Krazgul Runeblade's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

Two tribes marched behind Krazgul now, and the war chariot rolled with them. But the king was not blind. Grizelda had warned him last night. The king sent scouts ahead of his muster. If they found the growing warband, the king would strike before Krazgul was ready. Krazgul could not hide a chariot and a hundred goblins. So he would not hide. He would hunt the scouts first. He called for the best eyes in the band. A lean goblin came forward, hood pulled low, a quiver of red-tipped arrows on his back. Ace. He had scouted every ambush since the dead woods. He spoke little and missed less. "Three riders," Ace said. "East, following the ridge. They move slow. They're counting us." "Then they die counting," Grak said. He hefted his axe and bared his filed teeth. Krazgul put a hand on his chest. "No. One gets away, the king learns our size. We take all three. Quiet." Ace led them along a dry gully. The ground sloped down to a pool of sludge, green and bubbling, thick as spoiled broth. The riders had stopped above it to water their mount. Krazgul crouched behind a burned log. He counted the scouts. Three, as Ace said. He drew both black daggers. The runes on his arms glowed low. "Two for me," Krazgul whispered. "You take the third. Grak, you move only if one runs." Ace nocked an arrow. He breathed out and loosed. The shaft took the first scout in the throat. The goblin clawed at it, then slid from his mount. Poison worked fast. Krazgul was already moving. He crossed the open ground low and fast. His daggers found the second scout before the goblin could shout. He drove the blades deep and dragged the body down into the reeds. The third scout bolted. He kicked his mount toward the ridge. Grak roared and charged, but the rider was too quick. Krazgul snatched a loose stone and hurled it at the mount's legs. The beast stumbled at the edge of the sludge pool. The scout flew from its back and splashed into the green muck. He screamed once. The thick surface pulled him under. Bubbles rose, then nothing. Ace lowered his bow. "Three," he said. "None left to count." Krazgul wiped his daggers clean on the reeds. No scout would reach the king. The muster would gather blind, still believing Krazgul led forty ragged spears. The king would not strike early now. But Krazgul looked at the drowned scout's mount, riderless and shaking. The king expected a report by a set day. Silence would tell him something was wrong. Krazgul had bought time, not safety. He had until the missing scouts were missed. "We march faster," he told Grak. "The clock runs now."