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"Get up." Ragnar said roughly. "Up. Curse your stinking hide...hells." he laughed. He'd been speaking in the Cold Tongue and not the bits of the ugly goblin language he'd learned. "Forgot myself there."
"Up." he said in goblin. "No hit you."
"No hit?" squealer asked, crooking its head and peering cautiously at the human before lowering its arms. "No kill."
"You obey. I no kill." Ragnar told the goblin.
"I obey." said Squealer, trading a living master for a dead one.
There was a groan from Quickhand and Ragnar staggered over to the goblin. "You. Here." he called to Squealer, pointing with his axe.
The small goblin hopped down from the overturned wagon. For a moment, Squealer thought of running, heading down the road or into the swamp, but the evening mist was thickening. The moons would be full tonight and the Witch would have her children rising. Better to be around this human who killed the old boss than alone in the march this night.
Mist was edging across the road. Between the clumps of the tall weeds, long tendrils of diaphanous white reached out. They were tinged with the purple of twilight which was descending on the land.
With his axeblade, Ragnar cut the rope that circled the ogre's waist. The monster had used it as a belt, but the coarse twine would serve to bind the goblin.
When Squealer approached, Ragnar's hand flashed out and he grabbed the goblin by its throat. "Shut-up. Quiet." he said. "Hands. Show hands."
Squealer gurgled. The little goblin raised both its hands and closed its eyes. In a flash, Ragnar had looped a coil of the rope around Squealer's wrists and knotted them together.
"Come." the northman said. "What name?" he asked.
"Squealer." the goblin said with a squeak, then coughed, its neck sore and fear drying out its mouth.
Ragnar nodded, but did not reply. He dragged Squealer over to where Quickhand lay.
The larger goblin struggled to rise, pushing itself up and shaking its head as if to clear it. A large, booted foot pressed down slowly on Quickhand's back.
"Not so quick." Ragnar said in Fruz, the language of his people. He bent and tied the goblin's hands together as he had done with Squealer, then removed his foot. Reaching down, Ragnar grabbed Quickhand by the back its neck and hauled the goblin to its feet.
A defiant, angry gleam flashed in Quickhand's eye, but faded and the goblin lowered its head as it faced the human.
"Two fish on a hook." said Ragnar to himself. "Where is the other one." He glanced about the road. There were goblin dead lying about, but all were around the wagon, most killed by the ogre when they tried to escape. A pair of small, sandaled feet could be seen over the roadbank, the rest of the body dangling headfirst into the swamp.
"Come." Ragnar said to the goblins. Then in his own language added, "You stinking sardines. I should throw you back into the water." He eyed the marsh even as he grabbed the fallen goblin by its ankles and drew it back onto the road.
Meatstealer had been face down in the mire and a stream of foul muck poured out from the goblin as Ragnar gave it a shake. With a sputtering, hacking cough Meatstealer came to life. Deftly, Ragnar swung the spindly body up, and caught a thin arm. He snagged the other and used his last loop of rope to tie its wrists together.
"You run." Ragnar said in goblin to his trio of captives. "I chop." And three pairs of eyes were drawn involuntarily to the axe. "Now. Take to giant."
"Giant?" questioned Squealer. "You want to see the big boss?" The scrawny goblin's voice broke in a high-pitched squeak.
"We take you to the big boss." said Quickhand. "Now problem."
"You crazy." said Squealer. Both to Ragnar and Quickhand.
* * *
(To Be Continued)