by Emmet Moss
“Not problem… yours!” the officer said in crude common tongue as he directed the two flanking brutes to pull Leoric upright. On occasion, the goblins of Lok’Dal hie resorted to speaking the common language as a way of making their displeasure clear to their captives.
“She is a child!” Leoric answered as calmly as possible. He could feel a rising tide of rage welling up within. The sight of Rosa sobbing and curled defensively into a tight ball served only to fuel his anger. “She was hungry. If you fed us well enough, you wouldn’t have this problem.”
“Food is lots… need no more, only for us!” the green skinned soldier replied menacingly. Grabbing a fist full of Leoric’s hair, the goblin pushed his head down near the young girl’s, “Next time, girl die.”
Uttering a series of sharp commands in the guttural goblin language, the patrol leader had Leoric abruptly dropped to the ground. He felt the cold stone floor against his face and could still hear Rosa crying at his side. Between wracking coughs, Leoric managed to roll over on to his back and reach out a hand to the young girl.
“Rosa? Are you alright? They’re gone, there’s nothing to worry about now,” he called out to her. After a long silence, Rosa turned and acknowledged his gentle ministrations.
“I’m sorry, Leoric,” she sobbed.
“Hush now. I know you were hungry; you just need to be careful about what you take from the stores. They know everything that our fields produce, down to the last carrot, it seems.”
“I’m so sorry!” Rosa wailed in return.
Leoric carefully cradled her in his strong arms and slid into a sitting position with his back to a large wooden crate. “Rosa, you must to listen to me. I need you to find help.”
“No, please, no! They’ll get me!” she cried. Leoric watched her collapse to the floor, her small body shaking fearfully.
“Rosa, listen. Find Angvald and bring him here. I need help to return home. I know you’re frightened, but I need you to be a brave girl. I need you to do this for me. Can you find help, Rosa?” he pleaded. His mind was already wandering, a dreadful pounding bringing flashes of darkness to his eyes. He felt like he may soon pass out, and with enough blood loss, his life would be in danger.
Encouraged, the girl stood up and brushed the dirt from her filthy dress. “I will get Bear for you, Leoric.”
Mustering a smile at the mention of the large Kaleenian, Leoric sent her away. Lying there alone, he reflected upon how drastically his life had changed.
Weeks earlier, he had looked upon a scene of such glory and wonder that he thought he was dreaming. There upon the edge of the cliff face, deep within the uncharted Wilds, Leoric looked down at a city that seemed to have been transplanted from the legends of old.
Built of some unknown purple-hued stone, the walls, towers, and buildings of Lok’Dal hie gleamed brightly in the sunlight. Thin spires, hundreds of spans high in the least, towered above ramparts that reached high above the fields and rivers of the surrounding countryside. Raised in a small town, Leoric was struck by the uncommon number of buildings reaching numerous stories into the air. In the north, only a rare few possessed the wealth and desire to build so lavishly, and yet here he bore witness to an entire opulent city.
Glenvale, the unofficial capital of the northern reaches of Old Caledun would have been swallowed whole had it been placed behind the enormous walls of Lok’Dal hie. The city itself was divided by three sets of walls, each one larger and more impressive than its predecessor. The buildings, Leoric noted as he scanned the incredible sight, also showed a marked increase in both size and detail. The closer he looked towards the center of the city, the more clearly defined were the distinctions between areas.
Cobblestone streets crisscrossed large open-air plazas while tall majestic trees and fountains added colour and variety. Attempting to decipher the maze-like roadways, Leoric could discern no immediate pattern, and yet he could not shake the feeling that the architects of such a magnificent design must surely have had reasons to build in this manner.
The architecture itself was unlike anything Leoric had ever seen. Even the smallest buildings were comprised of sweeping arches, intricately detailed columns, and large windows. Many of the taller towers were topped by long spires that stood rigid against the high winds, a feat that belied their frail appearance. The crafters of such a place had been masters of their trade, of that there remained little doubt. But how had a race of people Leoric had long considered savages, been the artisans of such an architectural wonder? Even Imlaris, the seat of power in the south, would pale in comparison to Lok’Dal hie.
In the center of it all was a castle perched upon a natural incline in the terrain. With an impressive array of towers and thick, purple stone walls, the city’s fortress appeared impregnable. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in the army that tried to assault this place’, Angvald had commented when joining him atop the cliff.
Apart from the formidable inner defenses, an outer wall of the same strange material surrounded the acres of cleared woodland that had been turned into farmer’s fields and irrigation canals. From his vantage point on the cliff, Leoric could discern small figures toiling the land, their bodies appearing as little more than tiny ants on the horizon.
Yet, however wondrous the city was, the sight below caused Leoric to shudder. He was afraid, very afraid. What hope could the remaining men of Darkenedge have against a people that lived in a city such as this? The fractured goblin tribes, now reunited, would sweep across the fortresses of the Iron Shield like a blistering winter wind; savage, brutal and merciless. How could his people have been so blind?
Shifting his body to alleviate a stabbing pain in his side, Leoric was desperate to walk those cobblestone roadways of the goblin city. Instead, he found himself toiling in the shadow of the great outer wall, guarded day and night by the captors he now loathed.
The surviving members of their small party had become farmers and miners. Their skills in the life they had left behind now playing a crucial role in determining their fate within the goblin work camps. After weeks of hard labour, Leoric now viewed the dreary compound as his new home. Having spent his youth on a farm, he had been selected with the other men and women who knew the trade to work the fields. Angvald, on the other hand, made a daily trek into the very cliff face of Lok’Dal hie to work as a labourer in one of the many mines dotting the massive precipice of stone.
“Leoric! By the gods, you have to stop doing this.”
With a wry grin, Leoric left behind his troubled thoughts and stared up at the big man from Kaleen. Angvald’s thick, braided beard bounced vigorously as he shook his head. With his dark burly hair like that of a rough pelt, it was easy to see why he was known by some as Bear. At his side stood Cara and Benoit, both wearing looks of concern.
“They were beating her, Angvald, a mere child!” he answered, accepting his friend’s hand. “I won’t stand for it.”
“You won’t be well enough to stand if things continue, Leoric,” Cara muttered, gently dabbing a wet cloth over the two fresh wounds on his face. Sadly, she possessed the same careworn expression of the other captives at the farm.
“They went easy this time. I think H’erok is beginning to take a liking to me,” Leoric joked.
“You’re a fool,” Cara replied with a frown. “A noble fool, but a fool nonetheless.”
“How’s Rosa?” he inquired as they crossed the field and headed towards the main farm house.
“Apart from the bruising, her mother says she’ll be fine. No telling what may have transpired had you not arrived,” answered Benoit as he slipped his shoulder under Leoric’s other arm to help support the injured man’s weight.
Benoit, his nervous twitches ever present, managed a weak smile as he gave the news. A scholar, and the only true pacifist among the prisoners, he was most troubled by the face of such wanton violence and brutality.
“
With all that she went through, that wee girl has shown that she has a warrior’s spirit,” Angvald added.
“She has yet to see her seventh summer, and it’s a wonder she isn’t dead. We all know the penalty for stealing,” Cara said.
“Leoric has paid the price for defending her,” Angvald commented. Pausing for a moment, the tall warrior studied Leoric’s battered body. “Never thought you were a pretty man in any case,” the Kaleenian bellowed.
Wincing due to his bruised ribs, Leoric joined the others in a rare bout of laughter, even though it was at his expense.
The men and women lived in two separate rooms of an old farmhouse in the makeshift labour camp. Although it had seen better days, remnants of the magnificent home still remained. Its enormous size was rare enough, as it could easily accommodate the thirty prisoners. A high sloping roof and curved tresses marked the unique design that struck Leoric as both beautiful and somewhat eerie. It was an uncomfortable feeling staring up at the ceiling and realizing that you now lived in a home where you did not belong. All of the owners of the building’s past were now lost in time.
The rest of the compound was a replica of a dozen similar camps, or so Angvald had been informed while working with in the mines. One large warehouse was used for storing the harvest, while a large farmhouse and a few smaller residences were reserved for goblin guards, child-bearing women, and favoured captives. The only source of water, other than the muddy streams and canals that dotted the land close the city, remained a large stone well at the center of the camp. The water was clean enough, somewhat brackish, and did not always quench the thirst.
After the grueling trek from Darkenedge, Leoric was thankful for every small thing, regardless of its simplicity or lackluster appearance. Each captive had two sets of frayed clothing and a worn pair of thick-soled boots. Even now, weeks into his stay near Lok’Dal hie, Leoric still suffered from numerous sores on his feet. Without the provided boots, he may not have been able to work and would likely have been moved from the farm.
The nights were terrible. In the darkness of the sleeping rooms, many would be lost in memories and far-off dreams of freedom. It was at night that the children cried softly, and even some of the men would shed silent tears in remembrance of lost loved ones. No one on this journey had arrived at the camp unscathed by tragedy.
Leoric struggled each evening with the demons of his past; the haunting memories of Alanna and his lost daughter, Maya. In the dark of the night, when he drifted on the edge between a veil of blissful sleep and the cruel waking world, he could imagine himself back at home. He would feel the presence of his family so near, so comforting… And yet as desperate as he might dream, he knew that that his past life was no longer real. He had lost everything and now he dreaded the long days and nights spent in the shadow of Lok’Dal hie.
To pass the time, many of the adults often congregated in the last common room in the house that remained unoccupied. Their goblin captors allowed some independence within the homestead, and nights spent dicing and talking amongst themselves alleviated some of the oppression and boredom.
Leoric usually joined Angvald, Cara, Benoit, and an older gentleman named Auric near the large fireplace. Of the three new faces, it was Auric who caught Leoric’s attention. The old man, balding on the top of his head, but with long wispy grey-hair down the sides, was dangerously emaciated. He revealed that he had been a captive of the goblins for well over a dozen years. Leoric was shocked that Auric could still muster the strength to rise each morning, knowing full well the drudgery that awaited. Yet the eccentric old man carried himself with steadfast confidence, and there was a surprising twinkle in his bright blue eyes. Although Auric refused to speak of his life before his capture, something lay hidden in those eyes that Leoric was determined to unlock.
“Another day done, another bruise to prove it,” Angvald cursed, sliding down the long wooden bench where they met each evening. The two friends spoke quietly of the workday, Angvald complaining bitterly about the back-breaking labour of the mines, while Leoric sympathized with him. Working outside, especially in the uncommonly mild temperatures of the deep Wilds, was nothing to complain about. Knowing full well he was one of the lucky men living in the relative comfort of the compound, Leoric always did his best to diffuse any talk about his bearable labour.
As Angvald related another story, one Leoric was sure he had heard countless times before, his attention was momentarily drawn to the front door. Accompanied by his ever-present entourage of camp bullies, in sauntered Joram Eldrin. The swarthy dark-haired man claimed his usual seat near the fire, a table routinely set aside for the uncouth ally of the goblins.
Upon their arrival, Leoric and Angvald had quickly assessed the influence Joram possessed in the camp. According to Cara, he had become a favourite of the goblin guards; a stooge that benefited greatly from those very connections. It was not uncommon to see Joram drunk on whatever spirits he had obtained from their wardens. Leoric could only guess at what cost such items were obtained. The simple fact that the man shared an entire residence with only a few of his thugs and their women stank of bribery. What information or services Joram provided remained a secret, but such favouritism would surely have come at a heavy price.
Within moments of sitting down, Joram was surrounded by a group of fawning admirers, as a man of his influence could offer protection and favours. He soon initiated his nightly game of dice. With few pleasures and amenities allowed within the walls of the house, dicing was always encouraged.
An hour passed, bringing with it full darkness. The days, Leoric noticed, seemed longer than in Darkenedge. It was yet another oddity of the Wilds, another in the increasingly long list of differences between this untamed region and that of the Iron Shield. At the front door, he watched as a small cluster of women arrived. In their midst, walked Kieri Greydale.
Once a citizen of Holdfast, a small village a few days travel north of his old fortress, Kieri carried herself with impressive poise and grace. Of average height with a slender and shapely frame, she possessed a dazzling smile. She worked in the same four fields that Leoric sweated over each day. The two had become friends, and behind her grey-eyed gaze lurked something that Leoric found captivating.
Kieri sent him a quick wave as she settled down on the bench beside Joram; he was intently following the dice and barely acknowledged her presence. Averting her eyes from Leoric’s, she nestled in closer to the camp scoundrel.
Leoric could do nothing but continue his stare. Her light brown hair, clipped neatly at her shoulders, bounced playfully around the contours of her face. Even from a distance, he could see a yellowish tinge near her left eye that darkened her otherwise pale skin tone. A momentary flutter of anger swept through him as he glanced towards Joram.
“Wipe the scowl off your face! Do it now if you want to stay among the living,” Angvald said in a low angry voice meant only for Leoric’s ears. “You keep stealing looks at the lass and I’ll start believing you have a death wish.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leoric replied sullenly.
“Bah! It’s as plain as day, you fool.” Angvald hissed. “Whenever you two are near one another, you wear your feelings out in the open.”
“She looks at me, as well,” Leoric commented. It was strange being drawn to a woman again. For longer than he cared to remember, he had remained faithful to the memory of his wife, lost to an illness he was powerless to combat. He had loved her dearly, just as he had loved his daughter.
“Aye, that she does, but she belongs to Joram, not you.”
“She doesn’t belong to anyone,” Leoric growled.
“I’m sorry, Leoric, but here in the compound, she most certainly does.” Pausing to take a sip of water from his glass, Angvald leaned in close. “How do you know that bruise she sports isn’t because of all of those looks?”
Irked by the implication, Leoric locke
d eyes with his friend. “Speak plainly, Angvald. If you have something to say, don’t play games with me.”
“Fine!” Angvald replied hotly. “We both know that Joram holds all the power here —”
“Through fear and intimidation —”
“The method matters little,” Angvald countered. “All that matters is that, in the case of our little society, Joram can make rules, but he can also break them. If he thinks for one minute that his woman desires the company of another man, he will kill her… or you.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Leoric scoffed.
“Why not?” the big man continued. “We’ve been here but a few weeks and already people have sought your help and attention. You’ve taken beatings for two children, however misguided those actions may have been, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
“I acted as I felt I needed to. In both those cases they w —”
“It doesn’t matter!” Angvald interrupted. “Sometimes I wonder how a man as humble and naïve as yourself could ever have survived this long,” the big man paused before continuing. “Leoric, if Joram sees you as a threat and if you don’t step lightly, you’ll soon be as lifeless as those we left in the Wilds.”
Leoric peered intently at the water that swirled in his mug. Accepting his friend’s tacit response to an argument that had become something of a nightly ritual these last few days, Angvald leaned back and carefully spread his large, calloused hands above the welcoming warmth of the fire.
Cara arrived shortly thereafter, her eyes were wet with tears as she approached the table. Following a step behind her, the wizened Auric’s gaze was also somber.
