“In Harthell, you may die fighting, only to come back to fight again the next day.”
---
Misel Kai-Kesh, Elven traveler
Yesterday there were 20 armed mercenaries and twice as many officials and merchants. Today there were 3, or if Esen had her way, 4.
“If you try raising him, I’ll kill you. And him, again.” That wasn’t Esen. It was Maarken the Hammer, Fomorian. A 7-foot mass of twisted muscle with only a single arm, he was a Gurngamosi native just like me, although I suppose more human. I have never understood how humans decided who was one of them and who wasn’t, especially when Esen comes to mind.
“He’s dead, he hardly cares what we do with his body!” That was Esen, full name a mystery. She was an elf, which apparently meant she was also human to some extent. With her blue-tinted skin and ears longer and more pointed than my own, I thought she looked rather less human than a beastman did. Unlike Maarken and I, she was by no means a native. I really don’t know where elves are from. Somewhere to the south, those lands written off as barbarian territory by my employers, although from what I can tell they know more of magic than anybody in Gurngamos. Humans are funny that way.
I suppose I should make it clear here. I am the least human here, less even than the dead man at our feet right now. I am a goblin, small as a human child and the lovely emerald green of a sour apple. And yet despite Gurngamos claiming human supremacy, I had been put in charge of these two nominal humans.
That was something that my elders always told me to watch out for. They said that the values a human holds are nothing but excuses for what they want to do, and if anybody should prove that, it was a mercenary. Maarken, like the rest, was just somebody prone to violence who had been hired to use that violence in defense of the silver route from the mountains to the mints of the region’s capital.
I, on the other hand, was one of the officials who tagged along to make sure every ingot made it where it belonged and mercenary and merchant alike behaved themselves. Goblins are good for things like that, because we’re cute and people like us. Of course, the actual enforcer of the rules was the Bonegrinder ogre whose body now lay not far away, the first target of the squirrelfolk who had attacked us.
Maarken had been so stubborn you could mistake his resistance for an actual belief in his position. That didn’t mean I could understand it, mind you. You never passed up the opportunity to make more friends, even if those friends were just the reanimated corpses of people you didn’t particularly like in life. Perhaps humans were just so large and independent that they didn’t understand the importance of having as many allies as you could? That would explain it, because Esen was much smaller than Maarken. Whatever the case, I was technically the highest ranked person in this squad, so it was my job… to find a compromise. They were both still bigger than me. That’s another thing I know about humans. They seemed to love big hierarchies, but were also always willing to ignore them the moment they were out of sight.
“Maarken? Can you explain why we can’t raise a helpful zombie to carry stuff and help fight?” I was sitting on the only chest of silver that had survived the raid. Our departed companion had grabbed it from the back of a wagon and was running with it when an arrow had found the unarmored back of his leg. The job was finished with a knife, leaving the human with a roughly-hewn beard and not much left in the way of a neck.
“You aren’t just raising some mindless being, you are denying his soul entrance to the halls of Heng! His soul will wander until he is properly put to rest!” Maarken insisted.
“Classic Gurngamosi superstition. The soul parts ways with the body at death. What I do has no effect.” Esen had crossed her arms, somehow looking down at Maarken despite being half his height.
“Can you prove that, necromancer? Why should I believe one who meddles with souls when she says it does them no harm?” Maarken’s hand was on his weapon. I had to intervene.
“I would like to propose a compromise!” I called out, standing up on top of the chest. “Esen can raise our friend here as a zombie. But when we get wherever we’re going, we will cremate him. Nobody will let us in with a zombie anyway.”
Esen and Maarken both eyed me. Both of them looked irritated, but Maarken much more so. I was hoping to make their annoyance more even. A good compromise makes everybody unhappy. Thankfully, after a tense couple of seconds, Maarken relaxed and sighed.
“Fine. But if you ever lose control of that thing…” Maarken raised his warhammer.
“I assure you, that isn’t a risk.” Esen knelt by the corpse and began her work. Maarken grumbled and walked off, planting himself on the dirt road we had come down. I was more interested in seeing what Esen was up to. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she waved me over to observe her.
“Thank you for helping convince him. I would regret it my whole life if we had to leave this silver behind.” Esen eyed the chest with a look that bordered on lustful.
“We’re a lot less likely to be blamed for things if we can get that where it belongs. The question is which way to take it. The mines are closer, but the capital is where it’s supposed to go.” I did some mental calculations, trying to figure out which was least likely to get us executed for this drastic failure.
“Why take it to either? When we don’t show up, they’ll assume we’re dead. Anybody coming through will find what’s left of everybody else and confirm that. With this much silver, all of us could retire in luxury.” Esen pulled from her voluminous cloak a set of fleam knives of the sort surgeons used to bleed patients. She made a small cut on the back of her arm and began smearing blood on the dead man’s forehead.
I was aghast. Not at the blood, I found that fascinating and wanted to ask about it, but those questions were going to have to wait.
"We can't do that! Maarken, tell her we can't do that!" I cried out.
"Where would we take it, though? Not many places we would get much for it and still not draw attention." Maarken appeared like I had summoned him, but he betrayed me!
"Maybe we can sell it in installments? Couple ingots here, couple there." Esen suggested.
"Still doesn't answer where. Also, if we’re doing this, we shouldn't take a government clerk with us." Maarken pointed at me.
"Wait, hold on! I thought we were friends! You can't just get rid of me!" I wailed, trying to look my cutest. It seemed to give them pause as they exchanged a confused look.
"What? Since when?" Maarken asked.
"Do you even know my name?" Esen added.
"Since I stopped you two from killing each other, Esen." Now I was offended. I was a professional, damn it. I had learned everybody's names before the trip even started. "And I will do it again. Do you two trust each other? At all?"
They shared glances again, this time wary ones. Of course, they had just cooked this plan up out of mutual greed. He hated to turn them against each other, but he had no real choice.
"You both want all of the silver, right? Don't answer, it doesn't matter whether you do or don't. You know the other does. The only person here you can trust as a go-between is me!” I continued, keeping a close eye on their faces. Despite their behavior, I knew humans weren’t stupid. They knew I was manipulating them, but they also knew I was right.
“You make a decent point, but why can we trust you?” Esen asked.
“Because I’m a goblin? If I lose you two, I’m alone in the woods with just my knife for defense… and a chest of silver that I can’t even move.” I said.
“Fair enough. Pretty puny even for a goblin.” Maarken said.
“Well then, I think we have a deal for now. I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage, little diplomat. You know our names and we do not know yours.” Esen said.
“Me? I’m Pargrym, the Peacemaker.” I smiled up at my new friends. I had just earned a title.
Comments (2)
See all