Goblin Precinct (Dragon Precinct) Read Online Free

disposed of the bodies. While enclosed from the rest of the cavern by stone walls, the firepit did open upward to the sky, protecting Orvag and his workers from the worst of the heat, but it also made approaching the shop impossible to do without breathing through your mouth.
    Her leather-armored arm held in front of her face, Danthres turned to look at her partner. “Torin, remember that house that had the closet explode with all the muck from half of Cliff’s End bursting out of it?”
    Torin nodded.
    “I wish this place smelled as good as that.”
    That got a chuckle out of Torin and another sneer from Fanthral. The latter said, “May we please get this over with?”
    Orvag approached them, his soot-stained face breaking into a massive grin. He wore an apron that had even more soot stains than his face—he’d actually washed the face some time in the past year, which was more than could be said for the apron—and carried a huge poker that was half again as long as the dwarf was tall. “Well well well! What brings the Cloaks into my place’a business, eh?”
    “We’re looking for a body,” Torin said.
    “Well, you’ve come to the right place, eh?” Orvag laughed heartily. “Any one in particular, or you just want one I pick at random, eh?”
    “This is not a joking matter.” Fanthral’s tone was bitter. “We seek the corpse of Elthor lothSerra, and you’d best pray to whatever foul deities your diminutive kind worships that you haven’t yet incinerated it.”
    Orvag’s laughter modulated into a frown. “I don’t know who you are, eh? But you ain’t wearin’ no castle guard uniform, so I ain’t have to take such tone from you.”
    Fanthral stepped forward, and Orvag tightened his grip on his poker.
    Danthres would have been more than happy to just sit back and watch them go at it—she especially was curious as to where, exactly Orvag might stick the poker—but Torin intervened, ruining her fun. “Fanthral here is a diplomatic representative from the Elven Consortium.”
    “I don’t give a shit if he’s the lord and lady’s son, I ain’t being spoken to like that in my own place, eh?”
    “A charnel house is indeed your ‘place,’ dwarf.” Fanthral continued to move forward.
    Then he stopped, looking down at the pouch on his belt, which Danthres noticed was now glowing. Reaching into it, Fanthral pulled out the gem he had shown them in the squadroom, but now it appeared to be lit from within by a light blue flame.
    “He’s here. Be grateful, dwarf, that you have not yet performed your ministrations upon him.”
    Orvag gripped the poker tightly. “I’ll perform a ministration on you, y—”
    “That’s enough,” Torin said to them both, then asked Fanthral: “Can you pinpoint the body?”
    “I believe so.” Fanthral walked over toward the pallets, finally finding one that had an elderly male elf and two human females, all covered in grime. “This is Elthor lothSerra.”
    “He is being claimed, eh?” Orvag asked.
    “So it would seem,” Torin said.
    “Fine by me, eh? One less body to deal with—you’re welcome to it.”
    “Good.” Fanthral turned to Torin and Danthres. “Please remove the body to wherever it is that your magickal examiner stores them.”
    Danthres’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
    “Were my words not clear, halfbreed?”
    “Oh, I heard you, believe me.”
    “Then what is the problem?”
    Torin cut Danthres off before she could give her incredibly rude answer to the question. “Because, sir, one of the many advantages to our rank of lieutenant is that we are spared such onerous duties as that of hauling corpses hither and yon. We shall summon some guards from the castle, who will take care of it.”
    Danthres looked at Torin. “All right, I’ll admit, you said that better than I would have.”
    Grinning, Torin said, “Considering that you would have said something along the lines of, ‘The problem is that you’re a shitbrain,’ that wasn’t