Waverider Expedition - Freevalor
The smell of smoke reached them long before the village.
Venera reined in her horse on the ridge. Below, tents and wagons huddled against the wind, half-collapsed, a scatter of Freevalor banners hanging limp. Soldiers moved between the fires, their armor black with soot.
"They've burned something," Otto the Dwarf muttered. "Question is, what."
Severin shaded his eyes. "Or who."
They rode down slowly. The guards at the palisade recognized their charter and waved them through, though not without wary glances. War made strangers of everyone these days.
Inside, the air was thick with tension. Refugees sat by the wells, hollow-eyed. And beyond them, ringed by soldiers and stacked spears, stood a cluster of painted wagons, goblin wagons, bright with spirals and carved masks, out of place amid the mud and misery.
At their center, a young goblin woman argued with a Freevalor officer. Her skin was pale grey, her hair braided with copper beads. She spoke fast, hands cutting through the air like knives.
"We brought medicine, grain, salt! You see? You burn our wagons, you starve your own!"
The officer's voice was cold. "You led the Imperials here. Their patrol came from your trail."
Her jaw tightened. "They came for us, not you."
Venera stepped forward. "First Officer Venera Sorn, from The Waverider. We were told this village was allied to Freevalor. What's the charge?"
The officer turned. He was young, too young for the scars he carried. "Spies," he said flatly. "They fled an Imperial raid two days ago. The same day a Freevalor outpost was found gutted. You can draw your own line."
Severin smiled faintly. "I prefer to draw my own conclusions."
Venera studied the goblins. Their wagons were battered but intact. Children huddled inside, peeking from behind painted curtains. They didn't look like soldiers, or spies. They looked like people who'd run too far, too fast.
"Let me speak with them," she said.
The officer hesitated. "If they flee, the villagers will panic. Fear spreads faster than fire."
"Then keep your men calm," Venera said, and walked into the ring.
The goblin woman met her with a guarded nod. "You don't wear their colors," she said.
"I wear mine," Venera replied. "You fled an Imperial raid?"
The goblin's voice cracked slightly. "They burned the last village we passed through. Said we'd traded with rebels. Maybe we did. We trade with everyone who's hungry."
Otto the Dwarf scratched his beard. "So you help both sides and trust neither. Sensible."
That almost drew a smile from her. "We sell what people need. Sometimes, that's joy. Sometimes, it's bread."
Severin leaned on a wagon's wheel. "And now the good people of Freevalor want to hang you for it. Liberty does love its nooses."
Venera's gaze swept the camp. "You can't stay. Whether you're guilty or not, fear will kill you faster than any Imperial."
"We've nowhere else," the goblin said quietly. "The roads are ash."
Before Venera could answer, a shout rose from the barricade - the sound of alarm.
A scout stumbled into view, shouting, "Imperial riders! South road! Two dozen, maybe more!"
Panic rippled through the camp. The officer barked orders, forming lines. The goblins clutched their children.
Venera turned sharply to Severin. "Get the civilians moving."
"And the goblins?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Keep them under guard. Until we know."
The Imperials never came that night.
By dawn, the meadow was still.
Smoke hung low over the camp, the kind that clings after panic, not fire.
When Venera emerged from her tent, the goblin wagons were gone. So were the guards posted over them.
Otto the Dwarf was the first to spot it, a simple plank nailed to a post where the wagons had stood. On it, painted in bright, careless strokes, were the words:
"Freedom is not yours to give."
Below it hung a small tin mask, grinning crookedly, catching the morning light.
The officer raged, demanding pursuit. But the tracks led nowhere, just circles and mirages in the sand. The goblins had vanished, as they always did, leaving confusion in their wake.
Severin stared at the sign for a long time. "They escaped without fighting," he said. "That's a kind of genius I almost envy."
Otto the Dwarf spat into the dirt. "They'll call it betrayal."
"They'll call it what they must," Venera said. "But they'll remember it."