The wind runner book 10.., p.16
The Wind Runner: Book 10 (The Wandering Inn), page 16
Ceria tried. Yvlon looked up to see Ceria’s attempt at a smile. She stopped eating. Ceria gave up. She looked around, but Erin hadn’t come down for breakfast again. Maybe today was the day to give her a kick and some tough love. She had to snap out of this eventually. How long was she going to be like this? She had to—
The trap door opened. Ceria turned. Her fork fell from her fingers. It clattered on the table. Pisces looked up. Then he turned as well.
The room fell silent. Numbtongue paused as he pushed the trap door up. He stared around. Slowly, he climbed up into the inn. He placed the plate and bowl on the table and looked around.
A red scar stood out on his chest. Half of his body looked…paler. The remnants of lightning. Aside from that, he looked like he always had. Numbtongue. But it was Numbtongue. And the others were…
Numbtongue stopped as he stepped out into the light. He had been prepared for something. But this was worse.
It was the stares. All of them, adventurers, Lyonette, Mrsha—they all stared at Numbtongue. They froze and gazed at him like they’d seen a ghost. That was painful, but it was the second look that cut deeper. Pity. He saw it reflected in their eyes. And he hated them for it.
Pity was even worse.
“Morning.”
Numbtongue could have laughed at the way their expressions changed. He almost did, but he didn’t. He looked to Lyonette.
“Here.”
He offered her the plates and bowl. Lyonette noticed the spilled food.
“Oh. Didn’t you like—”
“Tripped. Not hungry.”
“I can get you something else if you’d—”
“No.”
Numbtongue hated it. The awkward conversation, the painful misunderstandings and imprecise words. That was why he didn’t speak. And the way Lyonette clearly seemed to regret asking about breakfast. As if she should have said something about—about—
Numbtongue hadn’t seen them. He didn’t remember anything. Not after being stabbed. He didn’t know how it had ended. Until Lyonette told him. So he walked towards the door. It was closed.
“Whoa. Hey!”
Jelaqua shot to her feet. She stepped out in front of him. Numbtongue looked at her. Jelaqua gave him a desperate smile.
“Hey! Numbtongue! Why don’t you take a seat? Unless you want to use the outhouse? That’s cool, but, uh—why don’t you let us make sure there’s no one outside? Just one second. Moore!”
She snapped. Moore pushed back his chair hurriedly. Seborn was already on his feet. Numbtongue looked from face to face.
“Why?”
“Well—let’s just say it isn’t a good time to go out. Uh, unless you need that outhouse.”
Jelaqua waved her arms at her companions. Numbtongue tried to get around her. She blocked him.
“Hold on. Okay?”
He tried to walk past her, but she held her arm out. The Selphid backed up, and her desperate smile vanished. She took a deep breath.
“There are a lot of…a lot of undead out there. You might be mistaken for one. And it’s unwise to go out anyways. Because…”
She trailed off. Numbtongue waited. Jelaqua looked around. In the end, she had to say it.
“Because it’s dangerous. For you.”
Because he was a Goblin. The news hit Numbtongue like a brick in the chest. He staggered and nearly sat down. Jelaqua reached for him. Numbtongue knocked her hand away.
“Move.”
He brushed past her. Jelaqua half-grabbed for him and then gave up. Numbtongue reached the door. He found it was barred. He took off the door bar, flung open the door.
And he stopped.
Mud covered the Floodplains. Mud and water. The rains were gone. The grasses dead. It was just mud as far as the eye could see. Mud, water.
And Goblins.
There they lay. Green bodies. Goblins wearing black armor. Carn Wolves, dotting the ground. Dead. They covered a small part of the Floodplains, really. A large battlefield and then—a stream of bodies fallen as they’d fled towards Liscor. And then broken north, towards the mountains. Dead bodies.
And the undead. They roamed the hills and valleys, sometimes falling, crawling, standing. Lifeless faces, already rotting. Goblins.
Part of Numbtongue wasn’t surprised. Part of him, a dreadful part, wasn’t even shocked by the sight. He was a warrior. He knew what to expect. But the rest of him…hurt.
Just hurt. And Numbtongue was ashamed beyond belief that it didn’t hurt more. But it couldn’t. Eight days had passed. A week. He knew what had happened.
They were dead. He was alive. That was all there was to it.
“Numbtongue?”
The Hobgoblin turned. He saw Lyonette standing in the doorway. The others were standing behind him, staring at Numbtongue or away. None of them knew what to say. As if what they could say mattered. Numbtongue looked at them. Then he walked back inside.
“Uh—”
“Erin.”
The Goblin looked at Lyonette. She blinked and hesitated.
“She’s upstairs. But—”
Numbtongue strode towards the stairs. Anxiously, Lyonette followed him. The Hobgoblin nearly tripped going up the stairs and had to catch the handrail to steady himself. His stomach rumbled. He pushed himself up and ignored Lyonette. He had to see her. He had to know. Was she—
She was there. In the room. Curled up. Weeping silently. Numbtongue stared at her and sagged against the doorframe in relief. She was alive. That was all. They’d done it. They’d—
There was no satisfaction. Erin was alive, but Headscratcher was dead. So was Shorthilt. Rabbiteater and Badarrow? The Cave Goblins were dead. They were all gone. It wasn’t enough. And that was a bitter truth for Numbtongue.
But she was still here. Numbtongue stumbled forwards. Erin didn’t respond, even though she had surely heard him come in.
For a second, Numbtongue just looked down at her. He looked at her tears. And he clenched his hand into a fist. And for the first time, the numbness in him began to shift.
“Erin.”
She reacted to the sound of his voice. Erin turned. Slowly. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
“Numb…?”
She coughed. Uncurled painfully. Sat up. She tried to stand and pushed herself up from the mattress. She stood up, wobbling like Numbtongue. She looked at him. And her eyes overflowed.
But—Numbtongue noticed—Erin’s cheeks weren’t wet. Her eyes were red, but she hadn’t been crying outright. She was now.
“Numbtongue.”
Erin stepped towards Numbtongue. She halted.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so—so sorry.”
Numbtongue felt a shock run through him. He looked at Erin. She was crying now. But all he felt was anger.
“Why?”
It surprised her. For a second, Erin’s tears stopped. She gulped.
“Because I did it. I asked you to—I did this. I’m so sorry. I should never have—”
She broke up, wiping her face. Numbtongue stared at her. He looked at his hands. At his chest. And he was angry.
“We chose to stay. We fought. And we died. This was our choice. Not yours.”
“But I asked—”
Erin wiped at her eyes.
“I’m—I’m sorry. I know you chose. But all of them. Headscratcher. And Shorthilt and…so many.”
Garen. Spiderslicer. Eater of Spears. Reiss. The list rolled endlessly in Numbtongue’s head. A hundred thousand faces flashed before him. And still he did not weep. He looked at Erin, saw her sob once.
Just once. And that was it. Numbtongue looked down at his front. He touched the red scar of the spear on his chest. Felt the pain. But it was shallow. He dug a nail into it, watched blood start to flow. It wasn’t anything close to real pain.
“Numbtongue!”
Erin saw. She grabbed at his hand. Numbtongue shook her off. He saw her red eyes. But he also saw the truth. She’d stopped crying. Maybe yesterday. Maybe this morning. But whenever it had been, the tears had stopped. They flowed now, but only a few. And in Numbtongue, there was emptiness. Pain, but not enough.
It didn’t hurt enough. Not anymore. Time had already taken the pain away. Numbtongue tried to conjure the desolation, the all-consuming despair and grief he’d felt the first few days. But it was stale. Hollow. He couldn’t cry. And that hurt most of all.
“Don’t. Please. I’m so sorry. If I could do anything—you have to stay here. In your room. If anyone sees you—I won’t let them come near the inn. I promise.”
Erin clung to Numbtongue, hugging him. He looked down at her, feeling her warm embrace. Stay here? He heard her words vaguely, took in the meaning. And he tensed.
Any Goblin would have known what Numbtongue thought in that moment. Any one of them. Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Rabbiteater, Badarrow—or a Cave Goblin, or Reiss. Anyone. But there was no one anymore. No other Goblin to read his unspoken thoughts. No one to know how he felt. So Numbtongue spoke.
“Are you ashamed of us?”
Erin jerked. She froze up and looked at Numbtongue.
“No. Never. Why would you—”
“Because. You. You are here. You want me to stay here.”
Numbtongue reached down. He grabbed Erin’s hands. Squeezed them.
“I should stay here? Hide? We did nothing wrong.”
Nothing. He remembered running with the others. Laughing. Charging together. Erin gulped.
“But if they try to kill you again—”
“Let them. I did nothing wrong. You are crying here. But it doesn’t matter. I—we—deserve better. We did nothing wrong. Why are you hiding?”
He looked at her. Erin struggled for words. Numbtongue turned away abruptly.
“I’m going.”
“Where? Numbtongue!”
She tried to stop him. But in the end, she was weaker than he was. That was one of the reasons why he loved her. Because she was strong while being weak. But she wasn’t strong now. He was disappointed in her. In all of them.
Numbtongue came down the stairs. The adventurers looked at him. One of them, Ceria, stood up.
“Numbtongue. We’re—I’m—so sorry about what happened. What you did was heroic. If there’s anything—”
The same words. Numbtongue gave Ceria a long stare that froze the words on the half-Elf’s tongue.
Sorry. They were sorry. That wasn’t the point! Numbtongue wanted to smash one of the tables. He wanted to rage. But something else burned hotter in him. He looked around. And then he strode for the door.
“Numbtongue!”
The magic door stood in front of Numbtongue. He plucked Celum’s mana stone from it, tossed it to one side. He reached for Liscor’s stone, placed it on the door. Then he reached for the handle.
Hands grabbed him. Numbtongue turned. Jelaqua had hold of him. So did Yvlon. And Erin.
“Don’t! They’ll attack you!”
“So?”
There was nothing they could do to him that was worse. Numbtongue looked at Erin. She didn’t understand. He reached down and tugged her hands off his arm.
“We won. We did nothing wrong. I will not hide.”
Erin looked up at him desperately. Numbtongue bent. He looked Erin in the eyes.
“Why are you crying here?”
He heard her intake of breath. Then he tore away from Jelaqua and Yvlon. He opened the door. And he ran through into the city.
——
“Goblin in the city!”
“Call the Watch!”
Zevara raced down the street, hearing the shouts ahead of her. Dozens of [Guards] converged on the street where the screams and cries were coming from. She knew, without even having to look, what she’d find.
A Hobgoblin stood in the streets of Liscor. Unarmed. Bare chested. Honestly, barely standing on his two legs. Of course, for anyone who hadn’t ever seen a Goblin, it was probably a terrifying sight. His sharp teeth, his crimson eyes, the green skin—it was the image of a monster.
And yet, Zevara recognized this one. He didn’t have his guitar. But she knew him. And as she skidded to a stop, she threw up a hand.
“Hold your ground! Wait for my order or I will rip your tails off with my bare claws!”
She screamed at the City Watch who’d surrounded the Hobgoblin, forming a ring of steel around him. And the doorway that led to The Wandering Inn. It was embarrassing, but for a second when she saw it, Zevara’s heart leapt a bit in her chest. But then she covered the feeling with anger and annoyance. What was Erin thinking?
“No one move!”
Another voice rang out, silencing more of the panicked shouts. Liscor’s citizenry had fled the instant Numbtongue had come through the door, but with dozens of the City Watch on the scene and now Wall Lord Ilvriss striding forwards, they returned to stare. The Hobgoblin looked around. He looked—well, confused was the best word for it. He stared at Zevara and then went to looking around the city, completely ignoring the weapons trained on his chest.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! He’s one of the good Goblins! Aw, damn it—”
A Selphid emerged from the doorway, holding up her hands. Jelaqua Ivirith, in a Human’s body, appeared on the scene. Zevara didn’t recognize her, but the voice and, more importantly, the pale body were the keys. She glared at the Selphid.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“He opened the door, not us! Don’t shoot!”
“Hold your fire on my order!”
Zevara repeated her instructions just in case more of the City Watch arriving by the moment hadn’t gotten the message. Ilvriss raised his voice.
“And mine. Hold your ground!”
The Drakes and Gnolls shifted a bit uneasily. Not so much out of fear of the Hobgoblin—they could see the same thing Zevara could—but at the incongruity of the situation. Here was a Goblin. They killed Goblins. But this Goblin—
They had to get it back through the doorway before more people arrived. Zevara saw more people gathering, drawn by the screams. They stared at the Hob and pointed at Numbtongue. She cursed.
“Where’s Relc?”
“Here.”
Relc walked forwards. Zevara turned, ready to curse at him, but she stopped when she saw he was followed closely by Embria. Relc didn’t seem as upbeat as usual. He stared at Numbtongue.
“A Hobgoblin in the city?”
Embria’s tail lashed. She looked at Zevara.
“We can force him back through the door.”
“That’s my intention. Relc, push the Goblin back and close that door before we have more witnesses. I’ll speak to Miss Solstice—”
“No.”
Relc folded his arms. Zevara paused. Embria stared at her father.
“What did you say, Senior Guardsman?”
“I’m not doing it. Find someone else.”
It took a second for Zevara to process what Relc had said. He was refusing? For all he was lazy, egotistical, and undisciplined, he’d never refused an order in his life. She snapped at him.
“You’re a Senior Guardsman under my command. Failure to obey means—”
“I know what it means. I’m. Not. Doing. It. He’s not doing anything wrong.”
Relc looked past Zevara at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin was just looking around. He stared at the Drakes and Gnolls behind the City Watch. They were staring at him as warily as he was watching them.
A Goblin. Of course they’d seen the battlefield, if not during the siege then after. They had to know what a Hobgoblin looked like. And they knew what had happened. There was a strange feeling in the air. Not hostility like Zevara would expect. Not fear either, not much. Just…
“Dad! What are you doing?”
Embria hissed at Relc. He looked at her.
“I said no.”
“You can’t do that! They’ll court-martial you! At the very least, you’ll lose your job—”
“I’m not doing it.”
The Watch Captain and Wing Commander looked at Relc. It was Zevara who gave up. She’d investigate this strange change in Relc later. Right now—she looked around.
“Olesm.”
She caught the [Strategist] as he appeared. Olesm stared at the Hobgoblin.
“That’s—Numbtongue. I think.”
“He’s one of Miss Solstice’s Goblins, isn’t he? We have to put him back through the doorway. He could cause a panic—”
“By himself?”
Olesm looked around. Zevara gritted her teeth.
“We can’t have Goblins in the city. You know that. And it’s not Liscor that’s in danger. He’d be in more danger here. Just take a few [Guardsmen], push him through. I’ll cover for you. Now—”
There was an argument at the doorway. Zevara could hear voices. And then a familiar shape appeared. She turned in relief, breaking away from Olesm. There she was. Zevara could curse her out, get the Hobgoblin out of sight before someone tried to kill him or a panic started, and sort this all out. She raised her voice to bellow.
Olesm looked over as well. His eyes widened. He stood straighter.
“Erin—”
“Human, this is completely—”
The two Drakes broke off. They stared as Erin Solstice came through the doorway. Ilvriss, who might have been about to shout something at her, stopped mid-inhalation. He paused. So did the citizens of Liscor.
They all knew her. The Human girl. The [Innkeeper]. Annoying, strange, full of as many good things as bad things. It wasn’t that they all liked her. Some hated her guts. But they all knew her. In her way, she’d become a part of the city, as well-known as any Senior Guardsman. And they thought they knew her.
But not like this. Erin Solstice walked past Numbtongue as he looked around. Her eyes were red. Tears ran from them. Not even trying to hide it. She kept wiping at her face, but the tears kept coming. She approached Olesm and Zevara, stumbling, barely able to see. The two Drakes backed up. They couldn’t help it.
“Erin?”
Zevara forgot herself for a second. She stared at the girl. And then she looked around desperately. Olesm looked at Zevara, and then she nodded urgently to Erin. He cleared his throat.
“Erin, you’re, um, crying.”
