by Emmet Moss
The confident gesture was all it took to break the stalemate. With a snarl, Joram motioned for his enforcer to gather up the now unconscious form of the fallen brute.
“You tell your friend that his infatuation with my woman is going to cost Kieri dearly. The next time I see him spending time with her, I won’t hesitate to kill both of them. Understood, foreigner?” Joram said.
“You best be watching your own back, Joram, lest you find a knife stuck in it,” Angvald replied with a dark smile.
“I’ll remember that. You too, should be wary of the company you keep. Speaking out against our masters may bring unpleasant consequences,” Joram threatened, walking off into the night with his small band of men.
Irked by the comments, Angvald lifted Leoric gently from the floor and ducked under his arm to better carry the weight.
“You can’t keep taking these beatings, friend. Pretty soon there’ll be nothing left of you to save.”
“I didn’t choose this battle,” Leoric muttered, wincing in pain.
“Oh? You weren’t speaking with Kieri the other night?” Angvald asked innocently.
“I just wish I knew how to save her,” Leoric replied sullenly.
“That’s the problem. A woman in that position needs to want saving before anyone can help her. She chooses to stay with him, whether it be out of fear or by choice, it matters little. She spends her evenings in his bed, and sadly she’ll pay the price,” Angvald paused. “You can’t save everyone, Leoric.”
“You look awful,” Auric commented, sitting down on the edge of Leoric’s bed. “Eat this. Benoit sent it for you.”
Smiling feebly despite the nagging pain in his ribs, Leoric accepted the bowl of soup. He thought about Benoit and how he always made certain that he ate well. Benoit was meticulous and selfless in his care for others at the camp.
“To be quite honest, Auric, I feel well enough to take on a nagging visitor if need be,” Leoric quipped.
After spending many a day working alongside Auric, there was one thing Leoric knew for certain; Auric was anything but normal. Never had he seen the man break a sweat, even after what seemed like endless hours of carrying crates and moving supplies. While working in the city, he had neither complained nor acted as if his wiry body was inadequate for the strenuous tasks at hand.
Auric chatted incessantly about the places he had been and things he had seen. He avoided, as always, divulging any information about his capture long ago. Never did he show any weariness, and never did he convey the weight of hardship he most assuredly bore. Only his weather-beaten skin, like worn leather, marked him for what he was — a slave who had lived the better part of his life in the shadow of Lok’Dal hie.
Leoric was still fascinated by the collection of texts the old man had unearthed in the hidden parts the city. While it was clear that the goblins were only visitors, and recent ones at that, clues pertaining to the builders were scarce. No paintings or drawings had been found, and even Angvald, a gifted linguist in his own right, had been unable to decipher the symbols inscribed on the ancient parchments.
Cara and Drake both maintained that only an elder race could have created such an architectural wonder, and not without the use of magic. The Gorimm, forgotten except in children’s stories and legends of old, seemed the only possible answer. Leoric kept his own suspicions private as he preferred to wait until more information was gathered before passing judgment. At the moment, the small group of friends could only speculate about the origin of the majestic city.
“How was your latest trip?” Leoric asked, taking a spoonful of the hot soup.
“Having Joram’s goons along for the ride is like sleeping with scorpions,” Auric grunted. “I got away late one night, but didn’t find anything new.”
“And the maps?”
“I still have them stowed away in the tower. It’s too dangerous to keep them here in camp. One unlucky break with the guards and we’d be discovered.” Auric replied.
“Any chance you could get Angvald or Ben to join you on your next visit?” Leoric asked.
Auric paused before answering. “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. Joram already knows we spend much of our free time together. It would be best to deflect his suspicions by inviting someone else.”
The divisions in the camp had finally risen to the surface. Many silent witnesses to Leoric’s abduction now realized the consequences of defying the ruffians who enjoyed intimidating others with their brutality. There were only two options: support the newcomers who questioned the unwritten laws of the camp, or stay quiet, do nothing, and suffer no harm. Leoric had seen it all before. Those faced with difficult choices, more often than not, succumbed to the path of least resistance.
And so, stalwart allies drifted away from the group and avoided them publicly. Even Merias and Drake’s fiery speeches had only really stirred the pot without bringing it to a boil. There was order to Joram’s brutality, and with many a captive having lost so much, their grief led them astray.
“It makes sense, but either way you’ll have to be careful,” Leoric commented.
“Aye, it’s getting harder every day to find people you can trust,” Auric agreed.
“Any news about Kieri?” Leoric asked, doing his best to keep his voice low.
Auric sympathetically tapped Leoric’s leg. “I’m sorry, but she hasn’t been seen these last few days. I’m sure she’s alright,” he added unconvincingly.
Leoric knew what it was to feel the pangs of guilt and dealt with them as best he could. He had learned to live with the loss of his wife, and in some significant way, that made Kieri’s unknown fate easier to handle.
“Warmer weather’s on the way,” Auric’s comment broke the uncomfortable silence.
“How long?” Leoric asked.
“It’s damnably hard to tell whether it’s really summer or winter! This place has always been upside down when it comes to the weather. My best guess puts us close, maybe even two weeks away from springtime,” Auric replied.
“We make our break for it then,” Leoric decided.
“I didn’t live this long just to see it all go to waste on the impertinence and impatience of youth, lad,” Auric glared at his bedridden charge. “When the time is right we’ll make our move, and not a moment before.”
“I know you’ve been here a long time, Auric, but we must go. The north must be warned of Lok’Dal hie. If the Iron Shield is caught unaware by the goblins now marshalled and ready to flood to the border forts, the lands of the Northern Council will fall soon after.”
“I’ll be fine, Leoric,” Auric answered. “I only need time to prepare myself.”
Annoyed by the old man’s response, Leoric studied his companion. The lined and wrinkled face betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts. Auric knew how to hide what he was thinking, and no scrutiny, however dedicated, was able to pierce his defenses.
Leoric desperately wanted to know what motivation Auric might have in returning to a world that had forgotten him, a world that fought itself as often as the goblins had warred among their own tribes.
And yet they are the savages…
The compound was rudely awakened by the trilling peal of a goblin horn. Every man, woman, and child knew instantly what the sound heralded — a muster. With muttered curses, the inhabitants of the camp straggled out towards the front of the central farmhouse.
Leoric helped corral a few of the smaller children towards the front of the lines. The goblins demanded each child remain seated while the adults were counted. As he helped young Rosa find her place, he could hear the whispered comments of the nearby prisoners. Glancing towards the clearing where the goblin guards were set up for the census, he frowned at what he saw.
A full squad of goblins had arrived, each one dressed in full armour and staring defiantly at the prisoners. Worried, Leoric hushed the children and took
his place in line with Cara and Angvald at his side.
“Something’s brewing,” he whispered.
“Aye, this is no usual count,” Cara agreed, her voice barely audible.
“I’ve got a fairly good grasp of their damned language by now. I’ll try and make things out once that one starts talking,” Angvald added.
The goblin in question was thick-bodied and bore several profuse scars crisscrossing his large chest and arms. This was no raw recruit, and it was apparent that he had seen many battles. His coarse hair, usually dirty silver for most goblins, had gone grey, denoting an age and experience unseen among the other captors.
Leoric frantically scanned the crowd for Kieri. It had been more than three days since he, or anyone for that matter, had seen any sign of her. Joram had used his influence to somehow keep her away from the fields and chores. Leoric was convinced that she could be hurt, or worse.
“There she is,” Angvald noted, catching Leoric’s anticipatory looks. “To the left, behind Joram.”
Time slowed and the farm took on an otherworldly appearance as Leoric turned his head to follow the big Kaleenian’s direction. The movement stretched on and his head moved at an agonizingly slow pace.
Kieri could do nothing to hide her bruised appearance. Trailing obediently behind Joram, she had an obvious limp. A sudden onset of rage flashed in Leoric’s eyes, and only Angvald’s iron clad grasp held him in check. She remained downcast as she struggled across the yard, taking her place behind Ealston.
Joram walked forward and bowed to the goblin commander. As Leoric had seen others do in the city, he watched as the man dropped to his knees and subjugated himself, his forehead touching the ground.
“Why is Joram out there?” Benoit whispered from behind. “This doesn’t bode well.”
Wondering the same thing, Leoric understood that Kieri’s plight could only be dealt with later, once his emotions had calmed and his thinking cleared. For the moment, he too was worried at the confident manner in which Joram approached the aged goblin.
“Loriak shi na eden Portiak a fira orid ibn Gorann!” the commander yelled, looking out over the assembly.
“Loriak, son of Lord Portiak, has come to visit the dogs of his people,” Angvald did his best to translate. Joram remained prostrate as the imposing figure swept his hand over the congregation and continued in his native tongue.
“Dogs… bite the hand… provides for them. They can be leashed and controlled but still… they yearn for freedom! Show me the savage dogs!” Angvald continued to follow the speech with some difficulty.
Joram rose at that moment and pointed at two of the men standing in the front row. A loud gasp came from the assembled captives, one laced with shock and anger. Merias and Drake had both turned pale as the guards called for calm.
“By the all the gods, no!” Leoric cursed. “He wouldn’t!”
“I think he has,” Angvald replied woefully.
The goblin soldiers reacted quickly and dragged the two men forward, violently throwing their trembling bodies to the earth. Merias bent his head in sorrowful defeat as he caught Joram’s mocking smile. Drake rose defiantly to his feet and stood stoically in front of the goblin elder.
“Riak na,” the disfigured goblin said, meeting Drake’s stern gaze.
In one smooth motion, one of the guard’s stepped forward, drew a curved dagger from his belt, and slashed the prisoner’s throat. Without a sound, Drake’s knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground, blood pouring freely from his neck.
“Noooo!” Cara wailed. She tried to run forward, but was blocked by Leoric’s outstretched arm. Many in the crowd cried out in dismay. Drake had been well respected and loved in the camp.
“If they mark you as one of his friends, you will die today, Cara. There’ll be time to grieve and be with him once they are gone,” Leoric said calmly. Joram was once again brazenly displaying the power he held.
They must laugh as they watch us kill each other while remaining broken and fractious, Leoric thought. We do their work for them by hating one another.
Merias, who had spoken so passionately in the common room about freedom and unity, was now on his knees before the row of guards. He turned back to look at his friends and then suddenly launched himself towards the goblin leader.
Surprised, Leoric watched the man actually wrap his hands, the hard, calloused hands of one who has toiled all of his life in the fields, around the creature’s thick neck. The warrior reacted with incredible speed, chopping both hands away with a downward thrust and burying a dagger in the attacker’s breast.
As Merias fell forward, he tried to clutch the weapon that lay buried up to the hilt next to his heart. Moments later he was dead, his blood already mingling with that of his fallen friend.
The commander calmly dusted himself off, readjusted his weapons, and spoke one last time before turning away from the prisoners. If he had been shaken by the ferocity of the sudden attack, he showed no weakness in front of his soldiers or the human prisoners.
“If you want to die, then I will grant your wish. If you want to live, be obedient dogs,” Angvald interpreted, shaking his head slowly. “Oh no…”
“What is it?” Cara asked worriedly. It wasn’t often that Angvald spoke in such a tone.
Ignoring her question, the big man started to usher the children back behind the front line. “Get the children away,” he said urgently. “They don’t need to see this.”
“See what?” someone asked.
“By thee ancestors, just do as I say!” Angvald cursed.
It soon became clear why Angvald had reacted so harshly. The goblin soldiers descended upon the fallen bodies of Merias and Drake with a repulsive zeal. With children wailing and many in the crowd openly weeping, they hacked apart the flesh of two good men so as to leave nothing left to remember them by.
Orders were then given stating that the bloody pieces were to be left alone. To touch them was punishable by death.
Without a sound, the prisoners of the farm walked numbly back to their camp houses.
Later that night, Leoric sat quietly with Cara. She had been close to Drake and had finally left the site of his death after much prodding from Benoit.
Nagging doubts about Kieri’s safety crept into Leoric’s troubled mind. He was still deep in thought when Angvald joined him after spending a while calming the children before they slept.
His friend sat down heavily at his side and remained quiet for what seemed like a long time. Finally, the bearded man spoke with words that carried honest conviction.
“Alright, Leoric, something must be done. But let’s be smart about it,” Angvald’s dark stare was brimming with violence. “I want no one else to die because of that bastard.”
A broken line, our dusty roads,
‘ere I see you once again.
Where once I placed my feet,
My home, hearth, love, and life.
Lost to me, darkness evermore,
came the march of the Wood.
—Talos Weaver ‘Telmire’
Chapter XXVI
Old Telmire, Aeldenwood
With a hesitant hand, Alessan crouched down and brushed aside a small patch of dark earth covering a pattern etched in the stone courtyard of Telmire’s old keep.
“Master Praxxus! Come look at this!” He waved excitedly.
With an exasperated smile, Corian joined him and looked down at the tiles. The faint outline of a broadsword clutched tightly in the paws of a lion was barely visible. Below the animal were three roses, a tint of red still noticeable in the worn design.
“The Black Lion of the House of Avagon,” Corian nodded. “The crest of the founding house of Farraine and of the city itself. Without a doubt we stand in the courtyard of Rose Keep. It’s said the gardens were made up of every type and colour of flower, a
nd the beauty of the grounds were once rivalled by none in the whole of Kal Maran.”
“What happened?” Alessan questioned.
“To the House of Avagon? Well that is a sad story, if it be true,” Corian fretted. “The histories maintain that the last heir to that noble line died in the years after the Shattering of Kingdoms.”
Alessan gave the merchant a puzzled look. “I thought the Shattering only concerned Caledun? Farraine was a separate kingdom, was it not?”
“Aye, you speak truth,” Corian nodded. “But although Farraine was independent, its ties to the High King’s throne, at least at that time, were very strong. Some scholars contend that the sons of Avagon paid with their lives for harbouring many of the noble fugitives and descendants of the High King’s blood. But you can’t always put stock in what those stuffy old scholars write.”
Alessan’s thoughts slipped back to that morning. After the heavy downpour had subsided to a light but steady drizzle, they had picked their way through the deserted streets of the ruined city. While passing numerous shops and homes, they had decided to venture into only a few of the dilapidated buildings. Sagging floors and weakened supports were far too common, and both men preferred to push on towards their real goal — the keep.
The two men had said little to one another after their heated conversation the previous evening. Still wracked by a sense of guilt over the biting comments he had launched towards his benefactor, Alessan left the door open several times for Corian in an effort to bridge the uncomfortable silence between them. It was to no avail. The powerful merchant from Innes Vale was in no mood for conversation. Speaking only in brief insipid sentences, the big man seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. So it was with great relief that Alessan listened to the man’s recounting of the history of the place.
