Chapter 13 Zorjan’s Lair
ZORJAN’S LAIR
“Venrick,” Zorjan’s voice rasped, the name becoming something else entirely in the goblin’s mouth. “What are you doing here?”
The goblin’s unsettling question reverberated through the cave just a few days’ ride into the mountains west of Astral City.
Every scrape of the goblin’s claws echoed back into the crushing darkness.
In the heavy silence that followed, Zorjan’s sharp teeth clacked together in predatory anticipation; the sound was unnaturally loud in the confined space.
“I’ve come to you for a service, Zorjan,” Venrick announced from the mouth of the cave, where darkness wrestled with sunlight. He attempted to shade his eyes to be able to see into the black hole, to no avail.
Then the goblin emerged from the shadows like a nightmare taking form.
His face shone first, a network of scars etched into wrinkled green flesh, dominated by a hooked nose that seemed to test the air like a serpent’s tongue.
His slender body followed, a masterwork of natural camouflage in mossy green mottled with earthen brown; the source of countless tales claiming goblins were creatures capable of invisibility.
Purple scars latticed across his chest in a testament to a life of violence.
His arms were long and corded with sinewy muscle.
They hung low enough for his sharp claws to graze his knobby knees.
His leather shoulder holster, housing six long blades, creaked softly as he moved.
Though barely four feet tall, Zorjan’s wiry frame buzzed with coiled energy, promising unnatural speed and strength.
His egg-shaped head tapered to a knife-edge chin.
His black hair was slicked back to emphasize a dramatic widow’s peak.
Golden rings weighed down his large, drooping ears, the metal singing softly with each movement.
He had jagged yellow teeth and eyes like twin full moons.
He moved fluidly, his torn brown trouser legs whispering against each other as he slipped across the cold granite floor. His narrow feet made no sound, but his claws clicked against stone like dropped coins.
“Where is Tel Roan?” Zorjan demanded, his hand finding the grip of one long knife.
“Tel Roan is dead,” Venrick said, choosing to take an honest approach, as Tel would’ve.
“Then why are you here?”
“I need a favor,” Venrick replied.
“I don’t do favors for you.”
“You’ve done favors in the past.”
“I owed Tel Roan a debt. One that I no longer need to pay if what you say is true. I don’t owe you anything. Leave now and you might get off this crag alive.”
“Do you recognize this?” Venrick asked, revealing the wooden chest they had used to store a Hyalite, its raised runes shimmering with magical energy.
“An enchanted chest.” The goblin’s eyes widened with intrigue.
Zorjan’s purple tongue licked at the corners of his mouth, before he answered, “If you intend to purchase this service from me, you’re a fool.
Bringing something of value to me, here in my lair, and all alone…
why wouldn’t I kill you now and take it for myself? ”
When Zorjan snapped his fingers, magic crackled through the air like static electricity.
A stone door slid down and the mouth of the cave sealed with a sound like a tomb closing.
They were plunged into a darkness so complete it seemed to have no beginning or end.
Feet whispered across stone in a deadly dance.
Venrick drew his sword, the steel singing as it tasted air.
A whoosh of movement cut through the blackness.
Venrick’s elven senses were keen. He leapt backward, sword rising in one hand while the enchanted chest became a shield in the other.
The impact of Zorjan’s knife against the chest sent sparks into the pitch black, each one illuminating a demon-mask of rage that twisted across the goblin’s face.
The chest’s protective enchantments vibrated now like a taut bow string as they deflected the blade.
The force drove Venrick back until stone pressed cold against his spine.
He was trapped against the sealed entrance.
His counterstrike cut through open air, the whistle of movement mocking him in the midnight blackness.
Venrick stilled himself, each breath controlled as he strained his senses against the suffocating dark.
Tel’s training came to mind, the memory as clear as mountain water.
“Fighting in total darkness may seem unimportant now, but it will save your life when one day you are a Knight. Monsters that escape the North seek refuge in caves. This is why we train.”
He could almost feel the breath behind the words, as though Tel stood beside him, saying them again.
“Use all of your senses. Your elven blood may have been a disadvantage in your past, but here, when it comes down to being in touch with your surroundings, your instincts are a great advantage. Tap into your abilities. Feel the energy of where the attack is coming from. Hear the movement. Trust your senses.”
The whisper of disturbed stone came from his right.
Zorjan’s footfalls painted a picture in sound.
The subtle stretch of leather betrayed the goblin’s arm drawing back for a killing stroke.
Venrick dove left as the knife cut through the space where he’d been, steel screaming against stone when it found the cave entrance instead of his flesh.
Venrick’s counterattack caught something solid.
It was a glancing blow rather than the finishing strike he’d intended.
Suddenly Zorjan was there, tangling with him, all wiry strength and serpent-like wriggling.
“Got you,” Venrick declared, his arms locked around the goblin in an iron embrace.
But Zorjan wormed in his grasp like an eel.
With each twist, he threatened to slip free.
The goblin’s foot hooked behind Venrick’s ankle with devastating precision, and they toppled backward.
The impact against the sealed entrance sent fractures of light lacing through Venrick’s vision.
The door cracked and a sliver of sunlight broke through to illuminate their deadly dance.
Venrick maintained his hold, the goblin’s back pressed against him as they struggled against the stone door.
One arm slithered free of Venrick’s grasp.
Metal rang as another knife appeared, arcing backward in vicious stabs.
Once, twice, three times the blade stuck the stone as Venrick weaved aside, death a possibility with each passing heartbeat.
Venrick’s defense found the fourth strike, his grip halted Zorjan’s arm, the blade mere inches from his face.
Zorjan tucked his chin, and Venrick’s battle-trained instincts screamed a warning of an incoming headbutt. Instead, needle-sharp teeth sank into his forearm, burning like molten iron against his flesh.
“Ahh!” The cry tore from Venrick’s throat as his grip loosened.
Zorjan melted into the cave’s depths becoming the shadows, his movements fluid and predatory in the darkness.
The attack Venrick braced for never came.
Instead, the goblin’s cursing cut through the stale air, his native tongue sounded harsh and guttural as it bounced between the stone walls.
“You bit me!” Venrick shouted as he watched in horror. Vermillion tendrils of poison spread beneath his skin like spilled ink, leaving a decaying numbness in their wake.
“Augh,” the goblin spat, his voice thick with disgust. “Foul, tainted blood.”
“You bit me!” Venrick repeated, incredulous, his world tilting as the venom worked its way through his veins like ice water, each heartbeat carrying the poison deeper.
“You vile elf-man, you’re cursed,” Zorjan spat, dragging his tongue across the wall with such violence it left streaks of saliva on the weathered stone.
The chest lay on the cave floor like a beacon in the gloom.
Venrick stumbled toward it, the strength in his legs betraying him as he fell.
His fingers scraped against the rough ground as he pulled himself forward, curling his wounded arm around the artifact.
The runes carved into its surface awakened at his touch, releasing ribbons of celestial green light that writhed like living things.
They coiled around his arm in spectral ribbons, drawn to the wound.
Where the light touched the bite, Venrick’s flesh sizzled and steamed.
Pain lanced through him, sharp enough to cut through the fog brought on by the venom.
His muscles seized as the magic burrowed into him, hunting down every drop of poison.
The sensation was like lightning trapped beneath his skin, excruciating yet clarifying.
Through half-closed eyes, he watched the toxin rise from his flesh and dissipate into nothingness.
Strength flooded back into his limbs, the weakness of moments before nothing but a memory.
Venrick rose in one fluid motion, the chest secure in his injured arm while his other hand found the familiar weight of his sword. The blade caught what little light filtered through the entrance.
“You have a curse on you. Be gone,” Zorjan said.
“I came here for a service, Zorjan. I’m not leaving until you agree to what I ask,” Venrick replied, his voice steady despite the lingering memory of pain.
“Soiled, tainted blood,” Zorjan growled, spittle flying from his lips.
His lunge carried the coiled tension of a viper’s strike yet stopped short of commitment.
The thin shaft of light from the doorway allowed enough illumination for Venrick to keep his blade trained on the goblin’s throat, creating a delicate standoff.
Venrick risked a glance at the chest, marveling at how its magic had purged the goblin’s paralyzing venom from his system with such incredible efficiency.