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THE VILLAGE BELL RANG loudly as Spicy and Rime descended the last leg of the trail down from the upper ridge. The bay and giant oak trees didn’t quite block out the afternoon sun, and they ran through patches of shade and light, unstrung bows in hand. The boys emerged among the highest paddies, which had been planted the prior spring with rice. Scurrying along the edges, they were able to look down at the distant rooftops and trees but saw nothing amiss.
“The hunters must be back!” Rime shouted, letting out a whup. He ran faster.
Spicy hurried to catch up. “Wait, Rime!”
Other sounds carried in the air. Animal sounds. Screams. Spicy slowed even as Rime was passing the mill. The shouts weren’t of joy or song but cries of terror. A figure appeared, riding high on a horse.
It was a human
The man wore dark armor with a metal helmet that concealed his face. He was holding a sword, raised high. The black animal under him made him look like a giant. He rode out from between a pair of houses, wheeled about, and spurred his animal forward and vanished.
“Rime?” Spicy whispered, but his friend was nowhere in sight.
He ran to the base of the giant oak near the wall and hugged the trunk. Someone was coming, running his way. One of the pestle women, a grandmother named Mala, a teacher of numbers with a dozen studs in her ear, and one of the few who knew how to make the wine the village traded.
An arrow shot out and struck her in the back. She fell to the dirt and began crawling. A human woman with tied-back white hair came stalking out towards her. She fired her longbow again, and the arrow thumped into Mala. Mala groaned, slowed, but continued to claw her way across the dirt straight towards Spicy. The human stepped over her and drew a curved blade.
Spicy pressed his face against the bark and closed his eyes. The blade made a wet sound, not unlike that of a deer being carved. Mala gurgled and then fell silent. Spicy tried not to breathe. A rustling followed. The human woman was doing something with Mala.
“Please, please, please,” Spicy whispered. His lips quavered uncontrollably. He bit down on the inside of his cheeks and forced himself to be silent.
Much of the wall was in shadow. If he could sneak there he could climb it unseen. But there were so many dry leaves underfoot. He dared edge his face around the side of the tree. The woman was going through Mala’s pockets. Then she began plucking the gold studs from her ear.
He took a careful step back and turned. Placing one foot at a time, he headed for the wall.
Something smacked into him and knocked him down into the dirt. An arrow had pierced his quiver, and the broadhead steel tip was poking at his side.
He discarded his bow, and as he pulled the quiver off a second arrow struck his leather satchel. The arrowhead just missed his eye. He dropped the quiver and scrambled up. The wall was in his way. The archer would fire a third time and wouldn’t miss. He jumped and began scaling the wall, his fingers and toes gripping the hard mortar.
The woman was cursing.
He made it to the top and turned for a moment to see she was freeing an arrow from Mala’s body. She had run out of arrows. In quick succession, she set the arrow, raised the bow, and fired. Spicy hit the ground as the missile whizzed past him. He then scrambled away.
But where to go?
Already he felt the pinch in his lungs as he ran out of breath. The mill and silos were a short run uphill. He could flee there and then into the paddy fields and the trees just beyond. Then he saw figures moving between the silos. Too tall for goblins. More humans, and they were carrying spears. Sage Somni’s home was the closest.
Spicy kept his head down and trotted for cover. He clung to a post beneath the house and listened. The bell in the center of the village had stopped tolling. There were more screams. Tears flowed down his face.
None of it was making sense.
He heard a human shout from the opposite side of the house. There was no place to hide, so Spicy climbed the steps. Passing under the glyph, he opened the front door.
Sage Somni’s home was as he had left it the day before. Spicy ran to the rear library, which was more cluttered than the front. The pack was gone. It meant Somni had indeed left the village the night before. A drop-leaf table was covered with piles of books and there were even more stacks underneath. Spicy pulled a stack out and climbed under the table. He drew his knees up and waited.
Moments later, hard footsteps came up the stairs.
Two men were inside and walking his direction. They wore solid boots and one held a long sword. Spicy could see its tip, which was almost poking the rug. After searching the bedroom and closets they both paused near Spicy’s table.
“This must be his place,” one of the men said.
The human spoke in a clipped accent but was understandable. Spicy had never heard a human speak, except for a lone traveling merchant who had visited the village a handful of times. As far as he knew, besides a few traders, no humans came to Athra, and he’d never discovered why.
The second man spoke as if his mouth were stuffed with cloth. “Then we better pocket anything good before Lord gets here.”
They began rifling through the bookcases. Books began to pile up on the floor. Boxes of writing implements spilled and ceramic knick-knacks shattered. Spicy’s breath caught.
“Check this out,” the first man said.
The second grunted. “Worthless.”
Another crash. The first man let out a guffaw.
From outside came the grunt and whine of a horse. A man with a deep voice barked a question and a woman answered. She sounded like the archer. Soon two more people were coming up the stairs.
Spicy pressed his face against his knees and began silently begging any god who would listen.
“You two, out,” came the order.
“Lord, we found it,” one of the men said. “Just like you said. This is the most writing I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s because you were raised in a pigsty. Now leave and touch nothing.”
Footsteps descended the stairs as the first two intruders left.
“Idiots,” Lord said.
“Lord, you didn’t bring them on for their brains,” the woman said.
“Look at all this knowledge. And they’d sack it for trinkets.”
The woman crouched near the table. A floorboard underneath her creaked. Spicy continued to hold his breath but chanced to open his eyes.
She was examining a broken glyph stamp. “I don’t know, Lord, but there might be more here than trinkets. Lots of this might be worth some real gold. Just their jewelry alone might make this worth it.”
“That’s not what we’re here for, Alma.”
“It’s what pays the bills.”
Lord was taking books from a bookcase and leafing through them. Meanwhile Alma rose and went to the back of Sage Somni’s home.
“These little barbarians have plumbing!” she called.
Lord muttered something and began pulling books more quickly from the shelves. He dropped them into a haphazard pile at his feet. The man’s back was turned. He was tall and broad shouldered and wore a dark cape and polished leather spaulders. He settled on one book and began muttering softly as he read.
Alma was busy ransacking Somni’s bedroom.
The way to the front door was open. Spicy began unfolding himself from underneath the table. He held his breath and then crawled, careful to place each hand and knee down softly.
“Too many of these are in goblin script!” Lord said and flung the book down.
A floorboard beneath Spicy creaked. Lord turned and looked directly at him.
Spicy scrambled to his feet and raced for the door. His legs tingled and a sharp cramp seized his left calf. But he made it to the doorway and bolted through it even as the man charged after him. Spicy dropped down through the banister to the ground below.
Lord was right behind him. He vaulted the rail, almost landing on top of Spicy.
The goblin dove aside as the big man grabbed for him. Spicy scrambled to a woodpile, climbed on top of it, and was about to leap away when a piece of firewood struck him across the back of the head.
He dropped to the ground and his world started spinning. His arms and legs disobeyed as he struggled to rise. A hand seized him by the neck and hauled him up into the air. Spicy frantically kicked and flailed.
Lord slapped him. “That’s enough out of you.”
Spicy was trembling and began to whimper uncontrollably. Lord struck him again.
“Not another sound.”
He was carried up past Lord’s monster-sized horse. The animal snorted. It took all of Spicy’s strength not to scream in fear. He had never seen such a large animal. From the village echoed a wailing. Along with it came the laughter of men, almost a barking sound, cruel and doglike.
Alma was at the front door. She had to crouch ever so slightly under the lintel. She wore a grin. “And where was this one hiding?”
Lord squeezed past her. His head brushed the ceiling. “Under a table among the books. See if anyone else is here.”
Obediently Alma made a search of the sage’s home. Lord took the blackout curtains down off the window and removed a cord that held them up. He used it to bind Spicy’s arms.
Spicy winced as the bindings were cinched tight. “What do you people want?”
Lord ignored him. Spicy was shoved against a wall. Lord shot him a warning finger before returning to the books. One volume at a time, he continued to search.
More horses rode up. Men were shouting. Above the voices came the cries of a human in pain. Someone just outside was in agony. For a moment Lord tried to ignore it, and then he set down a particularly large tome and headed for the door.
Alma emerged from the bedroom. She was shoving something into her pocket. As she walked past Spicy she casually cuffed him. He bounced against the wall and fell to the floor. His tied arms were going numb. His shoulders ached. He struggled to roll to his side but was wedged against a bookcase.
Alma leaned out the window and sneered. “Blades. You moron.”
The moans of pain from outside grew quiet. “One of them shot me!”
“You were careless,” Lord said.
“He got lucky,” the wounded man said. “So what are we waiting for, Lord? Let’s burn this place.”
“Patience, Blades. We have work to do. Wait for Medico.”
Blades sounded desperate. “Why isn’t he here?”
“You know why. There are men being tended to with worse injuries. And yours is minor in comparison. Now quit whining and try to be an inspiration to the others by suffering in silence.”
“But I have an arrow in me!”
“And I have work to do.”
Blades was panting hard. “Is this it? Was their lorekeeper there? Did you find their treasure?”
“Not yet. The search continues. But don’t worry. We’ll take this village apart piece by piece and learn its secrets.”
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