Sorcha wanted to go home.
She was tired. She was hungry. She was bloody well colder than a dead fish. She’d spent months with brainless thugs and murderous nutters. She’d lived in constant danger of being squashed, stabbed, cut, eaten, melted, and frozen solid since practically day one of arrival in the gods forsaken land of Weigrun. And for all the work and effort she’d put into the expedition, had she actually made any profit? Had she received even one little tittle of coin that she could use to buy herself a fucking goldenberry tart?
No.
She’d gotten nothing. Less than nothing. She’d lost money. Her paralysis wand, her prized possession, her most valuable single piece of equipment, was destroyed. Gone. Never mind all the other precious materials she had used up for the sake of the ingrates around her—actually, no, don’t never mind those. Those were worth a lot of fucking coin. But! Her paralysis wand had been worth more than all the rest put together and then doubled. She could have bought a gods damned house with all the coin those materials had cost her! Now it was gone, destroyed by the arrow of some horned bitch with perfect green eyes. Damnit. Who knew if she would ever make enough to buy those materials again?
Because it sure as sin didn’t look like she was going to be getting a damn acorn out of this doomed expedition!
“What’s your problem?” Jockel asked before letting out a wet belch.
Sorcha ignored the fat piece of lard. She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to talk to any of them. She regretted the day she’d met Stavros and the rest of his reprobates. She would be perfectly happy to never utter another word to any of them ever again. Maybe a few choice curses and insults, at the right time. Otherwise, though, silence was good.
“I asked what your problem was,” Jockel rumbled, his boot poking her in the side.
“Sod off,” Sorcha snapped. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Can’t say I care about your moods,” the bald bastard shrugged. “Stavros wants another patrol. Get your wand.”
“Fucking abyss,” Sorcha growled before sliding off the log she’d been resting on. “Again? I don’t have the magic to power that many spells so often.”
Jockel shrugged, uncaring like the lout that he was. He limped away without another word, drinking from his seemingly endless supply of cheap liquor. How the man had managed to bring so many bottles of the stuff with him to all of their bolt holes was beyond her.
As little interest as Sorcha had in helping Stavros anymore, she wasn’t going to argue or keep him waiting. As requested, she dutifully tromped over to where Stavros waited in the camp. Eike was with him, as was Rickets. The three were quietly discussing plans, one of his ragged maps draped over a flat rock.
“—hitting them now is too risky. They didn’t lose anyone in that fight against the Screamer. We keep heading west.”
“They have to be low on resources,” Eike hissed back at Stavros. “There’s no chance they killed that thing without expending the bulk of their magic reserves. We should strike them now, while they’re weakened!”
“I don’t have any traps set up,” Rickets mumbled, his lips bowed in a pout. “How are we supposed to be beat them without traps?”
“We don’t need your fucking traps!” Eike snapped, teeth glinting as she sneered maliciously at the half-elf. “We can slit throats just fine without traps!”
“Sorcha,” Stavros’ deep voice cut Eike’s sharp words off.
“Yeah,” she folded her arms, staring at the tall man and ignoring the two shit socks. “Jockel said you needed something?”
“Yes. Go cast your translucence spell on Mert and Olaf. I need them to scout the way ahead and make sure we don’t walk into a nest of demons.”
“We won’t need them to scout ahead if we—”
“Enough,” Stavros cut Eike off again. “We know where they are likely headed. We’ll settle with them there. Sorcha. Go.”
“I barely have any magic reserves left,” Sorcha sighed, her shoulders slumped. “If I cast on those two, I’ll be pretty much out. I need to sleep and recover my magic.”
“Fine,” Stavros waved his hand. “The sun will set in the next hour and we will not depart until the moon is high. That should give you four hours of rest.”
“Four hours…” Sorcha moaned. Seeing the look on Stavros’ face, however, she straightened up and nodded her head. “Fine. Just, don’t anyone bother me. I’ve got to make the most of that time.”
At Stavros’ nod, Sorcha left the trio and went to find Mert and Olaf. She walked quickly, moving as fast as she could without making it seem like she was in overmuch of a rush. After all, she needed to make the most of the time she’d been given.
As soon as she had found the two mutton heads, Sorcha unceremoniously cast her stealth spell on them before slipping away to crawl inside the small tent she had tucked between the larger tents of the rest of Stavros’ crew. Once inside, Sorcha rolled up her blanket and stuffed it inside her bedroll to make it look like she was huddled inside in case anyone came to check on her. The rest of her things she stuffed inside her pack before slinging it over her shoulder and casting another stealth spell, this time on herself.
Sorcha had plenty of magic reserves left. She hadn’t wasted as much in the fight a few days ago as she’d led Stavros to believe and she’d recovered the rest from what little sleep they’d managed to get over the past few days while on the road. Counting Mert and Olaf, that meant six of the crew were away from the camp. The rest were either eating, sleeping, or talking with Stavros. With no eyes on her and her magic mostly full, this was the best chance Sorcha was likely to get to escape.
As quietly as she could, Sorcha slipped out of her tent and headed for the exit. It sucked that she had to leave her tent behind, along with her bedroll and blanket, but she could make do without. It sucked even worse that she wasn’t getting her promised share of the profit, but she damn well wouldn’t be getting any coin if she was dead, either. A goblin had to know when to cut their losses.
No more fighting soldiers or mercenaries or giant bloody giant armored giant… giants! Stavros and the others were mad to even think about attacking those people again. It wasn’t worth it! If they were sensible, they’d just go collect their eleria and get the abyss out of the country. But no, Stavros wasn’t being sensible. None of them were. Thick headed morons.
So Sorcha was out, out like a candle in the wind. She was going back to Far Felsen where she would apply for refuge and get a boat back to civilization. Or maybe she’d just sneak on board a ship, get the fuck out of the demon-infested lands without saying a word to the local government. Didn’t matter. She just wasn’t going to risk dying for Stavros one minute longer.
The sun was close to setting as Sorcha snuck out of the camp. She wasn’t exactly the stealthiest person in the world, but the shadows were long and Ralf wasn’t exactly the best watchman in the world either. She kept to the trail they’d cut through the woods north of the main road, taking care to step in the tracks of the others to hide her smaller boot prints. Once she’d gone far enough to be outside of sight and hearing, Sorcha picked up her pace. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Stavros’ crew as possible before they realized that she was gone.
There was always the possibility that they might chase after her. She wasn’t exactly the most important member of the team, but her stealth spell was definitely crucial to their ability to avoid demons. Stavros would want to drag her back for that reason. Fuck, even if Stavros was willing to let her go, Eike might come after her just to kill her. The freaky bitch was certainly the type to gut someone for lesser reasons than desertion.
To be on the safe side, Sorcha doubled back a few times. She stuck to rocks wherever she could, avoided the main path, and changed directions at least twice. She had to make sure she wasn’t caught. If she was, she would be dead, either at the hands of her so-called allies or by the giants when the fighting started.
She was so focused on making sure that she wasn’t being followed that, after a while, Sorcha wasn’t entirely sure where she was. The sun had set and the cloudy night sky wasn’t making it easy to navigate. The mountains were north of her, that was easy enough to see, though. So long as she headed south, she was sure she would be able to get back to civilization. All Sorcha had to do was keep her stealth spell up and stay out of sight. Goblins weren’t the biggest or strongest people around, but they could see in near total dark, had great hearing, and most importantly, weren’t fucking idiots like humans and elves.
How many hours had it been? Two? Three? It was possible they might have noticed she was gone. That was fine, though. Sorcha had made sure her tracks were covered and she wasn’t going to stop any time soon. She would keep going through the whole night. She was tough. She could go for days without food or sleep if she needed to.
She was getting kind of thirsty, though.
Everything was quiet in the forest around her. There was barely any wind so the tall trees were silent. The bright moon occasionally peeked out from around the clouds moving in the night sky to bring dark shadows to life, but otherwise there was no movement. Resting for a few moments, Sorcha drank from her waterskin. As she put the cork back in, a faint trickling sound caught her attention. The sound of running water.
Fresh water was something she couldn’t live without, not for long, so Sorcha made the quick decision to head for the source of the sound. She’d have to take every chance she could to refill her waterskin while she could. Odds were strong that there would be times that she’d have to go without water for long periods, at least until she got back to civilization.
It took some time to find, but eventually Sorcha managed to track down the water source. Quietly pushing through a bunch of snow-covered bushes, she found a small creek feeding an idyllic-looking pond. It would have been a nice sight, if she had the time or inclination to admire such things, but Sorcha was on a tight schedule. She took a few steps forward, uncorking her waterskin, intent on refilling it. Just as she reached the water’s edge, she heard a quiet splash echo in the stillness of the night.
Sorcha froze. The clouds were overhead and it was dark, so if Eike or someone else had tracked her down, chances were good they hadn’t spotted her yet. Or maybe it was a demon? Did demons drink water? Sorcha was fairly confident they didn’t, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be a demon in the water. Very, very carefully, she started to back away, heading for the concealment of the bushes.
Another splash. Then another.
They were coming from a little further away, just out of sight. There was a bend in the pond, a few trees blocking the view. She could hear the sounds coming from over there, now. She wasn’t sure what the splashing was, but it didn’t sound like an animal drinking. No voices, though.
Had to be a demon. What else could it be? Best to just slip away and keep moving.
Damnit.
Ever so slowly, Sorcha quietly crept around the edge of the pond. She had to see what was making the noise. Maybe Jockel had been sent to find her and was drowning in the pond? She wouldn’t want to miss out on that sight. Or if it was in fact a demon, she wanted to know what kind. If it was some weak little thing, she might kill it just to make sure it didn’t follow her. One less demon in the world and all that.
Just as Sorcha snuck around the edge of the pond, reaching the point where she could see the other section, the moon came out from behind the clouds again, lighting up the water and the three figures within it. The three goddesses…
Goddesses. They had to be. Sorcha had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful before in her life. The three stood half submerged in the water, their naked bodies revealed from the waist up. Oh, and what bodies they had. Slim, toned bodies with almost unnaturally perfect proportions. Their skin, as white as the untouched snow still blanketing the trees, glowed in the moonlight. The shine was surreal, mesmerizing. Their faces, their lips, their noses, they were perfect. It was as though someone had carved the idealized vision of a woman from marble in tribute to Lyssandria herself. In all her life, no one could compare. Not even close.
Sorcha felt her heart beat fast as one of the goddesses lifted her cupped hands over her head, water pouring down over her snow-white hair. She couldn’t help but lick her lips as she watched the water flow down the side of her neck, pass over her collar bone, then drip down across the most gorgeous breasts she’d ever witnessed. Her mouth went dry as she watched a single bead of water linger, then teasingly slide off the very tip of perfect stiff nipple. In that moment, Sorcha would have traded every wand she owned to be that drop of water.
As the water finished pouring out of her hands, the goddess wiped her face clean. Her eyes opened, the light of the moon catching in their violet depths. They were stunning. They were otherworldly. They were captivating. They were… looking right at her, weren’t they?
Sorcha stared into those eyes, her body as still as stone while her thoughts raced. Had she been seen? What would happen if she had been? Would it be so bad to be spotted by one of these goddesses? Were they getting closer to her?
Yes, yes they were definitely getting closer. All three moved as one, a synchronized walk that made them seem even more otherworldly. They pushed through the water on a direct course for Sorcha, three sets of eyes absolutely locked onto her. They were moving a lot faster than she would have thought, too. Their gorgeous forms were somehow so close yet still many feet away. They loomed over Sorcha, far taller than she had first realized. Taller than any human or elf or orc. They towered above her. Almost like they were…
“Giants…” Sorcha squeaked, the realization causing her brain to briefly snap like a twig that had been bent too far.
In the next moment Sorcha tried to run. She turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her, sprinting with all the speed that came from years of training and forty levels of experience. She ran like the bloody wind.
Or, at least, she tried to. Before she’d gotten maybe four steps, one very, very large hand clapped around the back of her neck and jerked her backwards and into the air. In the next moment two more hands were on her, holding onto her arms with such strength that it felt like stone statues had materialized around her flesh. There wasn’t even a mote of a possibility that she could pull free to get at one of her wands.
Sorcha stared around wild-eyed, her heart beating so fast in her chest she felt like it was going to pop out. Three beautiful, stunning, perfect faces, each one three times the size of her own, looked at her with cold expressions that made her feel smaller than a flea. In that moment, Sorcha damn near pissed her pants.
But if she was about to be torn limb from limb by three of the most beautiful creatures she’d ever seen, she’d like to die with at least a smidge of dignity.
“So.”
Sorcha jumped, her body twitching in the steel grasp of the giants, when the face on the left spoke in an all too familiar voice. A voice that was deep and smooth and sexy and bloody terrifying.
“You’re a goblin, huh?”
Sorcha’s eyes darted to the one on the right. Her mouth opened, but nothing but a silent squeak came out in response.
“Well, let’s save the introductions for now,” the one in the middle said, drawing Sorcha’s eyes back to her. “We’re going to have a long chat, I think. But first, we’re going to get some pants on.”
Sorcha’s eyes couldn’t help it. They were standing on the shore, now. Out of water. Exposed.
She looked down.
She damn well almost did pee herself at the sight.
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