Chapter 9: The Commoner District (Part 1)

  Stryg twisted between the crowds of Hollow Shade. A few shouted curses at him when he accidentally bumped into them.

  Stryg didn’t care, he didn’t look back, instead he turned a corner whenever he had the chance. He needed to put as much ground between himself and the poacher as possible.

  Stryg paid no mind to the strange beings he passed by, he just kept running. After about half-an-hour he stopped running. He hoped it had been enough, because now his lungs were killing him, and he didn’t think he could run much more.

  Stryg stared at his hands. They felt red-hot, as if someone had lit a fire within them. He expected his skin to melt off at any moment, but they simply looked their ordinary shade of blue, no sign of burn marks, not even a drop of sweat.

  Stryg recalled when the searing sensation had begun. He had been trying to break through the ropes, when they suddenly darkened and broke apart like fragile reeds.

  It shouldn’t have been possible, but here he was. If the mother moon hadn’t blessed him, which she clearly hadn’t based on his strange appearance and weak constitution, then there was only one logical answer. Was it magic? Could he be a shaman? Stryg recalled his ability to see in the dark when he had been in that damned cave. His enhanced sight hadn’t left him ever since. He could still see everything in the dark with perfect clarity.

  It really seemed like magic, though Stryg had to admit he didn’t know much about magic in the first place.

  But, wait, weren’t shaman’s chosen by Lunae herself? There was no way he’d be chosen, especially after he had abandoned his tribemates. He thought of Crovor’s final words, of how he’d taken away Stryg’s last hopes of having a place within the tribe, how his destiny of being the tribe’s champion had been a lie.

  Hell, Stryg was basically an exile at this point.

  He shook his head, now wasn’t the time to think about that. He had to stay positive, there had to be a way to get back in the good graces of the village. After all, he was a goblin of the Blood Fang tribe. He’d figure out a way to escape this place and get home.

  For now, Stryg was in a new land. He needed to be as sharp as a hunter. He rested his hands on his knees and scanned the area.

  He had been running for quite some time. Unlike the stone houses near the gate, the buildings around here were made of wood.

  While buildings in both places were only a single story tall, the wooden houses here had fared worse, the logs were decrepit. Rain and wind had clearly done their worst, the wood was bleached and small cavities poked out through some. Even the people who milled about seemed to have known better days.

  When Stryg had entered the city he had assumed that most of the inhabitants were covered with layers of lavish clothes and shiny metal trinkets. But the people who walked past him now were dressed in simple woolen spun clothes.

  They must have been the weaker members of their tribes. Gatherers and builders probably, Stryg guessed. From the sorry state of the houses, they seemed to be pretty lousy builders. The Blood Fang’s village mainly consisted of tents, but the few wooden structures they had were made of strong healthy timber and designed to hold against any storm that flew past Vulture Woods.

  The buildings here seemed to have so many cracks riddled all over them that rain would easily get inside. These people were in dire need of goblin carpentry.

  Stryg spotted three humans walking towards him. Two boys and a girl, roughly around his age, he guessed from the stubble growing on the boys.

  Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to make of their age. Male goblins usually had facial hair by the time they reached adulthood, but Stryg’s own face was bereft of hair, another oddity he had among the tribe. Not to mention, he wasn’t sure if humans aged like goblins. For all he knew they could be forty years old or five. Their clothes were even shabbier than the average passerby, with torn holes throughout the fabric. Their hair was also a mess of unkempt mottled browns.

  The first boy sneered, “Who do we have here? A nasty goblin?”

  “Ew, I bet he has warts all over,” the second boy snickered.

  Stryg glanced at his muddy hide shirt and pants. It was true he hadn’t been able to take a shower in over a week. That wasn’t very strange was it? No one wanted to take baths in cold rivers often. But warts? He had only ever known one goblin with warts and they had killed him before it could spread to the rest. Diseases of any sort were not tolerated in any tribe.

  Stryg was confused. Did they think he was sick?

  “He looks different than others I’ve seen,” the girl pointed at him, as if studying a new fascinating animal.

  “You mean ugly,” the first boy laughed.

  Ah, insults, Stryg thought.

  He should have expected humans to insult differently. He was in a new land, the terrain may have been different, but it was still like the forest. You had to be quick or else you’d get eaten by the largest predator.

  Stryg was tired, but he couldn’t show weakness in front of an enemy. There were three of them and they were all two feet taller than him. The odds were stacked against him. He needed to act calm and run at the first chance he got.

  The first boy drew closer, “What’s the matter? Too dumb to talk?”

  The girl pulled on the boy’s tattered sleeve, “Dan, the sun’s setting. Everyone’s already gone into their homes. We should get out of here before we get caught.”

  “Relax, Lily, we still have time.”

  Stryg bolted away as soon as they looked at each other.

  “Hey get back here, you freak!”

  Stryg focused on keeping one foot in front of the other. He had been running too much these past few days, his leg muscles were spasming in pain.

  The crowds had dispersed and the streets were empty. There was nowhere for Stryg to hide. He took a turn and glanced behind. The three humans were still chasing him.

  “Shit,” he cursed under his breath.

  They were fast. Or maybe he was just slowing down, he couldn’t tell. They were gaining on him, only half a dozen feet now. He swung into an alleyway only to be met with a stone wall. A dead end.

  “Where are you going in such a rush?” Dan laughed.

  The three of them had blocked the exit and began drawing closer.

  Stryg backed up, his eyes glanced at the houses next to the alley. They were made of wood, similar enough to the trees back home. He could climb them. But could the humans follow? Were they fast enough?

  “Give us any money you got,” Dan threatened.

  “Money?” Stryg cocked his head to the side.

  They didn’t want to kill him? They wanted money? Like the coins the poacher had? What was he supposed to say to humans in this kind of situation?

  The only human Stryg knew was the poacher who had ignored him for the most part, and forced him to eat some food, and then sleep the rest of the time. Not very helpful.

  Stryg had to think quickly. They wanted money, like the brown coins the poacher had given to the guard. Copper was it called? Think! What should he say?

  “...I don’t have any?” Stryg smiled awkwardly.

  “Liar! Grab his arms!”

  And that was clearly the wrong thing to say, Stryg grimaced. He should have said he had money, lots of it. Now, they were going to kill him.