The Goblin Wars Part Two: Death of a King

by Stuart Thaman

  The fire was little more than a collection of ashes when morning broke and the refugees began to stir. Corvus moved from his perch atop a wagon and collected his frost-covered bowl from the ground. In addition to his weighty traveling pack, the man wore a large shield over his shoulders and carried a heavy mace on his belt. With a grim nod, Corvus produced a bow from his belongings and set off ahead of the column to scout and hunt.

  The wagons were creaking along the frozen dirt at a comfortable pace when Corvus returned at noon with two squirrels dangling from his side. He tossed them into the back of one of the wagons and fell into step beside Seamus.

  “See anything out there?” the refugee asked to pass the time. Corvus ran a hand through his patchy beard and adjusted the straps of his pack.

  “We are being followed,” the paladin said in a low voice so that no one else would hear. “Watched, at least, but by what I cannot tell.”

  “You seein’ tracks?” Seamus questioned a bit too loudly, but if any of the other refugees noticed, they were either too weary or too depressed to care.

  Corvus shielded his mouth with a hand and whispered, “I saw a rider. He was far to the north of us, probably several miles away, but he was there.”

  “Bah!” Seamus snorted and shook his head. “It was a bear, methinks, or a mountain lion come to feast on our mules. It’s nothing.”

  “I know what I saw,” the paladin mumbled. “I have never heard of any mountain lions that carry banners. The rider was flying a standard, of that I am sure.”

  “We’ve too many o’ us for a lone bandit, lest he’s mad in the head!” Seamus nearly bellowed, somehow finding great mirth in the situation.

  “And if it is a scout serving some larger group that intends to attack?” Corvus countered. “We must be ready to defend ourselves.”

  “And who would it be out there, hmm?” Seamus asked. “No one’s alive in these plains and no one’s alive in those mountains either. You’re seein’ ghosts on the wind, you are.” Seamus stretched his aching back and surveyed the refugees like a shepherd counting his flock. “Besides,” he said more seriously, “what’s wantin’ to kill us won’t have no trouble doin’ so. How many bandits would it take to murder this whole lot of sorry farmers? Not many, I’m for thinking.”

  Corvus sighed and adjusted his pack again. “I’m afraid that you have made a valid point,” the paladin conceded. “These farmers are not fit for combat.” He took a step back to inspect the burly refugee and pretended to analyze him. “Though I have no doubt that if a tavern brawl broke out, we would have strong chance.”

  Seamus puffed out his chest and flexed. “Crackin’ skulls with beer mugs be me best skill, I’ll have you know.”

  Corvus managed a chuckle despite the tragic nature of their situation. “I fear that riders seldom meet with refugee bands to have a drink and a friendly brawl…” he murmured, looking to the horizon.

  They camped that night on a low, boulder-strewn rise. Corvus watched a squirrel rotating slowly on a spit over the cook fire and licked his lips. Seamus passed him a jug of cider that had gone bad a week ago and the paladin sipped it reluctantly. It tasted terrible, but was warm and took some of the chill from his bones.

  “Someone else will take the watch tonight,” Corvus said to the farmer as he handed him back the cider. Seamus choked down a large gulp and nodded.

  “We’s gonna’ find that rider o’ yours?” he asked with a hint of excitement.

  “Eat your squirrel and be ready to move an hour after nightfall,” the paladin whispered. He took another sip of the hot cider and climbed to the top of a wagon to rest until dusk.

  Corvus felt energized and light on his feet when he roused Seamus for the hunt.

  “I got no weapon,” the refugee whispered as he stood.

  The paladin unstrapped his shield and handed it to the confused looking farmer. “We don’t want a fight,” Corvus reminded him. “We just want to know what’s out there.” Corvus gripped his hunting bow tightly and sent up a silent prayer to Vrysinoch.

  The two men hurried out of the camp as quickly as they could and made for the north. They came to a stand of fir trees a mile or so beyond the wagons and Corvus motioned for them to get down. The paladin crawled through the underbrush, listening intently for movement, but determined the area was clear.

  Seamus moved to the center of the copse and leaned against a tree to watch Corvus climb and get a vantage point. “What you seein’?” he whispered in the direction the paladin had gone.

  “Shhh,” came the immediate response. A moment later, Corvus dropped to the ground with a roll and began using an arrow to draw a crude map in the dirt.

  “Half a mile, maybe less,” he whispered, pointing to a circle he had drawn.

  “How many?” Seamus asked as he tightened the straps of the shield to his wrist. The burly farmer by no means qualified as a soldier, but he knew how to use something heavy to kill a man. The shield, a huge piece of crafted steel designed to guard the entire body, was much larger and sturdier than anything Seamus was accustomed to wielding in a bar fight. The holy symbols etched into the metal glowed faintly with comforting light.

  “More than one,” was all that Corvus could say with certainty. “Be ready, but be quiet!” he implored.

  They stalked through the night slowly, wincing with every broken twig. Seamus wrapped his scarf around his mouth and tried to steady his breathing, but adrenaline made his heart pound with a fury he could not control. An ancient feeling of purpose began to grow inside Seamus’ chest, though he tried his best to ignore it. Charging into an unknown enemy camp in search of glory was an easy way to die.

  “Hear that?” Corvus dared to whisper. “Dogs, or some other animal.” They crept closer to a small ring of five tents that were partially concealed by pine trees.

  Seamus shook his head and pointed, his eyes going wide. “Not dogs…” he murmured. “Wolves. Great. Big. Wolves.” Seamus guided the paladin’s sight to a low branch where several massive wolves were tied.

  Corvus tried to gulp down his fear. Every instinct he had told him to run. Footsteps coming from the other side of a tent nearly made him faint. A shadowy figure, taller and wider than a man, moved toward the wolves with a hunk of meat hanging casually from his oversized fist.

  “That’s…” Seamus stuttered as he peered through the darkness.

  “Orcs,” Corvus finished for him. The paladin motioned for the two to begin their retreat and held a finger over his mouth in a desperate plea for silence. The pair didn’t make it five steps before Seamus’ clumsy foot snapped a twig that made one of the wolves growl in their direction. The orc, feeding the wolves one by one with chunks of meat, turned on his heels and scanned for the source of the sound.

  “If he sees us, run,” Corvus whispered in a barely audible breath. The orc continued to peer into the darkness, but didn’t raise an alarm. One of the wolves pawed at the ground and licked the air, issuing a low growl directly at the frozen humans.

  Seamus nudged the paladin and looked to the man’s bow. The wolf howled and shattered the quiet of the night. It pulled fiercely on its chain and snarled; eager for a kill. The orc wasted no time unhooking the chain from the beast’s harness and set it free.

  Corvus loosed a single arrow in the direction of the wolf as he turned to flee. “Run!” he shouted to Seamus who was breathing heavily at his back. The two ran as quickly as they could, but were no match for the spectacular speed of the bloodthirsty wolf.

  The charging orc shouted a stream of incomprehensible words and the wolf leapt through the air. Its claws clanged loudly against the paladin’s shield, strapped firmly to Seamus’ wrist, and the beast fell back in a momentary daze. Corvus got his bow up for a second shot and managed to sink an arrow in the side of the wolf so deeply it might have gone out the other side.

  Gripping the shield with all of his strength, Seamus rushed at the wounded beast and smashed into its face with a great thud. By the time Seamus re
covered from his own charge enough to peer over the edge of the shield, the orc was upon him. With fists the size of the farmer’s head, he rained down blow after blow that crushed Seamus to the ground.

  Corvus came in hard with his flanged mace swinging in a wide arc. The weighted steel crashed into the orc’s forearm before the creature even saw it coming. Bones snapped under the skin and in an instant, the arm was rendered useless.

  The wolf, drooling a sticky mess of blood from its mouth, lunged back into the fight. Seamus was able to deflect the brunt of the wolf’s lunge with the shield, but the beast managed to get a claw inside his defense. He grit his teeth in pain and held back a scream as the wolf tore a sizeable chunk from the skin over his ribs. Seamus dropped to his knees and dug the bottom of the shield into the ground for support. Suddenly less courageous, he ducked his head and waited for the wolf to circle him.

  The blood-rush of battle danced in the orc’s eyes as he again went on the offensive. The orc swung with his only remaining arm and caught Corvus by the throat with a meaty hand. The paladin kicked and swung his mace but had no momentum and could barely reach the orc’s body. With no noticeable effort, the orc lifted Corvus high off the ground and clenched his fingers.

  Corvus struggled and clawed at the orc’s hand but knew that he was overmatched. The creature smiled and cocked his head with obvious pleasure, slowly squeezing the life from the human’s neck.

  Seamus clutched at the bleeding wound on his side and waited for the wolf. Whimpering and pawing tentatively at the ground, the beast circled the entrenched shield and was met by a fearsome kick that connected cleanly with its jaw. Seamus wasted no time. Grunting away the pain, the farmer ripped the shield up from the ground and swung it in a deadly arc above his head. The wolf was too dazed from the kick to dodge. The shield edge cracked into the beast’s spine and partially severed its head in a pool of grisly blood.

  Dizzy from blood loss and breathing heavily, Seamus turned and saw Corvus struggling for his life in the powerful grip of the orc. The bloody shield weighed heavily on Seamus’ arm. He unstrapped it and let it clang to the ground. The paladin’s mace wasn’t far off and the orc paid him no heed.

  Seamus swung the mace down as hard he could into the orc’s back but his torn chest stole the strength from his arms. The orc winced and turned, but did not fall. Corvus flailed wildly and the orc tossed him into the farmer with a flick of his wrist.

  “The bow,” Seamus muttered as he untangled himself from the paladin. Corvus gasped for air and vomited before he could stand.

  The orc cackled and charged with his functional arm leading the way. Seamus ducked into the charge and wrapped the orc in a grapple he instantly regretted. The green-skinned creature far outmatched the physical strength of both humans combined. Vicious hits from the orc’s elbow pounded into the back of Seamus’ skull. Splotchy shades of grey and purple swirled through his vision and the metallic taste of blood mingled with the bile at the back of his throat. Each thunderous hit threatened to shake the teeth from his skull, but Seamus dug his heels into the dirt and pushed back.

  An arrow whistled through the air and caught the orc in the forearm with enough force to rip the flesh open, spraying blood all over Seamus’ face. The farmer dropped to the ground and rolled, but the world spun in his head and he couldn’t make sense of direction.

  A second arrow landed solidly in the orc’s unarmored chest and brought him to his knees. The third arrow bit so deeply into the orc’s eye that it protruded from the back of the beast’s skull. Exhausted, and still fighting the effects of strangulation, Corvus could barely help the battered farmer to his feet.

  The two humans limped across the ground to the copse of trees half a mile away before Corvus dared to call upon his god. He placed a hand over Seamus’ torn side and spoke a prayer to Vrysinoch that was answered with a bright flare of light. The wound wasn’t completely healed, but the bleeding stopped immediately and Seamus’ breathing steadied into a normal rhythm. Knowing that the farmer would live, Corvus decided against calling down a second wave of healing magic for himself. The paladin propped himself against a tree with his mace and bow resting across his legs and let the exhaustion overwhelm his senses.

  Sleep came in painful fits of labored breathing, but dawn broke without any signs of an orc pursuit.

  “I lived,” was all that Seamus had energy to say when he awoke with the sun warming his bruised body.

  “We have to…” Corvus’ voice trailed off into a fit of coughing. He rubbed his sore neck and used his bow like a staff to help him stand. “We have to warn the others,” the paladin managed once his coughing subsided.

  “Damned orcs…” Seamus muttered. He glanced around the clearing, looking for the paladin’s shield, but saw only the heavy mace partially buried under some leaves. “You left the shield?” he asked.

  “And most of my arrows,” Corvus confirmed with a sigh. “I didn’t really have the luxury of scavenging the battlefield. I don’t think orcs are very fond of shields in any case, if you’re worried about them taking it.”

  Seamus rubbed his wrist where the shield had been strapped. The leather left two thin cuts in his skin that had already crusted with scabs. Despite being relatively safe, he felt defenseless without it. “It’s just…” he started to say but didn’t know the right words. He wasn’t trained in combat but didn’t want to appear helpless before the paladin.

  “Here,” Corvus said as he kicked the mace in Seamus’ direction. “Take it. Just promise me that you won’t let that fall into orc hands as well. The grimy beasts love their clubs, and a mace like that would be a prized weapon among their clan I’m sure.”

  Seamus nodded his appreciation and lifted the mace from the ground with subtle reverence. “I can never repay you,” the grateful farmer stated but Corvus was already hobbling out of the copse in the direction of the refugee caravan.

  “ASTERION!” GIDEON SHOUTED as he pounded on the glass door of the Tower. Gravlox and Vorst hid across the street from the Tower of Wings. They crouched behind an empty merchant’s cart that had been abandoned in front of a shop. The door opened a moment later and Asterion smiled to see his old friend once again.

  “Gideon—” he started to say but the big man pushed him aside and waved for the goblins to run to his side. Gideon placed a hand over the old priest’s mouth in anticipation of a shout but Asterion only smiled when he saw the goblin pair scamper into the foyer. Gideon let the door close behind him and waited for Asterion to speak.

  “Goblins!” the priest said with more astonishment than anything. Asterion turned to Gideon with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. “I had heard rumors that there were two in the city but never did I dream that I would meet them. Why have you brought them here?”

  Gideon introduced the two goblins to the priest before explaining his plan. “We think the goblins might be rallying other forces to their cause,” he stated. “I need to use the star room to find out what else is out there and from where the next threat may come.”

  Asterion shook his wrinkled head and frowned. “You could not open the door to this tower on your own, Gideon. What makes you think that Vrysinoch will allow you entry into the star room? Only a servant of Vrysinoch may use such sacred objects, you know that. Even entering the room without Vrysinoch’s blessing could prove catastrophic.”

  A long pause passed between them but Asterion already knew what the paladin would say.

  “You are a priest in good standing with Vrysinoch, are you not?” Gideon asked the man blatantly. Asterion nodded his head but averted his eyes. “You can use the star room for us. For everyone. For Talonrend.”

  “And if the Archbishop discovers I have allowed a paladin of ill repute and his two goblin companions into the tower, he will have me exiled. And if he finds out I let you three use the star room, he will have my head on a pike before sundown.” Asterion folded his arms across his chest and put on an uncharacteristic look of defiance. “I cannot risk that,”
he said with finality.

  “You said yourself that the Archbishop hasn’t been seen in days, Asterion,” Gideon pleaded. “Think about what will happen to you if the city is attacked again. We have no militia. We have no paladins! What will we do? Talonrend will be overrun and you will die in this tower alongside the Archbishop. Is that what you want?”

  Asterion thought about it a long moment before sitting down and smoothing the wrinkles of his robe. “What of the prince?” he asked at length, keeping his gaze fixed on the two goblins. “Did Herod release those two or did you break them out? Do you have a royal decree stating the three of you are to be the saviors of Talonrend?” His tone was sarcastic and incredulous.

  Frustration welled up within the paladin and he fought hard to keep it down. “The prince is nearly dead, old friend,” he stated with more bite than he intended.

  “And when he finally does pass on, the Archbishop will surely try to take over the city! If I make an enemy of him now, what kind of fool would I be when he ascends to the throne of Talonrend?” Asterion threw his hands up in the air and sighed. “I cannot risk any more than I already have, Gideon. Do not ask me to do this.”

  “You would condemn the city?”

  “My hands are tied.”

  “You have already taken a great risk just by letting me into the tower, Asterion,” Gideon said, forming a plan in his mind. “Clearly, your loyalties to the Archbishop are not as iron-clad as you would have me believe.”

  Asterion rocked back in his chair and smiled. “I’m not like you,” he laughed. “I won’t run off after my first disagreement with the Archbishop. I’ve butted heads with that man before, yes, but would I risk my life for your sake?” He shook his head after a moment of contemplation. “Such a course of action would not be prudent.”

  “I’m not asking you to risk your life for me,” Gideon began. “I’m asking you to risk your life for Talonrend. Look around! The city is in shambles and you sit in this tower and wait for what? Vrysinoch to swoop down from the heavens and snatch you up with his talons?”