Page 20 of The Goblin and The Dancer
Grik tried to tell himself, rather feebly, that Paul was probably faking it. But he knew he wasn’t. If a man like Paul were faking an injury, he would look dignified and noble. There was nothing dignified or noble about Paul’s expression now. He was sweating openly, and his face looked brittle enough to break in half. Grik wondered if his thought of getting a weapon to defend them hadn’t really been an excuse to get a prop for his bad leg. Guilt flared inside of him once more.
“How much farther is this shortcut of yours?” Paul grunted, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
The guilt receded. “Not much longer,” Grik mumbled. He was almost certain.
There had been a brief argument nearly half an hour ago when Grik had suggested leaving the maintenance tunnels and crawling through a crevice and into a natural fissure. Paul had balked at the idea, and even Rosanna had been reluctant. Grik insisted that the natural caves and passageways that he wished to lead them through very briefly were merely a shortcut.
Getting his way hadn’t been satisfying; instead he felt queasy. He wasn’t exactly sure this was a shortcut; it was more of a strong instinct.
“Can we rest for a moment?” Rosanna asked suddenly.
Grik turned around to nod at her. He suspected that Rosanna was fine. As a dancer, she was incredibly strong and had great reserves of endurance. She had undoubtedly spoken up so that Paul wouldn’t have to, sheltering the wounded elf’s pride.
There was a little shallow chamber on their right, where the tunnel broadened considerably. Grik led the way into the chamber and stood there awkwardly, wishing he could offer Rosanna a drink, a pillow to sit on, anything.
Paul lowered himself clumsily to the ground, and Grik noted glumly that Rosanna sat next to him. Very close.
He threw himself down on the ground, feeling more out of sorts than ever. As Paul and Rosanna began to talk—as if Grik were not even there—he shut his eyes.
“Are you all right?” Rosanna asked her soldier, softly.
“Of course I am!” Paul snapped, sounding like an injured animal that had been jabbed in the place that already ached the most.
“Paul, you’re wounded. It’s all right to admit it.”
“I’m fine,” Paul growled.
Grik kept his mouth shut and leaned back against a boulder, wiggled into its contours, and tried to relax.
Paul and Rosanna had stopped talking, and Grik knew without opening his eyes that the two of them were looking at him, one with hope and the other with suspicion. He was painfully aware of their expectations. What if he failed in getting them out?
Rapid movement brought Grik out of his stupor with a swift jerk, and he sat up, looking around at the chamber that swaddled them like a cool hand—a hand that was suddenly closing into a fist.
Rosanna let out a gasp, and even Paul made a startled sound.
The walls seemed to be closing in on them, physically moving closer.
But it wasn’t the walls moving. Creatures were slipping out of the shadows, shrieks pouring from their throats in bubbling streams of weird sound, as they surrounded the travelers.
Grik gaped, half-excited to see fellow goblins—but as the figures swarmed towards him, his relief faded into a squeak of alarm. These were not the goblins that Grik knew. These faces were twisted with hate, made uglier than ever from envy. These were no allies.
“Rosanna, get behind me!” Paul roared.
A goblin leaped up in front of the frozen Grik, hissing and raising a club over his head.
Until this morning, Grik had never struck anyone in his life. He didn’t like violence. But it turned out he was a natural.He punched the goblin in the nose. The ensuing gargle from his attacker encouraged Grik to try again. He reached out and seized the goblin by the scrap of hair that stood straight up from his scalp. He gave a good, hard pull. The goblin’s eyes widened gratifyingly and he let out a piercing yelp. Grik pushed him over backwards and sent him tumbling away.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the elf soldier fighting for all he was worth. Paul had come to life. All sulkiness and hesitancy had dropped away from him, and he had jumped to his feet, despite his bad leg, and was fighting like a madman, flinging his pipe in all directions so that goblins flew through the air like marbles.
Grik struck out at the goblins that went flying past him, getting in a firm knock or two.
Between them, they had a good system worked out of flinging and punching, but then one of the goblins seized Paul by the leg and sank his teeth into his boot, and the elf let out a howl of outrage and pain.
Grik was secretly a little amused by the sight, but he still jumped forward to help and grabbed the goblin by the back legs and pulled.
The goblin didn’t come easily and clung to Paul, stretched out between Paul and Grik like a piece of taffy.
Grik finally let go of one boot to give the goblin a good clout. The goblin howled, and Paul seized the opportunity to give a great kick, shaking the goblin loose. Unfortunately, Grik went flying too and landed beneath the other goblin.
