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Goblin
War Opening Scene
This bit was trimmed in
order to increase the pacing and tension of the
first few pages.
Goblin war drums wouldn't be so
bad, Jig decided, if the drummers could only stick
to a consistent beat. He flattened his ears against
his skull as he walked to the cave mouth. Brisk
wind slipped through the gap in his cloak, making
him shiver. A faint crust of snow and frost covered
the obsidian walls where the cave opened up to the
outside world.
"What do you think it is this
time?" asked Braf, as he walked to stand beside Jig.
"How should I know?" The last
time, only two days earlier, a young goblin named
Trellak had been the one who started beating the
drums. Trellak had discovered a squirrel bone in
his soup, which resulted in several slivers of bone
lodged between his lower fangs. In typical goblin
fashion, he had immediately declared war on Golaka
the chef. It had been a short-lived war, though
Golaka had baked a delightful batch of meat pies
from what was left of poor Trellak. "Someone
probably stubbed his toe and decided to go to war
against the mountain."
Jig winced as another drum
joined the chaos. This one beat faster than the
rest, like the heartbeat of a frightened animal.
Which, Jig supposed, was appropriate for goblin
drums.
"Grell's going to start
slitting throats if this keeps up," said Braf. "She
gets awfully cranky when anyone interrupts her
afternoon nap."
"Grell's always cranky," Jig
muttered. "She--" His good ear twisted, tracking
the sound of running footsteps crunching through the
snow. He started to reach for his sword, then
changed his mind and stepped back into the tunnel,
putting Braf between himself and whoever was
charging toward them.
Braf picked up his own weapon,
which had been leaning against the wall. The chains
on the end of the heavy staff rattled, and the
spiked metal balls rang against one another. A
cross between a flail and a short staff, Braf's
newest weapon had inflicted as much damage on Braf
himself as it had on any foes. Personally, Jig
thought it worked far better as a musical instrument
than as a weapon.
Still, Braf was an intimidating
sight. He was a head taller than Jig, and twice as
broad. He wore a coat made from a tunnel cat's
fur. He had made the coat himself, and it showed.
Traditionally, such a trophy
would be worn with the animal's head as the hood.
Braf had gotten the whole thing turned around, so
the poor tunnel cat had to spend its afterlife with
its head bouncing against Braf's behind.
© 2008 by Jim C. Hines
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