The Ring of Winter - James Lowder [124]
The shrieking of birds and chattering of monkeys vied with the diminishing sounds of battle from the city's center. It was difficult to hear over the din, so Lugg was particularly cautious about moving into the open. It wouldn't do Byrt a bit of good if he got captured now, when he was the only one who cared enough to look for him.
At last the wombat trundled out of the thorn bush, sniffing to clear his nose of the lingering, sickly sweet smell. "They must have carried 'im off, too," Lugg said mournfully. "What a bloody rotten way to go-walking groceries for cannibal goblins." He stuck his head into an empty barrel, looking helplessly for some clue that might lead him to his friend. "Still, that's not as bad as what that pirate captain wanted to do with us after 'e'd decided the zoo wouldn't want us. Four-legged footstools indeed!"
Lugg fairly shook with anger, at the indignity he'd been subjected to aboard the ship that had stolen him and Byrt from the little island near Orlil they'd once called home. To his surprise, he found he missed the squalid place more and more. It was certainly paradise compared to Chult, if for no other reason than its complete lack of goblins.
"This is what we get for trusting 'umans, I suppose." Lugg paused to pull a sharp bit of stone from his paw. "Still, I thought Artus was more of a chum. We saved 'is life, after all. But what does 'e give us in return? The rotten twister lets me and Byrt fend for ourselves with the goblins."
"That's hardly charitable on your part, old sport."
The familiar, cheerful voice came from a nearby bush. It took a minute of frantic uprooting for Lugg to get to the source, but when he finally did, he found Byrt sitting contentedly in a bamboo-barred cage. Fresh fruits and vegetables packed the prison. From Byrt's chubby cheeks, it seemed he had been well fed during his captivity.
"The Batiri were very hospitable," the gray wombat said, nibbling on a large yam. "One of them hid me here, hoping to come back later I suppose. I strongly suspected his motives, of course, but I figured you would free me from any bubbling pots before things got too hot."
Byrt looked at his friend with vacant blue eyes. "Artus has his hands full, I'd wager, so don't be so hard on him. That Kaverin fellow who was after him-" he mocked a shiver "-quite a rotten piece of work. His descendants will be embarrassed for generations. I can just see his great-grandson now, pelted by overripe summer squash in the schoolyard for having such a blighted family tree… Very sad, indeed."
Years of traveling with Byrt had given Lugg the uncanny ability to block the little wombat's voice from his mind. Anyone who'd spent time with Byrt knew how useful this was. And Lugg did just that as he set about gnawing on the thick ropes holding the cage together. In fact, he focused his attention so completely on the task that he didn't hear the sound of unstealthy feet moving across the clearing or Byrt's frantic words of warning. Only the sharp prick of a spear in his rump managed to tear Lugg away from his rescue efforts.
"Don't poke 'em! Just grab 'em and c'mon!"
Lugg spun around and came face to face with the tip of a half-dozen goblin spears. The Batiri warriors were more heavily armored than the others the wombat had seen; their breastplates and helmets actually looked as if they might turn a blow aside. And behind these daunting adversaries stood Queen M'bobo, frowning at the delay in their escape and fluffing her beautiful golden hair.
"Well," she snapped. "Get on with it!"
The warriors stepped closer, and Lugg bared his teeth in a fierce snarl. The brown wombat backed up to the bars of Byrt's cage. When one of the Batiri, braver than the others, took a tentative step forward, Lugg sprang. He grabbed the spear in his mouth and wrenched it from the goblin's hand.
"I could have told you that would happen," Byrt chimed from