Read Online The War Of The Lance by Michael Williams, Richard A. Knaak, Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman - Free Book Online Page B
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he seemed to take to my presence. Either he had nothing against a walking corpse or else
he was crazy.
But then I was dead, so I was no one to talk. *****
The fort in the trees was probably a relic from the times of the Cataclysm. Rough stone
walls, the wooden double gate, a short stone-based tower to the left - all fallen into rot
and ruin.
This place came with a third hobgoblin, lying facedown in the open gateway. The butt and
fletching of yet another crossbow bolt was visible just under his leather armor; he'd
fallen on it and broken the shaft after it had struck him. Humming flies circled over him,
many feeding where his left ear had been. His arms were caught under him. He'd grabbed at
the shaft, just as I had done. His sword was still nestled in its scabbard at his side.
Another surprised customer.
Through the open gateway, we could see the fort's overgrown main yard, small when it was
new but more so now with the bushes and trees thick in it. On the other side of the
roughly square yard was the barracks building, its stone walls and part of its roof still
standing. To the right, against a wall, was a low building that had probably been the
stables. The tower to the left was mostly rubble. All was quiet except for the flies.
Orun glanced at me, then carefully leaned over the fallen hobgoblin and took hold of its
rigid face with his free hand. Thick fingers poked at a gray cheek, then tugged down an
eyelid to reveal a white eyeball.
“Dead 'bout a day,” he muttered. He squinted up at me, then glanced around the fort's
yard. “Think we're alone here,” he added, matter-of-factly.
I nodded and went on through the gateway, the dwarf coming behind me.
The yard was largely covered with tall grass and thorn bushes. Trees stretched skyward by
the stone walls. Someone, probably the hobgoblins, had partially covered the damaged
barracks roof with animal hides. Pathways had been recently beaten through the tall grass,
linking the barracks with the main gate. The stables to the right had their original roof
and appeared more habitable than the other structures. The hobgoblins could stay safe and
dry within the stables, firing through arrow slits at all intruders.
Intruders like us.
A squirrel ran lightly over the stable roof, stopped when it saw us, and watched with
curiosity. It fled when I stared at it for too long.
“Bet you a steel,” Orun said, pointing his axe at the barracks, “the rest of 'em's in
there. Maybe your killer whatever's in there, too. Better go look.”
We moved closer, Orun generously letting me lead. Dark shapes lay on the floor beyond the
open barracks doorway. The dwarf stopped about thirty feet back from the single stone
step, axe ready, watching both me and the doorway. He was no fool.
I hesitated only a moment before I mounted the step and went inside. The buzzing of
insects filled my ears in the darkness. Weak light filtered in from the doorway and
through holes in the makeshift roof. Water dripped
constantly from above, splashing across the room. As I looked around, I was glad to be
dead. Not that the sight of bloated bodies affected me any longer as it once
had on the bloody plains of Neraka. It was mere scenery now, shadows that held no terror.
No one screamed, no one cried, nothing hurt. Everywhere I looked inside were bodies, and
everywhere were black flies and crawling things at a morbid feast, carpeting the
discolored, twisted bodies of the hobgoblin dead.
I counted eight bodies. Five clutched at their throats or faces. The rest gaped at the
ceiling with bulging eyes and open, soundless mouths, their rigid arms grabbing at their
chests or locked open in grasping gestures. It was hard to tell what they had been doing,
but not one had made a move for his weapon. All swords were sheathed or leaning against
the walls.
I looked around the room. There was a door to the right,
he was crazy.
But then I was dead, so I was no one to talk. *****
The fort in the trees was probably a relic from the times of the Cataclysm. Rough stone
walls, the wooden double gate, a short stone-based tower to the left - all fallen into rot
and ruin.
This place came with a third hobgoblin, lying facedown in the open gateway. The butt and
fletching of yet another crossbow bolt was visible just under his leather armor; he'd
fallen on it and broken the shaft after it had struck him. Humming flies circled over him,
many feeding where his left ear had been. His arms were caught under him. He'd grabbed at
the shaft, just as I had done. His sword was still nestled in its scabbard at his side.
Another surprised customer.
Through the open gateway, we could see the fort's overgrown main yard, small when it was
new but more so now with the bushes and trees thick in it. On the other side of the
roughly square yard was the barracks building, its stone walls and part of its roof still
standing. To the right, against a wall, was a low building that had probably been the
stables. The tower to the left was mostly rubble. All was quiet except for the flies.
Orun glanced at me, then carefully leaned over the fallen hobgoblin and took hold of its
rigid face with his free hand. Thick fingers poked at a gray cheek, then tugged down an
eyelid to reveal a white eyeball.
“Dead 'bout a day,” he muttered. He squinted up at me, then glanced around the fort's
yard. “Think we're alone here,” he added, matter-of-factly.
I nodded and went on through the gateway, the dwarf coming behind me.
The yard was largely covered with tall grass and thorn bushes. Trees stretched skyward by
the stone walls. Someone, probably the hobgoblins, had partially covered the damaged
barracks roof with animal hides. Pathways had been recently beaten through the tall grass,
linking the barracks with the main gate. The stables to the right had their original roof
and appeared more habitable than the other structures. The hobgoblins could stay safe and
dry within the stables, firing through arrow slits at all intruders.
Intruders like us.
A squirrel ran lightly over the stable roof, stopped when it saw us, and watched with
curiosity. It fled when I stared at it for too long.
“Bet you a steel,” Orun said, pointing his axe at the barracks, “the rest of 'em's in
there. Maybe your killer whatever's in there, too. Better go look.”
We moved closer, Orun generously letting me lead. Dark shapes lay on the floor beyond the
open barracks doorway. The dwarf stopped about thirty feet back from the single stone
step, axe ready, watching both me and the doorway. He was no fool.
I hesitated only a moment before I mounted the step and went inside. The buzzing of
insects filled my ears in the darkness. Weak light filtered in from the doorway and
through holes in the makeshift roof. Water dripped
constantly from above, splashing across the room. As I looked around, I was glad to be
dead. Not that the sight of bloated bodies affected me any longer as it once
had on the bloody plains of Neraka. It was mere scenery now, shadows that held no terror.
No one screamed, no one cried, nothing hurt. Everywhere I looked inside were bodies, and
everywhere were black flies and crawling things at a morbid feast, carpeting the
discolored, twisted bodies of the hobgoblin dead.
I counted eight bodies. Five clutched at their throats or faces. The rest gaped at the
ceiling with bulging eyes and open, soundless mouths, their rigid arms grabbing at their
chests or locked open in grasping gestures. It was hard to tell what they had been doing,
but not one had made a move for his weapon. All swords were sheathed or leaning against
the walls.
I looked around the room. There was a door to the right,
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