The Land: Founding (Chaos Seeds Book 1) (7 page)

 “How much poison can you make,
and how potent is it,” Richter asked.

 Sion thought for a moment, “All
we have with us is the Dark Moss. It causes weakness and dazes creatures when
struck with an arrow coated with its extract. Even if we could shoot every
goblin though, the poison would only kill the weakest among them hours later,
and by that time the rest would be hunting us.”

 “What if we got them to eat it?
They had that massive pot cooking in the middle of their camp. If we could
poison their food, it might give us the edge we need.”

 Sion scratched his face
thoughtfully, “Perhaps. But to make a truly potent poison I would need a few
other ingredients. Let me search the forest. Stay here.”

 After the sprite had
disappeared into the greenery, Richter looked around and spent some time
picking the few plants that caught his attention. He was ultimately able to
pick three Arrowroot Flowers and two Forest Sage, which gave him feeling of
stamina and health respectively. Afterwards he sat and focused upon his aura
manipulation, trusting in his camouflage to protect him. A few patrols came
close enough for him the hear them, but no one came close to his hiding place.
Several hours passed as he meditated, awaiting his companion’s return.

 When Sion did come back to the
copse of trees, night had fallen. The now familiar
viscious
grin was back on the sprite’s face.

 “I assume you found what you
were looking for?”

 “And so much more. Nightshade,
deathflower
AND
shadowbane
. We
will melt those foul smelling interlopers from the inside out.” With that
pleasant image, Sion immediately took out his mortar and pestle to begin
preparing the poison. Richter wasn’t sure at first, but the bloodthirsty
Disneyland reject was actually humming!

Sion worked through the night and
into the next day, storing his poison in small clay jugs covered in animal hide
that he took from his pack. Richter looked doubtfully at the small quantity of
poison being produced, but Sion assured him it would be enough. Finishing in
late afternoon, the sprite sat back massaging his tired arms. Richter decided
it was time to share the last of his plan, “Killing these lesser goblins, is
probably not going to change much. We need to kill the Chief, and it seems
reasonable to assume his magician may be responsible for the rabid wolves, so
he will have to die as well. Those two need to be our goal above anything
else.”

 “While I was collecting the
herbs, I was able to observe their camp. I never saw a red goblin come out, but
when they all began eating a few goblins went inside the cave with bowls of
food. All the other goblins ate after that. They were probably bringing food to
their chief and his pet magician. We need to get the poison in their retched
stew just before they prepare to eat their evening meal to catch as many of
them as possible. There will still be the patrols that are out of camp. They
won’t be sickened, but we will have a window to act. Now, it is time for you to
tell me the last part of your plan. How do we get the poison into the pot?”

 “Well,” Richter replied.
“Depending on your perspective, this is actually the easiest part. The pot is
right below a large tree. That tree grows out of the shelf of stone that cave
is set in. The shelf is well covered with foliage and small shrubbery that
leads all the way to edge of the encampment and into the forest.”

 Sion nodded, being well
familiar with the lay out of the camp.

 “Now,” Richter said with a
barely concealed smile. “When you climb out onto the tree branch…”

 An hour later, Sion was still
cursing the stupid human, and his own greater stupidity for agreeing to this
horrible plan. As much as he wanted to plant an arrow in Richter though, he had
not come up with a better plan of how the two of them could kill more than
fifty goblins. He moved along the escarpment not ten feet above the grunting
goblins, hearing a mixture of common speak and their own guttural tongue. He
moved slowly. Despite his justified faith in his concealment skills, one
stumble or one loose rock would mean if his death. If they were able to subdue
him rather than kill him outright… well it did not bear thinking about. Goblins
were the racial enemies of the Wood Sprites, and tales of their savagery kept
many a sprite child up late into the night.

 Keeping one eye on the goblins,
and the other on where to find his next hand or foothold, he moved along the
rocky shelf until reaching the tree. He climbed up the trunk and then out onto
its limbs, grateful for the added cover of the large leaves. He slowly crawled
out onto the branch above the stew pot. Looking down, he saw too many eyes
looking at the pot in anticipation, and dared not drop the jar of poison at
this point. He and Richter had agreed that the return of a patrol would provide
best distraction. Waiting on the tree limb, he attempted to ignore the burn
from the fire 20 feet below, and removed the stoppers from both clay pots. As
he slowly warmed, he vowed to repay the retched human for this. He had seen
that poorly concealed smile on his stupid, large face!

 Luckily, Sion did not need to
wait too much longer. There was a clamor to the south of the camp as a group of
seven goblins returned blathering loudly about whatever stupid thing they had
found on their patrol. Sion had never before been happy about the inane
babbling of goblins, but it worked to distract the rest of the camp for a few
seconds! In those moments of misdirection, he dropped the two jars of poison he
had prepared. He held his breath during the short fall, praying his aim was
true. Success! Both jars dropped into the pot, and quickly sank thanks to the
stones he had placed in each jar to increase their weight. Some poison had
fallen out upon striking the surface of the soup, but luckily whatever vile
ingredients the goblins had found to make their stew left an oily surface. The
dark color of the poison he had prepared could not be distinguished in the
firelight. He started the slow climb back to the safety of the forest, and
began to curse that damn human again!

 Sion made his way back to the
stand of trees that had been hiding them for the last day with no problems.
They waited for another hour, and then cautiously made their way back to the
encampment. When they got there, they realized they could have broken every
branch they found along the way, and they would not have been detected. The
stench of the camp had been increased five-fold. The bowels of every goblin
there had been released from both ends, and almost all were on the ground
groaning. Richter looked at Sion expecting to see another blood thirsty grin,
but all he saw on the Sprite’s face was grim resolve. “I take no joy in
slaughter,” Sion said arching his back and rolling his shoulders, “but I will
not shy from it either.”

 They knocked arrows to their
bows and began. It took very little skill to strike the goblins since they were
barely moving targets. They had decided not to
Imbue
their first shots for several reasons. One, to keep the encampment from knowing
their position as long as possible. Two, neither had enough mana to imbue the
amount of arrows that were required. Three, Sion had coated all of their arrows
with poison. Neither were sure they even had enough arrows, but thankfully Hisako
had given then several dozen each prior to leaving the Hearth Tree. In the
night, the arrows were nearly invisible. The
whsst
sound they made as they cut through the air could was not loud enough to
attract the attention of the goblins. Not when each of the green creatures were
mired in their own personal hell. At near point blank range, their shots struck
necks and chests center mass. Apparently the goblins’ sickness and position
qualified some as helpless, because it seemed to Richter there were an inordinate
amount of critical hits. That coupled with the damage the poison had already
done meant one arrow was usually enough to finish each goblin.

 They killed ten, then fifteen
more before the camp at large became aware of them. Even then the cries of alarm
were ignored for a few critical moments, being mistaken for the already
existing moans of pain. By the time there was a coordinated counter attack,
they had killed more than half of the goblins, leaving between fifteen and
twenty scouts and warriors. As the goblins began to move towards the two
archers, Richter’s shots grew more erratic, some missing, others hitting limbs
but few striking critical points. Sion though, was able strike three more, this
time infusing the strikes with mana. The scouts smoking chests made clear that
they would not rise again.

 The first scout reached
Richter, and he smashed it in the face with the end of his bow. Stepping
forward to give Sion the time to make a few more precious shots, he raised his
knife and slashed at the next goblin. It ducked, sending a viscous swipe of its
own knife back at him. His longer reach kept the scout from reaching him with
its blade, but several more were right behind it. A second scout moved in to
his right and grabbed at his leg, holding tightly. With the decreased mobility,
Richter was not able to move out of range of the first and it dove towards him,
the blade in its hand outstretched. It managed a shallow cut on his left leg.
Hunching over slightly, he drove the pommel of his knife into the head of the
goblin holding his right leg causing it to loosen its grip. At the same time he
grabbed the other by the shirt and pulling it forward, easily off balance after
its lunge. He quickly stabbed down into its neck causing a spurt of blackish
blood, then whipped his blade at the goblin holding him. It went down wailing
and holding its face. Seeing three more almost upon him he fell back. Scooping
up his bow he turned to run, shouting in the Sprite’s language, “Fade back to
the trees, we will thin them there!”

 A final blue streak shot right
above his head, and elicited a squeal of pain behind him. Sion had been able to
kill two others during Richter’s brief knife fight. That left about ten on
their feet. Furious expressions were on the goblins’ faces. Running as fast as
he could, he saw Sion join him on the right, the Sprite’s legs pumping as
quickly as possible. The run was dangerous and the slice of moon above only
gave partial definition to obstacles they ran past. They continued on for a
couple minutes easily increasing their lead on the sick goblins. Sion had found
a clearing, and they had marked it as a retreat point before they began their
attack. Once it was in sight, Richter turned his head and shouted, “Go up in
the trees. I’ll make a stand on the other side. When they run past you, start
firing.”

 Nodding Sion ran for another
half minute and then jumped to a low lying branch, scurrying up into the tree
with his uncanny swiftness. Turning back, Richter checked his quiver finding
only two arrows left. This might be bad, he thought. Taking a deep breath he
centered himself looking back in the direction of their pursuit, only a few
moments passing before the first of the goblins became visible through the
trees. Seeing their quarry again, they screamed in rage, their bloodlust giving
them the strength to ignore the sickness from the poison, if only momentarily.
Two scouts ran ahead of the others blind in their bloodlust.

 Richter watched them approach,
waiting for a clear shot, not releasing his first shot until the scout was only
twenty yards away. Not wasting time aiming for a critical shot to the head, he
targeted its chest. The arrow punched all the way through its chest, knocking
it back several feet and it crumpled to the ground. The thing squealed out its
last breaths, reminding Richter of the noise his uncle’s horse had made when it
broke its leg in a rabbit hole. Pushing aside the horrible sound, he drew and
knocked his last arrow. The shot fired at a second scout at point blank range.
It caught the arrow in its left chest, and its next breath turned into a bloody
cough. Its momentum carried it forward though, the body crashing into him as it
shook in its death throes. He shoved the small body to the side and stomped on
its neck once. A sharp crack preceded the end of its pitiful cries.

 Looking up he saw the remaining
five, no six goblins coming within sight range in the waning light.
Unfortunately there appeared to be three goblin warriors in the group.
Unstringing his bow, he held the curved four and half feet of wood in one hand
with his dagger in the other. Looking at the green skinned devils, black blood
dripping down his face, the putrid taste of it having worked its way into his
mouth at some point, his nostrils flared as he screamed,
“
Come
on then!”

 Screaming back with equal rage
they move forward
en
-masse. As soon as they passed
the tree that hid Sion, a blue streak shot down and pierced one warrior through
the shoulder, the force of the blow tearing the goblin’s arm completely off. It
fell to the ground screaming. Spurts of arterial blood escaped into the air as
it felt in vain for its missing limb, its grim reality not yet setting in. In
as many moments, a second and third arrow struck another soldier in the back
and a scout in the head. It did not escape Richter’s notice that the second
arrow had barely any concussive force, though it did knock the warrior onto its
face. The third arrow, while deadly, had no blue tinge at all. The sprite had
finally run out of mana.

 Having revealed himself, it was
easy for the last warrior to target Sion. It threw its heavy dagger into the
tree, and though Richter couldn’t see the impact he heard a cry of pain. The
sprite’s body hit the ground with a thud, apparently stunned for a moment as he
did not immediately get up. The dagger was sticking out of his shoulder. The
warrior pulled an iron headed cudgel from its belt, and moved toward where
Sion’s body had fallen. Not willing to let his comrade be executed, Richter
started forward swinging his bow in a large arc at the three scouts that were
converging on him. The first two ducked of the way, but he clipped the last,
sending it spinning to the side.

 In quick response, the first
scout drove its dagger into the meat of Richter’s thigh, sending a blaze of
agony through him. The second goblin swung a club into his chest, but
thankfully the smaller creature lacked the strength to overcome the defense of
his Chest Plate of the Wood Sprite. Grabbing the arm of the goblin that held
the knife, he kept him from withdrawing its blade from his leg. He drove his
own bronze dagger into its neck. The weapon was too weak to bite very deep into
the neck, but when he withdrew the blade it was clear he had struck a major
vessel. More black blood sprayed across his face in a strong jet. A look of
profound shock appeared on the dying goblin’s face as it opened and closed its
mouth quickly with only blood escaping.