“FAR EYE! FAR EYE!”
Diek couldn’t tell what was going on. The troglodyte warband had been negotiating the mountain rise when two of the unit scouts had come charging back to speak with Slythi. Now, even Burnie looked worried.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” Groan’s voice boomed.
“I don’t know,” Diek admitted.
“Far eye!” Slythi was croaking. “Far eye! Far eye!”
A rather fat troglodyte hurried up to the king, unhooking a tied pack that was attached to his spines. He rummaged around inside, produced a telescopic device and handed it to the king. Slythi made a gesture to Burnie and the two troglodytes dashed off to join the scouts, who had vanished soon after their inexplicable whisperings.
At the mountain edge, Burnie waited for the king to finish looking through the telescope before taking the device and holding it up to his own gloopy eye.
He was silent for some time. Then both he and the king dashed back to join the warband.
“What is it?” Diek asked, rushing over to Burnie at the first opportunity. “What’s happened?”
The little troglodyte rubbed his emerald forehead.
“There’s an army of zombies on the move,” he said. “Judging by the sheer number, they’re from Dullitch.”
“Where are they heading?”
“North. Maybe for Phlegm, or Spittle. There’s a dragon flying over them … with a rider, I think.”
Diek swallowed a few times. “This is all very bad, isn’t it?”
“As bad as it can be.”
“What do we do?”
Burnie sighed. “We need to get ahead of ’em, somehow. They’re not moving that fast, so maybe—”
“Burnie! Look!”
Diek’s face had gone very pale, and his jaw had dropped.
Burnie spun around as the rest of the troglodytes rushed over to the opposite edge of the mountain. There was another dragon flapping through the sky … and this one was heading straight for them. Burnie quickly produced the telescope and put it to his eye: a sizeable army was marching up the mountain path, far beneath the beast.
“Run!” Burnie screamed. “Everybody. Ruuuunn!”
“Fight!” Slythi croaked, stopping the warband dead in its tracks. “Fight we; fight we!”
“Are you crazy?” the little troglodyte screamed. “We can’t fight a dragon! We’ll die; we’ll all die!”
“Whichways, all die!” Slythi yelled back. “Whichways, whichways! Arm us! Arm us! Fight we! Fight we!”
As every troglodyte warrior brandished a flail, the dragon began to swoop.
Burnie cast a significant glance at Diek … and the two of them took to their feet.
“The defences at Legrash will hold—”
“They will NOT hold against a pair of obsidian dragons and a dark god—honestly, Blood, just listen to yourself!”
The argument in the cottage had been raging for several hours. Effigy had opened the meeting with a lengthy (and impressive, Obegarde thought) summary of the events surrounding the fall of Dullitch, but so far, Prince Blood had his head in the sand. If the Legrash noble really did believe his city could withstand an attack of the suggested magnitude, Obegarde concluded that he was either completely misguided or irreparably stupid.
“I’ve put Phlegm on high alert,” said Loogie Lambontroff, who’d been placed on a cushion in the center of the table. “After all, we are quite near to the capital … and I’m not taking any chances. Besides, if the king really is lost to us, I need to start thinking about the future of Phlegm.”
“Well said,” Viceroy Funk agreed. “Beanstalk is a bit further away from the immediate danger zone, but I’ve got guards on the walls and—”
“How many men do you have, exactly?” Visceral interrupted. “I mean, are we talking hundreds or thousands here?”
Funk hesitated, his eyes flicking from lord to lord. “Er … I have about a hundred armed guards in Beanstalk,” he admitted.
“And you, Steward?”
“I have about a hundred, give or take.”
“These numbers are not enough!” Visceral cried. “I myself can muster no more than a few hundred troops.” He turned imploringly to the prince. “Surely you will help us, Blood? You must realize that Vanquish will come for Legrash on a whim—you are NOT safe from him.”
“Possibly …” Prince Blood stared down furious glares from Effigy and Obegarde before returning his attention to the other lords. “However, giving you the thousand or so troops at my disposal merely to watch you run them into dragonfire is not my idea of warfare. Would you really have an army, even one so vast, attack such living nightmares with sticks, stones, swords and pikes? It’s pathetic, man—it’s almost entirely futile …”
“Then what do YOU suggest, your Majesty?” Effigy cut in, when he could hold himself back no longer. “That we all gather together in Legrash and hide behind the MIGHTY WALLS THAT CAN WITHSTAND ANY AND ALL ATTACKS? I don’t think so …”
“Hear, hear,” Obegarde muttered.
“On the contrary—I think we should call upon the Trodlings to aid us.”
A deathly silence settled over the room as various horrified expressions met those across the table.
“You can’t be serious,” Visceral snapped. “You would ally yourself with the enemy to defeat a problem on our own soil?”
Prince Blood sighed. “We know nothing of Trod, save what is told to us by the few who return from the place. We do know they are heathens … but the fact—”
“This fight is ours,” Viceroy Funk said, sharply. “We don’t want to solicit the help of an unknown and untested foe, merely to have them invade Illmoor off the back of any victory, however unlikely, that we may secure over the fell beast who now walks our land.”
“May I remind you that Trod has never attacked the shores of Illmoor—”
“… As we have never attacked the shores of Trod,” Visceral finished. “It does not mean we are allied: what it means is that we are totally alien to each other. Such an alliance is, to my mind, out of the question.”
Viceroy Funk nodded. “I agree.”
“I hate to say it,” Effigy added, “but, speaking as a free citizen of Dullitch, I have to concede the point myself. A foreign and unknown land should be our very last resort—such a request may well throw up more problems than it solves.”
Visceral nodded gravely. “Will you not assist us by lending your army?” he asked the prince, his voice now near to desperation. “Please?”
Prince Blood took a deep breath.
“I’m afraid not,” he said—and rose to his feet.
The dragon flew out of the sky like a dart, Gordo Goldeaxe screaming short commands from its back. The beast spewed a gout of flame across the mountain top, burning three troglodytes where they stood and causing a rush of panic among the others. Several of the warriors leaped into the air, flailing wildly with their swords, but the dragon was way beyond their reach.
Slythi had retreated to the back of the group. Untying a spear from his own pack and raising it above his head, he began to run toward the dragon as it came in for its second sweep. Two more troglodytes erupted in flames on the new pass, but Slythi had managed to avoid the fire. He took three final, giant leaps and flung the spear with all his might: it lodged in the dragon’s stomach, causing the beast to falter slightly as it rose back into the air.
“Spear want!” the king screamed at his remaining men. “Spear want!”
A small troglodyte armorer hurried up to him and thrust a new spear into his claw-like hand.
Slythi took a few steps back, and waited for the dragon to return. The great creature wheeled in the air, the spear still lodged in its gut, and dived again.
This time, the jet of flame consumed six troglodytes, causing the others to scream in terror and frustration.
Slythi, on the other hand, wasn’t having any of it. He flung the second spear, which again lodged in the dragon’s gut, about twenty centimeters from
the first. This time, the great beast cried out.
Sensing the danger posed by the troglodyte king, Gordo dived from the dragon’s back and rolled as he landed, drawing the immense battle-axe from its shoulder strap as he reached his feet.
Slythi growled, and the two opponents circled each other warily.
“Sword want!” the troglodyte king screamed, throwing down his flail. “Now! Sword want!”
He caught the first blade that was thrown to him, then had to dodge the other two.
Gordo marched determinedly forward, prepared to take on both the king and the pair of troglodyte soldiers who had taken positions beside him.
The dragon, still wheeling far above, dived yet again, driving the remaining troops toward the army of possessed men that was rising up the mountainside.
Chaos reigned.
Further along the rocky path that wound down the far side of the mountain, Diek and Burnie were hurrying to escape the explosive conflict behind them.
“Th-they don’t stand a chance!” Diek cried, leaping over rocks and rogue bushes while carefully clasping the box in both hands.
“Slythi’s a fool!” Burnie replied. “He should have ordered a retreat! I told him to—”
“Wha’s ’appenin’?” said Groan’s voice. “All I can ’ear is screamin’!”
“That’s all there is to hear,” Diek replied, narrowly avoiding the treacherous edge of the path he was on.
“We were attacked by an obsidian dragon,” Burnie croaked. “Now we’re trying to escape.”
“Dragons ’re ’ard.”
“We know that!” Burnie blurted. “That’s why we’re running away.”
“Besides, it’s leading an army of zombies,” managed Diek, tucking the box under his arm as he ran.
“Did you see the dwarf?” Burnie asked.
“Dwarf? Where?”
“It was riding the dragon.”
“Really?”
“Yeah; fiery beard and a mean-looking axe strapped behind it.”
“I don’t like dwarfs,” Diek snapped. He didn’t know quite why he said it, but he realized, in voicing the opinion, that it was true.
Tha’ sounds like Gordo,’ Groan boomed. “Bu’ he wouldn’ side wiv no dragon.”
“Maybe he had his body taken, too,” Burnie muttered. “Still, look on the bright side—at least you didn’t kill him …”
“Yeah,” the barbarian mumbled. “I s’pose so.”
Behind and above them, the battle on the mountaintop raged on.
The dragon, having totally eviscerated the remaining troglodytes, had landed on the rise. Two soulless scouts, the first of their army to reach the mountaintop, hurried over to the beast and carefully removed the spears from its side. The resulting wounds healed up before the zombies had even cast the spears aside.
The dragon turned toward the dwarf and the troglodyte king, its great yellow eyes watching the unfolding duel with intent curiosity.
Gordo jumped to his left, avoiding a flail-lunge, and cleanly decapitated the first of the troglodyte king’s bodyguard.
The second caused him more of a problem, glancing two mighty blows off his iron helm before he managed to cleave the warrior in two.
Gordo didn’t get a moment to reflect on the kill before Slythi barreled into him, literally peppering the dwarf with sword strikes. Gordo blocked the first, but then took two nasty arm-wounds before he managed to dive aside and bring up his battle-axe in a defensive block.
There was a furious clash of steel, but the king was relentless. His next three attacks caused Gordo to suffer gashes to the face and both legs. Eventually, the dwarf turned and retreated, hurrying toward the sanctuary of the crouched dragon.
Slythi made to pursue him, then stopped, a look of terrible certainty on his scaly face.
The dragon had unfolded, its wing-spread an awesome sight on the great mountaintop.
“Coward are!” Slythi taunted the dwarf, as he saw Gordo climb the monster’s side. “Coward are! Coward are!”
Now astride the beast once again, Gordo urged it forward, its giant nostrils flaring.
King Slythi recognized the danger, and turned to run. He got about twenty paces before the hellfires rolled over him, reducing the troglodyte king to ash.
Six
“I’M SORRY, GENTLEMEN,” PRINCE Blood finished, moving toward the cottage door, “but I’m not willing to send my men to their almost certain death without first exploring every avenue open to consideration. I wish you all the best of luck defeating this evil, but for now I must adjourn.”
To the accompaniment of a series of vengeful mutterings, Blood made his way to the door and wrenched it open, just as an out-of-breath guard fell against the frame.
“Visitors, my lords!” he managed. “They say it’s urgent business!”
“No visitors today,” Visceral snapped. “They can see me at the weekly forum, if it’s a matter of publi—”
“Lady Vanya said I should bring them both straight here, my lords! They arrived in the courtyard while she was helping to groom the horses.”
Earl Visceral rubbed his tired eyes. “Very well,” he said. “Send them in.”
The guard moved aside, admitting the imposing form of Grid Thungus and his cloaked companion.
“What’s this?” asked Blood. “Some sort of dance troupe?”
Grid Thungus muttered something under his breath and shoved the prince backward, causing him to collapse onto a chair.
“How DARE you!” Blood screamed. “Do you have any idea who—”
“Prince Viktar Blood,” Moltenoak stated. “Son of Etley Blood, grandson of Irmington Blood, great-grandson of Torrider Blood … and arguably the most spineless member of the entire line. You run Legrash—when it suits you—and a more hideous den of depraved villainy I’ve seldom seen. You have no children, which really grates on your nerves, as the only thing that has ever mattered to you is passing on the crumbled wreckage of a throne you yourself inherited at the age of sixteen. Any questions?”
The room had become suddenly very quiet. A group of guards had gathered outside the door as a result of the commotion, but none of them appeared keen to enter the building.
“Do you mind if I ask who you are?” said Loogie Lambontroff, oblivious of the fact that Earl Visceral was attempting to get his attention with a series of nods and silently mouthed indications.
“My name is Moltenoak,” said the hooded man, drawing level with the table and taking an empty seat beside it. “My companion is the fabled warrior known as Grid Thungus. We are here to assist your … current dilemma.”
Effigy Spatula smiled. “Jimmy found you, then?” he said, his face alight with glee.
“He did,” Moltenoak confirmed, casting a sideways glance at his companion. “But I think he’ll be a while yet … we knew a shortcut here.”
“What can you do?” Obegarde said. “I mean, how much do you actually know?”
“We know that Vanquish has taken the city of Dullitch, and that he has two dragons working for hi—”
“Do you know that Vanquish is a dark god?” Effigy interrupted. “And that he has taken the body of Groan Teethgrit as his vessel?”
“Groan Teethgrit?” Thungus exclaimed. “I’m sorry to hear such news—Groan was a good friend of mine.”
Prince Blood, who had until now been silently fuming, could contain himself no longer.
“You stride in here, as if you are royalty yourself!” he growled at Moltenoak. “And yet what are you going to do against a pair of dragons? Not much, I’ll wager!”
Moltenoak turned to him, and nodded.
“You’re absolutely right, your Majesty. I’m not going to do anything against two dragons. My time is best invested in the reclaiming of Dullitch. Therefore, I will fight Vanquish and attempt to take the city back. My friend here will help you with the dragons. He has some experience with them.”
All eyes flicked from Moltenoak to Thungus, and back again.
&nbs
p; “You’re going to take on a dark god?” Prince Blood sneered. “Who exactly are you?”
Moltenoak placed both hands flat on the tabletop.
“I have told you my name,” he began. “I am … very old—and quite powerful in many ways. Do not question my word or think to second-guess me in any way, and I will do my best to see you through this situation. Understand that I do this thing not for money or reward, but because I know the foe you face of old … and I utterly despise him. Now—before I begin, does anyone wish to challenge me?”
The room suddenly contained a large selection of shocked and, in most cases, preoccupied expressions.
“Very good. First of all, I must tell you that even now Vanquish scours the land in search of his true body—no, no questions please—just know that he will not find it … and that I am already in the process of blocking his powerful sight. My own special talents tell me that he removed the souls of three warriors and many thousands of unfortunate citizens who now follow his word, their bodies commanded by his own cursed pool of hive-minds. Of the warriors—as you point out—Groan Teethgrit is currently serving as Vanquish’s own temporary vessel. The others—Groan’s barbarian brother and the dwarf, Gordo Goldeaxe—have also been utilized and are leading his two black hordes, accompanied by the dragons you’re all rightly worried about.”
Effigy looked at Moltenoak with a sudden, incredible respect. Even Obegarde looked shocked. The lords gathered around the table began to mutter among themselves, but Moltenoak spoke again, forcing them into silence.
“Firstly, I shall attack Vanquish at his base in Dullitch Palace. While I am occupied thus, I will require a small group of fighters to perform a very delicate mission for me.”
“I’ll gladly help!” Effigy shouted, rising from his seat.
“Count me in,” Obegarde added. “And I’m sure Jimmy will be on board: he knows the city better than anyone. What is it you want us to do?”
Moltenoak appeared to study the vampire, but when he spoke it soon became clear that his words were directed at his own companion.
“Coming and going between many lands as I do, I am not greatly familiar with Illmoor’s current mythology. However, I am given to believe that Groan Teethgrit, Gape Teethgrit and Gordo Goldeaxe are among the most legendary heroes of this age … is that correct?”
The Coldstone Conflict Page 10