Bride of Alvar (Redemption Saga, Book 1)

Chapter 13

Fletch was a gobli who worked in the Ferardian mines as a slave. He was a little grunt of a gobli, scrawny, shorter than a collie, hairless, with long bat like ears, grey-green skin, and a pug-nosed face.

There wasn't any threat in Fletch and that's why King Saul had chosen him specifically.

Alvar spotted him under the dim lights of the mines pounding at a chunk of rock.

"I suppose you've come to take me to the over-world." The creature looked up at him with orange eyes and growled through his pointy teeth.

"Aye," Alvar said, resting his solid, muscular frame against the sooty walls of the mines. "Word is you are the best lock picker of any gobli in the mines."

"If I was, you think I'd still be in chains?" Fletch grumbled and turned back to pounding the rock. Despite his efforts the rock was barely chipped.

"You aren't much use in the mines are you?" Alvar grinned. He liked the foul creature. Gobli were treacherous by nature, but this one had a sense of humor.

"But I hate the over-world more," Fletch said.

"Why?" Alvar cocked his head.

"I hate sunlight. Don't you know anything about goblis?"

"As a matter of fact," Alvar stated, and laughed as he reached in his pocket for the pair of shaded specs he'd been given. "You won't have to squint wearing these, little one."

"Little one?" Fletch narrowed his eyes at the jab. "I already hate you."

"You can call me, Scarbrow." He didn't bother to extend a hand. Goblins didn't shake hands and hated physical contact with humans. "I have a feeling you've already picked your chain's lock."

"Master Scarbrow? You aren't as stupid as the slave masters. I'll give you that," Fletch said and yanked at the chain around his ankle, which immediately came off.

"Why haven't you run?" Alvar asked. If one had a chance at freedom one must at all costs take it in his opinion.

Fletch shrugged. "I have my reasons, but they aren't any of your business."

"Very well." Alvar turned to begin his upward climb back into the light with relief. Not that the tunnels bothered him. He was used to hiding in the dark.

"Hand me those specs first, gutter rat," Fletch said and extended a calloused and warty four-fingered hand.

"As you wish," Alvar tossed them at him. Fletch caught it with the accuracy of a jungle cat snatching a bird midair.

They walked out of the mines and into the sunlit barren pit the mines were dug into. A slave master passed them on their way, but didn't even acknowledge Fletch or Alvar.

"Whose lock am I going to be working on?" Fletch asked, adjusting the spectacles against his hideous little face, now even more hideous in the burning light of the sun.

"The lock of a high security temple," Alvar answered. "But I do not wish to discuss details in public."

"Look at you, all important and unable to discuss details," Fletch snorted. "You consider yourself a great asset to the king I'll bet too."

"If you don't want to be beheaded by our king I suggest you show me some respect," Alvar mumbled.

"Aye, and why is that?" Fletch asked. "The king wouldn't send his son down into the mines. No, I've already figure out what you are, Scarbrow."

"And what is that?" Alvar shot his gaze down at Fletch, wondering if he wasn't as dumb as he was ugly.

"You're wearing an elaborate collar around your neck, but not because you are royalty, that's a slave's collar and a special one at that," Fletch said.