by Pirateaba
“I’m thinking with my head. You are an asset that can’t be replaced. We’ll need you after this battle.”
He stared at the map as Garusa chuckled. The Goblin Lord’s eyes. Where had he heard of eyes like that before? Necromancy. An uneasy surmise crept into Thrissiam’s mind. He murmured.
“Yes. I think we might need everyone after this. Perhaps the Goblin Lord…isn’t alone.”
Garusa stopped laughing. She met his eyes, and Thrissiam knew she had suddenly thought of the same thing. In the silence, they heard the fighting begin again.
—-
Her eyes blurred with tears, although no one noticed her face in the fighting. Osthia spat acid at the Goblins who charged her, shot the concentrated, corrosive liquid into green faces and red eyes and heard the screams. It felt as though she were spitting the bile and pain out of her own stomach.
She had an endless supply.
Thrissiam and Garusa. Garusa and Thrissiam. It was like one of those silly songs the children sang. Garusa and Thrissiam, tails in a knot!
She lashed out and a Goblin fell, gurgling. This wasn’t the time for such thoughts! And yet, the image followed her. Garusa carrying Thrissiam into the tent after recovering him from the thick of battle and then—not emerging.
Every soldier knew what had happened. No judgment was passed. In fact, there was quite a lot of ribald support, muttered quietly and joked about when neither [General] could hear. Thrissiam because he’d order the jokester punished. Garusa because she might join in.
War made for very intimate choices, and many soldiers left what happened in the heat of things behind. But Osthia couldn’t.
What had she expected? He was her distant relative, a [General] and practically nobility in himself! But she’d hoped, in that secret heart of hers…
Osthia took to the air, ignoring the warning calls from below. The Goblins were firing? Let them. She had practiced to avoid flights of arrows. She dove into the ranks of Goblins, spitting acid, hearing them shriek. Good! Let them die.
Then she saw the Goblin Lord. He was watching again, far away from the fighting. He always did that. He’d appear, blast the lines with magic, and then disappear. Not this time.
Osthia went for him. She knew it was foolhardy. She didn’t care. She made it halfway before a flight of arrows rose up and magic blast a hole straight through her wings.
She fell into the ranks of Goblins. The fall didn’t kill her, but Osthia was trapped behind the lines, desperately spitting acid and sweeping around her with her spear. She would have died there, wanted to die there, but then she heard the horn call.
A Gnoll on horseback charged into the ranks of Goblins with a group of mounted riders, trampling the smaller ones, lashing out left and right. She made straight towards Osthia, cutting a path through her enemies. Garusa Weatherfur’s paws were a blur as she struck left and right, clearing a path for Osthia to survive.
Both she and Thrissiam used a spear. It was just another reason to hate her as Garusa swept the Goblins around her away. She dueled a Hobgoblin, ending it by thrusting her long spear through his helmetless face while Osthia struggled to stand. Then Garusa took Osthia’s clawed hand and pulled her into the saddle. She rode back towards their line as a cheer went up from the Drakes.
It didn’t make Osthia hate her any less. But it did make her respect the Gnoll as a [General]. Garusa was necessary, vital. She was a hero.
Osthia just wished Garusa hadn’t also taken her dream away.
—-
“Fool!”
Thrissiam struck Osthia across the face. She took the blow, cheek burning, as he shouted at her.
“You endangered your life and cost us good soldiers going to save you! What were you thinking?”
“I have no excuse, sir.”
“Calm yourself, Thrissiam.”
“General Garusa. With respect—”
“She took a chance and went for the Goblin Lord. I might have done so as well were I in her place. Now we know he is waiting for the moment, yes?”
The hole in her wing was mended. The hole in her heart…it hurt more to hear Garusa defend her. That wasn’t why Osthia had gone, but she couldn’t bring herself to say so. Thrissiam calmed himself in the end. When he spoke to her next, it was curtly, but not without affection.
“Rest yourself. I will have orders tomorrow. You are to do nothing that is not ordered, is that understood?”
“Yes, General.”
Officers had been declared treasonous for disobeying orders. Osthia knew she was getting off lucky. But she still felt wretched. After a moment, Thrissiam spoke quietly to her.
“You are a treasure of our people, and of our family as well. I could not bear to see you die in some meaningless charge.”
It was meant for the two of them. Garusa busied herself across the tent, although Osthia knew she could hear everything. It helped, a bit. Osthia smiled weakly at Thrissiam.
“Thank you, sir.”
He studied her, and then nodded. Grimly, Thrissiam turned back to the map.
“I don’t blame you for trying. This Goblin Lord is dangerous. If we don’t stop him now, there’s no telling how dangerous he might get.”
“He is new, yet. But if he gathers more Goblins, or raises more undead.”
“It won’t happen.”
Osthia watched as Garusa and Thrissiam’s eyes met over the table. They were alike, in that way. She stumbled out of the tent and cried for a bit in her tent. Then she woke up and went back to war.
Day 65
“The undead.”
That was what would kill them, Thrissiam knew. Looking at the map of the battlefield, he felt as though he understood the flow of how things would go. Numbers, supplies, levels of soldiers and geography, it all flowed into a picture in his mind. The scales were balanced; he had his advantages, and the Goblin Lord his. But what tipped the balance were the undead.
Because for every Drake and Gnoll that fell, a zombie could rise in its place. Or worse, a Ghoul.
So far, the Goblins and the Goblin Lord had only managed to animate a few of the fallen Drakes and Gnolls of Thrissiam’s force. So far. But as time wore on, the Drake knew that the natural spawning of the undead as well as the efforts of the Goblin Lord and his [Necromancers] would slowly increase that number.
“We can’t make this a battle of attrition any longer. The Goblin Lord overplayed his claw at first, and gave us the opportunity to tear into his forces. But he’s pulling back, wearing us down with numbers rather than commit his Hobs and [Mages] to the front. We need to either pull them out, or take him down.”
Standing across the table from him, Garusa nodded. She had a long gash down one cheek, splitting her fur and exposing red, but she had forgone healing it to save potions. It might damage the morale of the soldiers to see their general injured, but the situation called for it.
“I agree. We must corner him. But how?”
“I propose an ambush. We know he has a forward camp here and here. He alternates between the two before pulling back.”
“True. You suggest ambushing him? We could strike a wedge here, cutting him off—”
“And then encircle his position. Yes.”
Thrissiam had observed the Goblin Lord over the course of the battle. The Goblin had played things safe, attacking only from a distance with magic. But he had shown a predictability in how he moved, and revealed that it was possible to predict where he’d go. In short, he’d given Thrissiam a perfect opportunity to corner him.
“He may be a Goblin Lord, but he’s new to it. An amateur is still an amateur, even with Skills.”
The Drake grinned savagely. Garusa’s smile was no less predatory.
“Tomorrow?”
“No sense waiting for it. Keep up the front; don’t let him think we’re doing anything. I’ll pull together all the elites I can. They’ll be under your command.”
Garusa nodded.
“I will prepare.”
Thri
ssiam caught her as she was about to leave the tent.
“Don’t fight him if you think he’ll win. We can try again if we must. But I can’t lose you.”
She blinked at him, wide-eyed. Then she smiled.
“Too much thinking with your other tail. I will do what needs to be done. And I will bring you the Goblin Lord’s head tomorrow, my word on it. Unless I squish it by accident, that is.”
She kissed him, and left. Thrissiam turned back to the map, and began to plan for the end.
Day 66
The Goblin Lord never saw the attack coming. In fairness, he did see the feint, and then the charge that went deep into his army’s left flank, aimed at a group of his [Necromancers]. When he appeared and blasted the soldiers with magic from a distance, the Drakes launched two other charges, penetrating the lines of shocked Goblins with an elite group of soldiers. They cut the Goblin Lord’s retreat off, and then the last group formed up, aimed straight for the Goblin Lord’s throat as his retinue struggled to fend off the sudden offensive.
Thrissiam watched Garusa charge. He had committed over half the army to the push in the end, holding the rest of the Goblin Lord’s forces at bay with a thin line of his own. It was a tactic only two [Generals] could pull off and Thrissiam used every Skill to make sure there was a place to return to for Garusa.
Now all he could do was watch. The Gnoll [General] charged through Goblins and Hobgoblins alike, tearing through them with a guard of elite riders, protected by mage spell and raining arrows.
The Goblin Lord’s personal guard met her force with a roar that echoed through the battlefield. Thrissiam watched, as from above, Osthia dove and showered the group with acid. Garusa used that opportunity to strike down a [Mage]. And then—
A black lance of magic. The Gnoll twisted in her saddle, dodging the magic. It killed her stallion, leaving only half of its head. The horse went down, but then Garusa was charging the Goblin Lord.
“Yes. Do it!”
Thrissiam’s claws were clenched. He could see the Goblin Lord’s surprise, see two Hobs barring the way with huge halberds. A [Mage] struck one with lightning—Osthia speared the other in the back from above. And then Garusa was face-to-face with the Goblin Lord.
His eyes were wide, disbelieving. The Goblin Lord’s face was twisted in a snarl. He held a black blade in one hand, shimmering magic in the other as he faced Garusa. The Drakes and Gnolls around Thrissiam were cheering wildly, sure of victory. But there was fear in Thrissiam’s heart. And something else.
Uneasiness. It wasn’t easy. This was the culmination of strategy, of superior planning and teamwork. They had whittled the Goblin Lord’s forces and played on his confidence to come this far.
But something was wrong. Garusa raised her spear, slashing at the Goblin Lord. He stepped back, warily. She twirled her spear and advanced. He lashed out with magic—she dodged. Closer now. She struck out—
And Thrissiam heard a voice.
“Fool.”
It was a whisper, but it reached across the battlefield. Garusa’s spear struck a white wall that shot from the ground. A wall as smooth and pale as ivory.
Bone.
Something changed. The wall of bone retracted into the ground as Garusa leapt back. When Thrissiam could see the Goblin Lord again, he was standing in the same place.
But something else was wearing his body. The Goblin Lord stood still, and when his lips moved, every Drake and Gnoll and Goblin could hear his voice.
“You have disappointed me, my apprentice. I should not have to intercede on your behalf.”
Garusa was staring at the Goblin Lord. Thrissiam tried to shout at her, but the dark voice was overpowering everything else. He tried to scream to her to run, but the Gnoll crouched. She came in low, fast—
“So be it. I will rectify your mistake.”
The Goblin Lord raised a hand. And Garusa—crumpled.
It was just a flash of light. A black bolt of energy that went through her chest. Thrissiam screamed. The Goblin Lord turned his hand. Pointed.
“Despair.”
A black scythe shot out, cutting through the ranks of soldiers that had followed Garusa. Not just through them, through Goblins as well. Bodies crumpled to the floor, dead. Lifeless. Everybody in two hundred meters in the direction the Goblin Lord had pointed fell. And then—
“Rise.”
They rose. Unsteadily, getting to their feet. Garusa stood up, and for a second, Thrissiam dared to hope—then her head turned and he saw the hole in her chest. And the light in her eyes.
The undead, half of his army and the Goblin Lord’s—stared towards the remaining soldiers. Their eyes shone, and they began to walk, and then to run. They charged back towards their former comrades.
“Now finish this.”
The voice spoke once more, and then the Goblin Lord was stumbling as other Goblins rushed to his side. Thrissiam stared at him, and then at the undead.
Thousands of them, ten thousand—twenty—each and every corpse on the battlefield had risen all at once. And now they came for his army. The Drakes and Gnolls, steadfast warriors, cried out and broke ranks, retreating.
“No.”
“Uncle! Uncle!”
Someone was screaming his name. Above. Thrissiam looked up. Osthia flew down towards him, wounded, bleeding. Her face was pale, her eyes filled with tears.
“He—it—”
He’d sent all of the Oldblood soldiers with her. Six had gone, none had returned. There was an arrow in one of Osthia’s wings. Now more showered down around Thrissiam as the Goblin army redoubled its attack.
He stared at her blankly. Then at the undead. They were coming. So many. Enough to bury what remained of his army. And Garusa—she was out there too.
“We’ve lost.”
There was nothing hard in saying it. Osthia’s eyes widened. Thrissiam went on.
“We lost the moment we failed to understand. It wasn’t him. We shouldn’t have just feared him. It was who was controlling him. Do you understand?”
He looked at Osthia.
“The Necromancer.”
She paled.
“But he’s dead.”
“Not anymore.”
Thrissiam turned. His officers were staring in shock, paralyzed by what had happened.
“Scouts! Runners!”
Thrissiam bellowed. He could still do that. His voice snapped some out of their fog. They looked towards him. Thrissiam saw some turning, coming towards him. No time.
“Run!”
They stared at him. Thrissiam pointed, south, the way they had come.
“Run! Go to the cities! Warn them! Go! Now!”
No time to tell them. If they were smart, the others would figure it out. Thrissiam pointed and shouted. He saw Drakes and Gnolls dashing for the trees, running past Goblins, trying to escape as the Goblin Lord’s army came from every side.
“Uncle—are you—”
Thrissiam turned to Osthia. Her eyes were wide. She probably didn’t realize she was calling him Uncle. He nearly laughed. He wasn’t old enough to be her uncle.
What a silly thing to think of. Thrissiam smiled at Osthia as he gave her his last order.
“You too, Osthia. Go. Fly away. Tell them who the real enemy is.”
“I can’t! I can’t abandon—”
“Go. There’s no point in dying here. You are the pride of Drakes. My family. You have to tell them.”
She refused, shaking. The undead were coming. Thrissiam’s eyes were on them. On the Goblin Lord. He was falling back, carried by his soldiers. Osthia was trying to stay.
“Go.”
“Drakes do not run!”
He turned to her.
“I know. Hurry up and come back soon.”
He smiled. Osthia’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to object, and saw the mass of undead charging towards them. For a second she looked into his eyes, and Thrissiam thought she saw his broken heart. Her eyes filled with tears. Without a word, sh
e took wing.
“I’ll be back! Hold out! Retreat!”
She screamed at him as she fled eastward. Thrissiam saw Goblins shouting and some firing on her, others breaking away to chase after the lone flying Drake. He prayed she’d get away. But the cruel, cold part of him knew that she was too obvious a target. The [Scouts] and [Runners] he’d sent might have a chance if the Goblins were distracted.
She was his niece. He had grudgingly played with her and his younger cousins when he visited. When she was older, he had taught her to use a spear. He had accepted her into his army, presented her with her first promotion. He’d never spoken of her eyes on his back, preserved her dreams like a precious thing. And now he had sent her to die.
But that was her duty. And his. For their people, no cost could be so high. Thrissiam saluted Osthia with his spear and then turned to the undead. His [Soldiers]. He looked for Garusa’s body among them. There she was. Leading the charge as always.
Her eyes were glowing. Thrissiam felt something hard grab at his soul, demanding vengeance. Pain was in his blood. He looked at Garusa as she ran like lightning across the ground. Too fast! She was no Ghoul. Her body was infused with more than just unholy quickness and a taste for flesh. She was too strong, sweeping experienced soldiers away, hurling a Gnoll in plate armor into the air and tearing an arm straight off of a Drake [Pikeman].
Not a Wight. Her touch wasn’t paralysis and she was too tough. Thrissiam’s pulse quickened as he realized what she had become.
A Draugr. One of the higher levels of undead. Not one with tricks like a Wight, or an amalgamation of souls like a Crypt Lord, but a version of the undead that was akin to a zombie. But only a truly high-level [Necromancer] could think of animating one.
There was more than one Draug in the ranks of the undead. They smashed into Thrissiam’s remaining army, overrunning groups of pikes, barricades, too strong and tough to stop. The Drake heard cries for help, but he had only eyes for Garusa.
“Go, Osthia. Tell them the Goblin Lord has a master. Tell them. Tell them it’s the Necromancer. He’s still alive. Go. Bring back a hundred armies. Bring back Shivertail. Bring the Tidebreaker! Bring them all and cleanse this land of his taint.”