“What am I to do?” Gravlox asked, still looking at his hands more than anything.
“Lady Scrapple wishes you to head south. A very tentative alliance has been formed between the goblins and a powerful, ancient necromancer. Go to Reikall, that is where you will find him. I cannot guarantee your safety though, for the robed man you captured and killed earlier was the necromancer’s son, sent to be a spy among the humans.” Yael drew his sword as he spoke, tossing it to the ground at Gravlox’s feet. “You may need a new weapon when you get to Reikall. Try to salvage what alliance you can with the necromancer. We need him. Lady Scrapple needs him. All goblins need him. For whatever reason, our mother determined that Vorst’s life was worth more than the life of the necromancer’s son and possibly the alliance.”
Gravlox could hardly believe the words he was hearing. Yael started to march his warband out of the small clearing, leaving the looted remnants of the human squad scattered about the grass and upturned dirt. “I will use these drones to keep the humans busy. This necromancer with which Lady Scrapple has entangled us captured the human’s leader, their beloved King Lucius. We cannot be sure what will become of him, especially now, but war is brewing between our races.”
Vorst was sitting up by then, looking at Gravlox, trying to gauge his reaction. “We are the children of fire, the heroes born of the sacred mountain,” she said, her voice small and riddled with pain. “Will you rise to the challenge, Grav? Will you travel through the immense forest to the far away kingdom of Reikall with me?”
“Limitless,” Gravlox muttered, nodding his head.
***
IN A DARK cave a hundred feet below the elaborate guild house, Keturah waited impatiently. Her delicate foot tapped, the sole of her slipper rapidly clicking against the wet stone of the chamber. The cave was completely lightless, a black dome devoid of torches at the very depths of the extensive cave system beneath all of Talonrend.
Keturah’s footfalls echoed off the walls of the empty cavern, a hollow sound accompanied by the slow dripping of water somewhere in the distance. The woman paced back and forth, her gloved hands running through her long hair. A delicate lace band was wrapped tightly about her head, fully covering the woman’s lovely green eyes. The thin white fabric, commonly referred to as moonlace, illuminated the sight of the wearer so long as the darkness itself was not magically imbued.
The tall guild master used her magically enhanced vision to look about the cavern, trying to discern the slightest ripple in the air that would indicate the arrival of her overdue guest. At the back of the chamber, the stagnant air finally began to shimmer and swirl. Keturah walked quickly to the spot, enacting a minor enchantment to protect herself from the heat of the teleportation.
The air began to split as if invisible hands were pulling it apart like a thick curtain. A tiny scarlet bead of magical energy appeared on the floor and slowly rose toward the ceiling. The orb passed through the air with a crackle, surrounding Keturah with magical heat.
As the portal opened, it offered a stunning view of the other side. The portal connected to the top of a high castle tower, far to the south. The panoramic view of the wasteland beneath the stone tower was breathtaking. Plumes of acrid smoke danced with the charred rain of brimstone and hellfire that covered the kingdom of Reikall. Burnt frames of farmhouses and stables dotted the countryside like lonely tombstones standing guard in an empty cemetery. The smoke billowing up from great fissures in the ground was laced with toxic poison, suffocating what little flora remained in the dead kingdom.
A man walked into view of the portal, dressed in simple clothing with a heavy cloth bandana covering his mouth. With a smile, Keturah reached her hand through the red portal, welcoming the tingling sensation of spatial dislocation that shocked her body. The man on top of the tower touched her own, using it to balance himself as he took a small step that moved him over a hundred miles in a heartbeat. The portal stayed open, continuing to swirl and shimmer in the dark air of the cavern, displaying a constant background of fiery carnage.
“Well met, fair sister Keturah,” the man said with a grin.
“You’re late, brother,” was all that Keturah said in response. Her scowl showed clearly how little she tolerated tardiness.
“How fares our intrigue with the crown?” the man asked, trying his best to ignore Keturah’s frown.
“Darius is a persistent bastard,” Keturah sneered with a shake of her head. “I had to show him our goblin associates outside of Cobblestreet. He only sent one man to find the king, some long forgotten paladin. I have Taurnil out as well, a more capable hero by far.”
“You showed him the goblins, the ones who killed my son? I will flay the skin from their bones myself if I ever see those two.” He spat as he spoke, wondering how a pair of goblins could have killed his own child; even a fledgling magician should have been able to deal with a pair of goblin scouts. “No matter, I have other sons. Any child of mine who cannot defend himself against two goblins is not worthy to inherit the kingdom I am building. How much did you tell Darius? I always believed our plan to rely on the element of surprise, a unified strike to quickly overwhelm the city.”
Keturah wondered in the back of her mind just how much the ties of family meant to her brother. “I haven’t spoken to the goblins in some time, but I believe they will understand this latest development. The plan has changed slightly, not in concept but perhaps in timing. If I can instill enough fear in Herod, he will issue a call to arms and send forth the army. With the Vrysinoch Guard deployed to the field against our goblin allies, your own army will meet little resistance inside the city. Darius’ tenacity might work in our favor, dear brother.”
“I have never liked that little whelp. He goes on and on about honor and valor, things that have no place in the proper scheme of leadership. The king should be the most powerful man in the realm, not just the one lucky enough to have been born a prince.”
“Or the most powerful woman, brother,” Keturah laughed. “Do not forget our agreement. Reikall is yours, as it already is. Talonrend will bend its weary knees to me. I wish to rule over a kingdom of living subjects, not a scarred land of mindless undead.” Keturah let her gaze fall again on the ruin of Reikall visible through the rippling portal. Something about all that fire and sulfur was appealing, she thought, picturing Talonrend suffering from equal destruction.
As if reading her thoughts, the tyrant of Reikall smiled. “Yes, the intoxicating aroma of death appeals to everyone, whether they admit it or not. So, if we can get the goblins to assemble an army in the field, we are certain that Darius will send the Vrysinoch Guard to meet it? I like the sound of that plan. You always find ways to please me, sister.”
“Yes, well, the only problem remains with Herod. No matter how much Darius begs the king to dispatch the army, Herod will likely wait, evacuating the villages along the Clawflow to the safety of his high walls. The prince will not assume the throne until he sees his brother’s bloody corpse. According to the priests, only the rightful king can dispatch the holy army of Vrysinoch. Our prince is so weak that he would never go against the priests lest he lose favor with the city. We can prevent Herod from evacuating the villages by downplaying the goblin presence. With any luck, we can force Herod to move the army out of the city when our own machinations have come to fruition.”
“Yes, Herod is a tricky one. He will not produce an heir of his own and he will not sit on that damned seat himself. I have been trying for months to get him or anyone to claim himself as king. Without a king, the army will never leave the city. If he recalls the villagers and does not meet the goblin army head on, our plan may fail. Now that Darius has seen our little friends, he will surely begin to ready the city’s own defenses. I do not want to waste a hundred thousand of my soldiers just to get ten of them over the walls.” The man’s tone was stern, leaving no room for debate on the topic.
“I understand, brother,” Keturah said, her eyes still scanning the destruction of Reikal
l. “We will not move until every piece is precisely in place. Taurnil should have no trouble dispatching the two goblin scouts, which will ease the fears of the villagers. Once they are pacified, I will have the goblin army move from their mountain lair and march north, assembling quickly in the field, a force that will demand the entire attention of Talonrend. With the villagers so vulnerable, Herod will have no choice but to move the Vrysinoch Guard out of the city, whether he has the approval of the priests or not.”
“It would certainly be easier if Herod would just accept that fact that he is the king. If that were the case, the priests would demand that he send the army to war, not prevent it.” He let out a long sigh, frustrated that the tenacious guard captain was impeding his plan. I trust that you have already instructed Taurnil to kill the paladin that is at this moment heading for my borders?”
“Why certainly, brother,” Keturah responded, the ghostly echo behind her voice filling the dark chamber with confident laughter. “That poor paladin is likely lying dead in the field at this very moment.”
“Good,” the man said with a nod, “I don’t want anyone wandering into my kingdom uninvited.”
Keturah noticed a fresh spray of blood on her brother’s shirt and harrumphed. “You’ve been recruiting more troops, I take it?” she said, pointing out the small splatter. “You warlocks use such barbaric methods of coercion.”
The man smiled, inspecting the blood stain. “How many times have I told you, Keturah? I am no simple warlock. A warlock is but an average wizard who prefers a darker taint on his magic. A powerful necromancer such as myself creates the very essence of undeath. I have an entire kingdom of perfectly obedient undead thralls at my command!” He lifted his hands above his head, sending a narrow bolt of dark grey fire leaping from one open palm to the other. The small ball of energy congealed in his left hand, slowly taking the shape of an eyeless creature about the size of a dog with long, black claws like a jungle cat and festering wounds covering its hide.
Yawning, the beast took life, moving its sightless head about the air, its jagged teeth dripping with black saliva. In one fluid motion, the necromancer broke the beast in half, releasing a wave of magical energy much larger than the one that had created it. With a snap of his finger, Keturah’s brother absorbed the energy into his hands, leaving no evidence that the small creature ever existed.
“Power begets power,” he said with a grin.
Keturah could only watch then as he stepped back through the portal and left. The cave darkened as the portal closed, leaving her standing in the dark. “Goodbye, Jan,” she said as she began the spell that would return her to her chambers in the guild hall above.
LATER THAT DAY, just after nightfall, Darius sat behind his large desk in the center of the barracks that housed the Talonrend city guards. His familiar sword sat on the desk next to a stack of leather bound books, one of which was opened to a list of names. Candles and torches hung on wall sconces around the stone room but Darius was alone.
“I cannot bother the prince with this goblin nonsense until I am sure it is more than just a simple pair of creatures sent to scout,” he mused aloud. He had been sitting behind the desk since dawn, looking through ledgers that were filled with the names and ranks of each soldier serving in the guard. Another book, much smaller than the one open before him, held the identities of all the guards that had attended the king on his journey.
“There is too much coincidence here…” he pushed through more pages, running his fingers over the names. “Why would two lone goblins appear outside the city where the king disappeared?” Darius mindlessly flipped his feather pen into the air, trying to play it all out in his head.
A cricket began to chirp somewhere in the room, breaking the man’s concentration. “Someone has to be cooperating with either the goblins or whatever kidnapped the king! Goblins do not target royalty and they certainly do not hold hostages for ransom!” he yelled, more to hear himself say it than for any real gain. Darius had been thinking that very thought since the moment Keturah had shown the goblins to him.
It can’t be the goblins, they are too dim-witted to formulate complex plans with other races, Darius thought, tossing his weighted pen from one hand to the other as he stared into the flames of the candle on his desk.
The guard captain scanned through the names on the page for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. “Someone has to be on the inside, someone! Kings do not simply vanish and goblins do not simply appear when kings vanish.” Darius knew every name on the list of guards personally. He had recruited each and every soldier himself. As far as he knew, they were men loyal to the throne to their last breath.
“Maybe it was just a simple coincidence…” Darius said, closing the book with a thud. “Maybe these two goblins got lost or separated from their tribe and wandered near the village.” Darius knew in the back of his mind that a mere coincidence was not the case. He regretted not taking more action when the king had first gone missing.
The guard captain had sent a search party out, of course, but no word has been heard from them either. I should have sent runners to every single village, sent a dozen search parties in every direction. This all could have been avoided.
He spun his sword around idly on his desk as he thought. Where would the king have gone? Why would he leave his caravan? Not paying much attention to his actions, the tip of Darius’ short sword bumped into his inkwell, knocking it to the floor where it shattered.
“Ugh…” Darius mumbled as he bent over to collect the broken glass. It wasn’t the first time he had knocked over an inkwell.
His hands full of inky, black glass, it took the man a moment to notice that the stones of the floor were stained with some other than his mess. Blood was dripping onto the hard rock just a few feet from where the inkwell had shattered.
“What on earth…” his voice trailed off as his gaze locked on the growing pool of crimson blood. Slowly, his eyes followed the dripping up to the high stone ceiling of the barracks. “Lieutenant!” he barked, hoping that someone would hear him and come to his aid. “Guards!” he shouted, unable to take his eyes from the black pool of shadows on the ceiling. “Anyone!” came the final ring of his panicked voice.
Darius crouched on the floor by his desk, his hands covered in ink and broken glass, and knew that he was about to die. The tight collection of shadows on the ceiling was darker than it should have been, darker than the darkest night Darius had ever seen. His jaw tightened. His stomach tensed.
Slowly, the shadows began to move. Darius stood and reached for his sword, bits of glass biting into his hand as they were crushed against the hilt. He lifted the weapon in front of his chest and set his feet solidly underneath him. Fear rattled his mind and confused his senses.
Two ragged wings stretched forth from the abyssal darkness. Blood dripped from vicious wounds the beast had recently received. Its powerful claws dug into the stone, holding his body firm as it turned its head to glare at the man.
“Taurnil,” Darius said, defiantly. He locked stares with the awful creature. His own blood began to run down his arm from the shards of glass tearing open his flesh.
“Darius,” the monster hissed back at him. Taurnil’s mouth was full of jagged teeth and his three long tongues licked the air with anticipation.
“This is where it ends,” Darius said with a slight moment of resolve. “At least now I know what happened to my king. I welcome this reaping, that I may join Lucius in Vrysinoch’s paradise.” His eyes never left Taurnil’s black orbs as the winged demon let go of the ceiling and charged.
The ragged wings beat the air with ferocity, blowing loose sheaves of paper from the desk onto the floor. Darius tried to mount a valiant last defense, but he was quickly overwhelmed. The strong beast held every advantage and Darius’ feeble sword was easily slapped from his grip. Black ink splattered the demon’s face, only adding to the terror the pale monster evoked.
Three tongues latched onto the captain’s
forehead and face, oozing vile poison into the man’s body. Darius struggled under the powerful grip of the monster, trying to get enough room to stab. His struggle was brief. The poison coursed through his veins, turning his innards to nothing more than smoldering ash. Darius’ body shuddered twice and then went limp in Taurnil’s arms.
One scything sweep of his massive claw severed the captain’s head from his shoulders. The bloody captain hit the stone floor in two pieces with a wet thud, like a thick leather boot being pulled out of mud.
Taurnil took a step back before letting the rest of the body slide from his powerful arms. The beast smiled. He walked to the head, staring at it for a long while before bending down and lifting the bloody lump from the stone. “So this is what an honorable man looks like,” Taurnil hissed, inspecting the disembodied head.
He kicked Darius’ sword across the room where it clanged against the wall. “I fight without your useless steel, without your cowardly armor, and yet I have never fallen to a human in single combat.” Taurnil turned the head over in his hands, inspecting every inch of it. “Perhaps it is not tools your species lacks, but courage.”
Taurnil remembered the two goblins that had bested him at Cobblestreet. “That goblin loved its companion and would have gladly sacrificed itself for another,” he said to the head, looking again into Darius’ dead eyes. With a smirk, Taurnil nudged the bloody corpse with his naked foot.
“No,” he hissed through a smile of jagged teeth, “I have never been weak enough to feel such primal emotion. That is not what makes someone strong. True power can only come from the abyss, and I am its chosen avatar, the singular paragon of might in this world and all others.” Taurnil lifted off from the stone floor and exited the barracks through a broken window set high in the stone.
The beast met its master in the dark of night behind the artificer’s guild hall. Casually, Taurnil tossed the head to the ground at Keturah’s feet like he was throwing a coin to a beggar. “Behold your captain,” he hissed.
The Goblin Wars Part One Page 9
