Free The Goblin Corps by Ari Marmell

other humans rose from where he had knelt to check on his fallen companion, his face a mask of rage. “You bastards! You killed—”
    “What in the name of the blackest hell is going on here?”
    Orc, bugbear, and human examined the late arrival. Another human—older than the others, to judge from the gray streaks in his chestnut-brown beard—approached from within the walls. He sat atop a gargantuan black warhorse, and his armor, similarly hued, was steel rather than leather. The symbol embossed in the man’s breastplate, the silver crown of Morthûl, instantly marked him as an officer.
    “Captain!” one of the soldiers called to him. “These—these creatures attacked us! They—”
    The officer raised a gauntlet-covered hand, silencing the guard. Then, turning to face the heavily muscled orc, he asked, “Is this true?”
    Cræosh shrugged his massive shoulders. “They didn’t want to let us pass.” He didn’t point out that, technically, only the bugbear had committed any violence. He’d save that for later, if necessary….
    The captain turned back to the soldiers.
    “He’s an orc.” The same soldier answered the unspoken question, as though it explained everything. “And he’s got a bugbear with him!”
    The captain nodded. “I’m not blind yet, soldier. Last I checked, we were all soldiers of Kirol Syrreth. Was I asleep when they changed the rules?”
    “No, sir, but—”
    “And didn’t I specifically mention at last week’s assembly that we were expecting a few, ah,
foreigners
because the general was assembling a Demon Squad?”
    The guard snapped his mouth shut, unwilling to admit that he didn’t know—because he’d been recovering from an unauthorized night on the town, and suffering from an equally unauthorized hangover, on the morning in question. The dead man lying on the ground, had he been able, might have admitted to a similar condition.
    The captain shook his head. “You,” he said, pointing to a passing soldier, one who’d been uninvolved in the altercation. “Show these two to the barracks.” The soldier had been on his way to the mess hall for a much-needed lunch, but clearly knew better than to protest with the captain in this sort of mood. Glumly, he nodded, then gestured for the travelers to follow. The captain was still haranguing his men fiercely when they finally passed out of earshot.
    And then Cræosh happened to glance over at his companion. The furry creature was staring back the way they had come, his mouth quirked dejectedly downward.
    “What’s your problem?” the orc asked.
    “Guards take dead human away. What guards do with body?”
    Cræosh thought for a moment. It’d been a while since his lessons on human culture, but…
    “Bury him, I think. Why?”
    “Because,” the bugbear wailed, “Jhurpess
hungry!”
    Cræosh threw up his hands and moved to catch up with their guide.
    It quickly became apparent, however, that even here, at the end of their journey, nothing was going to be simple. The orc had taken perhaps a dozen more steps when he and the human were both jerked to a sudden halt by the plaintive screech from behind.
    Cræosh spun, one hand already grasping at his sword, to see Jhurpess crouched in the center of the road, arms wrapped over his head as though shielding his skull from a sudden hail.
    Torn between outright exasperation and a certain reluctant sense of obligation, Cræosh stomped to the bugbear’s side. He completely ignored the staring crowds that surrounded them, except for a single murderous snarl he directed at the humans nearest his odd companion. “What’s the problem now?”
    “Jhurpess not like city,” the creature whined, refusing to uncover his head. “Too many! Too many!”
    “Too…What’s he blithering about?” the soldier asked over the orc’s left shoulder.
    “He’s a forest-dweller,” Cræosh snapped in sudden understanding. “He’s not used to this many people.” Then, in a much lower voice, he