by Pirateaba
Snapjaw. She was one of the Goblin Lord’s top lieutenants. Her teeth were a product of her class—some kind of fusion of enamel and steel. She grinned at Osthia and pointed to the Goblin smithy proudly.
“Goblin Lord see. Drakes hammer metal. Bang bang. Goblin Lord watch. He copy. Now we have armor.”
Her voice was rough, and her words heavily accented. But she could speak the common tongue. Osthia narrowed her eyes and her tail lashed the ground as she looked at Snapjaw.
“Stolen armor, you mean. You can’t forge it yourself. All you can do is repair the armor you loot.”
The Hobgoblin woman looked at Osthia blankly.
“True. Take armor off dead. Fastest. Not enough time to make armor out of rocks. You stop staring now.”
“Why? Afraid I’ll bother the Goblins?”
“No. Goblin Lord wants. You come.”
Snapjaw pointed vaguely behind her. Osthia held her ground. She resented being ordered.
“And if I’m busy?”
“You don’t come and I bite.”
The Hob grinned at Osthia, her teeth glinting in the daylight. The Drake stared into her crimson eyes for a moment and then nodded grudgingly. Snapjaw looked vaguely disappointed, but lead Osthia through the camp at a quick walk.
As they moved, Osthia looked around. The smithy was already packing up; the Goblins were preparing to disassemble the camp. It was another day of marching. She wished she knew where they were going; she had no landmarks to guide her in the Human lands, but she knew they were heading north. The Goblin Lord had marched past Liscor, past Esthelm, and away from every major city. North. Why?
She might get an answer today. Osthia squared her shoulders and her wings tensed against their metal bindings as Snapjaw walked towards the heart of the camp. It had been nearly a week since the Goblin Lord had summoned her last. She had to memorize everything. Every clue, everything he said—
It was all she could do.
—-
The Goblin Lord’s tent mocked her every time she saw it. It was the former command tent of Thrissiam Blackwing, and it served the same purpose it had when the Drake [General] had been alive. Only now Goblins stood around it, black-armored Hobgoblins who looked at Osthia with unfriendly glances. She returned the looks.
“Open up. Got Drake.”
Snapjaw swaggered up to the front, grinning her unsettling grin at one of the Hobs. He shifted and replied again, in the common tongue.
“Goblin Lord talking. Meeting.”
Osthia saw Snapjaw glance at her, and the Hob nodded. She walked into the tent and the Hob barred Osthia from following her. She stared at the Hob and the fat Goblin stared down at her. He had a halberd in his hands, clearly looted, but he looked like he could use it.
It bothered her how many Goblins had learned to speak in common. No, it bothered her how much they’d copied an actual army. They didn’t salute and their military structure was haphazard, but Osthia could see Goblin soldiers training in ranks from where she stood. Goblins. Training. It chilled her to see.
Osthia was a [Captain], and she’d graduated from the Pallass military academy with high marks. She understood the threats each species represented, and Goblins were ranked low as a general threat. However, that came with a huge condition that their numbers were regularly kept low by destroying tribes. If they were allowed to grow in numbers, Goblins quickly became a threat on par with the Antinium or Humans. In the worst case of a Goblin King, they were ranked as a threat that could pose a danger to multiple continents.
One of the reasons Goblins weren’t a threat when there wasn’t a Goblin King was that they were disorganized. Only when Goblin Lords brought them together in numbers would they actually be a danger to cities. If they actually became a proper army on top of that—
The voices coming from the Goblin Lord’s tent grew louder. Osthia stepped back as the tent flaps opened and a huge, gigantic Hob emerged. He was seven feet tall and instead of fat, his body looked like a solid wall of muscle. This Goblin was another of the Goblin Lord’s foremost commanders. As far as Osthia could tell, his name was Eater Of Spears. She eyed his massive jaws. Eater of Spears looked down at Osthia but said nothing. He walked past her without a second glance, striding into the camp.
She’d never heard him speak. Osthia stared after his back, her eyes narrowed into slits. She could…probably take him. Not with a sword or spear obviously, but if she spat acid—
At the thought, Osthia felt a trickle of the corrosive bile spilling into her mouth from the glands in her throat, ready to be sprayed out. That was the one thing the Goblins couldn’t restrain, and the reason why the Hobs were looking at her so warily.
Actually, they could put a muzzle on her, but the Goblin Lord had forbidden it. He’d offered Osthia a trade. She could walk around mostly free save for her wings and bindings on her wings. If she did melt anyone with her acid breath attack, he’d cut out her tongue and all of her claws.
It was still tempting. Osthia looked over her shoulder and saw more of the Goblin Lords’ lieutenants filing out. Snapjaw, two Goblin [Necromancers], the Goblin known as Blacktide who rode a huge Shield Spider and commanded a horde of spiders himself, a Goblin with no face…
They were all former Chieftains, all Goblins who lead thousands of their kin into battle. Osthia stared at each one, memorizing their faces. When the Goblin Lord’s army was slain she would hunt them down herself. They couldn’t be allowed to live.
The Goblin lieutenants stared at Osthia as they passed. Some laughed at her, others watched her warily. However, none were afraid of her. They did not fear what she represented, the might of a Walled City, or the promise of vengeance. They drew strength from their ruler.
Yes, when Goblins were mere tribes they were easy to handle. But when a Goblin Lord emerged they became an army. And each Goblin Lord was dangerous. They were all the equivalents of high-level [Generals]. And this one…Osthia saw the Hob guards holding open the tent flap and gesturing at her. She took a deep breath and stepped into the tent.
The Goblin Lord was waiting for her. He stood over a table with a map on it, looking downwards and not at her. For a second, Osthia thought he was staring at someone else. Her uncle. Then the Goblin Lord looked up and she realized his armor was black and his eyes were midnight, with white pupils. She clenched her jaw and her tail thrashed as she walked into the tent.
“Blackwing.”
The Goblin Lord greeted Osthia with interest, staring at her with his unnatural pupils, appraising her with a glance. He was looking at a map of northern Izril. Osthia recognized it. It had belonged to her uncle. She nearly lunged at the Goblin Lord right then, but held herself back.
“What do you want with me?”
“Everything.”
He grinned at her. The Goblin Lord was neither heavy nor tall. He was the size of the average Human, not built like a warrior. And he wasn’t. He was a [Mage] and wore robes rather than steel. Osthia shifted, thinking she could break his neck if only she had a moment—
But he was a Hob. And his control over magic was immense. She had seen him resurrect hundreds of bodies at the same time, and create black bolts of magic that consumed the life of everything they touched. The Goblin Lord watched Osthia as she circled the table around him.
“Cannot kill. Cannot run. Is good you are not causing trouble. But if you are frustrated, attack me and not my people.”
She jumped as he stared at her. How had he—? She saw his eyes appraising her from head to tail and turned her head away, scowling.
It was a peculiarity of the Goblin Lord. He didn’t seem to need truth spells to tell when she was lying. And he was uncannily good at guessing her thoughts from her posture. Yes, that was his nature. He was a thief. The Goblin Lord has stolen all the ideas that made up his army, from the way he organized the camp and drilled his soldiers to the secrets of smithing. And if it was just that he wouldn’t be terrifying. But the Goblin Lord was a master among thieves in his own way. He stole just b
y looking.
“What do you want?”
Osthia repeated the question, staring around the tent. The Goblin Lord kept his personal tent mostly empty. He had no personal effects, none of the gristly trophies or magical tools she would have expected of a [Necromancer]. There was only a cot to sleep in, a trunk that might have held his belongings, scrolls, books on a table, the map, and, strangely, a vase with a flower sticking out of it. Osthia blinked.
It was just a wildflower, yellow with delicate petals. The Goblin Lord saw her looking and smiled.
“A gift.”
“Whose?”
“A child. He offered it to me when I healed his wounds with a potion. Gift for gift.”
The Goblin Lord smiled at the flower. Osthia stared at him blankly. The Goblin Lord shifted his black gaze to her and then his smile was a memory. He pointed at the map.
“We are approaching a city. A large one.”
“Does it have a name?”
“The Origin of Seeking Death.”
The Goblin Lord saw Osthia’s blank look and shook his head.
“That is Goblin name for it. It is called…Invrisil to others.”
He pointed at the map. Osthia blinked as she realized where they must be. Invrisil? They had travelled much further than she’d thought if they were approaching that city! But why would he attack there? It was one of the biggest Human cities, and sure to be defended. Unless he had a plan? The Goblin Lord watched her reaction carefully.
“The City of Adventurers. We know it. Many strong warriors live there. But adventurers. Not an army. Not a Drake city. Can it be taken?”
Osthia didn’t know. Invrisil was a city famous for its population of high-level adventurers, but it wasn’t fortified like Drake cities. It had an army and wealth, but if the Goblin Lord’s army swept in, could the adventurers make up for a lack of numbers? She didn’t want to answer either way.
Unfortunately, the Goblin Lord needed no answers. He grinned at her.
“You don’t know.”
“There are countless Gold-rank adventurers in the city. Sometimes Named Adventurers. If you want to try it while Human armies sweep in and attack you from every side—”
“You don’t know. But you fear I could do it. Which means there is a chance.”
Osthia bit her tongue and shut up. She tried to keep her tail still as possible. It was always like this. The Goblin Lord spoke and she spoke—sometimes shouted—but he always seemed to come away with far more than she did. Now he turned back to the map and frowned at it.
“Strong city. Rich city. But not well-protected. Could take. But what if I said Humans were gathering an army?”
He glanced up and again Osthia went still.
“An army? How many soldiers are in the army? Who’s leading it?”
“Tens of thousands of soldiers. Forty? Sixty? Goblin scouts say many. Big army. Big as mine, without undead.”
Osthia looked away as the gears churned in her head. An army of that size should be superior to the Goblin Lord’s, especially if it fought defensively. Add in Gold-rank adventurers conscripted to defend the city…but without a [General], their army would be at a disadvantage—
She could refuse to speak, but she couldn’t turn off her mind. The Goblin Lord nodded as if Osthia had said it all out loud.
“Not good to attack. But army is too small to do anything but defend. Good appraisal. What my officers thought, too.”
He traced a curve around the city. Osthia glared daggers at him. The Goblin Lord stared at her, and then turned his head. He stared across his tent, towards the cot on his bed. There was a small scroll there. It was some kind of specialized [Message] spell. Osthia had only seen him use it once. To contact Az’kerash. A shadow fell across the Goblin Lord’s face and he looked at Osthia.
“Tell me more about him. The one who calls himself my master.”
So it had come to this. Osthia sighed. Every time the Goblin Lord summoned her he eventually asked the same question. And the problem was that Osthia had very little she could tell him. Granted, Az’kerash was the only topic she’d willingly advise the Goblin Lord on. But her knowledge on the Necromancer was…spotty at best.
“I’ve told you all I can remember. The Necromancer is famous. He lived on Terandria and was expelled from Wistram hundreds of years ago—”
“Yes. And is famous. But you know little of him. Famous is not important?”
The Goblin Lord interrupted, frowning at Osthia. She lashed her tail on the ground as she replied.
“Famous isn’t important if you’re dead. And we thought he was! I studied his actions of the Second Antinium Wars from a military perspective, not to understand how he thought!”
“So you know nothing more? Not why he attacked the Humans, not how he gained his powers? Not why he was expelled from this Wistram?”
When he put it like that, Osthia felt embarrassed. She tried to fold her arms, remembered she was manacled, and glared.
“No. He was—is—was—a Human. We don’t memorize their histories. If you want to learn more, read a book. If you can read, that is.”
“A book?”
The Goblin Lord looked sharply at Osthia and she bit her tongue. But the Creler was out of the bag and it probably couldn’t hurt. She nodded reluctantly.
“There is a book about him. Well, about the Antinium Wars, actually. It was written about both wars. The Necromancer is mentioned in the second war. If you want to read about him…go find a book.”
“Hm. A book. What is it called?”
Osthia shrugged.
“The History of the Antinium Wars, I think. Sometimes it’s in two parts, but most copies have both parts in them. If you want to learn about Az’kerash outside of finding some kind of Terandrian history book, that’s your only option.”
The Goblin Lord eyed Osthia for a few seconds and then nodded.
“Book. Good. I will see if it is found. I have several already.”
He turned and pointed to the table in his tent. Osthia saw six books, all worn, sitting together. Her heart jumped painfully as she recognized one of the books. The Triumph of Scales. It was a classic military book. This particular copy had been Thrissiam’s. She turned hostile eyes towards the Goblin Lord and then realized what he was implying.
“You can read?”
The Goblin standing over the tables shrugged as if it was natural. Which it wasn’t. Not all Drakes knew how to read more than basic words and numbers—of course, literacy was universal in the largest Drake cities, but in villages and towns? How had he learned it?
“I knew how to read before the Necromancer found me. It is why he took interest in me.”
“How? And why did he want you?”
It was a question the Goblin Lord refused to answer every time Osthia asked it. Again, he dodged it, peering at the map and smoothing a corner on the table.
“I taught myself. Before and after he trained me. He gave me spellbooks. Scrolls. I read more and more and learned from what I read. Now I read all I find. I would have more, but when my army loots cities, they forget books. Food is more important. And swords.”
He looked up at Osthia and tilted his head.
“What other books do you know of? Books on strategy? War?”
Osthia changed the subject quickly. She pointed at the map.
“Is the Necromancer ordering you to attack Invrisil? Is that why you summoned me here?”
He tilted his head at her and seemed to ponder the question. At last, he shook his head.
“No orders. Death, destruction, chaos. Not names. Not attacking Invrisil anyways. Going around. To this mountain.”
He pointed to the map. Osthia walked closer and saw he was pointing to a lone mountain northeast of Invrisil. It was a ways away, but clearly he’d have to pass by Invrisil to get there or take a long detour. Still…why that mountain? She stared at him.
“Is there something important in that mountain?”
“Yes. Goblins.”
He smiled at her surprise. The Goblin Lord walked around the table and Osthia backed up. He wasn’t afraid of her—he had a ring that could combat her acid breath and he might be as strong as she was physically. Still, the proximity to him made her want to try and—she walked back as he spoke.
“I need more Goblins. More tribes. And there are more past Invrisil. One is in mountains. The other…close by. I will have them join my army.”
“How do you know?”
The Goblin shrugged.
“I can sense them. Other Chieftains. Other Goblin Lords, too. Bright. In the distance like…lights.”
The Goblin Lord reached out, his claws touching for something invisible. Osthia shivered. Other Goblin Lords? Impossible! Unless they were hiding? Maybe in the deep jungles of Baleros—or Chandrar? It was possible they could be anywhere, in the mountains, in caves…Goblins lived in almost every climate. But Goblin Lords?
“Where are these other Goblin Lords?”
The Drake tried to keep her voice casual. The Goblin Lord stared into the distance and shook his head.
“Cannot tell. Too far. Only know two…three Chieftains close here. More distant. And many, many more further away. Across oceans…no Goblin Lords on this continent. Just I. And I am brightest.”
“Brightest? What, do you mean strongest?”
That would have reassured Osthia, but the Goblin Lord shook his head.
“No. Others are…dimmer. Do not call other Goblins loudly. May be strong, may not. But they do not say ‘come here’. Other Goblins cannot sense. But I? I shout. And all hear, although all do not obey.”
That made no sense to Osthia. Shining? Dimmer? It was probably a Goblin thing. But if he could sense the others, that confirmed at least one theory about their kind. She filed the information as well as the knowledge of other Goblin Lords away in her mind and stared at the Goblin Lord.
“If you think the Humans will just let you march around the city, you’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
The Goblin Lord looked at Osthia, tilting his head from side to side. She bit her tongue and he laughed.
“You don’t know. A Drake [Soldier] and you don’t know so much. That knowledge tells me much. What you know and don’t know. So. Come. We are moving. Around Invrisil. You come as we march.”
