The Goblin Wars Part Two: Death of a King

by Stuart Thaman

  Asterion groaned and spat with discomfort from the back of another horse. Their hands had been tied behind their backs, and nooses hung loosely from their necks, the other end of which was tied firmly around the waist of a minotaur. If they tried to jump, the speed of the horses would likely snap their necks. Gideon mumbled a short prayer to Vrysinoch, but heard nothing in return.

  The group rode for nearly an hour, heading north into the snowy mountains. When they finally stopped, Gideon could hear a stream rushing by and felt a heavy blanket of snow settling over his shoulders. The cold was stifling and threatened to break his concentration. He couldn’t understand what the minotaurs were saying, but a newcomer had joined them. He focused on the new creature’s peculiar voice, lacking all of the gruff and guttural qualities of the minotaurs. Whatever new being it was, the voice bore an unmistakable air of command that reminded Gideon of a pompous human aristocrat.

  After a few moments of discussion, Gideon and Asterion were picked up by the shoulders and carried into a cave where their blindfolds were removed. Pacing casually in front of them, a strange half-orc tossed his staff from hand to hand. “What are you doing in my mountains?” the half-orc demanded with perfect command of the human language.

  Hearing the green-skinned creature speak his language so comfortably set Gideon back on his heels. “We…” the paladin stammered, “we were... looking for threats to Talonrend,” Gideon finished with sadness in his heart.

  The half-orc laughed and tossed Nevidal, still sheathed, from one hand to the other. “Where is your army, puny human? You may have slain one of my pets, no small feat I assure you, but that does not make you capable of killing us all!” The half-orc tossed his head back and loosed another wild cackle as the minotaurs tightened their grips on their weapons.

  Gideon grimaced when the half-orc wrapped his thin fingers around Nevidal’s hilt. The paladin could feel those smooth fingers touching his weapon and the sensation made him sick.

  “Oh?” the half-orc said inquisitively, taking a step closer. “A prized family heirloom, perhaps?” The half-orc could read Gideon’s trepidation, but misunderstood its source. He jerked his hand back on the hilt, but the blade did not move.

  “You cannot draw it!” Gideon growled through clenched teeth. Watching someone touch his sacred weapon was the vilest torture that Gideon could imagine.

  The half-orc yanked harder on the hilt and brought Gideon to his knees with a wave of sickening nausea. Undrakk clutched Nevidal’s hilt with both hands and swung the weapon in a wide arc, attempting to fling the sheath away. Much to the half-orc’s dismay, the blade and sheath were like a single piece of uncut stone. With a growl of rage unfitting for a creature previously so calm and controlling, the half-orc threw the sword with all of his might against the cavern wall. Nevidal clanged against the rock and fell to the ground not far from Gideon’s feet.

  “What sorcery is this?” the half-orc screamed, overcome by frustration and anger. “Where did you get that blade? Where did you steal it?” Undrakk charged in at Gideon and threatened to strike him, but the stoic paladin stood his ground.

  Gideon’s stomach settled and he felt a wave of familiarity ease his mind. Nevidal was so close he could taste the divine magic seeping from the weapon, begging to be used. “That is my sword,” Gideon explained flatly. “Only I can draw my sword.” He closed his eyes as he spoke and envisioned Nevidal burning in his hands, cutting the half-orc to ribbons. The fully armored minotaurs standing around the edges of the cave could sense Gideon’s calm. They licked their lips and took a slow step backward, preparing to charge into battle.

  Undrakk had every confidence that if a fight broke out, he could obliterate the two captives as well as the minotaurs in the cave, but something about the human’s posture and sense of calm made him hold back. Dismissing the bound prisoners with a wave of his hand, Undrakk spun on his heel and marched out of the cavern. For a moment, he thought about taking the magical sword with him as he exited, but he wanted nothing more to do with that bizarre artifact. “Kill them,” the half-orc remarked casually over his shoulder in the rough minotaur language.

  “WE COULD TRACK them,” Vorst wondered aloud as she paced the frosted ground. “If they stop to camp or return to where they live, we would eventually catch up to them,” she muttered. Her eyes followed the deep tracks in the dirt. The horse prints were smaller and more rounded compared to the deep impressions left by the minotaurs.

  Vorst stood in front of the dead minotaur and stared into its lifeless eyes. Slumped against the tree as it was, the beast’s torso and head rose several inches above Vorst’s standing height. The minotaur’s armor was made from thick plates of dull steel connected by leather straps at the joints. The helmet, painted with red streaks in the pattern of lightning, had a vertical slit bisecting it that ended in clasps at the top and bottom. Vorst flicked apart the clasps and the helmet split in two, falling to the ground on either side of the corpse.

  Vorst expected to see a feral snarl frozen on the dead creature’s hairy face, but instead the minotaur appeared calm in death. Its eyes stared ahead blankly and a thin layer of frost was building up on its bushy eyebrows. “I wonder if something controls them, too…” Vorst whispered as a shudder ran down her spine. She turned from the corpse and looked to Gravlox, but the shaman paid her no attention.

  Gravlox felt the weight of the enchanted circlet resting firmly between his large ears. Each time he donned the magical relic, it fit more perfectly, as though it was adapting to Gravlox’s body and becoming part of his magical self. Gideon felt something out there, the shaman remembered as he gazed toward the west.

  Not wanting to break his concentration, Vorst sat down a few paces from the dead minotaur and rubbed her enchanted walking stick in her hands for warmth. During her years as an assassin in Kanebullar Mountain, she had studied human sources of magic as much as she could. What little knowledge the goblins had been able to compile regarding holy magic told her Gravlox’s shamanistic abilities were entirely separated from Gideon’s powers. What one of them could feel or sense, the other could not. Gravlox drew his strength from the elements of the earth and the air, the natural things that surrounded him. Gideon channeled his strength from an otherworldly being he worshiped as a god.

  Gravlox focused his energy and sent his magical consciousness soaring out over the trees and foothills. He remembered what Gideon’s magical presence had felt like, a towering beacon of burning rage that threatened to consume anything that wandered too close. That had been when Gideon had been under the effects of Nevidal, the strongest magical enchantment Gravlox had ever witnessed.

  His mind searched and scoured the bleak emptiness of the foothills for miles around. Gravlox tried desperately to find some hint of the spark that had jolted Gideon from his sleep the day before. The shaman stretched his magical senses further than he ever had before, pushing his mind to the limit of his capabilities. Suddenly, like a candle lit in the utter darkness of a goblin mineshaft, Gravlox found something.

  His mind reached and clawed, trying desperately to latch onto the magical energy he felt some ten miles away. The small fleck of golden light shimmered and danced, but did not waver. With one final burst of energy, Gravlox drove his magical senses directly into the light. His mind was forcefully and instantly repelled. So sudden was the severance of his body from his magical consciousness that it left Gravlox panting on his knees. Several errant wisps of steam rose from the shaman’s head and back as he struggled to fill his lungs with air.

  “What did you see?” Vorst asked tentatively. Doubt filled her voice. Everything she knew about human and goblin magic told her that the two could not mix. Shamanistic magic was as different from a paladin’s prayer as her body was from the minotaur corpse lying a few feet to her right.

  “I think it was a paladin,” Gravlox huffed breathlessly. “It reminded me of Gideon, the first time our minds met.”

  “What if it was another shaman?” Vorst asked as sh
e climbed to her feet. “It could be an orc, a minotaur, or even another goblin,” she stated.

  “No,” Gravlox stated with finality as he turned to regard her. “It was a paladin, just like Gideon.” The shaman shook his weary head and cleared his mind. “We set out at once.”

  “WHAT SHOULD WE do?” Asterion whispered. His hands were tied tightly behind his back with a thick rope his frail body could not hope to break. The four minotaurs left in the cave drew their weapons and began to approach.

  Gideon called out with his mind to Nevidal, resting on the hard stone only an arm’s length away. He could feel the blade, sense the magic stored within, but possessed no means to summon it to his hand. A gentle prayer to Vrysinoch broke through the paladin’s lips and joined the words that Asterion was chanting a few feet away.

  “Do something!” Gideon shouted when one of the minotaurs took a lazy swing at his chest with a spiked mace. He easily sidestepped the attack, but had nowhere to run. If his attackers had been human, he would have considered ramming one of them with his head and sprinting out of the cave. To head butt a minotaur would be suicide, and Gideon knew even with his hands free he would have a hard time wrestling one of the huge beasts to the ground.

  Asterion summoned all of his faith and beckoned to his winged god, attempting to conjure a sphere of fire before him, but his entreating call was in vain. No searing ray of magma shot up from the cave floor. No blinding orb of light descended from the heavens to explode with a violent crash of divine power. Asterion’s prayers went unanswered.

  “Perhaps…” The old man said as he narrowly dodged a half-hearted swing of an axe, “this is where we die.” The minotaurs marched slowly toward the two humans, swinging their weapons out wide and herding the pair into a small corner of the cave. Only meager strands of light penetrated the falling snow outside the cave entrance and the hulking warriors blocked out most of it with their massive frames. Asterion let the growing darkness wash over him and made no attempt to block the next attack.

  The priest let out a pained grunt as the steel axe head cut a gash across his right shoulder. The minotaurs toyed with them and laughed, poking and prodding with their weapons without inflicting any life-threatening injuries.

  Gideon’s rage boiled. He bore the sacred mark of Vrysinoch! The paladin cursed his god as he ducked under a slow moving mace. His back was against the wall and his right arm brushed up against Asterion’s left.

  One of the minotaurs took a step forward and swung his axe down fiercely, aiming for Asterion’s wrinkled head. Gideon waited until the last possible moment before shoving the old priest to the ground and deflecting the blow with his armored sleeve. The axe hit the ground with a resounding clang and Gideon stomped his foot down hard on the haft. The weapon, designed for a creature several feet taller than a human and far more muscled, was constructed entirely of steel and almost five feet in length.

  Gideon planted his foot down firmly on the back of the axe head and jerked forward, startling the minotaur and making him hesitate. A heavy spiked mace struck Gideon in the back and tore several lines of flesh from his body, but Gideon’s concentration was too great.

  He kicked off of the axe head with one foot and planted his other foot firmly on the weapon’s handle. Confused and off balance, the minotaur howled and ducked his head, attempting to gore open Gideon’s chest. Without hesitation, Gideon vaulted over the lowered head of the beast and arched his back so that his bound hands caught the minotaur under his chin. The armored minotaur stumbled backward and tried to keep his footing with Gideon throwing all of his weight forward to choke the unfortunate creature. One of the other minotaurs turned from Asterion to swing at the paladin, but the attack was clumsy and rushed. The blade only drew a thin line of blood from Gideon’s forearm.

  Gideon flexed his muscled body and felt the minotaur flail against his back. Thinking only of self-preservation, the gasping minotaur drew a small dagger from his belt and cut the rope from his neck, freeing Gideon’s hands.

  In one deft maneuver, Gideon rolled to his left and plucked Nevidal from the cave floor. He came up on one knee and smiled as the four minotaurs backed away, one of them gasping for air. Nevidal rang against its sheath as Gideon drew his sword.

  His muscles tightened in anticipation for the rush of raw energy that the blade usually released. Instead of relishing the overwhelming flood of Nevidal’s magical enchantment, Gideon felt nothing. The blade, still razor sharp and deadly, released no magic.

  The four minotaurs squared off against Gideon, setting their hooves and readying their huge weapons. Asterion crawled on his knees to avoid the fight and none of the combatants paid the old man much attention. Gideon cleared the doubts from his mind about his dormant weapon and feinted once to his left before spinning and slashing at the minotaur to his right. Nevidal slammed into the minotaur’s long axe and Gideon twisted his hands, slicing the weapon down the smooth steel of the axe and severing the fingers from the minotaur’s hands. The beast howled and fell back against the wall of the cavern. Gideon straightened and looked the beasts in their hollow eyes.

  The other three minotaurs wasted no time and charged in unison. One of them held a spiked mace nearly as long as Gideon was tall, and the others swung heavy axes over their heads. In the cramped and asymmetrical cavern, the height of the minotaurs was their greatest disadvantage. One of the beasts accidentally dropped its axe after its overhand chop got lodged in the stone above.

  Gideon turned and twisted, deftly parrying an axe from his left and sidestepping the spiked mace. The minotaurs were brutally strong and imposing, but their primary battle tactic relied upon shock and awe, not the practiced techniques of a trained fighter. Nevidal sent a flurry of sparks into the air with every parry and it didn’t take long for Gideon to hook the blade under the spiked head of the mace and disarm one of the minotaurs. Gideon swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming to cut the disarmed minotaur in half at the waist, but the beast’s armor was too thick. In the moment it took Gideon to pull his sword back and ready another strike, an armored minotaur fist crashed into his jaw like a blacksmith hammering iron.

  Gideon’s vision blurred and he spat two of his teeth onto the minotaur in front of him as he fell. The beast lumbered on, pushing its companions out of the way, and tried to stomp Gideon’s chest to pulp. The paladin rolled and scrambled to his feet with Nevidal ready to strike again.

  The unarmed minotaur lowered its head and charged with a great howl. Gideon took a step back and easily batted the minotaur aside. The beast fought on instincts fueled by frustration and rage, which left it vulnerable and exposed. Gideon brought Nevidal down as the charging creature passed him and ripped a gash deep enough in the minotaur’s armor to be fatal. The hairy monstrosity growled and crumpled to the floor where it twitched, dying.

  The remaining minotaurs, one with blood flowing freely from its missing fingers, scampered past Gideon and out of the cave. The paladin slashed as they fled, cutting a thin line in one of the minotaur’s heavy legplates, but he did not pursue them.

  “Thank the heavens!” Asterion rejoiced, still cowering against the cavern wall. The old man was cut in several places and his shoulder likely required stitches, but he wasn’t in any mortal danger.

  “Thank the heavens?” Gideon questioned with derision. “I did not see Vrysinoch swoop down to save you.” Gideon plucked his sheath from the ground and strapped it over his shoulder, returning Nevidal to his back with a sigh. “You should be thanking me,” he said as he helped the priest to his feet.

  “Yes, I suppose,” Asterion responded defensively.

  “The enchantment on my sword doesn’t work here,” Gideon explained, “and I saw you praying. What aid did Vrysinoch send? Something isn’t right.”

  Asterion grit his teeth and frowned. No matter how deeply he concentrated, he couldn’t connect himself to the divine magic that usually rested just beyond his fingertips. “Perhaps…” Asterion wondered, “we have fallen into disfavor wit
h Vrysinoch.” Asterion hated to even consider that possibility. He had devoted his entire life to service in the name of his god. Priests of Vrysinoch typically developed a stronger connection to magic as they aged—they were never cut off.

  A sharp laugh filled the small cavern. “I have lived my entire life in disfavor!” Gideon nearly yelled. He spread his arms out wide and filled his nostrils with the scent of freshly spilled blood. “How much more can Vrysinoch hate me?”

  It was then that Gideon realized that the cave was not just a single chamber, but extended further into the foothills. A small opening, too narrow for a minotaur to crawl through, was poorly hidden behind a clump of sticks and leaves. Gideon brushed the debris aside and peered into the darkness. The tunnel turned only a few feet in, but the feeling that something lurked on the other side was unmistakable. “We need a torch,” Gideon said, grabbing one of the sticks. He handed it to Asterion and told him to light it.

  “With what magic?” the priest threw his hands up in defeat. “I didn’t happen to bring any flint, either.”

  “Try it outside the cavern,” Gideon suggested, hoping that their loss of divine magic was a local event rather than a permanent result of something they had done.

  Asterion pulled his cloak about his wounded shoulder and walked several paces away from the cavern. He prayed to Vrysinoch and sent his mind out in search of an answer, looking for a spark of energy that would set the stick ablaze and give them a torch. Asterion’s consciousness moved incredibly slowly, but he could feel the power returning. The priest took a step back and then another, feeling the increase in his abilities with every inch.

  The stick blazed to life and Asterion hurried back into the cavern. “In this cave, we are cut off from Vrysinoch, perhaps from all forms of magic,” he rushed to explain. Asterion thought of Gravlox and wondered if his shamanistic abilities would also be silenced in the peculiar cave.