at the pair and then stepped in, clucking. “Come then, my love.” She took Karin’s elbow, and sat her back down. “Now you just sit here, nice and quiet like, and Arti’ll get us a nice cuppa tea.” She waved furiously at Arti, who jumped up from her seat and ran out of the study. Greta picked up the silver basin, sat herself in the other armchair, and placed the basin next to her booted feet. “The rest of you, eat. This is what comes of not eatin’ reg’lar.”

  “But the children—” Logan said.

  “I’ll keep an eye them for a bit while you put somefin’ solid inside you. And you’d better get eatin’. You too, you crazy ole fool,” Greta said to Naeem. “‘Less you want me to spoon-feed you?”

  * * * *

  Jon kept his thoughts carefully blank while waiting for his friends, Anya in particular, to fall asleep. After meeting their contact in the P’rabh Quarter, they decided to spend the night there. G’hanjl said this was the safest possible option. The other Quarters would be crawling with guards, while no one entered the P’rabh Quarter. At least, not willingly. He said they’d be safe, as long as they kept watch. J’hatk drew first watch. Jon was to relieve him in about two hours.

  Still keeping his thoughts blank, Jon waited a little while longer. When he sensed Anya dropping off into genuine, restful sleep, he got up, nodded to J’hatk, and then walked a little way away. He had no idea if proximity played a factor in Anya’s reaching.

  But better safe than sorry.

  Sitting cross-legged, his back against a tree trunk, he lifted his grandfather’s bloodstone pendant from inside his shirt and held the stone up against the moonlight. It twisted back and forth on its chain, alternately beckoning and mocking him.

  There are too many of them.

  Jon cast his thoughts back to what he saw during the day. The Ha’rani easily outnumbered the other castes by as much as ten to one. If even half that number chose to go… Jon glanced at his sleeping friends. Anya curled in a fetal position, with one arm covering her head, as though protecting herself from the night itself. Saul snored on his back, spread-eagled, and taking up as much room as he could.

  They’ll expect me to come up with a plan. They always do. A trace of annoyance, mingled with pride wound their way through his heart. I always come up with the plan. If it were up to them, what would they do?

  Jon imagined Anya leading a crazed, and suicidal, Ha’rani crusade against the other castes. Saul’s plan would likely be much simpler. Something along the lines of running pell-mell toward the portal cavern.

  And me? What would I do?

  Jon bit his lip, drew his legs up, and laid his head on his knees.

  The odds are not good. No, worse than that. The odds are horrible.

  The Ha’rani were ill-equipped and ill-trained. They had been conditioned to obey since birth. Also, there were so many of them. The probability of sensitive information leaking out, and hence discovery, was astronomical.

  Despite what he told his friends, he’d relived his nightmare more than once.

  The warm splash drenching his arm after he made that first stab. The shock of bright orange gobli
n blood dripping from his arm. The shudder of a living creature’s final breath. And the expression of terror on the next goblin’s face. No one ever gave him a look like that before. The look of utter fear.

  He studied the pendant again, wondering if he dared to consider seriously what had been simmering at the back of his mind. His gaze drifted back to his friends’ sleeping forms. This time, he wondered if the blood would be bright red. This time, if he got the plan wrong, his friends would be the ones bleeding. He wondered if he would feel the final shudders of their dying breaths.

  His vow. His plan. His responsibility.

  My promise was to keep them safe.

  He never actually promised to complete the mission. Did Saul or Anya realize it though?

  Probably not.

  He should call for help. He knew he should. Only, if he did, would his friends ever forgive him? Which was the better option? To lose them in what was probably a suicide mission, undertaken with their blessings? Or ask for help thus breaking his promise, although they would probably never forgive him?

  I lose them either way.

  Jon marveled at Anya’s resilience. To be alone, for so long. He and Saul had been friends virtually since birth. Jon could not imagine life without Saul’s company. Or without Anya’s company, for that matter.

  No. Jon tucked the pendant back into his shirt. Not unless things become truly dire. And I have to make sure it never comes to that. Somehow.

  Jon looked up and studied the drifts of clouds floating across the night sky, briefly obscuring the moon. An idea dawned in his mind.

  I wonder…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE MEETING

  He glanced around the room with heavy-lidded eyes. Through the gloomy interior of the mound, he was able to just about make out the heretic sitting in the middle, spouting treasonous poison for all to hear. Arrayed around the heretic were five other Ha’rani goblins, not counting himself.

  He closed his eyes, leaned back against the interior wall of the earth mound, and let the words wash over him. The MataPerak and the two immature human males sat across from him, on the other side. His nose wrinkled at the stench pervading the Ha’ran Quarter. The fragrance of roses and water lilies scented the General’s gracious home. This pigsty stank of excrement and rotted meat.

  Six years. He’d worked as the General’s eyes and ears in the Ha’ran Quarter for six years now. He wasn’t the only spy the General had. Yet, he was among the most valuable. The Ha’rani go everywhere, do everything and hear everything. And whatever they hear, they tell him.

  And whatever they tell him, well….

  Most times, he was paid in gold. Always useful. But his preferred currency was always advancement for his children. Over the course of six years, two of his children had escaped the living misery that came with being born into the Ha’ran caste. They had been adopted, and raised as T’hanii. Unlike the Ha’rani, they’d need to earn breeding rights. But they’d be spared scrabbling for food and shelter and the agony of watching their babies die for lack of simple medicines. At least some of his grandchildren would never have to risk entering the Apple Wood Gate.

  He opened his eyes and watched the three non-goblins. The immature human males would likely enter the Apple Wood Gate again. This time, never to leave. Tendrils of guilt twisted and bloomed inside him. These male human younglings also have parents. Parents who would grieve for them. Much like he’d grieved for the loss of his own younglings. He quickly squashed the twinges of guilt before it choked his resolve. His first loyalties lay with his family. Next, to the goblin nation. Finally, to the goblin gods. He owed the human younglings nothing.

  Someone was calling him.

  “Are you listening?” the heretic asked. Kindly. In deference of his age, he supposed. He forced a smile, and nodded.

  “So we meet by the frozen lake, outside the city limits, where the harlequin ducks go. Tomorrow, at midnight. Wear as much white as possible. And bring supplies. Enough for two days, at least.” The heretic turned to the MataPerak. “MataPerak will become a thick mist, to shield us from the prying eyes of the D’hadhu and T’hany castes. Then we go to the portal cave undetected.”

  He nodded his head. Tomorrow at midnight. He would need to make another secret trip to the General’s manse. Maybe with this, he could negotiate the advancement of another child.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  BETRAYED

  They had been waiting by the lake since nightfall. The Ha’rani arrived in dribs and drabs, huddling in small, scattered groups by massive boulders at the rocky shore. Jon glanced at the moonlit sky. He fought hard to keep his face impassive. To betray none of his growing anxiety. Panic would serve none but the enemy.

  Not much longer now.

  His gaze flicked around the groups of goblins, and rested on Saul, chatting with G’hanjl. He crouched, and sensed a tickle of amusement from Anya, the snow-white arctic fox with silvered eyes beside him. She focused his attention on the telltale orange, salmon-berry juice stains on Saul’s cheeks and mouth. He broke into a smile.

  His first, that whole day.

  “Someone should tell him,” he said to the fox. “Don’t you think?” Anya looked into his eyes, chuffed, and then turned away. Her meaning was clear. No. Much funnier this way.

  Anya turned towards the goblin city, her ears and nose twitching.

  “What is it?” Jon rose from his haunches, suddenly alert. He peered into the gloom, but observed nothing out of the ordinary. Anya clearly heard and smelled something. She padded towards the gloom, stopped, and turned around.

  “Right. I’m coming.” Jon trotted to catch up to her.

  As they left the main group, Jon felt his eyes dart over odd silhouettes in shifting, moonlit shadows. This is how she sees. Shapes and pools of darkness that could veil threats. She stopped, sniffed the air, and growled.

  Right.

  Jon took a deep breath of the chill, arctic air, striving to differentiate the subtly mingled scents of the night air. He sensed Anya’s surge of exasperation.

  Listen, I’m human. I don’t have a fox’s nose for—Then he caught it. The faintest traces of copper.

  Blood.

  Anya snorted, and trotted ahead in pursuit of the stench. Jon unsheathed the Slayer and followed. His eyes focused on an irregular lump, half-hidden by the shadows. It almost looked like another boulder, alternately wreathed in darkness and moonlight. Then it moved.

  There.

  They sprinted towards the form. It was D’huri. He was supposed to escort the last groups of Ha’rani. Jon crouched and held the goblin up. D’huri’s left arm hung from his torso at an awkward angle and his right arm clasped tight around his middle. His white cloak dripped with wet, orange roses.

  “Is to be traitor,” D’huri said through his split, bleeding lips. “You is to run. Or too late.”

  Jon turned to Anya. “Warn the others and get going. Now.” As he turned back to adjust his grip on D’huri’s back, his eardrums popped. He glanced up and saw Anya, in the shape of a bat, wing her way back to the others.

  “Come, D’huri. Let me help you.”

  “Is too late, Fat Watcher.” D’huri let his right arm drop away. Jon’s eyes widened at the hideous gash across the goblin’s belly. Fresh rosettes of orange bloomed as D’huri struggled to wrap his cloak around his middle.

  “No. I am not leaving you.” Jon struggled to lift the goblin to his feet. Ungentle in his haste, D’huri began to cough and choke. Jon froze in place, afraid of hurting the little goblin further. Liquid orange bubbled at the corners of D’huri’s mouth. Jon wiped them away with utmost gentleness, leaving orange streaks across the goblin’s lips and cheeks. Streaks that reminded him of the berry stains on Saul’s face. Jon sensed a surge of fear and foreboding. She’s still sharing my eyes. Jon’s hands flew to the bloodstone.

  “Fat Watcher, go. D’huri to slow them.”

  “But you can barely—”

  “Go!” D’huri roa
red. He somehow found the strength to pull himself up. More orange roses blossomed against the white around his waist. Picking up a rock, D’huri turned his back to Jon and assumed the fighter’s stance.

  Stumbling, Jon turned and ran back to the frozen lake, his hand clasped tight around his grandfather’s bloodstone pendant. The image of Saul’s berry-stained face haunted him the whole way.

  * * * *

  Jon came upon a scene of chaos. Anya stood next to Saul, who was barking orders to get all the goblins ready to go. He ran towards his friends, the bloodstone bouncing on his chest.

  “D’huri—?” Anya said.

  Jon shook his head. Grief flitted briefly across Anya’s face, before hardening into fury.

  “Not the time, Anya.” Jon’s hand flew to the bloodstone pendant.

  “No, Jon.” Saul slapped his friend’s hand away. “We’re not doing that. We’ve gone too far. Done too much. We don’t need the grumps. We can do this.”

  Jon found himself focused on the berry stains, still on Saul’s earnest face. Anya’s fear joined his own, bleeding into him. She was still using his eyes.

  He turned to her. “Well?”

  “Fat Watchers, MataPerak. We go. Now,” G’hanjl said. He was making his way to them, with a few other goblins in tow. The other goblins were making their way to the portal cavern.

  Anya put her hands on her friends’ shoulders. “I swear, on my soul, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Fat Watchers.” G’hanjl made Saul climb on the back of one of the goblins, and they sped away.

  Her hand still on Jon’s shoulder, Anya pulled him in a quick hug, her lips next to his ear.

  “If I fall, use it,” she said in a barely audible whisper. She pulled away, and Jon caught a glimpse of her haunted eyes.

  Berry stains.

  He nodded.

  “We go.” G’hanjl’s impatience was palpable.

  They climbed on the other goblins’ backs, before speeding away into the dark.

  * * * *