“Even if Saerylton were still alive, I fear a cloud of misery would haunt this place,” Petton said at last. “There is little hope as long as the goblins remain outside.”
“What will you do?”
Petton chuckled humorlessly. “I will pray to any god who listens for our survival.”
Stannel’s lips pursed into a frown. “Perhaps you need pray to only god.”
Petton realized his error at once. As a cleric of Pintor, Stannel surely took offense at any irreverence to the gods.
“Perhaps you are right,” Petton replied. “But I have always believed the gods help those who help themselves.”
“I too have come to that conclusion,” Stannel said with a slight smile. “So…how are we to help ourselves?”
Petton paused, once again uncertain what to say. It seemed as though Stannel had a solution on the tip of his tongue and was simply toying with him.
“We have but two options…the same two options we had before the arrival of Colt’s Army,” Petton said. “We can either hole up in the fort, repelling the goblins’ attacks as they come, even as we fight off starvation. Or we can follow the example of Fortunatus Miloásterôn at the Fall of Merekeep.”
“Sir Miloásterôn and his Knights died to a man,” Stannel pointed out.
Petton shrugged. Even the freshest squire had heard of Miloásterôn’s Charge. Although the ogres had slaughtered General Miloásterôn’s army, the man was considered a hero for facing certain death with uncompromised valor—so much a hero, in fact, that the grand fortress built to replace Merekeep was named in honor of him.
Petton didn’t expect King Edward would erect a Fort Petton anytime soon, but he could think of worse things fates than following Miloásterôn’s example. Toemis Blisnes’s cowardice came to mind.
“I, for one, would rather die in battle—”
Petton was interrupted by the arrival of Sir Vesparis, who burst into the room without knocking.
“It’s the goblins,” the breathless Knight said. “It looks like they want to parley.”
* * *
The general consensus was that it was a trap.
After all, neither side seemed to have anything to say to the other. And even if the language barrier weren’t an issue, what was to stop the goblins from killing the messenger if he said something the goblins didn’t want to hear?
Stannel had been the only one to volunteer to serve as the fort’s emissary. Everyone else was against the idea, and yet everyone wanted to know what the goblins were up to. If it were truly a snare—and Stannel had to admit that was a real possibility—then they ought not waste one more life than was necessary. For that reason, Stannel chose to go alone.
Of course, he was not truly alone.
Covered in armor and wrapped in a thick coat, Stannel made his way to the pair of goblins who had positioned themselves halfway between their army and the fort. Even without the use of a spyglass, Stannel saw one goblin’s dark robes flapping in the wind. Surely this was the shaman who had infiltrated Colt’s Army.
Stannel had never seen a shaman in action, but he had heard accounts of the battle against T’slect, the vuudu priest who had impersonated Prince Eliot Borrom. For all Stannel knew, this was T’slect.
As he drew nearer, he was able to make out the thick plate armor that covered the adjacent goblin’s torso and the open-faced helmet resting atop his head. A hefty, two-handed sword hung from the warrior’s belt, along with several other blades of varying lengths.
Both goblin crossed their arms as they waited for him.
When Stannel finally reached the T’Ruellian envoys, he saluted, showing them he had no weapon in hand. The goblins did not return the gesture, did not respond in one way or another. Stannel was completely ignorant of the goblins’ customs, military or otherwise. He had never heard of anyone parleying with goblins, for that matter.
“I am Sir Stannel Caelan Bismarc, Knight of Superius, Continae, and the Alliance. I have come as a representative of this fortress and, as such, am authorized to speak on behalf of its defenders.”
He spoke loudly and clearly so that his words were not carried away on the wind. The goblins did not reply. Stannel wondered if they could understand him, though he suspected they could. Why would they have orchestrated a meeting if they had no way of communicating with humans?
The goblin on right—the one with the sword—began to speak, employing a language that sounded like gibberish. To his amazement, Stannel found he could understand the meaning behind the words, if not the words themselves. He supposed vuudu was responsible.
“I am General Drekk’t,” the warrior said. “I command the army that has surrounded your fortress. I have come to state our demands.”
“We have not surrendered,” Stannel replied. “On what grounds do you make your demands?”
The general’s lips tugged upward into an ugly smile. “On the grounds that we”—he indicated the shaman with a nod—“could cause your fort to come crashing down on you. You are at our mercy, human. If you want to live, you will do as we say.
“And if you doubt that we are capable of following through with our threats, I suggest you speak with Saerylton Crystalus. Ask him about the city of Rydah.”
Stannel’s thoughts had not been on Rydah, but rather on Fort Valor. He had seen the wreckage of that castle with his own eyes. His pulse quicken when he realized the creature before him was the one responsible for the massacre of his men. General Drekk’t had ordered the destruction of Rydah, Fort Valor, and possibly other cities.
The urge to attack Drekk’t overcame Stannel. The suddenness and intensity of the desire caught him completely off guard, and he had to force himself to calm down. A single misstep would not only render his own life forfeit, but it would also kill the humans’ chances of negotiating with the goblins.
This was not a personal matter. He had a duty to perform, and he would do it to the best of his ability—which was not to say he was ready to grovel for the goblins’ mercy.
“If you had full advantage of the situation, you would have destroyed us already,” Stannel stated. “Obviously, there is something you desire that you cannot gain by violence alone. Otherwise, we would not be here now. So what is it you want?”
The general glowered at him for a moment. Stannel feared that he had pushed Drekk’t too far. If it came down to a battle, Stannel was confident he could hold his own against the general, but the shaman’s presence worried him.
“You are correct in your assumption,” Drekk’t said finally. “You do have something we desire, something that was stolen from us. I can see by your expression you know what I speak of.”
The vuudu staff, Stannel thought. How ironic that the only thing keeping the goblins from storming the fort was that evil, skull-topped rod—that the Knights’ saving grace was an instrument of evil Upsinous.
Whoever had first quipped that the gods worked in mysterious ways was truly a master of understatement.
“What do you propose?” Stannel asked.
The general stepped closer. Stannel held his ground, his hand remaining near the grip of his mace.
“I would give you your lives in exchange for the staff. My army will leave your fortress unmolested once I have Peerma’rek in my hands,” the general said.
Stannel studied Drekk’t, searching the goblin’s countenance for clues. If Drekk’t was speaking truthfully, then Stannel had underestimated the vuudu staff’s worth.
Oh, he doubted the goblins would simply turn and walk away once they got the staff. In all likelihood, the Knights would only be giving the T’Ruellians another weapon with which to attack them.
But while the arrangement sounded too good to be true, it also seemed too obvious to be a deception.
“If we gave you back the staff, there would be nothing to stop you from using it against us,” Stannel said. “And even if you kept your promise, your army would only move to another battlefield in Capricon, and we would be forced to ride
out against you.”
Drekk’t did not hesitate. “If you give us the staff, we will leave the island altogether, attacking no one along the way.”
“Pardon my suspicion, General, but I find that difficult to believe.”
The goblin’s smile widened, revealing a row of pointy teeth. “What can I say or do to convince you?”
“Probably nothing,” Stannel answered. “You have not proven yourself to be an honorable foe. By all accounts…and judging by the god you serve…you are far more likely to tell lies than the truth.”
The general was visibly taken aback by the blunt statement. Again, Stannel worried that he had gone too far. The two warriors stared at each other for a long moment. Then Drekk’t smiled again.
“You are right. We goblins do not put much stock in honor. You have no reason to believe anything I say. And yet you have little choice but to do as I have ordered. Anything less than absolute compliance will result in the annihilation of you, your comrades, and your castle.”
Stannel did not flinch. “That outcome could cost you the staff.”
“Perhaps,” Drekk’t said with a shrug. “And perhaps not. I came here to present a scenario that profited both sides…one that saved lives instead of squandered them. If you would rather die needlessly, so be it.”
The fact that the general remained rooted in place—a mere three feet from Stannel—told him the conversation was not over.
“You have not offered a very compelling proposal,” Stannel told Drekk’t. “Perhaps if you sent half of your army away in a sign of good faith—”
Drekk’t was already shaking his head. “So that you can divide my army and defeat us one piece at a time? I think not. However, there is another solution in which you might find merit. The Knights of Superius formerly used one-on-one combat to decide matters of justice…”
“A duel?”
“Yes, that’s the word for it,” Drekk’t said. “I propose a duel. I, the commanding officer of this army, would do battle against Saerylton Crystalus, the leader of yours.”
Although he heard the meaning of the goblin’s words in his mind, the only thing his ears could understand was “Saerylton Crystalus.” The name sounded queer coming from the lips of a goblin—sibilant and coarse. Drekk’t’s eyes seemed to light up as he spoke the name, reminding Stannel that the two would-be duelists were not strangers.
This is what he really wants, Stannel deduced. The vuudu staff wasn’t the only treasure to escape Drekk’t’s clutches…
“Let the gods decide which side is the worthier,” Drekk’t announced. “If Commander Crystalus strikes me down, my armies will leave you in peace. If I slay your commander, you will relinquish the staff willingly, and my army will leave just the same.
“You say you cannot trust me, Knight, and you are right. Perhaps we will destroy your fort in either case…that is what you are thinking, yes? But I am willing to trust you…to trust that you will return the staff to me if I kill Saerylton Crystalus in combat.
“I am willing to put the outcome of this dispute in the hands of the gods. I have faith that Upsinous will give me victory. Do you put so little stock in your Warriorlord?”
Stannel felt the weight of his battle mace at his side. He wondered if the general had any idea just how much Stannel had come to depend on his god. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to demonstrate how intimately he was connected with the Great Protector, but Stannel knew when he was being manipulated.
“What say you?” Drekk’t pressed. “Are you prepared to put all of your precious principles to the test?”
Letting out a sigh that left a trail of steam behind, Stannel replied, “I will relay your challenge to the commander.”
Drekk’t’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you were authorized to speak on behalf of the fort’s defenders.”
“And so I have,” Stannel said, “but I cannot make a decision as heavy as this on my own.”
The goblin general scoffed. “Very well, Knight. Deliver my challenge to Saerylton Crystalus, who hides behind the walls of his castle. Ask him if he has the courage to come out and face me again.”
Stannel nodded, though he knew that order was impossible to obey. It was not his place to tell the goblins that Commander Crystalus was dead, however. In fact, volunteering such information would likely have proven to be a fatal mistake.
“I will have your answer at noon tomorrow,” Drekk’t called as Stannel turned to leave. “And make sure Colt brings the staff with him.”
Stannel maintained a vigorous pace en route back to the fort. All the while, his conversation with the goblin general replayed in his mind. He had learned a lot about the enemy, but he wondered what good would come of it. The Knights had two things that the goblins wanted, and they couldn’t deliver one of them.
And Stannel prayed to the Great Protector that Petton wouldn’t surrender the other.
Passage IV
Ay’sek watched the Knight return to the fort. His gaze had not left Stannel the entire time. There was something uncanny about the humans’ emissary, though Ay’sek couldn’t say what. All he knew was the tingling sensation—like hundreds of tiny spiders crawling under his skin—had come and gone with Stannel.
And that feeling had intensified when Drekk’t mentioned the gods.
Ay’sek was left to conclude that Stannel Caelan Bismarc was god-blessed. Throughout the centuries, T’Ruel’s armies had encountered warrior priests from other cultures, though—followers of Celon-Tor, Javell, and even dreaded Darclon. He had never heard of a Knight of Superius wielding magic. Then again, he knew very little about the men of Continae.
They had no way of knowing how dangerous Stannel was, but Ay’sek was determined to find out.
“He sends out an underling,” Drekk’t muttered. “I should have expected as much.”
Ay’sek glared at the general. “You revealed too much.”
Drekk’t responded with a glare of his own. “What do you mean?”
“Your desire to battle Saerylton Crystalus is what drives you. If that Knight is half as intelligent as I fear he is, now he knows this too.”
Drekk’t’s countenance darkened. “Commander Crystalus leads our adversaries. By killing him, I will strike a major blow against the Knights and, at the same time, retrieve Peerma’rek.”
Ay’sek glanced at Fort Faith. How easy it would be to topple the unimpressive redoubt. The goblin army was bereft of explosives, but Ay’sek’s arsenal of spells would make short work of the small castle.
He had agreed to support Drekk’t plan to regain Peerma’rek, though Ay’sek couldn’t forget what the omens shown told him. Both good and bad would come of Drekk’t’s scheme. A victory and a failure. By Ay’sek’s reasoning, they could not achieve both objectives.
He would ensure the staff’s return—Drekk’t’s vengeance be damned!
Drekk’t studied him, perhaps searching for signs of wavering. Ay’sek turned back to the general.
“I can think of another general who lost sight of the greater purpose because he was fixated on a handful of individuals,” Ay’sek said. “He ended up going out of his way to track down some Renegades who probably knew far less than the obsessed general imagined.”
Drekk’t’s jaw tightened, and he spat his next words. “I am not like T’slect. That fool had no business coming to this fort. I am a military strategist, not some spoiled prince. My judgment is sound!”
“If you had let me take the staff after I first infiltrated Crystalus’s troops, we wouldn’t be in this predicament,” Ay’sek reminded him. “You wanted nothing to stop the commander from returning to this fort. You wanted him to deliver Peerma’rek to you—”
“Enough!”
If looks could kill, there would have been nothing left of Ay’sek to tempt even the hungriest of scavengers. After a series of heaving breaths, Drekk’t calmed enough to say, “I erred in the past. That much is true. But you can find no fault in my plan. If I defeat Saery
lton Crystalus in battle, we will take the staff…whether the Knights are prepared to give it up or not. And if I lose, you can use your vuudu to snatch it away from them.”
“If the Knights agree to bring the prize out with them.”
“They will,” Drekk’t said. “It’s a condition of the match.”
“What if they don’t agree to your terms?”
“Then we will bring the fort down on top of them and sift through the rubble until we find Peerma’rek!”
Ay’sek was starting to think that that was the wiser course in any case, but he kept silent. Let Drekk’t have his duel. If the general perished, Ay’sek would step in as commander of the army. Jer’malz and Ay’goar wouldn’t dare stop him, a Chosen of the Chosen. Unlike Drekk’t, the two lieutenants respected their betters.
It occurred to Ay’sek he could easily rid himself of Drekk’t while the general was dueling. Something as simple as making him dizzy at a crucial moment would be a simple enough feat, thanks to his magic.
On second thought, the shaman wasn’t so eager to be promoted. As long as Drekk’t was alive, Ay’sek would be spared the brunt of the Emperor’s ire.
“Do I still have your support?” Drekk’t asked, his tone under tight rein.
Basking in the other’s discomfort, Ay’sek paused, as though considering the matter carefully. Finally, he said, “Of course, General.”
Drekk’t gave a swift nod and departed for the camp. Ay’sek’s smile widened as he watched him leave. Finally, you are beginning to learn your place, he thought.
The shaman lingered a moment longer before following Drekk’t back toward the encampment. Drekk’t wouldn’t need his services again until tomorrow when the Knights either accepted or refused his challenge.
Or perhaps they wouldn’t come out at all. Ay’sek doubted that the Knights were stupid enough to send out a messenger with a negative response. The rider wouldn’t live to see sunset.
Drawing his cloak about him tighter, Ay’sek didn’t care whether the duel took place or not. He didn’t care about the Knights, and he didn’t care about this war, which was as good as over. He wanted only to reclaim the staff and return to T’Ruel—to be away from the freezing climate of Capricon and warm himself in the breeding tents.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 109