Barbarian Legends - Goblinslayer 04

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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The events of Barbarian Legends occur many years before the events of Barbarian Tales.

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CITY OF YELEDOR

**********

The man clutched his throat, gave a gurgling moan and keeled over, froth pouring from his lips, vile green stuff oozing from his nostrils. He lay on his back and frantically beat the muddy ground with his fists, then all the strength seemed to leave him. His limbs twitched feebly in a final spasm, then he gave a last long groan and lay still. His skin began to bubble and his flesh visibly rotted. After a short moment, only the man's clothes and some black goop remained.

The people in the street all around looked at each other in fright, then raced away as fast as they could. Beggars crawled away from their resting places. A one-legged cripple hopped away, leaving behind his crutch in his haste. Peddlers abandoned their stalls, disappearing into their buildings and locking their doors. The rich that coincidentally passed by urged their palanquin bearers to greater speed. Within seconds, the street was all but deserted. Throughout the hubbub of the departing crowd ran one word - plague!

Girn the barbarian glanced around the suddenly empty street. He had enough experience with death to know that this wasn't normal. Especially so as it reminded him of the goblin assassins. They had also been reduced to a black, slimy substance when they were killed. First the sewers, next the assassins, then the Office of Ingenuity, and now what? Spreading disease through the city? Those bloody goblins wouldn't leave Yeledor alone.

"Girn, I'm frightened."

Girn glanced at Mina, her face pale and her eyes wide. She ran a hand through her black hair, then brought it back to her mouth. Her lip quivered slightly.

"Nothing to be frightened of," Girn said. "The man is dead and gone."

"It's what killed him that scares me. It looks like he died of yet another new plague variant."

Plagues were terrible things. They could strike anywhere, kill anyone, rich or poor. No one knew what caused them. Some said the influence of daemon worshippers. Some said they were the wrath of the gods on sinful humanity. The only certainty with plague was that there was very little that you could do to save yourself once you caught it, save pray. Such virulent diseases could baffle the best of physicians and the most potent of mages. Girn took a step towards Mina and moved to put his arm around her reassuringly. She shied away, as if he carried whatever disease had killed the poor man.

"I don't have the plague," he said, hurt.

"You never know."

"I know," he said fiercely. "Barbarians don't get the plague!" Girn glanced down at the black residue of the man.

"Poor soul," Mina said. "Another loss for the man's family."

"What do you mean?"

"Take a look. There's a white tulip on his tunic, the symbol of Zoaris. She's the Goddess of Death, Mistress of the afterlife. He'd just been to a funeral."

"Well, now he's going to his own," Girn said softly.

Mina hit him in the shoulder. "Don't be disrespectful, there isn't even anything left of him to bury."

**********

"That's the ninth death today from those new diseases that I've heard of," Hans said when Girn told him the news. "The lads in the bar are talking about nothing else. They've a sweepstake going on how many it will be by nightfall."

In a grim way, Girn was glad of this news. For the past few days, the citizens had talked of nothing but the burning down of the Office of Ingenuity. Most claimed it was sabotage perpetrated by daemon worshippers. Girn continually felt inklings of guilt as he was reminded of his own participation in the event. Could he have prevented the burning while also eliminating the looting goblins? It had mostly been that machine of war that had caused damage.

"What do you think?" Girn asked, looking around at how many people were present. The bar was packed to capacity, and the inevitable jostling was already causing friction. Girn felt certain there would be trouble this evening.

"I had put my money on it being ten, but it looks like it's going to be a lot more by the end of the day."

"I meant, what do you think caused it?" Girn said. "Where do the diseases keep coming from? How do you think they spread?"

"I'm not a physician, Girn, I'm a bartender. One thing's for sure, though," Hans said and leant closer to Girn. "It's good for business. Soon as plague comes, people hit the taverns. They want to forget about it as quick as they can."

"Maybe they want to die drunk."

"There's worse ways to die, Girn."

"That there is," Girn agreed, having seen his fair share of men dying in horrible, painful ways.

"Well, you'd better get over there and stop those mercenaries drawing knives on each other, or we'll soon have a graphic demonstration of just that."

"I'll deal with it." Girn moved to hastily intervene in the dispute. In a few seconds he had far more immediate dangers to worry about than the plague; he ducked swings and avoided knife-thrusts. He caught two of the mercenary's squabbling comrades by the scruffs of their necks and hauled them upright. Girn ran them out the door into the muddy streets.

"Don't come back!" he bellowed out into the street. Girn turned to survey the bar. As Hans had predicted, it was full. Slumming nobles mingled with half the cut-throats of the city. A big band of merchants fresh in from a southern caravan route were spending their money like there was going to be no tomorrow.

Maybe they were right, Girn thought; maybe there wouldn't be a tomorrow. Maybe all the streetcorner lunatics were right. Maybe the end of the world was coming. Certainly the world had ended today for that man who had died in the street gutter. Girn could hear the word 'plague' being discussed at every table. It was as if there were no other topic of conversation in the whole damned city.

**********

"I know you don't have the plague," Mina said, snuggling closer to Girn on the pallet they shared. She slid her hand down his torso and teasingly caressed very close around the base of his cock. "You don't have to keep telling me. Really, I wish you'd just shut up about it."

"I'm simply trying to reassure you," he said, grabbing her wrist and guiding her hand down the length of his shaft, gradually hardening. He began to kiss her hungrily. In response, Mina grabbed his now erect cock firmly and stroked from base to tip and back.

Mina broke the kiss and dove under the covers. Girn felt her placing kisses along his body on the way down, finally licking along his shaft and taking his tip in her mouth. Her tongue flicked around his cockhead and casually her head began to bop as she took more in between her lips.

Girn pulled away the covers to watch the gorgeous raven-haired beauty work his cock down her throat. It didn't take long before she was gagging on his cock, spit and precum mingling to wet her lips and his shaft.

"I want your cock in me," she moaned. She spat one more time on his slick cock as lubrication and climbed on top of him, straddling his crotch. She slid with her wet folds along his shaft, then gyrated her hips and worked his tip into her pussy without needing her hands to align his cock. That moment of penetration was always electric.

"Damn, Mina, I forgot how tight you are," Girn grunted.

"You're just so big," she moaned, as though it were some sort of explanation. She already had to force the words out between deep breaths and shallow moans. Mina focused on impaling herself on Girn's large cock. He could feel her pussy contract around his cock. After a moment, it relaxed and Mina was able to slide in a little bit further down. Like that, Girn slid slowly deeper and deeper inside Mina.

Finally, their bodies were pressed together, with Girn's cock pressed deep into Mina. His cock gave her the distinct sensation of being both full and physically desperate for more at the same time. Slowly, she lifted herself, leaving only the tip inside. Mina repeated the process, sliding inch by satisfying inch down Girn's cock, until he was once again deep inside her.

"Are you ready?" he whispered. Mina nodded.

Girn thrust upward, hard and deep. Their bodies clapped together. Mina moaned as Girn hit all the right spots even deeper inside her. She steadied herself against the forceful thrusts that followed. Girn placed his hands under her thighs, using them to lift and lower Mina in long, deep movements. Their passionate fucking brought Girn to his climax, much faster than usual.

"Oh, fuck... I'm going to cum..." Girn grunted.

"Cum deep in my pussy!" Mina begged, pushing back against his body to meet the next stroke. Her pussy clamped down hard on his cock.

Girn released a deep, guttural groan. He pulled her body tightly against his own, his cock deep inside her pussy as he shot his load. His cock twitched and throbbed as he emptied his load. His thick, warm ropes of cum filled the depths of Mina's pussy. Mina waited for a moment, ensuring that every drop had left his cock, then slowly slid off Girn. As his cock withdrew, a thick drip ran from her pussy and slid down her thigh.

Mina traced a finger along his still-throbbing cock. With a devilish grin, she bent over Girn, gripped the base of his thick cock, and pressed it into her warm mouth. She ran her tongue over the tip and swallowed what she could suck out. Mina worked Girn's large cock again to the back of her throat. When she had cleaned him well enough, she sat up straight and smiled at Girn. He smiled back and sneezed.

"You sneezed!" Mina said.

"The sun tickled my nose," Girn said, well aware that he was lying. He didn't know where that sneeze came from.

Mina suddenly began to cough hackingly. She covered her mouth with one hand but her whole body shook. Tears had started to appear in the corner of the girl's eyes. "Oh Girn," she said. "Do you think I have the plague?"

"No. Absolutely not," Girn replied, but he was far from certain. "Get dressed," he said. "We'll go and see a doctor."

**********

Shaman Utkut basked in the warm glow of triumph. His intricately woven scheme had succeeded and his rival Wrench Claw-Arm's plan to seize all of the technological secrets from the human Office of Ingenuity had been thwarted. Utkut bared his yellow teeth in a hideous grin when he considered Wrench's discomfiture. He had made the proud Clan Arx engineer grovel in the dirt before his whole army while he explained what he had been doing. He had berated Wrench for almost jeopardising the whole glorious campaign to assault Yeledor by his ill-considered actions, and sent him slinking off with trembling legs.

Now Wrench had retired to his chambers to sulk, while he waited for reinforcements to arrive from Goblingard to replace the warriors he had lost on the surface. With any luck no new warriors would come. Wrench might even be recalled to Goblingard to explain his actions to his superiors. Perhaps, Utkut thought, with a word in the right ear this course of action could be encouraged.

The curtain which separated Utkut's private burrow from the rest of the Underground was wrenched open and a small goblin entered the chamber. Reflexively Utkut summoned the energy to blast the interloper to atoms, an eerie glow of dark magic surrounding his hand. But then he saw that it was only Tix Gur.

"Grave news, most potent of shamans!" Tix screeched, then fell silent as he noticed the aura of magic which surrounded the shaman. "No! Please! Most merciful of masters, don't kill me!"

"Never, on pain of death most excruciating, ever burst into my chambers unannounced again," Utkut said, not relaxing his vigilance for a moment. After all, you could never tell when an assassination attempt might happen. Jealous rivals were everywhere.

"Yes, most perceptive of shamans. Never again shall it happen. Only..."

"Only what? Out with it!"

"Only I bring most important tidings, great one."

"What would those be?"

"I have heard rumours-"

"Rumours? Do not barge into my sacred chambers and talk to me about rumours!"

"Rumours from a usually reliable source, greatest of authorities."

Utkut nodded. That was different. Over the past few days Utkut had come to have a certain respect for Tix' host of informants. The little goblin had a talent for ferreting out information that rivalled even Utkut's... almost. "Go on. Speak! You're wasting my precious time!"

"Of course! I have heard rumours that Leprous Foulbreath and his chief acolytes have left the Underground and went surfacewards to the humancity of Yeledor, there to establish a secret hideout."

What could the Clan Pathos abbot be up to, thought Utkut, his mind reeling? What did this signify? It inevitably meant some sort of treachery to the great goblin cause, some scheme to grab the glory that was rightfully Utkut's. "Continue!"

"It may be that they took with them the Cauldron of Brutal Blight!"

Oh no, thought Utkut. The cauldron was one of the most hideously powerful artefacts that Clan Pathos was thought to possess. Utkut had heard dire tales of its powers. It was said to be the means of creating terrible diseases, an artefact also used to prevent the assassins from Clan Dagger to be captured and questioned. If the cauldron was on the surface somewhere, that could only mean Leprous Foulbreath meant to spread diseases among the humans.

Under normal circumstances, Utkut would have been only too pleased by such an eventuality, just as long as he was a thousand leagues away! Clan Pathos plagues had a habit of running out of control, of afflicting goblins as well as their intended victims. Only the diseasemongers themselves seemed immune. Many seemingly assured goblin triumphs had been undermined by just this occurrence. Now Clan Pathos were only supposed to unleash their creations by special authorisation of the Council of Goblinkind. The last thing Utkut wanted at this moment was his army destroyed by a runaway plague. He considered the implications still more. Of course, the Council did not argue with success. Perhaps the plague might succeed in weakening the humans without afflicting the goblin army. But if it succeeded, the Council of Goblinkind might extend its favour to Leprous Foulbreath, and withdraw its patronage from Utkut. Leprous might even be rewarded with the leadership of the invasion force.

Utkut considered. What else could be going on here? If the scheme was an honest effort to help the invasion, why had Utkut not been informed? He, after all, was supreme commander. No, this had to be some sinister scheme of Foulbreath's to seize power. Something would have to be done about this treachery and this blatant defiance of the Council of Goblinkind's edicts.

Then another thought struck Utkut. His agents on the surface had already made reports of new diseases spreading among the humans. Undoubtedly Leprous Foulbreath had already begun to implement his wicked plan. There was no time to waste!

"Tix! Where did those treacherous goblins go?"

"I know not, most lordly of lords. My agents could not say!"

"Find out quickly! Go! Wait! First, bring me parchment and pen."

**********

The doctor was a busy man today; that much was obvious, thought Girn. There had been a queue stretching halfway around the block from his small and dingy office. It seemed like half the city was there, coughing and wheezing and hawking and spitting into the street. There was an air of barely suppressed panic. Once or twice Girn had seen people come to blows. This was useless, Girn decided. They would never see a physician today under these conditions, and the entrances of the temples were the same. There had to be a better way.

"Come on. I have an idea," he said, grabbing Mina by her hand and pulling her from the queue.

"No, Girn, I want to see the doctor."

"You will."

Girn pulled her along streets to the rich quarter. They halted at an estate with a hanging board above the entrance. It read: Doctor Pazio's Practise. Girn gave a his full sack of coins to the guard. It was all he had saved up since he had arrived in Yeledor. But if it could save Mina, then it was worth it.

Inside, Girn looked around Doctor Pazio's chambers. He had to admit that it was quite a place. On the oak-panelled walls were framed certificates from several Universities across the continent. A massive portrait of the good doctor beamed down impressively from the middle of them all. Of course, for the fees that he charged, Pazio could certainly afford the services of a great portrait artist.

Girn glanced over the doorway. The doctor and Mina were in his consulting room. Girn had been left outside for the moment. He rose from the comfortable leather armchair and looked around. Along one wall was a collection of large glass jars which would not have been out of place in an alchemist's shop. The bookshelves were lined with musty leather-bound books. Girn examined the titles and was surprised to discover that only half of them were medical in nature. The rest dealt with a variety of subjects, from natural history to the motion of Extradimensional Planes. It seemed that the doctor was indeed a well-read man.

"You are a scholar, mister Girn?"

Girn turned to find that Pazio had emerged from the consulting room. He was a short, slender man with a narrow, friendly face and a short, well-trimmed beard. He looked more like a successful merchant than a doctor. His robes were rich and there was not a sign of blood stains anywhere.

"I've read very little in my life," he admitted.

"Never too late to start. I'm of a mind that a man should always improve his mind whenever there is an opportunity."

"How is Mina?"

Pazio took off his glasses and breathed on them, then polished them on the hem of his robe. He beamed reassuringly. "She is fine. She has a common cold. That is all."

Girn understood why the rich were so willing to pay for the services of this man. There was something hugely reassuring about his quiet soft-spoken voice and his calm, certain smile. "Not... not the plague then?"

"No. Not the plague. Nor any other alarming disease. Of that I am sure." Mina emerged from the consulting room. She smiled at him. He smiled back. "I understand that you were exposed to a diseased victim yesterday, mister Girn," the doctor said, suddenly all seriousness.

"Uhm, yes."

"Best have a look at you then."

"No need, doctor, we barbarians are immune to such diseases."

"A bold claim. Still, let me see your arm." For the next few minutes the doctor performed all manner of arcane rituals the like of which Girn had never seen. He touched his wrist and counted, while keeping track of a clock on the wall. He tapped Girn's chest painfully. He looked into Girn's eyes with a magnifying glass. This was not what Girn had expected. Where were the knives, and salves, and leeches? Was this man some sort of charlatan? He was certainly most unlike any doctor Girn had ever encountered. His robes were not filthy and crusted with dried blood, for one thing. And the man was tanned, unusually so for a man who spent most of his life indoors. Girn mentioned this fact and Pazio looked at him sharply.

"I have spent time in the far South," Pazio explained. "I studied medicine at the great University of Sahar Khan." Girn looked at the wall. There was no diploma mentioning that place. Pazio obviously understood his train of thought, for he laughed. "They do not give degrees in Sahar Khan! By the time you leave you are either a healer or you are not. If you are not, no piece of paper will make you one."