The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [5]
“I’m going,” he said. Keeping his eyes on the tavernkeeper, he backed toward the door. The man gave a quick jerk of his head and Geth heard murmurs of disappointment and the shuffling of feet as the circle opened to let him out.
Beside the door was a niche lined with cubbyholes where patrons left bags and packs—and, more importantly, weapons—while they were in the tavern. Crouched on a stool inside the niche was a wizened little goblin in a shabby dress. The creatures weren’t as common in Aundair as they were in the cities of the south, where they formed a menial underclass, but even in a town like Lathleer they were far from unknown. Standing, the top of the goblin’s head would have been below Geth’s waist, but the commotion in the tavern had left her curled up into a tight ball, as if she could fold herself up and disappear. Small dark eyes stared at him in fear from a face that looked like it had been pressed flat, lips squeezed so tight her wide mouth was barely a crease in the wrinkled yellow parchment of her skin.
“Give me my pack!” Geth snapped at her, not wanting the distraction of groping among the cubbyholes himself. The circle of tavern patrons had closed again, folding in on itself to follow him to the door.
The goblin didn’t move. Geth’s breath hissed between his teeth and he repeated himself—this time in the Goblin language. “Roo! Piiroto kaana!”
He was still learning Goblin, and he knew that he spoke the language like a child, but at least the goblin woman blinked and uncurled a bit, her large pointed ears twitching. “Piiroto!” said Geth again. He dug in a pouch, groping blindly for a coin, and flicked what he found at her. “Kaana kaana!”
A thin copper crown flashed on the air. Uncertainty crossed the goblin’s face, but it lasted only as long as it took for her to stick out an arm and snatch the coin. The rest of her body uncoiled as well, and she hopped to one of the cubbies. Pulling out a pack that was almost as big as she was, she shoved it at Geth.
Geth grabbed the pack so quickly he almost pulled her off her feet. As she jumped away from him again, he raised the pack, putting it between himself and the small mob of tavern patrons. The men he had actually fought had made their way to the front of the crowd now, and if the other patrons looked unfriendly, these three looked outright hostile. Geth took three steps back and felt the wood of the door against his shoulders. He pulled the door open with one hand, keeping his eyes on the mob. Warm night air blew inside, a breeze that ruffled his hair and made the lanterns that lit the tavern dance slightly. Geth slid a foot over the threshold, then deliberately caught the gaze of the most aggressive of his attackers, the one who had started it all.
“If you want to keep this going,” he told him in a growl, “you come after me. I’ll be ready for you.”
He stepped back through the door, pulled it shut after him, and darted down the night-empty street, running not for the outskirts of Lathleer, but deeper into the town. The instant a hiding place presented itself, Geth dove into it. The hiding place happened to be a narrow, wet shadow between a public fountain and a wall, but he was in no position to be particular. Indeed, no sooner was he under cover than he heard the shouts of men spilling out of the tavern. He froze.
“Nowhere in sight!” Geth recognized the voice of the man who had first picked the fight with him. “Bloody full of wind, shifters are! Cowards, just like I told you. Won’t stand up to a fight.”
“He stood up pretty good inside, Urik,” said someone else. “Let him go.”
“When did you turn into your wife, saal? He asked me if I wanted to keep this going and I do. He can’t have much of a head