The Goblin and the Empire

by JD Cole

  At first, it seemed they were evenly matched, despite the vampyre’s advantage in size and reach. However, Denn was a blademaster, one of the highest battle ranks attainable in the sprite kingdoms. Battle ranks could only be earned by demonstrating uncommon skills with a weapon, and Denn proved his rank now, taking advantage of the thirty-to-one odds to quickly overpower the fearsome vampyre, literally disarming him and swinging up onto his shoulders before knocking the eyeless helmet from his head. With a backward somersault he swung his sword, cleanly removing the vampyre’s skull above his nose.

  Denn whistle for his mount, nodding to Maxillion as he leapt into the saddle. Maxillion raised his sword in appreciation and joined the rest of the battleprok in pressing forward, everyone forgetting the vampyre now that he was no longer a threat.

  Then the first tragedy of the day struck. In the distance, a screeching roar signaled the massing of a wave of goblins. Easily a thousand strong, the undead formation crashed directly into two battleproks, overwhelming them in moments. Denn watched helplessly as his comrades, too far away to help, were swallowed by a living mass of things that were not themselves alive. Like a tidal wave, they washed away the elves and dwarves in their path.

  Denn looked to the parapets of Matari’s mighty walls, spying three vampyres moving their arms, weaving spells of great power. The necromancer generals were starting early this morning. They must have been busy resurrecting bodies from the start of the battle, or perhaps they had created this horde the night before. Denn knew the necromancers could not keep this up indefinitely, but their power was formidable enough to turn the tide of battle whenever they used it.

  Others had spied them as well, and hundreds of arrows sped toward the generals. Confident in their armor, the necromancers did not move, allowing the missiles to harmlessly bounce away. However, the elves had managed to sneak a few enchanted arrows into the barrage. Unfortunately, they were not very powerful enchantments; the necromancers would have sensed them, otherwise.

  The first enhanced arrow struck the side of one vampyre’s helmet, activating a call spell. The arrowhead disintegrated while emitting a harsh, deafening whistle. It was enough to distract two of the vampyres, who clamped their hands to their temples. The third necromancer nullified the call spell with a spell of his own. This was when a second enchanted arrow struck, releasing a pungent aromatic that clung to the vampyres, all but inciting them to retch. Two more call arrows activated around them, but were silenced by the previous spell. A final enchanted arrow struck the parapet they stood behind, harmlessly exploding into a thick cloud of red smoke that was quickly dispersed by another spell from the necromancers.

  Enraged, the necromancers focused their power for one more spell, throwing bolts of lightning from their hands that struck another battleprok further down the line from Denns’ group, killing over a dozen soldiers and disorienting everyone around them. Their power spent, the vampyres retreated from the parapet, likely not to be seen again for at least a couple of days. It was a shame they were not the only necromancers at Matari.

  Denn knew his side’s supply of enchanted arrows was extremely finite –the things were expensive and time consuming to craft, especially the more powerful ones— but their use here was a boon. With several necromancers out of action for the rest of the battle, the sprite forces were emboldened and renewed their attacks with more ferocity, eager to exact revenge for the battleproks that had just been slaughtered.

  Another sorcerer, this one a wolf, appeared atop another wall. The robes he wore indicated he was not a necromancer, which was only a small comfort. He pointed his staff toward a group of elves and dwarves, launching a huge fireball at them. The fireball ignited against an invisible shield, unable to reach the sorcerer’s targets. Twice more he tried, only to suffer the same result. Angry at Khun Rhee’s interference, he cast an earth spell, shaking the ground under the feet of those same elves and dwarves. The ground cratered, and rocks as large as his fist began launching up into the faeries, causing no small amount of injuries and mayhem. His attack lasted only a few heartbeats until it was nullified by the same magic that had blocked the fireballs. Spitting, the sorcerer retreated from the wall.

  The soldiers still recovering from the lightning blast found themselves immediately surrounded by other battleproks, fighting viciously to protect them from the irenaks and goblins that tried desperately to reach them before they could regain their senses. Two massive wolves rushed down the hill from Matari’s gates, eager to join the melee and finish what the necromancers had started. There was no need for anyone in Matari to engage in battle yet, as there were an overwhelming number of goblins and irenaks on the field already, but no doubt these wolves and the vampyre earlier saw opportunities too good to ignore.

  In response, two wolves and a kathet broke out from their formation behind the line of battleproks, sprinting to meet the two wolves that, together with the goblins and irenaks, would likely overwhelm the elves in this skirmish. The goblin-loyal wolves, both of gray fur, wore leather armor over their hind legs and wrist guards on their forelegs, and headpieces made from numerous elf skulls over their eyes. They each carried a short sword into the battle.

  The sprite-loyal wolves, one of black fur and one of brown, wore nothing but leggings and a leather chest piece strapped over their hearts. One carried a spear, the other a war hammer. The kathet, a more regal creature of gold fur with black and orange stripes, was adorned in fine silks of blue and green under a black leather armor, and carried a thick longsword to the fight. A flowing white belt tied around her waist fluttered in the wind like a second tail as she ran.

  The larger faeries bypassed the elves, dwarves, and goblins to attack each other first. A quintet of irenaks attempted to join the wolf-kathet contest, but quickly found themselves dead. The goblins’ wolves were skilled sword fighters, attacking and defending ably even against a spear and a crushing hammer. The kathet made all the difference, however, using her speed and fearsome strength to defend her wolf partners against unwelcome goblin and irenak attention, while creating huge openings in the enemy wolves’ defenses that her partners masterfully exploited.

  With the attacking wolves now lifeless on the ground, several rangers fell back from the goblins to make room for their large allies to take their place, while the rangers saw to the gruesome work of destroying the dead wolves’ bodies to prevent their becoming goblins later.

  It was not even midday yet, and the tide of battle had been turned twice already. Far behind the front line, General Khun Rhee observed with his planners, making notes on changes needed for several of their strategies. The sorcerers and necromancers were the primary targets, but getting to them was appearing more improbable by the day. They needed to breach those walls to have any hope of defeating the necromancers, but the necromancers and their endless hordes of undead were the reason those walls could not be breached. With great effort, Khun could momentarily open ethergates almost anywhere on the battlefield, but he could not penetrate the wards surrounding Matari’s walls.

  Dulumin sappers —commonly called gnomes— were deployed all around Matari, looking for any weaknesses and ways through or under the walls, but several sappers had been found and killed already. Khun resisted the urge to join the frontline. He was easily the most powerful individual in this war, and could make a vast difference if he employed his sorcery in offense against the goblins, but that would leave his forces vulnerable to the enemies’ own sorcerers. The time would come when could turn his immense power against the necromancers, but for now he needed to focus on countering their magic as best as he could.

  Their surprise attack this morning had caught him off guard; he was determined not to let that happen again. The sprite armies could not afford many more losses like the one they had just suffered, and the week was not yet over. And despite the importance of winning this war, the more crucial objective remained the queen’s rescue, and making sure the Goblin King remained ignorant of it. Khun prayed that th
e questers he had sent into the human realm were having an easier time of it than he was.

  « CHAPTER 2 »

  Wetting the Bed

  “Everybody move!”

  When a Dragon —even one in human form— shouted at you, you moved. Even if he isn’t speaking your language and you have no idea what he’s saying.

  Devon Kunali’i, the aforementioned Dragon, stepped through his ethergate with the royal court advisor Dufangen on his left, and his sister-in-law Kelli —the Sprite Queen— falling to her side in front of him where he barely caught her. Behind them, the death and destruction of Boston, Massachusetts vanished, leaving little sparkles of evaporating light as the only evidence of their magic travel between realms. Lifting the petite queen with almost no effort, Devon began storming his way forward. Kelli’s long, silver hair swayed weightlessly with his steps, but Dufangen, who was less than a third Devon’s height, skipped frantically along beside them, her cane loudly cracking on the stone floor every other hop.

  The faeries around them —sprites, elves, mystics, and even a few vampyres—scampered to avoid the large human/Dragon, though he switched direction more than once, not knowing exactly where he was supposed to go. Windham Castle was not his home; he’d only first visited here yesterday, and that against his will. He was only just beginning to accept the Faery Realm and his Dragon heritage as being real. He looked down at Dufangen for direction, and she pointed straight ahead. She was exhausted, but more than that, did not speak English.

  The duo raced ahead with the Queen, anxious to get her to a bed and some much-needed medical attention. The battle with the creature in Boston had exacted a heavy toll on Kelli, the extent of which no one yet knew. She was crying, sobbing with pain and trying to curl herself into a ball, making it harder for Devon to keep hold of her. Saliva was spilling from the sides of her mouth, tears from her eyes, mucous from her nose. Blood stained her clothes, yet no cuts or scrapes were evident under her torn clothing. Anger flooded Devon. Or was it fear?

  As he half-ran with her down the hallways, a group of sprites were running to meet him. With them were two humans: the Paladin, Lumina, and Devon’s sort-of-girlfriend, Kim.

  “Devon!” Kim ran forward to meet him, but he ignored her. She settled on walking along beside him, looking on in shock at Kelli’s state as the queen squirmed and struggled in Devon’s arms. One of the sprites —tall, regal faeries who could speak all languages at once— called out to Devon. “This way, Master Dragon! Bring her in here!” The sprite opened the door to a nearby room and ushered Devon and Dufangen inside, along with the rest of his own group. The door closed behind them.

  There was a large, richly furnished bed at the far end of the room, and Devon laid the Queen down gently on it. Kelli continued to jerk and spasm violently, crying out both in pain and for her husband to come back to her. “Ben!” she cried. “How could you leave? I need you!”

  Kim finally got a hug as Devon pulled her to him. He cried, watching Kelli’s pitiful actions. “She’s in some kind of fever,” Kim said. “She knows why Bennett had to go, she doesn’t mean any of that.”

  “I know,” Devon growled.

  Lumina appeared behind him and placed a large ebony hand on Devon’s shoulder. “Hood?” the Paladin asked, one of the few English words he knew, asking if their hooded friend had returned with them.

  Devon shook his head. “He stayed behind. He’s alright.”

  Lumina, not understanding Devon’s words, nonetheless gleaned the answer from Devon’s tone and manner. He asked another question, more curtly than he intended to. “Chek’than.”

  “It’s dead.” Devon made gestures and sounds to indicate an explosion. Lumina nodded in satisfaction and moved into the background. The sprites and Dufangen surrounded the bed now, casting spells and working magics that Devon did not understand. He moved to a couch on another wall and plunked down on it. Kim sat down anxiously with him.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Did you win? What did that Chek’than do to Kelli?”

  Devon sighed, yielding to his fatigue. “Nothing. Kelli overextended herself trying to kill it. The joining magic she did with the sprites was too much for her, I think.”

  “What about the Hood?”

  “Boston is trashed. He stayed behind, helping people I guess.”

  Kim chewed her lip. “How bad?”

  Devon closed his eyes and laid his head back. “Lotta people died. I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

  “Okay.” Kim snuggled into him, worried. Devon was a fun-loving surfer, almost never serious unless he had to be. She didn’t recognize the person sitting next to her now. How bad had the battle been that he couldn’t talk about it?

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The Hood awoke to a massive headache. He sat up as it faded, and realized he was in his own bed… thirty miles from Boston. Confused, and dressed in naught but a pair of shorts, sixteen year old Derek Hawkins swung his feet to the ground and padded out into the hall, where he was welcomed by the smell of meat and spices. Following his nose downstairs, he saw his mother over the stove, pouring chopped vegetables into a pan sizzling with beef and cooking oil. She turned and smiled.

  “Good morning, sleepy head! You’re a little early for lunch, it’ll be another fifteen minutes til I’m done.”

  “Mom?” She had already returned to her cooking.

  Derek’s father walked into the kitchen just then, tall, wide, and clean shaven, reading a newspaper on his digital reader. “Derek. I don’t want you going out for awhile, until we know what’s going on in the city, okay?”

  “Dad? What am I doing here?”

  Both of his parents turned at that question. His mother frowned with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t… I don’t remember coming home.”

  Craig and Trina Hawkins looked at each other.

  “What do you mean,” his dad replied, “you don’t remember?”

  “I mean I… when did I get here?”

  “Yesterday morning, and none too soon!” Trina said. “How can you not remember? You spent the whole day watching TV with us, asking us about the attack and what was going on.”

  Derek Hawkins did not forget things. Since the month before his birth, his mind had been actively recording and cataloguing every last bit of information gathered by his senses, as long as he was awake. But the last thing he could recall was sitting in his roadster as the Hood, and then… blackness.

  “Something happened… in Boston, right?” Derek looked up from the ground at his father. His parents didn’t know their son was the infamous hooded vigilante.

  Craig’s worry was evident. “Yeah. Yeah, son. The communists, probably, started a battle right in the middle of the city. You got home yesterday morning, caught the bus down from Vermont. You seemed fine yesterday.” Craig went into the living room and returned with his coat in his arm. “Come on son, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “What? No, no. I’m fine! That’s just… weird. I remember camping, and getting on the bus… I just don’t remember coming through the door, or anything from yesterday.”

  Derek had covered his recent activities as the Hood by telling his parents he would be camping near the Canadian border, an old park reserve where his grandfather used to take him as a child. Derek was a science and nature enthusiast, and his parents rarely hesitated to let him venture off on his own.

  Though they did not know of his vigilantism, they were fully aware that he could take care of himself, better even than most adults. The only reason the Hawkins sent him to school was for social development among his peers; there wasn’t a teacher alive with more book knowledge than their son. But emotionally, Derek was no different from the average teenager. Very few people knew of his intellectual gifts, and that was just how the Hawkins liked it. And while his memory was the most blatantly obvious of his talents, he was also all but Olympian in his fitness, a master of every sport he’d ever tried his hand at. His muscles, endurance a
nd motor skills developed sharply with little to no training.

  Craig shared another look with his wife, then put his arm around his son’s shoulders. “This is serious, Derek. You need to see a doctor-!”

  Derek cut him off and pulled away from his father’s arm. “Yeah, okay, if Boston hadn’t just been blown up, maybe. But my memory lapse, strange as it is, doesn’t warrant taking any doctor’s attention away from the injured people who actually need medical care right now! They’re overwhelmed as it is!”

  Trina nodded at her husband: their son, as usual, had the most sensible viewpoint. Craig sighed in agreement. “Well, at the very least, I want you to stay at home the next few days, okay? No trips to the mall or the junkyard, your experiments and inventions can wait for awhile.”

  “Okay, dad. Probably a good idea.” Craig nodded, and Trina smiled. Derek had never been problematic when it came to discipline; at least he never openly disobeyed them. “Besides, I’ve missed your cooking, mom. It’ll take a couple days to refill on what I’ve been missing.”

  Trina let out a hefty laugh, impressive coming from her tiny Asian frame. Derek inherited gray eyes —and he hoped height; he was still only five feet and five inches tall— from his Caucasian father, but his mother’s Korean heritage was more than evident in Derek’s face. Trina shook her head and offered a mock scowl at her son. “I learned my best recipes from you, you little rascal. But it’s sweet of you to say that.”

  “Yeah, but I taught you so I wouldn’t have to cook anymore. That’s your job, woman.” Derek laughed and ducked away from the wooden spoon that was swiped in his direction. Then he grabbed his head and stumbled.

  “Are you alright?” his father asked, catching him.

  “Yeah. Whoa. It’s like a ice cream headache. And I’m so tired. I think I’m gonna go lay back down-”

  “Derek, I don’t like this. Maybe at least a call to Dr. Holten about this? A memory lapse and headaches? Did something happen during your trip?”