Barbarian Legends - Goblinslayer 05

Girn decided that this was their cue to depart. "Time to go!" he shouted. A backwash of heat blazed towards him, singeing his hair and eyebrows.

"Aye, right you are," Hans agreed, one raised arm shielding his face against the heat.

Girn sheathed his greataxe, turned and vaulted over the side. He tumbled into the water. After the heat of the burning ship it was almost a relief to feel the shock of cold, dark water closing over his head. He kicked out and up and his head broke the surface.

He could see that there were boats all around, come to look at the fire. A great many of them were loaded with soldiers in the livery of the king. Surely that meant his message had reached Magister Rebus and the arcane advisor had taken action.

Fighting the weight of his greataxe, Girn set of swimming.

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Sopping wet, Hans sat glumly on the wharf and kept his eyes peeled. So far there was no sign of Girn. He had not seen the barbarian since he plunged into the water. He wondered if Girn could swim. Even if he could, was it not possible that he had drowned trying to hold on to his heavy greataxe?

His clothes were wet and his teeth were starting to chatter but still he sat, wishing that he still had some of the vodka he'd been swigging earlier. Hans wondered about the goblin weapon that was meant to have been on board the black barge. He knew now that he would never find out what it was. The barge was a burned-out hulk resting on the bottom of the river. The boatmen who had picked him up had held their position in mid-river and watched it burn, before accepting a handful of silver in payment for carrying Hans to the shore.

There was a wet, slapping sound nearby and Hans looked warily to his right. One of the mutant goblins had made it off the ship then. It clambered up the side of the ladder from the landing stage, shook itself dry like it was a dog and trotted off up the wharf. There it was quickly hacked in two as Girn stood in its way.

"Current carried me down river," Girn called. He approached Hans and offered him a hand to pull him up. "Well," he said, "let's get back to the Full Tankard and have some beer. I think we've earned it."

"And some dry clothes," Hans muttered through gritted teeth.

"Mine are already dry from the jog back here," Girn smiled.

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Shivering, soaked, and utterly miserable, Munchy at last made his way into the Underground. The night had been nothing short of terrible. He had traversed through icy waters, then scurried along the riverbanks until he discovered a sewer outlet. From there, he had wandered through tunnels until he caught the familiar scent of goblin. Evading human patrols in the darkness, he followed the trail until it brought him here.

He felt a sense of accomplishment. Despite the challenges of a lengthy and arduous journey, he had persevered. Despite losing his bifocals and struggling with his vision, he had reached his destination, safeguarding the knowledge needed to create the mutants again. Now, he reasoned, all he required was a plausible excuse to present to the sentries. It seemed straightforward; he would simply claim he was delivering food for Trolk Tul. Anyone familiar with the clanleader would buy into that explanation.

The thought made him titter. He was still tittering when his near-blind eyes failed to pick out the stone in front of his feet and he tripped, stumbling a short distance until there was no ground beneath his feet anymore. Munchy fell into a dark, deep abyss.

He managed to curse all the humans in Yeledor and that meddling barbarian before his brains splattered across the cavern floor.

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TO BE CONTINUED...