Prologue
Dalton Sm’eg ran his fingers through his thick green fur. Catching a small parasite, he crushed its head between his fingers and popped it into his mouth. Savoring the slightly salty flavor for a moment, he thought back to when he had first seen one of the little yigul. It had been ten years ago, just a boy-child whose entire family had been slaughtered by Oners outside the now ruined town of Jamesville. He had been dragged into a death camp run by the Oners, and tossed into a sandy pit filled with malnourished olgog prisoners.
Everyone was infested with the yiguls. The little sand parasites would rarely cause problems for Olgogs out on the nomadic trail, grooming and removing the parasites before they could take hold was a normal part of nomadic living. But it did take daily grooming, something Olgogs did together. Yet at the Death Camps any physical touching between Olgogs was illegal and would instantly bring down the jailers.
Dalton remembered picking the viguls off the eyes of an elderly Olgog his first morning in the camps. The parasites had turned the poor old gog’s face into a mass of bleeding wounds, and he was desperately trying to pick the nits out of his eyes before he lost his sight permanently. Dalton had a moment of compassion, a common enough feeling in the heart of Olgogs and other species.
He began pulling away the yiguls, quickly and efficiently. Within two minutes the old gog’s eyes were clear, and he muttered his thanks, but quickly began trying to warn the young Dalton away. But it was too late.
Two Church of One Knights pulled him off the old gog, and dragged him to their leader. The leader was a young Paladin Captain, and had no patience for an Olgog who couldn’t follow the rules. Dalton remembered the camp was under review at the time a fact he didn’t understand his first time among the Earthers, but there among the assembled leaders was a single Earther Lord.
Paladin Captain Marath Deyonne had looked down at him coldly, with the uncaring gaze of a teenager. Marath had been barely seventeen at the time of their fateful meeting. Marath had been bold as a squire and became a knight at fourteen. He had saved the life of a noble Lord when their unit was overrun by natives at age sixteen and had been elevated to captain status much to the chagrin of the hundreds of thousands of knights who spent their entire life serving in hopes of a rank of captain.
As a result the knights under Captain Marath’s command were extra cruel and brutal, so angry were they to be bossed around by a lucky child.
The knights who dragged Dalton from the pit, and dragged the young Olgog across the sands didn’t know the five foot tall gog was only a child by human age standards. They pummeled him brutally in the face with their armored gauntlets every time one of his feet dared to not keep their pace.
By the time he reached Captain Marath and the leader’s tents, Dalton’s front teeth had been shattered. Bits of tusk and tooth and blood had been spit out earlier leading to another beating around the ribs. Apparently the Earthers expected him to swallow it.
Dalton was dragged in front of Maranth, and one Knight said, “One of the new ones was trying to do something to one of the old ones.”
Maranth first turned to Lord Grimaldus and said, “My apologies my Lord. This goblin came in on the newest carts. I had hoped he would be calm and cowed by seeing the holy sword of the church end their pagan demon worship.
But some of these goblins have hard hearts.”
Lord Grimaldus sighed, obviously unimpressed by the Captain’s camp and the captain in general.
Captain Marath rose from his wooden chair, and approached Dalton.
He said, “Some of your kind use demon magics to speak the tongue of Earthers, can you do this?”
Dalton replied, “I can understand your language. All except the word demon. That does not translate.”
Maranth stood back, “Exactly what I’d expect a demon-servant to say. But this means you can understand what I say. No Goblins in this camp is to lay a single finger on another goblin. You understand me.”
“I was only…” Dalton tried to be reasonable and explain.
“Do not argue with me,” roared Maranth lifting up an electric shock prod and thrusting it into Dalton’s ribs.
The olgog convulsed and screamed, as it caused even more pain from the broken ribs being mashed together by muscle spasms. Dalton fell, being held up only by the knights.
Maranth Deyonne stood before his superior and felt he had to prove his worth. Forced into a position of power far beyond his experience, the young captain decided he would make an example of Dalton so the other workers would tremble.
“No touching, means no touching,” said the Paladin Captain, “In the name of God and the Church you shall have both your hands removed.”
Dalton was pulled forward and his left arm placed over a battle drum. Maranth drew his sword and swung down with a decisive blow. The hand came off easily, bouncing into a bucket one of the squires placed there. Another squire was quick with wrapping that covered the wound preventing the spurting blood from striking any of the furnishings.
Dalton cried openly, but did not help but notice how precisely the squires moved. As if used to this.
The knights pulled his other arm forward, and the sword went up.
“Hold Captain Maranth. What sort of work will this Goblin be good for if you lop off BOTH hands?” asked Grimaldus in his own form of mercy.
“Umm…” said the Paladin Captain, perplexed and thinking for a bit, “Maybe pull a cart?”
“So you have established a punishment without regard for consequence of that punishment,” said Lord Grimaldus with an obviously disapproving tone, “I hope you don’t plan on rolling this punishment out on all the Olgogs here. I’d rather not have a camp full of lame animals.”
Dalton was dragged out of the tent by the knights, past a flock of ladies hearing one say, “Look at the Goblin’s mouth, all those bloody fangs. They must be monsters.”
Dalton was hurled into the pit again, feeling the yiguls begin flocking to the open wound on his stump.
He curled up into a fetal position cupping the wound, trying to pull the tiny parasites off him. But there were so many…
As Dalton wallowed in pain, Lord Grimaldus stood over the olgogs in the pit.
“You and your kind are lucky. The Inquisition has found no taint among you.
Therefore in my opinion you are at the very least an animal, not a demon. And an animal deserves food and shelter, and given meaningful work in the name of the Church.
Work here, do good work and at least you have a life,” said Lord Grimaldus.
Then he walked away his image burned forever into Dalton’s mind as the Lord who allowed such horror to progress.
As the years went on in the death camp, Dalton Sm’eg would always remember the man who saved his hand, not out of compassion or empathy, but because he saw him as a farm animal who should be worked to death.