by Jake Yaniak
'Comrade,' he spoke with a strange confidence born of humor. 'We are not dead yet, so do not look at me as though I were a ghost. Let us learn more and then return to our fellows. When we are returned, that will be the time for council and speculation. But if we do not make it back in a timely manner, and with a more certain knowledge of our enemies, all our pondering will be turned into vanity.'
So they remained in their hiding places until they had made several more observations.
There were far more goblins than they had been told. In this camp alone they saw evidence of a force greater than ten-thousand strong. But among those encamped below them they saw no she-goblins.
'So the devils that routed us with such fury must be from yet another camp,' Daryas said with frustration.
Such a large number of goblins would need many provisions. 'These are no raiders,' Sion said as he watched them move about their camp. They have crated food and barrels of drink. We are not looking at a tribe. This is an army.'
Daryas pointed out some of the larger guards. 'Look below at those orcs. It is hard to see from here, but their blades are straightened and sharp. Every now and again I can make out a glint of light from their edges. No goblin raider is so careful as to keep their blades free from rust and dent.'
Perhaps the most alarming discovery was that of a strange stone pathway by which many goblins were entering and leaving the camp.
'This is no mere trail, these are cut stones,' Sion pointed out.
'I think you are right,' Daryas said as he looked closer at the stones on each side.
'Daryas, you know the tales of Noras better than I,' Sion said, 'Should we expect to find a carved stone road in the high places of Mount Coronan? Could this path have been been carved by the delvers, many ages ago?'
Daryas took a moment to think and then answered, 'It is true that until the wars of Galvahir they had built many strongholds in the mountains. But I have never heard of them building on Mount Coronis. In fact, from what I have been taught, the delvers regarded this mountain as sacred and swore never to set axe or hammer against it. That is, if you can believe the old stories.'
'Could there be delvers in these mountains still?' Sion asked.
'I don't know,' Daryas answered. 'I do not think they would last here long with these goblins about. The only thing that delvers hate more than men are goblins. At any rate, these walls are too large and too poorly crafted to be the work of delvers. I would say that these walls are of human making.'
'Could they have been made by the Noras?' Sion asked as he crept in for a closer look.
'I don't think so, the Noras build things for strength and use, this path seems to be built for haste. And built recently, for that matter,' Daryas walked over toward Sion and pointed down toward the side of the path's entrance. 'Do you see those mounds?'
Just to the south of the path's entrance there were many mounds of dirt and stones. 'These mounds have not yet been torn down by the wind and the snow. I would say that this path was made sometime last spring, certainly no more than two years ago.'
Sion suddenly grew uneasy. 'We had better return to the camp and tell the Cheftan. I have an ill feeling about this path.'
The scouts made their way back to the camp by the same road they had come. They were less cautious on their return, sometimes even walking openly along the bloodstained paths. It seemed to them that matters were so hopeless that stealth and survival now had little use.
But despite their speed they were unable to make their way back before night and found themselves setting up a hasty campsite about a half an hour's walk from the trail in a small rocky cave where they would be protected from the wind at least.
They set a small fire and ate some dried meat. 'I'm liable to break my teeth on this,' Sion complained. 'But I will eat it all the same,' he quickly added when Daryas glanced at his portion with hungry eyes.
After they finished eating they set up a shelter around the fire to block the wind and to conceal the flickering light. 'If it weren't so cold I would suggest we put it out altogether,' Daryas said. 'I do not like the feel of this place, I feel like we are walking into a dragon's mouth, step by step.'
'There are no dragons in the Coronan Mountains, thankfully,' Sion laughed. 'Do not worry, brave Daryas, we will return to camp soon enough.'
The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the howling wind from outside and shivering next to their fire.
'Daryas,' Sion began after some time had passed. 'I always hated hearing the old fairy stories about this mountain. But now that we are sitting here contemplating its mysteries, I am somewhat ashamed that I know so little of its history - if there be any history in the old tales.'
One thing that perhaps did distinguish Daryas from his peers was his skill as a storyteller. When he was a child his friends would listen for hours to the strange and fantastic tales he would invent or recount. Yet as he grew older his timidity took control and his stories became more infrequent until finally he ceased telling them almost entirely. Now the only people he would share his stories with were his brother and his friend Sion. But as the fire danced around the walls of the cave, and as his companion's eyes widened with interest, the talebearer awoke within him and he began to tell the ancient stories of the Noras forest and the Coronan Mountains. Most interesting to Sion were the stories that spoke of the Coronan Mountains themselves. Mityai also sat in the firelight listening, though neither of the spies even knew she was there. She listened to his tales with wide eyes and with excitement, even though she knew most of his tales already. She not only knew them, but she knew them better than he did. For in her long years she had seen many of the heroes and villains with her own immortal eyes.
'In the Dark days, before the coming of the Nine Heroes, the Coronan Mountains were trampled by the feet of goblins above and shaken by the hammers of the delvers below. These two races were never at peace; they were constantly striving one against the other. It was said that the mountain streams ran red with the blood of their conflict, and sickened all those who drank from the Falsi River. The Delvers, it was said, wanted the meat for which the goblins hunted and the goblins wanted the gemstones and silver for which the delvers mined.
'Every now and again, the goblins would take a respite from their conflicts with the delvers and come down into the forest to raid the foolish people who lived there enthralled by the Devil King Agon. But the darkness of those woods was more than even their foul souls could tolerate. In due time, Galvahir and the other Heroes defeated Agon by the power of the Holy Sword of Pelas and drove him over the Mountains to the wastelands of Amlaman, where he was condemned to dwell for all eternity. They made an end of the Temple of Agon, and stole his priestesses to be their own wives and servants. Upon their return, however, they found that goblins had filled the woods and the delvers had carried away all of their wealth.
'Galvahir gathered his followers and began a war with these creatures. He destroyed the delver strongholds in Libron and Galva, sending them into exile in the west. Some say they perished in the wilds, while others claim that they came to a place beyond Amlaman called Desset; and there they remain even to this day.
'But the goblins they treated more harshly. They slew every goblin that set foot in Noras and drove the others out of the mountains and into the northern sea. So fearful were they of Tanak, the sword of Pelas, that they leapt from cliffs and ridges down into valleys of ice and stone, or into the frozen seas to escape its wrathful edge. Others fled into the caves of the delvers where they were soon overcome by the foul Gaians - those spirits who dwell in the deep darkness of the earth. All this being accomplished, Galvahir returned to Noras and rested from his trials for twenty years.
'But Mount Coronis itself was not settled by the delvers. They seemed to have considered it a god of some kind, and as a result they never set axe nor pick against it. Neither did they ever set foot on the mountain if they could avoid it.
'The goblins seemed to have had some
dwellings in the foothills of Coronis, but they are not stone-masons. As far as I know, they have never made such a path as the one that we've seen today. They can make tools, but not the like of those that carved such a path through the stones of this mighty mountain.'
'So what are we to make of this path?' Sion asked after he had listened to Daryas' tales.
'I don't know,' Daryas replied. 'But it is work too extensive and too well-crafted for goblins. On the other hand it is too simple and poorly made to be the work of Delvers.'
'And delvers do not make paths in the open air, if my memory serves,' Sion added with a thoughtful look on his face.
'Quite true,' Daryas confirmed. 'They make their paths in secret places under the darkness of the mountains, only breaking the surface where it is necessary, whether for air or for water or food. These paths, if we are not deceived, were made by men.'
Daryas stayed awake much longer than his friend, as was now his constant practice. He had not slept for many days now and as he sat there Old Man Sleep approached him quietly from the mouth of the cave.
He passed his hand over Daryas' eyes and his weary head nodded for a moment. But the young man resisted and shook his head violently to rouse himself. He sat up and began busying himself about the fire until it roared to new life and warmed his sleeping companion.
Old Man Sleep sighed and sat down wearily beside Mityai. 'You gods can be such nuisances,' he said in his dry and toneless voice. 'Always meddling with mortals and never minding your own business.'
'But is that not our curse,' Mityai's gentle voice asked.
'It is not my place to say anything different from what your lord Pelas teaches you,' he sighed. Mityai looked confused.
'But Lord Pelas has taught us that we are cursed to be both servants and lords of mortal men, until the time that Pelas once again gains the ascendancy and redeems the whole earth.'
'Indeed you are cursed to be the servants and lords of men,' Sleep replied, 'But that doesn't mean that it is what you should be doing.'
'What do you mean?' Mityai asked.
'What should a mortal man do?' Sleep asked her.
'I suppose he must make for himself a living, and care for his children and his wife.'
'Indeed, but suppose he was a bad man, and found himself condemned to labor as a slave for some other man. Is that slavery and hardship what he ought to do, or is it what he must do?'
'It is what he must,' Mityai said, her eyes now glowing with inquisitiveness.
'But what he should do remains the same, is that not correct?'
'Yes,' Mityai said thoughtfully. 'He should still do those things. But now he is unable, and doomed to fail before he even begins.'
'Yet it is still his duty, is that not right?' Sleep asked her.
'It is,' she answered.
'And that is the most shameful part of mortal chastisements: To be forbidden to do that which you ought, for having done that which you oughtn't. All wicked men are thus twice-damned.' Sleep looked into her eyes now as he spoke. 'Perhaps it is much the same with you immortals. 'You "must" meddle with mortal affairs, but you still "should" do that which is right.'
Mityai sat in silent thought for a moment. After a while she furrowed her silvery brow and spoke boldly to the Old Man. 'We will do something right then,' she said with resolution. 'Young Daryas will rest tonight, and you will help me.'
'Me?' Sleep exclaimed. 'If I knew that you were going to draw me into your scheme I would have remained silent altogether. I have no authority over the wills of men. That is the portion given to my brother Folly.'
Mityai sighed and moved away from the old man. She sat down gently behind Daryas. 'Very well then,' she said lifting her nose to the sky, 'then I will be Old Man Sleep tonight.'
The Old Man watched as she softly began to sing in her immortal voice, songs long forgotten by men in languages their ears had never heard. For some time she sat there, gently caressing his head as though she were trying to calm a weeping babe. Slowly he lowered his head and she eased him down onto his bedroll and closed his eyes. After a moment he stirred and he began to rise. But Old Man Sleep rose from his seat and placed his heavy hand upon his eyelids and dragged them shut once more. 'Far be it from me to cede my rights to such a little god,' he laughed. 'But there is still some part that you might play. Behold! The young man sleeps now, and his dreams will return if there is no one near to guard him.'
'Thank you, Old Father Sleep,' Mityai said in a broken voice.
There she sat for long hours watching over him with his head cradled in her arms, singing her lovely songs to him. But sometime in the middle of the night, foul spirits came to torment him with visions of things not yet to be. Mityai held on to him all through the night, singing and praying; but she had no strength to stop his troubled nightmares. For they were sent to him from Lord Pelas himself.
He dreamed that he was running, as always, through a forest in the darkness. Suddenly he looked behind him and beheld a great fire, burning in the distance. Smoke was rising in great billows, blotting out the light of the stars. He turned and ran toward the fire, not knowing what he expected to discover.
Suddenly, he became aware of the presence of another. A voice cried out, saying, 'How dark is your will Daryas! It hides even from yourself!'
The Second Battle
The following afternoon, the camp of the Galva Army was sent into an uproar. The scouts returned with news of the goblin army and it seemed as though the courage of the Galvahirne melted away. All would have broken down into complete chaos had not Cheft Rahm taken matters into his own hands. He walked to the center of the camp with his nephews on either side of him, dressed in full battle attire. He climbed atop one of the wagons and blew three loud blasts with a ram's horn. The sound echoed through the mountain and every ear turned toward the old hero of Noras.
'Men of Noras! Galvahirne, Oastirne, and Vivlirne alike!' he called out. 'It was not that long ago by the ages of this world that your fathers marched against the armies of the goblins of these very mountains. They were armed with their own hides and knew not the mountain passes. Their swords were dull and their spears were made of wood. Their numbers were less than yours as well. In every way you stand here a more excellent force than theirs. Yet their small numbers and feeble weapons were compensated by the intense fire of their passion. Their love of our great wood drove our fathers to heroics the likes of which Noras has not known before or since.
'But there is no reason that those heroics must die. We are their sons, every one of us. The blood of heroes flows through our veins and will not be easily spilt. So turn your eyes once more toward Coronis' peak. We will not be driven back; not by a hundred goblins, nor will be pushed back by a hundred-thousand goblins. As long as we draw breath from the same air as our ancient ancestors we will not relent in our defenses.
'For the sake of our mothers and our sisters, who will be carried off as spoil, to be ill-treated in some orc or hob-goblin's den, we will bleed the devils till they are swept off this mountain in a rushing torrent of their own blood!'
With these words the men cheered and their courage was renewed. Even Cheft Faros, who had been pacing within the walls of his tent was brought back to a courageous disposition by his bold words. 'Truly Pelas smiled upon us when he sent Cheft Rahm to march among us.'
Rahm continued with many words of encouragement. 'Do we not have among us many heroes among the Noras. Is there not marching with us men like Swagar Prostirne? Pater Borirne and Tiltos the High Priest's son are also among us. Gergius Gergirne and many of the sons of Clinlor and Mallor have answered our call to arms. We have also Hassan Ponterirne, whose skill with both bow and sword is unparalleled.
'Truly not in the history of Noras since the days of Galvahir himself has such a force been assembled. We would shame every one of our ancestors if we were to turn our backs to these goblins today.'
The warriors were encouraged and they prepared their weapons and armor once again for battle.
Nevertheless, Cheft Faros sent runners hurrying eastward down the mountains to seek aid in Belnan.
Cheft Faros proved his skill as a strategist and commander during the second battle. He sent Cheft Vilav with two thousand men marching up the mountain paths toward the goblin camp. They marched openly and in full sight with shields and banners and flags waving about in the cold mountain wind.
The sun rose high above the Galva Army, unhindered by clouds as its light danced upon their swords and shields. Vilav's men marched in perfect step so that each time their feet fell upon the ground it was like an earthquake. They marched to a narrow place just to the north of the goblin encampment. It was so close in fact that from the highest points almost the entire goblin camp was visible.
The goblins lost no time in scrambling for their weapons and arms. Orcs ran about with hammers and maces, pounding the alarms with great strokes. In less than an hour their warriors were making their way uphill toward the army of Cheft Vilav.
The two forces met with a crash. The goblins came upon them like the crashing of a mighty river against an immovable stone. Their skirmishers were slain ere they could arouse any confusion and the warriors in the Galva vanguard were fully prepared for the coming of the goblins. Shields shattered and swords splintered. The goblins were cast down and driven back, but the Galva army stayed in their place.
Three times this repeated, until it became clear that the goblins would have no success trying to move the Noras. So out came the orcs; they were better armed and much taller. They carried maces and hammers, axes and spears of immense size, the edges of which gleamed like gold in the afternoon sun.
But the army of Vilav pulled back and marched to the north between two great the walls of the mountain into a place called Corhen. Here there was almost a bowl shaped valley with steep ridges all along the north and western sides. On the east there were several lone pinnacles of rock, soaring high above the edge of the valley. On the eastern side was a steep cliff that fell down to jagged rocks and a swift flowing mountain stream.
