The Goblin Corps by Ari Marmell Read Free Book Online

breastplate. Before the astonished orc, the knight collapsed, and only then did Cræosh finally spot the arrow protruding from the human’s helm.
    Arrow? But none of the remaining orcs were armed with bows. Who…?
    The surviving knight abruptly decided that discretion was the better part of survival. Spurring his horse into a gallop, he wheeled away from his confrontation with Dækek as fast as the powerful mount could go.
    Straight into the same copse of trees from which the arrow had flown.
    As the armored figure passed beneath the low-hanging branches, a silhouette dropped from above. Like a deranged monkey it bounced from tree limb to tree limb, hanging here from a fist, there from a foot, never staying put long enough to offer the human a viable target. With the accuracy of a circus juggler it tossed a gnarled club from appendage to appendage. Each time the creature attained a solid purchase on a branch it lashed out, club held tight in whatever hand or foot happened to be free. And each time it rang loudly, denting and mangling the protective shell of the knight’s armor. Finally, after perhaps a full two minutes of such treatment, the human slowly toppled from the saddle.
    For an instant more, the creature hung suspended, staring at its victim. Then, with a high-pitched keen, it dropped to earth and began carefully removing the knight’s armor, intent on reaching the softer parts within. It was only when the creature was finally in full view that Cræosh noted the black leather breastplate that blended with its fur, or the bow and quiver strapped to its back.
    “Bugbear,” the orc muttered, shaking his head. He’d trained alongside the peculiar simian creatures before, but he’d never seen one in a real fight. He had to admit that its technique, though maybe a little primitive, was pretty damn effective.
    This particular specimen sprouted unkempt red-brown fur, tinted so dark that in even the faintest of shadows it might as well have been black. Scars crisscrossed its shaggy form, roads of pain blazed through the foliage of its fur, and the predatory gleam in its recessed eyes said, as clearly as its actions, that this creature was a vicious, hot-tempered killer.
    Good.
    Hand hovering just above the hilt of his misshapen sword, Cræosh approached. He halted perhaps twenty feet away and cleared his throat. The bugbear’s head swiveled toward him, bits of flesh and a small trickle of blood falling from his lips.
    “Appreciate the hand, Nature-boy. Name’s Cræosh.”
    “Jhurpess,” the bugbear replied around a mouthful of raw knight.
    Cræosh waited for more. Once it became abundantly clear that the only thing coming from the bugbear would be more chewing, he continued. “Not to sound ungrateful, you understand. But why, exactly, did you…?”
    “Metal creatures kill Jhurpess’s friends. Orcs kill metal creatures. Jhurpess help orcs.” The bugbear cocked his head. “Cræosh not very bright, is Cræosh?”
    After a moment’s contemplation, Cræosh decided—reluctantly—that there was precious little use in taking offense. Instead, he said, “Some moments are better than others. So, you were with…” He twisted, turning a puzzled gaze on Dækek, who was cradling his bleeding left hand in his right. “What was that gremlin’s name, anyway?”
    The other orc shrugged. “Don’t think we ever got it, Cræosh. Scout’s name was Ulev, though.”
    “Right.” Once more, he faced the bugbear. “With Ulev’s group?”
    The bugbear paused, trying to connect the second half of the question with the first. When he finally succeeded, he nodded once. “Yes. Ulev was scout for Jhurpess. Ulev discovered metal creatures coming, so metal creatures killed Ulev.” The bugbear shrugged philosophically. “Ulev not very strong. Not have lived very long anyway.” Gesturing with what appeared to be a bloody femur, Jhurpess indicated the fallen orcs. “What about Cræosh’s group?”
    It was the orc’s turn to