Shalma's Destruction (Part XIII)

Skasnell paces the improvised war room at the back of the goblin’s cave as flickering firelight emphasizes the deep creases in the robust warrior’s face.  Though exaggerated in the cave’s shadowy confines, most of the lines are ever-present, such as the ridge running above his eyes and the scar disappearing into his beard from the base of his lobe-less ear.  There are new ones, however, that aren’t the result of a perpetual scowl or vestiges of a battle’s blade...

They’re from worry.

Two days have passed since Shalma left camp by horseback to rendezvous with Prince Harrington at Darrumburgh Castle.    Since that time, her feckless brood has drifted about like a rudderless ship, drinking, belching, farting, and picking fights and noses.  Initially, Skasnell, Shalma’s tacit second-in-command, directed guard shifts and other semi-productive tasks such as sharpening blades and polishing armor, but tonight he’s as restless as the others.      

“Something’s wrong,” Skasnell mutters to no one in particular.  As the only one within earshot, however, you answer--

 “You think it was a trap?”

“Aye.”

“You know Shalma better than I do,” you say. “But she doesn’t strike me as someone who’s easily fooled.”

“She’s not.  But she’s got a blind spot for the prince.”

“Then perhaps she’s trying to get him to drop more than just his guard?”

Skasnell shoots you a dagger stare, and your eyes duck to the cave floor.   “They captured her somehow,” he continues.  “I can feel it.”

“I doubt it,” you say.  “The war in the west occupies Darrumburgh’s best troops.  That company of misfits guarding his castle couldn’t cage her.”

“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you.  But she’s been drinking too much.  Eating too much.    She’s growing…”

Your ears perk up.  Fat?

“Overconfident.” 

You watch the burly warrior pace.  He clearly cares about Shelma, but his distress seems to go deeper than simple concern for her well-being.   “How much longer should we give her?”

“She said if she wasn’t back in three days, we should take drastic action.”

Now you’re confused.   It was a good twelve hours before the deadline.  Why all the fuss?  “What are we to do then?” you ask.

“Well…” The big man stops pacing and sighs, “The first thing I’m supposed to do is kill you.”

“Kill me!” you squeak.  You swallow, moistening your suddenly bone-dry throat.  “Why?”

Skasnell resumes pacing.  “She didn’t say.”

“And you didn’t ask?”

“I know better than to question an order from Shalma.”

That wasn’t true.  Skasnell was the only man in the company who could question Shalma’s authority without losing their tongue or another appendage.  He was hiding something.

“What are we going to do?” you ask softly.

“Since it’s your life on the line--”  Skasnell says, lowering his voice to your level. "I'll ask you the same question."

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