He caught sight of a huge figure looming behind the goblin throng. It was a man with broad shoulders and an imposing build. Ragh couldn’t make out any details, as the man clung to the shadows of the oaks, but he was certain the man was guiding the goblins, else they probably would have attacked him, too. Ragh swung at the goblins blindly now, keeping his eyes on the man, mentally daring him to step out from the shadows of the trees where he could be contested.
More goblins died; more were crushed or went flying. Then, abruptly, Ragh was brought to his knees and all he could see was the press of little leathery bodies, a veritable wall of scaly red and dirty yellow, shot through here and there by broken-toothed grins. The stench of the creatures’ sweat, blood, and whatever else clung to them overwhelmed him and he choked. The air in his tightening chest was hot and fetid, and he twisted his head up, gasping for fresh air.
He continued to swing and flail while the goblins cried shrilly and stabbed at his arms and legs. They were careful not to pierce his chest or stomach, having been commanded by the man, now stepping forward, that this sivak had to be captured alive.
“Take him down.” The man spoke in the common human tongue, and the goblins moved as one. “Break him, but do not kill him, not yet.”
Ragh was pushed onto his back with the pack of goblins climbing on and pummeling him with their weight. He managed to kill a couple more before the strongest of them drove spears into his arms and legs to pin him to the ground like an insect collector might pin a butterfly. A few of the goblins spat on him then, while others produced thick twine and crisscrossed it over his limbs and chest. The ends of the twine were tied to daggers that were thrust into the ground.
The sivak struggled but refused to cry out from the pain. He pitched his head from side to side, seeing the spears thrust into his arms and the blood that was spilling from his wounds. A particularly repulsive-looking goblin with one milky eye and patches of sores on his chest held a short sword to Ragh’s throat.
The draconian finally lay still and the goblins chittered their victory.
“We did as you asked,” Ragh heard one goblin say in the common tongue. “We did not kill him.”
“He’ll die anyway,” another said. “Look how he bleeds.”
“Work fast, Bedell,” a grizzled red goblin said. “Make him talk before he dies.”
Ragh saw a face above him. It was clean-shaven and handsome for a human, a man with short black hair and dark blue eyes. There was a faint scar leading from the center of his chin and disappearing under his ear. He smiled, revealing a row of even teeth as white as the lily emblem on his coal-black tabard. The man’s plate mail made a grating sound when he bent over the draconian, and Ragh could see that the armor was marred from acid. The Knight of Neraka drew his sword and touched it to the ropy scars across Ragh’s chest.
“I see you’ve been in many fights, sivak. Scars are the best badges of honor, are they not? Battle marks to wear for all to see.” He touched his own scar with his free hand. “Better than medals, don’t you think?”
Ragh struggled and the knight drove his heel down on Ragh’s chest.
“Commander Bedell,” a goblin risked. “You said he wasn’t to be killed. Our mistress will be angry if he dies…uh, accidentally.”
“I risk her anger just by being here,” the commander answered, “but no, the sivak is not to be slain…yet.” He traced the scars on Ragh’s chest and neck with the sword. Then he pressed just hard enough to cut a bloody trail across the sivak’s chest. “I think I should add to his badges of honor first.” Another long cut, as he watched Ragh’s eyes, wanting to see them narrow in pain, wanting to see them plead. “Answer some questions for me, sivak, and I’ll make your death relatively painless. Resist and I can draw it out for days upon days.”
A goblin leaning over Ragh wrung his hands and grinned gleefully. Others pressed closer to watch the entertainment. Ragh felt bile rising in his throat, the stench of the creatures turning his stomach. The stench, coupled with the pain from the cuts and the spears that held him in place, was nearly unbearable. The smell…he placed it now, a mixture of sweat and the creatures’ own rank odor, but above all that was the stink of a swamp bog. These creatures must have come all the way from the swamp. Didn’t the goblins mentioned a mistress? Sable?
“The shadow dragon that calls itself Dhamon,” the Knight Commander coaxed, holding his sword poised for another cut. “Tell me where he is.”
Ragh shook his head and clenched his teeth as the commander sliced at him.
“You’re his boon companion, my Mistress Sable says. The shadow dragon that carves out more and more of the overlord’s swamp for his own…where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Ragh spat fiercely. “I’m here alone.”
“I can see that,” the knight shot back. “You’re alone now, but you weren’t a little while ago. There’s dragon spoor. You’re always with the shadow dragon called Dhamon. Where is he?” The knight jabbed the sword into Ragh’s shoulder, twisting it. “I could take the chance that he’ll come back here eventually—he wouldn’t abandon his pet for long—but I’d rather know where he is right now.”
The draconian snarled his reply. Ragh knew they wouldn’t find a trace of the dragon or the elf on the bank of the lake…for the sand perpetually erased all tracks. He prayed to the memory of the Dark Queen that Dhamon and Feril would stay down in the lake for days, like before. Ragh knew he would be long dead, and the knight and his goblin army would be gone by that time, searching for the dragon elsewhere. Dhamon would be safe and would have his chance of someday becoming human again. Dhamon would avenge him, Ragh thought.
If, by chance, Dhamon surfaced while the knight and the goblins were still here, that was all right too; Dhamon would finish this bunch faster than he had the force of bakali. Only Ragh didn’t want Sable to know where they were.
“What do you want with Dhamon?” Ragh asked, meeting the knight’s icy glare.
“I intend to deliver his head to my Mistress Sable,” Commander Bedell returned. “My goblin army will make of it a surprise for the overlord. She thinks I am running simple errands south of Shrentak. She will be pleased to discover I instead gathered this army and went after her hated enemy.”
So Dhamon was to be killed. That meant that Ragh, too, didn’t stand a chance of surviving his torture. He had nothing to lose now.
“Going against Sable’s instructions? That’s not healthy,” the sivak pressed, thinking he might learn something else interesting from this stupid, talkative knight.
“She’ll reward me, not punish me.”
“Isn’t it enough that Dhamon’s left her damnable swamp?”
“That might be enough to satisfy my Mistress Sable, but it doesn’t satisfy me. I need to curry favor with the overlord, and this is my best chance.” The knight smiled maliciously. “I want to ensure that the Dhamon-dragon never comes back to her lands. I’ve enough goblins here to take care of him for good this time.”
He patted his belt. Several small flasks hung from it. There was also a small totem decorated with tiny black feathers and chips of obsidian. He pointed to the latter. “I borrowed this special item from a vault in Shrentak to bolster my army’s courage, and I brought something extra with me from the swamp that will ensure his defeat.”
Bedell drummed his fingers on one of the flasks and paced in a tight circle around the draconian. “Now tell me, sivak, where is your shadowy friend?”
11
The specters of goblins floated amid the Knights of Neraka, and Feril thought she could see the ghostly outlines of war horses in the distance.
By Habbakuk’s fist! Her mind reeled. Dhamon, can you see them? So many dead! An army of the lake’s dead! Dhamon, where are you?