by Pirateaba
“I won’t lie, Lady Rie, there’s no way out for us. I could try opening a window and making a break for it, but the Goblins would catch us before we went half a yard. As for holding here—we don’t have the manpower for it.”
She nodded and tried to laugh lightly.
“I suppose I should have hired that Silver-rank team like you’d always advised me, shouldn’t I, Geram?”
He smiled back. Someone screamed and his head turned. It was only a servant, seeing a Goblin’s face pressed against one of the windows. He shook his head.
“Three Silver-rank teams wouldn’t have made a difference, milady. But here.”
He offered her the dagger again. Rie stared at it.
“For me? I’m sure I’ll fight my best Geram, but I’m no warrior. If there’s someone who can use it better—”
“We’re all armed, milady. No. This is for the last.”
Geram’s bald head was sweating. He looked into Rie’s eyes.
“I’ll die fighting, with a Goblin’s throat in my hands. But milady, the Goblins are known to capture—that is, take prisoner women and—”
Lady Rie’s face paled further. Geram hastily raised a hand in case she fainted, but she caught herself.
“I see. I understand Geram, but that won’t be necessary.”
“But Lady Rie—”
She drew something out of her pocket with trembling hands. Geram stared at the viscous orange liquid within. Rie smiled bitterly.
“We all have plans for the end, Geram. In this case, this poison will kill me quicker than any dagger. And better, it will poison my body. If I am to die, I will make sure any…indignities…are repaid in kind.”
The bald man looked at Rie and smiled. He offered her a hand and Rie took it as if she were being led onto the dance floor at a ball. The two proceeded towards the barricade. Heads turned to follow them as they walked. Geram lowered his head towards her as he walked.
“It has been an honor to serve you, my lady. I was nothing until I met you.”
Rie whispered.
“Nonsense. You were always worthy. Now. It is time.”
The doors were splintering. The Hobs roared as they smashed the battering ram into it again and again. The magic wards were failing. Rie turned and raised her voice. It could hardly be heard above the shrieking of the Goblins just outside, or the pounding at the doors, but still her words reached each one of her servants.
“Ladies, gentlemen, this is it. The end. I am afraid we will die here. Perhaps horribly. And that is our fate.”
They stared at her. Lady Rie’s chin lifted. The shaking in her knees stopped.
“Did you expect otherwise? No. I did not. No matter how much we beg or plead, there is no mercy here. This is Izril. Here we fight and live and die without respite, all of us. Life is a battle. We use words like knives and fight with politics and swords. None of us are ever safe, and it is an illusion to say otherwise.”
She paused. A thundering roar came from outside. Rie closed her eyes, and then opened them. She looked each of her servants in the face.
“But remember this. We will be avenged. Because that is Izril as well. We repay death with death. These Goblins may win today, but they will not celebrate long. We will be avenged. Remember that, and sell your lives wisely—”
“Milady!”
Nesor’s voice, desperate and shrill. Rie closed her eyes. He had lost his grip, the poor child. She opened her mouth, tried to speak over him.
“Remember that! Do not give the Goblins any quarter—”
“Milady Rie!”
“Silence!”
Geram roared at the young [Mage]. He strode over to Nesor, and froze as the [Mage] pointed out the window. He stared. Rie turned, aware that something was happening.
“What’s going on? Nesor? Geram?”
No one answered her. Rie strode over to one of the windows. Her first impression was a heaving sea of green bodies, but then her eyes focused on something in the distance. They widened.
“What on earth…?”
There was another sound. Rie turned left and saw Nesor falling backwards. His eyes were flickering and she saw the telltale signs of an incoming [Message] spell. He gasped and she rushed over to him.
“What is it?”
“It’s—a [Message]. To you. Lady Rie. It says—says—”
Nesor was a poor [Mage], unable to process [Message] spells like an experienced spellcaster. Normally Rie didn’t care, but at the moment she couldn’t bear to wait. She shook him impatiently.
“Well? Out with it!”
The young man choked. Geram pulled Rie back, and then Nesor’s head rose. He spoke slowly, each word ringing in the sudden silence outside.
“Lady Rie. I thank you for your gift. Though it is humble, I seek to return the favor. In this dire hour, I offer you the gift of swords.”
Slowly, Rie’s head rose. She looked back towards the window and all the pieces fell into place. She walked towards the windows, and saw the army, shining as it marched towards the Goblins. She breathed the words slowly.
“Emperor Laken.”
—-
An army halts within range of the mansion. I have to pause when I see the numbers. Over a hundred—two hundred Goblins. And so many Hobs! And one of them is a powerful spellcaster.
It’s a force that could swallow Riverfarm whole. Far greater than the last one we faced or any since. And normally I wouldn’t dare risk my army fighting them. But it’s not just my army here.
Wiskeria gallops her horse forwards. Her voice is a shout that echoes as Goblins break away from pounding on the mansion’s doors and stream towards us.
“[Archers], aim! Hold, hold I said! Wait for them to draw nearer. Cavalry, on my signal! Infantry brace!”
A hundred bows rise at her order. A hundred. Or more. I didn’t count. They’re not our bowmen, not just ours, at any rate. No, they’re [Guardsmen], retired [Hunters], warriors, even a few adventurers. From each town and village we could reach. And not just them. Rows of armored [Warriors] brace themselves in a line while mounted warriors line up. They’re carrying banners, and Beniar’s voice raises with Wiskeria’s. He trots them left as the Goblins approach.
“Loose!”
A shower of arrows shoots upwards. Goblins scream and race towards us, some returning fire. Bodies jerk and tumble downwards. The Hobs are charging from the front. I see Durene standing tall, her shield and club in hand.
I’m at the back. I raise my hand as I hear a rumbling growl next to me. The Mossbear roars as the Goblins stream at us.
“Wait. Not yet. Wait…”
Wiskeria is shouting.
“Loose!”
Another flight. Now Beniar’s cavalry circles the Goblins, searching for their flanks. I see the Goblin [Shaman] dancing, casting huge jets of fire at the riders, burning them. From our midst, several robed figures with wands loose spells at the [Shaman].
And then they’re here. The Goblins charge into our ranks. Wiskeria turns and points. The soldiers surge forwards. My hand tightens on the Mossbear’s fur for a second.
“Go!”
He roars and charges forwards. Durene is trading blows with a Hob, and I stand, watching the battle in my mind’s eye. It’s all hazy. The markers are barely working. But I’m waiting. Wiskeria shouts my name.
“Laken! Now!”
“Kneel.”
My words break across the Goblins as Beniar charges in to their midst. Some fall to their knees. Others just hesitate. The soldiers cut down the hesitating Goblins and charge forwards. I stand where I am.
An army. Over four hundred soldiers all told, including our forces. A levy. I stare towards the mansion where Lady Rie lives, a hazy shape in my mind’s eye. Is it worth the cost? Is it worth the dying men and women around me? I don’t know. But the Goblins are a threat. And so I raise my finger.
The [Shaman] is laughing; blocking spells with one hand and shooting globs of acid that melt the soldiers fighting aro
und me. Wiskeria is blasting Hobs with lighting, and the archer’s arrows swerve before they reach the [Shaman]. I point at the laughing Goblin and speak into his ears.
“Look this way.”
He does. His head turns towards me and his attention wavers. I see him frown, then turn his head, eyes widening. Too late. Beniar rushes towards him and leaps from his horse. My [Cataphract], my [Captain], impales the [Shaman] with his sword and falls to the ground, hacking at the Goblin. I stand as the bloodbath continues. I am Laken, and this is my war.
I can sense each soldier that falls. I heard them screaming. Some beg for life, others curse the Goblins as they die. Others die silent, surprised. But never alone.
I hear them all. And I do not ask them for more. Not today. The battle is won. The Goblins, outnumbered, fight to the last. The Hobs do terrible damage to my forces, but they do die. I watch them fall.
And when it’s over, I meet Lady Rie. She says not a word, but walks out of her mansion, face pale, blood soaking the hems of her dress. Near the end I saw the doors open and her servants and personal guard rush out. They fought well, especially the bald man in armor.
She says not a word as she approaches me. I stand as the Mossbear whuffs and licks at an open cut on its side. Durene sits next to me, covered in blood, injured and alive. I walk over to Lady Rie, wondering what I should say.
She says nothing. As I approach, she drops to her knees in the muck and blood. I stare at her, and see the bald man and the young man in robes drop to their knees beside her. Lady Rie lowers her head. I watch her kneel, and sense the other soldiers around me doing the same. I look around.
The other soldiers kneel. A disparate group, soldiers and retired warriors, fathers and mothers and retired veterans from different homes. People who know this land, who rose up at a chance to defend it. It was nothing special, what I did. I proposed an alliance, offered them a chance to fight as one. Anyone could have done it.
But I did it. And now they kneel to me. And some shout my name.
“Laken! Emperor Laken!”
“The Unseen Emperor!”
“The Emperor of Beasts!”
That last one is new. I glance backwards and sense the Mossbear licking Durene’s arm. I have to smile. It’s a story, and I’m a bad actor in it. But I’m slowly learning my lines. Because this is what I have to do. The road’s been set and I have to walk down it.
I am Laken, and it’s begun.
My empire.
[Emperor Level 19!]
[Skill – Imperial Levy obtained!]
[Skill – Empire: Blacksky Riders obtained!]
4.36 O
Of all the inns in Liscor, it was fair to say the Tailless Thief run by Peslas was without dispute the best. No other inn had the same quality of food prepared by a [Cook] with [Advanced Cooking] and other Skills, or a high-level [Innkeeper], or the advantageous placement that Peslas’ inn enjoyed. So Olesm would agree it was the best inn. Within Liscor, of course.
But he was growing sick of it. It wasn’t just that Peslas was an intolerant old egghead in Olesm’s opinion, or that he missed another, younger, more intelligent and certainly more attractive [Innkeeper]. No, it was the drinking.
Peslas’ inn served Drakes of all colors, and it was a Drake-themed establishment. That meant that spirits manufactured by Drakes were served almost exclusively, although it had to be said that Peslas had a very nice store of wines from around the world.
However, it was a Drake custom to have a shot of the fiery spirits they loved to brew before anything else. Even wine. The burning sensation added to the following experience of drinking wine, or so it was claimed.
Personally, Olesm didn’t particularly enjoy the alcohol that had made Izril famous. The Drakes’ signature Firebreath Whiskey for instance had the same reputation as the Drake species that made it. It was offensive, hard to tolerate in large doses, and usually the prelude to the fight if imbibed too heavily.
But it was a purely Drake drink, and so every time Wall Lord Ilvriss went drinking, Olesm would have to down at least a shot or two of it. He’d grown to associate Peslas’ inn with such drinking experiences, and so hated it.
“Another round, Peslas! And fill young Swifttail’s glass. Don’t be stingy! Everyone who drinks tonight does so on my coin. A Lord of the Wall from Salazsar treats his brethren away from home with due respect! Never let it be said otherwise!”
Olesm groaned as he sat around the full table of Drakes and heard the cheer go up. It was predicted of course; Ilvriss had been here last night, and the night before that, and Peslas’ inn was packed.
“Here you are, sir. And for you, Olesm.”
Peslas himself bustled over with a refill. Olesm glumly watched as the glowing orange liquid was splashed generously into his mug. He turned and raised it to the Drake in armor sitting two places away from him.
“Your health, sir.”
“And to you, young Swifttail!”
Wall Lord Ilvriss raised his mug and drank down the fiery liquid, not stopping until he’d drained the mug to cheers from the officers, mages, and other members of his personal escort. Other Drakes, officials in the city or influential individuals, tried to emulate the Lord of the Wall with mixed results.
Olesm drank more slowly, gulping down the spirits and cursing Peslas for filling his mug so high. He got half of it down in the end and Ilvriss slapped his back, laughing heartily.
“A fine attempt! We’ll have to teach you to drink properly while I’m still here, Olesm! A [Tactician] should be able to drink with his commanding officer, especially if he’s to rise through the ranks. And I fully expect you to in due time. A young prodigy at my table! It reminds me of when I was young.”
“You’re too kind.”
Olesm murmured and tried not to rub at his shoulder. He sat next to a high-level [Lieutenant] as Ilvriss began recounting one of the tales of when he’d been young. The other Drakes leaned forwards, laughing and interjecting comments or questions. Olesm tried to look interested and died a bit inside. It was always like this.
He hated being here, hated having to drink with the Wall Lord—just past breakfast for goodness sake! But, and here was the tricky bit, it was a real honor to be invited to such a gathering. Olesm wouldn’t have been allowed near this table if Ilvriss hadn’t requested him sit with him. Yes, it was an honor. Because Ilvriss liked Olesm.
As the son he’d never had. Or perhaps as the student to whatever Ilvriss was mentoring. Maybe the Wall Lord was just bored, but after a few meetings with Liscor’s council, the Lord of the Wall had begun inviting Olesm to spend more time with him in Liscor. He seemed interested, pleased with Olesm’s ideas and what he termed ‘youthful invigorations’.
Ilvriss had taken Olesm under his tail, and as such, Olesm was often forced to go drinking with the Wall Lord and his personal retinue, or listen to long conversations about politics or the good days when the damned Ants weren’t here, Drakes were Drakes, and the Humans were nearly ready to crumble because they were cowardly fleshbags.
Despite the aforementioned honor of being invited, Olesm still might have dared to avoid such gatherings for his own health, if he weren’t under strict orders to the contrary.
It had been explained to him very thoroughly. Part of his job—rather, his real job—was to keep the Wall Lord happy while he was staying in Liscor. Due to the presence of the Goblin Lord’s armies, it was impossible to assure his safe return to his home city. In fact, Hawk, the lone Courier in Liscor, refused to try and make the trip.
Olesm personally thought that was a bit cowardly of the Rabbit Beastkin. Hawk was a Courier, and Olesm knew for a fact that his levels and Skills would probably allow him to survive any encounter on the roads, even if he ran straight into a raiding army of Goblins.
But that was Couriers for you. Some were cautious, and others were brave to the point of suicidal. Hawk was pragmatic. He’d seen both a Wall Lord and General Shivertail himself suffer defeat at the hand of the Goblin
Lord, and after that, the destruction of two Drake armies. True, General Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss hadn’t been prepared and their armies had both been worn down from tearing each other to shreds, but the Courier didn’t want to risk his ears.
So Ilvriss was stuck and antsy with it. He’d already gone out twice and slaughtered one of the Hollowstone Deceivers—the Rock Crabs as Erin termed them—and wiped out a number of Shield Spider nests. When he wasn’t consulting with his various allies and contacts via [Message] spell or taking part in one of the innumerable strategy meetings going on in Liscor, he was here. Drinking.
The Drakes around the table roared with laughter as Ilvriss said something that might have been funny and Olesm tried to pretend he’d been listening. Inside he writhed in agony.
All Olesm wanted to do was go back to the Wandering Inn and sit there, drink something, and have a tasty snack while he played chess with Erin. He longed for that, those fleeting moments he kept in his memories. They had been simpler times.
But he couldn’t now, although he wanted to. Olesm knew it would be impossible to get Ilvriss to shift his daily drinking session there because Erin didn’t stock Firebreath Whiskey, she wasn’t a Drake, and she was now hosting Hobgoblins in her inn. Olesm would have dearly loved to know what had possessed Erin, but the upshot was that he’d probably get Ilvriss to agree to chop off his own tail before the Drake agreed to drink under the same roof as a living Goblin.
What a mess. Olesm traced on the table with one of his claws, devoting one earhole to Ilvriss’ account of his first battle. Erin really was in it this time. Watch Captain Zevara was furious and everyone was talking about how stupid she was for taking in Goblins. No one was willing to visit Erin’s inn to get to Celum at the moment. Olesm sighed. He wondered if Erin would go out of business if she didn’t kick the Goblins out. Why were they here, anyways?
More complications. It really had been better before, when Erin’s inn was small and Olesm could walk in and have a chat with her without someone interrupting. But those days were gone, and Goblins were ruining everything for everyone.
