The Goblin Corps by Ari Marmell Read Free Book Online Page A

shrug. “They died in battle—a battle that shouldn’t have proved all that tough. Either they got careless, or they’d done something to anger their Ancestors. In either case, they’ve paid the price.”
    Jhurpess looked puzzled for a moment, his apelike face scrunched up tightly. Then he shook his head. “Cræosh not understand question. Jhurpess want to know if Cræosh want them.”
    “Want them?”
    “Jhurpess still hungry. Humans not very filling.”
    Cræosh and Dækek exchanged looks. Orcs were known, on occasion, to consume their own fallen foes, but they’d rarely given much thought to others doing the same to them.
    But then…
    “Why not?” Cræosh said finally. “Dig in. Least we can do, I suppose.”
    The two orcs sat, taking a few extra moments to dress their wounds—or, more accurately, Dækek’s arm. As Cræosh leaned over, holding the bandage in place so the smaller orc might tie it tight, he overheard a few choice whispered comments.
    “Excuse me?” Cræosh couldn’t help but ask. “A lice-infested, monkey-fucking
what?”
    Dækek shrugged, wincing at the pull on his bandage. “Sorry. I know it helped us out back there. I just…”
    The larger orc grunted. “You’re young. It rankles, realizing you just got your ass saved by an inferior. An animal. But we’re
orcs
, Dækek.
Everyone’s
an inferior. And a glorious death in battle’s all well and good—I intend to make damn sure that’s how
I
go—but not for a while, and not in some two-bit, shitty little scuffle. So deal with your pride. Swallow it, choke on it, shove it up your ass, I don’t care. But we’re alive because of that lice-infested, monkey-fucking whatever. If that’s the proxy the Ancestors sent to help us, then we’ll thank them for it. You got me?”
    “I got you. I think I—I…”
    Cræosh had heard that sort of abrupt, mind-numbing terror before, but never in the voice of an orc. Senses screaming, he spun, hands raised to ward off whatever threat Dækek had spotted over his shoulder.
    And froze, his jaw dropping nearly to his ankles. From the earth it rose, a nebulous figure, the stuff of pure shadow. Gleaming red orbs, burning embers in an otherwise empty face, were the shade’s only visible features.
    But while Dækek sat frozen in fear, Cræosh recognized it instantly for what it was. He’d never seen one before in his life, but he’d heard enough to recognize one of King Morthûl’s messenger wraiths.
    Which meant that the master of the Iron Keep had a message—
-for him.
His apprehension would’ve needed either stilts or wings to rise any further.
    For perhaps a full minute the wraith stared, hell-fire eyes burning into the back of the orc’s brain. And then it was gone, vanished into the chilling breeze like the barest wisp of smoke.
    “What—what…?”
    Cræosh didn’t even look at his smaller ally. “King Morthûl had something to say to me.”
    “That was one of
his?!
But it didn’t say anything!”
    Cræosh finally turned, a startled expression on his porcine features. “It didn’t, did it? But…I
remember
what it was supposed to tell me.”
    “Magic,” Dækek muttered, and shuddered once.
    “All right, that’s enough!” Cræosh snapped. “I’ve given you some leeway here, but you’re an
orc
, dammit! Quit your sniveling!”
    Dækek straightened. “Sorry.”
    “And don’t apologize. It makes your face break out.” With that, the massive goblin adjusted the scabbard at his waist and began to walk.
    “Where are you going?” Dækek called after him. “Chief Berrat should be here any minute now!”
    “I know. Tell him I’ve gone to Timas Khoreth.”
    The one-eyed orc blinked in surprise. “What? But—that’s
weeks
away!”
    “That’s why I’m starting now, isn’t it?”
    It wasn’t just the distance, though. Timas Khoreth was easily the largest city in all of Kirol Syrreth—and a human one, at that. The goblin races weren’t exactly welcomed with open arms by