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[Lazybones]

Chapter 50


Balgron the Fat was in a sour mood.

All things considered, the goblin realized, the situation could have been significantly worse. Yesterday, he had been the leader of a considerable force of goblin warriors, but that had been stripped from him in a single calamitous encounter. But the last goblin to disappoint Kalarel had been bound to a post and had a half-dozen heated spikes inserted into his abdomen, a most unpleasant procedure that had only slowly concluded in a merciful death. The only other goblin to have escaped the incursion onto the upper level had been retained by Kalarel to “assist” during the final stages of the ritual, an assignment that Balgron was happy to have avoided.

So being on a scouting mission to find the invaders who had slaughtered the bulk of his once-underlings was not, all in all, a terrible outcome.

Balgron risked a glance back at his fellow guards. The hobgoblins abruptly stopped their low conversation and fixed him with dark looks until he looked away. Krul Durga’s warriors did not bother to hide their contempt for the goblin, and they probably weren’t any happier to be here than he was. Balgron suspected that they were here more to keep an eye on him than to provide backup should he encounter the intruders.

After the debacle upstairs Durga had doubled the watches, following Kalarel’s mandate to ward the entrance to the lower level until the ritual was complete. Balgron had spent the few hours not spent on watch duty in the entry hall to the second level sprawled out on a thin blanket in a corner of the storeroom, without even a pad to protect his bones from the hard stone floor. He had not had a chance yet to slip away to the upper level, to check if the intruders had found the treasure secreted in his lair. The hobgoblins seemed to watch him as eagerly as they monitored for the intruders.

The goblin grimaced and paused to adjust his belt; it was chafing again against his considerable gut. The hobgoblins waited impatiently. Balgron thought they were idiots. They were getting close to the sigils, and it was getting increasingly likely that their enemies were close by, perhaps waiting in ambush. The scream had just been an echo when it had reached their guard station, but it was enough to warn them of approaching foes. The sergeant in command had sent off a runner at once to alert Krul Durga, but he had not waited for a response before ordering Balgron to investigate.

Balgron’s hands tightened on his crossbow. Eventually he’d get a chance to make his move, and if his coins were still in his erstwhile lair, he’d be well away long before Kalarel even thought to look for him…

He was so intent on his musings that he almost missed the lumps scattered about the floor. He raised a hand in warning, and this time the hobgoblins paid heed, moving into position behind him, their swords at the ready. But as he crept nearer, Balgron saw that there was no threat here. The carcasses—hacked to pieces, he saw—had been zombie guards not long ago, but now there was nothing but dead meat.

The intruders, it seemed, had withdrawn.

“All right,” he said to the hobgoblins, half turning, “Perhaps we should report back…”

He was cut off by a sudden hint of movement that he barely caught out of the corner of his eye. Startled into a cry of alarm, he lifted his bow, fumbling with the safety clip on the latch. Behind him, the hobgoblins lifted their shields and formed into a defensive wedge—one that didn’t include him, he noted.

“Don’t shoot!” came a reedy voice from the shadows ahead. Balgron’s startlement was almost greater than before, as he recognized the tattered figure that stepped into view, hands raised.

“Splug! What are you doing here?”

The goblin slouched forward, warily, shooting a glance at the hobgoblins, whose readiness had eased only fractionally upon recognizing the race of the newcomer. Compared to the goblins, they were hulking brutes, clad in light armor of layered leather, and armed with swords almost as long as Balgron was tall. One of the grunts growled, “What’s all this now?”

“I escaped! The intruders… they killed all the others… they were heading for the deeper dungeon, to stop Kalarel, but I got away from them while they were distracted by the zombies!”

The goblin was growing hysterical, so Balgron tried to calm him, an effort that was to some extent negated by the hobgoblin’s threatening tone. “How many?” the creature asked.

Splug sucked in a breath. “Five… two humans, two halflings, and an elf… they have many weapons, and magic! They are cruel, very cruel… They mistreated me, but I was too clever for them! I stole this...” The goblin thrust something at Balgron, but the hobgoblin leaned forward and intercepted it. The device glinted in the torchlight; it was a small icon of bright silver, fashioned into the shape of a raven. Balgron had to restrain himself from shooting the prick in the chest; it would have been easy, but the other two would have cut him down before he managed five steps.

“What’s this?” the hobgoblin asked.

“It’s the priest’s sigil!” Splug exclaimed. “Without it, he cannot use his magic!”

Balgron blinked, but the hobgoblin had already pocketed the item. “Perhaps we should alert Lord Durga about these developments,” the goblin leader ventured.

The hobgoblin’s gaze shifted to Balgron, and it was icy. But finally he nodded, and the party turned back the way they had come.

“They’re nasty, especially that priest,” Splug was saying. “But they were hurt by the spell-ward, and the woman fighter was beat up in the fight with the zombies. They were going to fall back and recover their strength, get their magic ready before coming down here. If you strike now, you can catch them off-guard, and destroy them!”

The hobgoblin made a noncommittal grunt. Balgron had a number of questions for his former underling, but with the hobgoblins standing right there, he held his tongue. His eyes kept shifting back to the passage behind them, as if their enemies might materialize there at any moment. The hobgoblins seemed content to wait for orders, and the silence quickly grew awkward.

“You’ve done well, Splug,” Balgron finally did say, as a quiet aside. The goblin looked like he wanted to break and flee. Balgron understood how he felt. He’d been the one to condemn Balgron to the cells and the attentions of the torturer, but somehow it felt reassuring to have one of his kind, even one like Splug, here with him. At least now there was someone here who was lower in the hierarchy than he was.

“Do you think Lord Durga will deal with the intruders?” Splug whispered back.

The goblin shook his head glumly. “All I know is that whatever happens, we’re going to be in the middle of it.”

They reached the stairs and headed back down. Even before the entry hall opened up ahead of them, Balgron could hear the familiar voice below, issuing orders.

Krul Durga had arrived, and he did not sound pleased.