Part 14 (1/2)
The minotaur, ears up and alert, glanced in the goblin's direction. Yellow teeth tore away a sc.r.a.p of deer meat. The thick chain links hanging from the beast's wrist manacles swung and clinked.
The goblin swallowed the bile churning in his stomach, but he went on, even daring to smile. ”Kender and me hunt deer, but kill humans. Shoot three. We find d.a.m.n elf, much bad hurt, bring him back. Elf no good, eh?
I know, but maybe elf know woods, good ways to hunt.
Maybe we make him teach us. Want maybe keep elf alive for now. OK?”
The goblin hesitated, wondering if any of this was sinking into the minotaur's brain. It hadn't spoken a word since they'd found it. Humans said minotaurs weren't very bright, but this one had to be dumber than dirt.
The minotaur continued chewing on the bone, watching the goblin with its dull brown eyes. The goblin felt he had done all he could to safeguard the elf's survival, at least until the issue of the magical sword was cleared up. After that, the minotaur could dine on Silvanesti meat when the kender's back was turned, for all the goblin cared. The goblin nodded to the minotaur, then went back to help the kender carry the elf up to the cave. There they laid the elf out on the kender's bed - a pile of rags on the packed-earth floor.
The kender was frantic to do things for the elf. Before long, the elf was undressed, wrapped cozily in the kender's own blankets. The goblin busied himself by going through all the loot that he had taken off the bodies of the rangers and the elf as well. The kender gently washed the elf's face.
The goblin carefully counted thirty-six Istarian gold pieces, ten Istarian silver coins, and two rings. It was more money than he'd ever had, even in East Dravinar in the good old days. He couldn't spend it, but it felt awfully good. He wrapped the money in cloth to m.u.f.fle it, placed it in apouch, then tied it inside his clothing behind his belt, where not even the kender's light fingers would find it.
He lifted the elf's backpack and looked it over. Its quaint, elaborate tooling and st.i.tching occupied his curiosity briefly, then he undid the straps and looked inside.
He snorted. Books and papers ... and a small bag of gold coins, twelve of them, each with an elven king on one side and a swan on the other. Silvanesti for certain. The rangers must not have gotten around to searching the elf's gear if they had missed this. The goblin palmed the gold and was about to empty the rest of the backpack's contents into the fire pit when he noticed the biggest book.
Except that the book in the elf's backpack was white, it was just like the red spellbook the goblin had seen a Red Robe reading one day, three years ago, on the banks of a mountain stream. Of course, the goblin had given that wizard a wide berth. It wasn't smart to mess with wizards.
The goblin eyed the book before gazing at the battered elf. If the rangers had found the book, the elf would have been dead long ago. The goblin wondered if that wouldn't have been best. A minotaur knew but one way to kill you and would at least be quick about it; a wizard knew a thousand, and he often took his time. The Istarians burned wizards at the stake, but it was not uncommon for whole Istarian villages and towns to go up in flames themselves shortly after such events. Better to turn away from a wizard than to raise your hand against him.
The goblin chewed his lower lip.
Better to turn away, but maybe better still to make a wizard your ally - even an elf - if you could do it.
The kender, muttering to himself all the while, finished cleaning and dressing the elf's wounds. The goblin, coming out of his reverie with a start, made a production of relighting the fire until the kender went outside to wash off in a stream. Once he was alone, the goblin carefully replaced all of the Silvanesti coins and made sure the elf's things were in order inside the pack before strapping it shut. He then took both the backpack and the elf's pouch- laden belt and stored them in the back of the cave where the minotaur and kender weren't likely to find them. (The kender had already fully explored the shallow cave and was unlikely to search it again.) Then there was nothing to do but wait - and think.
The elf regained consciousness later that afternoon.
The kender was beside himself with joy and talked without stop for two hours afterward, pestering the elf with questions that he lacked the strength to answer. This gave the elf a chance to eye his surroundings and take in the goblin and minotaur; upon seeing the latter, the elf's eyes widened and he seemed too afraid to move. The goblin kept to the background and took care of minor ch.o.r.es that the kender usually handled, saying nothing. The minotaur merely grunted when it saw the elf, then went outside and sat down to dine on a freshly killed boar taken from a pit trap, noisily tearing into its dinner with its bare teeth.
When the kender ran off to fetch some water from the nearby stream, the goblin ambled over and sat down on the ground next to the elf, who tried to edge away. The goblin pretended not to notice.
”You feel good?” asked the goblin in the trade tongue.He knew only a few Silvanesti words, and he had never had the chance to learn the goblin tongue - not that an elf would have appreciated it. ”No human beat face for fun now, eh?”
The elf looked as though he couldn't think of anything to say. His eyes were blood-red spheres nestled in great black bruises that covered nearly his entire face.
”No need worry, eh,” said the goblin with a squint-eyed grin. ”The humans you meet, they get sick. Bad sick. We can do nothing. Maybe bury them later. More humans maybe out in woods, looking around, but you safe here.”
The goblin reached over and gently poked at the elf with a stiff finger. ”Eh, you Silvanesti?”
The elf stared in tight-lipped silence at the goblin.
”Yes? No? Not matter,” said the goblin, looking down to check his fingernails for dirt. ”You think, eh, goblin not like elves. Maybe he do for me hard.” The goblin looked into the elf's eyes with a knowing smile. ”Maybe goblin want you to live. Maybe we all help each other. You wear robes, eh?”
The elf licked his lips, seeming to overcome some obstacle inside him. ”Yes,” he whispered. He was obviously afraid, but the goblin could tell the elf wanted to come out with it. Pride, no doubt. And perhaps an arrogant honesty. ”I wear the wh - ” The elf coughed painfully and swallowed, then continued in a weaker voice. ”I am of the White Robes.”
”Hmmm.” The goblin made a face, looked down at his fingernails. It figured. ”Good magic not help much, eh?
You maybe looking for something when humans catch you?”
The elf started to reply, then stopped. His wide-eyed gaze locked onto the goblin.
Gotcha, thought the goblin. ”Humans that beat you say they take magic sword from elf, maybe not long ago.
Maybe humans go to Istar with sword, give Kingpriest.
What you think Kingpriest do with sword? Maybe cut off little elf, goblin heads?”
The elf's face twisted. He made an effort to get up, without success. ”No,” whispered the elf, rolling back in despair. ”Did they take it? Are you sure they have it?”
”Eh,” said the goblin, feigning indifference. ”They say they have sword with gems. Pretty sword. Humans gone now.”
The elf's eyes closed. ”My cousin,” he whispered. He took several deep breaths, then continued. ”They must have caught my cousin. I was looking for his trail when my horse broke a leg. Then the humans found me. They asked why I was following them, but I wasn't. I just wanted my cousin and the sword.” He roused himself again, looking at the goblin. ”Did they say anything about my cousin?”
The goblin shrugged and shook his head. He knew what must have happened. He knew the elf knew, too.
The elf groaned and again tried to get up, but he was very weak and fell back limply. Sweat beaded up on his forehead. His breathing became labored, but soon evened out as he fell unconscious and slept.
For several minutes, the goblin sat by the elf in silence.
Instinct confirmed that the sword had to be magical. An elf, especially one who was a wizard, would not waste time worrying about a simple weapon. What could the sword do,though? Magical weapons were capable of doing anything, the goblin had heard. Some were said to hurl lightning, others to b.u.m like torches, still others to cut through stone.
The goblin had never before dreamed he would have the chance to get a magical sword of his own. He was certainly thinking about it now.
”How is he?” asked the kender as he came in with the full water bucket. ”Is he still alive? Did he say anything?”
The goblin snorted and got up, dusting off his hands.
”Still alive. Not say much, need sleep. Maybe all right soon.” He looked down at the sleeping figure. ”Not bad elf.
Maybe we get along, eh? First time for everything.”
”Running no good,” the goblin observed the following morning. Leaving the cave, he found the elf standing upright by the entrance. A cold wind moaned through the branches. The sky was overcast, as usual.
The elf turned and almost fell over, but he grabbed for support from the rock face behind him. The elf wore stolen clothing that the kender had provided. The outfit was old, mismatched, and ill fitting, but better than nothing.
”I wasn't going to run,” said the elf softly. He looked with a trace of anxiety in the direction of the minotaur, who was slowly wandering among the bare tree trunks some distance away. The beast had wrapped its chain around its waist and tied it there, like a belt, allowing its hands and arms some range of movement. The chain links clinked together lightly as it walked.
The goblin nodded in approval. ”Good you stay. No horse, no luck.” He waved a hand at the forest. ”Nice new home, eh? You like? Stay long time with us, maybe?”
The elf looked away, his hands clenching and unclenching. His breathing was short and shallow.
You're exhausted and in pain, but you want to escape, thought the goblin. You want to escape and get that sword back. It's so obvious, it's laughable.
”I - ” began the elf. He wrung his hands, seemingly unaware of what he was doing. He was watching the minotaur, who was casually breaking off tree limbs as thick as a grown man's arm, then dropping them or hurling them away. The kender would use them for firewood later.