The Coldstone Conflict

by David Lee Stone

  “I don’t know Gape that well, Molten,” Thungus growled. “But Groan and Gordo ’ave taken on plenty of things I wouldn’t touch in a million years—and won. They were a mighty pair, the talking point of just about every inn from here to Shadewell.”

  Moltenoak widened his grin and turned back to Effigy and Obegarde.

  “Then your cause cannot afford to lose them to the enemy without a fight. Therefore, Effigy, Obegarde and their redoubtable friend will travel with me to Dullitch and locate the soul-carriers that contain the three spirits. Break them open and the souls will quickly return to their original hosts.”

  Effigy glanced at Obegarde, and the pair of them nodded.

  “You may be able to do the same for the citizens of Dullitch,” Moltenoak continued, “but I’m guessing that Vanquish will have their wretched containers moving along with his army. Nevertheless, you should all look out for these receptacles as potential targets. Break them … and those who bear arms against you will regain their senses.”

  “Wait just a second.” Prince Blood struggled to his feet. Placing both hands flat on the tabletop, he leaned across to the hooded man and said: “Now, I’ve listened patiently to your little speech and I’d like to have a few words myself. I don’t know exactly who you think you are … but we give the orders around here and—”

  Moltenoak looked up suddenly and snatched Prince Blood by the throat, yanking his head down so they were face to face. The prince stared in terror at the two pinpoints of screaming energy that Moltenoak’s eyes had become.

  “You will do exactly what is asked of you,” he growled, in a voice like thunder, “and you shall keep your kingdom. Otherwise, Legrash and the very foundations it once stood upon will be no more … by my own hand.”

  He threw the trembling royal aside, and turned to address the group at the table.

  “Two armies are on the move, my friends. One is headed here—via Phlegm, no doubt. The other has begun to cross the Gleaming Mountains.”

  “Phlegm?” Loogie screeched. “Oh, that’s great, that is! And to think I’d just got the place looking decent …”

  “The other is presumably heading for Legrash,” said Earl Visceral, giving the prince a significant look. “Let’s hope your legendary defences hold out.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” Effigy asked Moltenoak, prompting murmurs of agreement and causing every head in the room to turn toward the hooded man.

  Moltenoak took a deep breath, and looked to Earl Visceral. “How many soldiers do you have, exactly?”

  “Counting on support from the viceroy here, and Steward Lambontroff, and assuming Prince Blood lends aid, we should be able to muster a force of around one thousand, five hundred men.” He rose to his feet and began to pace the room. “Assuming we need to divide in order to conquer these armies, we could send ravensage to Phlegm and Beanstalk, requesting that ALL available soldiers should join us, here. Legrash has more troops than the rest of us combined … even if Blood is insufferably arrogant about the truth of it. I suggest …”

  There was a sudden intake of breath from Viceroy Funk, who thought he’d guessed the earl’s next words. However, he was wrong.

  “… I suggest that Prince Blood marches his troops out of Legrash, in a move to defend the whole of western Illmoor. That way, we give strong protection to the innocent lives at stake in Legrash itself, as well as those in Beanstalk, Sneeze, Shinbone, Crust, Chudderford and Little Irkesome. I’m sure Viceroy Funk and Baron Muttknuckles—wherever he has got to—will assist the battle with their own troops.”

  Prince Blood straightened out his long coat, but made no hostile reaction to the comment. “That said, I shall attempt to put your ridiculous plan into action,” he muttered. “Though what chance we stand against a dragon is anybody’s gu—”

  “Grid will go with you,” Moltenoak finished, accompanied by a nod from his companion. “You will find him a great help in the coming conflict. Allow him to lead your army and you stand at least half a chance: I guarantee that.”

  “And where do you suggest we make such a stand?” Visceral asked.

  Moltenoak smiled.

  “Coldstone,” he said.

  “Coldstone?” Several of the room’s occupants looked confused.

  “Coldstone,” Viceroy Funk repeated, as if searching his memory for the name. “You mean the flat plain of land wedged between the Gleaming Mountains and Little Irkesome?”

  “Indeed. It was, after all, the site of Illmoor’s first great battle between good and evil—many, many years ago.” He lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “I was … on the wrong side, back then.”

  There was a pause as everyone present took this in.

  “So, in conclusion,” Blood growled, breaking the silence. “You want me to place my army, along with the armies of Lords Muttknuckles and Funk, into the hands of your barbarian friend—”

  “Yes.”

  “… who is going to lead them to the Coldstone Plains … and into war with an obsidian dragon and a rampaging zombie horde from Dullitch.”

  Moltenoak nodded. “In a nutshell.”

  “What of us?” said Earl Visceral, his calculations suddenly revealing an ugly gap in the plan. “If you are going to Dullitch and your mighty friend is rounding up all the armies in the west with Viceroy Funk and Prince Blood, where does that leave myself and Steward Lambontroff?”

  Moltenoak sighed.

  “It leaves you with your own men, and the promise that myself or my companion will return to assist you just as soon as we are able. I’m afraid I can offer little more in the way of assistance. I’m sorry …”

  “But that’s ridiculous! You’re leaving us to face the same foe in the north that you’re sending an entire army to Coldstone to deal with. I mean; what can we do? Do you suggest that we stay here and fight over the walls of Spittle?”

  “Just listen—listen very carefully.” Moltenoak closed his eyes for a time, and then opened them again. “I don’t want you to confront the second horde and engage them in combat—I want you to travel south and strike at them when they get to Phlegm. It will be what they are least expecting.”

  “But—”

  “Having got their attention, I then want you to run.”

  The earl looked momentarily confused. “Run?” he exclaimed. “Run where, exactly?”

  “To Coldstone,” Effigy said, suddenly reading the hooded man’s train of thought, “where the second conflict will be taking place. Am I right?”

  Moltenoak nodded.

  “That way,” he said, “at least you all fight together.”

  “A good plan,” said Viceroy Funk.

  “I think it’s the best we’ve heard,” added Lambontroff, evenly.

  “Hear, hear,” said Effigy and Obegarde, in unison.

  “I … suppose it would be wise,” Visceral finished, but his face betrayed the hopelessness he felt.

  As the earl returned to his seat and lowered his head in despair, the guards at the door parted to reveal the breathless form of Jimmy Quickstint.

  “I d-don’t believe it,” he panted. “You’re here. You two are actually h-h-here.” And with that, he collapsed.

  Diek and Burnie hurried down the mountain path, allowing themselves to slow for breath only when they absolutely had to.

  “W-w-which way do we go now?” Diek asked, beginning to feel the weight of the box under his arm.

  “We’re ahead of them, so we have to keep moving down.”

  “Right …”

  “You see that big mountain, the one that sticks out?”

  “Yes, it looks very … familiar.”

  Burnie nodded.

  “That’s the Twelve,” he said. “We need to cut across the base of it, and keep it on our left until we hit Rintintetly Forest.”

  “Oh,” said Diek, despondently. It all sounded a long way from Little Irkesome, the village he called home. “And where do we go from there?”

  Burnie started to run
again.

  “River Washin,” he called back. “We find a boat, then get in it and row the damn thing all the way to Spittle.”

  “Will we be safe in Spittle?”

  “Dunno: but we’ll last a damn sight longer in Spittle than we will out here in the wilderness. C’mon!”

  Diek put on an extra sprint.

  “Do you think they’ll catch us?” he asked.

  “Not likely. There’s only two of us, and I reckon we slipped by them. Besides, they’ll be far more concerned with taking the towns and cities, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Get to the boat-yard,” said a voice.

  Diek glanced down at the box. “What was that?”

  “You gotta get to the boat-yard. Then you can nick an ’alf decent boat.”

  “Where can we find a boat-yard?” yelled Burnie, catching Groan’s comment.

  “There’s one of ’em at the bottom o’ that Rintintanomy place. It’s got a few of ’em an’ some good ’uns what Gordo an’ me tried to nick a few years back. There’s a troll what guards it, bu’ I reckon—”

  “A troll?” Burnie snapped. “What the hell are we going to do against a ruddy great monster like that?”

  Groan seemed to think for a moment. “I could ’it it.”

  “You’re in a box,” Diek reminded him.

  “Oh yeah. Er … maybe you could ’ide from it, then steal a boat an’ get ’way quick.”

  “It’s possible,” Burnie admitted. “Are the boats on land or are they actually moored at the riverbank?”

  “Some of ’em were in the water, I fink.”

  “Right,” said Burnie. “Well, thanks for that: we’ll certainly give it a go.”

  “Are you serious?” Diek asked, glancing at him.

  “Yes, I’m serious: a chance is a chance!”

  “Get down! Get down!” Diek yelled suddenly.

  The two companions dived for the cover of a nearby bush as the dragon swept over the clearing, its giant wings beating the air.

  “Do you think it saw us?” Diek whispered.

  “Who knows?” snapped Burnie. “I didn’t even see the damn thing until it was almost upon us!”

  “Maybe it’s just doing a scout of the area to make sure none of the warband got away.”

  “Do you think any of them did?”

  Burnie managed to keep the croak out of his voice as he whispered: “Doubtful.”

  “I’m sorry, Burnie. At least they … died heroes.”

  As the little troglodyte sniffed back the sorrow, Diek peered out from the bush.

  “They’re not following …” he muttered, scanning the mountain path and listening hard.

  “Mmm … what?”

  “The zombies; they’re not following. They must have reached the mountaintop by now, yet I can’t see them or hear them approaching.”

  Several minutes passed, but the dragon did not return, and no sound was heard from the mountain.

  Burnie rubbed his gloopy chin.

  “We cut out east, so I reckon they went down the other side. That would mean they’re headed west, for Crust … and Little Irkesome. I don’t doubt they’ve set their eyes on Legrash, to be honest.”

  “Little Irkesome?” Diek’s eyes suddenly widened. He let go of the box, which lodged precariously in the thicket. “B-but that’s where my mum and dad live! I’ve got to get home: I’ve got to!” He scrambled out of the bush and started to run down the path, but Burnie caught up with him and clung frantically to his leg.

  “Wait, boy! You can’t go haring off― you’ll get yourself killed!”

  “B-but it’s my family!”

  “They might be lucky: the army might not touch Irkesome!” Burnie managed to slow Diek down. “And if they’re not lucky, then there’s pretty much nothing you can do about it …”

  “B-but I should be there …”

  “Why? To get trampled and killed in line with everyone else who opposes them? That’s an obsidian dragon, lad; an obsidian dragon. You don’t fight obsidian dragons—you see one coming, you run away. Simple as.”

  “I must …” Diek’s eyes filled with tears, and he slumped on to the ground. “If I was still possessed, I could do something … now I’m just a worthless cowhand again.”

  Burnie hurried over to retrieve Groan’s box from the bush. Then he sat down beside Diek and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Listen, lad: you don’t have to have special powers to be a great hero! Just having the heart to do what’s right makes you special enough.”

  “Yes, but what can I actually do? When I was possessed—”

  “You were under the influence of some higher power, Diek … and judging by the things you did under that influence, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was Vanquish himself who guided you. Trust me, boy, you don’t need that kind of power …”

  “But it gave me command of things!”

  “Yeah, rats and children.”

  “Not just rats and children! Cows, chickens, wolves, you name it! Now I’m back to being an ordinary, useless boy.”

  Diek had clenched his fists and his cheeks were flushed with anger.

  “I can’t believe I went through that limbo hell of darkness just to come out an empty—”

  “Stop.” Burnie had moved away from Diek, a look of wary apprehension on his face. “Don’t say another word … and calm yourself down.”

  Diek took several deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” he managed. “It’s not your faul—”

  “I stopped you,” Burnie interrupted, “because when you got angry just then, your eyes were glowing like a couple of burning embers. Are you sure you didn’t bring anything back with you?”

  Effigy Spatula stood on the battlements of Spittle’s Marsh Keep, his friends standing on either side of him. All three of them had exactly the same thing on their minds.

  “It’s a bit weird though, isn’t it?” Jimmy said, looking out at the hustle and bustle of a city totally oblivious to the danger approaching it. “I mean, why meet him up here?”

  “Maybe he’s got a magic ship that sails through the air or something,” Obegarde hazarded. “I know it sounds unlikely, but still …”

  “Do you get any vibes from him?” Effigy asked, eyeing the vampire carefully. “I mean, your lot …”

  “Reading minds, you mean? Oh, don’t think I haven’t tried, but Moltenoak’s certainly not one for cracking. I have a strong suspicion that reading his mind might inadvertently trigger my own death.”

  “Maybe you’re right about the airship,” Jimmy said, carefully studying the sky. “Maybe it’s more like a balloon …”

  “Gentlemen.”

  The three companions turned as the hooded man emerged from the trap door. “Are you ready to go to Dullitch?”

  “Yes,” said Effigy, carefully. “Is your … ship nearby?”

  Moltenoak smiled. “I don’t have a ship,” he said. “Nevertheless, I am going to transport you to Dullitch—extremely fast. You all know what you’re doing when you get there …”

  “Staying out of your way,” Jimmy said, working from the instructions Effigy and Obegarde had passed on. “And getting into the palace—oh, and finding the soul-caskets.”

  “Very good. Now, they may only contain one soul each—so there will probably be a good deal of them. Be sure to look out for strange jars, unusual bottles, etc.—these might also have been used. Take no chances whatsoever; where in doubt, smash everything. Do you think you can manage that?”

  All three nodded.

  “Yes,” said Effigy. “You can rely on us.”

  “I don’t doubt it; do you have swords?”

  Obegarde nodded. “Two each, in fact.”

  “Very well, gentlemen.” Moltenoak straightened himself out and smiled. “Then we shall talk no longer. Now … allow me to show you my other outfit.”

  Seven

  EARL VISCERAL AND HIS daughter, Vanya, strode through the corridors of
Spittle’s famed Marsh Keep, a half-sunken fortress that the majority of the city’s troops called home. Steward Lambontroff, still supported on a large and extremely comfortable-looking cushion, was carried along beside them by the polite but inept Mr. Theoff.

  “I notice we got the short straw,” he groaned, trying to twitch enough to dissolve the itch in his left nostril. “A few hundred men against an obsidian dragon is pitiful … laughable, in fact.”

  “I know that,” Visceral agreed, though at the same time trying to smile reassuringly at his daughter. “Even I was against committing our troops to war, but we have to take a stand—we can’t just allow this evil to overthrow our land.”

  “You’re doing the right thing, Father,” Vanya said, quickly adding, “And I think you are very brave to make such decisions.”

  Visceral leaned down and hugged his daughter.

  “I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Take care of the kingdom for me.”

  Vanya tried not to look at him as he kissed her forehead. She turned to the cushion instead.

  “You’re very brave too, Steward Lambontroff,” she said, sniffing back the tears.

  “Yeah, well, bravery is my middle name,” Lambontroff lied, winking at the girl. “You know, before I was … er, decapitated, I used to be a road-warden. It’s a very interesting line of work; you get to meet all sorts, doing a job like that. You know, there was this one time when these three gangsters—”

  “I sent another ravensage to Baron Muttknuckles,” Visceral interrupted, quietly indicating that his daughter should leave them. “And, astonishingly, I received a reply. The baron tells me that he and his men are sailing east along the Washin. I must admit I’m surprised …”

  Loogie sniffed. “Yeah, well, at least Blood’ll get some extra help—not that he bloody needs it with that barbarian leading his cause.”

  “Do you think they’ll win?”

  “No … but they certainly stand more of a chance than us …”

  They walked along in silence for a time, watching the soldiers on the floor below preparing for battle—assembling weapons, sharpening swords and putting on armor.