Bones formed the framework of the monstrosity, resolving themselves into grand arm rests and a towering high back. Its apex was crenulated with five skulls of the great races; the bones were not sun dried, nor were they bare. Flesh, fibrous strands of muscle, rancid fat and sheets of flayed skin were sown into, thrown onto and weaved into the chair’s very fabric. Life pulsed within it. Hair could be seen rising and falling on the deadened layers of skin and a dark liquid appeared to curl around tendons, tissues and bones, flowing to and from some unknown source. Before the raised platform stood two imposing phagens robed with leggings of plate armour and breastplates and pauldrons with epaulets of several chicken skulls. Their armour was blood smeared with emblems and designs of a vicious sort. Gridiron helmets shrouded their faces; it projected their menace more fiercely; even the most insidious of the nobles and elders in attendance felt a quiver of fear when threw drew near. In spite of it, their minds and hearts were enthralled beyond any imaginable measure by the Osi. It was so, that of far more consequence, was the essence upon the throne; the being that sat thereon. Upon it rested the effigy of darkness.
Shadow and gloom bound his being in a hue that not even light could truly define. A deep, unearthly colour of obfuscating green and jade black stretched across his body, coiling itself around angular and doughty, muscular limbs to form his skin. Where the reaches of his corrupted armour came to an end, a myriad lesions issued forth a thickly raven blood; it flowed in union with the Osi’s breathing. The liquid would lazily flow from his multitude of orifices then swiftly ebb back into their springs. Firm hands, with prominent knuckles that pushed the elastic boundaries of skin, clutched the throne’s arms and propelled the Osi upon his feet. A face that was an amalgamation between that of a phagen and a goblin cast a surveying glance about his throne room. Finger length fangs protruded from his maw, resembling a cave with a vast array of stalagmites and stalactites; they were yellowed and etched with fine, sickly veins. Merciless eyes, that within them contained an infinite depth of despair, regarded the sycophantic brethren gathered before him; he despised their feebleness; he revelled in their obedience and unwavering vileness; he was wild for their will and legions. Osi’Bledun-Deorc was unequivocally the spawn of malignancy and darkness, wrought from the hatred of centuries passed, born anew with an anathema of loathing for all that was not of his kin and for all those that had cast him out upon those once verdant Leas. The horde-master, the tribe gatherer, the greatest leader ever to have emerged in the race of goblins and phagens, stepped down from his dais and met with his newly avowed lords, elders and princes.
A commotion grew at the rear of chamber, beginning slowly as a murmur from the entrance corridor until it grew into perceivable invectives hurled at the goblin and the escort brushing aside those who queued to meet the Osi. The red-haired noble marched with his prisoners to his lord. A din of curiosity erupted in the hall as word spread of the human and dwarven captives.
“I could think of finer ways to perish Amyia,” whispered Palodar with as much levity as he could garner. “With a fine maiden in my bed and a belly filled with the grandest mead, Tonoken’s Tenni-eye Brew, aye. But not for a thousand turns of this world would it be better company than that I have now.” His words were shaky and filled with anguish, but they were among the most earnest the dwarf had ever spoken.
Amyia, ignoring the thousand eyes of the beasts upon her, turned to face the bedraggled dwarf, and again, with hauntingly dulcet tones, replied, “Nor can I Pally the Paladin. Nor can I.”
It was the first time Palodar had heard the moniker; he loved it; he treasured it; it brought him joy and utter lament for fate was to ensure that it was never to be heard again.
They neared the throne. With his last liberty-imbued breaths, Palodar said to Amyia in words infused with verve and resolution: “Be defiant unto the last!”
As the goblin noble reached the foot of the towering Osi, his imperious demeanour scurried away into obsequious timidity beneath his master’s gaze. He fell to his knees, bowed, and then half stood in a reverential posture. He spoke rapidly to Bledun-Deorc and stepped aside, gesturing to his servant to thrust the invaders forwards. Amyia and Palodar felt sharp jabs in their backs and unwillingly approached. All eyes turned to the scene at the dais.
The Osi stared implacably at the dwarf and girl wearing naught but simple shifts as to stem the wanton and lecherous urges of those in attendance. He grew angry at their pitiful weakness; such unworthy foes should have been slain leagues away from his majesty; he was rankled at having to subject himself to the reviling task of discerning who had sent them forth. Little did he care for any answer, for his marshalling out was soon; at the very least it had been a good while since he had cut down a youngling and a dwarf in cold blood; the appetite to do so was ravishing. The eyes that returned his gaze were defiant and steadfast; they were not filled with fear as the Osi had become accustomed to; it irked him. Surprisingly, the words he uttered were in ænglix of a long past sort. “In tou myne realme thou pass and styll yow draw breath; a trafestye thee haf commyted; I seeketh to rectefy it. Kneele befor me.”
The words were slow in their utterance, hollow, and suffused with a resonant grate; they rang with terror. It was easy to comprehend how the mere charismatic words of the fell creature could galvanise the most recalcitrant of followers into a mindset bent to his will; the words were compulsion itself. The two friends could feel their limbs yearning to do as they were bid. They remained stalwart, ignoring every craving of their being. Pangs erupted on their calves as their skin parted in honour of the steel which walked across their fleshy covering. Two goblins struck quickly at their lower legs with daggers and the companions fell onto their knees in pain, blood coursing from the wounds; neither of them howled.
The goblin noble produced Palodar’s knapsack of wares and tipped the contents onto the ground. Bledun-Deorc curiously regarded the few torn strips of canvas, the waterskin, remnants of viands, the bedroll and Amyia’s book. The Osi shifted the items about with his foot and spoke to one of his phagen guards in Kig’n. The guard immediately moved off. He then reasserted his ancient eyes over the obdurate captives. “Bookes and baubles thou carrye; spyes I thynk thee nowt. Alreyde tou much of this vileinye and foule ænglix haf I spokene. Nou wyf fyre shall thou brenneth and be sleen!”
The armour-clad guardian returned with a burning brand in his hand. Venerably he gave it to his lord and stepped back to his former position. Glee wrapped itself over the Osi’s face as he brought the cleansing weapon of Palodar’s and Amyia’s doom down upon them.
Cezzum’s hand darted for Gnarlfang, but his arm was caught in a vicious grip that caused blood to swell about the talons that pierced his skin. Hidden within the front ranks of nobles, Cezzum and Tac’quin had stood ready to lunge to their kin’s rescue and end their foul task. Yet the goblin stood wide-eyed and bewildered as Tac’quin the wyvern pinioned his arm and beheld the torture of its two friends with eager splendour.
The Osi, for no more than a second, an eternity for the dwarf, dug the brand into the dwarf’s neck. Palodar screamed in pain, blood boiling beneath the wizened flesh.
“Tac’quin!” cried Cezzum in desperation.
The wyvern scorned the goblin’s imploring word. “Revel in the torment before us brother; our master must not be interrupted!” Too long had Tac’quin remained in his wyvern-form; Cezzum had forgotten that of grave consequence; a wholly evil heart takes its toll on the changer that embraces such deceptive devices; the exposure to the aura of a deity bred from malevolence ushered on the degradation of virtue and rationality all the more swiftly.
Amyia endeavoured with all her might to remain silent, but the flaming torch driving into her left shoulder was beyond any pain she had been victim to before. Her cries leapt through the cavern and were ravenously devoured by the raucous cheering of all those in attendance, apart from the sole goblin that she did not know struggled for freedom no more than ten feet from her.
Palodar’s eyes grew heavy, the injury on his neck had been devastating; he strove and battled until light no longer filtered into his eyes. Amyia was in terrific agony; it felt as if the left side of her body had been severed; her right, however, was still mobile and unbound for the present.
Cezzum began to strike Tac’quin repeatedly upon its brow with his free hand, driving his fist powerfully down on its skull again, and again, and again. Several of those gathered in close proximity to the goblin and wyvern turned to regard the odd brawl occurring in the hall. It was not uncommon for a goblin-master and wyvern to scuffle, but at such a time, even blood-loving phagens found it particularly peculiar.
“Curse thee Tac’quin!” yelled Cezzum, his own heart feeling the scathing pain of Amyia and Palodar. “I implore thee, dragon-friend, release me!”
Despite the numerous and thunderous blows to its head, Tac’quin retaliated not. Something deep within the wyvern’s mind, some vestigial thought, impaired the wyvern from striking the goblin down. Tac’quin? Dragon? What an absurd notion.
The Osi ceased his tormenting revelry for a moment and looked to the affray, anger seething on his visage. Amyia rushed at the Osi and Palodar followed a second later. But the assault was brief in its existence. The moment Amyia clutched at the Osi’s leg, in order for the burly dwarf to tumble him over, it felt as if she had lovingly embraced fire and flame. Her hands, arms and skin burnt with furious pain; her skin was caressed with swarthy, flesh-deadened streaks and she fell to floor in torment. Palodar collided with the Osi; the horde-master staggered a single step backwards. The dwarf’s skin smouldered and the inviting smell of burning flesh filled the immediate air; Bledun-Deorc partook of it deeply. The Osi grew tired of the antics occurring about him. He ordered his two guardians to slay the wyvern and goblin that were broiling, and he returned to his throne and drew from a scabbard, which rested at the throne’s side, Sce’zad – a long sword forged of his own blood by the finest smiths that had ever graced phagen kind. As he wrapped his fingers about the blade’s onyx hilt, shadow grew inside the blade. Weaving, dark clouds rolled over the blade, filtering down the foreboding cross-guard. Lugubrious night grew around the Osi’s feet, where the very ground upon which he walked became a carpet of the abyss. The Blood-Lord of the Dark, as how he was so named in the annals of legend, displayed his true essence. The Osi drew near the two writhing figures on the ground, sword held low and to his side.
Tac’quin closed its eyes. The name, Tac’quin, it is so familiar what is it?
Cezzum stopped his crown-bashing onslaught, hope fled from the goblin. All things were coming to an end. His friends, those he loved, were dying before his eyes, their cries reverberating within every reach of his mind. It was all for naught. He had led three innocent companions to their doom; he had lost them; he had lost Filburn; and he had lost himself. Cezzum fell upon his knees with a hundred eyes watching him. With tender strokes he touched the Wyvern’s battered brow and whispered, “Please dear Tac’quin, we must not fail them. Please.”
Fail who? I should strike you down for such vile weakness. Tac’quin? Friends? I know not of these- things… Wyverns. Goblins. Dragons… dragons? Little dragon! Casena…compassion… Cezzum - goblins. Dragons! In mountains – dung and deep and dwarves – cities – Palu’don. Palodar! Am..yee.. Amya! Amyia! Amyia!
Dragon, serpentine eyelids burst open. A roar of celestial fury boomed throughout the chamber, followed by a raging, roiling inferno that harkened mortality and death; it billowed from the dragon’s maw. The two phagen honour guards were bowled over by the sheer force of the cyclone; they writhed upon the floor, flesh evaporating, fire harvesting their bones. Tac’quin, the iridescent, crimson, golden and emerald dragon, was reborn. In a moment that was no longer than a handful of beats of a hummingbird’s wings, Tac’quin projected the deepest of its sorrows to Cezzum and released its boring talons. Adrenaline surged into the halfling and with prodigious celerity he bounded onwards, towards the Osi, Gnarlfang singing as it was unsheathed. A chorus of blades and keening shrieks then erupted in the hall as phagens and goblins drew steel while wyverns charged with hate-filled lust at Tac’quin, their erstwhile kin.
A goblin was struck by the dragon’s tail and soared through the air, passing only inches above the Osi’s head. The intrusion enraged the Osi with a powerful ire. Two forlorn captives had expanded into a third, a dragon – an insignificant challenge, but with every lord that fell before the dragon could be slain would cause momentary descent within the legions of his followers until the transfer of rule could occur. Even then, it was of little import; he decided to permit his lords and nobles to test their mettle on the devastatingly outnumbered dragon for a trice; Bledun-Deorc still craved the blood-soaked viscera of his two prisoners. Levelling Sce’zad above the dwarf’s neck, while shadow swept under Palodar’s back, he thrust the blade downwards.
An ignescent clash of metal rung through the air; Gnarlfang slashed the tip of Sce’zard aside, forcing it to impale the rock below. The Osi snarled in frustration and looked to his impeder; he was astonished. A goblin! A goblin circled him with deft footing, blade held at the ready and his weight balanced by the goblin’s other hand. The sheer existence of a goblin standing in opposition to his will harried him wholly. An enterprising goblin-lord leapt from the ranks at Cezzum’s rear. Cezzum heard the footfalls. He spun as the goblin was nigh upon him. The goblin’s sword missed its mark and dashed through where Cezzum had been standing. Attempting to reverse direction, the goblin shifted his weight, to little avail. Cezzum followed through on his momentum and brought his inertia-infused blade around with him. Gnarlfang bellowed its war- cry; it clove the goblin in twain; his body tumbled to the feet of the Osi and his head rolled off to some unimportant location within the corner of the room. Cezzum returned to his stance.
A clamour erupted from those immediately near the inconceivable goblin and the Osi; they were filled with hesitation, unsure whether to rush to the aid of their lord or instead turn their attention to the dragon. Tac’quin had taken to the air and sent blankets of fire to all those below; it fought to fend itself off from the unrelenting assaults of numerous wyverns. The chamber was filled with a flurry of airborne energy as dark shapes pursued and launched steams of steaming liquid at the dragon. A few foes below nocked their bows and let fly streams of arrows, but so swift were the flyers that the arrows did little but collide with the cavern’s walls.
The Osi stepped past the two figures on the ground and approached Cezzum. Fortunately, Palodar and Amyia had ceased their throes of pain and were attempting to roll themselves onto their knees. Bledun-Deorc’s irises glowered at the goblin. With a flash of his blade he sent a vicious cut at Cezzum to test the cursed creature. Cezzum parried the blow with his beloved Gnarlfang and again sparks erupted when the two magical blades danced with each other.
“You stand against me infested kin; what madness has taken you?” threatened the Osi in Kig’n, great amounts of menace swathing and pervading his voice. “Torment will know no end for you!”
Cezzum struck at the Blood-Lord’s leg, but with an adroit step the blade sliced only air. Sce’zad soared towards the goblin’s head. With quick movements, Cezzum blocked the strike and yet again scintillating motes erupted from the blades. Clawing pain crept up Cezzum’s arm after the blow had disengaged. A raven-black strand grew along several of his fingers and ponderously snaked their way towards his wrist. With each inch gained by the infection, Cezzum began to lose his grip on Gnarlfang and unbidden dread besieged his heart. A tremulous paralysis loosened his fingers. An effulgence pulsed on Gnarlfang, running through the fuller and into the blade’s hilt. The pernicious ribands dissolved and the goblin’s hand was returned to its former state. The Osi scowled at the twisted, loranic blade. Cezzum took the initiative of the momentary break in the duel.
Reaching inside his jerkin Cezzum swiftly pulled out the Crystal Heart. The sapphire-coloured heart beat vibrantly inside its translucent, protective orb. Its
energy was palpable to all those within the cavern. Bledun-Deorc charged at him. Only a trice more agile than the Osi, Cezzum managed to narrowly avoid being hoisted upon Sce’zad, but the move had thrown him off balance. Cezzum thrust Gnarlfang into the groin of a phagen that had attempted to cleave his arm that held the Crystal; a second foe, a goblin, that charged at his flank could not be countered. A pain rushed through Cezzum’s ribs and into his entirety as a dagger pierced his side, followed by a collision. The force dropped both he and his aggressor to the floor; the Heart rolled from his grip.
Fingers of shadow rose from the ground and clutched at the Orb when the Osi stood over it. His heel came crashing down. The orb remained unscathed; not a scratch blemished its surface. Sce’zad then fell upon the Heart and as before the orb remained vestal. The Osi’s fingers loomed over the Heart when a spear-like tail ripped through his belly. Viscous liquid smoked on Tac’quin’s tail, but the Blood-Lord displayed no sign of injury. He calmly reached his hand to his back and gripped the upper part of the dragon’s tail and extricated it from his body. With might, easily surpassing the strongest of pokroks, the Osi flung the weightless Tac’quin towards the edge of the chamber.
Tac’quin slammed into the wall; rock cracked and broke off in earnest annoyance at having its peace disturbed. Several of the dragon’s scales had cracked; it left neither a chink in its armour nor its resolve. Propelling itself off the wall, Tac’quin collided into a wyvern, skewering it with its tail and driving its talons deep into its underbelly. The intermingled form of the dragon and wyvern tumbled from the air and crashed with great force into the crowd of goblins and phagens, crushing many that were caught in the organic boulder. Tac’quin’s tail whipped out of the wyvern and impaled a goblin through the chest, turning him into a lifeless rag puppet that crumbled onto the cold stone. A wave of fire secured the dragon’s escape from its bloodthirsty foes and again Tac’quin ascended into the air. Yet to so little avail was all the death it had caused; several had fallen to the dragon, but the word had spread of their assault and for every one slain, five would take the place; exhaustion began to shackle the dragon.
The Good Goblin Page 33
