The Goblin Wars Part One

by Stuart Thaman

“They just do it,” Vorst explained. “And humans do other strange things, too,” she continued, sitting up on the hide.

  “They sound primitive,” Gravlox mused, wondering how the humans could get anything done. In Kanebullar Mountain, the fluctuating temperatures caused by the sun’s rise and fall dictated separations between days.

  “You haven’t seen a human yet,” Vorst said. “They aren’t as primitive as you might think.”

  Gravlox and Vorst waited in the glen for some time, lying down or sitting on the hides, eating roasted elk meat and drinking from the stream. As goblins, they did not need to sleep as humans did, but they still had to rest for a few hours in order for their bodies to recover.

  “We should follow the stream,” Vorst said a long while later, heading in that direction. “If we walk alongside the stream, we should be able to follow it to the river. From there, I think we can find the graveyard with the ghost flowers. I haven’t been there in a long time, but I should remember where it is.” Gravlox simply nodded his head, the knuckles of his hand turning white as he clutched the hilt of his sword. He hoped that he would never have to meet a human. He tried in vain to telepathically beg Lady Scrapple to keep him safe from the humans, a goblin prayer of sorts.

  It was around midday by the time that the goblin pair arrived at a small ridge with a clear view to the graveyard. “What exactly are we doing here?” Gravlox asked, his eyes darting about the area, searching for humans. The village that buried their dead in the graveyard was just on the other side of the Clawflow. Gravlox and Vorst could see people walking about the streets of the small village, keeping to themselves and never bothering to look across the river at the distant spies.

  “Ghost flowers are the closest thing I know to necrotic dust,” Vorst explained, pointing at the graves. “I was thinking that if we start pulling up the ghost flowers, maybe some necromancer will come to try and stop us.” The way she laid out the plan so casually terrified Gravlox.

  “So, you want to anger a necromancer into coming to us? That seems…” Gravlox paused, trying to think of a way to politely explain his apprehension. “Dangerous. Yes, that plan feels very risky. What happens if the necromancer shows up? Do we just ask him for some dust?” Gravlox was shaking his head, wanting more than anything to just return to his mountain lair.

  “Look, ghost flowers aren’t used for much. The only things that goblins ever need them for is dark magic. I imagine that human necromancers must harvest the flowers regularly for their spells,” Vorst said nonchalantly, as though she were just explaining an everyday activity. “As for when one would arrive to check on the flowers, I figured you would just be the hero and kill him,” she continued, patting the hilt of Gravlox’s sword.

  The scared goblin swallowed hard, trying to be brave. “Sounds like a good plan to me,” he muttered.

  “Where are these ghost flowers, anyway? All I see are normal flowers,” Gravlox wondered, inspecting the graves as best he could from the ridge.

  “They only appear at night!” Vorst hit him lightly on the shoulder, “don’t you know anything?” The female goblin stood, peering across the river to the human settlement. “I wonder what that town is called. Humans always give interesting names to their little villages.”

  “What should we do while we wait for night?” Gravlox asked tentatively, fearing the answer.

  Vorst looked at their surroundings, pondering the question. She walked around the small clearing behind the ridge, out of view of the river and graveyard, and picked up two fairly long sticks. “Here,” she said, tossing one to Gravlox, “spar with me. I want to see if you are any good or not.” Before she even finished her sentence, Vorst charged, catching the terrified foreman off guard.

  Gravlox had just enough time to shrug his heavy pack off of his shoulders and roll out of the way of Vorst’s first swing. He could feel the wind from the stick rushing over his head and his eyes grew wide. He knew that the blow would have hurt and maybe even have knocked him out. Gravlox saw only the sky from his back and kicked out wildly, knocking Vorst back and keeping her momentarily at bay.

  Using the temporary pause to remove her bow and pack, Vorst began to jump on her feet, loosening her limbs for combat. Thinking to turn the surprise to his favor, Gravlox leapt forward, his arms spread wide, the stick in his right hand. Already light on her feet, Vorst dodged the lunge with ease, striking out at the back of the soaring goblin as he missed his mark. Gravlox hit the ground on his chest, groaning loudly and sending up a cloud of dust.

  Vorst took a few steps back, letting Gravlox get to his feet. She charged in again, swinging the stick for Gravlox’s head, allowing him to easily duck out of the way.

  With a yell that surprised both of them, Gravlox swung his own weapon, a large sweeping motion he hoped would take the younger goblin’s legs out from under her. Vorst, instead of jumping over the strike, rolled over the stick as it passed underneath her. She attempted to continue the roll and come up on the side of Gravlox, ready to strike at his exposed flank, but the sharp crack of a stick on her back changed her mind.

  Gravlox scored a hit, bringing his branch in close when he saw the roll and hitting Vorst on the back. “Sorry,” he breathed, not wanting to hurt his friend.

  Vorst, more surprised than hurt by the hit, scrambled away and rose to her feet a few paces from Gravlox. She pulled her arm back and launched the stick at Gravlox, sending it whirling end over end. Much to her delight, Gravlox slapped the missile out of the air and then rushed in, leading with a stab that pushed Vorst back to the outside edge of the clearing.

  A quick series of stabs followed the initial thrust, slowly putting Vorst’s back to a tree. Gravlox stabbed in low, thinking he had won the duel. With a smile on her face, Vorst stepped down hard on the branch, snapping it in half against the ground. At the same time, she reached her hands up behind her head and grabbed the lowest branches of the tree. Using her upper body, Vorst was able to quickly flip upwards, her foot catching Gravlox in the chin and sending him sprawling to the ground.

  Vorst, completely inverted, used her curled legs to fly out from the tree, landing on Gravlox with a cruel headbutt. He dropped his stick, the wind knocked out of his small lungs. Seizing the opportunity, Vorst grabbed the tip of the branch she had broken off of Gravlox’s makeshift sword and pressed it tightly to his neck.

  “You’re dead,” she said with a grin before tossing the stick away and standing. “That wasn’t too bad though, for your first time.”

  Gravlox, nursing a bruise that was quickly turning black on his chest, stood up and stretched. “At least I managed to get a hit,” he said playfully. “I’m hungry. Can we eat more of that meat?” He moved over to Vorst’s pack, opening it and taking out a large chunk of elk. He tossed half of it to Vorst and sat down to consume his portion, blood running freely down his chin.

  The two goblins ate in silence and waited for night to fall. Vorst scavenged around for wood appropriate for her to fletch arrows and set to work. Gravlox, wanting to feel useful, attempted to fletch arrows himself, but ended up ruining every piece of wood he touched.

  Nightfall found the two goblins sitting on the ridge, a dozen fresh arrows in Vorst’s quiver, a frightful expression on Gravlox’s face. As the sun disappeared behind the horizon, small red flowers growing on the graves began to glow a soft blue. Wisps of ethereal smoke drifted up from a patch of the flowers, slowly drifting into the night sky.

  The blue glow began to grow, consuming the red flowers, shifting in the moonlight and making the shadows of the gravestones dance. “Just wait,” Vorst said, mesmerized by the lights. The glowing images surrounding the red flowers expanded, slithering into the air, vines of soft light spreading out to surround the tombstones. Little blue flowers of light began to bloom on the tops of the tombstones, each one opening with a gentle sucking sound, as though the flowers were absorbing the very energy of the air.

  “The flowers are beautiful,” Gravlox murmured. He was truly awestruck.
“We can’t go and smash those,” he continued, his voice small. “They are too beautiful. Why don’t those grow in the caves of Kanebullar Mountain?” The light was dancing off of the two goblins in eerie, shifting patterns.

  Footsteps crunched through the underbrush on the other side of the graveyard. Vorst grabbed the back of Gravlox’s neck and pulled him back behind the ridge, tucking into a roll to avoid being seen. “Someone is here,” is all she said, reaching for her short bow.

  “Where?” Gravlox asked, not having heard the footsteps. He looked around frantically, drawing his sword from its sheath at his side. The two goblins crawled on their bellies back up to the top of the ridge, trying to get a better look at their visitor.

  “It could be the necromancer we need to find.” Vorst sounded excited. Gravlox wished with all of his heart that she was wrong.

  Out from the woods on the other side of the graveyard stepped a human wearing a dark robe. The figure moved silently, swiftly approaching the graves. The robe’s hood was pulled down low over the human’s face, completely masking the person’s identity.

  Vorst slowly took an arrow out of her quiver and set it against her bowstring. The feathers tied to the shaft brushed her cheek as Vorst pulled on the bowstring, slowly adding tension, never taking her eyes from the cloaked figure.

  The human approached one of the graves and produced a small metal lantern from somewhere deep inside the robe. Vorst held her bow steady, the arrow nocked and aimed for the hooded person. The human opened a small door on the front of the lantern, spoke a line of words completely foreign to the goblins, and motioned with a hand for the flowers to enter the lantern. They obeyed. Ghost flowers from the tombstone began to drift slowly into the lantern, tendrils of blue light playfully encircling the human.

  Vorst exhaled, her breath hot and heavy. The small goblin closed her eyes as she pulled the bowstring back further, drawing the arrowhead against the wood of the bow’s handle. The hooded figure bent slightly, beckoning to the flowers, welcoming them into the lantern where their soft light was extinguished.

  The thrum of Vorst’s bowstring broke the halcyon serenity of the night air. The arrow flew, passing through the ghastly tendrils of a ghost flower and causing the wisps to scatter into the wind. The robed figure jerked forward and dropped the lantern onto the grass, leaning heavily on the top of the tomb stone. Vorst nocked another arrow, pulling the bowstring back to loose again.

  “Wait,” Gravlox whispered, “you wounded it already. Shouldn’t we just capture the thing?” He put a hand on Vorst’s arm, lowering her bow. The female goblin opened her eyes and saw Gravlox staring at her, begging for her to spare the life of the human she had just shot.

  “Let’s go,” she said, slinging the bow over her shoulder and jumping down the ridge to the graveyard. Gravlox followed quickly behind, his sword in hand. The goblin pair descended upon the wounded human quickly, knocking the person to the ground. Gravlox swung his sword, connecting the heavy hilt of the weapon with the soft back of the human’s head. The hooded figure slumped to the ground, twitching a few times before lying still.

  “Did you kill it?” Vorst asked, hardly believing what she had just seen from the timid foreman. Gravlox simply shook his head and began to lift the human off the ground. The two of them carried the unconscious figure back over the ridge and into the grassy clearing. Vorst worked quickly to remove her arrow and patch the wound, tossing the bloody arrowhead into her pack to reuse later.

  Blood stained the human’s black robe, but the wound was not deep enough to be fatal.

  ***

  GIDEON STRODE TO the gates beneath Terror’s Lament with his sword strapped to his back. His travelling gear was light, nothing more than some simple traps and snares and his gleaming armor. The four throwing axes on Gideon’s hip clanged together with his stride like the high-pitched ring of funeral bells.

  Not many enemies were known to Talonrend, so the guardhouses along the walls were never heavily manned. The people trusted their thick walls more than the reach of any guardsman’s pike or sword.

  Without much to go on, Gideon couldn’t be positive which direction to take outside the city gates. The king’s caravan had originally set out to the south, to visit the smaller villages on the edges of the Clawflow. Having long ago lost his horse in an arena bet, Gideon was forced to travel on foot, something he hated doing. He had no friends to ask along on the journey, so Gideon simply set out to the south, leaving the city of Talonrend behind him.

  The landscape was pleasant although ultimately boring. For miles around the high walls of the city, nothing was visible except for grassy plains in all directions. Kanebullar Mountain stood high on the horizon, surrounded by a thick forest of hills and trees. Mountains stood far to the north, but only after journeying through the plains for days could anyone even make out enough of their shape to know they existed. Most of the plains around the city of Talonrend had been plowed and built into farms to sustain the population, but some areas of the countryside were too stony and lacked the proper topsoil for agriculture.

  Gideon stuck to the barren section of the plains, preferring to walk atop the stony cave ceilings that ran under the entire kingdom than to trudge along the road. Travelers and farmers always wanted to speak to people like Gideon, seeing his sword and asking if he was coming from the arena. The gladiator pits were immensely popular in Talonrend. Every stocky farm boy and drunken blacksmith in the entire kingdom eventually made their way to the great pit in the center of the city. In order to save the kingdom’s population, some king or other a long time ago set forth an edict that outlawed fighting to the death against other men. The ban on mortal matches was lifted on a fighter after he survived a full year in the arena against non-human opponents. Too many farm boys and blacksmiths never returned to their villages and the country side had suffered.

  Gideon had made his life in the pits before being trained as a paladin at the tower. When he was young, he worked in a smith’s shop. He was never allowed to work on any of the projects, but the master smith paid him to carry the materials around the shop. Gideon spent his days hauling carts of raw ore, moving rods of metal around the shop, and bringing heavy hammers to and from the smiths at their anvils.

  When he turned sixteen, Gideon signed up for his first fight in the pits. A fighting agent had approached him at the smith’s shop after noticing the bulging muscles in the young man’s back and arms. He recruited Gideon without even testing him, bringing him into the arena with a broadsword to fight against wolves and bulls and other beasts of the wild. Gideon didn’t know it at the time, but the arena agent had paid the owner of the blacksmith shop handsomely to take the boy in and get him ready for combat.

  In his first year in the pit, Gideon astounded the crowd. He slew handfuls of wolves with his sword, knocking them out of the air with great sweeps of his weapon and keeping them at bay with his reach. His final trial before entering into mortal combat with other men had been harrowing to say the least. Gideon stood in the center of the arena with the sand beneath his boots and his broadsword in hand. The arena agent had arranged everything, spending an amazing amount of money to coordinate the fight.

  The crowd went into a frenzy when the iron gate at the end of the arena lowered. In his usual stoic style, Gideon watched the monster emerge without so much as a flinch. A hundred paces away, standing over nine feet tall, strode a minotaur. The beast was covered in thick, matted hair, with gnarled horns twisting and curving their way to the sky. He wore two heavy chains on his shoulders that crossed over his chest. The minotaur’s heavy hooves thundered on the dry floor of the arena and left clouds of dust in its wake.

  Gideon’s immense opponent was wielding two weapons, both with wicked edges that gleamed in the sun. His right hand grasped a long metal bar, the top of which was edged with five razor blades, each the length of a sword, running vertically parallel to the shaft of the pole. The staff itself was nearly as tall as Gideon, but the minotaur swung it effort
lessly, as if it were made of air. In the four meaty fingers of his left hand, the beast held a magnificent scimitar, its hilt encrusted with jewels.

  The brawny blacksmith’s assistant was armed with a two-handed broadsword and a sleeve of plate armor covering the left side of his body that ended in a heavy gauntlet. The crowd roared to life at the sight of the two opponents facing each other in the sand. Gideon stood at the center of it all, determined to make a name for himself in the pits and earn his glory. He didn’t fight for the fame of a gladiator’s life and he certainly wasn’t trying to impress anyone in particular. He fought simply for himself - he wanted to be the best at everything he did.

  With a strange calmness, Gideon stood in the center of the sand that day and waited for the minotaur to come to him. The broadsword was heavy and its wrapped leather handle fit nicely into the palm of his hand. The minotaur snorted, his breath fogging the air before his immense snout. The crowd held its breath for what felt like an eternity as the two opponents stood motionless, scrutinizing each other from a distance.

  Finally breaking the tension, the minotaur began to move forward with the five-bladed pole cocked behind his head. Just twenty or thirty paces from the solitary man, the minotaur let loose. The crowd hushed, expecting the warrior to be impaled on the spot. Gideon judged the shot as it left the meaty hand, his eyes never leaving the wicked staff as it sailed over his head and missed the mark by inches. Sand splashed in a great wave as the unorthodox javelin bit into the ground and buried itself far behind Gideon. The minotaur tightened his strong grip on his sword and continued forward. Something about the small size of the jeweled scimitar made it look almost comical in the hands of such a hulking beast.

  Gideon, not wanting to underestimate his opponent, rolled out of range of the first swing, ducking and dodging, keeping his own weapon low to prevent the massive hooves from caving in his chest. He knew that it would only take one solid hit from the minotaur to lay him out. After a full minute of avoiding the minotaur’s heavy swings, Gideon realized that he could not tire the beast. A minotaur’s endurance would last for days, especially when driven by the adrenaline of single combat.