“Sophia!” Sera cried, rushing to her. She took hold of her friend’s arms. “Look at me, Soph. Focus.”
Sophia’s eyes met Sera’s. She shook her head as if to clear it. The glassy look receded. “Came in fast,” she murmured. “Got to the gates, but a death rider shot my hippokamp. She went wild….She bolted. We made it into the court, but the wagon tipped over. I don’t…I can’t remember….” Her eyes widened. “Oh, gods, Sera. Totschl?ger.”
At that instant, a medic—Henri—swam up. He immediately started to treat the wound on Sophia’s forehead, but she shook him off. “Find Totschl?ger, please,” she begged. “He’s been shot. I’m fine! I’m fine! Go find Totschl?ger!”
Sera realized her friend was in shock and edging toward hysteria. She tried to calm her. “It’s okay, Soph. We’ll find him. He’s here. The medics will help him.”
Sera slung one of Sophia’s arms over her shoulder. The two mermaids swam through the court. “Has anyone seen Totschl?ger?” Sera called out.
There were bodies everywhere. Plumes of blood drifted through the water. The cries of the injured echoed off rocks and boulders. Medics rushed to and fro with bandages and stretchers.
Sera kept searching, hoping to spot Totschl?ger’s face among the living, not the dead, but she couldn’t find him anywhere. She was about to give up when she heard someone shouting for her. It was Henri.
“He’s here!” He waved Sera over.
Sera and Sophia rushed to him. They found Totschl?ger lying on his back. His eyes were closed. A wound gaped across his chest, ugly and red. Dread knotted Sera’s stomach. No one can survive an injury like that, she thought.
The fearsome goblin was barely breathing. Henri was kneeling in the silt next to him. Other goblins, and some mer, had crowded around.
“Is he…” Sera started to say, hoping against hope.
Henri shook his head. Sophia’s face crumpled. “He fought so hard, Sera. We only got away because of him. This is my fault!” she sobbed. “It’s all my fault!”
Sera pulled Sophia close. “It’s not your fault, Soph,” she hissed. “Do you hear me? It’s Vallerio’s fault. It’s his fault!”
Suddenly a goblin pushed his way through the crowd, shoving everyone else out of the way. It was Garstig, a goblin commander.
“Din dumme, dumme fjols,” he said gruffly as he knelt down beside Totschl?ger. “Kun et ryk som du kunne f? sig selv skudt.”
Sera translated his words in her head. You stupid, stupid fool. Only a jerk like you could get himself shot.
Garstig took his comrade’s hand, not caring that it was covered with blood.
Totschl?ger opened his eyes. “Garstig, you big oaf. Is your face the last one I’ll ever see? Gods help me. You’re uglier than a blobfish, and you smell worse than rotten walrus-milk cheese.”
Garstig chuckled. “Always one for sweet words, even when I first met you, back in military school.”
“We had some good times, old friend. Didn’t we?” Totschl?ger said, trying to smile.
Garstig nodded. “Remember when we raced hippokamps through the market in Scaghaufen? I fell off and landed headfirst in a bucket of marsh melons. I still have the scar,” he added proudly, pointing to a jagged mark on his temple. “And a few on my backside, too, from the farmer’s pitchfork.”
Totschl?ger’s smile broadened.
“Remember our first battle?” Garstig asked. “We fought those stinking Feuerkumpel who’d snuck across the border. Sent them off with some nice, juicy wounds. We celebrated that night. Who drank too much r?k?? And threw up for three days straight?”
Totschl?ger laughed, but the laugh turned into a painful, racking cough. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. His chest started to hitch.
“Garstig, speak…” he said, struggling to get the words out. “Speak for me…please.”
Garstig tightened his grip on Totschl?ger’s hand. “Of course I will. And Vaeldig will hear me, don’t you worry. You’ll be in Fyr before the stars fade,” he said.
Tears sprang to Sera’s eyes. Fyr, she knew, was the goblin word for the underworld. All goblins, no matter what tribe they belonged to, believed that when they died, Vaeldig, their war god, took the bravest among them to his grand hall in Fyr to fight and feast for all eternity.
Blood was dripping off Totschl?ger’s chin now. He could no longer talk. His breath came quick and shallow. For a few seconds, the light in his eyes burned as brightly as the fire in a goblin forge; then it dulled and faded away.
Gently, Garstig closed those eyes. Tears, as black and thick as oil, streamed down his cheeks. With a roar of grief, he threw his head back and cried out to his god.
“Hear me, great Vaeldig!” he shouted. “I, Garstig, speak for Totschl?ger of the Meerteufel! He was a fierce warrior, brave and loyal! He was an honor to his chieftain, an honor to his tribe! Reward his courage! Carry his spirit to Fyr and seat him at your table!”