The Last Goblin Shaman by Tim K. Brumbaugh

Author:Tim K. Brumbaugh [Brumbaugh, Tim K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-06-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

They hadn’t the weapons to finish the whimpering creature off, and Fia felt a momentary sorrow for the great beast. It would die, but not for some time. Acotash’s ice does not melt quickly, but when it does it will be like the releasing of a dam. Blood will burst from the beast’s stumps and flow down into the black waters like a sanguinary river, and the creature will pass from legend into myth.

Although they had just survived a brush with death itself, their ship smashed beyond use, and none of them knew exactly what else lurked in the woods, the goblins' spirits soared. Watching Fia fell the monstrous beast had solidified her status among them as their new shaman, their chosen shaman, and even the hesitant and skeptical among them became caught up in the moment and pledged to her their devotion.

Even Ril, maybe especially Ril, seemed awestruck by her and he got down on one knee and declared himself her protector and champion. She had thanked him, and kissed his forehead, but the gesture and adoration frightened her. She wanted it, but did not want it. She craved the magic and the power, but she loathed it as well.

“Now what?” Beebreeze quietly asked.

Everyone looked to their new shaman.

“I—I don’t know. Ril? What now?”

The once-nobleman thought for a moment. “We head to Melshanaria’s grove. From there, we just keep moving north.”

“Can we sail up the coast?” Broggan asked. “We can charter a ship in Markesh or Windhovel. Can sail right up to the moorlands in a couple of days.”

“Not unless you got coin tucked away somewhere,” Draz said.

“Not to mention the sight of nine goblins is sure to draw someone’s attention,” Dewdown added.

“My father has friends in Markesh and Windhovel. We need to remain hidden until we reach the moorlands. Stick to the cover of the woods and stay off the king’s roads. I do know someone who lives in Humble. It’s a smaller village. He might be able to help.”

“How?” Fia asked.

“Coin, maybe. He can sneak us into Windhovel in a merchant’s wagon or two and set us on a ship to Rivermouth. Once there it’s a quick march into the Iffell Moors.”

“Or, we kill the crew, sail to the Iffell Moors ourselves, and piss on Rivermouth as we pass by,” Broggan said.

“Right. Sorry.” Ril sighed. “Whatever direction we choose, we need to make for Melshanaria.”

“Why,” asked Aleg. “What do we need her for? Ain’t she dangerous?”

“Quiet, child.” Shaal “We go because Ril says we go. He knows best right now.”

“She’s very dangerous, yes.” Ril put his hand on Aleg’s head and tossed his thicket of tawny hair. “But no one passes through her woods without paying their respects. It would be very…impolite of us not to.”

“Let’s go back to the ship and scrape up some supplies, boy,” Shaal said. “Make ourselves useful while the others plan. Spretta, Beebreeze, you too.”

They gathered their gear under the plaintive howls of the beast Ril called Blackthorn. Fia wanted to be gone already, and she took up a wool blanket and some dried meat through her tears.

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