The Goblin Wars Part Two: Death of a King

by Stuart Thaman

  “Gentleman,” he addressed the two stewards and the two guards. “It has been my honor to be your prince.” He looked each of them in the eyes and tried to be as regal as possible despite his seeping wound. “Unfortunately, Talonrend has come to an end. Our frontier city has fallen.”

  No one said a word. Qul hammered on the bottom of the drawbridge with his massive poles and the wood splintered. There was only a foot or so of iron-banded wood between the furious minotaur and the human prince.

  “There is a small dungeon beneath the castle and below that, the sacred shrine to Vrysinoch. It is said only members of the royal family and a select group of others are allowed to enter the shrine. Well, you’ve all earned my blessing. I cannot guarantee your safety if you choose to hide in the shrine, but I can guarantee your death if you stay here.” Herod straightened the bottom of his royal tabard and lifted his brother’s crown from a small wooden box. He placed it on his head and felt the weight of the metal and the title settling upon him.

  “We will die with our king,” one of the guards said defiantly. The man flexed and held his sword close to his chest.

  “Yes,” Herod said. “I am your king.”

  The drawbridge collapsed under Qul’s vicious assault. The giant minotaur wasn’t even winded. He immediately set to work bashing through the castle doors with his metal poles. It took him less than a minute to reduce them to splinters.

  One of the two guards left at Herod’s side leveled a crossbow from the back of the broken throne. Herod sat on a piece of the damaged chair and attempted to be as kingly as he knew how. He puffed out his chest and waited for his end with honor and dignity. Without his famed swords, he was defenseless. He had to admit to himself that despite having his swords, he was far too weak to fight off even the most meager assault.

  The crossbow next to Herod’s head fired and sent a steel-tipped bolt hurtling down the long hallway before the throne. Qul’s massive body took up every inch of available space in the hall and the bolt hit him squarely in the chest where it bounced off his thick armor. The minotaur didn’t notice.

  The second guard raised his sword and yelled. He charged at Qul, but one swipe of the monster’s heavy pole sent his sword flying from his grip. Qul’s fist slammed into the man’s head and splattered his brains all over a tapestry.

  Against Herod’s orders, the two servants left in the castle stood with their arms crossed in front of their king. They held no weapons, but they didn’t back down. The guard behind the throne fired another bolt and his aim was impressively accurate. The bolt clanged when it hit Qul’s steel helmet and clanged again when it fell to the floor. The guard threw his crossbow down and grabbed a decorative pike from a nearby wall. He stabbed at the slowly walking monster, fearful of getting too close, and Qul barely paid him any attention. With one meaty hand, the minotaur slapped the pike away from the soldier.

  The man drew his sword and ran in low against Qul, hoping to attack his legs. As soon as he got close, Qul lifted his armored foot over the man’s head and crushed him, never slowing his pace.

  The two stewards stood their ground and offered solemn prayers to Vrysinoch. With a metal pole in each hand, Qul swung the weapons from both sides hard enough to cut the men in half. Their corpses fell limply to the ground at Herod’s feet.

  Sitting on the broken throne was awkward, but Herod truly felt like a king. He brushed a speck of blood from his tunic and rose to meet the minotaur. Even on the raised dais, Herod was several feet shorter than Qul and had to strain his neck to see the beast’s black eyes under his helmet.

  “I will not surrender Talonrend, foul beast,” Herod said calmly. Qul made no indication that he understood.

  Herod crossed his arms over his chest and waited. The towering creature stepped closer and Herod could feel the heat of its breath. With a delicate touch that contrasted his brutality, Qul returned one of his poles to his back and plucked the crown from Herod’s head. The minotaur removed his helmet and inspected the crown thoroughly. It was far too small to wear in the human style, but Qul slipped it over one of his capped horns and let it hang like a piece of jewelry.

  A minute later, Qul emerged from Castle Talon with Herod’s bloody head impaled upon one his poles. He smashed the gearbox that released the drawbridge and slammed his pole into the center of the already demolished wood. The morbid trophy wobbled briefly, but held. He wanted any survivors to know that he was their new king.

  WHEN BOTH MASSIVE feet had descended through the clouds, the rest of Vrysinoch’s body appeared. All throughout the city, the battle faded and slowed. The world had not been suppressed by any magical means, but the presence of the living Vrysinoch demanded awe from humans and minotaurs alike. Even the winged demons ferrying minotaurs to the top of Terror’s Lament had to pause for a moment to let their guileless minds attempt to comprehend what they were seeing.

  Vrysinoch’s beak, a powerful white and yellow structure resembling that of a golden eagle, opened wide enough to swallow several large catapults at once. The bird screeched and what glass remained in Talonrend instantly shattered. For miles around, the god’s call echoed and caused a violent aftershock that knocked soldier’s to their knees.

  Lady Scrapple’s bone dragon dropped low and sped toward the eastern walls of the city. Moments before, the dragon had been the largest living thing any human of Talonrend had ever seen. Vrysinoch eclipsed the sun and made the dragon look like an overgrown and unruly pet. At once, the feathered god flew after the dragon and chased it from the city.

  The two powerful avian creatures flew about one another in a blur of speed that no human eye could hope to follow. Vrysinoch clawed with his talons and ripped great chunks of bones from the dragon with every swipe. In turn, the undead beast spat gouts of acrid black flames that the god was forced to dodge. As quickly as Vrysinoch was destroying the skeletal dragon, Lady Scrapple’s magical consciousness latched onto fresh bones from the battlefield and used them to mend the dragon’s wounds.

  The moment of awe and reverence faded and the brutal fighting on the western portion of the walls resumed. Several dozen minotaurs, aided by winged demons with sharp claws, cleaved their way through swaths of human defenders. The casualties were immense on both sides, but for every minotaur that fell to a human blade, a score or more men had died.

  Taurnil stood next to Jan and Keturah in the northeastern outpost of Terror’s Lament and tasted the air. He could feel Gideon’s presence, but it was much farther away than he had expected. “He isn’t in the city,” Taurnil hissed to his master.

  “Can you find him?” Keturah asked with her rough minotaur voice. Her pet demon nodded and got ready to fly.

  “Don’t let Vrysinoch see you,” she warned. Taurnil was certainly powerful, but Keturah knew he would be less than an annoying fly to a god.

  Taurnil leapt from the wall and flew east, directly over Castle Talon and the city below. He kept low at first to not attract the attention of any human archer still alive, but soon realized it didn’t matter. What remained of the human defenses, apart from the western wall, had been eradicated by hellish flames and heavenly lightning strikes.

  When he soared over the eastern wall, Taurnil made sure to fly as low to the ground as possible. The dueling god and dragon were fighting so violently that everything within half a mile of them had been turned to rubble. The wind from Vrysinoch’s monstrous wings was strong enough to blow topsoil away and reveal bedrock dozens of feet below.

  Whenever Vrysinoch and the dragon clashed, the ensuing thunderclap shook the world.

  Taurnil watched for a moment before taking a careful and circuitous path north toward Kanebullar Mountain and his prey. The closer he got to Gideon, the more he could taste human flesh on his three tongues.

  SEVERAL HOURS AFTER Vrysinoch’s arrival, the last human defending the walls fell over the side to his death. A gloating minotaur stood behind the parapet and watched the soldier plummet to his death, laughing all the while. The sun had beg
un to set and neither Vrysinoch nor the undead dragon had gained any advantage. Their raging battle continued and neither showed any sign of relenting.

  Almost a hundred minotaurs, slightly less than half that had made the initial assault, survived. Eight winged demons carried Qul’s throne to the roof of Castle Talon where the minotaur king paced back and forth. They dropped the throne and landed gently on their feet, ready to obey their new king.

  “The orcs will be here soon, I believe,” Qul told his assembled generals. He thought of Undrakk and shuddered. The strange half-orc brought a foul taste to his mouth that he could never purge.

  “Kill them?” the nearest general asked hopefully.

  “Kill them.” Qul looked down from the top of the castle and watched Herod’s bloody hair fluttered in the gentle evening breeze. It had been so easy to kill the human leader that Qul almost didn’t believe it had happened. He reached up and touched his crown to reassure himself. Surely enough, the golden circle of gemstone still hung loosely from one his horns.

  “As you instructed, the ballistae and most of the mounted crossbows were not damaged in the attack,” one of the minotaur generals reported. “We should have no problems slaughtering the orcs before they breach the city.”

  “My city!” Qul bellowed at the general. He hadn’t thought of a name for the spoils of his conquest, but there would be time for that later. “Where would be the easiest place to attack?” Qul asked. As much as he enjoyed intimidating his generals and showing his authority, Qul knew there were greater tasks at hand. He sat back on his throne and let his subordinates make their reports.

  “The demons say there are no full breaches of the three-layered walls, but the southern section has crumbled severely and there are gaping holes in the eastern portion, both interior and exterior.” The general bowed his head respectfully and took a step backward.

  Qul thought for a long moment before speaking. “If there are no clear entry points, station several soldiers along each wall and save the rest on the ground.” He looked to one of the nearby winged demons that stood near Jan and Keturah. “How many of you are left?” he asked the strange creature.

  Jan stepped forward to answer. “Only two score, maybe a handful more,” he said. While the human crossbows had been useless against the heavy plates of the minotaurs, the unarmored demons had been easy targets. Their sinewy wings were not suited well to combat and many of them had plummeted to their deaths with bolts sticking out of their limbs.

  “Have them fly patrols around the walls and report to me the moment the orc clans come into sight,” he ordered Jan. The possessed minotaur bowed and relayed the instructions to the demon nearest him.

  “What of Undrakk?” one of the generals questioned.

  Qul put on a smirk and tried to look confident. Inside, the half-orc terrified him. Qul’s muscled arms and enormous body were practically useless against a skilled magic wielder. “Let him come to me,” Qul decided. He desperately wanted to allow his soldiers to attack the shaman on sight, but he feared that Undrakk would still reach him and Qul would be left without a clan to lead.

  “Yes, my king,” the minotaur general responded. Qul waved the council away and allowed himself a moment to relax and relish in the sight of Talonrend burning. The fires were like sparkling gems in his eye and smoke was the sweetest perfume.

  THE MINE CART rattled down the tracks and gained speed. Gideon shoveled some of the ore out of the bottom of the cart to make room for his legs. The goblins from the forge chased after them, but the cart was too fast. The ground sloped down and the tunnels ahead were pitch black.

  “We’re close to the storehouse,” Vorst yelled over the noisy wheels. Melkora wrapped her arms around the side of the cart and grit her teeth against the vibrations.

  Flickering light ahead indicated their imminent arrival in another chamber. Over the chattering of the metals wheels, Gideon could hear the sounds of goblins. “Get ready,” he said, though he didn’t have to. Melkora held Roisin tightly in her grasp and crouched below the edge of the big cart.

  A dozen or more goblins were waiting for them when they arrived in the storage area. They were the large goblins, bred for combat and carrying well-made weapons and armor. Two of them stood in the center of the tracks and tried to stop the cart as it entered the room. Vorst leaned over the front and fired her crossbow, hitting one of the big goblins in the upper chest. The creature stumbled backward and fell, leaving only one goblin in their direct path. The single goblin was no match for the speeding cart and only managed to struggle for a brief moment before being dragged under the wheels to his death.

  Several goblins charged at the side of the cart and Gideon whipped Maelstrom in front of them to keep them at bay. The inky black tendrils lashed out and cut deep gashes along the goblin’s legs. As the cart sped by, several of the attackers attempted to throw rocks and javelin at them, but the thick metal sides of the cart deflected the missiles easily.

  “The switch!” Vorst yelled in a panic. Gideon looked up and saw the tall switch silhouetted in flickering torchlight. It leaned leftward, a stark indication that the cart’s path was headed toward incineration. A large goblin stood next to the switch and held onto it with all his weight.

  “You’ve got one shot!” Gideon told Vorst. He pulled Maelstrom back behind his head and waited. There was less than fifty feet of track between the barreling mine cart and the track switch that would determine their fate.

  Vorst steadied her crossbow as best she could and closed her eyes. Finding the calm place that existed between the chaos of battle and the serenity of death, she remembered shooting the majestic elk in the forest with Gravlox. Her breathing slowed and her muscles tensed. The cart rattled and she took her shot. When she opened her eyes, the goblin holding the switch fell to his knees and clutched at a small bolt protruding from his chest.

  In an instant, Gideon jerked his wrist forward and summoned tendrils of dark magic from Maelstrom’s tip. The grasping strands flew in front of the cart and latched onto the switch at Gideon’s mental behest. With another flick of his wrist, Gideon yanked the tendrils to the side and flipped the switch from right to left. The track parts clicked into place a second before the screaming wheels passed over and took the four into the chamber of the Mistress of the Mountain.

  LONG AFTER NIGHTFALL, someone grabbed Seamus’ shoulder and shook him awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked up to see a score of paladins staring back at him.

  “You have his sword,” one of them said, pointing to Nevidal in Seamus’ lap.

  “Yes,” he muttered wearily. “He gave it to me.” Seamus hadn’t bothered to concoct a believable lie regarding his theft so he thought that simple might be best. The paladin waited a moment before nodding and offering a hand to bring Seamus up from the ground.

  “We lost the walls,” the man said. He pointed up to the western wall and Seamus saw massive creature’s prowling there that were far too large to be human. “Castle Talon has fallen as well.”

  “Where’s the army?” Seamus asked awkwardly. He brushed his pants and armor off and held Nevidal by the blade against his shoulder.

  The paladin pointed to the men standing behind him in full armor with maces and shields. “We’re all that’s left,” he said, but there was no trace of sorrow in his voice. “A few more are certainly scattered throughout the rubble, but we are the only ones with any fight left in us.” The paladins offered up a quiet cheer and gathered closer.

  “I can fight,” Seamus told them. He recognized their faces from the road and he could tell more than half of them knew who he was.

  “Good,” the man responded. He started to draw a crude map on the ground in the alley to lay out their plan. “The minotaurs have taken over the castle, but there aren’t many. Only five or six have stayed there with their leader, a giant brute wearing King Lucius’ crown. The flying ones, whatever they are, patrol around the castle and fly supplies over the walls.”

  Seamus gulped down his
fear and wondered where he would fit into the plan. He wasn’t trained to fight and he couldn’t even remember the words to the battle hymns the paladins liked to sing. When the paladin mentioned Lucius’ crown, Seamus felt his stolen sword nearly jump to life in his hands. Nevidal pulsed with hunger and commanded Seamus to slay the mighty king.

  “We can form up here,” the man continued, pointing to a spot on his dirt map. “We can take them. If we form a shield wall, nothing can stop us.”

  Seamus listened to the distant sounds of Vrysinoch and the bone dragon battling and had to question the man’s courage and his sanity. If the god of Talonrend could not defeat a dragon, how could they hope to slay a minotaur that was taller than two of them combined?

  When their plan had been fully laid out, the men snuck around the edge of a crumbled building south of Castle Talon and waited for a nearby patrol of flying monsters to wander off. Doing what paladins of Vrysinoch do best, the men formed into a square and began singing a battle hymn as they marched toward the minotaur king.

  Four minotaur soldiers guarded the drawbridge. The wooden structure had nearly been destroyed by Qul’s onslaught, but enough of it remained to be useable. In the center, Herod’s head still lolled on one of Qul’s metal poles. The four minotaurs drew their weapons and waited for Qul’s signal to attack.

  The minotaur king smiled. He admired the bravery of the paladins, but he found it hard to believe they could be so foolhardy. Qul stood from his throne on the roof of Castle Talon and yelled out the order to charge. His four trusted generals sprang into action.