Realms of Valor - James Lowder [139]
“Alive,” he snarled. I did not like the sound of it. I have never held any reservations about dealing harsh justice to goblins, but Rico's cruel tone seemed to tell of a thirst for vengeance. Still, I had no reason to doubt the burly farmer, no reason to argue against the accepted code of justice of Pengallen. Guenhwyvar and I were away in a moment, tracking to the northwest, easily finding the trail of the fleeing Nojheim. The chase took longer than I'd expected. We found the tracks of some ore stragglers crossing those of Nojheim, and I decided it to be more important to prevent the ores from getting back to their lair, where they might find some reinforcements. We found them, just three, a short while later. Using the Heartseeker, so marvelous a bow, I finished the beasts from a distance in a matter of three quick shots. Then Guenhwyvar and I had to backtrack, rejoin Nojheim's trail, and head off into the darkness once more. Nojheim proved to be an intelligent adversary, which was consistent with Rico's claim that he was a leader among his wretched race. The goblin doubled back constantly and climbed among the wide-spread branches of several trees, coming down far from his original trail and heading in an altered direction. Ultimately, he made for the river, the one barrier that might defeat pursuit. It took all my training as a ranger and all the help of Guenhwyvar's feline senses to close ground before the goblin got across to safety. I admit in all honesty that if Nojheim had not been so weary from his ordeal at the hands of the merciless raiders, he might have eluded us altogether. When we at last reached the riverbank, I used my innate ability-common to the Underdark races-to view objects by their emanating heat, not their reflected light. I soon spotted the warm glow of a form inching across a rock walkway, picking his strides carefully. Not trusting the obvious limitations of infravision, where shapes are indistinct and details revealed only as patterns of heat, I lifted Taulmaril and loosed a streaking arrow. It skipped off a stone and hit the water just a few feet ahead of the goblin, making him slip one leg hip-deep into the icy flow. The lightninglike flash of silver left no doubt as to the goblin's identity. I rushed for the stone crossing. Guenhwyvar flew by me. I was halfway across the bridge, running as swiftly as I dared, when I heard the panther growl from the darkness beyond, heard the goblin cry out in distress. “Hold, Guenhwyvar!' I called out, not wanting the panther to tear the creature apart. The slight, yellow-skinned Nojheim was on the ground, pinned by huge paws, when I caught up to them. I ordered Guenhwyvar back, and even as the panther moved away, Nojheim rolled about and grabbed for my boot with his long, spindly arms, his hands still showing the remnants of torn leather bindings. I nearly slammed him with the butt of my scimitar, but before I could react, I found the pitiful Nojheim slobbering kisses all over my boots. ”Please, my good master,“ he whined in his annoying, high-pitched voice, so typical of goblins. ”Please, oh, please! Nojheim not run. Nojheim scared, scared of big, ugly ogres with big clubs. Nojheim scared." It took me a few moments to recover my wits. Then I hoisted the goblin to his
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feet and ordered him to be silent. Standing there, looking down into Nojheim's ugly, flat face and sloping forehead, his gleaming yellow eyes and squashed nose, it took all of my control to hold back