All across the camp, the goblins were helping their wounded comrades and gathering weapons. None were willing to attack the humans that had brought the locusts down upon them, despite the orders M’bobo screeched from the palace door. When not a single warrior lifted a spear or bow against the intruders, she called for Balt to whip the soldiers into line. No one had the nerve to tell her the general was even less likely to jump to her command than they were. Instead, the tense and fearful Batiri gathered in a wide circle around Skuld and the humans.
“Put down your weapons and give yourselves up,” Kaverin shouted, holding one empty hand out in a gesture of peace. “You won’t be hurt—and the old man won’t be hurt any worse than he already has been—but only if you surrender right now.”
Artus raised his bow and fired, aiming for Kaverin’s heart. The arrow would have split that wellspring of evil in two had Skuld not been there. The guardian spirit flexed his powerful legs and leaped into the air, as high as the second-story landing where Kaverin stood. The arrow bit into his chest. With the feathered shaft sticking out of him. Skuld dropped back to the ground. He plucked out the arrow with one of his four hands and crashed it.
Smiling viciously, Kaverin said, “I wouldn’t have believed that offer either.” He curled his hand into a fist. “Give up now, or I’ll send Skuld after you. Either way, you’re dead, but Skuld will make what little time you have left truly horrible if he has to come get you. Mulhorandi tortures are among the world’s most painful, you know.”
Sanda drew her long-bladed knife, and Kwalu brandished his war club. For a moment, Artus hesitated. Then he dropped his bow. The barae looked at him, astonished.
“Showing your true colors at last, eh Cimber?” Kaverin gloated. Rayburton tried to run forward, but a stone hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Kill the two natives, Skuld. Save Cimber for me. I am, after all, a man of my word.”
The disappointment in Sanda’s eyes wounded Artus to the core, but there was no time to explain his plan—even if he knew exactly what to expect. The explorer reached into his pocket for one of the diamond slivers. The gem felt slippery in his sweaty fingers, but he gripped it tightly and held it up before him. He glanced at Skuld; the four-armed guardian was running toward him, gnashing his filed teeth.
Artus said the Tabaxi word for lightning.
The flash that followed blinded everyone who was looking at the explorer and drove the goblin circle back. It should have blinded Artus, too, but somehow his eyes were spared. Something to do with the enchantment on the gem, he decided later. At the moment, his mind was set on controlling the crackling bolt of lightning that had appeared in his hand.
The heat from the lightning washed over Artus in waves, singeing his hair and reddening his skin. Sparks snaked around his arm and slithered up to his shoulder. There was no pain—no serious pain, anyway—just an immense feeling of power. He turned the bolt in his hand, holding it like a javelin.
Skuld rubbed his eyes with the heels of two hands, holding the other set up to ward off attackers. When he took his hands away, he glared at Artus. “That cannot help you,” he snarled, then started forward again.
“Let’s find out,” Artus said. He hurled the lightning bolt.
In the instant before the bolt struck Skuld, a silver shield appeared in the guardian spirit’s hands. He held it before him, braced with both sets of arms. Then the lightning hit, and shards of silver exploded into the air. Skuld looked down in amazement to where the shield had been a moment earlier. Fingers had been blown off three hands, half the wrist from the fourth. The bloodless wounds glistened like polished glass.
Then Skuld’s gaze wandered from his ragged hands to his chest. The lightning had burned a gaping, charred hole right through him. Eyes wide with surprise, the silver guardian stiffened and fell backward. He lay there, twitching and gasping, his filed teeth making him look like a beached piranha.
“You’re next, Kaverin!” Artus pulled another of the diamonds from his pocket. At a word it burst into a bolt of lightning.
The goblins standing between Artus and the palace scattered, and Sanda ran forward. “Let my father go!” she cried.
Kaverin clutched Rayburton’s throat with one stone hand. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snarled, lifting his hostage off the ground and positioning him like a shield.
“Sanda, get back!” Artus shouted. He stepped forward and raised the lightning bolt.
“Throw it, Cimber.” Kaverin shook Rayburton like a doll. “Let’s see if those bolts destroy human shields as efficiently as they do mystic ones.”
A murmur from the milling goblins tore Artus’s attention away from Kaverin. In the locust-littered dust, Skuld was struggling to his feet. Shiny new silver flesh had replaced his missing fingers and mended his shattered wrist. A puckered scar marked the spot where the hole had gaped in his chest.
That wasn’t the only thing sending ripples of unrest through the mob, a fact Kaverin realized at the same time as Artus. “I don’t think they like you aiming a killing bolt at their beloved monarch,” Kaverin said. He moved in front of M’bobo, keeping Rayburton as his shield, of course. In his best Goblin, he shouted, “The raiders want to kill your queen!”
Fear held the Batiri in a strong grip, but their loyalty to their ruler was stronger. A few warriors moved to Skuld’s side, helping the four-armed guardian to his feet. Others closed ranks before the palace, blocking Sanda and Kwalu from the stairs. Without warning, an arrow flew from the mob, cutting into Artus’s shoulder. The explorer cried out and stumbled back. A steadying hand from Sanda prevented him from falling or dropping the lightning bolt.
Seeing Artus wounded broke the spell of terror holding the goblins at bay. They swarmed forward, ready to finish the work the lone archer had started. Kaverin’s howl of laughter could be heard even over the din of the Batiri charge.
Artus threw the lightning bolt at the ground. The explosion blasted chucks of earth and rock into the front rank and opened a wide pit in their way. It slowed the charge enough for him to follow Sanda and Kwalu into the mob of goblins standing between them and the jungle. The fighting was furious, but they cut and smashed a swath through the Batiri line. The trio raced into the jungle, bruised and bleeding, a horde of yowling cannibals on their heels.
Kaverin pulled Rayburton down the palace steps and hurried to Skuld’s side. “Follow Cimber and the others,” he snapped. “Make certain one of them stays alive long enough to make it back to Mezro.” As the silver-skinned giant turned away, Kaverin added, “And leave a trail along the way—just in case Cimber has any more tricks up his sleeve and you don’t come back.”
Skuld touched the shiny scar on his chest. “If this is the worst Cimber can do, he is a dead man.” He bowed and dashed into the jungle.
Frowning, Kaverin watched his servant disappear into the night. “I said the same thing myself a hundred times before,” he muttered.
Torches flared to life around the shattered village as the goblins set about the unwelcome task of gathering the dead and patching together their homes. M’bobo supervised the work from the palace steps, pointing out tasks with Balt’s scimitar. “We need more Batiri real soon,” she said to Kaverin. As if to emphasize the point, two young goblins tossed a locust-ravaged corpse onto a pile of bodies next to Grumog’s pit.
“Can’t you call in the other warriors?” Kaverin asked. He forced Rayburton to sit on the stairs at the queen’s feet. “You said there were hundreds of smaller Batiri villages all over the area.”
“They no come if we can’t promise chow or good pillage,” M’bobo replied. She pointed at the gory pile of bodies. “Hey! Hurry up and burn ’em. You want they should get up again?”