by P D Dennison
The little company continued on through the woods well after supper and finally made camp for the night in a cozy hollow between two hills. All four agreed a fire might not be in their best interests as Kaldrinn had spotted several sets of goblin tracks over the last couple of days. They need not draw any more attention to themselves than necessary. So they rolled up in their bedrolls and settled themselves in for a much-needed sleep among the pine boughs. They’d made excellent time on horse and pony, even through the trees. There were enough deer and manmade trails that they made the twenty day journey Ravak, Manya, and Turynn made on foot in just eight days, though they had a leg left ahead of them and it would be the most dangerous, right through goblin territory.
The forest came alive at night with the sounds of all sorts of insects and tiny creatures scurrying past them. The dwarves and Kaldrinn had fallen fast asleep, having been accustomed to the noises of nature from many a night spent under the stars, but Rostioff did not. He lay awake staring up through the trees, thinking of the dragon eggs and contemplating the one star he could see through the canopy of branches and leaves above. His mind was beginning to grow numb to the constant chirps and scurries around him. He’d just started to close his eyes when he could have sworn he’d heard the sound of voices in the distance. It sounded as if someone was issuing orders, but they were still some distance off and he couldn’t make out a word of it. He sat halfway up to get a better listen and held his breath tight for a moment. Still no good with all the crickets, batwings, mice scurrying through the dried up leaves on the ground and the sound of the breeze in the trees, it seemed nearly impossible to even hear his breathing. He rose quietly so as not to wake the others then slunk off into the trees in the direction he thought the sounds came from, the east.
He walked for some time and the voices grew louder and came at more regular intervals. He began to hear the sound of booted feet marching. A company of men were up ahead somewhere and he aimed to get a gander at them and at the very least find out which direction they were headed.
It was maybe another five minutes before he came to a spot where he could see torchlight ahead through the trees passing to the north along what appeared to be a freshly cleared road. While he was not an accomplished traveller like Kaldrinn, he was an accomplished scholar and he’d studied the maps of Shaarn as best he could and knew this road was not where it ought to be. He crouched down and snuck in closer to get a better look at things.
As he approached, he determined the voices he heard were those of goblin commanders very roughly ordering their men on through the night, shoving and smacking at them as they passed shouting out things like, “March you dogs!” or “March to victory!” or even things as pomp as “March onward to the glory of Dark Fang!” Rostioff understood the goblin tongue clearly, though some spoke a rough version of the Common Tongue.
These goblins were organized and their numbers too great to even estimate as they passed. Rostioff tried to get a look fore and back to get an idea of the size of the unit, but neither the end nor the front were within sight in the dense forest. There were a lot of them, they were armed, and they headed out of the hills toward the Great Northern Plains and the lands of the Barbarian horde. He waited for about half an hour and watched all manner of troops pass by. Some mounted on tamed wolves carrying bows and spears and some riding mules that pulled siege weapons, such as catapults and ballista. Then there were those who walked past in the garb of witchdoctors. They all wore feathers and various pieces of common tribal magick such as lizard feet, chicken feet, eagle feathers, small skulls that looked as though they’d been shrunken down from full grown men. They carried staves crudely hewn with the various magickal markings of their people. Then came a small troop with covered wagons surrounded by chariots. Rostioff decided this must be the team leading the rabble to whatever battle they were heading off to fight. Finally the road grew quiet and the goblin soldiers passed out of sight over a rise in the foothills. Rostioff waited another moment or so to gather courage and crept up to the edge of the road.
He looked both ways north and south a good many times before entering the roadway. It was quiet and all he could hear now was the lively thrum of the forest night life again. He decided to head south the direction the goblin army had come from to determine how a force this large had made its way this far northwest unseen. He walked on for another half hour or so and was coming over the rise of a fairly good sized hill when he saw torches in the distance. Flattening himself out to one side of the road he scurried like a mouse on all fours over into the trees for cover.
Rostioff crept slowly over the rise from within the cover of the forest. When he reached a good vantage point, he began to survey the scene. Around the outside of the wall were well-maintained watch fires that burned brightly in the night. Rostioff could see guards patrolling the outside of the wall, single goblins with spear and shield. He spotted sentries stationed atop the walls at intervals armed with bows. There appeared to be a moat dug and filled with deadfall, or chopped wood, it was hard to make out at such a distance and with night upon him the darkness made it even more difficult to see just exactly what the goblins had planned with that moat. The area had been cleared for at least a hundred yards around the camp so that any would-be intruders could be spotted long before they had a chance to get at the wall. Torches were positioned every twenty feet or so on poles and burned brightly with fresh oil. Around the gate even more torches burned on sconces sticking out from the wall and it seemed the only way in or out. Five guards stationed at the gate played cards on top of an empty barrel by the torchlight. From his vantage point the small fort seemed almost impregnable. He decided he’d seen enough. As he backed away from the light of the encampment slowly, his foot touched something soft, bringing him to an abrupt halt with the realization of what he’d done. Three goblin soldiers stood there above him. One of them pointed a rusty bloodstained sword down at him.
“Don’t move a muscle, scum,” came the guttural sounding command from behind with the point of a sword at the back of his head.
He cursed himself. A fine mess this would be and he’d be lucky if they didn’t kill him, skin him, and eat him right there.
“Roll over!” came another gruff command enforced with a quick jab of the sword tip.
He slowly rolled over onto his back with his hands outstretched submissively to show he was unarmed. The little fellow doing the ordering was brandishing a short sword and had it not two inches from Rostioff’s right eye, ready to stick him if he so much as blinked.
“Who are you and what are you doin’ up ere’?” he barked in his gravelly little goblin voice.
“My name is Rostioff Fastelaine. I’m a healer. I’ve been travelling these woods looking for rare herbs for my work. Please, I mean you no harm.”
“Then what were ya' doing spyin’ on our fort?” the goblin growled back his reply.
“Spying? I wasn’t spying! I simply came upon it in my travels and was taking a look as any traveller would. It’s an impressive stronghold. You should be quite proud.”
“Quiet you!” hollered one of the others and a kick in the side of the head followed. Then the third fellow spoke as Rostioff’s head began to ring and his thoughts raced.
“What do we care who he is? Let’s take his things for ourselves and cook him right here. We ain’t had no man meat in moons and I’ve worked up a powerful hunger patrolling all evenin'!” He jumped on top of Rostioff, knocking the other goblin’s short sword aside and began to rifle through his pockets. He ripped the earring out of Rostioff’s left ear, leaving a painful wound. He reached for the bulging shape of the Dragon Orb beneath Rostioff’s robes when one of the others pulled him off.
“Now wait just a rat chokin’ minute ere’ you! We got orders and I’m in charge of this ere’ patrol! We cain’t just eat ‘im! We have to question ‘im, search ‘im, and then bring ‘im back to camp if we should decide he might be harbouring valuable information to the cause. After all that u
llaballo’, THEN we can eat ‘im,” said the first goblin.
“What cause is that exactly?” asked Rostioff, brow furrowed in curiosity and looking quite puzzled as he’d never heard goblins speak of cause before in his life. They simply swarmed, conquered, and fed on people. They fought for no cause; they had no greater purpose.
“Quiet you!” came the commander’s voice again and back whipped the short sword in front of Rostioff’s eye. “Let’s tie ‘im up and take ‘im back to camp.”
“But we ain’t even searched him yet!” said the fellow who’d stolen Rostioff’s earring and was still holding it in his dirty little claw with a piece of the wizard’s ear still attached, dripping blood.
“Let’s just eat ‘im already!” came the comment from third fellow again, who appeared to, in fact, be quite a bit fatter than the other two and looked very hungry. He was even drooling to the point where he had to lick his lips to sop up the spittle running down his chin.
“Meteor!” Rostioff shouted out his quick and commanding incantation. The magick he wielded differed from that of Manya or other conjurers that took some time to come forth through their focus staves. His brand of elemental magick seemed as if a gift from the very gods themselves and due to his natural talent in the arcane arts, he required no focus. Meteor, a spell he’d devised for combat, took him no time to cast at all, one word spoken and he was ready to assail his foes.
At once a small, red, hot burning meteor-like rock appeared in his hand. The three goblins stopped arguing and turned to look at it with the look of stunned astonishment on their faces. Their eyes went wide as they realized what was about to happen. The fat fellow’s head cocked slightly.
“Waasa’t you got ther...” He never finished that sentence.
Rostioff flung the meteor up into his face and it exploded into flames, taking his head clean off and sending rock fragments, goblin skull, brains and blood spraying out blinding and surprising the other two. Another meteor appeared in Rostioff’s hand as soon as the first had left his palm. He let it loose on the commander next, who was stumbling back blinded and shrieking at some red-hot debris that had gotten into his eye. The tiny meteor found its home right in the throat of the creature, which silenced him quite abruptly and he reeled back as his head came away from his neck and toppled over backward into an unnaturally bent heap on the ground. The last fellow who’d stolen his earring stood there dumbfounded and wide-eyed. He was unable to move as his tiny goblin brain processed all that went on around him. He began to raise his hands submissively and slowly shook his head, stepping away. He dropped the earring.
“I don’t want no trouble, guvna'. Why don’t you just be on your way and we’ll pretend this ole’ affair never happened, shall we?” He backed up a more quickly now.
Rostioff had another meteor at the ready and he rose to his feet. It gave the thief quite a start and he stumbled backward over a root and landed hard on his head on the ground. Rostioff was about to kill him with the last meteor when he had a thought. Maybe he ought to take the rotten bastard prisoner so they might extract some information out of him about the cause of theirs and what exactly a large army of goblins was doing here in the Winter Wolf Hills.
He disappeared the meteor in a puff and a fizzle and walked over to the goblin. The little rotter scurried backward on one arm, holding his throbbing head with his other. He bled from where he’d smacked the back of his noggin on the ground and posed no real threat now. Rostioff disarmed him easily enough and used some of their ropes to bind him up. He pulled the bodies of the other two out of view and covered them with leaves and branches as best he could. He took a quick look back up over the ridge. It didn’t seem as though any of the other guards had taken notice of the scuffle at all. He quickly slipped back down, grabbed his prisoner, and hurried back toward camp. Rostioff returned to find them all still fast asleep. The sounds of he and his prisoner entering the campsite woke them up as the goblin grumbled constantly and made no attempt at being quiet.
Postgaar was the first aroused. “What’s’iss’? Captured a goblin, have ye’, laddy?”
Kaldrinn was up next and rose to his feet to take the rope that bound the goblin off Rostioff’s hands. He held him fast by the neck and the rope.
Hengaar brandished his axe at the goblin to threaten death if the goblin made any attempt to run for it.
“Yes, I couldn’t sleep and heard voices so I went to investigate. They have constructed a massive camp with a palisade. A large detachment marched north into the horde lands. They set upon me as I lay observing their camp. This little slug and two others, not as fortunate as he to make it out of our brief encounter alive figured they’d try and take me prisoner.
Things didn’t work out so well for you, now did they?
I figure he can give us some information on what exactly happens in that camp and what exactly this cause is they’re fighting for.
“I ain’t gonna' tell you lot nuffin’, man meat!” He spat and hit Hengaar in the face.
“Hey now, you rotten swine!” Kaldrinn grabbed a dagger and gripped the vermin by the throat angrily again as he passed the rope to Hengaar. He raised him up off the ground. His hands were bound behind his back, but his feet were kicking freely at the air. Kaldrinn looked over to Rostioff and noticed his bleeding ear. The nasty wound from where the earring had been ripped free dripped down onto his neck and shoulder.
“An ear for an ear, I say.” Kaldrinn raised his knife up and sliced the goblin’s pointy, wart covered ear right off in one clean stroke then dropped him to the ground like a sack of laundry. The goblin shrieked and rolled around in terrible agony. Rostioff leaned down, grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic, and picked him back up again.
“Now if you tell me what cause it is you fight for and where those soldiers were marching too, I might let you live and make that terrible pain go away more quickly than you can say goblin stew.” He raised his hand to his ear, spoke a word of healing restoring his own ear. He did this so the goblin could see he had the power to do what he promised.
“If I tell ya, you’ll just kill me anyway. Maybe you should just kill me and get on with it. I’m not gonna’ betray my kin to you, man meat! If I’m gonna die, I’m doin’ it loyal to my tribe and my kin! To Avgruxx with you, wizard!” He spat again and this time into Rostioff’s face. Rostioff dropped him backward into the dirt and took up the sleeve of his robe to wipe the disgusting goblin spittle out of his eye.
“Fine, I’ll make you talk by force then.” He concentrated for a moment and spoke another incantation with his one arm outstretched while he had the other held high, making odd gestures in the air with his fingers.
“Saga Exakthet!”
In the air before him, an unusual looking white shimmering pictogram appeared and slowly moved toward the goblin until it landed on his foul little mouth and disappeared in a fizzle like the bubbles in champagne.
“What was that?” asked Postgaar as he and Hengaar both looked at the magick with a sense of childlike wonderment. They had priests who performed magick back in Stonehammer Keep but nothing like what this wizard of the Tower could do. Both appeared surprised and excited at the wonder of Rostioff’s power.
“That was a spell I call True Words. He cannot lie to us. However, his mind will be mush at the end of the casting,” said Rostioff. “Now tell me what your tribe is doing up in these hills!” he commanded of the goblin. The creature’s miniscule brain was under Rostioff’s command now. Its eyes were wide and pupils fixed on Rostioff. Its mouth hung wide as it awaited Rostioff’s command. It answered very quickly with a dumb look on its face as if it were no longer even there and some other wyrldly spirit commanded his lips as it searched the goblin’s tiny brain for the truth.
“We’re building a fort from which to do the master’s bidding and take back the lands he once ruled in the First Age.”
All four of them looked at each other apprehensively. Rostioff looked into Kaldrinn’s eyes and shook his head in disbe
lief. The dwarven brothers looked to one another again in shock still mostly at the magick but also at the prospect of the return of Graxxen of whom the goblin spoke as its master.
“Where will you attack first?”
“The border villages of the horde, Black Crow territory. They’re small and weak, thinking the Southerners and us too weak to overcome them. Our numbers are great and we’re powerful!”
“You’re still far too weak to overcome the mighty Winter Wolf! None can stand against their battle prowess. There must be more to this plan of yours than simply staging an open attack on the horde. That’s just suicide. Tell us what you’re doing and we may spare your life,” insisted Rostioff.
“My master has taken slaves among the horde. Even now there are powerful spies in their midst. You may have me and you may have my master’s secrets, but you cannot stop him! You’re all weak and you’ll fall under the rule of the Dark Fang and our king!” He growled and snapped at them, having had quite enough of the True Words spell and began to lose his mind as is the side effect. Drool rolled down his chin and dripped onto the ground beneath him. His eyes began to turn outward at odd angles to one another.
“Release him from the spell before he bites one of us and sends us into a fever. He’s insane!” Kaldrinn held his sword ready to strike down the little grub should he try to attack one of them.
“Not yet. I have more questions for him. How does your master plan to take the South? Its borders are protected by large armies. There are wizards, priests, and within the cities, the Garrisons and guilds will surely put an end to your wickedness.”
The goblin was hissing and frothing at the mouth and his eyes were rolling back in his head. His nose bled as the pressure inside his skull mounted and the spell pressed him on against his will. The goblin shook all over now fighting the madness that sought to take his mind.