Chapter 8 - Part 6

Was he in the wrong place, heading for a watery death? Dare he go back to the cistern to draw more breath, and face dozens of angry goblins looking for the one who had insulted them?

He had little choice. Bracing himself, he shoved hard at the grate. At first it held, but he pressed again, bubbles escaping from his mouth. The old grate’s pins stretched, and then broke. It fell through the water, and he shot forward, finding his way.

The noise pulled at him. He kicked upwards as he felt the well rise up from the pipe, seeing the lights and hearing if dully the cries and smash of metal and bone.

Air wrapped around his head, and it was only by sheer force of will that he did not gasp loudly enough to be heard despite the raging battle. Sounds of punches, kicks, screams, and death filled his ears, along with the smell of blood and hate that the half-orc was thoroughly sick of.

Delegado raised himself up to peer over the edge of the well guard. The dwarf and the gnome lay dead, along with one of the two brothers. The warforged, the other brother, and the halfling woman were fighting the goblin horde, holding back the surging line with punches and kicks, dodging spears, clubs, and knives. Xavier stood behind them, firing crossbow bolts into the milling crowd. Delegado could easily see about twenty dead goblins, most of whom had their necks snapped. The warforged that they called Orphan – And I thought ‘Equilibrium’ was a dumb name – was snatching the filthy little scroungers up and easily cracking their neck vertebrae with his wrestling moves.

Behind Delegado was row upon row of empty, dusty shelves, with the occasional wine bottle or old box hanging about. The entranceway was the choke point, not back where the monks may have food and drink stored. And maybe some fine possessions that rightfully belonged to a certain bounty hunter from House Tharashk.

Delegado glanced forward again to make sure that Visha and her three remaining companions were too busy to notice him. It suddenly came to him as he watched the halfling woman chop a goblin in the throat that he knew her from somewhere. House Cannith had put a huge price on her head, and had come to Tharashk for help in finding her. The Triumvirate of House elders had turned the contract down without comment, something that a handful of those in know – a handful that including Delegado – had wondered about. It was very rare that the Dragonmarked Houses turned down contracts from one another, even over a matter of rivalry.

He shook his head at himself, irritated with his woolgathering. Everything was irrelevant except getting his gear and capturing Xavier. He silently stepped out of the well and moved back between the shelving units. Only one goblin saw him in the entire crowd, and the knife that it threw came nowhere near him.

He quickly found the cleared area that held the property of the monks. It seemed half of it was books and tied scrolls, rather than food. His own things were collected in a pile. He put on his ring first, then his boots. His swordbelt and blade followed, as did his papers and money. His daggers and all of his potions and alchemical devices were missing, no doubt used on the goblins, but his bow and arrows were untouched, as was the signaling device for the airship. The half-orc quickly got his gear together.

And of course, hidden in his boots was a spare key for his manacles. Those he quickly removed and tucked into his belt. They were for Xavier, after all.

Running back towards the fighting, he fired both of his special stunning arrows that he had requisitioned specially for this job. The blunt heads slammed in Xavier’s back, their magical energy making him twitch and fall. Most of the remaining arrows, some enchanted with fire or acid, others with merely a basic punching power, were then spent on the goblins.

The human monk had been run through with a goblin spear while Delegado was gearing up, and it was all the warforged and the halfling woman could do to hold back the horde. Delegado’s bow changed all of that. The arrows slammed into goblin after goblin, each one killing its target, some quite spectacularly. Delegado emptied an entire quiver and a-half before the goblins had the presence of mind to rout. Squealing and screaming, they ran away, stomping each other and scattering through the tunnels.

Visha and her warforged turned to face Delegado. The halfling woman was sweaty and tired, covered in fresh bruises and cuts, and warforged had several new scratches and gouges. Both eyed the half-orc warily.

Xavier began to stir, and Delegado swung his hands together into a heavy fist, striking the Thranish prize across the base of the skull. Xavier collapsed, and Delegado manacled him, ignoring the halfling and the warforged.

“I see you survived,” Sensei Visha said dryly. “I suppose that you are innocent after all.”

“You listen to me!” Delegado said, jabbing a finger at her. “The only reason I’m not going to arrest you for interfering in Tharashk business is that I need you and your machine there –”

“He is my student,” she interrupted him icily.

“Whatever! I need you and him to get out of here. And you need me to get out of here.”

“So you weren’t lying about the airship,” the warforged said.

“No, nor was I lying about Xavier,” Delegado said. “There’s proof on the airship if you want to see it. Now, do you want to fight whatever goblins are left, and beyond that whatever warforged and Cyran artificers are left, and beyond that whatever Valenar riders and wizards are charging this way, or do you want to get out of here?”

Visha frowned. “You are an incredibly rude man,” she said. “But it only adds truth to your words.”

The weary and bruised half-orc barked a laugh. “Sweet words do nothing for you in the wild,” he told her.

“And braggadocio does not impress the clawfoot,” she responded. “You haul Nifensva, or Xavier as you say he is, and a box of our most sacred writings besides. We will go both ahead and behind you to a place where we can signal your airship.”

In response Delegado grinned and flicked the switch on the Brelish doo-dad. “Give me your scribbling and prose, and make it snappy, I don’t know how long this lasts for.”