Llewella felt a little sick and her head swam. Worse still, the goblin was poking at her face with a finger covered in green gunk.

 

“Take herbs, put under tongue” Garpo barked.

 

She shook her head and was rewarded with an explosion of pain. She took a moment to review the situation. Lars was at the bottom of the dusty basin, maybe dead, maybe just incapacitated, either way he was trussed up tight with leather thongs. He had fallen while trying to kill the kobold that had brained her. Garpo had dragged her up the rock-strewn eastern slope while Lars fought fought them. “Easy”, the merchant at the wayshrine had said. “A half dozen kobolds at most, armed with blunt stone spears and pissy little slings. You’ll have ’em for breakfast”. That merchant was an idiot, ‘Wella decided, and would certainly not be seeing his cargo should she and her companions survive to liberate it.

 

“Take herbs, elf-girl eat, friend Garp needs your help. You make magic for to save Lars.”

 

The goblin tripped over the word ‘friend’, but she supposed the sentiment was there. She scooped the green paste from his filthy fingers, deposited it under her tongue and … it was wonderful! She swallowed the healing salve and energy surged into her system. The pounding in her head receded and the world snapped into focus.

 

They had stalked the scaly bandits to their lair in this tiny gully, only to find themselves flanked. The merchant’s ‘half-dozen’ had expanded to nearly twenty, most of whom pounded them with stones. One of the bigger ones had gotten through Lars’ guard and struck Llewella in the head, ruining her spell and casting her to the ground. Garpo had managed to haul her away and hack into the kobolds at the same time. Lars stood his ground and held them at bay, but not for long. The kobolds had swarmed him and taken him down. Now half the band tried to light a ritual bonfire while the others stalked up through the shrubs and boulders, wary of Garpo and his sturdy horse-bow.

 

All this for that lying dwarf’s cargo – a dozen iron cooking pots and a barrel of beer. “We really need to hit the big-time” she murmured, as she kneaded a noxious lump of tallow, sulfur and iron dust in the palm of her hand.