The White Fox Read Online Free PDF Page A

to the other tribes. You, as a race, have been wronged. Supplanted in your homes by those considering themselves better than you, you have been driven out of the west into these wastelands. Your very cultural heritage is one of shame and denial. The legacy of your ancestry is for you all to be condemned as nomads. We offer you the chance to change that. If you are brave enough to undo your forefathers’ mistakes, then we shall meet again in the valley of Sitzung in one week’s time. If not, then you will remain hungry whilst your fellow tribes gorge themselves on the lion’s share of the winnings.”
    There was silence for a long moment. Then a few mutterings.
    “But, my lord,” ventured one of the goblins in his high, scratchy voice, “our army ain’t big enough. Even with all the tribes in the Wastelands we still can’t stand against them.”
    “We will swell your armies with some military acquisitions of our own. You need not worry about that. Furthermore, there will, of course, be alchemy involved.”
    Instantly, the crowd erupted, jumping and cheering their approval. One overzealous goblin leapt and accidentally speared another’s ear. In a flash, the second was on him, beating his pointed face to a pulp, and the cheering euphoria dissolved into a punch-up.
    Rolling his eyes slightly, the stranger let his lance hover for a moment as he raised his right hand. He clenched his fist, and it burst into sickly emerald flame. He made a punching motion to the side. With a small boom, the fireball burst from his forearm and clouted a nearby goblin in the chest. He shrieked, and a moment later the metal parts of his armor clattered to the ground, the ash that was once scaly flesh slipping away on the wind.
    Silence fell immediately. The chieftain was still kneeling, his head raised. The adversary lowered his weapon, so that the two prongs arched around either side of his neck, the shorter central one making a slight indent into his throat.
    The goblin decided to speak. “You filthy, traitorous bunch of—”
    The spear was thrust forward. Dark blood spurted everywhere, and the goblin’s head rolled onto the ground, coming to rest somewhere behind the body. The corpse flopped backwards pathetically, loosing its crimson bounty to the rocks.
    The elf knelt down. It was common tradition amongst these tribes to take a prize from the loser of a challenge. He slid the spiked gauntlets off the ex-chieftain’s arms and onto his own. They were far too elegant weapons for a greenskin.
    He stood up and turned, stepping around the campfire. As he passed, he kicked the dismembered head into the hearth. The flames intensified, gorging themselves on the newest meal. He marched away from the fire, the harshly highlighted folds of his cloak fading into shadow. The ranks of empowered goblins parted to let him through. He slid his hood over his face and smiled to himself. These imbecilic creatures willingly lent themselves to use as raw tools. Not for one moment had it occurred to them what
he
would get out of this arrangement. Everything was going as planned.

    Jack and Lucy spent the day in London. They took the train from Birchford to King’s Cross and then the Underground on to Oxford Circus. On the pocket money the orphanage gave him it would have taken an age to save up for a phone, and as they were both too young to work, Lucy had bought him one. This was a fair trade-off, however, as Jack had to accompany her whenever she wanted to go shopping. He had asked her that morning and had instantly regretted it. He had been carted around Topshop, H&M, Primark, Debenhams, John Lewis, and Selfridges. They had caught the train at quarter past eleven. By six, Jack was completely exhausted and quite short fused.
    “Anywhere else?” he asked, pausing to pick up a Primark bag he had just dropped for the third time.
    “Nothing in particular today.” Lucy shrugged. “But Claire’s is having a sale.”
    “I am
not
going in there again,”