Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (28 page)

Back in the town.

The town filled with Grey Jackets.

“Ah, fuck,” she snarled.
 

It was just a knife, she told herself. She'd had dozens over the years. Dozens more than the ones she carried now. She looked down and saw at least two more which could do the job.

But they'd be messier, she told herself.
A Flaw in the Glass
could cut through Raste's dead neck like a hot wire through butter. It was the perfect blade for the job. The perfect blade for many jobs, she reflected.
 

Besides, Talek had bought it for her. Didn't buy her any others.

And that enchanted glow? Well. It really did it for her. More assholes had left her alone because of that knife than anything else.

And she wanted it back.

Now.

The elf called Nysta looked over her shoulder at the corpse of her brother. “Shame he was a shy 'lock, Raste. Would've been handy to pull a dagger out of Tubal,” she said. A glint of dangerous humour burned in her eyes. “Didn't think that was funny? Well. Don't go anywhere, brother. I'll be back in a little while with something that'll make you laugh your head clean off.”
 

And without another word, she stomped through the trees, headed toward the town and the hundred or so Grey Jacket soldiers waiting for her inside the shattered gates.

Nysta will return in
Nysta #3: When Goblins Rage
Keep Reading for an Exclusive Short Story,
The Longrunners
 

And if you enjoyed this novel,
 

please consider writing up a review on Amazon.Com

Author's Note

The hardest thing about writing is how to keep going. I'd argue that it's a tough thing to write your first book, and even tougher to write your second. Which is why I cheated. This book is the second half of the first book. Let's just say I pulled a George RR Martin.

I split the first book into two for a simple reason. Size.

I want to bring you books on a regular basis, but not books which are epic in size. I want to go back toward that whole cheap thrills size of book we used to read before Tolkein really took off and everyone had to try writing an epic tome you wanted to use as a doorstop.

Possibly this was a poor way to begin the series, but I hope it was still enjoyable. With the finale, I wanted a nice slow build-up to a typical Western-style showdown in the dust (or snow).

I hope I achieved.

All the same, it was a difficult process to keep motivated with the second book. Not being the kind of writer who has friends and family to call upon to make loads of reviews, I had to rely instead on my readers to provide input, and for the most part I was happy with the reception. You said some nice things.

But it does sometimes leave you looking at your sales figures and wondering if you're doing well enough to bother carrying on. Whether it's worth it?

I hope so. Because the journey has been as tough as Nysta's. Though not quite as stabby. Along the way, I've found inspiration in the strangest of places.

Naturally, my lovely wife has been the most encouraging. And my cover artist, Amir Zand has continued to be enthusiastic and amazing. I feel he's completely outdone himself with this new cover and am wondering if I can get it put on a tshirt or poster or something.

Outside of that, I have to thank my inspirations.

The music of
The Cramps
(Lux Interior, you are missed). The books of Steven Erikson and Mickey Spillane (now there's a combination you won't make too often).
 

Doctor Who
. Oh, Rory. Who killed you this time?
 

Jessica Ennis and Usain Bolt - two amazing shows during the Olympics.

Guild Wars 2 - you're making me drool.

Greg Inglis playing for Souths in the NRL. What a FEND! Greg, you're going to break someone in half one day.

Torkan comics. Why can't we buy these?

And chocolate cake.

Because life is so much better with chocolate cake. Don't you think?

The Longrunners

The five goblins surveyed their territory.

It had been their territory for roughly fifteen minutes, and so far they were enjoying it. Goblin territories were, by their own definition, as far as their eyes could see. Right then, thanks to the height of the Roughcap mushroom and the fact it was growing on a particularly noble hill surrounded by Ghostlight mushrooms, they could see a few hundred metres in many directions.

They sat on a Roughcap, a large variety about ten metres high and with a tall umbonate cap. The cap was a dreary shade of blue and purple. It smelled, the Goblins thought, of a Giant's armpit and although none of them had ever been near enough to a Giant to get a good hearty sniff of his armpit, the description was nonetheless rather apt.

Looking out, the Goblins saw a forest of Roughcaps whose tall stalks swept upward like mighty towers. Mist swirled in grey tendrils among the stalks and breathed its icy breath across the frost-glistening ground. Under these giant mushrooms grew Ghostlights. Much smaller in size than the Roughcaps, Ghostlights were fat and squat but gave off a pale blue luminescence that fed the Forest with light. Adding to the small sea of lights which expanded out as far as they could see were speckling clumps of tiny yellow Sicklight toadstools. Thick ribbons of green Giantsblood moss added to the glowing lights with its own vibrant green pulse and here and there the red flowers of Trollcup toadstools blushed merrily for a little extra colour.

For a place which had existed in mostly dim darkness, since the Great God Eventide caused it to be cowled in a thick blanket of black fog, there did seem to be an awful lot of light in the Forest of Decay.

Bossyou, the leader of the Longrunner Goblins, felt this was probably the biggest territory they'd ever had since leaving the Darkspark Swamps to the west. "Good idea," he sighed contentedly.

"What a good idea?" Fistguts asked.

"Leaving fucking Darkspark, that idea! Look," he made an expansive motion with his little arms. "All our territory! We rich now. Eventide must say we Greatest Goblins ever."

The Goblins nodded their round heads with enthusiasm. They saw the logic in that.

"Wise," Flyrunner said solemnly.

The Longrunners were dressed in ragged scraps of brown clothing, most of which had been taken from the corpses of Hobgoblins who strayed too close to some of the more exotic plantlife which grew in the Forest of Decay. The Goblins quickly discovered that a Hobgoblin caught in a web of sticky vines was easy prey. A quick slash across his throat and the little Gang could take what they pleased.

The last Hobgoblin they'd pounced on had provided Fistguts with the ear he was busy chewing on.

Their Goblinknives were made from broad chunks of metal crudely hammered into rough knife shapes. For handles they used leg bones which had been gnawed down to a comfortable length. The leg bones, too, had been taken from Hobgoblin corpses. There seemed an unusual number of Hobgoblins around, but Bossyou refused to look a gift wyrm in the mouth. Or anywhere else for that matter.

Of all the greenskin races which lived in the Fnordic Lands, the Goblins were the shortest. Barely making a metre in height, they had wide oval-shaped faces and long curved ears jutting out horizontally from their heads. Their mouths gaped almost the full length to their ears when they grinned. Their teeth were sharp and sawtoothed. Cunning were their green eyes which glowed almost poisonously. Their noses were squat and small in the centre of their face and seemed to be there more as something for their fingers to pick than for sniffing of various smells.

Their fingers were short and tipped with hard claws. Though the Goblins seemed slender of build, they were like the Elfs in that their strength was more catlike than their hulking cousins the Hobgoblins. They could leap like frogs and used their lean strength with a ferocity which surprised many, though the Goblins picked and chose their fights very carefully.

There was a common belief that to turn one's back on a Goblin was simply inviting trouble because once they managed to attach themselves, you couldn't tear them free before the little green fucker had stabbed a zillion holes in your back.

Worse still, if you saw a Goblin on his own you could guarantee he had up to half a dozen of his pals skulking about in the shadows ready to jump you as soon as they saw an opening.

General agreement was the only real way to survive meeting a Gang on your own was to kill the bastards before they killed you. Goblins maintain this is just a racial stereotype and was, as such, blatantly untrue.

Not many people died on the roads of the Fnordic Lands, however, without at least one hole in their bodies which could be attributed to Goblinknives.

"What that?" Flyrunner asked leaning forward to peer into the gloom.

"What that what?" Bossyou growled.

"
That
that!" Flyrunner hissed, pointing to a black shape running through the mushrooms.
 

Mushrooms which, Bossyou thought with a frown, were definitely not the shape's mushrooms, because Bossyou was quite certain he could
see
those mushrooms so they were definitely, and without even a shadow of a doubt,
his
mushrooms.
 

"I tell you what it is," Bossyou said, noting with good cheer that the shape was also most definitely not bigger than any one of his gang.

"What?" his boys asked in unison.

"Dead."

And, as one, they leapt down from the Roughcap and jogged through the mushrooms toward the fleeing shape.

A thought tugged at the corner of Bossyou's mind, but that thought eluded him for the moment. Something about
why
the thing was running. And why there were so many of the Emperor's Hobgoblins around. He knew if it was important though, it would come to him in time.
 

He was a leader. Not a thinker. Thinking was for Elfs, he reasoned. And Bossyou was certain he wasn't an Elf.

As he ran, he patted his face to be sure, though. Anything was possible.

The Longrunners drew their wicked Goblinknives as they ran.

Drawing his jagged blade, Spitblood hawked up a big cheekful of phlegm and spat at a Rouchcap's wide stalk. "Little fucker," he growled.

"What the mushroom do to you?" Onespud asked. Onespud was fatter than the rest. The mystery of his rotund belly was something Bossyou thought he'd need to ask the Great God Eventide for an answer to.

"Not the 'shroom," Spitblood said. "The filthy sod runnin' this way."

"Not
this
way," Fistguts said. "He changed way! That way!"
 

"Which way?" Bossyou demanded. "
Which
that way?"
 

Fistguts waved off to their left. "
That
that way!"
 

"Let's get it, then," Bossyou said, stabbing his Goblinknife in the direction of the fleeing shape.

His boys nodded as one and they barrelled between the wide stalks like ghosts. The shape was still legging it some five minutes later, slipping between the large stalks. Fistguts was leading the chase, and Bossyou was beginning to suspect Fistguts was just running them in circles.

One more
that
way,
he thought,
and I chop him in head
.
 

He was busy making these important leadership decisions when he pretty much tripped over the shape they had been chasing all along.

Falling on his face, Bossyou lay stunned for a moment, looking up at Flyrunner, who kept on running. Nothing new there.

Realising the shape was now behind him and that having anything at your back was a dangerous thing, Bossyou squealed and rolled over. He brought his Goblinknife up fast and blocked a strike which didn't come.

Instead, the black shape pressed itself even harder against the Roughcap stalk and tried to cover itself in the muck it was pulling off the forest floor in great fistfuls. "Quiet," hissed the black shape. "It'll hear us!"

Scrambling to his feet just as his boys stepped into the small clearing, Bossyou strutted forward, his Goblinknife steady now the shape had shown itself to be not only smaller, but also a coward. Goblin law strictly stated that every advantage had to be taken when offered, and as far as Bossyou could tell, this was a fucking good advantage.

One which didn't come along too often.

In fact, Bossyou was sure Goblin legends were made of these sorts of moments.

"Don't say me be quiet!" he spat. "I say
you
be quiet!"
 

"You tell 'im, Boss," Fistguts said.

"I'm telling
you
," Bossyou growled at the shape. He prodded it with his Goblinknife. "
You
be quiet!"
 

"I am," the shape squeaked desperately. "Please! You be quiet, too!"

"No! You don't tell me!" Bossyou roared, his fist grabbing hold of the shape's shirt and roughly pulling it to its feet. "You be quiet! And you don't say fucking thing! And tell me now who you, before I drag
Ripneck
across your neck!"
 

He threw the shape with all his power onto the ground again and the shape's cowl flew off his head to expose his Goblin features. The Longrunners hissed and stepped closer, aiming their daggers at the blinking Goblin.

"
Ripneck
good name for knife," the Goblin said, rubbing his head.
 

Bossyou frowned. "I thought it myself."

"You leader?"

"I Bossyou," Bossyou proclaimed. "Who you?"

"I Rummage. Broketoof Mob."

The Longrunners sneered at the Goblin.

"Rummage," Spitblood said, wiping his stumpy nose with the back of a finger. "That most stupid name ever."

"He namefucked," agreed Onespud.