(Book One Complete!) Friendly Neighbourhood Goblin (Mercenary Company LitRPG)

Eskel peeled off a patch of Chappy Gum by candlelight and inspected the wound. He didn't seem to mind the foul odour settling beneath their noses.

"Quite good work," he noted with a raised eyebrow. "Who's the one who tended his injuries?"

They had all crowded into the infirmary immediately upon reaching the manor. Three of the household servants, including Ivis and Gorash, lifted Faelan onto a bed, while the others informed the Valroys of their new guests. Rilla's minor leg injury was seen to first, before Eskel hobbled in at a leisurely pace, medical supplies secured in the crook of his arm, as he affixed a dainty pair of spectacles over his hooked nose.

A hand poked above the crowd. "That'd be me," grumbled Durgish. His companymen stepped aside to reveal the portly bald dwarf seated on a stool.

"Medic?" said Eskel, gently lifting a flap of Faelan's skin with a metal tool.

"Aye."

"Level?"

"Fourteen."

"Hmph." Eskel eyed the dwarf over his glasses. "You wouldn't mind if I removed your bandages and treated the wounds properly?"

Durgish grunted. "Do as ye please. Chappy Gum's meant for the field."

Eskel snorted, mumbled a few choice words about the oddities used by poorer folk, and spilled the rest of his supplies on a workbench.

Morg sidled up to Stump as lithely as could be expected of a bandaged dwarf. Aside from the injuries he was looking older by nearly a decade. The hairs of his beard leaned more grey than black, purple bags hung under his eyes, and the skin around them was paler than Stump remembered.

Morg leaned in close and whispered, "What in Lumensa's hole happened over there?"

Stump glanced down at the blood, dirt, and grime coating his body. "It's a long story. I'll explain when we've got some time. You look worse than I do."

The dwarf shrugged. His voice dropped even lower. "Been hungry, and haven't dared to eat, if ye understand me."

"That's what happens to you?"

"Food's got to come steady or I start to feel different. The hunger drives me to anger, 'n the sun pains me more," he said, then changed topics. "What happened to that goblin o' yers?"

"Griza," Stump hissed.

Morg retreated a little. "Sorry," he said. "She escape or…?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I'll tell you everything when I can."

"Told ye we should've tossed her in the Blightwater. Would've saved us—ah! Why'd ye hit me?"

Regret struck as soon as Stump realized he'd punched one of Morg's bandages. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "There's just a lot to explain. For now she's gone. And Denna… she…" Stump lowered his head.

"I know," Morg mumbled.

Stump wiped his eyes before tears could form. "You heard?"

"Aye. Her company relayed what they could. Ah, what's his name… the oxfolk… Lorn? Dorrin?"

"Boren," Stump breathed. "Boren's here?"

"They showed up shortly after ye left. Only about seven o' them though, out o' twenty that went lookin' for yer tribe."

"What did they say? Did they mention Denna? Did they say what happened?"

Morg used his hands to urge calm. "Easy. They're here now. Why don't we go talk to 'em and ask 'em ourselves?"

Stump nodded, and followed the dwarf to the door, but Nell grabbed his wrist before they could leave.

"Where are you going?" Her voice quivered with anxiety.

"I have to meet another company here. I won't be long," he said. She appraised the unfamiliar faces in the strange room of the manor of someone she considered a bane to her people.

Stump rested his hand over hers. "The Stillwater Fellowship will protect you. They volunteered for this job, and that's what they're going to do."

With a modicum of reassurance dawning in her eyes, they left the infirmary.

Stump gave his best truncated retelling of his Orwen farm detour as they travelled to the dining hall, but his tale was full of fits and starts, and dropped threads he meant to loop back on, only to find he'd lost his place in the story or forgotten some other crucial detail. Morg listened with a patient frown, grunting or offering some other verbal dwarven cue that he was following as best he could.

Before Stump could finish, and before they could make it to the Iron Fleece, they were stopped in the hallway by another servant.

"Ah, Stump of the Nobodies?" he said, surprised.

"Yes?"

"Lord Tydas requests your presence in his study immediately."

Chatter reached them from the dining hall. Stump thought he recognized the voice of Boren. "Tell him I'll see him shortly. I have to speak with the Iron Fleece," he said, and made to sidestep the servant.

But the servant shifted to block the way. "I'm afraid he insisted on the urgency. He would be most displeased if you were to turn him away in his own house."

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The bloodlust teased to life. "My friend is missing or dead. I'm going to find out what happened. The lord of Peaktree can wait ten minutes."

He slipped by the servant's leg, and Morg's dour glare ensured there were no more obstacles.

The Iron Fleece sat around the dining table in defeated silence. A few glanced up at Stump and Morg's entry, but there was little enthusiasm in their faces.

"Stump?" said Boren. "We'd heard you were away."

"I was on another quest. But that's done now." Stump struggled to pull up a chair for himself, and he struggled even harder climbing atop it.

The table shook when Morg sat. "Afraid we're here on account o' some more questions need answerin'," he said.

Boren lowered his head. "Oh. Right." He looked over to Dharmis, who was deeply focused on a chip in the table, and then to Stump. Heavy bags rested under his eyes. "You want to hear what happened?"

Stump leaned forward. His chin grazed the tabletop. "If it isn't too difficult for you," he said.

The oxfolk took a deep sigh. He looked to the rest of his company, who said nothing. Then, he began.

It happened at night. The same night that Stump and Denna had spoken. She'd been marvelling at the stars, and he'd been awed by her wonder. Footsteps back to camp was the last he'd heard of her. It started soon after.

They came from the woods all around, as goblins did. It was the fire that announced their presence. Volleys of it arcing above, rivalling the campfire, setting trees ablaze. Chaos and fear—the tribal way. The Iron Fleece tried to don their armour as fast as they could, but realized they'd be dead before they could attach the first buckles, so they went for their weapons instead.

They managed to kill a few, to be sure. The Iron Fleece had been trained for that sort of thing. But Thermalurgy was far beyond their experience, and there was only twenty of them, but a hundred goblins or more.

Shrieks and hollers. Taunts and growls. The sounds were worse than the actual fighting, Boren said, of which he saw little. Shame choked his words, but he managed to recount his flight into the woods before anyone called a retreat, and before any of the others could organize a defence. He heard Denna's voice as he ran. She was barking orders, slashing out at her enemies. She rallied the few men she could while the others escaped.

Some of those at the table lowered their eyes. One or two rose from their seats and left the dining hall, but Boren continued.

Fire. Heat. Dark. He'd never been caught before between a world so bright and another so shrouded. The stars were so wonderful, he recalled thinking, but the world beneath them so terrifying. He fell and scratched his knee. He picked himself up again, but tripped again in the dark. Beasts howled in the woods, and winged demons circled the sky, drawn by the fire. Mountain bats, Stump gathered, but he didn't interrupt the tale.

Boren ran and ran, and soon Denna's voice was gone, and he could hear nothing but the whooshing flames and snapping trees. Then his comrades were gone too, the ones he fled with. They lost each other in the dark, between the trees, and even their voices couldn't guide them back to each other.

It was only when dawn peeked over the horizon that he managed to find the few who got away. They wanted to return to the campsite, to find the badges of those who fell, but they were frightened. They didn't want to die.

And so they returned to Peaktree.

A kernel of hope urged Stump's thoughts into words. "You didn't see Denna fall? What if she's still out there with the rest of your company? Hiding in the woods? Or captured?"

Boren, who had broken eye contact partway through his story, shook his head. "Didn't see anything. I just ran." He buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he managed between sobs.

"You weren't the only one," Dharmis reassured farther down the table. "We all did."

Morg stirred with a grumble. "Not like ye would've lived had ye gone back, or stayed to fight. Might be you'd be barbecued next to her."

Stump shot the dwarf a reproachful glare. "It's alright, Boren. Anyone would've run. I did too," he said, taking a softer approach.

Boren looked up long enough to show his confusion. "Ran… from who?" he said.

"Those same goblins attacked the Orwen farm, where I just was," Stump said, and raised his voice to address the Iron Fleece members who remained in the hall. "They attacked us before we could prepare, and they burned it all down. We barely escaped with our lives, but only because we ran. We ran so we could come back here and warn everyone. To protect everyone. Like you did. And now we're all here and we all know them. We know how they fight. We know what they can do. We know their leader. I know him. But this time we're going to prepare. We'll fight them, and we'll defend Peaktree. And this time we'll win."

Cautious optimism wasn't as satisfying as raucous applause, but it was all Stump could expect from the defeated mercenaries. They watched him curiously, most of them skeptically.

"How?" said Boren. "You said it yourself, there's a hundred of them."

The question gave Stump pause. Sleep had eluded him for too long, and the day's misfortunes had scrambled most of his critical thinking, so any plan he might conjure would be severely undercooked.

Thankfully, Kestrel rescued him before he could cobble a reply.

"Brave of you to deny his summons," said the lizardfolk.

Stump turned to see him leaning in the doorway. "He still wants to see me?"

Kestrel suppressed a chuckle. "He requested I come to you personally, to see that you do."

Stump entered the study of the lord of Peaktree with the distinct feeling his presence veered closer to that of a prisoner than a guest.

Tydas was turned away, gazing through the foggy panes of the window at the far end of the room. His hands were clasped behind his back. He said nothing as the door clicked shut, and waited until Stump was seated.

"You bring them into my household," he said.

Stump had learned Tydas was not a man to dance around, so he got straight to the point. "The goblins attacked their farm. They burned it all down. They had nowhere else to go."

"My home," Tydas repeated. "You could've taken them anywhere. The Downs. Your inn." He turned. His face was sharper than Stump remembered, or maybe it was the anger that tightened his features. "But instead you bring them here. To my wife. To my daughter. A vampire."

"There's no vampire, I'm sure of it."

Tydas circled the desk, closing the gap between them. As he did so his height became more apparent. "You're sure of it? After a day? Less than a day, isn't it? All your sleuthing, your interrogation, your investigation, turned up nothing? Not a whiff?" He stopped short of the chair and gazed down at his captive goblin. "Or perhaps you're working to help them evade capture."

"I'm not."

"You made it clear where your allegiances lie when you spilled your heart in this very room when you accepted my quest. Why should I trust what you're telling me now?"

"Because you trusted me enough to send me on your quest. I don't know if there's a vampire somewhere nearby, but the Orwens have nothing to do with it."

Tydas was still. Even his breathing had stopped. He measured Stump with a cold countenance, then stepped away and turned to Kestrel. "Head to the infirmary and question the Orwens," he said. "I believe you should have all the tools you need. Eskel would have laid them out for you."

The Solarmancer headed for the door.

Stump leapt off his chair. "No!"

Kestrel stopped.

"I understand why you feel the way that you do," Stump said, then turned to Tydas. "I'm sure you have your reasons, too. But we don't have time for this. Nell and Faelan are not vampires, I promise you that. I'll swear on my life if I have to. We can't fight each other, not now. There is an army of goblins headed our way. They could be here by nightfall, or tomorrow morning, or the day after. We need to fight them together."

Tydas considered the goblin with a steady frown. "Lying to me would be a mistake," he warned.

Stump held his challenging stare. "I'm not lying."

The lord of Peaktree gave a subtle nod and relaxed his shoulders. He ambled around the desk and fell deliberately into his seat and made a reluctant gesture to Kestrel, who stepped away from the door.

"This goblin threat," said Tydas. "You think we should fight them here?"

Stump reoccupied his chair. "I think so. We need somewhere defensible."

"That may be. But we're not built for a siege."

"No," said Stump. "Right now Peaktree is just a manor. But we need to turn it into a fortress."