by Jake Yaniak
'When the arm of Galvahir has been broken, then it will be time for you to strike. In that hour we will return to Japhrian together. Then we will tie up every loose end. When all is under the dominion of the son of Voltan, as it should have been from the beginning, then we will begin to coil ourselves for our final strike: Our assault on Dadron.'
Volthamir's task was not a pleasant one. He left Nolhern after two weeks and rode his horse east to the plains of Golbfein, where he and Lord Havoc had won so mighty a victory against Legion's army. There he dismounted and sent his horse back to Nolhern riderless. He marched alone into the hills. He stripped away his armor and buried his belongings near the roots of a mighty pine tree. He cut his long dark hair with the edge of a sharp dagger. He then picked up dirt from the ground and rubbed it on his face. He covered himself with dirt and mud until no clean patch of skin remained. He then shed his clothes and donned a rough deerskin tunic and tattered cloth pants. The only thing he carried with him was his sword, Screthidos, which Lord Havoc had given him after the battle of Golbfein. This he wrapped in leather and bound with twine, slinging it over his back.
When all these strange preparations were done he took one last look at the peaceful fields of Ramlos and then darted off into the wilderness. He disappeared from Ramlos for nearly two years.
Arus and Legion
Arus the crow knew precisely where to find the Feral King. He took to wing the same day that Volthamir left and flew all the way to the secret vale where the goblins lived in their caves and pits. He lighted on a branch near the foul lord's head and tapped his beak against the wood. The goblins ignored him, believing him to be just an ordinary bird.
But Legion noticed him at once.
Legion was tall for a goblin, even for a hobgoblin. He stood as tall as any average man, with broad shoulders and thick muscles. On his back was tied a broad sword with many notches in it. His hair was like thick brown wool, but splattered here and there with darkened streaks. It was clumped together into thick bunches, almost like curls, but wild and unruly. His eyes were gray and wild, never seeming to fix themselves on any one thing.
'Hail, king of orcs!' Arus said in a schrill voice. 'I see that you are yet strong and healthy.'
'Who speaks to us so boldly?' the Feral King demanded, 'There are few now who dare come within a hundred leagues of us.'
'Us?' Arus croaked, 'Do you speak for the goblins, or are there more than one of you within that pitiful creature?'
'There are quite a number of us,' Legion responded, his eyes still unmoving. 'We have found rest within this vessel, and warmth. Ah warmth! We had nearly forgotten it. We have wandered through many frozen and barren lands to find this place.'
'I see. Then Lord Havoc was wise in naming you. For he has called you Legion, which is to say, "many". Isn't it strange that he should know you better than I, who can go anywhere I please at perfect liberty? But that is not why I have come. Tell me, master goblin, have you truly found this goblin's breast to be a satisfactory habitation?' Arus laughed.
'Here we are enveloped in a flood of hot red blood, we are fed daily with mutton or goat, or deer. If there is nothing else, we feed ourselves goblin. The thick hides and pelts we steal from the dark forest keep us warm during the night, and we have command over these vast hosts of villainous creatures. Did you not see the armies that are at our command? And the she-goblins! We can assure you, there is nothing among humanity like the privileges of a goblin lord!'
'I can quite imagine,' Arus said. He then cocked his head to the side as if to examine the hobgoblin further. 'Yet, would it not be more comfortable to find some weak minded son of mankind in which to dwell?'
'Humans are weak!' Legion protested, suddenly his eyes turned to Arus and his brow furrowed. 'They trust in cunning, but they are never cunning enough to escape the numbers of their enemies. But we know all the ways of escape. We take what we want or we perish. There is no ceremony or glory, but we have that happiness that ever eludes mankind.'
'But supposing the opportunity arose, and this bag of goblin mesh was overcome, would you yet hold onto this hobgoblin's tattered corpse? Or would you abandon it for the victor?'
'That is not at all likely,' the goblin laughed. 'Have you seen these mighty arms? And these broad shoulders? Have you seen my blood-rusted blade, notched upon the necks of so many brave warriors? I am not vulnerable to the affronts of mankind. Let them drive the petty goblins from Golbfein and Heyan; they will never drive us from the rocks of Daunrys! Not while there are goblins like myself to drink their blood and hew their limbs.'
Legion's eyes flashed with passion and his chest heaved as he spoke. The other goblins looked at him with suspicion, but could not make any sense of his babbling. To them this whole speech seemed like mere gurgling or gibberish, as did all spoken language.
'You are indeed powerful,' Arus affirmed, 'But there are none so powerful that they cannot afford to take council with the prudent, or take league with the mighty. And that is why I have come to you. If I am anything, it is prudent; that is, by experience I have learned much. And I come to you now to warn you that the doom of your own flesh is near at hand-'
At this the goblin roared and pounded his chest with his fist. 'Wretch!' he cried as he lunged for the bird. But Arus was too swift and flew to a higher branch and again tapped his beak on the wood.
'I cannot change what has been decreed by the gods,' Arus said with a snicker. But there is one coming to you who will slay your body and pour your blood out upon these very rocks. The blood will run cold and all your meals of deer and mutton will break forth and rot in the hateful sunlight. This is fate, do not be angry with me for it! But I have come to warn you, goblin master,' Arus said in a bold and clear voice. 'This hero, this god among men that will come to slay you; he is like a piece of ripe fruit, heavy and ready to fall to the earth. My council to you, Legion, is to pick the fruit ere it falls to the earth and bursts apart. You cannot slay this man, but you can find in him a new and a better dwelling. For his destiny lies behind palace walls with daughters of men attending him on every side. She-goblins! Bah! You are settling for lesser things! When the cold steel separates this brute's ugly head from its body, you must seize the chance and enter the sword of your slayer, and through the sword, enter into the hand and body.'
Legion seemed to calm down after the bird had finished his speech. 'We will consider it,' he said calmly, his eyes now seeming to focus on the bird. 'But that such a thing will ever come to pass we cannot easily believe. But if it does, we will be prepared. But tell me, dark bird, if it is truly the decree of the gods, and we are doomed to such an end, how do you come by this knowledge?'
Arus laughed and took to wing, leaving the frustrated goblin lord in a sullen and fearful state. He circled about in the air and peered down upon the goblin camp one last time. As he passed overhead he could see Legion roaring as he pummeled some unfortunate little goblin that had by chance stood nearby.
Legion's Head
I do not have the stomach to recount to you all that transpired during the time of Volthamir's absence. What knowledge of those days I possess is derived from questionable sources and superstitious tales. So I will content myself with a brief outline of those parts of the story that are most certain.
First, it is clear that Volthamir left behind society and human company to live among the goblins of the Daunrys mountains. A human can certainly tell when a goblin is at hand, but so long as the human refrains from speech and hygiene, the goblin will more than likely pass him by as one of his own kind.
Presumably Volthamir would have spent his first several months acquainting himself with the ways of the goblins. As I have explained in another place, goblins are motivated by envy and emulation. So the prince of Amlaman's first task was to copy the grunts, groans, and other peculiarities of goblin behavior.
Once sufficiently accepted among them and once he was fully familiarized with their habits, he could then begin to spy out the powerful gobli
ns, those creatures that men refer to as orcs. And in turn, from watching these orcs he would be led to the Feral King himself.
From there his task was simple, yet full of danger. He must challenge and defeat the hobgoblin, thereby gaining the dominance among the orcs. He must not only defeat Legion; he must also defeat any other orcs that might wish to challenge him. Change in leadership among goblins is not a smooth or easy affair.
While we cannot know exactly how Volthamir accomplished his purpose, and while there is no way to fathom the darkness in which he lived for that whole period; there is one thing of which we may be certain:
On the fifteenth day of Messest, on the very day that he turned twenty-eight years old, a tattered cloth bundle arrived at the door of Japhrian. It bore the seal of the prince and thereby passed by the guards without notice or investigation.
Unthinkingly, as he often seemed to act of late, the king opened this bundle in full sight of his wife and servants. In horror at the sight he let it fall with a thud on the thick carpet. The cloth fell aside as the gift rolled from its covering into full sight of every eye in the room.
There before their horror stricken eyes lay, thick curly hair, filthy from many decades of exposure, severed and blackened rotted flesh about the neck with a shattered bone protruding, the eyes were white and empty, the tongue swollen and hardened, the skin wreaking and green with death - the head of Legion.
Unexpectedly Alone
In the center of Heyan there is a small clearing some sixty leagues to the northeast of Ferwur. In this triangular clearing there is a small log cabin, built along the bank of a tiny stream of clear water. Here lived Volthamir, prince of Amlaman in the days following his exile among the goblins. On the last day of the frozen month of Morest he led the goblin army to Lord Havoc, who then took control of them. Much to his surprise, the goblins obeyed him without protest. He seemed to wield over them some strange power. Perhaps it was in the way that he commanded them, or in the strange signs he made to them with his strong arms. Whatever it was, it had the effect of transforming them from a rabble of discontented brutes to an army of obedient servants.
Lord Havoc's task was now to lead them into the mountains, bring all the wild tribes of goblins under his yoke, and then finally to turn all this might against the unsuspecting army of Galvahir. But Volthamir's part was finished for now. 'Go and rest, regain your strength in the living woods of Heyan. You know that land well now. You must find some place where men will neither know you nor bother you. There you must remain until my return.'
'Have a care, Lord Havoc,' the prince said to his old master.
'I always will,' he replied. 'But I do not believe there is much for me to fear among the Norasians. They are strong and fierce, but it would take men of iron bones and souls of fire to overcome so superior a force.'
'Still, much is uncertain in war. No man comes into this life with any promise or oath from the gods, though some may believe it to be so.'
Lord Havoc laughed, 'That is true, and I suspect that my long experience has taught me this more certainly than yours has instructed you. And remember, my prince, we do not strive for justice; we do not strive for that nurse-maid's fiction; that compromise. We strive for injustice, and for the objects of our own desires. We are natural men! And I have enough natural cunning to give myself such assurance as a promise from the gods could not have granted me.'
'And what assurance is this?'
'There are always petty brigands and small minded jackals hidden among the noblemen of any nation. They play the part of high-blooded gentry, but they will turn their nose at the smell of gold, and turn their faces toward any pretty thing that they think they can grab a hold of. There is very little that you cannot extort from such men with a little gold and a beautiful woman!'
With those words the two parted. Volthamir watched for a while as the goblins marched up into the mountains in a long and disorganized train of heartless warriors. Volthamir shook his head and mounted his horse. The beast seemed delighted to see his former master again. 'Easy Ghoras,' the prince said as he patted the horse's neck. 'If ever I leave you again, it will not be to live among such as these. Though I have indeed come to pity them. Eight months is too long for any man to live among the goblins, I cannot imagine the sort of misery must accompany the misfortune of being a goblin yourself.'
After that day Volthamir passed without notice into the forest of Heyan and found his way along familiar roads to the old cabin that I had mentioned earlier. There he lived for more than a year without so much as setting foot outside of Heyan. His habitation was so remote and he kept himself so distant from the other woodsmen that he passed all this time without notice. Now and again he would trade pelts for gold or for some other thing of value, but he never went to any place where there was even a remote chance that he might be recognized. This year of solitude, alas, would be the best year of his entire life; better than all that had hitherto passed by, and better than all those that would pass thereafter, as we shall in due time discover.
His retreat from society ended abruptly on the fourth morning of Paschest in the thirtieth year of this millennium. On this day, unexpectedly, Arus the crow descended upon the clearing, bearing in his talon the broken shaft of a Norasian arrow. It had now been a very long while since any word had been sent from Lord Havoc, and instead of a new message he received this strange omen.
'By this I take it that your master is dead,' Volthamir said with a downcast face. 'This will make it easier I imagine,' he said as he held out his hand to the bird. 'Come friend, it is time for us to do that which we have long intended.'
Arus hopped onto the his shoulder and a shadow fell across Volthamir's face, darkening his eyes and for a moment, blotting out the light of the sun altogether it seemed. All the malice and wisdom of the great bird seemed to flow into the Prince like a rushing wind. Then suddenly the crow fell from his arm and landed upon the ground with a thud. The feathers flew away in the morning wind and the flesh fell off of its body like ashes from a dead flame, dancing about in the wind. The shadow was gone, but the Prince's eyes stayed dark as ebony. A strange power had passed into him, he felt, and a wisdom older than the forest itself. Instinctively, as though he knew its precise location even from so many leagues away, he turned his eyes toward Sten-Agoni. 'It will soon be time for me to return. But there are other matters to attend to ere that day comes.' With those words he drew his knife from its sheath and looked at it carefully. Shining in the noon light, the knife's ivory handle seemed to gleam like a star.
The Prayer of the Siren
Three months earlier, on the day of her birthday, Princess Leonara was met on her way to breakfast by the High Priest Achil's servant Farachie.
Farachie was a tall man with sharp features and very light brown hair. So tall he was that he almost looked ridiculous in the sacerdotal attire all the priest's servants were obliged to wear. 'The priest has summoned you,' he said with a bow. Leonara had learned that when the word, 'summoned' is employed, it is not an expression of invitation, nor of the priest's mere whim. To be summoned by Achil is be brought to him, by your own volition or by some other power.
She sighed and stormed passed him, pushing him aside as her feet stepped lightly down the stairs. He shook his head and followed her. Were it not for his long strides, Farachie would have been utterly left behind, scarcely in sight when she arrived at the priest's apartment. But as a result of the length of his steps (and considerable haste) Farachie managed to reach the door first and gently let her through. A bell was rung and the priest indicated that she should be brought up to his meeting room.
In the room sat several men: her father, whom she rarely saw of late, the High Priest, whom she saw too often, and a strange young man with bright clothing and a deep blue cape whom she had never seen before. The two younger men rose as she entered; Achil remained seated, both due to his age and his preeminence. The stranger was a handsome man. He sat much taller than the old priest, yet he slouc
hed a little shorter than the king (which was more the result of custom than of nature). His hair was well kept, meticulously combed and set upon his shoulders. On his neck he wore a gold chain that hung out of his collar on top of his bright white shirt.
'My dear daughter,' Lord Vulcan said as she entered. He embraced her, and she reluctantly raised her arms to return the affection. Her eyes met the eyes of the stranger. The young man bowed low. 'Leonara, daughter of Vulcan thos Amlaman, I would very much like for you to meet young master Fanastos. He is a lord of the western lands, come to offer his services to the people of Agonistes in their time of need.'
Leonara stood still, just glaring at the people in the room. King Vulcan continued nervously rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Leonara could tell that he had not been sleeping much lately.
'You have heard of our troubles in the frontier lands, have you not?'
Leonara nodded.
'Lord Kellin was slain in Rivfern, his old gray head was taken off by those bastard sons of Voltan. The whole west might have been lost to us were it not for brave and loyal young men like Fanastos. He has this very morning sworn fealty to the god of Amlaman. There is to be a feast tonight, and young Fanastos will offer a sacrifice of forty bulls.'
Leonara was then led to a seat across from Fanastos and wine was poured for each of them. After the men had emptied their cups, Achil rose from his seat and spoke. 'Dear Leonara, the darkness is passing from this realm. The strange figures and omens of the older days have passed away. The terrors of the dark night have given way to a bright dawn. Lord Vars has slain all but the last two half-sons of Voltan. It is certain that a lasting peace is even now approaching our land. The goblins have abandoned the Daunrys, and the people of Heyan and Ramlos are safe again. What a time it is in which we live, that we might see better days and not worse, as so many had feared. It is a good season to plant, for the summer looks to be warm and full of life giving sunshine. It is a good season to begin anew-'