Book: 4

  Chapter 19

  Deep Cuts

  The warm, smooth shaft of the weapon rested securely in her hands, an old friend, after her years in Adventure training at the orphanage. Her time in Healer’s temple felt like a distant dream… One she would prefer to forget, by and large. Lindsey struck from behind Perry’s shield side, sliding a foot of keen edged steel into the little monster’s guts, spilling a gush of blood to the dry, dusty tunnel. She gave the weapon a twist and tug, before he could grip the shaft of her spear and drag it from her grasp.

  Gobbs were notorious for that one, which was why she had a backup shortsword at her hip, the last foot of each weapon was greased with monster lard and her armor’s storage enchantment held a number of spares.

  Larry pushed forward on the left, his short handaxe and round shield flashing as he drove a small knot of spear wielding gobbs back from Perry’s exposed flank.

  Barry came in hard from her right, crashing down on two of the short, green terrors before they could lunge from hiding behind a fallen stalagmite.

  “Wheel right and draw them back into the open… Lindsey, get ready.” Harry ordered calmly, creating an opening in the formation that the little creeps couldn’t resist.

  From the center of the formation, Lindsey watched with interest, as her new team swiftly and efficiently dispatched the last dozen ravenous monsters in the room. Looting took only a few minutes, as they swiftly collected the paltry ‘treasures’. A few rusty daggers and simple clubs, stone tipped spears and crude shortbows made up the arms. A few uncut gemstones turned up here and there, along with the occasional shiny crystal or gold nugget. Mostly, it was the dull red ‘magic stones’ each goblin dropped as the body vanished, that made up the bulk of their take.

  The team had completely explored the first level of the mine complex, stomping out several small warbands of savage goblin men in the process. So far it’d been relatively smooth sailing… That idle thought brought Amy to mind, drawing a fond smile across the pretty young Adventurer’s lips, behind her protective mask and vizor.

  “Ghnash said there wouldn’t be many wandering patrols on level one…” Gary murmured quietly, disrupting her woolgathering as they slipped through the dim, silent halls. His yellow armored form led the way into a steeply sloped passage down; moving with care among fallen stones and the wreckage of a number of ore carts, rusted and crushed beyond usefulness.

  “Trap.” He whispered softly a moment later. “It’s Larry’s turn to disarm one, right?”

  Larry’s distinctive, amber armor moved to the front, passing quietly for a large man in heavy plate armor. A few scuffs and dings marred his sculpted wooden carapace; most of the boys bore a minor scuff or bruise here and there but so far none had required any treatment.

  The armor they wore allowed such freedom of movement it seemed almost impossible, while turning most blows aside harmlessly. Her own gear was of the same sort, a wonder of the tailor’s and armorer’s arts, even without the subtle enchantments woven and engraved throughout the entire rig.

  Lindsey stretched and flexed a few times, while Larry worked on whatever nasty surprise the ancient dwarves had left behind… or something. The devices of mechanical and magical craft weren’t very well hidden or particularly deadly; for wary and well trained Adventurers. Most could be easily spotted by the goblin bones scattered around the trap, or a lack of rubbish and loose gravel could indicate a pitfall or trapdoor. This one was a classic

  ‘Storm of Darts’ number; a hidden switch under a flagstone would silently trigger a barrage of small iron needles from hidden nozzles in the ceiling. It was a nasty one, raining formerly envenomed, now just rusty and pointy projectiles down the victim’s collar without warning.

  A soft, stony grating sound and a few soft clanks from the stonework above their heads signaled the end of the dangerous device, as Larry rose and returned to the rearguard position.

  A few hundred yards down that long, dim tunnel and the passage ended at two massive stone doors, carved in the likeness of a scowling dwarven face, glaring at the interlopers from ancient times. The portals sagged slightly on their rusty iron hinges, one of the panels gaped halfway open, offering a dark void to the small band of Adventurers.

  /

  The goblin king dragged his divine captive a few short steps between the orchard rows, until they emerged onto a low, marshy region of chilly pine forest. In moments warm springtime vanished; replaced by a bitter, deep winter that felt even more brittle and harsh than the icy weeds and puddles beneath their feet.

  “Baba, I’ve brought company!” Ghnash called into the woods. His voice echoed and rebounded from the frozen ponds and still woodlands in odd and creepy ways, joined by a sleepy chorus of bullfrogs, toads and night creatures, croaking, hooting and belching in the half-lit forest.

  From his robe, the goblin produced a small, softly glowing orb of something indescribably vast and ancient… and as utterly filled with potential as a newborn babe’s first cry.

  “What is that?” The deity asked, his steps halted so suddenly he almost fell over in the frosty mire at first sight of the thing.

  “This? He’s Ticklefoot, the ghost of a troll who stumbled into an odd form of immortality by accident. He’s been haunting my brother for a while now, so it’s time we made something of him, yes?” The king whispered fondly over his handful of gleaming potential.

  “I see you, king Ghnash.” Hunched almost double, yet still improbably tall, the crone drifted silently from the woods. Her ragged robes raised not a whisper as she passed, nor did her trailing garments snag on the thorns and briars all around the divine Witch’s path. “Your guests are both welcome in my domain… for the moment. I see you have brought a tasty gift for your hostess.” The ancient’s voice rattled and creaked like the pine barrens in a wind-storm, cold and bitter like a northern gale in the darkened forest, while her eyes remained fixed on the tiny-huge, luminous, not-quite-thing in the goblin’s hand.

  “This is not for you, elder.” Ghnash murmured softly, closing his claws around the soul in his grasp in a gentle grip. “We have an arrangement already, you and I. Ticklefoot is no part of our bargain, beyond what he will contribute to our un-named guest.”

  “You and your brothers…. Always so scrupulous about such matters.” Her complaint felt hollow and feeble, made for form’s sake, not with any hope of success. “Very well. Let us do what must be done, then.”

  Slowly, the crone’s hidden eyes turned to the divine standing behind the king, staring at the witch with surprise and recognition. “Yes, it is I… but who have you become?” She asked in the sounds of an ice-storm roaring across the barren moors.

  “I… I don’t know who I am, any more.” He answered brusquely, realizing he’d spoken the truth as the words left his mouth.

  “Who you were couldn’t survive what you’d done… not just to me and my brothers but to your own faithful followers for so long. Untold bloodshed and grief over centuries, all for a plot that was ultimately going to destroy you in the end.” Ghnash sighed at the divine standing in the muck and trembling in the face of his own monumental failings.

  “You got played, fucked over and duped, then you double and tripple downed on stupid, before getting your ass handed to you by a mortal. A mortal you picked the fight with in the first place!” The king chuckled wryly at the god and smiled up at him, somehow seeming to be the bigger man, by a large margin.

  “Is that why you brought me here?” The god asked sullenly, sounding like a child in need of a nap, rather than a fearsome, towering war-god. “To shame me in front of her? That my beloved Dana might suffer more, at hearing how much farther I’ve fallen?”

  “Dude… sack up! You’re supposed to be this paragon of the manly virtues, guardian of the hearth, home and society; but instead you went all douche-bro-gym-rat-incel. Like, how deep does that delusion go? Did you think the goddess of Healing was gonna wake up some bright morning and say to herself… ‘Gee, maybe all that bloodshed, raping, pillaging and chaos is pretty awesome after all?’ Get real, bro.”

  “Then why am I here?” He demanded archly, glaring at the witch and goblin with unconcealed anger and fear in his eyes.

  “You are here to learn… you must learn things that king Ghnash cannot teach you, before you may join his people as a member of their pantheon.” Baba-Yaga answered coldly, her unseen eyes boring into the god’s from within her cowl. “Ghnash is a man, so cannot teach you of women’s things… He is also not truly a goblin, so cannot teach you goblin things.” The witch turned and began walking back into the trees, revealing a dry, clear path behind her that had been invisible before. “Follow me, males; we have work to do, things to learn and a bargain to complete.”

  In a few minutes the motley group emerged in a warm, pleasant clearing, occupied by a monstrous chicken… or a house possessed by a poultry demon. The creature scratched and pecked, trailing smoke from its chimney and wandering the open space, snatching up the occasional giant worm or insect dislodged from the dark soil of the eternally fertile meadow. Her high, peaked roof and brightly lit windows offered welcome and warmth in the dismal forest, just as the green meadow provided the warmth of early spring and soft, green grasses, in the midst of winter’s chill. The witch’s lips spun out a piercing whistle that brought the hut scrambling over to crouch before her, offering the steps up to a small porch. “Wait there for a moment, boys. I’ll be right back.” She muttered as he vanished into the hut.

  “Why did you bring me here, Ghnash?” The god muttered crossly at his diminutive captor. “She is one of Dana’s divine servants… how can she be here, bonded to you?”

  “Baba? She and I go way back… farther than even she knows.” The king sighed softly.

  “I was a crippled, homeless and destitute, undead child, sitting in a library, reading slavic folk tales and waiting for a storm to pass… I read an old story about her, saw an old etching of her hut and I wondered, what if I had a home… one that could follow me around? That sparked something in me that day, a hunger that kept me alive, even though I was already dead.” He smiled sadly up at the giant deity in his thrall and patted the being’s huge hand gently. “I have a debt to her and you have debts to me; she owes me some favors and I owe you a chance at becoming someone worth knowing. It’s funny how things work out, sometimes.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  While Ghnash rambled on in the witch’s front yard, Baba-Yaga emerged from her hut with a small mortar and pestle along with a few other things, which she set up on a stone table that appeared while no one was looking. “Bring me that little soul, king Ghnash… I would be done sooner, rather than later.”

  “As promised, one undying soul, tainted with unlife, cleansed and blessed by the god of Death.” Ghnash whispered soberly.

  With a flick of her taloned finger, a small fire erupted beneath a cauldron and the stone pestle began circling with a soft rasping sound, revolving inside the granite bowl of her stone mortar, awaiting some grist to grind. Reverently and with a solemn kind of dignity, the goblin strode over to the witch’s table and gently poured his handful of Ticklefoot into the mortar.

  On and on the pestle orbited inside its bowl, pressing down with a mass and weight that had little to do with the size of the tool. For a few long moments they watched, all three mesmerized by the process. The oddly colorful and colorless semi substantial goo swirled and spun in the bowl, climbing up the pestle as it turned and rolled around, refining and separating the substance. As the stuff climbed the granite pestle it became less substantial, clear and more liquid, casting a light that was more pure and less complicated than before. As they watched in silence, a globe of perfectly clear, colorless light collected at the end of the pestle, trembling like dew on a spider’s web at dawn, until the witch reached out her taloned hand and plucked the silvery sphere.

  “An unblemished soul, cleansed of all taints and blessed by my hand, Ghnash Whar’rgh, king of the goblins.” She intoned somberly, offering the shining orb to the green man without further words.

  “As promised, Baba-Yaga, thank you. In addition to our bargain, I offer you half of what Ticklefoot left behind; a gift from my people to you. Take it with my thanks.” Ghnash whispered softly, gazing down at the glowing substance remaining in the mortar.

  “A gift?” She asked sharply, her eyes gleaming within her hood’s shadows. “What conditions? What price for such a gift?”

  “None. I will complete our bargain as promised, never fear. The king must ever honor his word and bond.” Ghnash answered calmly. “Please, decant your portion… and his.”

  At that the witch balked, her gaze locking onto the king’s once more. “For him? You will not imbibe?” She asked, her voice suddenly that of a very old woman, creaky and soft, but still strong. “Do you know what you are giving up? Immortality? You could become a demigod… perhaps more.”

  “For him. I am a king, not a god.” Ghnash answered firmly. “I’ve had a taste of immortality and it’s not to my liking.” At that, her mortar lifted and a thin stream of luminous liquid trickled out in a gleaming thread of every color that ever was, slowly filling a pair of small clay cups with something indefinable.

  All eyes were fixed on the not quite liquid in the cup, as the barren woods became even more still, as everything held its collective breath, even the trees, water and stones… Except the hut, it began chasing a beetle across the yard, clucking mindlessly. “Drink, Baba.” The king whispered hoarsely. “You too, pal… Before I give in to the temptation.”

  In silence, the witch and the nameless god raised their tiny clay cups and drank, sighs of absolute bliss crossing their lips, moments after the substance did.

  The un-named god sat down heavily on the grass, when the stuff landed in his belly… which was odd, since the divine neither ate nor drank and had no guts to fill with liquid fire, no sense of taste to delight with the complex flavors of a short, mortal life, however savage and brutish. He lay back, staring at the vast sky of endless stars that whirled overhead and wondered, for the first time in his eternal existence, just how big the universe might be.

  “What is this?” He asked the endless sky above.

  “That is the mortal concept of Wonder.” Ghnash answered gently. “You have a lot to think over, pal. Just lay there and be, for a while.”

  “Are you satisfied with my craft, king of the goblins?” Baba-Yaga asked thickly from her own seat on the lawn, nearby. Her voice, once so vast and all pervasive, had become something smaller, restrained and less ominous.

  “I am. Shall we go inside and finish our dealings?” He asked calmly. “Our friend needs some quiet time to think.”

  The witch rose and summoned her hut over with a gesture, before both figures vanished inside, leaving the former god of War to consider his own next steps in silence, under the stars.

  /

  The hut door closed softly behind the witch, as I removed my sandals and stepped inside. Thick rugs coated the floor, tapestries, shelves of books, obscure objects and bizarre skulls covered every wall, shelf and surface in the place in a way that felt cozy, like a well decorated animal nest, rather than a display for company.

  “Welcome, king Ghnash.” The witch spoke softly behind me, her voice husky and low. “I am ready to complete our Contract, if you are prepared.”

  “I am… if you are.” I answered, as I stepped closer to the towering figure draped in loose, tattered rags. “But call me Ghnash… Babs.” I reached out and hooked my talons in her ragged shawl, dragging her close enough that our pointed noses crossed like a pair of duelists measuring each-other up, before the first cut. She gasped with startlement, dismay and pleasure, when my claw caressed the soft, wrinkled cheek hidden in her hood, tracing her long jawline to her pointed chin.

  “Did you think we would seal our bond with a handshake?” I asked in her ear, deliberately exhaling my breath into her hood and across her throat and shoulder, following the trail blazed by my wandering hands. “Your safeword is ‘persimmon’ and I won’t stop til you say it twice, Babs.”

  “So you will stop, if I say persimmon?” She rasped, as my lips and teeth grazed her throat, deep inside the confines of her hood. “Why twice?” She gasped, when my claw gently cupped her flat, pendulous breast, somewhere in the folds of her garments.

  “Just in case you said it once by accident, lover.” I whispered across her lips, mine only a heartbeat away.

  Her long, bony arms enfolded me, as her lips crashed down on mine with a ravenous hunger that took our mingled breath away for a few long moments of unthinking silence and a warm perfect embrace. When her tongue touched my lips I accepted her, only to be hammered in the face with a small measure of the contents of her cup, concealed in her mouth and now in mine.

  She gripped me fiercely, pressing our lips together and sharing her quaff of soul stuff with me, whether I wanted it or not. Our teeth met with a harsh clack when I struggled briefly, to no avail. The stuff was already gone, absorbed into me and her… and that other guy.

  “I suspected you had a trick in mind, Ghnash.” Babs purred, when our lips parted at last. “You sought to create a bond between that god and me, through your gift of soul essence… I found that pairing distasteful, so I cheated, just a little. Now you and I will become so much closer than you expected!” She cackled a little and pressed me back from her a few inches, since I was lost, face first in her robes, my hand still cupping her breast, instinctively. “You thought I’d shy away, did you? Foolish man! I’m the crone of the woods; you are not the first man to try and deceive me with a kiss.”

  I lost myself in my anger and the lingering taste of what she’d done, as I felt a primitive, angry emotion welling up deep inside me. “Babs, I never planned to fix you up with him, or to deceive you. I did give you a safe-word, though…” The eternal crone squeaked in surprise and a little fear, when my other hand found her ass-cheek in her flowing, ragged garments and gave a gentle but firm squeeze that quickly became an almost uncomfortable, commanding grip and spoke one more word.

  “Closer.” It was not a suggestion or request.

  /

  Things get a little spicy ahead, so join us in the next chapter, if you're sensitive.

  **********

  I dragged her down to meet my lips again, enfolding my face in her hood and meeting her eyes as my tongue invaded her mouth, among her sharp, jagged teeth. Her face was not great by human standards, but I’m not a human so I kissed and licked her long, slightly hooked nose and lean, pointed jaw with genuine hunger and pleasure. The dark, feral eyes glinting under her shaggy, silvery, gray bangs glared at me with fear, anger and something else… something I liked.

  “Stop… what are you doing?” Baba-Yaga demanded, her voice harsh with something new and desperate, as the ravenous, lustful goblin man tore her robes away with his keen talons.

  My claws caressed her bare, pale skin, running gently over her protruding ribs and over her flattened, empty breasts with a gentle, but still threatening touch.

  Stripped bare to the waist, she writhed in my grip, struggling not to escape, but to avoid my gaze. It was a challenge, but I finally got my first real look at her soft, smooth and pale skin. I’d left thin lines of pink, almost invisible scratches wherever my talon-tips touched her bare, porcelain flesh, drawing gasps and whimpers from the much larger being in my grasp.

  I shrugged away my robe and stretched my bare body against her, entwining my toe-talons in her skirts and pressing our torsos together, sharing our warmth in the slightly chilly hut.

  My claws and fingertips ran over her back and down to the ties of her skirts, snipping those knotted cords and letting her last garment fall away. My teeth found her throat once more while her long, slim arms wrapped around me, pulling my body even closer, pressing our skin together. I lay the skeletal giantess back on the rugs, looming over her as much as a four foot goblin can, when facing an eight foot divine witch. My claws rested on her boney hips as she lay beneath me, gasping and clutching her arms close to cover her breasts.

  Slowly, I reached down and grasped each of her wrists, and pulled her obscuring arms away, so I could enjoy her fully. She was so skinny, beyond lean, almost skeletal, but life and vigor throbbed beneath her pale, smooth skin; a primal and instinctive source of power that we both felt in that moment. Her shame and embarrassment slowly faded under my unjudgemental gaze, my eyes roving over her body and drinking her in with real pleasure.

  A soft and almost plaintive whimper rose from my prisoner when, with a swift pivot of my hips, I freed Ghnash junior to flop down on her flat, wrinkled belly. My balls rested comfortably between her thighs, while the great, knobbed head of mighty Ghnash the younger reached beyond where a mortal woman would have a navel. Babs had a sweet, cute little dimple there, just a tiny, yummy divot, begging to be kissed.

  She squeaked with surprise when I followed that urge, still holding her firmly and enjoying my advantage to the fullest. I bent and pushed my good buddy aside for a moment, while my tongue explored that shallow fold in her smooth belly and she writhed beneath me helplessly.

  My lips drifted lower and lower, until my heated breath fogged her warm, hairless mound as she gasped and struggled in my grasp… She didn’t struggle too hard, or very convincingly though.

  I gave her a slow long lick from beyond where a mortal woman’s pucker should have been, all the way back to her not exactly navel, with a long layover in the sweet fold of her moist, dark secrets. She gasped again, when I sat up and my member landed back on her belly, scant inches from her squirming entrance.

  “No! You can’t…” She gasped weakly in my arms, as I aligned myself and nudged her where no one had dared approach her before.

  “Say it then, Babs.” I whispered slowly and carefully. “I’m a Goblin, but I’m first a man… But I’m only a man.”

  “Per… Per…!” She moaned and sighed as I slowly began pressing against her, gently parting her outer lips and spreading her open. “Perverted goblin! How dare you violate me?!” She gasped, while her legs wrapped around me from behind and dragged me into her.

  Her dark eyes widened in surprise, as I went along with her, burying me in her to the root in one smooth thrust that bounced my balls against her bottom with a pronounced and wet slapping sound…

  For the first time I was sheathed to the hilt in a warm wet and welcoming place, with her ragged, desperate breaths gasping in my hair and her talons digging into my shoulders, demanding more. We writhed and pawed at each other, joined and bound in a union that neither one of us had truly experienced before.

  “Oh, no… more… No…!” She sobbed and wheezed as I began to slide out of her, before plunging back in with a savage thrust that shook her thin hips like a battering ram. “Stop you beast!” She screamed under me, pushing against my chest with her palms and dragging me back inside her with two unrelenting heels dug into my ass-crack.

  I gave her boob a sharp bite, right on her long, dark nipple; then sucked her breast into my mouth in a slobbery and ravenous kiss. When she moaned with pleasure and held my head to her thin bosoms, I shoved her away and pushed her down, relishing her resistance and struggles, still skewered on my girth like a butterfly to a board, crying out for help with one breath and kissing me ravenously a moment later. Her flat belly bulged around my cock, cruelly rammed inside her as she squirmed with pleasure and begged me for all kinds of things from mercy to more.

  She kept begging me to stop, screaming and writhing until I filled her mouth with my cock, plunging down her throat mercilessly. She gulped the last dribble of me down and fell back, gasping and choking, her face streaked with snot and tears.

  Babs crawled to her hands and knees, struggling to escape the tangled and rumpled rugs and furs on the floor. That proved difficult, with my hands knotted in her hair and my goblinhood probing for her dripping-wet, inflamed entrance. She wailed and cried, tried to wriggle free, then began bucking her hips to meet me, while cursing me for the vile act I was so gleefully committing on her sacred loins. I smiled down on her skinny backside and thrust a little harder, just to show how much I appreciated her.

  When a little pink, puckered flower bloomed between her butt-cheeks, I decided that was just for me, despite her protests and vigorous denials… If a butthole appears where none was before, that’s as good as an invitation!

  I kissed that pretty pink flower and slipped my tongue inside, drawing a wail of outrage and terror from Babs that I just couldn’t resist. She tasted of fresh, creamy fuyu persimmon and just a little tanninc, like summertime.

  The scream of agony, pleasure, fear, lust and passion that rose from the chicken legged hut in the land of dreams shook a few distant stars and made the divines gathered at the far-off inn, giggle and gossip in childish glee.

  ******

  /