coughing.
I made the effort to squint sideways and saw the speaker. He was a huge man with a black beard growing right up to his eyes. He returned my gaze defiantly and started coughing again.
“That’s Kior,” the goblin explained, and I didn’t hear any love for this shaggy natural wonder in his voice. “And this is Mis.”
There was a skinny man about forty-five years old sitting beside Kior. Bald, with brown eyes and a mustache. His right shoulder was bandaged up in a slapdash fashion. He gave me a friendly nod.
“Welcome to our unfortunate little group, lad.”
“A warrior?” I asked, finding the strength from somewhere to nod back.
“Yes,” Mis replied, and closed his eyes.
How had a warrior from the Border Kingdom ended up out here in the wild?
“Do you have a name?” the goblin asked me.
“Harold.”
“And I’m Glo-Glo,” the goblin said with a grin. “Pleased to meet you.”
Morning was waking over Zagraba, but there wasn’t much light because the sky was blanketed with clouds, and it was about to start raining at any moment. How long had I been out, then? All night? That Fagred had a heavy hand, all right! There was a dull throbbing pain in the back of my head and I winced as I put my left hand to it. That was when I realized my hands weren’t tied anymore.
“There’s no need,” the goblin said as if he was reading my thoughts. “Where can you run to? Look over there.”
I looked in the direction the goblin had indicated. And saw a man suspended by the legs dangling from a branch of the nearest tree.
“That’s Kior’s partner,” Glo-Glo explained cheerily. “Yesterday he got it into his head to run off, so they hung him up there to teach the rest of us a lesson. And they slit his belly open for good measure.”
“Why don’t you shut up and keep quiet, greeny!” said Kior, and his eyes flashed angrily.
“I’ve kept quiet long enough, no more!” The goblin sat down beside me and started whispering in my ear.
“Take no notice of him, Harold. Kior’s a poacher, he hunts golden cats in the orcs’ territory, and the Firstborn caught him. Actually, they caught him yesterday, about three hours before you turned up.”
“I see,” I muttered.
“But how do you come to be in Zagraba?”
“I was just taking a stroll,” I chuckled.
Glo-Glo sighed. “You can tell Kior you were out for a stroll. Do you think I didn’t see what the Firstborn took out of your bag?”
“How do you know what those things were?” I asked curiously.
“I just happen to be a shaman.”
I cleared my throat doubtfully.
“Shamans don’t get caught by the orcs that easily.”
“As long as they stay alert, that is,” Glo-Glo sighed regretfully. “I really am a shaman, though.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
I figured that if the goblin was a shaman, he ought to have been able to find some way to do a vanishing act.
“The same as you. Look.” The goblin showed me his hands, and they were covered with mittens.
Strange mittens they were, too, I must say. At least, each one had a restraining chain and a lock, so they looked a bit like manacles. Taking them off would be pretty hard. Although they were rubbishy locks, and I thought I could have picked them if I really tried. The mittens had runes drawn on them, too.
“What are they for?”
“So I can’t work any spells,” the shaman groaned miserably. “The mittens restrict the movements of my fingers, and the runes prevent magic from working, so spells are out of the question. I can try, but the forest spirits only know what will actually happen.”
“And some people still claim that shamanism is better than wizardry!” I muttered.
“Just give me time. I’ll get my hands free, and then they’ll be dancing to my tune!” the goblin hissed, narrowing his eyes and peering at the orcs.
“If they don’t cut your hands off first,” Mis said encouragingly.
“They won’t do that,” the goblin said, waving one hand blithely in the air. “I don’t have anything to worry about until the mid-autumn festival.”
“And then what happens?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” snapped Glo-Glo.
Meanwhile it had started to rain, and that’s never the most pleasant start to a morning. The camp was gradually waking up. Despite the rain, the orcs relit the fire. The Firstborn went about their business, and we sat in the rain and got soaked. An idyllic scene. Two hours went by like that, and despite the continuous drizzle, I somehow managed to doze off. I was woken by Glo-Glo poking me violently in the ribs.
“It’s started,” said Mis, and added a foul oath.
“What’s started?” I asked, confused, but none of my comrades in misfortune saw fit to answer me.
They were all staring at the center of the clearing. Since I hadn’t been given any explanations, I started watching the orcs bustling about, too. Some were dousing the campfire, some were hastily packing up their things. Two of them dragged a huge tree stump out of the forest—what on earth was that for?
“How many of them are there?”
“How many of who?” Mis was kind enough to reply.
“The orcs.”
“Nineteen. They’re an advance detachment, they were pursuing dark ones.”
“Dark ones?” I asked.
“Dark elves. A detachment of elves was running riot in the orcs’ territory and Bagard’s unit set off in pursuit. In the end they caught the elves and all of us as well,” Glo-Glo said, and spat.
“They caught elves?” I was definitely very slow on the uptake today. But then that quite often happens when someone applies something heavy to my head.
“Well, not all of them…” Glo-Glo drawled, watching Fagred set the stump in the center of the clearing. “Only those who were unfortunate enough not to be killed in the fight. And there they are.”
Eight orcs pushed four elves out from behind the tree that one of the prisoners was hanging on. They were too far away for me to make out the prisoners’ faces and the crests of their houses, but one of them was definitely a woman. The elves weren’t a very pretty sight; they looked as if they’d spent the night in a room crammed full of deranged cats. The Secondborn were bruised and battered, they’d been worked over really well. One of the elves could hardly walk, and two of his comrades had to support him. The dark ones were led out into the middle of the clearing, where all the orcs were gathered together, and Bagard gave a brisk nod.
“What are they going to do with them?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
The executions were bloody and swift. The orcs didn’t bother with subtle tortures. The Firstborn simply set each of the elves on the improvised block by turn and the huge Fagred chopped their dark heads off with his ax. The orcs watched the executions impassively, and when it was all over, they dragged the bodies across to the dead man hanging on the tree.
“Well, that’s over,” said the goblin, clearing his throat.
“Not quite, I think,” Mis hissed.
I followed his glance and my stomach turned to ice. Bagard was directing some of the Firstborn to our hushed little group. Three warriors separated off from the detachment.
“I won’t let them take me that easily,” the Border Kingdom warrior muttered. “They can find themselves another sheep to slaughter.”
Mis was clutching a short pointed stick in his hand. I had no idea where he’d got it from, but it could easily be used to strike at an eye or a neck. The question was, would the orcs give him a chance to do it?
Two of the warriors came over to us, and I pulled in my feet in case Mis decided to try something and I had to kick the nearest orc. But the Firstborn took no notice of me or Mis, they just grabbed Kior and dragged him off
