Book III
Chapter Thirteen
SPECKLED HALO
Nal’kuth’ra smelled the docks before she saw them.
Even through the constant, pounding rain, the aromas of low tide and yet-to-be-gutted fish mingled with the scent that she would forever associate with Ne’jum…
Corpses.
On every corner of the City of Storms, carts (full to the brim) were either parked or being pulled.
“So many bodies,” muttered Nal’kuth’ra, pressing the cloth that covered her jaw to her lips and nose in an attempt to keep out the stench. It did little and less.
“Yes,” muttered Tha’seng, as he led them through the streets.
When he stopped, so did Ul’druk and Nal’kuth’ra. When he bowed his head, they aped him.
“We’re lucky,” said the tailor, quietly, alert. “I expected more humans to be awake tonight. On account of the fire. Stay close.”
He carved through the alleys. They meandered, less like creeks down a mountain, and more like vines down a tree, or veins up an arm.
Most of the folk Nal’kuth’ra saw in Goblintown were goblins, like her. But so not like her. Back home, in the Zhuk Desert, the goblins were slimmer and taller, their skins dry and their lips thin. Here in Ne’jum, there was no common appearance to a goblin. Some were shorter, some were taller. They had all different bone structures, and as she heard a pair muttering on a corner, she noted how different their accents were. And yet, when they caught her staring, the way that they stopped, and the look on their lips was identical, a shared trait that could not be inherited, had to be learned.
There were more than goblins, though.
To Nal’kuth’ra’s surprise, she saw many elves. Almost all the elves were some kind of tree, and there was not one that was exposed to the elements. They stood beneath awnings— willow elves and pine elves, and a whole lot of apple elves. The apples were all different colours as well… Some red as fresh blood, others pink with gold freckles, others green like cut grass, or else green like dark moss. All the apples shared one trait, though : they looked wet, and soft. Even young, small apples looked so ripe, they were almost rotten.
There were humans in Goblintown, too. Outside on corners, or loading corpses onto carts.
“Mostly imports,” said Tha’seng. “The corpses, I mean. People die here. Many died yesterday, but… special occassions. Mostly, the Lich sends out armies, to… collect… from other places.”
“Orcish places?” Ul’druk said. He scoffed, as if it were a joke.
Tha’seng nodded. “Mostly. We’re here.”
Shallowport was a strange dock. The rain fell so dense and so hard, it filled the air with speckled mist.
It let out in the southern bay, which had only been a bay for a few hundred years.
A dozen small boats tithed to the simple wooden dock. The dock was covered by a tin awning to keep off some of the rain, but the wood was already beginning its quick decay. These docks got replaced every fifteen or twenty years, torn apart and completely rebuilt.
Goblin work, of course ; a human from Ne’jum had to be in pretty dire straits to take work in Goblintown.
There was a tollgate. Its thin iron bars swung freely, forth and back, back and forth, softly shrieking beneath the stormwinds.
Tha’seng gripped the gate tight to quiet it.
He crossed to the other side, then held the gate open for Ul’druk and Nal’kuth’ra to step through.
“Thank you,” nodded Ul’druk, pulling his cowl low. He hated the rain, and missed the snow. He missed home. But that was nothing new ; Ul’druk often missed home.
But his duty was to Brun, and to the future. And so he swallowed that feeling, pulled the cowl tighter, and waited for Tha’seng to lead them on.
As Nal’kuth’ra passed, Tha’seng let the gate go, and it resumed its soft shrieking, forth and back, back and forth. Specs bounced off the iron bars, giving them a halo of rain.
Near the dozen or so docked boats, beneath the same tin awning, was a goblin man behind three tables. The masts rocked back and forth behind him, all their sails tied tight.
He rocked, too. The man at the stand looked very, very drunk.
He was the only one around. No customers. No riggers. No sailors.
Just him.
His company was his wares. On each of the three tables were heaps and piles and stacks and jars of things for sale. All sopping. All soaked.
Nearest to the seller was a glass box, which either contained rings or amulets. The colours shone clearly, but shapes disappeared behind the soaked glass.
Without looking up, the drunk goblin smiled, and said, “Welcome! I should’ve expected you’d be, uh, you to… you to be here. Hah. Ha ha, oh…”
He took a long glug from the jug in his hand. He nearly choked on the stuff, but refused to spit any of it out. He wiped the burgundy specs from his lips, then licked his fingers.
The tailor nodded. “Thaek’rj.”
“He’s not here,” said the drunk goblin.
“Oh, I doubt that,” said Tha’seng, though Nal’kuth’ra did not see where anyone could have been hiding. There were no buildings here, just this table, a tollgate, and some boats. The rest of the area was just tall grass, thorny underbrush, and soaked-down sands.
“You want some?” said Thaek’rj, holding out the bottle. But then he snatched it away with a cackle. “Ah! Just kidding! Hahaha,” then another pull. “Ah. That’s the stuff. Suppose you’re making out like a rat in a trash heap, aren’t you? Oops. All gone.”
Thaek’rj tossed the bottle at a bin beneath the table, and missed. The glass thudded onto the wet sand.
“Where is Feth?” asked Tha’seng.
“Like we said, Seng-seng… Feth’s not here. Not here, man. So just…”
Thaek’rj made a gesture with his hands.
“Shoo. Shoo shoo, now, hah. Shoo! Isn’t that what owls sound like? In the songs, ’tis, but—”
“HOY!” shouted someone.
All turned, and flinched.
Walking through the tollgate were three human guards. Two had swords, and one carried a halberd. All the metal was rusted.
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Link to Orcish-English Dictionary
Wanna hear the music of NALA SAGA?
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