Forging the Half-Goblin Sorcerer Read online

  “I be Grenab, of the palace guard.” A fact Krage already knows. At King Giforing’s command I infiltrated the ranks of the Blue Daggers to learn what I could about their activities.”

  “Craven liar,” growls Farg. “Kill him and have done with it.”

  Krage ignores Farg’s outburst and says, “What news can you give me?”

  “The king looks done for. ‘is generals have secretly turned against ‘im. The king hopes for a miracle that will save the kingdom from being overrun by men from the south. ‘is advisors tell ‘im to give King Red back his queen. The commander of the secret police has dispatched troops disguised as mercenaries to find ye and keep ye from returnin’ to the capital. He fears ye will hinder his plans to depose the Ard Ri and make peace with King Red.”

  “How are the queen and her child?” asks Krage.

  “They be well, My Lord, or at least they were when I left the capital a month ago.”

  Krage changes the subject. “How are the roads between here and the capital?”

  “The main roads crawl with secret police and mercenaries that seek the reward that goes to the one who finds ye. But, as ye can now enter the North Country through the Western Pass, ye should be able to travel undetected along the Razor’s Back until ye reach Neu Ardonbrae.”

  “Grenab, return to the capital and tell your commander that you escaped an attack in which you were the sole survivor. Say that you were on lookout duty when a dense fog ascended from the valley below. Say you heard men screaming in the camp and then it was quiet. In the morning when your replacement failed to appear, you returned to the camp and found it deserted. Someone will suggest that it was an act of sorcery. Let them believe what they like. Go now and take care; I will look for you in the capital.”

  “Aye, My Lord. May your shadow long follow ye,” and turning to Trak adds, “Well played, lad.” And with that he retrieves his sword and walks off into the night leaving Farg and everyone else wondering what has just happened. Trak suspects that Grenab penetrated his ruse right from the beginning, but he can’t guess how.”

  Farg turns to Trak and points to his face. “You are one lucky chicken. You better have that scratch cleaned and bandaged. It is then that Trak feels the sticky blood on his cheek. The cut is clean but will produce a battle scar that Farg will envy. It isn’t until morning that Trak discovers that the blade that gashed his cheek also sliced deeply through his leather vest and exposed the underlying felt padding. For the rest of his life, the unmistakable battle scar will contribute to the formidable appearance that his large stature has already given him.

  Krage orders the bodies of the attackers buried in the rocks. They search the Blue Dagger camp but leave it undisturbed to create the illusion that its occupants have just vanished. It may have been Farg and his soldiers who did the killing, but it is Trak who receives the credit. It staggers Trak to think how in a matter of a few weeks he has gone from being a nonentity on a remote island to a player in a drama he does not yet comprehend.

  Except for the occasional times when Farg leads the party off the trail to allow travelers to pass, the small band makes rapid progress along the Razor’s Back, a mountain range that runs like a spine down the center of the mainland. Two days after leaving the Western Pass, the terrain changes. As they leave the escarpment the dense deciduous forests give way to open meadows and scattered farmsteads. The party becomes more cautious and begins traveling at night and sequestering themselves during the day.

  Trak is struggling to understand why they are being so tenaciously hunted. After all, they are bringing the king a discovery that could alter the balance of power in favor of the goblin kingdom. Who would want to stop this from happening? Perhaps it is not the secret of making iron that is the issue. Perhaps someone wants to stop Krage himself from reaching the capital. Trak knows nothing about Krage or why he has spent fifteen years in exile on a remote island. Trak is certain that it is unwise to directly approach Krage for the answer; he decides to take advantage of his improving relationship with Farg, who must know something.

  As the party rests in a dense thicket waiting for darkness, Farg sits next to Trak holding a hand full of dried meat and says, “You had better get your share of the jerky or you will have nothing to eat on the trail.”

  Trak asks in as casual a voice as he can muster, “Do you think the king will give Krage back his old job?”

  “Chicken, you are not as smart as you think. Only when Krage is dead will a new Thaumaturgist be chosen.”

  “Yes, of course,” says Trak getting up.” I should get my ration.” Trak has gone fishing and hooked more than he hoped for. The old goblin said the Thaumaturgist is the leader of old religion. She hadn’t said much more. Trak knows nothing of the religion, but after Farg’s revelation, he realizes that Krage is the Thaumaturgist and someone is trying to kill him to force a change of leadership. It might be someone in the temple who seeks the position. He now has a hypothesis that could be tested.

  The next day Trak overhears Farg and Krage discussing the next phase of the journey. “Do you think your plan wise? You could be walking into a trap,” Farg argues.

  “There is no safe place to hide,” replies Krage. “My best protection against my enemies is to arrive wrapped in the symbols of my office. The power of my office has intimidated my enemies in the past and will do so again as long as I remain in the public eye. I have only to fear some subterfuge carried out in secrecy.”

  The next morning the party arrives within sight of the capital. Krage stops at a stream to wash. When he emerges from the water, he opens the heavy chest that he has taken from the broch. To Trak’s disappointment, the chest contains only the vestments of Krage’s office and not items of great value that Krage brought to the island to hide and protect. From the chest, Krage removes a loose-fitting scarlet robe trimmed in gold. Farg dons his light mail and the soldiers their tunics displaying the Duke’s eagle sigil.

  Before Trak can ask what he should wear, Krage hands him a hooded cloak and says, “I want you to trail behind as we enter the city. Use this cowl to disguise your features as much as possible. Stay in your travel-worn clothes and follow at a distance. Look to see whom in the crowd pays close attention to our arrival. When you reach the base of the mountain, rejoin Farg and his soldiers who will enter the mountain through its lower entrance. Trak is even more confused when Krage adds, “I don’t want anyone in the city to notice your arrival.”

  Why not? Trak thinks. I am of no importance. Why would it matter if I am seen walking with Krage and Farg’s soldiers? The party forms up in two columns and marches smartly into the city, not to the palace, but to the temple in Holy Mountain beyond. At first, the citizens look stunned as they recognize the garment of the Thaumaturgist. As word of the Thaumaturgist’s sudden appearance races through the city, a large crowd gathers along the route to Holy Mountain. Cheers greet Krage as he approaches the temple. It has been so long since he has been seen in public, the rumor he is seriously ill is generally believed.

  Trak follows behind, mixing in with the crowd that follows Krage and the duke’s soldiers. No one has tried to kill him in almost a week, and Trak is feeling almost relaxed. He marvels at the four and five story buildings lining the narrow streets. The upper floors arch over the alleys, sheltering the vendor stalls that are crammed into every available space. The stalls are packed with merchandise that Trak has never seen on his island.

  One vendor shouts at him, “Welcome stranger, my shop has the best pilgrim badges in the city. The Thaumaturgist has blessed them personally. Wear one, and ye need never fear sickness or death.” Trak glances for a moment at the lead badges that bear depictions of Holy Mountain. On one shelf sits a variety of relics. You could buy everything from pieces of the Stones of Septan to one of his toenails. The prices are staggering.

  “Perhaps these badges are more to your taste.” The vendor points to lead badges that depict male and female genitalia. “They are guaranteed to ward off the Evil Ey
e,” the vendor assures him. Trak finds the badges curiously arousing, but he has no money and hurries to catch up with Krage.

  The crowd is enthusiastic, but not everyone seems pleased to see the Thaumaturgist. Groups of armed soldiers watch silently from the sides of the street. Trak follows the trailing crowd as it spills into the central market. He can see Holy Mountain in the distance and has just identified the huge doors that mark the entrance to the Septantrak when three city police suddenly block his path. Their leader orders him to stop. Rough hands grab his shoulders from behind and one of the police steps forward and removes Trak’s sword from its sheath. They push him into a building and stand him in front of a tall officer.

  “What have we here?” demands the officer. “A cross-breed tailing the Thaumaturgist and his party? You don’t look particularly religious,” he says, noting the fresh sword cut on Trak’s cheek. “What are you up to?” Krage has not prepared him for this. What can he say that would get him out of this mess? Whatever he says needs to contain enough truth to sound believable. “Speak or I will have my men beat the truth out of you.” The officer pushes the hilt of his sword roughly into Trak’s midriff.

  Trak begins with feigned reluctance. “I am assigned to the garrison at Halban by the Sea. Two weeks ago the Thaumaturgist was observed leaving the Isle of Uisgebeatha. Trackers attempted to follow, but they lost the trail. My captain sent me to the capital to warn the commander that the Thaumaturgist had been sighted. As I entered the city this morning, I unexpectedly spotted the Thaumaturgist and decided to follow. Then your men stopped me.”

  “A soldier, hey.” I don’t see a uniform. What proof do you have?”

  Trak decides to take a chance. He opens his cloak, reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a silver ring. He shoves it in the officer’s face. It is the ring he removed from the goblin that attacked him on the second day of his journey. “Perhaps you recognize this?” Trak suggests.

  The officer recognizes the dagger engraved on the ring’s face and looks up surprised. “I want nothing to do with Blue Daggers and their secretive plots. Give him back his sword and get him out of here,” the officer orders.

  Farg and his soldiers head to the delivery entrance while Krage ascends the winding staircase. At the top, Krage turns and raises his staff of office over his head to the cheers of those below. As anticipated, the temple staff have seen him coming and scrambles to open the enormous hall doors. The massive silver and gold doors swing open as Krage lowers his arm, turns and enters.

  At the delivery entrance Farg waits impatiently for Trak to appear, which he does after a few minutes. “What kept you, Chicken? Did you get lost? Hurry up. We have been given beds here in the receiving area. We must wait until Krage gives us new instructions. I hope the food is decent.”

  Before the party has even reached the center of the city, a Blue Dagger captain is reporting to his commander, Lord Lizardthroat, that the Thaumaturgist is in the city. “How is this possible?” the commander barked. “We barred every pass and blocked every road.”

  “Perhaps not every pass,” replies the captain. “Yesterday, a patrol brought in a soldier they encountered on the main road. The soldier alleged his unit had been guarding the Western Pass when they were attacked. He claimed to be the only survivor. I suspected he was a deserter and had him locked up while I checked out his unlikely story. I dispatched scouts to the pass to investigate, but they have not yet returned.”

  “Who did the soldier say attacked his unit?”

  “That is just it. According to the soldier, the entire unit disappeared when a fog crept over the camp. He never saw the attackers,” replied the captain who feared he was about to be reprimanded for failing to report the matter immediately to the commander.

  “Did the Thaumaturgist enter the city in great force?”

  “No sir. Only a squad of Uisgebeathan soldiers commanded by the duke’s oldest son accompanied him. “Perhaps his main force is sequestered outside the city.”

  “Go find out. I will go to the palace and see what I can learn.” His plan was upset, but he would recover and find another way to eliminate the troublesome Thaumaturgist.

  Chapter 8

  City of Neu Ardonbrae: A Thousand Swords

  Krage looks down at the temple workers who gather around him in the Great Hall. Many seem dumbfounded. One steps forward. It is Alrik Redeyes, the priest who Krage left in charge when he went into exile. “Welcome home. May Shenal’s peace attend thee,” Alrik greets the Thaumaturgist with a bowed head.

  “May your shadow always walk behind you, old friend. It has been much longer than either of us expected. I owe you much for caring for the temple in my absence. We will talk later, but now I am tired and wish to retire to my quarters.”

  Krage proceeds to the residential area of the temple and enters his chambers. Queen Meriem looks up as Krage enters the room and follows the familiar figure with her gaze as he approaches. “I beg your forgiveness for my long absence.” Krage offers in apology.

  “Oh have you been out? I hadn’t noticed,” the queen jests. He expected to find an aged woman, but she is much as he remembers. He sits, and the two silently regarding each other for a while before the queen speaks. “If you ever leave again, I’m going with you.”

  “Has it been that bad?” Krage asks after another moment of silence.

  “Do you consider being locked in a cage for seventeen years bad?”

  Krage thinks about the tedious years he has spent confined to the broch. His heart stings with regret. He never expected to be gone so long. “I don’t deserve your love, but if you will accept me back, I will try to make amends.”

  It is Queen Meriem’s turn to sit quietly for a few minutes before she asks, “Would you like to see your daughter?”

  She guides him to the balcony where his daughter sits reading a book. Her cross-breed features startle him at first. He has always imagined her looking like her mother on the day they met. Yet, much of her mother is there, blended with goblin features. The queen addresses her daughter, “I have someone I would like you to meet.” The daughter looks up and sees a tall goblin dressed in the robes of a high priest. “Myrel, I want you to meet your father, Lord Krage Oregile, the Fifty-ninth Thaumaturgist of the Septantrak.” Krage would have preferred a less formal introduction. He doesn’t want to distance his daughter, but he need not have worried. His daughter rises and embraces him. It is the first embrace he has enjoyed in seventeen years.

  “Father, where have you been?” she asks with childlike openness. He replies, “I have been on the Isle of Uisgebeatha dealing with the king’s business.” He sadly realizes that he has missed his daughter’s entire childhood.

  They sit together on a bench. The daughter peppers him with a thousand questions while the queen sits quietly observing. With every response that Krage provides, his gestures and voice awaken in her forgotten memories of their life together long ago. To every question Krage gives a truthful answer; he sees no reason to hide himself from his family. Hours later, after they have talked about everything imaginable and eaten a small feast, Krage says to Myrel, “It is getting late and I need a moment alone with your mother.” He watches his daughter disappear from the balcony. “She is remarkably perceptive,” he says stating the obvious.

  “Her life is wasted here in the temple,” the queen interjects, “but where else can she go?” Then with tinge of trepidation she asks, “How is the boy?”

  “You will be pleased. He is well and here in the temple. I left him with the soldiers who escorted me. He doesn’t yet know who his parents are. By keeping his identity secret, I hope to hide him from his enemies; but he will learn the truth of his origins soon enough.

  The queen responds with warmth in her voice, “I marvel how in just a few hours so much of the gap created by seventeen years of separation has been filled. You seem older, but your voice and mannerisms have not changed.

  “I regret that we have lost much of what we could have had. I
don’t know what the future holds, but I want us to make the most of every moment we have.” Krage takes her hand softly in his.

  ***

  Trak enters the large dormitory where the soldiers are quartered and picks a bunk near the door. He exchanges his clothing for a large towel he finds on his bed and follows an attendant to the bathing area where hot water flows from a pipe into a marble pool, filling the room with steam. The temple is blessed with an abundance of hot springs. He soaks in a hot pool for an hour before exploring another bath filed with tepid water and discovering the pleasure of laying on a platform covered with hot marble slabs. He learns by watching others how to spread pleasant smelling oil on his body and with a strigil scraping all the road grime and dead skin from his body. An attendant in the bath trims Trak’s hair and shaves his two-week beard. The novelty of shaving a half-man amuses the attendant. Trak wonders if everyone in the city lives in such luxury. When he returns to the dormitory, his clothes have been removed for cleaning and replaced by a white robe, an undergarment and sandals. The robe is two sizes too small but is probably the largest available. Dressed in his new finery, Trak enters the common room where a large pot of soup and platters of bread have been provided.

  At first, Trak says to himself that nothing could be better than this, but by the next morning he is already becoming restless. The soldiers have begun rolling dice to pass the time, but Trak wants to move about. He isn’t sure where in the temple he is allowed to wander. He works his way down the hall toward the door where he entered the mountain. A guard informs him that he cannot leave the mountain dressed in a temple robe, but he can ascend the stairs to arrive at a balcony overlooking the city. As Trak enters the balcony, the Greeting of the Sun ceremony has just ended and scores of novices are pushing past him and returning to the mountain’s interior.

  Trak steps out on the balcony and comes face to face with a most unexpected sight. Moving toward him is the first cross-breed female he has ever seen. They both stop and stare. He finds her exotic features strangely familiar, like looking into a mirror. Although he has never greeted a female his own age, let alone one that is a cross-breed, he finds his courage. “Hello, I’m Trak,” he manages to utter.