The guard sighed and watched his family run away through a gap in the wagons and disappear into the night. He turned back to the onslaught and loosed another arrow into the mass of battling orcs and humans below the wagon. One of the combatants fell, but he couldn't tell the race of his victim.
An orc thrashed his way through two of the defending humans and tossed a torch onto the canvas wagon. The fire immediately took to the wagon top and the vehicle's structure began to buckle. He grabbed another arrow and sent it hurtling into the orc at the foot of the wagon. The wooden arrow punched into the beast's shoulder, but didn't slow him.
Gurr looked up at the pesky archer and ripped the arrow from his shoulder with an energizing spurt of blood. The archer met his gaze and nocked another arrow. The bowstring thrummed and Gurr felt the arrow rip through his chest. The mighty orc warlord bellowed with glee and used his huge sword to chop off the shaft of the arrow. One hand after another, Gurr scaled the side of the burning wagon with half of an arrow buried in his chest.
The man loosed a third arrow before he leaped from the burning wagon. The wooden missile cut through Gurr's left leg and continued out the other side, trailing a red stream of orc blood. As he landed, the farmer-turned-archer felt the delicate bones of his ankle splinter. He knew he would never rise again.
Gurr hefted his mighty sword high above his head and smiled. The hole in his upper thigh oozed a steady stream of blood and the pain gave the maddened orc strength. With one powerful leap, Gurr vaulted from the burning wagon and landed with his sword planted firmly in the chest of the human archer. Blood flew from the man's ribcage and ragged screams filled Gurr's ears. Screams sharpened his resolve.
The Half Goat warlord forced all of his weight onto the hilt of the sword and drove the blade down into the dirt, nailing the man to the ground with the crosspiece. Every muscle in Gurr's hardened body absorbed the man's anguish like a piece of cloth tossed into a river. Gurr's arms and legs surged with so much power his skin nearly broke apart.
The orc warrior rose to his full height and placed a heavy foot on the man's unprotected throat. Gurr plucked an empty burlap sack from his leather belt and tossed it onto the man's bleeding chest. With one hand on either side of the archer's face, Gurr twisted and pulled, all the while applying the pressure of his entire body weight to the man's throat.
The archer's head came free of his spine with a sickening gout of warm blood. Gurr stuffed the trophy into his sack and ripped his sword free of the mutilated carcass. He licked the blood from his hands as he searched the burning chaos around him for another victim.
“CAN YOU SENSE it?” the old man excitedly asked. “There is magic nearby.” He could feel a wave of energy not far away. The violent surge of magic felt familiar and brought a smile to his wrinkled face.
“I can,” the paladin nodded. “Our brothers are fighting!” Gideon lowered his head and broke into a sprint. He felt the holy battle hymn of the paladins calling to his soul, beckoning him to add his strength to theirs.
Asterion knew he could not keep up with the athletically superior man. He stopped, latched onto the magical call with his mind, and summoned a great burst of divine light beneath his fingertips. Asterion molded the light and formed it with his hands into the rough shape of Vrysinoch's wings. When he finished, Asterion released his hold over the raw magic and the wings fluttered to life before him, as real as if they had been attached to a giant eagle.
The old priest smiled and took a step forward, walking directly between the two feathery appendages. It had been a long time since he had conjured such a spell, but Asterion was incredibly skilled and benefited from several decades of rigorous training. The wings grasped onto his shoulders and Asterion felt his muscles weave together with the sinew of his creation. He snatched his staff from the ground and leapt into the air. His wings carried him above the trees with a single beat and launched him in the direction of the fighting.
JURNORGEL TOSSED HIS head back and howled at the sky. Standing just over eight feet tall, the warlord of the Wolf Jaw Clan towered over his compatriots. The orcs nearest to him cowered and bowed down before their god-like champion.
“We kill!” Jurnorgel screamed at his clan. Wolf bones rattled against his armor and spit flew from his mouth. Behind him, a small orc lifted the clan banner high above his head and joined the howling war cries.
Jurnorgel's weapons, a straight sword and a double-headed axe, each as long as the orc was tall, rattled against his back. The massive wolf at his side howled and clawed at the chains around its neck and body. The rallying cry continued until Jurnorgel could see the first wave of Wolf Jaw orcs crash against the human warriors atop the distant ridge.
“Charge!” he screamed, leading his band of clansmen across the rocky ground. When they had closed half of the distance to the humans, Jurnorgel drew his axe and cut the chains that bound his wolf to his side. The beast hurtled forward, much faster than any of the orcs, and dove into the fray.
“THERE,” VORST POINTED at the charging mass of orcs, “that one must be their leader.” Gravlox spotted the monstrously tall orc and watched him sprinting up the ridge. “Orcs have no organization or discipline,” Vorst explained to the battle-ready shaman. “You must kill their leader.” Unmistakable desperation filled her voice.
Gravlox nodded solemnly and closed his eyes. The magical circlet atop his head hummed and vibrated against his skin. The shaman summoned all of the magic he could and dug his hands down into the rocky soil. The ground shook and pulsed, surging with untapped potential, and Gravlox commanded it to do his will.
The paladins holding the ridge fought cohesively and held their ground against the initial assault. The human battle hymn filtered through the howling and wailing orc cries like a desperate man pleading before a crowded gallows. Chanting in rhythmic unison, the song swelled in strength until it became louder than the sounds of battle. With shields held high, the small band of paladins repelled the onslaught and weathered the furious storm of orcs.
Gravlox watched Jurnorgel approach the ridge. With a massive axe held out before him, the monstrous warlord charged. The shaman sifted through the magic at his fingertips until he located exactly the type of power he needed. The circlet cleared his mind and focused his consciousness like never before.
Fight me, Gravlox beckoned directly into the orc's mind. Jurnorgel stopped mid-sprint and nearly lost his balance. Straightening, he scanned the ridge and spotted the goblin pair, locking eyes with Gravlox. It was not the first time Jurnorgel had felt the intrusions of a magic user. The orc summoned every ounce of his formidable rage into an iron wall of mental resolve and easily sealed his violent thoughts.
Gravlox scampered to his right, farther down the ridge and away from the paladins. Jurnorgel followed him with measured footsteps and an outward calm that contradicted his inner vitality. Gravlox ripped his hands through the stony soil and wove the intricate magic of the earth into a devastating volley.
Chunks of dirt and rock the size of his head blasted against the orc's muscled chest, but the enchanted wolf bones all over his body absorbed the attack with ease. Gravlox dove his mind deeper into the wellspring of magic and latched onto a seething pocket of molten rock a mile beneath the surface. It took every ounce of energy he had, but the shaman was able to control the magma. He lifted it through the ground with blinding speed and hurled it at the orc in a single, fluid motion.
Jurnorgel's wolf bones rattled against the fiery impact, but the mighty warlord did not slow. He shielded his eyes with his massive axe and pressed onward. The powerful enchantment encased his body with a soothing, regenerative mist that fully nullified Gravlox’s shamanistic magic. The liquid limestone cooled and showered a hail of small pebbles all over the ground.
The physically outmatched goblin had only a moment to prepare himself for Jurnorgel's wicked overhand chop that threatened to split him in half. Gravlox launched himself backward and narrowly avoided the beastly orc's sharp blade. The chieftain
pressed on, following Gravlox with swipe after swipe of his weapon.
Scrambling at full speed through the rocky terrain, Gravlox managed to dart between a pair of small boulders and disappear into a thicket of trees. Jurnorgel bellowed into the chilly air and tossed his weapon from hand to hand as though it weighed little more than a loaf of bread.
“Run, Grav!” Vorst shouted. Gravlox cursed under his breath and pumped his legs as hard as they would go. Behind him, the shaman could hear Jurnorgel begin chopping the trees down with casual blows from his axe.
Suddenly, with a blinding explosion, a sharp blast of magic fell from the sky and encased Jurnorgel in a prism of brilliant light. Gravlox spun on his heels and summoned a small wave of magic into his hands. His eyes darted to Vorst and fear gripped his chest—but only for a moment. The female goblin shouted and her smile was undeniable. Gravlox spotted Asterion flying overhead and let the magic flickering at his fingertips dissipate back to the earth.
The terrified orc thrashed and wailed, but was unable to free himself from the opalescent chains of light that smashed into his body. Slack-jawed, Gravlox stared in disbelief as Asterion flew about the orc warlord with the speed of a nimble bird. The old priest lifted his hands toward the sky and pulled a massive, glowing beam of light toward himself. When he had gathered a boulder-sized sphere of magical radiance into his palms, Asterion let it loose with a piercing scream that sounded more avian than human. Hundreds of bright white magical shards rained devastation down upon Jurnorgel and the rest of the orc clan.
The hard pressed paladins shouted at the sight. Their hymn grew louder as the orcs fell, wave after wave, to Asterion's storm of holy missiles.
With a violent crack of power, Jurnorgel’s defensive enchantments visibly broke. Gravlox sensed the dissipation of magic and wasted no time. The goblin called out to one of the flying light shards and brought it to his hand. It burned the skin of his fingers and was painful to behold, but it filled Gravlox with fresh confidence. He pulled himself on top of the nearest boulder and leaped, landing squarely on the shoulders of the dazed chieftain.
Gravlox drove the fragment of pure light down with all of the physical and magical strength he could muster. The makeshift dagger bit through the orc's skull and splattered Gravlox’s face and arms with blood. Jurnorgel fell limply to the ground.
Mentally and physically drained, Asterion descended to the ridge and joined Vorst and Gravlox. Gideon, sword in hand, crashed through the thin line of trees and joined the fight without hesitation. The empowered paladin added to the chaos of battle as he cut the fleeing remnants of the Wolf Jaw Clan down like wheat before a scythe.
In mere minutes, the battle had turned from a desperate last stand into a complete rout. Only a handful of the Wolf Jaw orcs managed to run back to their leader alive.
“We couldn't find you,” Vorst explained to Gideon, ashamed of her failure.
The stoic paladin nodded as he sheathed Nevidal and extinguished the blade's inner light. His bulging muscles relaxed as he returned to his natural proportions. “We found a phylactery in a cave,” he replied. “Somehow, it blocked our magic.”
Asterion wiped the sleeve of his traveling robe across his forehead. He was sweating profusely and could barely catch his breath. Gideon supported the old man’s weight with his shoulder. “The phylactery...” he gasped from one knee, “is made of the same malevolence that attacked the city.”
Vorst translated the message to Gravlox by tapping on his palm. “It is from the mountain?” The shaman asked with her aid.
“Not goblin,” Asterion managed to say. “It is Jan. Stronger than before... much stronger...” Gideon lifted the man off the ground as the priest's eyes rolled back in his head and he succumbed to the comforts of sleep.
“We must turn back,” Corvus stated with finality as he approached the group. Seamus led the blind paladin by the arm to Gideon's side. “Protecting the peasants is our first responsibility. Without the people, we are no better than a group of street thugs.”
“I doubt this small band of orcs is the only one in these hills,” Gideon retorted gruffly. “If you left the peasants to fend for themselves, you'll have a lot of graves to dig.”
Seamus looked at the bloody, green-skinned corpses that surrounded them. He knew Gideon was right.
The paladins’ song died down as they collected their dead. In the initial onslaught, four of the humans had been cut down. Their bodies were placed on their shields and the survivors organized them into a line on the ridge.
“Normally, the honor of sending our dead back to Vrysinoch’s wings would be reserved for Asterion, but I fear he has nothing left to give.” Corvus inspected the unconscious priest with his magical sight and could barely detect a faint hint of energy in Asterion’s frail body. “It will take him days, if not weeks, to recover.”
Corvus walked solemnly toward the gathered paladins at the top of the ridge and began humming the first notes of a funeral dirge. The other soldiers joined in the eerie, unsettling tune and he began the high-pitched wail of the song’s melody.
A shimmering white light settled over the four fallen paladins and slowly engulfed their corpses. Corvus’ voice rose and fell with the sorrowful song and little white birds fluttered out of the sky to land on the bodies.
“The Valkyrie-Animus,” Gideon explained to the goblins with a whisper. “They come to guide the dead to Vrysinoch’s wings for their eternal flight.”
Vorst pried her awestruck gaze from the magical scene and looked up to Gideon. “Why don’t you sing?” she asked, hesitant to speak, lest she interrupt the beautiful dirge.
Gideon grunted. “I pity them.” He scratched his braided beard and looked away from the funeral. “Spending and eternity with a petty and merciless god is nothing short of damnation. I sing during battle when Vrysinoch grants me strength, but without Nevidal in my grasp, I am alone.”
“Wha—” Vorst began to question further, but Gideon turned and stalked angrily away from her.
AFTER THE CONCLUSION of the funeral, Gideon and Corvus gathered the remaining paladins and took stock of their situation. “How far away are the refugees?” Gideon asked with doubt in his voice.
“A day’s journey on foot,” Corvus replied. The paladins were eager to set out and leave the stinking orc corpses to rot in the sun. “How high is the sun?” Corvus asked, tilting his useless eyes toward the sky.
“Just past midday, sir,” one of the dutiful paladins replied. He tightened the straps that held his shield to his back and checked the faces of the other soldiers for support. “We could make it back by dawn,” he offered eagerly.
“Perhaps,” Asterion interrupted as he weakly approached the group, “I can help facilitate our travels.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Corvus told the old man sternly. “You need to rest. You’re in no condition to be using magic.”
Without a word, Asterion waved off the paladin and began gathering divine energy for a powerful incantation.
“I said no!” Corvus yelled, pushing aside several paladins as he stepped in front of Asterion. To Corvus, Asterion’s hands appeared in his vision as white tendrils of elastic energy ready to be woven together into a spell. They grew in brightness and Corvus brought his hands to his eyes, but nothing could block the magical light. He turned away, cursed the old man, and spat on the ground.
“You’re too weak to use so much magic in a single day.” Several of the other paladins nodded in agreement. Slowly, Asterion’s gathered light began to wane.
“I think…” the old priest gasped for breath. “You are right…” Corvus could feel Asterion’s power fading and ran to his side, catching the man under the arms before he fell. Without pause for consideration, Corvus summoned his own considerable energy and willed the magic flowing through him to bolster Asterion’s weakened abilities.
“Yes…” the priest whispered. He felt the surge of energy rush through his body and his mind cleared. With practiced hands, he
molded the light into a small triangle and threw it high into the air. At once, Corvus and Asterion jolted, releasing their combined energy, and the spell took flight.
A celestial bird grew from the radiant triangle and circled overhead. Exhausted and panting, Asterion dropped to his knees and struggled to keep his eyes open.
“The stubborn old man only summoned an image of Vrysinoch,” Gideon muttered. With a grunt, he began searching for sticks large enough to make a stretcher. “We’ll have to carry him back to your camp.”
“I don’t know,” Corvus pondered, investigating the magical creature with his otherworldly vision. “Something isn’t right. Any priest of Vrysinoch should be able to conjure such images with ease. Even a man of his age shouldn’t be taxed so noticeably by such a minor summoning.” As if to accentuate his point, Asterion let out a groan and crumpled to the grass as he succumbed to sleep.
“What is it?” Vorst tentatively asked. Corvus could only shake his head.
“A guide?” Seamus stared up at the gliding bird in awe. He subconsciously balled his fists and wanted desperately to be like the paladins. Having lived the life of a simple farmer, he couldn’t help but feel inadequate next to the holy warriors. He didn’t resent them, but in the pit of his stomach Seamus wanted to join them. Until recently, the farmer had never seen magic outside of small cantrips and illusions used during services at the temple in Cobblestreet. Witnessing the summoning of a mysterious bird and watching the paladins slay orcs with divinely-infused weapons had turned Seamus’ curiosity into an emotion that skirted the boundaries of inspiration and jealousy.
Gideon hefted the priest’s body onto a hastily constructed stretcher and told Seamus to help him carry it. The two men held the slumbering priest between them as the column of paladins set off to the south.
Gravlox and Vorst followed the ensemble with trepidation. “How many humans will be there?” Gravlox asked in his native language. “Will any of them try to kill us?”
The Goblin Wars Part Two: Death of a King Page 12
