YAZ

  Night arrived, and the world plunged into darkness. Firelight reflected off the canopy of needled branches overhead and the massive, cinnamon-coloured trunks of the redwood trees that surrounded the gully. In another setting, it would be beautiful. But drums and chanting and the screech of goblin voices filled the air.

  Yaz quietly made his way around the edge of the gully, picking his way between ferns and deadwood, searching for signs of Arwin and the nymphs. He kept a wary eye out for patrols and guards. And it was well that he did. When a woman was hauled out, it attracted the attention of poorly disciplined guards just ahead of him.

  They drifted away from their posts to the edge of the gully, where they could watch, yakking and hooting and no doubt eager to join their fellows.

  Yaz hated the idea of leaving the woman to her horrid fate, but realistically, there was little he could hope to do by charging in there alone and being impossibly outnumbered. He made good use of the tragic distraction she presented by disposing of nearly a dozen green thugs around the gully rim as he circled it. He picked up a well-nicked, rusty dirk from an early victim and snuck up behind the others, cutting throats or sliding the blade into an ear or heart. Though he’d once been a knight, not a rogue, he could do the job when he had to. He moved as quickly as he dared, frustrated and tense because he knew time could be short.

  Then something caused him to slow.

  In one corner of the gully, firelight seemed forbidden to enter, struggling to penetrate darkness deeper than the night, something unnatural.

  Creeping closer, the air became more humid, the sounds of celebration muted, and Yaz’s eyes adjusted.

  The space was filled with a fat, leafy oak tree, something that shouldn’t have grown in this evergreen forest. The bark was dark-iron gray. Little purple explosions of bioluminescent ferns poked up from around some of the gnarled roots. A patch of glowing, blue fungus infested one side of the tree and vines with bunches of pink flowers akin to wisteria draped from some of the overhanging branches.

  Yaz had never seen anything like it. It looked beautiful and otherworldly. If this tree had anything to do with the goblins, it had to be dangerous. Instinctively steering clear, he cut across this end of the gully, which seemed safe enough because the goblins looked like they were avoiding the dark tree, too. He climbed up the other side of the gully and moved away from the dark tree, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he went.

  Hobgoblins hauled a male prisoner out of a cell and led him to the cooking fire. For a moment, Yaz panicked, thinking it must be Arwin, until he heard Arwin’s protests from below, where they’d dragged the other man from.

  The prisoner was chained to a horizontal pole over the flames and hung to roast while still alive. His screams encouraged goblin jeers. Those closest licked their lips and drooled in anticipation. The human wasn’t the only thing cooking; a variety of beasts and pots of dead things, mushrooms, and wild vegetables hung over multiple fires. Feeding this greedy mob would take more than one human. But everyone has their favourite meat.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Yaz slew the nearest green goblins on watch. Reaching a point above the prison, he cautiously climbed down the side of the steep gully, working his way between the ferns while trying to stay hidden by their foliage.

  He put his foot down, and it sank without purchase into empty air.

  Surprising himself, he lost his grip and fell past a well-camouflaged window that he hadn’t noticed. He landed hard on the ground outside the prison door, right between two startled hobgoblin guards.

  One shouted in alarm, speaking in goblin tongue, a language Yaz had learned a millennium ago. “Enemy!”

  The sounds of celebration shifted as nearby goblins and hobgoblins heard the cry and caught sight of Yaz.

  Feeling like a complete klutz and cursing himself for his incompetence, Yaz got to his feet and brandished his stolen dirk, keeping the monsters away.

  The goblins seemed fascinated rather than alarmed at the entrance of an undead into their midst. Well, there was only one of him.

  Arwin shouted from the nearby prison gate, only a couple of steps behind Yaz, “Yaz!” He clung to the bars, hope on his face.

  Yaz cast a hurried glance back in his friend’s direction. With a snap of the wrist, he sent the knife at the gate. “Here!” The weapon bounced off one of the bars and fell at Arwin’s feet.

  Arwin snatched the knife up and brought it inside the prison before a guard could get to it.

  One of the hobs growled at the sight, then turned on Yaz. He had a rusty longsword and stabbed with it.

  How many fights had he been in over the centuries? How many people had tried to kill him? How many had he ended in return? Yaz reflexively turned into the thrust, grabbed the hobgoblin’s wrist, where he jabbed his pointed thumb into a nerve and disarmed him, then stole the sword, leaving the guard open-mouthed with surprise.

  A small goblin ran at Yaz from behind, screeching.

  Yaz spun and beheaded it with a practiced slash. The body fell flat while the head bounced on the ground and came to rest at the feet of the horde that was now forming a ring around the skeleton.

  Arwin must have seen the danger. “Yaz, get out of here! Run!”

  “What about you?”

  “Forget me! Save yourself!”

  Yaz tsked at his predicament. When the guard who’d lost the sword tried to reclaim it, he casually stabbed the monster in the gut, then the throat, then slashed the second guard across the face, permanently blinding him. The whole time, he kept his attention on the mob in front of the prison. A few goblins were no challenge for him. An entire tribe, on the other hand…

  Dozens of red eyes watched, and sharp teeth gleamed. There was no dismay at the deaths of the others. The goblins shouted and cheered at this new source of amusement. Green goblins may live in tribes, but they are not true social creatures the way humans are. They don’t care about each other, only what they can eat, mate with, or kill. Association with other greens is a matter of convenience, not friendship or community. A skeleton dropping into their midst and giving battle was a chance for sport.

  Two goblins charged.

  In a blur of movement, Yaz cut them down with two slices of steel. He kicked the corpses into position a meter and a half in front of himself. This would give him room to move while giving the still-living goblins something to trip over to reach him.

  Arwin said in amazement, “Dude, you’re a goblin slayer!”

  Killing five goblins so swiftly, two of them hobs seemed to put a measure of respect into the others. They could all just swamp Yaz, of course, and there’d be nothing he could do but kill a few before going down and getting himself trapped. Then he’d spend however many years chained up in their tunnels if they didn’t just bash his skull into shards for fun.

  But whether they feared dying in that rush or knew that it would spoil the fun for the others, the mob kept their distance, only jeering and throwing insults his way. He was surrounded.

  Now what?