Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  One by one they filed from the tent to return to their troops. It was going to be dark for a while longer and the dark gray Goblin skin would be difficult to see. It might also work to Fynten’s advantage.

  SIXTEEN

  The ferocity with which the early winter storm sputtered and raged led Tarren to believe that she wasn’t meant to leave Fel Darrins. Hidden in a small cave, she and her newly found pony waited out the snows. It was the pony who saved them. Tarren would have been caught in the open when the storm hit. The pony’s insistence at following its own desires led them to a shallow valley filled with enormous boulders and broken trees.

  Finding shelter was the easy part.

  She noticed the pony’s natural stubbornness the moment she awoke in the clearing some days ago. Initially she didn’t want anything to do with the beast. But she was alone and on foot and hunting a dark man who was going to harm her one true love. What real choice did she have? Besides, there was something about the butterscotch colored pony that soothed here, comforted her enough to trust it. The decision to climb aboard came naturally.

  They followed the main trail for another league or so before the pony ambled off through the lightly forested hills. No matter what Tarren tried, she couldn’t persuade it to turn back to the road. She felt the mow familiar tremor of fear sprouting. The forests were dark and dangerous and a simple girl from a small village shouldn’t have anything to do with them on the best of days. Again the pony offered her comfort, silently reassuring her that all was well. Strangely enough, Tarren found herself relaxing.

  She didn’t like being without a choice any more than being alone in a foreign land, but her friends were in peril. Of that she was convinced. It became the one sustaining focus that kept her going through the seemingly endless series of blunders and setbacks. Add a stray pony that seemed to have its own issues and she was left wondering what she was supposed to do. They reached the valley an hour before the first snows fell. Winds were already howling by the time they found the small cave and the skies opened up with every foul thought as she started the campfire.

  * * *

  The new dawn was considerably less spectacular than the day prior as was the one before that. Winter was fast closing in. Soon the all Malweir would become a colorless land of grey and white. Now more than ever Norgen wished for a quiet mountain tunnel they could secretly travel through. Deep snows only served to leave their tracks easier to find. That meant the Gnaal would find them sooner than later. Norgen narrowed his eyes against the morning glare and watched for signs of ambush.

  “He’s been in a sour mood all night,” Fennic whispered from their position a few meters behind the Dwarf.

  Delin grunted. “You would be too if you remembered what happened last night. That Gnaal was nearly the death of us. Now I know why he’s so spooked.”

  “Dwarves are never spooked,” Norgen growled over his shoulder. “Though we do have a superb sense of caution.”

  Delin stifled a laugh. “Fine, oh mighty Dwarf. We won’t tell anyone your secrets.”

  The banter raged back and forth until they stopped for a bite to eat. Norgen’s mood gradually lightened until he walked with a constant smile. Both boys looked at him in confusion for it was out of character for the Dwarf to be happy. When asked about his sudden mood swing, the Dwarf gave a mischievous smile and said, “You’ll see soon enough.” The intrigue went on until the following morning.

  Norgen rushed them through breakfast and hygiene. They were back on the road to Paedwyn in no time. Morning mists took forever to clear, but when they did the boys were met by an awe inspiring sight. Norgen stood back and beamed with pride. At first all they could see were two massive snow covered mountain tops high above the world. Ever so slowly did the mountains take shape, changing from indistinctive bulks to majestic formations glowing a purplish-red. These were the tallest peaks in all of Malweir. Small foothills clustered around the bases, adding dimension to the bulk and importance. Norgen dropped to his knees with tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” Fennic asked.

  As moving as the sight was to behold, Fennic felt their importance lost on him.

  Norgen threw his arms open and exclaimed, “behold! The Twin Spires of Ragnash. The most holy of Dwarven places.”

  Golden sunlight washed across the frozen peaks, bathing them in the light of the gods.

  “What you see are the eldest mountains in the world. Every Dwarf must pay respect when he passes. This is where the first Dwarves came into being. There are gorgeous halls of jewels and gold therein, stretching deep into the living world. All of our power, our secrets and origins rest inside. Were time on our side I would take you there.”

  The world suddenly became a much smaller place for Fennic. His empty feeling lessened somewhat. A peculiar kinship formed between himself and the taciturn Dwarf that he couldn’t explain.

  “My kings lie entombed inside, all the way back to the beginning,” he went on. “No greater honor could ever be bestowed upon a Dwarf than to rest forever in the hallowed halls. I doubt I shall ever see such. My lot is already decided.”

  “Perhaps not,” Fennic consoled.

  “Nay, friend. I know my fate and it lies along another path.”

  He wiped the tears away and attempted changing the subject. “Paedwyn is no more than a handful of days away. We should be there before the week ends if all goes well.”

  “I don’t mean to be the pessimist of the group, but nothing has gone right since we left Alloenis,” Delin reminded them.

  Norgen laughed. “Perfect! There’s nowhere to go but up.”

  “Sure, now you want to be happy.”

  The Dwarf scolded a finger at them. “Always take advantage of the situation no matter how you find it. There is still much ground to cover err we reach the city. Much can happen if we’re not careful.”

  The boys nodded and resumed the quest. Farmer’s wagons and frightened villagers heading for the homes of western relatives dotted the roads. A wicked scare came from Gren and people fled just as fast as they could. Others chose to stay behind and defend their homes and still others dismissed the threat as immature. The Silver Mage was dead and rotted, they argued. Soon they would learn the error of their thoughts.

  Norgen explained how towns and villages gradually got larger the closer they got to the capital of King Maelor’s realm. Compared to the heart of Averon, Fel Darrins might as well be in another world. Delin and Fennic assaulted the Dwarf with questions upon questions until they had to stop to regain their voices. By dusk all were beyond tired.

  A foul odor woke him shy of midnight. It was the smell of death. Norgen rolled over and clutched his axe. He knew it was a battle he couldn’t win. No Gnaal came though and the night carried on. The tiniest sliver of a moon hung in the sky. He barely made out the Twin Spires of Ragnash in the distance. Sniffing the air, Norgen grew more concerned. The decay wasn’t of Gren, but of flesh and blood. An evil thing was going on.

  Ignoring the urge to wake the boys, Norgen dropped his cloak and went in search of the danger. The grass was wet and fresh, making it easier for him to move unheard. It wasn’t long before he came upon a recent campsite. There were half a dozen burnt logs in the fire pit and a stack of kindling and firewood off to the side. A burned out wagon lay on its side with several short, black arrows in it. Norgen immediately recognized the threat. The Dwarf ran to the wagon, using it for cover until he decided it was safe to move in the open.

  He eased forward to a partially hidden lump in the mist. A Goblin. The throat had been slashed. Norgen search for any other clue of what happened but didn’t need any. A half dozen more bodies lay around the site, none of them Goblins. Axe ready, Norgen moved from body to body. The first was burned beyond recognition. He quickly abandoned the corpse and went to the next. His stomach turned rancid after rolling the body over and seeing the face. It was one of the boys from the common room of the Golden Scarab. The Goblins had apparently ambushe
d a caravan of recruits. The Dwarf nodded. It was a sound tactic with dour portent for the kingdom. Having seen enough, Norgen went back to his own camp.

  Dawn found him standing watch over the boys. His eyes were cold and bloodshot from horror inspired nightmares he’d witnessed during the night. Packs of Goblins loose west of the Gren Mountains wasn’t unusual, but this close to Paedwyn and openly attacking the king’s men mean war was already begun.

  Fennic yawned. “Good morning, Norgen. I hope you slept as well as I did.”

  “Pack your gear. We need to move,” he replied in a strained voice. “It’s not safe here.”

  “What did he say?” Delin asked from behind the boulder where he relieved himself.

  “Is it the Gnaal?” Fennic asked. He hurriedly pulled on his trousers. Painful memories came back to him.

  “Worse,” Norgen replied. “There are Goblins about.”

  “What’s this about Goblins?” Delin asked. “I thought we were close to Paedwyn.”

  “Aye. I came upon an encampment last night. There were bodies all over, one of which was a fat, gray Goblin. They attacked right past dusk from what I can tell. Killed a good number of recruits before they got away.”

  Fennic flinched. “Recruits?”

  “Same ones we seen leaving Alloenis. My guess is we’ll run in to the rest of them afore long. The enemy is moving at last.”

  Delin groaned. Gnaals were beyond comprehension, but the thought of murderous bands of Goblins ranging the landscape unchecked was simply terrifying. This was not the adventure he dreamed of as a child. His first thoughts were of Tarren and her safety. Little did he know she was but a few weeks behind them along a different path. The simple security of his life was shattered from a whim. He was beginning to regret ever going to Old Man Wiffe’s home.

  “I think I want to go home now,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  If they heard him they didn’t reply. The tiny band kept walking. Fennic had no misgivings about the journey. Phaelor urged him onward to untold destinies. He and the sword were one now, to whatever end was in store.

  They heard evidence of Goblins just after midday. The angry sounds of sword and spear clashing in battle sang a wicked song. Norgen whipped his axe into position and sprinted into the fray.

  SEVENTEEN

  The cool afternoon sun was barely enough to melt the patches of snow and ice still clinging to life across the plains and fields. Crows picked through old corn in the hopes of finding one last meal before winter struck. Song birds fortified their nests against the bad weather and small forest animals sat quietly in their dens. Aside from the crisp sounds of battle raging, it was a normal autumn day.

  Delin and Fennic gained the top of the small rise and jerked to a halt. What they saw horrified them. Soldiers dressed in green and gold surrounded a small group of weaponless civilians. Dozens of bodies already littered the ground. The remaining wagons sent up puffs of smoke while they burned. A few men were still on horseback, but it was apparent the horses and wagons had been the initial targets. Across the field massed a large body of Goblins. Delin and Fennic were so absorbed by seeing their first battle they failed to see Norgen charging into the rear of the Goblin formation.

  Dwarven steel bit deep into the under protected Goblin flesh, felling four before they rest knew what was among them. They drew back and tried to rally but the Dwarf was in a battle rage. Another two fell to the gouging blade of his axe. Then he paused and a Goblin club knocked him off his feet. He rolled once, swinging viciously at a nearby leg. He blocked a blow from a rusted sword with the haft of his axe. Norgen easily turned the thrust aside and punched the dull end of his axe into the Goblin’s belly. He quickly upper cut the blade through his foe’s lower jaw and spun to his feet.

  Sergeant Hallis was prepared to die, though not entirely willing. He’d been forced to leave his friends at Gren mot after his last patrol was killed. Commander Fynten told him it was for the best if he spent a few weeks off the line. So they made him a recruiter. He protested at first, for Hallis was a born warrior. A sword was as natural to him as a scythe in the hands of a farmer. Recruiter was a slap in the face, yet still he obeyed.

  Any rest Fynten had in mind for him was cut short the first time Goblins came upon them in the dark. It was a quick strike, but got the job started. One wagon was destroyed and a handful of men and horses were slain before Hallis readied a defense and fought back. He killed five by himself in a matter of minutes. The half column of cavalry fought hard, eventually driving the Goblins back into the night. The retreat was planned, of that there was no doubt, but Hallis was glad for the respite. The bedraggled band dressed their casualties during the frantic retreat. Hallis regretted the decision of not burying the dead, but many more would have lost their lives in the process. There simply wasn’t a choice.

  Goblins harassed them for two more days, casually whittling down the numbers until just over half of their original number remained. His captain was already slain by an arrow. Hallis quickly assumed command. The unarmed men were herded to the center of the circle with instructions to snatch up a sword when it became available. A young recruit dropped his blood stained sword and yelled in horror upon seeing the dark mass forming a hundred meters away. Hallis grit his teeth and growled for them to buckle down. He reminded them why they volunteered in the first place and made ready to meet his doom.

  The squat figure bounding down the slope might well have been another Goblin for all Hallis was concerned. Just one more pound bearing down the total weight. He wasn’t expecting to live much long, not with the current odds. Then the figure attacked the rear of the Goblin formation. The formation broke moments later. Only one race was capable of causing so much mayhem. A Dwarf. A glimmer of hope resurfaced in the veteran.

  “Marsh! Keep watch against those archers in the trees,” Hallis roared. They had to act now or be swept away. “The rest of you on me!”

  The remaining soldiers formed a tight wedge on Hallis and charged into the enemy.

  Dark blood stained Norgen’s leather plate armor and beard. An irrepressible rage welled inside. All the friends slain by the Gnaal, the recruits murdered by Goblins in the night. The Centaur giving his life to save the three of them. All of it boiled down into one massive bloodlust. Revenge!

  A dull blade bounced off his shoulder, nicking his tricep before Norgen grabbed the Goblin’s arm and thrust the blade into another’s chest. The Dwarf crouched to leap but was tackled from the side. Both roughly the same size, the Goblin had more mass, easily putting Norgen on his back. The wind drove from his lungs. The rotted smell of his enemy made Norgen gag. Hot spittle drooled onto his cheek and he saw bits of half chewed flesh dangling between the ruined teeth. Pressing down, the Goblin started to crush his throat.

  It took every ounce of strength Norgen possessed to keep the long fingers from wrapping around his throat, but Norgen was up to the task. He used one had to start punching the Goblin’s ribs, crushing bones. Still the enemy pressed. Soon the pressure was too much and Norgen could feel his strength fading. One last move and he drew the Goblin’s own dirk and stabbed him in the armpit. The Goblin howled worse than a dying dragon, throwing his head back a second before it was hacked from his shoulders.

  Blood splashed onto Norgen’s flushed face. He didn’t hear the long sword whistling through the air. Nor did he see the handful of soldiers hit the exposed flank and break the Goblin spirit. Having lost the advantage, the Goblins broke and ran. Delin watched the scene unfold with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. He just knew Norgen was going to die.

  “What should we do?” he asked.

  A sharp metallic ring was Fennic’s reply. He drew Phaelor and prepared to join the fight. Delin snatched at his arm, jerking him back to reality.

  “What are you doing? You’ll be killed if you go down there!”

  Fennic struggled in the grip and snapped, “let me go! I’m supposed to fight. Phaelor says so.”

  The s
word. “Phaelor’s going to get you killed, you dunce! Listen to yourself. What do you know about fighting a battle or wielding a sword? Nothing! Same as me,” Delin fumed. He was as scared as he was furious.

  “How am I supposed to learn if you keep holding me back? All my life I’ve been second to you and now you can’t take it that I was chosen. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re jealous of me and Phaelor.”

  The blow caught Fennic off guard. He staggered back a step from the force of it. His face turned red and sore.

  “Fennic, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, but you need to calm down and listen. If you, if we, go down there we’ll only be in the way. We don’t know about battles or how to fight. Phaelor may want to go, but it doesn’t know you. Look into your soul and see the truth. It’s the only way we can make it through this.”

  Slowly the intensity in Fennic’s eyes ebbed and caution returned. He was embarrassed and it took all the courage he could muster to look his friend in the eye.

  “I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he meekly offered.

  Delin’s shoulders dropped. “I know, but there’s no time for that now. We need to figure something out to help.”

  The battle changed. More and more Goblin bodies lay across the field. Most of them centered around the berserk Dwarf and his deadly axe. Then Norgen fell. The boys needed to act.

  “Look,” Fennic pointed.

  The surviving soldiers were rushing towards the Goblins, leaving three wounded men looking after twenty frightened boys. Norgen was beyond their help. His fate was out of their hands, but they were in position to help the recruits and wounded.

  “In the trees. See there? The archers are sneaking closer. Those guys will be murdered if we don’t help.”

  Delin looked closer at the Goblins. Fennic was right. “So what do we do?”