Ruein: Fires of Haraden: Action/Adventure Necromancy Series (Books of Ruein Book 2) by G.O. Turner (best ereader for graphic novels txt) 📗

Ruein gently draped the lock to the side. “Yet, you did not succeed in collecting. What importance would you have us to know?”

“Scratch promised us riches…in return for our swords. The goblin needed help in recovering some…divine treasure. We should have questioned…more. But I had never…held so much gold before. He was only a…little goblin. How could we be fooled into following?”

Twigs looked to Ruein. “So, Scratch is a goblin?”

“Did this Scratch tell you where you were going, or what this treasure was?” asked Ruein.

“Through winds and dales of ice… To a place…within. Once we had control…of the shipment…their haul of supplies…made us question. The caravan leader was tight-lipped. So I pressed at Scratch. Slippery bastard always avoided.” The head lifted itself, straining at Ruein. “I suspect…a bounty…not treasure.” He flopped back into the sack.

Liv regarded Ruein. “So, this goblin lied their way into Haraden. Looks like he just needed muscle to get through.”

A sullen Twigs gazed at the corpse. “A thousand pieces of gold was all they were worth.”

Ruein sat. “A paid group of sell-swords simply as muscle, so that a little goblin can run amok?”

Liv nodded. “How does any of this relate to your winged undead?”

Ruein looked back to the corpse. “This Scratch…what can you tell me about him?”

The head lurched forward, striving to upright itself. Ruein was making some ground, filling some blanks. Scooping a hand behind, she levered the torso up, to the charred crunch of its hips below. Past his decay, the sell-sword was no doubt quite the rascal in his life.

His stiff cheeks crinkled under his eyes as he managed a dead smile. “No way that…little shit could manage that gold. Scratch was answering…to someone else. I chanced upon…some of his papers. Brush-stroked…writing on parchment. Way… Far… East. Scratch was tracking his prize. He had something.”

Ceer half closed an eye. “So, Scratch goblin goes out slaughtering…farmers?”

Twigs looked up to him. “Agreed. Where’d be the treasure in that?”

Liv shook her head. “I am not seeing how this is coming together. If he doesn’t have anything more, we should move on to the farmer.”

Ruein regarded the corpse. “Thank you for answering my questions. If you have nothing more to offer…”

Slowly, the corpse’s head rotated to Ruein. “Maybe… You should ask Scratch.” His dead arm flinched. What feeble necromancy remained was sputtering its last dregs in extending his arm. A finger flicked to the ogre’s shack.

Ruein followed the line to the eaves of that dilapidated shanty. An ogre-sized lantern hooked beside the door was draped in the roof’s shadow. The lamp stirred from the small silhouette behind it.

Tull snapped to a fighting stance, his halberd thrust before him. In a rousing orcan cry, he charged.

Crap.

20

So much for a coordinated effort.

Ruein surged after Liv and Ceer as they exited the barn behind Tull the overly exuberant.

At the stroke of a tindertwig, the ogre’s lantern flared to life. The wild-eyed goblin’s face appeared warped through the flaming globe. Scraggly hair and a broad row of gnarly teeth grinned back at them. He heaved up on the lantern’s pole and kicked out. The oversized lamp shot from its hook into the path of Tull’s charge. The globe shattered, bursting the oil into flames as the dark-orc reared back.

Ceer and Liv separated, fanning around the ogre’s hovel.

Once in the open, Ruein’s arm arced forward as she fired draconic. A coruscating ray shot from her outstretched finger. Leaching dark struck just under that eave and the goblin hurled itself back. She’d been hoping to deprive him of some strength, but that would’ve required striking. The little bastard was a hair faster.

“Don’t let him escape,” Ruein cried.

Liv spread her arms, warding with her mace, a goaltender intent on staving in.

The goblin hit the ground and rolled into a readied stance, his taut legs loaded for any direction.

Tull rounded past the flaming ground. Drawing up on the little guy, he swept his halberd. The blade struck dirt as the goblin leapt over.

“And, for fuck’s sake, don’t kill him!” shouted Liv.

While speaking with the dead was certainly within Ruein’s purview, this goblin was alive and Liv had her own prying ways against the living—methods which she’d find not as repugnant as Ruein’s.

Tumbling from beside the hovel, Ceer launched, his body spread wide like a net. Caught unaware, the goblin turned, too late, as the shadow closed over him. Ceer tightened into a ball over his target.

The goblin popped from Ceer’s pit and shot free. A caterwaul of laughter showered the half-orc. “Ho, ho! You’s bunch of ringers. Haraden gets its own mercs!”

Liv swung wild, closing the distance between them.

The goblin blithely ducked and pivoted. His grin broadened at the courtyard gate. “I’ve yet to be denied a prize. You’ll not be the cause of a first.” He bolted.

Twigs caught up to the others and planted his staff. Druidic flowed, as his hand outstretched to the gate. His incantation thrummed through his legs and washed across the land between. It culminated into creaks as subterranean roots cracked the surface. Ankle-high barbs erupted, covering the grounds before the exit.

The goblin screeched to a halt.

Given his diminutive size, he’d easily be impaled upon such barbs. He flashed a look to the others, then his goblin eyes settled upon the line of drying pots running from a pole to the wall. His hand shot to his boot as he whipped into a corkscrew spin, hurling a knife skyward.

The drying line sliced. Falling metal clanged, as pots and pans showered the field of spikes. They did not settle before the exit, instead landing in a clatter toward the court’s outer wall.

Twigs tugged at Ruein’s satins. “He’s small enough. We’ve got to—”

Already halfway across the spike field, Scratch hopped, flipped, and bounced from pan to pan, headed toward the wall.

Undeterred, Tull raged in his charge. Leaping to cover ground, the dark-orc crunched into the field of barbs. Blood sprayed from spires penetrating his