Ashes, Alibis & the Ones We Sought

Two Days Later, in Leoham

The assassin had performed his task wonderfully—slipping in, cutting Rodolf’s throat, and leaving none the wiser. Better still, he had followed instructions to leave behind specific evidence. And so it was bittersweet that Allowin had to poison such a capable agent. But dead men told no tales.

The aftermath of the chaos two nights prior unfolded exactly as Allowin had intended. Eumer remained above suspicion, his eldest slain the same night Karga was attacked. Curiously, Rodolf had been wearing one of his father’s tunics when he died—an opportunity Allowin wasted no time exploiting to spin another tale.

Caerth, it was claimed, had attempted a coup. He killed Rodolf believing it was Eumer, then moved to assassinate Baldomar. Since his ring was found in Rodolf’s hand—and Karga’s testimony aligned—this became the accepted narrative.

Allowin’s next triumph was the theatrical staging of Rodolf’s funeral, an event that cooled tempers and drew sympathy from the clan.

High Shaman Farno reaffirmed his earlier decree and sealed it by cursing Caerth’s soul. Thereafter, the bodies of Caerth and his accomplices were cast into the dung pits as a final indignity.

Everything proceeded according to plan.

Allowin embedded himself deeper into Eumer’s grief, forging the dependency he would one day require. When he heard that Lothar had departed with only a handful of companions, he paid it little heed.

For the tapestry was weaving itself beautifully.

***

Four days later, on the outskirts of Thraegel Meadow

The journey had been uneventful—relatively—since they left Leoham. Lothar chose careful routes toward their destination to avoid anything that might delay them. Even so, the best-laid plans often suffered setbacks. Their supplies were pilfered by a bear, which they were forced to hunt down to recover what was stolen. Unfortunately, the beast was a hungry fellow and had eaten almost everything by the time they caught it.

This meant they had to forage and hunt along the way, but despite everything, they managed to arrive within a week of their departure.

Lothar and Amaric reached the crest of the hill and stared down into Thraegel Meadow. It was not uniformly green, but a shifting sea of color and motion shimmering beneath the sun. The air was clean and sweet, scented with crushed herbs and damp earth. Amaric whistled, his white mohawk swaying in the breeze.

“Beautiful view,” he remarked.

Lothar murmured in agreement, then waved for the others to advance—there was no sign of danger.

“The question is,” Amaric said, scanning the meadow, “where are they?” His gaze settled northeast. “How about there?”

Lothar followed his pointing finger to an outcrop of moss-eaten stones, jagged like broken teeth against the emerald and cobalt backdrop. An abandoned shrine, perhaps—forsaken by men, but not necessarily the gods.

“Doubtful,” Lothar replied, nodding instead toward a broad, tree-crowned rise dominating the meadow’s western edge. “If they’re here, it’ll be there.”

Goblins favored earthen dwellings, not unlike the warrens of hares—easily expanded to suit their growing numbers.

The others soon joined them, with Cragath agreeing that the flat of the hill would serve well as a campsite.

As they approached, the rise revealed itself as a gentle dome of earth draped in tangled grass and gorse. At its peak, a grove of ancient, wind-bent oaks clawed at the sky, their dense canopy pooling cool, concealing shadow. They established camp first, then gathered to discuss their next move.

“I still think we should check the ruins,” Amaric insisted. “There’s nothing here.”

“At this rate we could be searching for days,” Cragath muttered, tugging at his beard. “Goblins don’t advertise their entryways.”

Kaethe glanced around, thinking aloud. “They cook, don’t they? Maybe we look for smoke… some kind of flue?”

They would have to come up with something fast, time was beginning to run out.

Lost in thought, Lothar wandered from the group—pacing until the ground gave way beneath him.

He dropped a short distance, splashing into shallow water. Stunned, he looked around and realized he had fallen into what appeared to be a rustic bathing chamber.

“Ah—ah.”

A small, breathy, startled sound drew his attention. A petite, voluptuous goblin stood nearby, clutching a towel far too small for its task, barely covering her sizable bust and generous backside. She stood frozen in shock at the sudden intrusion.

Lothar snapped his gaze away. “I beg your pardon—I didn’t mean to—”

She shrieked, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch and cover his ears.

Another goblin rushed in—much older, her hands sparking faintly with embers. But when she took in Lothar’s presence, hostility gave way to curiosity.

“And who might you be, young man?” she asked.

“My name is Lothar, son of Baldomar of the Rohwen Clan.”

The elder goblin let the sparks fade, smoke curling from her fingertips.

“Out of the bath,” she said. “Let me see you properly.”

Lothar obeyed, ducking slightly beneath the low ceiling. The goblin approached, her yellow eyes—black-scleraed and sharp—studying him closely.

“So my eyes do not deceive me. You’re a human.”

“That I am,” Lothar replied.

“Son of Baldomar… the chieftain Baldomar?”

“The same.”

The goblin crossed her arms, momentarily at a loss for words.

“I had heard rumors,” she muttered. “But for them to be true is—”

She cut herself off, glancing toward the younger goblin, who still stood awkwardly clutching her towel. Her nudity drew a brief glance from Lothar before he cleared his throat and looked elsewhere.

“Rascha, dear—get dressed, will you?”

Lothar perked up, his mind no longer lingering in embarrassment. “Rascha? Then you must be Atalla.”

Atalla smirked, hands settling on her hips. “Aye. I’m called that. What of it?”

Hope flared bright and fierce in Lothar’s chest.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you?” Atalla asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Lothar!?” Mira’s voice echoed down from the hole above.

“I’m alright!” he called back.

“Thank the gods—you just up and disappeared on us and we feared the worst. Can you get out?”

“West side of the hill,” Atalla called upward. “Look for the white pebbles—you’ll find the door.”

There was a brief pause.

“Who was that?”

“Atalla,” Lothar replied. “Tell the others—I found them!”