Captive Of The Warg, (Wargs of the Outland #2)

Of Teef and Tongues

The goblin was shorter than her, and consumptive-looking. Despite that, he was broad in the chest and bristled with bony strength. A hungry goblin with an unsettling stare. The only human thing about him was the shape of his ears.

As she studied him, he likewise took her measure. The moments crept by and the night held its breath, but she knew it'd been no more than seconds since he'd unveiled his face.

She didn't dare release his gaze, lest he seize that moment to pounce, but she hated not knowing where the others were. Goblins were like wargs and humans, always traveling in cohorts or packs. But in Goblick, the word they used was something closer to horde. So where was its horde? A lone goblin was unheard of. The same could be said of humans and wargs, yet here she was. And there Bayne lay. Each alone.

That itch between her shoulders began to throb. It behooved her to try speaking again, for if she left it to him to make the next move...

He gave a lizard blink, a slow horrid tick of the eyelids. Reia realized it was the first time he'd blinked.

Think! Think! Think!

Wargish was the only language she'd learned with any fluency. And that under duress, her father slapping her across the head with a thick lexicon each time she got a word wrong. There were few who could speak Wargish, but even fewer who'd mastered Goblick. A useless endeavor seeing as the little cannibals never bothered with humans except to eat them. For that reason, she could count on one hand the words she knew—a language of high-pitched barking vowels.

Her time was running out. She noticed the tension gathering in his shoulders, like a coiling spring. The goblin looked to be coming to some decision. One she knew didn't bode well. Her mind swirling with black panic, she snatched the first thread of Goblick at hand.

"Ha-gah," she said, shortening the last syllable, letting it finish in the back of her throat like a croak. They had no word for hello, but this translated to something like, "You come." A dull language. Neither a welcome nor a brush-off. But a command to state one's purpose. A useful, if unlovely, phrase.

The goblin's brow perked with amusement, head cocking slightly. But his body uncoiled a fraction. And that was enough to give her hope. Until he answered at last.

Instead of Goblick, though, he surprised her further. "Eeh know why," he said, his voice guttural. Wraisian. He'd spoken Wraisian! You know why.

And she did, didn't she? Why else would a goblin sneak up on a human...except with intent to kill?

She didn't question where the instinct came from, but she answered him in Wargish. Somehow that language held more power. "If you harm me, my wolf will hunt you down."

The goblin's lizard eye darted down to the warg. "Eeh speak lie." He'd chosen Wraisian again, each word lizard-like and slow. His long fingers unfurled towards the warg, a graceful horror in the gesture. "Eeh wof no wake. No teef."

Except for the oily, thick locks, the creature boasted not a speck of hair, nor a single whisker, anywhere that she could see. Naked brows and eyelids devoid of lashes. But what he lacked in hair, he made up for in teeth. Rows of them behind his too-wide smile.

Then he pointed a long finger at her mouth. "Eeh teef, go here," he said, lifting his cloak away to reveal an elaborate baldric from which dangled sundry teeth of all shapes and sizes, molars and canines alike. It was strangely like Bayne's livery of horror. A morbid keepsake of all his kills?

He was toying with her again, prodding the fear slithering in her belly. So he meant to wear her teef on his trophy belt, did he? "My wolf likes my teeth where they are." Basil, where are you?! She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep the fiend talking.