Two weeks had passed, and the goblins still hadn’t abandoned their siege. Regis tried everything from directing his cooks to making lavish meals to even an attempt at sending Strum as an emissary. Yet they refused to break their stranglehold on his business. Regis very much didn’t appreciate their arrogance.
Short of using force to break through the barrier, there weren’t many options. Regis had begun tunneling outward from his dining area, connecting directly outdoors instead of the cavern. This, unfortunately, demanded much more essence investment than predicted. If he factored in his essence investment into Vraz to form their bond, Regis began to doubt his ability to carry through the project.
That meant that this siege that refused to break had far more impact than Regis could have predicted.
Not to mention cooping up all of these goblins in the small kitchen and dining room had unintended consequences…
“Out Wort corner! Wort smash.” The big-bellied hobgoblin grabbed a stone carving of the Ground-Father and threw it against the ground. It cracked into a hundred pieces as Regis felt a flush of Wort’s earth mana.
“Damn you, heathen! The Ground-Father whispered to me of your sin of laziness and demanded his holy relic be put here to clear up your awful aura. If you keep this behavior up, you shall burn in the heavens.” Pox bristled as he leaned over and desperately tried to scoop the shards into a pile.
“Wort no care of silly Ground-Father. Wort corner is Wort corner.” He patted his belly and stared daggers at Pox before retreating to his pile of furs lining the corner. Vraz drifted between them with a sly smile.
“Oh? You’d think a holy relic would be able to hold up better. I’d think it rather impossible that such an artifact made of stone would break when tossed against the floor.”
“Silence, sinner. Your words mean nothing to me, for they are spoken from the mouth of a liar.”
Vraz’s smile disappeared. “Get out of my kitchen.”
“If you may wander into our holy dining room at your own will to try to make amends with the one you hurt, then I am allowed in the kitchen at the will of the Ground-Father. Stop harassing our Paladin, and perhaps I’ll consider praying to the Ground-Father for your redemption.”
Ah, that was an additional annoyance for Regis. The twins had begun to convert the Hero into a Paladin. It involved long and tedious rituals that included copious noises and repulsive smells. Now Gikx was striding around in his domain with a far more inflated ego than ever before and picked fights with everyone. Go figure when a goblin thought they had the backing of a god, they got even more self-involved. Since he was angry, it became easier for him to fly off the handle.
Strum sighed and shifted in his chair near the entrance to look at them. “Pox, please return to the dining room and resume mining. If we have any hope of getting out here before the food runs out, Regis will need your help to make the tunnel.”
Annoying. While it was true he didn’t have the spare essence to complete the project, whose fault was that truly? Not his. Relying on these pests irritated him to no end. Strum denied him from overseeing the mining project. Jagged edges everywhere—it’s like the dumb little donkeys didn’t care about appearances at all.
Did they know how much effort it was going to take later to fix their haphazard construction?
Strum sighed and leaned back in the chair, accepting a glass of water before Jilde, before his attention returned to the entryway.
She floated around him, a grin stretched ear to ear. While tensions in almost everyone in the kitchen, the goblinette remained radiant. And that annoyed Regis too. How dare she be so joyful while he was stuck with all of these fools? Besides, the care she levied on Strum got on his nerves. She was constantly at his beck and call and provided backrubs and delivered meals.
Dreadful. Awful. Despicable. Where was Regis’ personal servant? He’d like a nice polish to make his surface shiny and radiant. But no, whenever he suggested it to any of his employees, they laughed it off.
Wort began to snore in his corner once more as Vraz started to cook up the rations for today.
The food supply was dwindling. Only a month or so remained, and that was if they stretched it. Regis made sure to prioritize the food based on the expiration date. The cost of the constant fighting and unproductivity it led to made it seem more and more likely that when they eventually ran out of food, they'd still be trapped.
And then, he’d have to wave the flag of peace to those dreadful savages and submit to their demands.
How did I end up in this position?
“Captain Tuskfang.” Phizos peered up at the oafish orc. Per his name, the large chubby green-faced creature did, in fact, have equally large and bulky tusks hanging out of his mouth. It affixed the Captain’s face in an unfortunate position that made him look incredibly dumb. It was as if he had his mouth open in a constant state of shock and confusion.
“Sir.” Captain Tuskfang said, his back straight and his eyes forward. The perfect posture of a dedicated military man with years of experience.
“Yes, yes,” Phizos said, waving off the formalities. He took another puff of the cigar and rubbed the back of his neck. It’d taken a little over a week to get all of his troops in position, and he was already well and truly done with fieldwork. “What have the scouts found?”
“They’ve reported minimal exit and entry to the cave system. Only a couple of forgers in and out. Under my instructions, we've detained and questioned one of the goblins."
“And?” Phizos asked as he tapped a foot on the ground. Tuskfang cleared his throat.
“It is as you feared; the Shaman is ill, and the Chieftain has taken the opportunity to solidify his power.”
“Well fuck.” Phizos balled a fist. “He took out the dungeon, didn’t he?”
“No, sir. He’s been gathering his loyalists. As we speak, he is in the process of convincing the rest of the tribe to assault the dungeon. But they’ve proved resistant to the idea. Hence the delay. It appears he’s walled off access to the dungeon while coordinating his tribe.”
Phizos’ face eased as he realized the situation was more salvageable than at first glance, but that didn’t make it less messy and headache-inducing. He’d been told not to interfere, but given the circumstance…
To what extent could they get involved? They didn’t dare risk the precious dungeon to a bunch of warmongering goblins.
He turned his attention to the witch. Murdoc sat in an invisible chair, with her arms crossed and her nose turned up at him. Phizos raised an eyebrow. “Report, witch.” Captain Tuskfang took a step back.
“What?” Murdoc snorted at him. “I have nothing to report.”
“You were supposed to use your magic to get a look at the interior.”
“There are barriers. Whoever that Shaman was, they were skilled at illusion magic; I haven’t been able to break past it with my divination.”
“So you’ve been useless.” Phizos jabbed a finger at her. “Like you always are, tell me, what happened to that ward you put on the odd goblin from this tribe.”
Murdoc bristled and looked away.
“Why do we even pay your salary? By the gods, you make more than I did before my promotion—and I’ve never seen you even lift a finger without complaining several times over. Why maybe I should put you on the front lines, so we don’t waste any actually useful soldiers—“
“Respectfully, Sir. My men are seasoned for combat and more than capable of handling a tribe of goblins. I fear this witch here would only get in the way.” Captain Tuskfang added before bowing his head to apologize for the interruption.
Phizos scowled as the hedge witch raised her middle finger towards both of them. He’d hoped her divination magic would provide all the evidence he needed to justify the decision to bust in and conquer the tribe. Given the explicit orders not to—he needed enough supporting evidence to engage in a dramatic course of action. But without the backing for such an assault…
Well, Lord Cygan and his advisers were thorough. Even if things worked out, they’d audit the situation and examine if his actions had just cause. The last thing Phizos desired was some pig-nosed noble sniffing into his affairs. If he didn’t have a solid line of reasoning for such a maneuver, those annoying bastards would expand the scope of their investigation and look further into his command.
And Phizos didn’t want them to uncover the dwarven-whiskey trade agreement he’d made. The income of that was going directly into his retirement fund. He intended to live on a fancy island, and nobody would take that away from him.
Phizos took a deep puff of his cigar, weighing the options. Did he have enough gold to bribe a noble to look the other way? What were the chances they might uncover something to give to the auditor to make them tie up the investigation quickly? Gods, he hated this job.
The only thing worse than having his back-end deals exposed would be displeasing Lord Cygan. The Dragon would get prickly if a bunch of hick goblins wiped out the peculiar dungeon before it got a good look at it. Damn. “Captain Tuskfang, ready your men. We’ll strike tomorrow. I want an efficient operation with minimal causalities to both your forces and the goblins. The goal is to take control, not slaughter.”
“Yes, sir. We will be ready as soon as possible.” Captain Tuskfang rose a hand to a salute, and Phizos dismissed him with a nod.
That left him alone with Murdoc.
“Get out of my sight, witch.”
“Are you sure you want that?” the woman turned towards him, a dangerous glint in her eye. She tilted her head as the aura around her seemed to swirl. Phizos wasn’t very familiar with magic, but he felt it prickling in the air.
“Why would I want you anywhere around me? You’re useless, as you’ve proven again and again—“
“My Divination magic couldn’t penetrate their defenses, but I did discover something quite interesting.” Murdoc leaned forward, her oversized hat shifting as she steepled her hands together and looked at Phizos. There was an evil smile on her face.
Phizos shifted in his spot and shook off his nerves. Hedge-witches loved to play mysterious and act tough. The gremlin puffed up his chest and wobbled towards her to blow a ring of smoke into her face. “Speak, witch. I don’t have time to waste on silly games.”
“Sergeant Phizos, why were your men receiving a delivery of several casks of whisky from the Honorstone clan?”
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Gremlin just got stoned.