Guardian

by P B Hughes

  “I saw it again, Gregory,” Jelani hissed as they ran. “I saw the creature from before. It is with us.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gregory lied.

  “You mean to tell me you did not see it?” Jelani pressed. “You mean to tell me you did not hear the shaman cry Gorbikna! before he died?”

  Gregory deflected: “It was dark—I couldn’t see a thing. And how could you hear anything through all that racket?”

  They entered a particularly long stretch of tunnel, and Gregory could barely see. He was about to light his staff when he saw a glow up ahead. As they continued toward it, the tunnel grew brighter.

  They poured out into a cavernous banquet hall awash in red light and were met by a large, paunchy goblin holding a butcher’s cleaver. He welcomed the chief and bowed low to Gorbikna.

  “Cheefee,” said the cook, “for the Great Gorbikna.”

  Gregory stared, eyes stinging from the smoke, amazed at what lay before them. There was a break in the floor—a crack surrounding the perimeter of the room. Out of the crack leapt tongues of fire. An enormous table stretched from wall to wall, piled high with smoking mounds of meat. But the most startling thing was at the back of the room: a statue of a horrible giant that rose fifty feet high to the ceiling. In each hand, the giant clutched two men, terrified as they stared into his open maw. A cloak draped over the giant’s shoulders, and his face was hidden beneath rippling wild hair that fell down across his face and to his belly, held in place by a circlet that ran around his head.

  Gregory wondered if this was Gorbikna—some giant of old who terrorized villages and ate their men. And then his loathing for the goblins grew all the more. They were the worshipers of a man-eater. But the disgusting thing wore a crown, Gregory noticed, thinking of his own circlet, which was hidden safely in his pack. He still hadn’t put it on for fear his friends might see. And yet, the pull to wear it was so strong, he knew that if he did, he might never take it off. He turned his attention to the piles of meat.

  How many creatures have been slain to provide this feast? he wondered, looking at the butcher who had greeted them.

  Chief Korophant took his place at the far end of the table. He surveyed the room with a satisfied smile. “Sit,” he croaked. “Eat.”

  The goblins howled with pleasure, scrambling to find a seat on the stone bench that spanned the length of the table. They looked like locusts, Gregory thought, ripping into the pile as if they might never eat again. And the cook was the worst offender, climbing halfway onto the table and burying his face in the pile.

  Gregory nodded to the end of the bench, and the five of them made a move to sit. But Jelani was stopped by Org.

  “Master must sit in the place of honor,” he said, bowing and pointing to the other end of the table.

  There was another throne, just as large and beautiful as Korophant’s. Begrudgingly, Jelani followed Org and took a seat while Gregory and the others sat on the bench.

  “It reeks in here,” whimpered Martha. “And how are we supposed to eat when there’s no cutlery or utensils?”

  Gregory surveyed the pile, looking for anything that seemed familiar. He spotted what appeared to be a turkey leg—or some sort of fowl he did not know. Still, it couldn’t have been man-flesh, so he took hold of it and yanked it from the pile.

  “Use your hands, Martha,” he muttered. “But be careful what you take. Goblins are notorious cannibals. They eat men, as well as their own kind.”

  Even in the red light of the room, Gregory could tell she turned a light shade of green. He bit into the leg. It had a smoky flavor and charred skin. Not bad, he thought, surprised at the taste. They had been surviving on bland beans and gruel for so long the taste of meat filled his senses with pleasure.

  Sir Weston pulled a knife from his belt. He stabbed it into a slice of meat and pulled it in front of him. “This is beef,” he said. “I know the cut; my father was a butcher.” He began slicing the meat into triangles. “When a man is met with circumstances that might compromise his standards, then he must make do.”

  Gregory cast a look to Jelani. The boy had a sour expression, and his arms were folded across his chest. Clearly, he wanted nothing to do with the mess of food.

  Chief Korophant paused. He raised his eyes from his meal and stared at Jelani. “Gorbikna does not like his cheefee,” he said.

  Every goblin at the table fell into dead silence. All of them, that is, except for one. The butcher ignored Chief Korophant’s remark. He continued stuffing meat into his oversized mouth. He snatched a chunk of beef from his neighbor’s hand, guffawing and slobbering as he did it. Gregory knew he shouldn’t be surprised that a goblin would be so gluttonous, but this one ate so greedily that he didn’t even notice the other goblins had nervously scooted away from him.

  Slowly, Chief Korophant rose to his feet, glaring down at the cook with murder in his eyes. At his full height he boomed, “GORBIKNA DOES NOT LIKE HIS CHEEFEE!”

  The butcher froze mid-bite, a long bone sticking out from his mouth. His small eyes darted in every direction. He swallowed the bone in one gulp and then smiled up at Chief Korophant meekly, patting his belly. Gregory wasn’t sure, but it seemed the butcher couldn’t help what happened next. His belly rumbled, and then it rumbled again. Then, he threw his head back and let out a deep, thunderous belch that shook the room.

  The air grew noticeably fouler. Nera raised her eyebrows and Martha held her nose.

  “Bluktafu!” cried Korophant, enraged. “Throw him in the oven!”

  Two tough-looking goblins jumped up from the table. They snatched the butcher under his arms and dragged him across the floor. They stopped at an iron hatch built into the wall, opened it, and tossed him inside.

  Jelani blinked at the spectacle, horrified. Gregory had never seen his eyes so wide. Jelani snatched a piece of meat from the pile and took a bite. “Delicious,” he said, exaggeratedly. “The Great Gorbikna approves. There is no more need to throw anymore cooks into the oven.”

  A cheer rose up and the goblins resumed feasting.

  “Gregory,” muttered Nera. “We need to get going. The longer we stay, the greater the chance we’ll be found out. Get what we came for and let’s go.”

  She was right, Gregory knew. The façade they had created might wear off by some slip of the tongue. The sooner they left, the better. Now it’s my turn to make a scene, he thought. He stood up on the bench, grabbed another leg of meat and tore into it with his teeth. Chewing, he surveyed the room. None of the goblins noticed that he had stood. Apparently, he did not command the same level of attention as Chief Korophant.

  He cleared his throat. They still did not notice.

  He tossed the meat back on the pile and snatched his staff from off the bench. “Listen up, you warty toads!” he shouted. He aimed his staff at the center of the table and sent a flame blasting from the end, scorching much of the meat to cinders.

  The goblins dropped their food and stared up at him, clearly annoyed that their meal had been interrupted again.

  “That’s better,” Gregory said. “Now listen up. Gorbikna the Great has some questions for the lot of you—so be prepared to answer, got it?”

  There was a murmur amongst the goblins, and Chief Korophant stood, staring at Gregory with a solemn frown.

  “First and foremost, have you—I mean we—declared war on the Empire?”

  Korophant’s eyebrow raised. “War has not been declared by the Bloodwolf Clan.”

  Gregory felt a wash of relief; and then doubt. “But where are the other goblin tribes? Our guide tells us that normally their flags fly alongside your own.”

  Korophant spat on the floor. “The fat man and his snake-men came slithering to our counsel, preaching lies. They told us that the Empire has fallen, and that Gorbikna’s return is imminent. The fat man claimed he was the Dark Lord’s agent and that we must follow him to make war on the humans once again.”

  “Greavus,” Gregory mutter
ed. “And you did not believe him?”

  “We are the Bloodwolf clan—Gorbikna’s first creation. The prophets tell that our master will return, but he will appear to us first. The fat man’s silver tongue deceived many in the counsel; he told them it was he and his snake-men who would summon the Dark Lord back into the world. But I know the prophecies well. We would not be tricked. I ordered the other tribes to remain and wait for the Dark One to appear. But they were blinded by their pride, and denied that we are the firstborn—the strongest of all the goblin clans. Now that Gorbikna has returned, he will lay waste to the unbelievers!” The chief let out a terrible scream to the ceiling and pounded his chest.

  The goblins around the table roared their agreement, drumming their fists on their chests and on the table.

  So the other clans have joined Greavus, Gregory thought, casting a worried glance to Jelani. “Do they take orders from Greavus now? The fat man?”

  “Aye,” Korophant replied. “The goblin forces march upon the humans’ capital city. They are the unwitting slaves of the fat man and his snake men.”

  Sir Weston bolted up from his seat.

  Gregory tried to remain unabashed, but he could hear it in his voice that he sounded shaken. “You’re sure of this?” he asked.

  “I watched the maggots march. They will smash their bodies against the humans’ walls.”

  Gregory’s knees wobbled, but he knew he had to stay strong. He balanced himself using his staff. “And does Greavus lead them?”

  “Bah! Greavus heads west. The goblin clans are but a diversion—to keep the eye of the Empire fixed on their own walls.”

  “And where might the Empire’s eye travel to that he is so concerned about?” asked Jelani.

  “He claimed he did not want the Empire to see the summoning of Gorbikna from the Gate of Worlds.”

  “You mean,” said Gregory, his skin growing cold, “he said he’s going to bring back Vut’Al Choshek?”

  Korophant nodded. “A ridiculous lie. Down with Greavus! Down with the Cythes!”

  The goblins roared.

  Gregory could not speak. He did not know what to say. Fear had strangled him and refused to release its hold.

  To his relief, Nera spoke. “Yes, an obvious deception,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. “How wise of you to see the truth. Now you see why Gorbikna favors the Bloodwolf Clan above all other clans.” She paused a moment, glancing to each of her friends, and then continued. “Greavus must be punished for his lies. Did he say where and when this false ritual would take place?”

  Korophant let out scornful grunt. “In seven days’ time at the foot of the great flaming mountain, Mount Raiagek.”

  “And you know the location of this place?”

  “Aye,” Korophant replied. “It lies to the north, at the very end of the earth.”

  “Good,” said Nera. “Can your scouts lead us there?”

  Gregory could not believe his ears. He gave her a startled look.

  Korophant smiled, revealing his sharpened lower teeth. “Of course,” he said. “Revenge will be sweet.” His smile flickered. “Though to march against them with the strength of the Bloodwolf clan at your back would mean we would not arrive for two months.”

  “Your thirst for vengeance is admirable,” said Nera. “But clearly time is of the essence. What’s the fastest way to get there?”

  “Upon the wings of a serenef,” he said with a disappointed sigh. “Or in human speech a…giant bat.”

  “Okay then,” said Nera, thrumming her fingers on the table. “I think we know our course of action.”

  “Nera,” said Gregory, “have you lost your mind? I think we need to discuss—” he stopped himself short, seeing the goblins eyes lit with confusion. He took a deep breath. “I think we should ask the Great Gorbikna how we are to proceed. Clearly he would tell us the best course of action would be to head for the Imperial City. Wouldn’t you agree, oh Great Gorbikna?”

  Jelani stood from his throne, staring up at the statue with solemn eyes. “This carving,” he said. “It is I, the Great Gorbikna—Vut’Al Choshek—is it not?”

  Gregory’s eyes darted to the beastly statue, suddenly realizing what a horror it was. That was not just a giant. That was Vut’Al Choshek—the Devourer of Men, the ruler of the goblin clans. It was not a mere invention of goblin shamans. It was real, and would be coming back into the world to wreak havoc once again. A wave of terror coursed through him so intense that he felt faint.

  “It is you at your fullest,” said Korophant, “Your Majesty.”

  Jelani nodded. “I will make war on Greavus and his snake-men. And when I have crushed them beneath my boot you will make a new statue. One of me with Greavus in one hand and his servant Nahash in the other. Prepare the serenef. We fly as soon as we are able.”

  “Serenef are nocturnal,” replied Korophant. “You will have to wait until nightfall.”

  “Then wait we shall.”

  The goblins began to chant again, pounding their fists and stamping their feet.

  Suddenly, Gregory heard the whispers again—a flood of a thousand tongues he did not know. And then, as if it were very far away, he heard the pounding of drums: Boom, Boom, Boom.

  He wanted to scream—to clutch his head and run out of those cursed tunnels. But through sheer force of will, he kept himself steady. He slowly climbed down off the table and sat. Martha placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

  The voices—the voices. He did not know what language they spoke, harsh and cold. But somehow he knew what they were saying. They spoke of death and darkness, of wickedness and despair. And then Gregory thought of his circlet again. He could get away. He could take the crown and flee across the sea—anywhere except Orsidia. It would catch a fair price, enough to live high.

  I didn’t ask for this; I am not even a real Guardian! This should be Caden’s job, not mine.

  His hope for peace drained from him, replaced by a determination fueled by terror. For he knew that if he stayed in Orsidia, he would meet the same fate as the rest of the land. He would fight and be burnt into a smoldering husk by the powers of Vut’Al Choshek.

  I have to run away, Gregory thought. I have to go. It’s run or die. We’re powerless.

  He glanced at Martha from the corner of his eye. Pity swelled in him. She was not meant for war—she was a healer of wounds and souls. The world was indeed a cruel place—to slaughter her parents and thrust her into battle. He could see her eyes were wide with fright.

  How could Nera possibly expect them to survive such a mission? Even if they stopped the summoning, they’d have to deal with the Cythes. Even together, they were not strong enough to defeat them.

  No, we won’t do it, Gregory decided. Tonight, I take Martha and leave Orsidia forever.

  “Gregory,” said Nera quietly. “I know you may not agree, but we have to do this. The fate of the world rests on our shoulders—you have to see that.”

  Gregory locked eyes with her. She looked deadly calm, her hazel eyes unblinking.

  “Right,” said Gregory. “We have to.”

  Chapter 33

  Gregory lay with his head atop his pack like a pillow, a thin blanket covering his frame. He stared into the swelling darkness of the cave, waiting for the time to pass. Jelani had asked for a private room to meet in before their journey, so the goblins took them to an empty room with very little light and left them. It would be five hours before the serenef would be able to fly.

  When they had first arrived in their room, Gregory tossed his pack against the wall and lit the end of his staff. He surveyed each of his comrades from beneath a scowl

  “So, explain this lunacy to me,” he said. “You realize that what Nera has proposed means we’ll be running directly into the mouth of a lion, don’t you?”

  Jelani immediately sprang to her defense. “We are perhaps the only Orsidians alive who know when and where Vut’Al Choshek will return. And we are the only ones who can
rival the might of the Cythes. What kind of people would we be if we were to allow the ritual to happen when we have the ability to stop it?”

  “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the fate of Orsidia is not our responsibility,” Gregory lashed back. “Let the politicians worry about it. They got us into this mess; let them get us out. We’ve completed our mission. Now let’s go home.”

  “Gregory,” said Nera. “This will be our problem one way or another. I, for one, would rather attack the Cythes before they bring Vut’Al Choshek back. Think about it—there are five of us: three Guardians, a healer, and the best knight in the Empire.”

  Sir Weston blushed and smiled. “My lady, you are too kind.”

  “We know that two Cythes are in Riverton,” Nera continued. “Judge Marriott is dead. That means there can’t be more than six Cythes at this summoning. An even match. If we strike with element of surprise, we can defeat them—I know it.”

  “And how many of us will die in the process?” Gregory countered.

  Nera placed an exasperated fist against her forehead. “When Vut’Al Choshek begins his war, who do you think people are going to look at to stop him? You and me. Miraclists. Guardians. And if what they say about Vut’Al Choshek is true—that he is the most ruthless, wicked being in history with powers beyond our comprehension—then we have to do whatever we can to prevent his return. We have to fight the Cythes now or risk a far more deadly foe.”

  “Nera is right,” Sir Weston chimed in. “With the strength of Vut’Al Choshek at their backs, the Cythes and goblins will march across the land, slaughtering and enslaving all of mankind. I am sorry to admit that normal men like me are at a disadvantage when it comes to engaging with shadow powers. A blade can only do so much against the intangible. But I will do whatever I can to help.”

  Gregory clenched his fists in frustration. He knew they were right; of course they were right. But that wasn’t his point. The point was that it didn’t have to be their fight. They could still escape and live. Why did they have to give their lives up for people they didn’t even know? But his friends would never see his point of view. They were hopelessly self-righteous; do-gooders to their detriment. Daniel and Ari would do the same. It was the one time he wished Jude were with him. Jude would see his side.