"Thank you. I think I know of something to sour the taste of your soldiers."
"Would that stop the goblings from eating them?"
"Nothing overcomes a goblings appetite," I replied, "but it would lessen their zeal."
"That's something at least, I suppose."
I promised to deliver the tonic by tomorrow morning, and the Captain dismissed me with a noteworthy lack of enthusiasm.
Outside, Gwurm was speaking with Wyst of the West. I stayed back and waited for them to finish. Newt, who could no longer stay quiet, spoke low enough that only I could hear.
"Why are we staying?"
"Because this is my job," I said in an equally low whisper.
"Your job is vengeance. Remember your dead mistress."
I swatted him hard across the backside with my broom. He jumped, forgot his oath of silence among men, and swore.
"Why did you do that?"
I smacked him again, harder this time. Newt shouted out, "Damn it! That hurt!"
"Good. Now listen, and listen well. I welcome your opinion. Feel free to offer it whenever you like. But make no mistake about it, I make the final decisions on what we will do, where we will go, and who we will kill. Is that understood?"
"Yes, yes, mistress. Whatever you say," he grunted without much enthusiasm.
I let go of Penelope. She struck him softly across his tender seat and jumped back to my hand.
"Of course, mistress. I meant no disrespect."
"Yes, you did, and I'll have no more of it. If you're unhappy, take your leave. Otherwise, shut up and stop second-guessing everything I do."
He grumbled. The demon in him so hated being dressed down, but an unreliable familiar would do me little good. Penelope trembled in my grasp, eager for another swat.
"I'm sorry, mistress. You're right, of course. I overstepped my bounds, and I humbly beg your forgiveness."
He wasn't truly sorry. Nor was he the type to humbly beg for anything. Expecting sincerity from a duck with a pinch of demon was asking too much. It was enough that he maintained a false, yet respectable, humility.
Penelope shook, begging for another shot. I squeezed her tight, and she relented.
"Very good. I'm pleased we understand each other."
One thin soldier no more than sixteen years old had been close enough to catch our conversation. He measured Newt with a vaguely shocked expression. He was not so much frightened as surprised.
My familiar hissed in a decidedly unduckly manner. "That's right. I talk. I also devour souls, and what a tasty little soul I'll bet you have."
He took a single step toward the soldier. The boy turned and tripped over his own feet. Newt chuckled while the young man scurried away.
Gwurm and Wyst of the West parted. I worried the Knight might want to speak with me, but he went to preparing the soldiers for their drills. Gwurm returned to my side.
"Nice chap," Gwurm remarked. "He just wanted to apologize for judging my character based solely on my species. Says there's even a troll in his order who's distinguished himself as an exemplary champion."
Gwurm had not given the slightest hint of insult after their first meeting, but just because he accepted such inconveniences as a troll's burden didn't make them right. Wyst's apology showed his good character, and his good character only made me hunger for him more in ways both carnal and carnivorous.
I kept my eyes low and buried such desires beneath more immediate concerns. But it wasn't easy, and it was proving more difficult each time.
IN THE SAFETY OF my tent, I borrowed Newt's body again. He didn't complain about the switch. He liked wearing my body. My green eyes gleamed with sinister delights. He had no doubt dreamed up all manner of twisted, demon-born fantasies of what he might do with it given free rein. I warned him he only enjoyed its full use by my good graces. Should he behave in any inappropriate way, the privilege would be revoked.
He acted as if he didn't need to be told this. I made a point of telling him anyway. Then I dispatched him and Gwurm to gather the ingredients I'd need for the Captain's tonic. They set off on their task, and I set off on mine.
I stepped out of my tent, found a bare spot, and stomped my web foot four times. Then I shouted because one must be loud to attract the slumbering earth's attention.
"Hello there, good earth. Any goblings down there?"
The earth replied with a vaguely feminine voice, yet deep and slow as the earth should have. "No. No goblings down here."
"Could you point the way to the nearest batch?"
It took a minute for the earth to take in the question, but she knew the answer. The earth was hardly aware of anything happening atop her but knew all that went on below the surface. An arrow drew itself in the dirt. I thanked the earth for her help, but by then she had gone back to sleep.
I took to the air, circling the fort once to stretch my wings.
I kept from looking down for fear of glimpsing Wyst of the West. There were more important matters at hand.
I soared over the forest, stopping every fifteen minutes to check with the earth, whose directions, while reliable, were always in need of some adjusting. After a few hours, I found the horde.
There was no need to consult the earth because the forest below grew deathly quiet. Not a chirp or a chitter or a squeal rose from the trees. All the birds and beasts that hadn't been eaten had fled the area. I landed without worry. Goblings were nocturnal. They spent their days sleeping in burrows. I spotted dozens of entrances in the soil. No efforts had been made to hide them. And why should there have been? The creatures were dug deep into the earth, and any attempt to flush them out would only drive them deeper. A legion equipped with the finest shovels and sharpest swords could've spent weeks trying with nothing to show but blistered palms and a handful of gobling corpses out of thousands.
I glanced down into a dark hole. Goblings were about duck-size, and I would have to squeeze down into the depths if I were to learn anything more. Newt's body was a match for a gobling or two, but there was still a danger. If I should get his borrowed body killed, my soul would simply snap back into my own flesh, push out Newt, and he'd expire. Familiars were made to serve, but I had gotten attached to my demon duck, disrespectful as he might be. Sentimentality aside, a good witch takes care with her familiar.
I deemed it worth the risk and stepped into the darkened burrow. Though my own eyes would have worked better, Newt's could see reasonably well. I moved slowly, carefully, and soon came across a slumbering gobling. It was a noisy little creature. Its body twitched as it snored, grumbled, and snorted in a fitful sleep.
I didn't get too close as I studied it. It looked as I'd been taught goblings should. Two arms. Two legs. A square head with a large mouth, small eyes, and giant ears. Small leather wings grew from its shoulders, but goblings were notoriously bad fliers. Worse even than Newt. I sensed no magic in this creature, but just because I didn't see enchantment didn't rule out the involvement of magic. Magic can be concealed even from a witch's eye. It usually wasn't considered worth the effort.
If I was to learn any more, I'd have to take this gobling back for more in-depth inspection. It wouldn't be much trouble to kill it in its sleep, drag it to the surface, and fly it back to the fort. Getting it back alive would have been preferable but unfeasible.
The gobling sniffed and stirred. A shiny, orange pinpoint lit the tunnel. By the time I'd realized it was one of the gob-ling's eyes, it had already scrambled to its feet and came at me, screeching.
The demon in Newt's flesh reacted without a thought from me. It thrust my bill into the creature's throat. Blood spurted from the gash. It splattered on my face and bill. I swallowed some of it and discovered gobling blood tasted not bad at all, the tang of rabbit with the sweetness of deer, though I disliked the aftertaste. The gobling writhed a minute, hissing and spitting, before expiring.