The four fully outfitted paladins locked their shields together and beat their heavy maces against their steel breastplates in thunderous unison.
“Won’t they hear us coming?” Seamus implored with more than a hint of fear.
Corvus stretched his shoulders and nocked an arrow loosely on his bowstring. “Yes, my friend. That is the idea! To battle!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. The four interlocked paladins took up a low, rumbling hymn that steadied the shaking in Seamus’ hands and calmed his racing heart.
The orcs howled and wolves snarled not far from their view. The dark and melodious hymn increased in volume with every step, building into a deafening crescendo that swelled inside Seamus’ chest like a creature ready to burst forth from his heart.
“True glory cannot be attained by stabbing your foes in the back or lying in ambush and waiting for them to fall into your trap!” Corvus lifted his bow as he shouted over the moving shield wall. “The glory of Vrysinoch is to meet your enemies face to face and send them to their graves!”
The shield wall gained speed and the first of the orcs crested the rise less than thirty paces in front of them. A dozen green-skinned warriors, brandishing axes, spears, knives, and clubs, broke into a full charge at the sight of the paladins. Six huge, snarling wolves tugged at their harnesses. Seamus could see the drool flying from their muscular jaws, but the resonating hymn gave him strength. Images of the wolf he killed lying dead at his feet flashed through his mind and the untrained farmer felt invincible.
Corvus loosed his first arrow into the chest of an unarmored orc as the wolves were set free and the shield wall crashed into the outriders. The hymn diminished into a flurry of grunts and blood-crazed yells. Flawlessly maintaining their unity, the paladins lowered into a crouch, shoved forward with their huge shields, and swung their maces in a devastating arc. Several of the orcs howled in pain, but none of them went down.
Seamus tensed as a wolf circled the shield wall. He lifted his mace to strike, but an arrow from Corvus’ bow tore into the beast and laid it low before he could strike. The orcs came against the shield wall again, thrusting their spears up high and hacking with their axes like deranged lumberjacks trying to fell a giant redwood.
The paladins pushed again and staggered the orcs, pausing just long enough to swing once with their maces, and Seamus noticed a faint glow at the top of their breastplates. Corvus chanted a prayer to Vrysinoch and the steel of the four breastplates erupted with dazzling color. A pair of wolves circling the shield wall cowered at the light and shrank back with their tails between their legs. Seamus wasted no time bashing one wolf’s skull to pulp as Corvus shot the other twice in rapid succession.
With another resounding, coordinated shout, the paladins surged onward and attacked again. Three growling orcs collapsed to the ground and were trampled by the steady march of eight steel boots.
Several orcs with long spears skirted the sides of the shield wall and forced the outer two paladins to turn their facing. Simultaneously jabbing high and low, an orc managed to slip under the shield wall with the tip of his spear and put a ragged puncture in the polished greave of the veteran paladin.
The man shrieked and wavered, dropping his mace to clutch at his leg, but the shield wall held. Bands of white light shot out from the wounded paladin’s shield and latched onto the adjacent shields with the sound of a heavy door slamming into its frame. The old veteran hobbled backward and slipped his arm free of his shield as the other paladins relentlessly pressed onward. A thick stream of blood oozed from the hole in his leg.
Corvus and Seamus stepped around the wounded man in a protective posture and braced themselves for the rest of the wolves coming around the shield wall. Half a dozen orcs, deterred by the impregnable steel wall trampling over their fallen compatriots, followed closely on the heels of their pets.
Seamus heard the twang of a bowstring as he swung his mace down hard on the back of a lunging wolf. The arrow raced over the farmer’s shoulder and grazed the cheek of a wolf before striking an orc in the forearm.
Scrambling out of the path of snapping jaws, Seamus brought the mace in sharply with a backhand that drew blood from the wolf’s mouth. A spear point came in at the farmer from the side, but the orc, recently shot with an arrow, couldn’t put enough strength into the blow to skewer the big man. Seamus lunged, thrashing wildly with his mace, and bashed the stunned wolf hard enough to break its neck. The orc thrust again with his spear and caught Seamus in the belly, inches below his ribcage.
The orc flashed a wicked grin and twisted the spear. An arrow shot past Seamus’ arm but the orc was too close and the missile went wide. With a brilliant flash of light, Corvus beckoned to his misfired arrow and motioned with an outstretched hand for the flying shaft to return. A sizzling crack split the air and the arrow obeyed.
Seamus smashed his mace down on the wooden haft of the spear just as the redirected arrow split the orc’s green head open in a shower of sticky blood.
The shield wall, perfectly intact with the wounded veteran’s shield held in place by holy magic, hacked down and trampled the last orcs stupid enough to continue attacking them. Turning as one, the three interlocked paladins rushed into place and divided the remaining orcs from their snarling pets.
Three wolves, howling and dripping foam from their mighty jaws, charged at Seamus and Corvus with a flurry of raking claws and teeth too chaotic to follow. The big farmer was able to parry the first bite with his mace, but quickly found himself outmatched in both speed and power.
The wolves pounced and clawed their way on top of Seamus’ chest. Their teeth bit into his skin fiercely and all that he could do was scream. Huge teeth clamped down on Seamus’ forearm as he wailed and thrashed. Wolves bit at his legs and blood leaked freely from the torn wound in his gut. Seamus could sense his end rapidly approaching as each scream was weaker than the last.
At that moment, it seemed apparent Vrysinoch had a different plan for bringing about the death of Seamus the farmer.
The shield wall drove forward into the scattering orcs like a heavily loaded wagon charging down a steep hill. The last of the orc band threw their weapons at the shield wall in exasperation and fled.
Corvus, down to his last two arrows, carefully fired a shot into the fray of wolves clawing through Seamus’ torso. The arrow blasted into the side of a wolf and laid it low. Two other wolves clawed and raked away at their prey. Corvus clutched his final arrow and lunged head first between the two animals. With a deafening shockwave that split the ground hundreds of feet in every direction, Corvus’ holy symbol flared to life. A brilliant orb of white light grew from the paladin’s back and engulfed the four creatures for a moment before exploding.
The ground shook and the sky thundered with rage. Corvus stabbed out with his arrow but, the explosion of light had blinded him. Bursts of forked lightning stretched out from the sky and blasted into the ground all around them. The other paladins shrieked and panicked, but their cries were lost in the resounding storm.
A minute passed with the tempest striking and whirling violently. Corvus tried to steady the flow of magic from his mind, but couldn’t find the strength to take hold of such a torrent. The paladin thought he heard Seamus’ voice crying out to him, but Corvus’ mind was not where it should have been. Nothing but stinging white light filled Corvus’ vision and the crash of a hundred lightning strikes blasted his ears.
A hand reached out to him through the maelstrom. Incorporeal fingers brushed against Corvus’ consciousness and beckoned to him. It was one of the other paladins, of that Corvus had no doubt. His mind was thrown about wildly on the untamed currents of magic that fed the storm. Somehow, the hand that clutched at Corvus’ being was steady. Without sight, the floating paladin knew he had to grasp any anchor he could.
The hand jerked and pulled at Corvus’ mind, growing in power with each tug, and the lost paladin gave himself over to the other man’s magical presence.
In the space of a
heartbeat, the holy storm subsided. Corvus scrambled to his feet and stumbled back to the ground in his blindness.
“Calm down, man,” one of the paladins called out behind him. Corvus spun and reached out to steady himself, but tripped on the broken ground and fell to his back.
“I’m blind,” was all that Corvus choked out before a wave of dizziness overcame him.
“No,” whispered the veteran paladin from somewhere far to Corvus’ left. The sky gave a low rumble and the blind paladin had to fight to keep the holy magic from erupting again. With a steady, smooth voice, the veteran whispered, “Corvus, you have ascended.”
JURNORGEL, THE PROUD leader of the Wolf Jaw Clan, paced nervously about his small, frost covered ridge. The strange half-orc shaman stood calmly off to the side, content to watch the meeting rather than to partake in it.
Ragged banners flapped noisily in the crisp breeze as the Half Goat leadership ascended the rise. Scores of enslaved orcs struggled and growled as they bore the weight of Snarlsnout the Gluttonous’ stone dais slowly up the ridge. Gurr, with a banner in each hand, marched eagerly in front of the Half Goat procession.
An orcish parley was an odd thing to witness. Without any white flags, the only way to tell that two orc clans intended to meet peacefully was the absence of war cries. Even so, most diplomatic meetings between Half Goats and Wolf Jaws ended abruptly in an outburst of violence. The shaman rubbed his hand along the polished wood of his staff and kept a burst of powerful magic in the palm of his hand.
“Snarlsnout,” Jurnorgel called to the approaching chieftain. “Why’d ye’ attack?” the big orc questioned.
The Half Goat chieftain cleared his immense throat and the chained slaves stopped, keeping a respectful distance between the two leaders. Gurr kept on walking, oblivious to the halted procession, and soon found himself awkwardly occupying the wrong side of the parley.
“Jurnorgel,” Snarlsnout rasped through rotted gums. “It has been too long since our clans have met on the battlefield!”
Jurnorgel shook his head and let his stringy hair fall over his eyes. His fists balled at his sides. “That is not our purpose!” he bellowed with a voice full of rage. Jurnorgel pointed a meaty finger to the south. “The human city awaits us! Glory! Plunder! Women!” The chieftain tried to control his aggression but the thought of pillaging a human stronghold was beyond his wildest dreams. “Orcs will know victory!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, spraying Gurr with several volleys of spit.
“I have heard the same promises, young one,” Snarlsnout rebuked with a harsh bout of laughter. “Half Goat orcs need to keep their steel sharp! Long marches dull the senses.” Snarlsnout’s beady eyes drifted to the half-orc standing off behind the parley and the chieftain thought for a moment he recognized the strange creature.
The coupling of an orc with a human wasn’t entirely uncommon, but the unfortunate human almost never survived the ordeal. Offspring of such mating was unusual and most half-orc children were killed by their stronger, full-blooded counterparts. Snarlsnout had met few such oddities in his lengthy stint as chieftain, and this particular half-orc was as odd as any.
“Use a whetstone,” Jurnorgel retorted sarcastically. Visions of Talonrend’s walls crumbling to dust beneath his feet filled his head. “We must focus on the greater prize!” he yelled with glazed eyes.
Gurr shuffled slowly back to Snarlsnout’s stone dais and grunted. His bloody sword was strapped firmly to his back and the dim-witted orc wanted nothing more than to draw it and charge. Snarlsnout could see the bubbling aggression behind Gurr’s eyes and knew he had to conclude the meeting before a brawl broke out.
“You have my word, Jurnorgel,” the fat chieftain stated. “We will march behind your clan, where you can see us, and will not attack.” Gurr’s eyes went wide and his jaw drooped stupidly to one side.
“Chief,” Gurr started, but was cut off by a low bark from Snarlsnout. The old chieftain wished he had the strength to get out of his chair and throttle the unruly orc, but he could barely lift his gouty fingers enough to point.
“Half Goats cannot be trusted!” Jurnorgel shouted in defiance.
The half-orc shaman closed his eyes and shook his head. Slowly, as though he was too disinterested to find the right words, the eloquent creature strode into the clearing between the clans. “Why not march side by side?” he wondered aloud as he met Gurr’s ferocious gaze.
“The valley is certainly large enough to accommodate both clans,” he pointed out with a wave of his hands. His speech, so oddly misplaced among the brutish warriors, had effect.
“Then we can see the Half Goat treachery before it is too late.” Jurnorgel concluded with a toothy smile.
Snarlsnout studied the shaman’s face for a long moment before speaking, trying to register where it fell in his memory. Unable to attach a name to the half-blooded visage, he belched and agreed to the proposal. “It is a good plan. Marching side by side, I don’t have to worry about a Wolf Jaw knife slipping into my back.” He nodded, sending a splash of ripples along his numerous chins.
Jurnorgel spat on the ground but nodded his consent as well. The half-orc bowed to both parties with a completely un-orc-like flourish and casually walked down the ridge.
“That’s it?” Gurr asked more to the back of the shaman than anyone remaining at the parley.
“That’s it,” Snarlsnout stated with solemnity. With a chorus of grunts and deep breaths, the slaves hoisted the stone dais upon their shoulders and trudged back to the Half Goat lines with Gurr confusedly shambling along behind them.
The orc column, a great, stumbling mass of poorly organized brutes, made steady progress out of the snowy valley. Fights and murders occurred regularly between the two rival clans, but somehow, all-out battle was avoided.
“The patrol should’ve been ‘ere by now,” Jurnorgel muttered across a fire at the Wolf Jaw shaman. “Maybe they ran into trouble.”
The strange half-orc pondered for a moment and lazily pushed a burning stick farther into the flames. “Perhaps the group is merely lost, chieftain,” the shaman replied with a smile. “They took several wolves with them, so I doubt that any stray beast or human could have killed them.”
Jurnorgel ripped a stringy bit of meat from a stick and gulped it down. He used the burnt skewer to motion all around him at the other gathered orcs. “There are hundreds of us! Thousands, now that the Half Goats are alongside,” he said with a belch. “Impossible. Somethin’ felled ‘em, of that I’m sure.”
An uneasy silence filled the air between the shaman and the Wolf Jaw chieftain. It could not be denied, the raucous gathering of green-skinned warriors was loud enough to be heard for miles. “You may be right,” the half-orc admitted. “Perhaps I should go and investigate?”
The chieftain spat a bit of gristle from his mouth and tossed the empty skewer into the fire. “Take a wolf and be quick about it. Things don’t feel right.”
The shaman stood with a nod and snatched up his wooden staff from a nearby tree. “I shall return at once,” he stated with a bow. “Try not to get killed.”
“DID YOU FEEL that?” Gideon awoke with a start. The sun had just broken around the sides of Kanebullar Mountain in the east. It would be several hours or more until the sun crept high enough to extinguish the mountain’s shadow.
Asterion rolled to his side and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What is it?” the priest asked without much concern.
“Get the goblins,” Gideon commanded with a tone that set Asterion into quick motion. “I felt something. A…” he couldn’t quite find the words to describe it, “disturbance, like a flash of light pierced my mind while I slept, but I know beyond a doubt that it was real.”
“Describe it,” Asterion urged without a hint of weariness. The old priest moved closer to Gideon, ensuring he didn’t miss a single word.
“It felt like something hit the edge of a web and my mind felt the vibrations at the other end...” Gideon tried his best to put
into words what he had experienced, but it was a sensation completely alien to him.
“Can you lead us in the direction of the magical jolt?” Asterion asked excitedly when Gideon finished his description.
“With certainty,” the paladin replied.
Gravlox and Vorst heard the men speaking and returned to the meager camp. The goblin pair, lacking the natural need for sleep, had been patrolling and scouting for hours.
“Did you feel it too?” Gideon called at Gravlox when he came into view. Vorst tapped out the message on Gravlox’s hand as she scanned the campsite for enemies.
Gravlox shook his head.
“What happened?” Vorst asked once she was sure that the area was safe. “Are you hurt?”
Gideon sighed and put his hands on his hips. “I was hoping you would have felt it too,” he said to Gravlox. “Some sort of magical shockwave woke me. For a moment, I thought we were under attack.” Gideon pointed away from the shadow of Kanebullar Mountain. “It came from the west.”
“What does it mean?” Vorst asked the humans.
Asterion grinned and seemed to drink in the air with a breath. “There are other paladins nearby!” he exclaimed. “One of them probably tried to call out for help. We must go to their rescue!” The old priest beamed and felt more alive than he had in decades.
“We move at once,” Gideon stated with finality. “We must find these paladins and help them, if indeed they are in trouble.”
Gravlox feared the idea of being near more than a handful of humans, but it was evident from the speed at which Gideon and Asterion collected their belongings that there was no room for debate. The group set off toward the west with Gideon leading the way and Asterion chatting noisily at his side.
“Could it have been Lady Scrapple?” Gravlox wondered as they trekked through the foothills. “Was it an attack?”
Vorst grimaced and squeezed Gravlox’s hand tighter. “I don’t think Lady Scrapple can speak to humans,” she responded with a hint of fear staining her melodic voice.
The Goblin Wars Part Two: Death of a King Page 6