Politics transcended mankind and any members of the Order’s upper ranks could easily deduce that the demons in the Babel-heavens schemed and plotted towards civil war again, as they did every few decades as old grudges and dissention flared. The Lord of the Gathering could not step away from his throne without the risk of losing total control there.
For the time being, beh’-tsah’s minions were called to hold up their parts in the plan.
“I have recalled many soldiers from around the country and have begun training many new ones. The people of Jand have been receptive to the changes made within the empire,” Rutheir stated.
“People in the west blindly believe what they hear about a great cultic threat on the eastern border, though there are no reports of a spread. Luciferian interest is growing with the missionaries that Absinthium sent to that front. Truthfully, the people are just overjoyed to finally get the reinforcements that I sent them; they are more concerned about their immediate safety from Ziphan incursions then some abstract religion from the east. The new military trainees get experience on that front and so everyone is happy. Many of the seasoned veterans have been called back to train new military students.”
“I assume that many of my subjects will see the power offered by the Luciferian Order. Power draws interest,” said tyr-aPt. “Although, it may never hold the same kind of sway that it does over you humans. I think that most of my kind are fundamentally incapable of accepting any faith-based religion; some will, however, follow displays of power. They will follow loyally whether they believe or not as long as they see the magics and powers it’s capable of producing. They will follow so long as the power-lust holds sway—and it forever will. They will follow whatever they are taught as long as it continues producing power.”
The goblin king tipped up a couple markers on the map where they’d drawn up their attack plan.
“All male goblins, other than Luciferian initiates and goblins of title, have prepared for war. My brother grr’SHaalg has had them preparing his home of Under-Grinden, the subterranean dome beneath the city,” said tyr-aPt.
“Huge labor crews have been sent there to carve niches and dwellings within the dome to form the massive goblin city and since that they’ve tunneled along these routes.” He traced a finger along a few paths they could use as secret attack vectors. “At my need, I can contact grr’SHaalg via linked qâsamai.” tyr-aPt absent-mindedly fondled the amulet hanging around his neck, the device that held his crystalline qâsam stone.
“Unlike our other massive undertakings, these crews are made up of only goblins, very few slaves are present. This way, the entire army can pour up from the holes to the surface at a moment’s notice. grr’SHaalg has the royal war drums with him; he is ready to command our minions at any moment.”
King Rutheir smiled over the arranged pieces on the table as he imagined the end result of their plans. The krist-chins were utterly doomed. Complete destruction would fall and the growing power in his land would only amplify itself. Those not already a part of Absinthium’s plans were already condemned. The loyal would expand their powerbase and find favor with the Gathering. The warrior king hoped to lead those armies as they swept the lands.
“Indeed, once this krist-chin threat is annihilated, my armies will be mustered and ready to proceed with the second phase of our plan: spreading abroad and forcefully acquiring more lands through invasion, that is, above ground. You will continue with your brother, claiming the other goblin kingdoms as your own,” mused Rutheir—though that much power in the hands of grr’SHaalg made him secretly nervous.
“My armies will arrive very soon. I have pulled two thousand soldiers back to central Jand, a mix of veterans and recruits. They should arrive any day. Absinthium told me to quarter them in the capital so they will be on hand and ready for the assault at his orders and will come as a surprise—Harmarty was weak and a dominant show of force will only solidify Jand as the eastern power.”
The goblin nodded, playing to the king’s ego.
“The Order is priming the people of Grinden for the assault. Many of their number will likely join the attack; their zealots might even exceed the soldiers that I will bring. A religious extremist can be far more dangerous and pliable than any soldier who fights for money—and they’re cheaper, too. The mercenary groups I hired will also be on hand to command,” Rutheir set another piece on the table. “Though, I was disappointed that I could not locate Shimza the Greater. I thought that it might amuse him to eliminate his old enemy, Rashnir. No matter, I will take joy in killing him myself.”
“The army mustered in Under-Grinden exceeds four-thousand goblins, plus many more in reserve. I still think that this group of renegades poses no threat.” He guffawed, “The fears of the Luciferians are greatly exaggerated. This will hardly be a challenge, more like a holiday. My goblins will take pleasure in the battle; it will be a break from the labor of this new city development.”
Neither could imagine any scenario with them on the losing side of the forthcoming battle. The expected massacre would be glorious; there should hardly be any losses to their side. Estimates on troop numbers projected the Luciferians to outnumber the krist-chin threat at least five to one.
Rutheir grinned. The blitz would bolster his forces and set him up for the first real step in his grandiose plan: one that resulted in him leading a dominant force charging across the battlefield, even usurping those who had wronged him so long ago in Mankra. He nearly spat and cursed the name, Khadron. Instead, he continued smiling. His time would come, soon.
Chapter 7
The Christians enroute back to Grinden got back to the familiar lands by the next day of their journey home and assumed they would meet their projected timeline. By evening, they drew even closer to Grinden’s direct outskirts as they made a cautious approach and veered well around the Order’s monk quarters. They turned off the road and into the area that used to belong to Rashnir, and technically still did. The group felt safe enough to build a little fire and cook supper off of the beaten path and away from any curious observers. They could wait for the perfect timing with their meal and pinpoint an exact arrival time with a pause in their journey.
Although anxious to get back to their friends in Grinden, they ate an evening meal in peace. They might have skipped the evening meal in order to arrive at the encampment sooner had it not been for both rumbling stomachs and the late light.
Scraping his plate clean as he kicked back against a ruined foundation, Rashnir wondered about his old life. They passed by it on the previous leg of the journey and it had been on his mind since. He’d not returned to the premises since the monarchy had destroyed it so many years ago and branded horrific scars into his hands. No persons had taken up a residence there since. Despite the memories that clung to the charred ruins, he felt a sense of peace as he looked over the crumbling foundation walls. He blinked back some moisture as he imagined Kelsa, his murdered love, sitting next to him.
Eventually the group extinguished the campfire and heaped soil over the smoldering cinders. Rashnir turned and nodded a solemn good-bye to the life he’d once imagined. They mounted their horses and returned to the road at a good trot.
Kyrius, in the lead, pulled back hard on his reigns—the horses reared up as they came to a wide spot in the road. A high rock outcropping walled them in on the thoroughfare, banking the east section of the road, to their left. The west section opened onto gently rising slope and a grassy field that offered a clear view.
“What is it?” Rashnir asked the dismounting angel.
“I hear something,” the Kyrius replied.
Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ dismounted as well.
“It sounds like a clawing noise, very distinct: grinding. Like taloned feet scraping stone and earth… lots of feet,” the angel clarified.
Kyrius wandered a few steps onto the sloping pasture. His unattended horse meandered on the road behind him. It finally sniffed out the lush grass and
clover and stepped towards the alluring food.
Shinna guided her horse over to Rashnir’s mount where Jibbin sat alone, looking nervous. She offered her open arms and the little boy crawled into them. He sat with her in safety, so that Rashnir could act if need arose.
Kyrius, Rashnir, and Zeh-Ahbe’ had fanned out. The remainder of the group huddled together in a tight group near the embankment. A palpable tension fell over them as the warriors tried to assess a potential threat nearby.
The angel paused, and then he crouched low. He put his ear to the ground. Kyrius jumped up and yelled, “It’s below ground!” His horse shrieked a terrified whinny as dread overtook its senses: the sod beneath its hooves disintegrated and some unseen force sucked the horse into the breach.
A battle cry from the tunnel dwellers rose like a siren, “Ah-reeeeeeeeee!” They spilled up from holes that suddenly ripped open in the ground as more and more turf fell away, opening portals to the underworld. Another thirty goblins ran down the hill, aimed headlong at the Christians.
One of the goblin scouts, clutching a familiar-looking shirt screamed, “They smell like krist-chins!” Another howl of battle-ready enthusiasm rippled through the attackers.
The Christians understood neither rationale nor mode of identification, but they confirmed their holy allegiance as they summoned flaming blades to their hands. The angel cast off his cloak and spread his wings wide; Zeh-Ahbe’ shifted forms, taking the behemoth form of a white werewolf.
Pushing ahead, the mob of ugly creatures plunged towards them, weapons held carelessly and without discipline.
The Christians stood on the road, where the ground was firmer, and held their flaming swords vertically and with a disciplined posture of defense. Thim and Ersha stayed on horseback and made a final barrier between Kevin, Shinna, and Jibbin. Gans and Werthen rode their horses out to aid their friends. Kevin, Shinna, and Jibbin were the only ones who did not draw a blade; no person had ever seen Kevin draw a blade. The preacher instead withdrew his leather-bound Bible and prayed.
The battle-seasoned Christians suddenly acted offensively and ran uphill and met their opposition. Kyrius leapt through the air, leading the charge with his massive sword, ripping through hide and carapace of the goblin strike team.
Rashnir dodged and juked, easily slipping the blades of the enemy as Zeh-Ahbe’ charged ahead like a hyperactive dog. He swung his massive arms and brought his razor claws to bear on the enemies. After a few easy strikes, Rashnir finally found an opponent quick enough to counter his blows. Their blades met with a resounding clang and a sizzling flash. Rashnir shrank back, momentarily surprised. He barely lost a beat as the goblin stepped in and attacked again with the red-hot blade that emanated a hellfire glow. Rashnir blocked, struck, and then struck again. The third stroke of his flaming weapon hit true and snuffed the life from the goblin.
Kyrius swung his blade in the thick of multiple conflicts when Zeh-Ahbe’ charged in and bowled over an entire group as it tried to flank the angel. Zeh-Ahbe’ looked bloody, but his wounds had not slowed him one bit. Werewolves could take an incredible amount of physical abuse before they were affected by physical trauma.
Werthen and Gans mopped up any goblins that broke past the three forefront warriors, striking them down from atop their horses. Despite their wholesale destruction, not a single goblin turned to retreat—and they weren’t a species known for bravery.
Only a few adversaries remained; the goblins backed together for one final defense. Zeh-Ahbe’ leapt upon them, intending to wipe them out in one last push, but the werewolf suddenly fell. Howling as he somehow tumbled down a large fissure that ripped apart the soil. The chasm also enveloped the few remaining goblins.
Suddenly, more goblins poured from the hole like ants on a carcass.
Rashnir yelled after his friend, “Zeh-Ahbe’!”
The angel leapt immediately to the edge, only to see the white wolf leaping skyward with an incredible pounce that took him far beyond the deep cavern. A horde of goblins stayed right on his tail, spilling anew from their holes.
Amid the chaos of the cracking stone and falling sod, the sky flashed and clouds billowed into existence: black as smoke and rolling like rapids. Lightning strobed above and struck in rapid-fire bolts, hitting only goblins; the thunderous jolts of energy completely obliterated the second wave of oppressors.
Once the enemies lay in smoldering, blackened heaps, the clouds dissipated just as quickly as they had formed. The bewildered Christians stood amongst a field of charred goblin corpses as they smoked upon the grass.
Kevin slumped over in his saddle and looked at his companions. His brow was sweaty, but there was a look of victory on his face.
“I prayed for help,” he said, “and I saw… lightning.”
Shinna hugged him close and he smiled at the answered prayer.
The Christians formed up and divided the remaining cargo from the supply horse, making room for Kyrius to ride with them. The angel could have easily flown back to their camp in a matter of minutes, but he refused to leave them after such a blatant attack.
As Zeh-Ahbe’ shifted back into his human form the cuts and wounds, which looked severe before, reduced to mere scratches. His more minor wounds disappeared entirely. Zeh-Ahbe’s accelerated healing appeared to also be amplified by his newly perfected abilities.
The group resumed the homeward journey and kept a wary eye out for further attacks. Dusk turned to darkness as they closed in near Grinden and they soon drew in on the campfires of their group. Jorge stood at the edge of the settlement and waited for them, watching them approach from a considerable distance.
With a great sense of relief, they rejoined their friends and gave accounts of the last two weeks. Rashnir’s ears perked up as they relayed the description of the wyvern-rider who he and Zeh-Ahbe’ had faced once before. They grieved the loss of Miklaw and Phent but rejoiced for Nipanka’s mission in Driscul.
Rashnir pulled Jorge aside. “I’m not sure how serious of a problem we have, just yet, but the goblins have somehow found a way to make their weapons immune to the Logos swords… I mean, they worked, but didn’t cut straight through. Their swords held up.
Jorge stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We must assume that they’ve shared this ability with all of our opponents. Perhaps victory through battle would not be as simple as we might’ve otherwise assumed?”
Rashnir nodded solemnly. “I think it is a safe assumption that things have just gotten more difficult for us and the timetable for an attack might be closer than assumed.”
Jorge suggested, “We should tell the others?”
“Perhaps we should wait a short while,” Rashnir suggested. “We can give them a few days to grieve and prepare with additional training. The incidents have been pretty isolated at the moment.”
“Do you think the loss of Miklaw and Phent is related to this new turn?”
“I don’t know,” Rashnir admitted. “So much about both incidents makes me nervous.”
***
East of Sklarn, a shadowy figure leapt from bough to bough high in the verdant canopy of the Tribben Forest: western Jand’s expansive counterpart to the Quey Forest. Silently stalking his prey, the acolyte flitted through the greenery like any of the other quiet predators of the wood.
This creature had evaded him for two days now—since he’d begun the hunt. He’d left Grinden in high spirits following the success with the ãbêdâh.
Prock would have had a far easier time apprehending his target were its habitat more accessible. As it was, thick vines and overgrowth of the old forest limited his movements. He needed to capture his mark alive in order to properly milk the venom from the winged scorpion indigenous to the Tribben and to parts of Zipha. A critical reagent, the venom was necessary to the larger plan Absinthium had tasked the acolyte with.
With his fine net in hand, Prock drew ever nearer to the poisonous creature perched on a nearby branch when he heard v
oices below.
“I could feed on you right now,” a voice hissed. “You are nothing more than cattle to me.”
Laughter in a deep voice.
“Yeah right. Sounds like you’ve got the same views we have towards those humans foolish enough to wander away from the settlements. Besides, I know you can’t feed in the sunlight.”
Hissing… anger.
“Do not compare us to your kind! Now, take me to your kil-yaw’”
Prock crept over the thick branch which supported him and gazed at the scene below. A dumpy, dirty man with thick arms and scarred hands traded barbs with a skinny, pale man with a bald head and pasty complexion. A werewolf and a vampire?
The acolyte spied from a distance. Stripped to his waist, the pale one’s back had been covered in tattoos: signs of allegiance—a family tree of sorts. He is wendigo, Prock realized: a second generation vampire or later, created by the old hag, or by one of her children.
Beckoning him onward, the lupine waved off the humanoid’s anger like it was nothing. “We will get there soon enough.”
With super-human speed, the skinny wretch grabbed the lupine and wheezed a threat. “You are stalling!”
The lupine immediately grew into a towering, bestial form. His snout elongated and his muscles rippled. The werewolf snatched his enemy by the throat. He lifted the wendigo as if it were nothing and snarled. “Of course I am stalling! I would not bring you directly into the body of the kil-yaw’. I am searching for Mil-khaw-mah’, my tribal leader!”
He relaxed his grip on the vampiric underling and it fell to the undergrowth. The pale vampire pulled its claws back in truce. “Mil-khaw-mah’ is hunting nearby. We will locate him soon.”
Bobbing his head, the pale one asked, “I thought Sehkel-saykel led the kil-yaw’? This letter is for his eyes only.”
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 42
