“You heard Harm,” Luubu shouted, stepping forward. Acloo was busy ringing his top out from where he had initially dived out of Teras’s way.
Harm waded back to the edge of the pool and climbed out. None of Teras’s members who were present had stepped forward. If anything, several stepped back from the demonic beast that clambered from the water. Harm’s face was still twisted in anger, his eyes scanning the new goblins.
One of the clan took a step closer. Harm’s head immediately snapped round, seeing the movement in his peripheral vision. He growled in a low, threatening tone. The goblin lowered his head submissively.
“Chief,” it said.
Harm glared at him. His anger was still boiling, and he was struggling not to call Florence back into his hand.
“What?” Harm snapped. That was when he felt a hand gently come to rest on his arm. He glanced and saw Nathic standing next to him with the others close by. Harm let out a long, slow breath as he felt his simmering temper start to slowly, very slowly, leave him.
Well done! Well done! They fear you; they do!
Harm turned back, looking at the goblins from Teras’s clan, and he saw the terror in their eyes. He didn’t think he had done anything that would cause such a reaction. He had only fought another.
Luubu spoke again. “Take us to your base. We will be staying there tonight, then tomorrow we will return to your new home.”
The goblin that had stepped forward looked at Luubu. Harm could tell from the look on its face that it was confused.
“You heard what she said,” Harm snapped, as his pulse quickened again. His head pounded from the exertion.
Slowly, they started to move, until under the watchful eyes of Nathic, Luubu and the others, as they led them to their base. Harm followed at a distance as he struggled. It was as though he were possessed. He wanted blood, but knew it wasn’t those around him whose blood he sought.
Acloo dropped back to Harm. “Are you okay, Harm?”
Harm looked at Acloo, forcing a smile. “I’ll be fine,” he said.
“You sure? You don’t look fine,” Acloo replied.
Harm frowned, stopping. “What do you mean?”
“Your eyes, Harm. It’s your eyes.”
Harm’s frown deepened as he stepped to the side of the path they were following through the marshes. It was well-travelled by the clan, so they had to be near the base. He looked into the water, unable to see his reflection, so he crouched down. A ripple spread across the water’s surface, and the eyes that looked back at him were not his own, or hadn’t been until now. His irises, which had always been brown, no longer held their colour. Instead, they were deep red.
His appearance shocked him as he stared at his reflection for several moments.
What’s happening to me? He thought.
I do! I do! I do it for you! The demonic voice cackled.
Fuck you! Harm thought, slapping the reflection and standing again.
The demonic voice giggled like a child.
Acloo looked at Harm with concern still.
Harm sighed. “I’m fine, I promise,” he said.
But was he? He really wasn’t sure. Why had his eyes changed colour? Had it happened before? Had it always happened when he fought? No one had ever mentioned it before, not at the clan, not during his adventuring days. Harm’s pulse raced with uncertainty as he turned to catch up with the others.
The clan’s base was obviously temporary. There were no huts, and instead, skins were stretched between trees, providing cover. The air in the marsh was continually damp, and as the others sorted out the weapons of the new clan members, confiscating them, a wind picked up. The wind itself wasn’t cold, but with Harm still wearing sodden clothing, it chilled him to the bone. A pile of rocks sat in the middle of the base. The ground was firm and dry, and a fire burned. Harm moved towards the flames, seeking their warmth, and a few goblins nearby moved away as he approached.
There had been nine other goblins at the base, including the scouts and those who had appeared with Teras, in total making twenty-four. The number wasn’t great, but every goblin would help for what was to come. Luubu was busy talking to several of the new clan, and Nathic sat with Harm.
Harm sat there stewing over the next steps, the logistics involved in moving everyone back, assuming they even wanted to come. He looked around at the new members; most were poorly dressed and equipped. Only a few key fighters had weapons of any meaning or worth.
“The weapons are strong. I think they must be from Hillnot,” Nathic said, as he turned a crossbow over in his hands. He lifted it, looking down its notch, where a bolt would sit. “They are well made, better than most we have. The only better weapons are the swords from the warehouse, now that they have edges.”
“I wonder how they got them. It’s not as though they can buy them in Hillnot.”
“Probably traders using the path.” Nathic shrugged. “Wherever it was, though, we could do with more like these.”
“Yeah. We definitely need stronger weapons, but I’m not sure where we can get any from,” Harm said. It was a significant problem for Harm. Suppose they were going to attack Sallew. Each fighter required at least a sword, a dagger, or a bow. Ideally, they would each have all of them, but it would take months to obtain them, and with no goblin having the Smithing profession, they were limited.
“What professions are you?” Harm asked, turning and looking at the new members. None answered initially until the one who had stepped forward after Teras’s death spoke up.
“Hunters mainly, Cooks, a Miner and a Herbalist.”
“Herbalist?” Harm said. The profession was unusual; most people Harm had known were Alchemists, as Herbology was the initial branch that they unlocked.
“Yes, Barvu, he is a Herbalist.”
“And what’s your name? You seem to speak at least.”
“I am Garpu.”
“I’m Harm. I don’t go by, chief.”
Harm turned to look at the others gathered under their makeshift homes. “Barvu?” he called.
A goblin who had his back to him turned and stared wide-eyed. “Barvu?” Harm repeated, looking at him.
It was almost comical as the goblin pointed at himself. “Me?”
“Yes. If you’re Barvu, I want to talk to you.”
Harm noticed Barvu gulp nervously before he approached Harm. He stopped several paces away.
“Come sit by the fire.” Harm patted next to him on the log he was sitting on.
Barvu’s eyes couldn’t have opened any wider as he followed Harm’s order and slowly sat down.
“Drink?” Harm asked, offering Barvu the waterskin he held.
As Harm raised his arm, Barvu dived backwards, squealing, curling up in a ball. Harm just looked at him, frowning. “Get up. I will not hurt you.”
Barvu slowly uncurled and climbed to his feet, retaking the seat. He was visibly shaking with fear.
“You are a Herbologist?” Harm asked.
“Yes,” Barvu stammered, nodding his head violently in agreement.
Harm shook his head. “Will you calm down? Your head will fall off,” he sighed.
“What salves can you make?”
“Salves?” Barvu asked, confused.
“Pastes?” Harm tried again.
“Several,” Barvu said.
“Any that heal?”
“Yes.”
“And?” Harm said.
“And?” Barvu said, frowning.
Harm rolled his eyes as he tutted. “And what do they heal?”
“Oh, itches, rashes, things like that.”
“Do you have anything for wounds?” Harm asked, holding his arm out where Teras had gouged into his skin. There were deep red welts that had started to scab over.
“I can make them, but I need the plants.”
“Are there none around here?”
“Not in the marshes, no. The closest ones that I need are on the plains. I have only been there once, though. It’s too dangerous to go alone.”
“You travelled to the plains alone?” That meant this goblin had been all the way through the valley at some point and back again.
“Yes. Only once, though. Teras banned me from ever going again.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know. Just wouldn’t let me,” Barvu shrugged. Now that Barvu was talking about his profession, he visibly relaxed.
“Well, I will be changing that. If you can make healing pastes and all you need is access to the plains, our home is close enough to visit there as needed. We will need paste going forward. Can you make tonics?”
“Only one. Weak Healing.”
“What do you need for that?”
“Oh. Nothing. I have everything here.”
It was like getting blood from a stone talking to Barvu. “Do you have any made?” Harm asked hopefully.
“Yes.”
“Do you think I could have one?”
“I can’t; they are Teras’s. He would kill me if he found out.”
Harm closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten. He had discovered a Herbologist who could make Weak Healing tonics, yet who didn’t even realise that Teras couldn’t kill him since he was dead.
“You do know Teras is dead, right?”
“Yes. You are the new chief?” Barvu said as Harm looked at him expectantly. “Oooohhhh,” he said as the copper dropped. “I’ll go get you one,” he said, standing and hurrying back to his lean-to.
Nathic had been grinning at Harm throughout the whole conversation, sitting on the other side of the fire.
“Don’t,” Harm said. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you put him up to it.”
Nathic couldn’t help but chuckle, and Harm scowled at him.
Barvu ran back, holding a small wooden bottle, and offered it to Harm. Harm took and removed the lid and smelled the contents. His nose immediately turned up at the pungent aroma. “What on Amathera is this made from?”
Barvu went to open his mouth to tell Harm when he lifted his hand. “Actually, don’t tell me.” He sniffed the tonic again and, placing his finger over the top, turned it upside down so his finger was covered. Then, cautiously sticking his tongue out, he licked it. To Harm’s surprise, it didn’t taste anywhere near as foul as it smelled. He waited a few moments to make sure it wasn’t harmful. When nothing happened, he tipped the contents into his mouth and swallowed.
He felt the liquid run down his throat, and nothing happened immediately. It took several moments before he felt a warmth begin to develop from deep within him. It started to spread through his body, slowly at first, and then its pace built up. Harm looked at his scratched arms. What he saw next surprised him even more. From within one of the gouges that not Teras but Vera had inflicted, a scar reopened, and Harm watched as a yellow pus was pushed out, until bright red blood seeped from the wound. He must have had an infection that he wasn’t aware of. The scratches on his arm all wept fresh blood, only tiny amounts, but it was all fresh and clean.
They didn’t close up, but the tonic definitely cleaned the wounds. That was significant help in itself. Knowing that untreated injuries could often lead to limb loss or similar horrendous conditions if they became infected.
He looked at Barvu. “It might smell worse than an ogre’s anus, but it seems to clean wounds. Thanks.” Harm said, smiling at him. Harm watched the relief flood Barvu’s face. “How much of this do you have?”
Barvu ran back to return with a large waterskin. Harm frowned. “That is all tonic?”
“Yes. The bottle is the measurement needed.”
“Pour me another, will you?” Harm asked.
Enthusiastically, Barvu poured another measure into the small bottle, and Harm drank it again. This time, the wounds started to itch horrendously, and he watched as scabs began to form, much faster than they usually would.
“Are there limits to how many you can have?”
“Never more than three. It can make you very ill, so you must wait twelve hours.”
“In that case, I will have a third.”
After the third, all the gouges and scratches were fully closed over. Harm turned his arms, looking at them. The tonic wouldn’t heal any significant injuries, but it would definitely aid the overall healing process.
“How easy is it to make?” Harm asked.
“Very. Just grasses added to a pot of boiled piss,” Barvu said, smiling.
Harm almost gagged. “Piss?”
“Yes,” Barvu nodded vigorously.
It was too much for Nathic, who, at hearing that Harm had drunk piss, burst out laughing hysterically. Bile rose in Harms’ throat, and he had to stop himself from throwing up, taking slow breaths, calming his stomach. Eventually, he turned again to Barvu. “Thanks,” he said, letting out a loud belch.
“No problem. Let me know if you want more.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Harm said as Barvu went back to his lean-to, a very happy goblin.
