The Goblin Wars Part Two: Death of a King

by Stuart Thaman

  The paladins pressed on with measured steps. Their formation, five across and four rows deep, was a slow moving wall of tall shields. The battle hymn rose above the din of chaos and filled them with strength. The nearest minotaur general stomped down the drawbridge and hurled an axe at the approaching humans. Before the weapon connected, he dropped down to all fours and ran. The axe whirled end over end and smashed into one of the front shields. Splinters of wood flew into the paladin’s face, but the protective magic of their hymn spared the man from serious harm.

  The minotaur charged like a bull and smashed all three thousand pounds of his mass into the front line. The men braced and dug their heels into the cobblestones, but they were wholly unprepared for the sheer strength of the creature. Three paladins collapsed under the weight of the assault. Men behind the fallen soldiers struggled to help their comrades up, but the heavily armored minotaur thrashed and kicked, each hoof breaking bone as it landed. The beast’s metal-capped horns speared through a metal shield and sank into the flesh of the man behind it. The paladin screamed and brought his sword down to cut the horns, but the minotaur was too quick.

  With an inspiring shout, the young leader of the makeshift troop called for his men to pull back. In their very center, Seamus wrapped his hands around Nevidal’s hilt and felt his body surge with power. His muscles bulged and his mind sharpened. The poor farmer felt the sensation of clarity overwhelm his consciousness and wrest control of his actions. He was Vrysinoch’s tool of destruction and the city needed him.

  When the paladins stepped backward, Seamus leapt from their midst with more fury than any minotaur had ever seen from a human. He swung Nevidal down in front of him and hacked wildly at the bovine monstrosity. The minotaur grunted with pain, but did not relent. Rather than retreat to preserve his body, the general reared up on his hind legs and drew a two-handed sword from his back.

  Seamus had to tilt his head up to see the minotaur’s helmet. With Nevidal in his hands, he felt no fear. The two swords met above Seamus’ chest with a shower of sparks. The farmer pushed back and felt his empowered muscles knotting and pulsing with otherworldly energy. Slowly, the minotaur began to lose his footing and slid several inches backward.

  Qul leaned over the parapet in amazement. He watched with intense scrutiny as his general lost a direct test of brawn with a single human. “I must have that sword,” he whispered. He knew beyond any doubt the sword Seamus wielded was the most powerful weapon he had ever seen.

  Seamus overpowered the general and forced him to his knees. The minotaur tried to maneuver his own sword beneath Nevidal, but the blade was pressed solidly against his chest armor. He had nowhere to turn and his only option was to let his own weapon fall and hope to jump backward quicker than Seamus could strike.

  As soon as the sword fell from the general’s hands, Nevidal carved a deep swath of destruction through his chest that split the beast from neck to waist. The minotaur’s guts spilled across the stones and the paladins cheered.

  Qul bellowed with rage and leapt from the parapet. He landed on the small stone landing just before the drawbridge with a thunderous crash of hoof and rock.

  “Stand down!” he ordered his three remaining generals. The minotaurs stepped back and allowed their king room to pass. Qul stood tall in front of the paladins and stared at Seamus. His deep breaths turned the air to fog and when he scraped his hooves against the stones, bits of rock broke free. He wrenched his metal pole from the drawbridge and shook Herod’s lifeless head into the moat below. With both weapons tightly in his grip, Qul pointed toward Seamus and ordered him forward.

  “Don’t go,” one of the battered paladins behind Seamus whispered. The man’s voice shook and he threatened to throw down his weapons and run.

  Nevidal felt the challenge and commanded Seamus’ legs to stride forward. The air between Seamus and the minotaur king was thick with tension. Several winged demons circled over the paladins and waited for the order to attack. The three remaining minotaur generals fidgeted with their weapons and inched closer to the tight pack of humans.

  Qul turned and motioned with his head for Seamus to follow him inside. Without thinking, the farmer obeyed. He walked behind the colossal beast and entered Castle Talon. Qul had to stoop down dramatically to enter the building and could not stand fully until he reached the audience chamber in front of the ruined throne. The minotaur king turned and contemplated the courageous human for a long moment.

  “You may live,” Qul said slowly, his grasp of the human language facilitated by the magical amulet he had received from Undrakk. “Give me your sword.” Qul held out his hand and waited.

  Seamus continued to feel his arms and back bulge with strength and wondered how long his bones could endure the growth. At what point would his heart not be able to carry blood to his growing limbs? Would the magical enhancement end of its own accord?

  He thought of handing the weapon over, but the mere notion of releasing Nevidal from his grasp sent a wave of pain rattling through his head. The blade did not want to be forfeited. He would not surrender.

  “Take it,” Seamus boldly proclaimed. “If you can.”

  WHEN THE HEAVY doors to Castle Talon swung shut, chaos broke out. The three generals, aided by an aerial assault of winged demons, swarmed over the paladins like flies to rotting meat.

  The men locked their shields and took up a battle hymn once more. Occasional screeches and other sounds from Vrysinoch’s duel against the bone dragon found their way through the city to fill the men with hope. As the fires of Talonrend raged and ethereal souls danced above the clouds high over the city, the men couldn’t help but feel that they were already in hell. For most of them, the idea of death had lost its wicked sting. Their world was in ruins, and life could not possibly get any worse.

  The front row of paladins stepped back into the second row to make up for their diminished numbers and waited for the three generals to crash into them. Although the force of the initial charge was enough to crush four of the paladins into the ground, their magically enhanced shields stayed locked in place. The paladins sang and pushed forward at once with a coordinated effort.

  For a brief second, the three minotaurs were pushed back and the men had a chance to stab over their shields and attack. The armored beasts took the relatively weak hits without complaint. Then, like liquid fire pouring from the sky, the demons opened their jagged mouths and began spewing acid onto the paladins from above.

  Their shields were useless. When they pulled them up to deflect the poison falling from the sky, the minotaurs gutted them where they stood. The acid burned and sizzled as it bore through their armor and into their skin. Several of the demons swooped low to slash at the men with their razor sharp claws. Within moments, the unified force of determined paladins had devolved into a chaotic mess of screams and death.

  The three generals could not be stopped. They tore through the ranks with ease and absorbed every strike the humans could muster. The battle hymn faded and before long, there were more dead humans than living.

  The last group of five paladins formed a circle and tried to protect themselves. They fought as they had been trained and waited for opportune moments before they struck. No matter how organized and perfectly timed their strikes, the human swords and maces were never strong enough to pierce the magnificent plate armor the minotaurs wore.

  When the last man of the group died, only one demon had been lost. The three generals had dozens of new gashes and dings in their armor, but not a single blade had found its way to the skin. The slain demon, a small creature with pale skin and eyes like black ink, had suffered a long cut from its hips all the way to the back of one shoulder. The minotaurs noted with curiosity that no vital organs spilled out. While the creature bled, it did not come apart like they expected. Instead, when the beast shuddered and breathed its last, its skin turned to flaky ash and dissipated in a wisp of acrid smoke as though a small candle had been extinguished.

  “The orcs hav
e arrived!” a young minotaur shouted from a street south of Castle Talon. The generals turned and pushed the jubilation of their victory far from their minds. The messenger stormed up to the generals on all fours before slowing to a bipedal gait.

  “Both clans?” one of the generals asked. “Where is Undrakk?”

  “Yes,” the minotaur hastily saluted. “They are approaching the western gate. Undrakk leads them.”

  The general turned to a winged demon and commanded the pale creature to carry him over the walls to the western gate. The strange being cocked its head awkwardly to the side and obeyed. With strained beats of its leathery wings, the demon lifted the heavy minotaur above the houses and fires and carried him west.

  QUL COULD BARELY fathom a world in which a scrawny human would dare stand against him. Other members of his clan, fully grown minotaurs who had proven themselves in combat time and time again, were known to shake in terror before him. All but the bravest of orcs would prostrate themselves in his presence. Even the two human wizards possessing minotaur bodies had shown fear in the presence of the king.

  Seamus stood several steps below the stone dais and refused to flinch. He held his sword before him and waited like a statue about to be unveiled.

  “This city is mine,” Qul explained, trying to make Seamus see the futility of his stubbornness. “You have no one left.”

  Seamus shook his head and when he did, the muscles of his back bulged and popped as they suddenly grew. He felt his heartbeat increase and he stretched, popping his back and growing several inches in the process. When Seamus opened his mouth to speak, he felt Vrysinoch breath through him from miles away.

  “You will die,” the god screeched above Seamus’ gruff voice. “I will have your soul!”

  Nevidal commanded Seamus’ feet to move and they sprang to life in a blur of finely coordinated steps. Qul set his metal poles into motion before him and waited for the blade to strike. Nevidal darted under one of the swinging weapons and connected with Qul’s hip. The thick metal plate gave in an inch, but did not break. In the blink of an eye, Qul’s pole smashed into the sword and knocked it off course.

  Seamus jumped back and narrowly avoided taking a full force hit to his ribcage. Qul moved his long arms out in wide circles and swung his weapons simultaneously across his body. With his incredible reach, Seamus knew he wouldn’t be able to back far enough away. He dropped to the ground and let the metal poles pass harmlessly above his head.

  From the ground, Seamus rolled over his left shoulder and came up next to the minotaur king with a horizontal slash aimed at Qul’s legs. The beast turned his front leg outward and absorbed the strike with a steel greave. Qul put his poles together and swung them down like a lumberjack splitting wood. They landed on Seamus’ back hard enough to split the stone floor beneath the man but somehow, Seamus survived.

  Nevidal controlled Seamus’ legs and rolled him to his side and down the dais stairs, revealing a spider web of cracks extending from where his chest had split the floor. Qul bellowed and laughed with glee behind his helmet. He descended the steps and pressured Seamus, slashing in front of him with both weapons in quick succession and never allowing the human to get his feet set beneath him.

  Before long, Seamus felt his back touch a decorative tapestry hanging from the wall and he knew he had nowhere left to run. In a desperate attempt to buy time, Seamus turned to his right and swung Nevidal at one of the poles, parrying the minotaur’s left-hand attack and accepting a hit from his right hand that was strong enough to cleave through granite. The blow knocked the wind out of him, but Seamus knew that Nevidal’s magic saved his life and prevented his spine from shattering.

  The temporary reprieve granted Seamus enough time to slide his blade up the metal pole and rip it across Qul’s gauntlet. The metal screeched and sent a shower of sparks onto the floor. When Nevidal bit into the beast’s hand, Qul pulled back and used his right pole to smash into Nevidal and turn the blade aside.

  The minotaur king took several steps backward and looked at his bloody hand. His armor had failed him for the first time in his life. It had been so long since Qul had bled that he was surprised that his body still knew how. “Give me the sword,” Qul beckoned, “and we can rule together. You will be my second.”

  Seamus leaned against the wall and felt the fabric of the tapestry against his leather armor. It was a tapestry depicting Vrysinoch looking over Talonrend with a watchful eye. As tempting as the offer was, Seamus could not surrender. The blade in his hands forbade it. The god in the sky forbade it.

  “You fear me,” Seamus spat.

  Slowly, Qul reached up and pulled the gem-studded crown from one of his horns and cast it aside. It clattered at the base of the broken throne. Qul unsnapped three latches on this side of his helmet and let the faceplate fall from the backing. He shook his body and the other half of the helm rolled down his back and crashed to the stone. Solemnly, Qul shed his gauntlets and removed the plates from his forearms.

  The minotaur king unlaced the backs of his steel greaves and let them fall from his legs. When he was only wearing his black breastplate, Qul took one of his mighty poles in both hands and leveled it in the same manner that Seamus held Nevidal.

  “You are a fool,” he said. “I will not be so generous again.” Qul lunged from the first step of the dais and jabbed with his pole like a dexterous fencer wielding a rapier. Faster than Qul himself thought possible, he weaved the metal pole through Seamus’ lightning quick reflexes and pounded the man on the shoulders and chest.

  Nevidal tried to parry the rapid strikes, but Seamus felt his strength beginning to fade. The weapon thirsted for souls and required fuel that Seamus was not able provide. His thoughts slowed and his consciousness ebbed toward the blade like a moth slowly circling a deadly flame.

  Seamus saw an opening and knew he had to take it. He purposely missed a parry low and let the metal pole stab into his ribs. His stolen armor ripped and the pole found its way to his skin with the wet sound of broken bones. The force of the blow knocked him backward but gave him the opportunity he needed. Seamus brought Nevidal up with all the enhanced strength he had left and the magnificent sword sheared through Qul’s unarmored forearm. With a howl of pain, Qul watched his right arm fall to the ground where it twitched and squirted dark blood.

  Qul took his pole in his left hand and renewed his attack. He swung the weapon high and aimed for Seamus’ head. Nevidal launched skyward and met the weapon, but Seamus no longer had the fortitude to match the minotaur’s strike. The sword pushed backward and Seamus knew he would lose a direct test of muscle.

  His back was almost against the wall and Seamus couldn’t duck for fear of exposing his head. His own sword inched closer to his body and he could smell Qul’s breath mingling with his own. Seamus turned his sideways and dove to his left under Qul’s bleeding stub. When he loosened his grip on Nevidal, Qul’s metal pole drove it downward so hard that it cut into Seamus’ own shoulder and sprayed his face with blood, but the maneuver was successful. Seamus turned on his heels and swung Nevidal as high as he could. The sword connected with the side of Qul’s chest plate and split it apart.

  The beast staggered back against the tapestry with a grunt. Seamus knew his strength had almost faded completely. His vision started to swirl with splotches of black and red and his lungs protested every breath they took. The exhausted farmer stumbled up the stone dais and moved behind one of the halves of the broken throne. He leaned against the chair for support and prayed to Vrysinoch that Qul would not be able to push himself from the wall.

  The minotaur king had lost a significant amount of blood. The walls were stained red and the floor was slick with it. Qul used his metal pole like a cane and slowly began to move. He lifted one heavy foot in front of the other and climbed the steps of the dais like an old man stepping into his own grave.

  When he reached the top, Qul tried to lift his pole and strike, but lost his footing on the bloody stones and crashed to the ground i
n front of the throne. Seamus raised Nevidal up to finish the beast, but Qul’s body did not move. He hobbled around the throne and used his foot to weakly lift Qul’s head. The minotaur king had fallen directly on Lucius’ crown. One of the golden protrusions atop the circle of metal was lodged in Qul’s eye. A dark, soupy mixture of blood and brain matter seeped from the wound to stain the foot of the throne.

  Seamus collapsed into the side of the broken chair and let his eyes fall shut. Nevidal begged for him to rise and kill, but Seamus’ mind had gone dim. There were no souls left in the castle for Nevidal to take—none but his own. He struggled to stay awake against the pull of the magical weapon and within a minute, he succumbed. Nevidal ripped the man’s soul through his fingertips and into its hilt. Some of the skin around Seamus’ neck and face turned to pale ash and sloughed off his bones.

  With a sharp metallic clatter, Nevidal fell from his grip to the blood-soaked dais and Seamus breathed his last.

  THE DESCENT INTO Lady Scrapple’s chamber took far longer than Gideon expected. He steadied his breathing and calmed his mind. He wished for the feel of Nevidal in his hands. Herod’s swords were incredible, but Gideon felt clumsy with them. He wasn’t used to planning his strikes with both hands individually.

  He smiled when the metal rails under the mine cart came to an end and they skidded to a violent stop. The chamber was large and smelled of death. Two goblins stood several paces away and paid the group no heed. They busily prepared a large tray of roasted meats and cave mushrooms as though nothing was amiss. Gideon could hear the horde of larger goblins that had followed the mine cart. He would have a minute, maybe two, to slay Lady Scrapple before they descended upon him.

  Gravlox and Vorst scampered from the cart and slew the two goblins in the room without hesitation. Gideon offered Melkora his hand and pulled her from the metal box with ease.