A smokey mist hung over a Skarsnik village, the survivors of the melee had turned in for the evening. Did this skirmish signal the end of months of horror or just another fresh trauma to be endured before the rot claimed them all? They were too exhausted to ask. Sub Optima also rested, the only ones awake under the stars were the few relatively Redrot free goblin hunters who patrolled among the huts and tents, their weapons held close as they scanned the darkness for danger. The only firelight visible to them came from the cave mouth. Shadows flickered and danced on the walls as two figures continued to work long into the night.
Gritgoz wiped his brow. They had been toiling here for hours since the fight, Drek and he had provided what help they could to the wounded and infirm while the rest of the party had calmed the tribe and secured the perimeter. It was good to fall back into practiced movements with his mentor after all the chaos. A tourniquet here, applying a salve to stay first blooms of Redrot there, and where necessarily, ending the patient’s suffering with a precise cut of a keen blade. For those who needed that final treatment there wasn’t much of them left anyway. Most of Grotlix’s boys had been too far gone for conventional medicine and father’s personal retinue were now little more than beasts. The more uncooperative patients had been restrained by gnarled vines conjured by the high shaman just inside the cave entrance. This chamber had been converted to a temporary infirmary after Ernie had given it a quick blast of cleasning fire. Gritgoz marveled at the old shaman’s skill, he had not made a mistake all day in the application of his treatments. Though the last ten or so diagnoses had not exactly been challenge to assess…
‘WorMFiSh In ThE sKY BlOOd IN THE GRoudND, GrIndTO-gETHer IN BATtLEBOUND brOOdLING CUTCUTCU–‘ with a darting incision Drek silenced the bellowing of a cousin Gritgoz barely recognised, half her face obscured by Redrot, and wiped his bloody sickle with a bunch of aromatic purifying herbs. The sickly smell of the Brokroot cut through the clawing miasma of blood, decaying viscera and dried vomit. Drek closed his eyes and raised hands aloft.
‘Sleep well Proki. Your body has gone looking for your soul, may wise Gruzzok guide it that it may join you in the afterlife’
Gritgoz bowed his head and intoned the required response.
‘In Riznarax’s name we beseech it’
He loathed seeing his people laid so low by the disease, for the first time they resembled the savages the tall folk believed them to be. His revenge against the Herald did little to assuage the anger he felt seeing this perverse mockery of the proud Goblin race.
Drek washed his hands in a basin cut into the stone and then turned to address Gritgoz
‘Only three patients remain’ he nodded at the raving figures securely bound to the cave wall.
‘And they are yours’
Drek began to busy himself at a makeshift worktable strewn with phials and alembics.
‘I shall wait outside, you administer the remaining cure produced by your gnome ally’
‘But master-‘
Drek raised a hand calmly
‘You shall administer the cure. When you are done seek my council outside. They are your kin, this is your responsibility’
‘Yes master. Forgive my impertinence’ Gritgoz quickly averted his gaze and looked at the floor.
Drek packed up his healing supplies, curiously shaped blades and a score of bottles and gourds disappeared into a voluminous leather-bound box.
‘You have done exceptionally well and have learned much since you left our territory. But I am still High Shaman here’ with these firm words Drek flashed his acolyte a quick glare, but seeing Gritgoz’s head was still bowed his voice softened.
‘Raise your spirits young one. Our work is almost done for the day’
‘Is our work ever done master?’
Drek nodded grimly. ‘Eventually yes, but the point is well made. Come, show me this miracle of alchemy you have achieved” with these parting words Drek stalked out into the darkness.
Gritgoz took a deep breath and turned to observe the the three thrashing figures. Shabnuk and Nubnex appeared almost purely bestial. They alternated between screeching, roaring and cackling at him. They contrasted sharply with the third figure, Grotlix.
Although his brother merely eyed him with quiet fury his madness was also clearly visible in his beady red eyes. For now, he ignored him and focused on his parents, who gibbered and shrieked as he readied himself.
‘This won’t hurt if you don’t resist’ Gritgoz nervously murmured as he cautiously approached, carrying the three potion bottles containing the precious cure and a large copper syringe.
His father was practically enveloped by the rot. His crown lay perched at a comical angle atop a plume of crimson fungus and his face was contorted by pustulous growths which covered most of his face. He had always been stout for a for a goblin but now his stomach was bloated to the point that it had cracked open in places like overripe an fruit seeping glistening foulness. As his son approached his swollen belly wept with dark red pus and he half shouted, half spluttered his first intelligible sentence in hours-
‘Find me a bed weakling boy!!…a sweetly rotten bed to lie upon’ he shrieked before his son forced the hard won cure bottle between his ruined lips and forced him to swallow it by pinching his nose. Immediately a change came upon him, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body began convulsing and spasming as the cure traveled through his body. His expression was one of pure agony but he did not cry out in pain. Gritgoz rechecked that the vines would hold him securely so that he would do no harm to himself while the process was allowed to run its course.
As he turned his attention to his mother, he saw she was gawping at the fits which racked her spouse and was lying very still. It appeared to him that she had momentarily regained some semblance of sanity. Apparently the rot had not affected her as strongly nor as visibly as it had done Shabnuk. No plumes of fungus burst forth from her, however her veins were far darker than they should be, discolored by the parasitic Redrot which now coursed through them. Gritgoz shuddered to think of the lurking canker which was consuming her from within, hidden from view. As he considered how best to administer the cure she began to speak in measured tones, her words labored with effort.
‘My boy….please…save your Brother…save…’
He rested a his hand on her cheek in an attempt to soothe her.
‘Its ok Mother. I’m here now. I have brought the weapon to fight this contagion. The rest is up to you’ with these words he offered the potion to her, which she gulped down frantically.
Again the same change, her eyes rolled back and the shuddering spasms begain, though they were less violent than Shabnuk’s. His thoughts idly returned to the fight and he counted himself lucky that he had managed to bring down the bridge before father and mother had descended on the party. In their youth they had been renowned warriors of the clan, their addition to the fray could have severely complicated matters. That left only one more…
Grotlix thrashed his head from side to side aiming to avoid being forced to drink the cure as Gritgoz approached.
‘You think your childish concoctions can save us Brother? Still so arrogant after all these years, after all the lessons in humility I was forced to beat into you. I am the strongest, will always be the-‘ His sneering was cut short as an enormous ape fist travelling at speed knocked him out for the second time in 7 hours. Gritgoz returned to his goblin form and injected the cure using the copper syringe. He watched with interest as convulsions overtook the body of his unconscious brother and grinned as he responded.
‘Stronger? Yes Brother. But not more powerful. Told you it was going to hurt if you resisted’
It had been easy in the end. After all those years being pushed around by his brother, defeating him had barely involved breaking a sweat. More importantly his task was complete. He had returned with the cure to the clan hold, and in the morning… well. He would know if he had saved his kin. Doing his best to ignore the tortured expressions of his family as they thrashed in agony, he packed his things and left the cave for the cool night air, where he found Drek waiting for him smoking his foul tobacco.
‘Not exactly what I would have done for Grotlix, but I can’t fault you the directness of the approach’ he said inspecting the stem of his pipe.
‘The process seems to be causing them extreme pain. Should we not do more to ease their suffering master?’
Drek shook his head
‘They failed to protect their clan. This suffering is their penance and their fate is now in the hands of the ancestor spirits. Come. I will walk you to your tent’The
y crossed the hastily repaired bridge and towards the cluster of tents and huts which now housed what remained of the ancient clan Skarsnik.
Drek broke the silence as they arrived at Gritgoz’s shelter for the night.
‘You showed your brother mercy. Tell me why?’
Gritgoz stopped in front of the entrance and took out the scimitar he had claimed from Grotlix, now sheathed in its ceremonial scabbard. He spent some moments staring at it before he answered.
‘I have learned your lesson of the spider and the web. Dark times are ahead, and the Skarsnik tribe will need every strong arm it can muster. However that fool will no longer wield father’s sword, he is no longer worthy, in the morning I shall-‘
The punch from Drek took him completely by surprise, sent him sprawling into the dirt and caused him to drop the blade.
‘You dare to declare who has the right to wield that sword!?’ Drek hissed in a whisper incandescent with rage ‘Clans have rules Gritgoz. Clan Skarsnik is an old clan, we have very old rules. Some older than the trees and rocks, infused with ancient magic. Do not dare break them, or you shall answer to worse than me!’ Drek bent down and snatched up the scimitar and stowed it within his cloak.
‘If your Father recovers he shall decide who shall carry the symbol of his people. Do not forget that!’
Gritgoz struggled to his feet, his head bowed. ‘I am sorry Master, I spoke hastily and thoughtlessly, I will-‘
His apology was cut short as the High Shaman began to cough violently, his exertion had clearly triggered his Redrot symptoms, and he raised a hand to silence his apprentice as he gradually got his wheezing under control. As Drek wiped his mouth having finally fallen silent, Gritgoz couldn’t be sure if he saw blood in the corner of the old Goblin’s mouth. A long moment passed until the High Shaman broke the tension. He stepped forward and placed a clawed hand on his acolyte’s shoulder.
“No…I am sorry Gritgoz” Drek smiled a rare smile. “I am hard on you because I expect so much. You have accomplished great things. But, remember young one, the lesson your brother could never comprehend. The foolish Gobbo thinks he is wise, but wise Gobbo knows he is a fool. Know your limits Gritgoz, that you might expand them”
“Yes master. Thank you master”
“Check on their progress before sunrise” Drek turned to leave ”When you have tended to them meet me at my tower. Rest well young one. A new task begins tomorrow”
Gritgoz watch the shaman’s retreating back until he could not make it out through the darkness. Before he entered his tent to finally sleep he looked up and observed the new moon which squatted ominously among the stars, a portent of the grim times to come.
“Yes master. I only hope I am worthy to meet it”
