The Shortcut

“You no pass,” the hobgoblin said in crude common, as Moonhawk and Ginfla approached the hoard blocking the path.

Moonhawk hated hobgoblins. It wasn’t their inherent evil nor their abominable stench, though both were valid reasons. It was their stupidity that irked her, that and their need to travel in such large groups. “You no move you no live,” She replied in the same rudimentary version of the language.

“No pass,” the creature tried again, unused to travellers answering him back.

“What my friend means is, leave or die,” Ginfla said, “you do recognize our uniforms don’t you?”

The hobgoblins face screwed up in concentration as its brain processed the long words, “you clerics of war god,” it announced in triumph, a grin splitting its scarred and mottled face in two.

Ginfla winced as the breath washed over him, “Exactly, so what say we both continue on our respective paths and forget we met.”

Again its face screwed up.

“Too many syllables. Let me try,” Moonhawk said. “You go down path, we go up path, we no kill you.”

“No. We fight, you kill,” it said.

“That’s usually how it works,” Moonhawk agreed.

“Mean we kill,” it said, totally confused now.

“Me not,” Moonhawk said, drawing her sword, Hawkblade.

“We go,” the hobgoblin agreed, motioning the others past. “Temos deal with you,” it added with a wicked smile.

“Temos?” Moonhawk asked, looking at Ginfla.

“I’m guessing that’s Temos,” he said, pointing at a huge basilisk that moved purposefully toward them.

“We’re going to be late again,” she said with a sigh.

Ginfla nodded, drawing his own sword. “Next time you suggest a shortcut, remind me to slap some sense into you,” he said.

“Remind me to let you,” Moonhawk replied, moving into the attack.

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