The Punishment Of The Gods (Omnibus 1-5)

by Jake Yaniak

  "But the mighty Pelas and his twin brother Agon defeated the Evil One (this was before Agon became evil himself). They cast him into outer darkness, somewhere, and decided to punish the spirits who had sinned by imprisoning them within bodies of flesh and bone. These soul-fools, as they were known among the gods, were then forced to live on the earth as animals and as people.

  "Being fair and just, Pelas created a prison for each spirit in accordance with the grievousness of their sins. So to the most rebellious he gave hideous forms, like unto worms and creeping things and to the least rebellious he gave human forms or animal forms. Each spirit was given a form that was befitting his prior life."

  'And what is the meaning of all this?' Daryas asked.

  'The point is, my good friend, that when the peasant stops at the house of Ponteris he can be turned away without a thought. The Cheftan's conscience is clean, for he would not want to deny the decrees of the gods by comforting a sinner in his duly received affliction.

  'But doesn't that mean that Cheft Ponteris is also among the condemned, as well as so many other men and women of renown?'

  'You are not as clever as you look, Daryas,' Sion laughed. 'You see, the gods in their wisdom knew that these foolish souls would need guardians that would make sure that they did not once again make war against all that is good and just. So they also sent in souls of the highest order to serve as nobles, kings, philosophers and various other wealthy lords to make sure that these Soul-fools were well managed.'

  'Souls such as Cheftan Ponteris?'

  'Indeed,' Sion could barely contain his laughter as he spoke, 'My dear father is a guardian and a shepherd to these poor Soul-fools!'

  'But this is absurd!' Daryas said half in disbelief.

  'Oh my friend, you have only heard a little bit. But in truth there are many elaborate tales and stories by which men drive empathy from their hearts. The moment a man's poverty and want is considered his own fault, there is no longer any need of compassion; and more importantly there is no longer any need of generosity.'

  A large tent was placed in the center of the camp with a large bonfire built near its entrance. Inside, around a small wooden table, the four Cheftans sat in council. Cheft Rahm spoke first. 'We have come far and with little difficulty, my lord. But now we have need of council. For the words of the scout Revere weigh heavy on my mind, and his report was confirmed by the testimony of the Cheftirne. Daryas, son of Biron, and Hassan, son of Ponteris, have returned with the same news. The goblins of Coronis are unarmed and vulnerable, yet the smoldering ruins of Wesla and Cronla tell us there is more to them than meets the eye.'

  'Then you are of the same mind with that braggart?' Faros said harshly when the old man had finished speaking. 'I know what he was hinting at. A Conjurer of all things! Surely you don't believe such nonsense.'

  'Whether it is nonsense or not, it would be wise to tread with caution in these lands. They are seldom visited, and they have never been fully mapped. We cannot know what sort of evil dwells above us in the high places. Goblins,' Rahm paused and then lowered his voice, 'Goblins are clever brutes, my lord.'

  Cheft Faros grew increasingly impatient with his captains. His face was bright red and he was almost yelling as he spoke. 'I will not lead this army into war against superstitions and old wives' tales, when there are enough devils of flesh and blood with which to contend. Show me a Conjurer, and then I will believe that the braggart speaks the truth. I have scoured every scroll and every military record of Dadron the Great. I have read the Silvirne stories and the stories of the Daevars and the Noras. There is one thing in which all these folks agree, that there are no Conjurers!'

  'My lord,' Cheft Vilav said with amazement, 'How is it that you can say such a thing, when the legends and stories of the Noras are teaming with such accounts? Not to mention the histories of the Silvirne?'

  'You can believe what you want, Cheft Vilav,' Faros snapped. 'But none of those tales even seem to be within the bounds of possibility. And if they are not possible, then they certainly aren't true. They are no more real than the Chronicles of the Merkata or the tale of Idu the Fool.'

  'One last word, my lord,' Cheft Rahm said in a clear and calm voice. 'The cause of the goblins' odd behavior is unknown, but the effect is certain. That much none of us can deny. There is something strange at work here, something unknown to us. And that man is a fool who takes no care when he acts without knowledge.'

  The First Battle

  There were three goblin camps located about three leagues apart from each other in a relatively flat section of the mountainside. The first was about seven leagues due west from Megd-u-Coran, in a place where the trees were very thin. The next camp was made about two leagues north of that one, and the third was about a league further to the north along a quick running mountain spring.

  Cheft Faros' will prevailed; Cheft Lonos supported him, Vilav refused to oppose him openly, and Cheft Rahm was too honorable a warrior to press the matter further. 'We will see what the gods have prepared for us,' was all that he said.

  On the morning of the fifteenth day of Leonius, Cheft Lonos marched with five hundred men far to the north while Cheft Rahm and Cheft Vilav marched northwest, each with five-hundred men under their command. Cheft Faros marched also, though with only a small force of about seventy men with which he could move swiftly and send orders to each of his captains. The rest of the Galva Army remained in their camp at Megd-u-Coran.

  Their intention was to drive a wedge between each camp and cut them off from one another. This they hoped would allow them to be conquered separately and more easily.

  As Revere had reported, each goblin camp held around three-hundred and fifty goblin men, and these were all unarmed. The Galva army marched toward them eagerly with their spirits raised as high as their green banners.

  'You must almost pity them,' Sion said as they marched northwest with Cheft Rahm's band. 'I know they are just brutes, but they are unarmed and unawares. It will be a dark day for them.'

  'But they may not always be so,' Daryas reminded him. 'And once they have acquired weapons we might regret any thoughts of pity. And we must not forget to spare some pity for those of our own lands who will suffer at their hands.'

  'Suffering will come to Noras as likely from human hands as goblins. It is not righteousness that makes us different from the goblins.'

  Cheft Rahm's great horn blared and the Galva army attacked. The warriors of Noras fell on their prey with the swiftness of a hawk. They marched into the camp with their blades drawn and their spears held high. The goblins fled at the sight of them, but were unable to escape. Cheft Rahm was in the midst of the camp, hewing them down with his mighty axe, with his nephews guarding his side, stabbing goblins here and there with their spears.

  Before the fight began, Sion led Daryas to a ridge just south of the camp, within an arrow's-flight from the center. There they hid among the snow covered rocks and fallen trees, waiting in silence for the battle to begin.

  From their hiding place they sunk many arrows into the backs of their foes. By the end of ten minutes Sion had taken down sixteen altogether, but Daryas slew only seven.

  'I have never been that great of an archer,' he said as he watched Sion drop his fourteenth goblin.

  'There is time yet to improve, friend,' Sion said as he released an arrow into his fifteenth.

  Mityai was nearby, and she giggled to herself when she saw them competing in this way. Sion aimed for his seventeenth foe, but when he released his arrow Mityai grabbed it from the air and guided it with her swift feet away from the neck of the goblin for which it was destined and drove it through his heel instead. In an instant she returned to the archers and likewise snatched Daryas' arrow in its flight and drove it into the heart of the very same goblin.

  'Now that is just unfair,' Sion complained. 'That should have been mine!'

  'Don't fret it, Sion,' Daryas said, surprised at his success, 'I must admit that it was little more than chance that dro
ve my arrow so fatally.'

  Mityai rushed back and forth between goblin and archer, dragging Daryas' arrows into his foes and leading Sion's away. All the while her laughter echoed through the hill, though not to the ears of mortal men. In the end their counts were matched at eighteen.

  'There is more to the son of Biron than I would have guessed,' Sion said shaking his head. 'If this were a game I would call you a cheater and walk away in anger and wrath. But in this dread business of war I say, cheat as much as you wish! We will all be the better for it.'

  It was not long before all the goblins lay slain upon the ground. From the ridge Daryas and Sion could now see Cheft Rahm walking about among the fallen brutes with his bodyguards on each side. He found what he deemed to be the Hob-goblin's hut and entered it, followed by two of his guards.

  'That is unusual,' Sion said.

  'What do you mean?' Daryas asked. They now rested on a small boulder with their feet dangling off the edge overlooking the camp.

  'Cheft Rahm went into the tent first. It is customary to let the bodyguards enter first to ensure the Cheftan's safety.'

  'He seemed to be in a bit of a rush,' Daryas said as he stood up. He brushed the dirt from his pants and prepared to climb down. 'We should go down and see if there are any arrows to be reclaimed.'

  'A moment,' Sion said as he tugged on Daryas's shoulder. 'There is something strange at work here. These were all petty goblins, and there is no sign of a hob or an orc.'

  'What could it mean?' he asked.

  'All things act according to their own peculiar patterns and rules. But in these camps I see none of the things that are supposed to govern goblins. There are no women, which makes them seem more like warriors than raiders. There are no weapons, which makes them look more like fools than cunning brutes. And there is no hob-goblin or orc to rule over them.'

  'But if they are not ordered by a hob-goblin, then by what are they ordered?'

  'By something else,' Sion whispered. Mityai drew her face close to Daryas and tried to speak, but none of her words could enter his mortal ears. She could not warn him of the danger that her lord Pelas had seemed so concerned with.

  Even as she tried to speak, Cheft Rahm emerged from the tent and looked around frantically. 'Return to camp at once!' he shouted. He said more, but his voice was overpowered by a shrill scream.

  All eyes were drawn to the northwest, where there stood a lone goblin on the top of a high ridge. It was a she-goblin.

  High atop the ridge she wailed and screamed at the sight of the slain goblins. In a short time she was joined by others who likewise began to wail and scream. The warriors below covered their ears. Some of them were so vexed by the shrill sound that they dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. Sion tapped Daryas's shoulder and the two darted off the rock, sliding, climbing and almost falling down the hill toward the camp.

  The screaming ended abruptly. The she-goblins charged forward, stumbling with rage and trampling each other as they rushed down the slope of the mountain. Fury is not an adequate word for the heat of passion and anger with which they smote the ranks of the Galva Army.

  Cheft Rahm's force retreated quickly, the little warning they had was enough to save most of them from being overcome in the ambush. But nothing would stop the raging tide of goblins.

  Unlike the poor brutes they had just slain, these she-goblins were not unarmed.

  Most of them carried wooden spears or stone hammers and many other primitive weapons. But there were many among them that bore swords, daggers, and even shields. They were terribly unorganized, as is to be expected among goblins; yet their numbers and their anger supplanted every design and every strategy of the Galva Army. There was nothing left to do but to flee. Shields were dropped and cloaks cast aside as they ran and slid down toward the main camp. More than a dozen of Rahm's warriors, in the panic of the moment, were betrayed to their deaths by the hidden pitfalls and sheer cliffs that surrounded their path.

  Mityai followed close behind her charge in quiet fear, not knowing what to do. For she was no great warrior, and she could not stop the goblins by might. All that she could do was to scatter the stones and roots that might trip the fleeing warriors and to cast branches and rocks in front of the charging horde.

  As the fleeing Galva Army drew closer to their camp they came to the edge of a tall cliff. There they met the remains of Cheft Vilav's force. In one glimpse they could see by the fear and sorrow in their eyes that their force had met a similar, but worse fate. There were many wounded among them, and as they walked they left in their wake a trail of blood.

  The injuries and sorrow of their comrades revived the spirits of Cheft Rahm's men. Without a word or a command they turned on their heels and charged the rampaging she-goblins. The two forces met like the crashing of two rams, horn against horn. There they fought for the blood of Vilav's men; the Galvahirne to save it, and the she-goblins to spill it. Cheft Rahm stepped into the front of the battle and with a loud shout swung his mighty battle-axe into the wave of foes. His powerful strokes severed heads and limbs and sent the she-goblins into retreat, if only for a moment. To his side rushed all of the mighty warriors of the Galva army to hold them back while their wounded companions escaped down a steep path from the cliff's edge.

  Many hundreds of she-goblins fell at their feet in that spot. Ander and Silos rushed to their uncle and guarded him on each side as he cut his way through the goblins. Sion and Daryas along with many other archers rained arrows upon their enemies until all their arrows were spent. Then they drew their knives and fought alongside the warriors. Mityai turned also to help them, but this time she guided the blades of both men, caring more for their lives than for their tallies.

  But in the end even this ground had to be abandoned and Cheft Rahm led his men back to the camp, fighting every step of the way.

  By the time the night fell the she goblins gave up their pursuit and returned to the mountain by the same path. The wind was cruel that night as the survivors returned to the camp with heads hung in sorrow. Cheft Rahm hurried to Cheft Faros' tent and asked for news of the other forces.

  'Cheftan, what news have we from the others?' he said with a flame of sorrow in his eyes. 'We have been driven back, but the greater part of our number are unharmed. We have lost no more than sixty, from what I can tell in this darkness.'

  Faros paused for a moment and then spoke softly and without emotion, 'Cheft Vilav returned with only one hundred of his warriors.'

  There was a long pause before Rahm pressed him again, 'Cheftan, what about Cheft Lonos and his force?'

  Faros turned away and looked into the darkness in the corner of his tent. 'Cheft Lonos returned alone.'

  'By Agon,' Rahm whispered. His heart sunk and his eyes fell to the floor. 'Where is he now?'

  'He is in his tent, he has not spoken a word since he returned.'

  Cheft Rahm spoke only briefly with Lonos that day.

  'My body is untouched,' Lonos complained, 'but I fear that my soul has perished within me. For I alone escaped alive. A fate most unfitting for a warrior; to live on while all of your youths perish.'

  'Such a fate was not of your own making,' Rahm said softly. 'It is Pelas who decides who is to sleep and who is to wake. You cannot lay the blame at your own feet.'

  Lonos looked nervous for a moment and opened his mouth as if he was going to speak but then shut his lips quickly.

  'We are sending out scouts in the morning,' Rahm told him. 'We will not let these goblins draw our blood without drawing our own share from them. And we will put such an increase on our portion that they will not henceforth spill the blood of the Noras lightly.'

  The Strange Path

  The following morning Sion and Daryas were sent into the mountains to find the goblins' lair. Tracking them was not a difficult task; it was simply a matter of following the trail of blood and abandoned bodies back to the camps and up into the mountains. But as they climbed higher into the Coronan the weather once agai
n turned against them. There were few trees in this section of the mountain to guard them from the frigid wind that came rushing down the mountainside. They drew their cloaks around their faces and pressed on, always trying to stay out of sight.

  For two days they searched without success for signs of a camp or a settlement. On the third day, however, they found a small trail heading south and veering toward the western side of the mountain near the ridge from which the she-goblins had descended in their fury.

  They followed this trail, occasionally passing the frozen bodies of she-goblins whose injuries had apparently been too severe to survive the retreat. With every step they became more apprehensive and cautious; they had no desire to bring upon their lonely heads the fury that they had experienced in that first battle.

  At long last, when the sun reached its noonday height they came to a high ridge overlooking a flat plain below. There they saw an enormous goblin camp stretched out beneath them. 'Seven hundred tents at least,' Sion said after they had watched it for a few minutes. 'Each holds not less than twenty goblins I expect. And the hordes of she-goblins are but the lesser part of their might.'

  'Then they have the mastery of numbers,' Daryas said in a low whisper. 'We should leave here immediately and warn the others. For this is a task beyond the Galva Army.'

  'This may be a task beyond all the warriors in Noras,' Sion responded. 'Whoever told Cheft Faros that we would make an easy slaughter of these brutes was either stupid or a traitor.'

  'Or both more likely,' Daryas said sharply. He shook his head and said with urgency, 'Sion, the enemy now lies between us and our camp; we must hurry lest we get cut off from our path.'

  'We will leave soon enough,' Sion said. 'But we should learn more about their numbers and arms first. The Galva Army has been deceived; we were not sent here to save Noras.'

  Daryas turned his head sharply, his face losing all color. 'What are you saying, friend?'