Stump bounded through the underbrush.
Branches and leaves lashed his skin and whipped the helmet he held tight against his side. The bloodlust was a double-sided spear, causing his stomach to bunch up like an elderly goblin fresh out of the bath, but fuelling his stubby legs to propel him over logs and stones.
His breath was ragged as he stumbled against a tree. His lungs burned and his knees ached, but he couldn't stop now. He had to survive. For Yeza. For himself. How long have I been running?
A stream cut a meandering path through the woods, flanked by muddy inclines. Above the canopy had thickened, blotting out most of the sky.
He slid the helmet over his head but found it both too big and too small. It rattled around when he turned his head, but he had to curl his ears too tightly to accommodate it.
This won't be any use, he thought, slipping it off and examining the partially melted visage. What can I do with you?
"You're smart, Ergul," Yeza had told him. "Smarter than any of them."
She was right, of course. She always was. But it was a small compliment. Goblins weren't normally known for their intelligence. They were strong and fast and good at killing, and they liked to fight up close, to see the fear in the eyes of their prey and bathe in the spray of their blood.
I have to keep them at a distance, he realized.
If he knew his tribesmen, they would spread out, each of them hoping to make the kill themselves. With only one possible reward among four contenders under the lust, they wouldn't be a unified whole. They'd be sloppy, eager for glory.
A howl sounded through the woods, followed closely by a second and a third. Stump's breath hitched. The hunt was closing in.
He darted forward, veering left and down the incline. Icy water splashed up his legs. He fished a handful of river stones out of the brook and dropped them into a pouch, then left the helmet at the edge of the stream and scrambled up the mud-slick bank and slipped behind a tree.
Griza would be on him first. She was the quickest, aided by her Scout class, but she was only level three and would be pining at a chance to earn her warname. Rat-Squealer or Little-Bear would be close behind. They were both seasoned but on the older side for warring goblins at twelve and thirteen.
Thrung would be last to find him. He hated Stump the most, he always had, but his burns would slow him down. The only uncertainty was that book. The glowing stone.
Stump wrenched himself from the trunk and vomited the meagre remains of his gut onto the forest floor. He wiped his lips and stood there for a moment, letting his body adjust to the bloodlust.
The hollering grew louder.
They're here.
The underbrush rustled on the opposite bank. Griza burst into view, laying bushes low with her spears. She snarled, chest heaving, as her eyes followed the bend of the water before lingering on the helmet.
Go down, go down. Stump carefully opened the pouch and loaded a stone into the sling.
Griza rolled down the slope and hopped over to the helmet. She turned it over with her feet and sniffed the air.
Stump pressed one hand against the tree and took aim.
"What have you got there?" came the whispery cadence of Little-Bear.
Stump dropped to his knees as quickly as the heat rose to his face. Have I been spotted? He peeked around the tree just enough to spy the goblin across the stream, looking down at Griza.
"That a gift for the matrons?" said Little-Bear.
"I found it first," Griza spat. "He's not here, look elsewhere."
"If that's his then he's nearby." The bigger goblin slid deftly into the stream and prodded a small mallet in Griza's direction. "Why don't I take that for you? Looks a little big to be carried around by a young one like you."
She squared her shoulders and lifted her spears. "My find, my gift. If you're so sure he's around, why don't you go look for him?"
Little-Bear mulled the challenge with a grimace. He nodded stiffly. "Fine. But your burnt offering's going to be nothin' compared to his severed head."
Before they could seal their shaky agreement, Stump wheeled around the trunk and let the river stone fly. It whistled through the air.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"There!" Little-Bear raised his mallet moments before the rock cracked against his chest.
Stump flinched at the sight of his fallen tribesman.
Griza spun on her heel. "You!" she snarled and darted up the incline.
He fumbled for a second stone, fit it in the woven sling, and launched it at her head. She slipped in her dodge and tumbled back down with a splash. Without breaking stride she leapt to her feet again and hurtled a spear. Stump slid left and yelped as the weapon thudded into the bark a goblin toe's length from his face.
She was halfway up the slope again a moment later, this time on all fours. He reached for another rock. The sling whooshed and the stone snapped loudly against her ankle.
She cried out and landed in the stream only a foot away from the motionless Little-Bear. Blood and dirt spilled into the water.
I'm sorry, Stump wanted to say. Sometimes he wished the bloodlust would affect him the same way it did the others, at least long enough to make him forget he didn't like violence.
Now, I just have to wait for—
A bloodcurdling cry pulled his attention to his side of the stream.
"Mine!" Rat-Squealer squealed.
So that's how he got his name.
He charged along the bank, arms flailing, axes in hand, shrill war cry scattering birds from the highest branches.
Stump hurled a rock at his torso—miss. A second throw—Rat-Squealer ducked aside. The third stone found its mark, disarming the goblin of one of his axes and nudging his battlecry into an agonized howl.
Rat-Squealer hunched over, clutching his hand and spewing curses. Stump reached for the killing projectile…
Only to find the sack empty.
"Well, tits," he said.
Rat-Squealer was on him again, eyes red with fury. He brought the axe down in a wide arc.
Stump dodged and broke into a run, only dashing a few steps before the air left his lungs. He fell forward, biting dirt, and rolled onto his back in time to catch the glimmer of dull iron inches from his face.
"You broke my hand!" Rat-Squealer cried at the other end of the weapon. He raised it for the final blow. "Glory for Grumul!"
Stump squeezed his eyes shut.
A guttural scream pierced the air, but it wasn't his. A warmth embraced him.
When he opened his eyes again, Rat-Squealer was on fire.
The goblin thrashed, dropping his axe. He fell to the ground and rolled from side to side. Within seconds he was motionless, skin crackling and popping with flames.
A dozen paces away stood Thrung, arm extended to the body of his burning tribesman. In his other hand was the open tome.
Magic? Stump thought. There were wizards he'd read about in some of the stories he'd taken from the tall men, beings with high levels and classes and command over the elements, but those were fairytales. Weren't they?
"You killed him!" said Stump. The act of deliberate goblinslaying of another in your tribe not marked for death was almost unheard of. Not even the bloodlust was strong enough to bring most goblins to such a horrendous act.
"My kill!" Thrung hissed. "No one else's!"
Stump splayed his weaponless hands as he stood. He let the sling fall to the ground. "Thrung…Fire-Spitter," he said, lathering his voice in as much deference as he could. "You could let me run. I'll never come back." His eyes fell to Rat-Squealer's axe, a couple paces away. "You could even take something of mine. The helmet. Tell the matrons you killed me."
Thrung's ears perked at the mention of his Ingilish name, but his face hardened again. "You did this to me," he said. His white eye glared accusingly out of a drooping socket. "I'll take back your shrivelled corpse!"
He flipped through the pages of the tome.
Stump darted for the axe. With one swift motion he snatched the haft and volleyed it forward.
Thrung brought the tome up as a shield just in time. The axe knocked it free and sent him tumbling onto his back.
Stump rushed for the book, hands outstretched. He grabbed the edge of the cover as Thrung clawed for the spine. They grunted and strained, the pages suspended between them.
"Let go!" Thrung growled.
Stump pulled harder, teeth gritted, arms trembling. His eyes went wide as the book split in two. Pages exploded outwards and both goblins yelped as they fell backwards.
Stump laid there for a moment, blinking at the sky, watching papers scrawled with notes and illustrations flutter lazily to the ground. He caught one and took in the words and saw the sketch of a figure on a flat plane, hand outstretched to a floating ball. It was written in Ingilish. I know the words.
He focused on the text beneath the drawing, sounding it out as best he could. When he rolled to his feet again, the forest was bathed in white.
Shadows peeled away from the surrounding trees and branches like old paint. He squinted through the brightness to see a floating point, a globule of light no bigger than a goblin's fist, as if Grumul had plucked a shard of sunlight and hung it beneath the forest canopy.
 
New Skill Learned
Lumenurgy
 
New Inherent Ability Unlocked
Manipulate Light
 
New Class Unlocked
Lumenurgist (I)
 
Thrung struggled to his feet, blinking against the light. "What have you done?" he hissed.
The globule bobbed patiently in the air. It emitted no heat, but Stump felt an inner warmth, a life, tucked behind its glowing curtain. It watched him, waiting, flaring gently as if to say, "What do you command?"
He ignored Thrung, and waved his hand from left to right, only to see the ball follow his movements. Magic. Real magic.
Thrung roared, drawing his arm back. Embers crackled between his fingertips. Before he could sling his fiery spell, Stump launched the ball towards him. It vanished in a sudden flash and Thrung's attack arced wide, scorching a nearby tree. He doubled over, clutching his one good eye.
"I can't see!" he shrieked.
Stump barrelled forward, throwing his shoulder into the other goblin and knocking him onto his back. He swiped up as many pages as he could—two, four, seven, eight.
Thrung groaned and cursed, threatening the air around him with swirling heat. He blinked hard and speared a pillar of flame inches over Stump's head. "The pages! Give them here!"
With one kick Stump sent the burned goblin rolling onto his gut before he bounded away, pressing the scattered pages hard against his chest. Ahead the morning gloom gave way to the twilight of the Shadowlands, and as he neared its border the forest grew darker, and the shadows swallowed Stump whole.