Bladesinger (The Fighters) by Keith Strohm

Author:Keith Strohm [Strohm, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786963942
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2012-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

The Year of Wild Magic

(1372 DR)

Shadows shifted in the curving passageway.

Marissa blinked hard to help her eyes adjust as she and her companions followed Yurz through the twisting bowels of the mountain. She watched the goblin’s bulbous head bob quickly up and down as he walked, experiencing a rush of guilt whenever he turned and cast an adoring gaze her way. Though she knew Yurz, like all of his kind, was cruel, cunning, and evil by nature, the druid always disliked overpowering the will of another creature—no matter how depraved it might be. Still, Rashemen’s need beat like a war drum within her, swift and steady, its deep-noted call resonating through bone and tissue, replacing even the measured pulse of her own heart. Marissa knew that she would sacrifice far more than her own moral comfort to slake the land’s need—and the thought frightened her.

Thankfully, her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shift in the tunnel. Borovazk, Taenaran, and Roberc stood around Yurz, who sniffed the air carefully. From her vantage point, the druid could see that the trail they followed turned sharply to the left, revealing a ragged break in the tunnel wall before them. She could see an uneven passage sloping upward beyond the break, but it soon moved outside the range of her elf vision. A chill breeze blew down from the newly revealed passage.

“Passage must lead to surface,” Borovazk exclaimed as he, too, inhaled the fresh airflow. “Borovazk smell snow and ice.”

Yurz nodded quickly. “Oh yes,” he hissed, “man-thing speak truth. This passage run out to mountain trail, then into village by man-castle.”

“Then let’s not delay,” Roberc spoke up, his hand resting upon Cavan’s broad back. “The sooner we get to the citadel, the sooner we can finish up this gods-blasted mission.” He turned to Marissa and cast her a look of undisguised longing. “I haven’t found myself on the tail end of a drunken binge in quite some time.”

“No, no, no,” Yurz replied. “We no follow mountain trail. Village empty except for goblin spies. See us coming. They not understand why Pretty Lady and friends need to see Big Chief.” The goblin stamped his foot, a sight so like that of a little child that Marissa found herself stifling a laugh, despite the seriousness of their situation. “We follow this path,” Yurz continued, pointing to the left, where the trail they had been following turned sharply. “Soon we get to underlevels of the man-castle. Yurz take you to see Big Chief. There be big feast. We all eat until we fall asleep.”

The thought of spending an evening feasting with a tribe of goblins did little for Marissa’s appetite, and she could see by the looks on her companions’ faces that they felt similarly.

“I still think we should chance the mountain trail,” Roberc said. “It seems far safer to me than traipsing through the warrens of a goblin tribe.” Led by a goblin. Marissa could hear the halfling’s unspoken reproach.

“It is a matter of trust,” Taenaran said in Elvish, which he so rarely spoke.

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