The prince pounded his fist into the stone of the tower and spun. “Lift the portcullis,” he commanded. Without another word, the prince ripped open the door to the spiral staircase and flew down the steps.
The steel portcullis creaked slowly up on heavy chains. Breathing heavily, Herod darted under the portcullis and shouted back to the tower for it to be closed. The prince leaned over his knees to catch his breath. He unstrapped the leather bindings of his greaves and let them drop to the ground. His breastplate and gloves followed. Herod kept his helmet seated firmly upon his head and took off again toward the clearing in the battlefield.
GIDEON ROSE FROM his crouch on the ground and stood to his normal height. He lifted his sword in his hand and smiled as he slid it into the leather sheath on his back. His hand released from the hilt for the first time in days.
Gravlox and Vorst climbed out from behind their place among the rubble to stand next to the paladin. Jan took a few hesitant steps backward, unsure of how to strike against them. Apart from his sister Keturah, he had never met another spell caster able to withstand his magic. The goblin shaman not only surprised him with his power, Gravlox inspired fear in the empty space where Jan’s heart should have been.
The necromancer spread his arms out in front of him and pulled at the magical tendrils of the corpses scattered in the grass. Bones broke through the rotted skin and floated through the air to hover about Jan’s body. With a flick of his wrist, the bones jolted and spun, forming a whirling barrier of pale bone around him.
Gravlox reached down and plucked a small shard of magnesium from the dirt. It was a sharp piece of metal and rock that had shattered against Gideon’s back. He held the rock in his hands and beckoned to it with his natural, magical spirit. The magnesium responded, alive with energy.
Gravlox hurled the shard toward the spinning bone armor surrounding the necromancer and willed it to ignite. A spark flew from Gravlox’s outstretched hand and struck the magnesium shard just as it hit the bones and burst into flame.
Jan responded quickly, jumping back and dousing the armor in a thick fog of black magic. Jan felt the heat from the explosion singe his skin but quickly dissipate. He could sense that Gravlox was only testing him. Jan thrust his hands forward, blasting the smothering fog toward the shaman and his companions.
Gideon stepped forward and the holy symbol etched into his back flared with life. He arched his neck and screeched, sending a bright splash of holy magic into the air that quickly dissolved the evil fog.
At an impasse, Gravlox and Vorst stood beside the paladin and measured Jan. His black robes shimmered in the dancing firelight that dotted the scene.
“Be gone!” Jan shouted, twirling and sending forth a purple skull from his chest. The magical cantrip cackled as it flew toward the three. Small slivers of lightning bounced around the skull, sizzling the air.
“We have to run,” Vorst said, clearly panicked. She turned on her heels to retreat but Gravlox caught her arm.
“It isn’t real,” he growled to her, trying not to break his mental concentration.
The magical skull was followed immediately by a beam of dark energy filled with sharp fragments of bone. Gideon knocked the goblins to the ground and the beam passed harmlessly over their heads.
The paladin grabbed a throwing axe from his belt and looked to Gravlox. “Time the attack,” he whispered, and Vorst tapped the message’s translation. The paladin rushed over the rubble of the farmhouse, ducking and dodging bolts of necrotic magic the whole way.
Vorst scampered parallel to Gideon, making her way through the debris. Jan pumped his arms furiously, covering the area with suppressive fire. The bones continued to swirl around his black robes. Gravlox dropped to the ground and pushed his hands through the dirt and stone. He could feel the depletion of his energy but knew he had to press on. A thick pillar of jagged earth sprang up under the necromancer, threatening to impale him.
Without a moment of hesitation, Jan summoned a magical gust of wind that lifted him above the pillar and out of harm’s reach. Gideon launched his axe perfectly. The weapon spun end over end directly for Jan’s head. Vorst launched herself up at the necromancer’s feet at the same moment.
Jan pushed himself higher and the bone wall protected him, morphing into a rounded sphere that easily deflected the axe. Vorst landed a hit on the top of Jan’s black boot and her tiny dagger bit through the soft leather easily and protruded out the bottom of Jan’s boot. A fast-moving bone knocked her in the head as Jan continued to levitate higher. Vorst had to let go of her blade in order to avoid being dragged too high into the air. She tucked and hit the ground hard, but was altogether unharmed.
“Get back!” Gravlox shouted through his weariness. With his flawless vision he could see the outline of Herod charging into the fight. Like a taskmaster whipping his slave, Herod slashed with Maelstrom. The dark tendrils broke through Jan’s bone wall as easily as if the barrier were made of thin paper. Jan yelped, feeling the sting of the black tendrils wrapping around his waist. Unable to understand Gravlox’s warning, Gideon assumed that the black tendrils connecting Jan and the prince were some form of evil instigated by the necromancer. He snatched another axe from his belt and chopped down on the ethereal bands as hard as he could. Gideon stole a glance over his shoulder and saw Herod but did not understand.
The prince growled in frustration as Maelstrom’s tendrils evaporated into dust.
Jan laughed hysterically. The magical swirl of wind carried Jan higher and higher into the smoke-filled air. “So,” he bellowed, “the fearless leader has come out from his castle to play!”
Herod grasped the hilt of Maelstrom firmly, watching the necromancer ascend. He lashed out with the blade again and again, tearing chunks of Jan’s bone armor from the sky. The blood-red blade pulsed with every swing, drinking in the violence and loving each drop. Jan responded to the repeated attacks by sending forth a ripple of decaying magic. The spell crashed into Herod’s unarmored chest and sent him sprawling to the ground. He frantically clutched and scraped at the wound in his side. The cut he suffered earlier was starting to rot and fester. Necromantic energy coursed through his body and filled his blood with disease.
With a great sigh filled with pain and acrimony, the prince returned Maelstrom to its sheath on his hip and slowly moved his hand over his other sword’s hilt. His eyes clouded over when he drew Regret. The blade, forged by Master Brenning in the renowned Blood Foundry, reflected the shimmering fires of the battlefield off its translucent edge. Regret had a deep blue hue, like a crystal with flecks of gold suspended in its matrix.
The sword was weightless. Had Herod released his fingers from the hilt, the blade would not have fallen an inch. “Brenning,” the prince murmured to the sword, “if only you were here…” Herod moved the weapon slowly through the air, watching the myriad array of colors scattering over the ground. The hilt was made from the same crystalline material as the blade; the entire weapon had been crafted from the same piece of wondrous material.
When the blade moved, even slowly, it was nearly impossible to track. Gravlox watched the prince testing Regret and was mesmerized. The sword seemed to disappear when it was in motion but reappeared instantly when it was still.
“You should see this, Brenning,” Herod spoke to the night. “Truly, you have outdone even your high standards.” The prince locked eyes with Jan, his former servant and trusted friend, and found his strength.
He gritted his teeth and charged. Jan, still hovering high above the ruined field, rained down a shower of sulfuric fire that engulfed the entire area. Evil winds blew through the rotted corpses and tossed bones into the air. Gideon had to brace himself to keep from being blown over. Vorst held onto Gravlox tightly and the pair ducked into a crater to avoid being picked up by the storm.
If the swirling torrent of death had any effect on the stalwart prince, he did not show it. Running at a fast pace, Herod swung Regret downward as he neared the hovering necromancer. S
ome unseen force vaulted the prince high into the air, higher than Jan, and held him there for a breath. The deep blue sword reappeared in his hand and throbbed with energy. Blue and gold sparks flew in every direction from the blade to join the magical storm.
Gideon tried to watch the action far above his head but the violent winds made his eyes water and obscured his vision. Impossibly fast, Herod vanished with his blade and reappeared behind the necromancer. In the blink of an eye, the prince materialized a dozen times at various angles all around Jan’s form. Before Gideon had the time to bring a hand up to his face to shield himself from the storm, the winds stopped. Everything stopped.
Dull black robes drifted lazily to the ground. Herod stood up in the midst of the rubble as though he had been crouching there forever. Maelstrom and Regret were both secured within their sheaths. The prince stretched his back and yawned, physically exhausted.
“It is time that we return to Talonrend, Gideon.” Herod said calmly to the holy warrior who stared at him slack-jawed.
“My liege, Master Brenning said he would return to the city when the fighting first started. Where is he?” Gideon’s voice trembled. The carnage all around him was a grim omen of what he would find on the other side of the high walls.
Herod shook his head. He couldn’t look Gideon in the eyes or speak past the lump in his throat.
“He was a good man,” Gideon said softly. He pointed to the location where Gravlox and Vorst were hiding. “Those two goblins saved his life. Actually, they saved my life as well.” The paladin walked toward the crater and helped the two goblins climb out.
Horribly mispronouncing their names, Gideon attempted to introduce Gravlox and Vorst to Herod. “We both friends,” Vorst said as she held Gravlox’s hand and giggled. “We both friends of humans.”
Herod shook his head, not knowing what to believe. He had seen enough in the last few hours to open his mind to any possibilities.
“Gravlox is shaman,” she said happily in her high pitched goblin voice. “Both friends.”
Looking to Gideon for some kind of explanation, Herod could only guess the answers to his questions. “You are telling me that these two goblins saved your life and saved Master Brenning?”
The paladin nodded. “I’m sure we will have plenty of time to go over the details once everything is back to normal.” His eyes surveyed the battlefield and the heavily damaged walls. “Well,” he continued, “once everything is normal enough.”
Herod thought back to the golden shield and the promise he had made to his army concerning the revered smith. You will never be king, Vrysinoch gently echoed in the back of his mind. You will never sit upon your brother’s throne.
***
CROWS CAME FROM miles around. Thousands upon thousands of goblin skeletons covered the fields from Talonrend to the banks of the Clawflow. To the north of Terror’s Lament, a large plot of land had been cleared and excavated and now served as a mass grave for all of the human dead. After the first plot had been filled with corpses, a pyre had been constructed to burn the rest of the bodies.
The city behind the walls was eerily quiet. A heavy shroud of death clung to the shattered houses and storefronts. Loads of stone and dirt were being carted into Talonrend to fill the gaping holes that dotted the streets.
The royal bedchamber inside Castle Talon was draped with thin wisps of silken cloth and windows had been cut in the stone walls. Servants stood beside the windows with fans, moving fresh air through the room to cool the prince. Herod’s wound festered.
The prince wasn’t weak and frail like a dying man should have been. His heart was strong and his stubborn spirit was stronger. Still, the disease spread through his body. His skin radiated heat like a blazing forge.
Gideon kneeled at the prince’s side and prayed to Vrysinoch for healing. He could feel the intricate web of magic connecting the world around him, but no matter where he searched, he could not find even the slightest shred of mercy.
“Sir,” the paladin said softly, “the shaman, Gravlox…” Gideon pulled the sheet back slowly from the prince’s side and looked at the garish burn. The necromancer’s spell had ravaged the open wound. Rags were piled beneath the weeping cut to catch the putrid ooze.
“I will not have a goblin walking freely in my city!” Herod shouted. His voice was full of life that contradicted his body’s decay.
“Herod, look at yourself! You will die if you stay like this.” He hung his head in frustration. “He can heal you. The paladins have tried to save you; I have tried to save you, Gravlox… Just let him try.” He beat his hands into the white sheets of the bed.
“It is only your word, Gideon, which has spared those two goblins from the end of a noose. They will rot in the dungeon for eternity before I let either of them put their filthy hands on me!” Spittle flew from the prince’s mouth. His vivid animation sent a fresh wave of puss and blood out of his side to splatter the sheets.
The paladin closed his eyes and thought about the dungeon beneath Castle Talon. Although no one besides official templars were permitted to visit the underground cells, Gideon had done so unchallenged. With Herod in no condition to physically stop him, Gideon’s reputation afforded him many privileges that his lack of rank otherwise denied him. Gravlox could easily escape that cell, Gideon thought to himself. He has power far beyond anything I have ever seen.
Gideon rose up from his knees slowly and shook the memory of Gravlox’s cell from his head. “Then it will be your death,” he said to the prince. Gideon pushed through the white silk and exited the room without so much as glancing over his shoulder.
DEEP INSIDE THE dark labyrinth of Kanebullar Mountain, Lady Scrapple’s rage consumed her. Goblin servants entered her chambers timidly. More than half of them ended as a red stain on the stone walls. Her thick, root-like appendages flailed wildly, splattering anything unfortunate enough to get caught in their path.
Dozens of pulsating arms spread through the mountain, rapidly replenishing the goblin army. She was evolving and adapting, lengthening the gestation period of her spawn to create taller and more muscular underlings.
Lady Scrapple’s vast consciousness flew over the miles from Kanebullar Mountain to Talonrend. She prodded, searching the emptiness of space for any shred of Vorst’s mind that she could latch onto and devour. The edges of Vorst’s mind appeared like bright tongues of flame in a world of darkness. Lady Scrapple could feel the goblin and pushed her mental powers to their limits. Vorst’s vibrant fire fought back against the intrusion with such solidarity that the Mistress of the Mountain was forced to retreat. She seethed in her mountain lair and vowed a thousand times to kill Vorst. The matriarch managed a grim smile as she imagined tearing Vorst limb by limb and feeding her to a pack of wild dogs.
WIND HOWLED OVER the opening to a solitary cave nestled just below the snow line of an unnamed mountain north of Talonrend. The icy waters of a gentle stream trickled from an elevated lake before meandering to the plains and joining the Clawflow. A tall creature with thick fur covering his well-built torso drank from the stream before returning to his cave.
The minotaur sat just inside the cave opening, basking in the soothing heat of the fire behind him. His black, beady eyes watched with great interest as a clan of orcs steadily marched through a valley not far from his cave. They carried a great banner ahead of them, draped in furs and painted with blood.
“The Wolf Jaw clan,” the minotaur growled with a raspy voice. He knew the orcs well. “The whole Wolf Jaw clan…” Several hundred of the cruel orcs, the entirety of the clan, marched south.
On a normal day, the minotaur would have pounded his fists into the cave wall to summon his own clan and slaughter the orcs. The horned beast hated everything that didn’t belong to his own clan. But this was not a normal day. With a shake of his heavy head, the minotaur turned back into the cave. Oil dripped from the goblin slowly rotating on a spit above the flames. Goblin meat didn’t taste particularly good, but the minotaur was hung
ry and nothing wandered into his cave without suffering repercussions.
There was an open scroll held to the ground with rocks sitting in front of the roasting creature. The various tribes and clans of the snowy mountains rarely welcomed visitors and never entertained emissaries. Minotaurs spoke a gruff language that was seldom written, but the runes inscribed on the scroll were clear. For what felt like the hundredth time since the goblin had wandered into his cave that morning, the minotaur read the scroll. Gather your clan. Talonrend will fall.
The adventure continues in Part Two of The Goblin Wars,
Death of a King
Available at your favorite ebook retailer.
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Born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio, Stuart Thaman graduated from Hillsdale College with degrees in politics and German, and has since sworn off life in the cold north. Now comfortably settled in Kentucky, he lives with his lovely wife, a rambunctious Boston terrier named Yoda, and two cats who probably hate him. When not writing, he enjoys smoking cigars, acquiring bruises in mosh pits, and preparing for the end of the world.
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