Thorn by Fred Saberhagen (reading like a writer TXT) 📕

After explaining that I left him, hopping to another pedestal point and feeling like the jerkiest dungeon core ever made.

CHAPTER 16

Chief Reginal paced around the strategy room. Well, he called it pacing, but it was more of a fast limp, really. A recent dungeon raid meant that he’d never pace properly again.

And he called it a room, but a keen observer would see that it was actually a tent. In fact, there were no real buildings at all in the settlement of the Eternals clan.

As tents went it was a big one, large enough for a replica model of the tunnels to take up half of it. They had set it up on a table on the far side of the tent, where the surprise dust storms would be able to get to it and knock over all the little wooden figurines that represented traps.

The other half of the tent was occupied by beds for Reginal and Devry. Reginal slept on an inch thick, goose-feather bed, just like the rest of his men. He would never have better, nor worse, and that way nobody could ever hold a grudge that their chief had more comforts than them. It was one less weapon to use against him in the next chief elections.

His son, Devry, needed more comfort. Not because he was a demanding child. Nope, he was eleven, and Devry would have loved nothing more than to be able to sleep on the dirty ground. He just wanted to be a child.

But his condition meant that couldn’t happen. He needed to be on a soft surface at all times, so he slept on a five-inch-thick duck and goose feather bed. Next to him was an orb that Chief Reginal had an alchemist make for him.

The orb was made from crystal and had been pure white when Reginal bought it. All through each day, mana seeped from it and into Devry’s throat, snaking to his lungs where it sucked poisons from his body and then brought them back into the orb.

The orb had started transparent but was now colored black with Devry’s lung rot, and Reginal would need another soon. Problem was that those things cost a fortune. Not only would some alchemists not deal with goblins, but the ones who were prepared to do so jacked their prices.

The last orb had cleaned Reginal out. He’d organized a few dungeon raids out east, which he and some of the younger warriors scored good loot from. But that was how he got his limp. He was getting too old to lead from the front.

No, the only long-term solution was to win back the mana springs.

Reginal stood over his model of the tunnels. There were two models, one for each tunnel system. So far, they had never broken through either side, and every attempt made them weaker and eroded support for even trying to claim back the springs.

No, this wasn’t working. Reginal would never say it out loud because that would make it seem true, but he saw a day coming where their last assault failed. A day where he came back to his tent, an utter failure, and he found a pure black orb resting beside his son, but the tent was silent. No rasping breaths.

The thought made tears form in his eyes.

“Dad?” cracked a voice.

“I thought you were asleep, Devry. I was just checking on the plan for the next assault. This might be the one.”

“Is that why you look like you’ve been kicked in the balls?”

Reginal laughed. “Fine. It could be better. But we have something in the works, lad.”

“Did you check my notes?” asked Devry. He then sank into a wheezing coughing fit. The orb on the table beside him buzzed. There was a snapping sound, and a hint of a dark stench, and then the orb turned just that little bit darker.

Reginal handed him a pot of water. “Drink.”

“I’m fi-” Devry began, then coughed again, his green skin turning red. Reginal patted his back and found he was sweaty. Devry recovered himself. “I’m fine. Did you read them?”

His son hadn’t inherited his goblin instincts for battle. Reginal had been a killer in his youth. Only for the clan, though. Not for fun. He’d been strong, fast, and ruthless. His hands had felt empty if he didn’t have a dagger in them.

Devry had been ill since he was young, and he’d never had the strength to practice, so he never knew the weight of a blade. But he’d inherited Reginal’s constant need to improve himself, so he’d focused on the part of him that he could exert; his mind.

Reginal glanced at the inch-thick bundle of papers over by his bed. He’d read through half of the notes, using it as material to help him sleep. In the nicest possible way, of course. He didn’t find them boring, he just didn’t have as studious a mind as his son. Devry had written it in goblin cursive. He preferred reading and writing in some of Xynnar’s more common languages, but he had written this for his people.

“Your manifesto?” said Reginal. “I’m almost through it.”

“It’s not a manifesto, dad. Manifesto sounds like I’m trying to persuade people. I’m not, I’m just offering another option.”

“It’s impressive, lad. From what I have read, half of it is based on us moving away from the springs for good.”

Devry nodded. “There are lots of abandoned freeholds and empty plots of land in Xynnar. Many places where the Crystal Wars spread and people didn’t go back. They still think the war-blight taints the land, but they haven’t read the latest botanist studies on how long Blight lasts, and how much of a contaminator it even is.”

“And for all this reading, which I couldn’t be prouder