Chapter 40
A howl of fury came from a hundred goblin throats as Cyrus thrust the door open. So much for a plan. “Get the army down here now!” he shouted back, sword in his hand.
He moved to the first rank of goblins, huddled in a cluster only a few feet from him. They stood on a rich, red rug that Cyrus barely took note of before bringing his sword down and making it redder still with the blood of two goblins caught unprepared. He heard a loud WHUMP! and to his right a half dozen goblins went flying with the power of Alaric's spell. A few to his left were knocked asunder by Vara's less powerful burst.
Stones cracked on the far side of the hall and entangling vines reached out, dragging goblins away from the impending fight as the room turned into a frenzy.
Cyrus raked his sword across another three foes, not killing any of them but wounding them enough that they stepped back. He saw a goblin streak at him to attack his flank when a light came over it. A glance back showed J'anda working his magic, sending a courteous nod toward the warrior as he mesmerized another goblin.
“They'll be warning the Imperials!” Alaric shouted over the melee. The Ghost had waded into the growing number of enemies scampering forward to fight them. Cy watched Terian and Thad enter the fray, and felt a healing spell run across him as Erith sealed the small wounds that his foes had inflicted.
Vara hacked a great bloody swath across the packed crowd and pieces of four distinct green bodies flew across the room. Her next swing produced similar results, and the next. She moved too fast for them; the goblins' mob attacks were causing them to trip over one another and limiting their effectiveness. Alaric and Vara kept them at arms’ reach without great difficulty; Cyrus was not so fortunate.
He swung his short sword again and again, and the goblins came crushing in at him with greater force. They were four deep now, all in a line, bunching up toward him and snapping and clawing. He felt a thousand tiny pinpricks as their claws found purchase in the gaps in his armor. Blood dripped from between links and plates, a hundred small wounds. His short sword found targets, over and over, yet still they came.
Another blast from Alaric knocked over the horde swarming Cyrus and gave him a moment to breathe as a heal, this time from Vaste, patched his wounds. The blood stopped flowing, but the aches remained. He nodded to the Ghost, who raised a hand to him before bringing around Aterum again and devastating another rank of goblins.
A rush of flame blasted forth to his left. He could feel the warmth, as though he had come too close to an open fire. It streamed into the tightly packed goblins, searing them, causing several to fall dead. Cyrus chanced a look – Mendicant stood behind him, hand raised, fire jumping forth, and a cool smile baring his teeth as he killed goblin warriors with the magics his people had scorned.
Into the gap rushed three blurs of white and gray, and Cyrus heard the goblins squeal in pain and terror. Wolves. A leather bound northman let out a howl and charged into the battle, a sword no longer than Cyrus's clutched in one hand and a leather apparatus with claws mounted on it strapped to his other. Menlos Irontooth waded into the fray, a smile upon his lips that matched the snarl of his wolves.
Aisling had slipped through the line and was attacking the goblins at the rear. Her daggers found target after target, foes cut down by the lethal placement of her blades. Her bow was not in evidence anywhere on her person. The hall grew fuller as the forces of Sanctuary entered a few at a time, and the line of goblins fell further and further back. As they broke and ran, Aisling dispatched them; only a few made it from the room alive.
Alaric brought down the last goblin with a force blast that would not have been a killing blow but for the goblin's proximity to a wall. It bounced against the stone, leaving a red streak on the stone as it slid to a final rest.
“No reinforcements,” Vara noted, looking at the far hallway leading toward the throne room.
“They're waiting for us in there, I would guess,” Cyrus said. “We need to move now, before their Emperor and Empress can escape, or the garrison from their barracks can fill the room. There's a passage that leads directly into the throne room; it's how we were overwhelmed last time.”
He took a look around – less than a tenth of the Sanctuary army was present in the hall. “I'd prefer to regroup first, but we have no time. We have to storm the throne room now.”
“Agreed,” Alaric said. “Lead on, and let the word go back to the tail of the army that we have engaged the enemy and will need everyone as quickly as possible.”
“I'll go,” Niamh volunteered. In a beat, she was gone, running through the door to the gate in a flash of red, shouting at the top of her lungs. “We're in it now, hurry, hurry, hurry, we're engaging the Emperor –!”
Vara moved to Cyrus's side. “You've killed a great many of them now. Do you feel any better?”
Cyrus hefted the short sword. “Ask me after.”
He took off down the hallway at a jog. He passed countless doors, ignoring them, until he reached the end of the hallway, and a double door that stretched from floor to ceiling and had a carving of the history of the goblin empire on it. He cracked a door and looked in.
“The Emperor and Empress are still in there,” he breathed to Vara, who stood behind him.
“They are the foremost warriors of the empire,” she acknowledged. “It does make sense that they might want to be involved in the battle.”
Cyrus watched the Sanctuary forces pooling behind him, the hallway filling. “Alaric,” Cyrus said and the Ghost focused on him. “I think it might be best if you head for the door to the barracks, see if you can keep it closed.” He looked to Vara. “You feel like going head to head with the Empress of Enterra?”
She smiled. “I think I could teach the old biddy a thing or two about fighting.”
“Be careful,” he cautioned. “She killed me herself last time, and she hits like a titan.” He looked to the army filling the hall behind them. “Everyone be cautious. Remember, we're looking for evidence...” He cringed internally at the admonition. “So try not to completely trash the place.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Cyrus Davidon?” Andren asked with a broad smile.
Without bothering to respond, Cyrus turned and kicked the door open, following through with his sword already in motion. The goblins were bigger than in the last chamber, the personal guards of the Emperor and Empress, and he had already felt a dozen grazing wounds by the time his sword claimed its first victory.
Vara and Alaric waded in behind him, both their swords in motion, merciless in their assault; yet still they were halted inside the door by the ferocity of the goblin attack. More soldiers poured through the door that Cyrus had told Alaric to guard; the Ghost was nowhere near it, weighed down by goblin opponents from all sides.
A sound of thunder filled Cyrus's ears and a jagged bolt of lightning streaked through the open doors behind him, arcing through the goblins, knocking them back. Mendicant came forward, lightning flying from both hands, sending shrieks of pain from the mouths of a hundred of his own people as the current ran through them, pushing them back from the door.
Thad, Menlos, Terian, Scuddar and Longwell entered into the space the wizard had cleared for them. Thad moved into the battle, rough swings of his sword dislodging goblins from the half-circle line they had formed around the door. Menlos lit into them with a ferocity that was only matched by his wolves, which were moving through the room, finding prey of their own.
Cyrus saw Samwen Longwell, three goblins skewered on the end of his lance, and watched as the dragoon tossed the unwieldy weapon aside and drew his sword, swinging it in a style Cyrus couldn't quite place. The dragoon wielded it in circular motions, almost as a shield and a sword.
Terian's axe was slow to swing, but caused great havoc every time he brought it down, splitting the heads of goblins around him. Scuddar In'shara followed close behind the dark knight; his scimitar flashed with great speed, sending goblin parts raining in all directions.
The gap was widening now; more of Sanctuary's forces were filling the throne room. The Emperor and Empress stood silent and still before their seats, waiting to prove themselves, and Cyrus caught a glimpse of the scabbard on the wall behind them. When last he had seen it, it had been on a belt on the Empress, close to her body as one cradles a child to them.
My scabbard, he thought.
Another heal mended a bone he hadn't realized he'd broken and absolved him of a hundred cuts. He threw an elbow, catching a goblin unawares as it moved to attack him from the side, sending it to the floor in pain. His next sword strike killed another, but two more moved forward and drove him back a step, claws rattling against the metal of his armor.
The room was filling fast; dead goblins were on the floor all around, and Sanctuary attackers were wading in amidst the pile of the dead and the motion of those still fighting. Cyrus watched as goblin after goblin was swallowed by a blue glow and stopped, mid-battle, expressions serene as J'anda trapped them inside their own minds.
Alaric had taken the barracks door now, and was holding it against a steady stream of goblin attackers. Aterum flashed through the air and another goblin lost its head. The door swung open again and the Ghost fired a concussive blast through it before he slammed it shut once more.
Mendicant advanced through the crowd, throwing lightning and fire in turn, cowing the goblins in the front rank with the display of magic.
Vara favored the five goblins closest to her with a swipe of her sword that decapitated all but one of them and then leaped over the heads of the rest in her way to land a few paces from the Empress. Cyrus watched her and saw the Emperor move to attack before the paladin had steadied herself from her leap; the goblin moved with more speed than even Vara could boast. He clipped her and sent the paladin to her knees, sword skittering out of her grasp.
“Vara!” Cyrus cried out, scrambling to make his way through the line of goblins arrayed against him. He watched the Emperor pick up the elf by her throat, watched Vara look back with the dull, dead eyes of someone who had been stunned by a heavy blow. She threw her hand up but the Emperor batted it away and a stun spell knocked the Empress's throne over backward. The Emperor's hand twisted and Vara went limp, dangling from the grasp of the goblin, dead.
A howl of fury filled Cyrus's lips and a storm took over his blade. His sword moved of its own accord, left and right with stunning precision, hacking a path to the elevated platform the thrones sat upon. The Emperor threw Vara's corpse to the side where it crumpled against a wall, staring back at him with unfocused eyes.
Vara...
Avenge me...
Cyrus used his left fist in concert with his blade, knocking aside the last of the Imperial guard and stalking up the steps to where the Emperor and Empress stood watching him, coiled for attack. A warcry flew from his lips at such volume that it echoed through the chamber, the halls of Enterra, and the rest of Arkaria for all he knew. He threw himself at the Emperor, felt the goblin's claws grasp hold of him on both arms, halting his thrust of the short sword.
The claws dug into the armor gaps on his forearms, and blood began to run. The floor below them was swarming, the throne room filling from the open door of the barracks. Alaric was in the middle of the room, a small space cleared around him, and a few bodies of Sanctuary members were scattered among the countless goblin corpses. J'anda, Andren and Thad were among the dead he could see. Menlos's wolves moved like whispers among the goblins while the northman himself had his back against the wall close to the door of the chamber, Longwell at his side.
Cyrus saw the Empress enter his peripheral vision, moving toward him to help her husband. A flash of light distracted he and the Emperor both as Mendicant fired a lightning bolt from across the room that pulled a shriek from the lips of Enterra's Empress. Cyrus butted his head forward, hitting the Emperor with his helm and knocking the goblin back a step.
He wrenched his hands free but dropped the short sword, bringing his shoulder down for a tackle that knocked the Emperor to his back. Cyrus pounded him with a flurry of blows, blood hammering in his ears as he pummeled the leader of the goblins. Cyrus felt strong hands drag him off the Emperor and fling him against the wall. With a crack, he felt teeth break in his mouth when he landed. He looked to his right and saw Vara's body next to him. With a cry of sorrow lost in the sounds of the battle, he reached out a mailed hand and stroked her cheek.
Hatred filled him. Again. They've done it again. He pulled himself up, leaning against the wall for support, reeling from the horror inside him. With a howl of inarticulate rage he plunged forward again and hipchecked the Empress to the side, knocking her over her already fallen throne. The Emperor took a step forward, hands moving, and Cyrus felt the claws dig into his flank as he slammed into the goblin, tackling him. He brought his elbow across the goblin's face, breaking three pointed teeth out.
Cyrus reached back and slammed his fist into the mouth again and again. The goblin snapped at him and Cyrus grabbed the Emperor's arm and pulled it as hard as he could. A popping noise echoed as he dislocated the shoulder and slammed a knee into the goblin's groin. Claws still dug into his sides but his chainmail slowed their progression and he felt them begin to relax. He grabbed the Emperor's dislocated arm by the hand and pinned it under his knee.
Holding the Emperor's other hand down with his left, Cyrus brought his right fist down on the goblin's face. He felt the Empress's hot breath behind him and backhanded her before she could strike. His next blow broke the front structure of the Emperor's nose and jaw; the next after that changed the shape of the face entirely. He struck again, then once more, and again... he hated that face, those damned teeth, what few of them were left, those yellow eyes, rolling back in the Emperor's head – those were the eyes that presided over the death of Narstron... and now Vara...
Avenge me. The words played in his head with every punch, every blow to the Emperor's face.
“CY!” A voice cut across the clamor in the room, shaking him out of his trance. The room was filled with goblins, swarming from the door to the barracks. Sanctuary's forces in the room were down to Alaric, holding his own in the midst of a crowd of goblins. Erith screamed at him from the doorway, protected behind the dual swords of Scuddar and Terian Lepos, retreating from the sheer force of goblin numbers weighing them down.
His eyes took stock of the situation in the throne room. Thad was dead. Andren – dead. J'anda, Mendicant, Vaste – Cyrus saw the outline of a large, green-skinned body in the corner of the room. Menlos – he could see the unmoving tail of one of the wolves, and a smear of blood on the wall where the northman had been defending, along with the top of Sir Samwen Longwell's helm crowning the slumped figure of the dragoon. Before his eyes, Scuddar fell at the doorway, bleeding from a torrent of wounds and was swept down by the raging army of goblins, followed by Terian, then Erith.
Again. It's happened again. And it's all my fault. His eyes fell once more to Vara. Her blond hair ran along the floor where her body lay, looking like a river of gold running from the stone floor to her head to the prettiest face he had ever seen. With a final punch he caved in the skull of the Emperor of the Goblins and stood up. The Empress surveyed him warily, claws at the ready, and he looked at her with fury and murder in his heart.
Without waiting for her to move, he kicked the corpse of her husband to her feet and took two quick strides to the Emperor's throne, stepped up and ripped the scabbard off the wall. He pulled the sword from the strap on his back and thrust it into the casing. The Empress watched in stunned silence as a light grew from within the scabbard, shining out onto his hand and lighting the semi-darkness of the room, drawing the attention and a moment of silence from the goblins rampaging toward the door.
The silence ended as Cyrus thrust the scabbard into his belt and drew Praelior, the Champion's Blade.
The Serpent's Bane was the hilt, inscribed with symbols across the sword guard and wrapped in a soft and pliable leather that gripped b
etter than any Cyrus had felt. The Death's Head was the pommel, forged to the bottom of the grip; it jutted out in a circular pattern, hollowed with a cross in the middle and came to a sharp point at the bottom – sharp enough to be used for a weapon of last resort. The Edge of Repose was the blade, and had been dull as old iron until he pulled it from the scabbard –
Now it shone. Where once had been a dull and tarnished edge, bereft of sharpness, there was now glistening metal, shining as though it were new, and glowing with an aura of energy that lit the walls around him. Quartal, the hardest metal in Arkaria, held it all together with a strength no normal blade could claim. The scabbard in Cyrus's hand glowed with the magical power of a force beyond anything man – or goblins – could cast.
The soft blue glow of Praelior cast Cyrus's face in relief from shadow; his jaw was set and the anger was visible on every line of his face. He did not wait for anyone to make the first move; he struck at the Empress with a warcry that caused G'Koal, one of the most powerful warriors in the Goblin Empire, to take a step back in fear for her life.
Cyrus's first overhand strike with his sword was true – the blade was long, at least a foot longer than his short sword, and it met meat and bone at the shoulder of the Empress. In a contest between the strength of an enraged warrior and his mystical sword on one side and the sinews, scales and ligaments of the goblin Empress on the other, the winner was clear.
Empress G'Koal's severed arm spun from her body as she screeched in pain, falling backward off the steps of the raised platform upon which she and her husband ruled an empire. Cyrus did not wait to see her hit the floor; he was already in motion.
Praelior swept through the flesh and bone of his enemies as if they were made of air. Arms and heads flew before him; the screams of his victims echoed as he worked his way toward the doors where his allies were falling. Still, the goblins came, more and more of them. The doors had swung shut and were opening and closing as more goblin soldiers moved forward to push back the Sanctuary army through force of their numbers.
The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger Page 32