by Bill Mays
“Watch your back, boy! Never rush into the enemy ranks unless you wish to join the spirits,” the dark-skinned warrior stated solemnly before batting another goblin away with a battle roar.
Petre nodded his understanding and thanks. The intense glare in the nomad’s eyes scared him. Jeraud could be exceptionally imposing when he wanted to be. Both men moved to engage the hairy margul. Jillian did her best to keep the goblins from their backs in the meantime.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dalia screamed out in pain as the spiked club batted her to the ground, leaving a huge welt and two bloody holes in her arm. She hit the rocks hard and rolled to the side avoiding the next smashing club. The creatures were powerful, that was for certain. The two marguls were teaming up on her. They were calculated, strong, and quick. She had done well to last this long against them both, especially with the occasional goblin joining in to jab at her sides. Two of the small humanoids lay dead and each of the hairy brutes had injuries to show for their efforts. The lady in white rolled aside again as another club smashed into the ground next to her. The marguls were laughing now. They knew they had her where they wanted her, down and defenseless. They enjoyed tormenting their prey. Dalia felt a moment of hopelessness and then tossed the feeling aside. She was not going to die without a fight. A desperate plan formed in her mind. She rolled away from another club-swing and purposefully rolled into the legs of the other large creature. The lady braced herself for the coming pain. As expected, it used the opportunity to kick the slender woman in her exposed side. Dalia was light and used the impact to raise her back to a staggered stance.
“Not my first choice in tactics,” she mumbled as she placed her hand over her pained ribs, “but it worked.”
She slashed out with her sword cutting two more gashes in the margul that had just kicked her. They were both on her again in seconds. This time, she was more careful to avoid those big spiked clubs. There came a glint of metal out of the moonlit night. A silver knife embedded itself in the neck of one of her opponents. The monster fell to the ground gurgling on its own blood. Flade appeared standing behind the fallen brute.
“I thought you might like a little assistance, my lady.” The handsome man displayed his dimpled smile. He then held his empty hand out and marveled as the knife flew back to his grasp at his mental command. “I must admit, I’ve been craving a chance to try that out in combat since we left Bromin.”
“Behind you!” Dalia shouted as she tore into the remaining margul. Her shiny elfin blade carved the monster into pieces.
Flade somersaulted to the side and swung out, sinking both blades into his would-be goblin attacker. The ranger looked up, twirling his blades through his fingers as more goblins arrived on the scene.
Dalia released a sigh of victory as the large hairy monster fell to her attack. “That is for kicking me,” she spat as she returned the favor.
The lady and the ranger moved back to back as another wave of goblins poured in on them. The small savages gibbered and screamed with delight as they met quick deaths. They were cutting the little humanoids down left and right, but still more came. It soon became apparent they were surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered. Without a relief, they would lose to the little mongrels out of exhaustion.
“Flade, do you remember the blocking technique you used before?” Dalia asked, out of breath.
The ranger was busy fending off the many blades flying his way. “I know many such techniques, my lady. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“I mean with your mind?” Another group of goblins joined the crowd around the two. They were all vying for a chance to strike at the panting humans.
“Yes, I think so, why?” He huffed as he parried two more goblin blades.
“Use it now. I am going to show these mongrels what it means to challenge an idosian!”
There was intense anger and strength in the lady’s voice overriding her normal poise. That scared the ranger. He was not so sure he wanted to know what it meant. He focused on blocking his thoughts from her. Dalia only hoped the man had mastered the technique, for should he fail the results would not be pretty.
“I’m ready,” he whispered as another wave of the little creatures rolled in. He hoped he was ready anyway.
“Good, now keep them off of me.” Dalia dropped her sword, brought both hands to her head and concentrated hard.
Flade sighed in exasperation. How was he going to keep them off her? He was barely keeping them off him. They were everywhere, like flies on a dung heap. Flade went on full defense. He moved in a flurry just blocking attacks. His dagger, knife, and booted foot jumped in every direction, but still goblin swords found their way through to nick at them both.
The lady had never trained to perform this ability. She had studied many skills in the school that she had never actually attempted. Like the mental bolt she downed the harpy with, this was new to her. Also, like that skill, she knew this could be done. There was usually much practice and training involved in the use of new abilities, but there was not time for any of that now. The teachers had warned against rash attempts at skills that were not mastered. There was always the slight possibility of mental damage. If she had to be an idosian in a world that feared her, she would need to be prepared and claim that birthright. It started as a tickle in the back of her head and grew to a jabbing pain throughout her mind. She built up the energy until she could hold it no longer. A scream of pain escaped the woman’s thin lips as a burst of mental energy was released. It fanned out in every direction with the lady as its central point. Every goblin within twenty feet of the woman cried out in pain grabbing their heads and then fell to the ground unconscious. Flade heard the lady’s scream then felt a terrible assault to his mind. It was like someone had just struck him in the head with a heavy frying pan. He watched in awe as all the goblins fell around him. The few strays that remained outside of the area of effect bolted from the area in fear. Courage was not a common trait of goblins.
“That was truly amazing, my lady! I am impressed, even if I do have a headache that I doubt will go away anytime soon.” Flade turned to see Dalia also lying on the ground unmoving. “Dalia!”
He dropped to his knee and scooped her up in his arms. He was careful not to leave her shiny sword behind. He picked his way through the heaped goblin bodies to head for the camp beyond the rocks. The woman began to stir in his arms.
“Did it work?” She mumbled weakly. A trickle of blood seeped from her nose.
“Yes, it worked perfectly,” Flade whispered back. “There may just be something to this idosian business after all. Now rest. I will get you to Arianna. You need healing. That took a lot out of you.”
The light of the campfire cast an orange glow over the ridge ahead of them. Two more goblin forms crawled to the rocks and drew their slings. A large man’s silhouette appeared with a twirling pinwheel, which he used to take the goblins out in a single sweep.
Dalia lifted in Flade’s arms with a quick jerk of her head. Her mind pounded, but she did not care. She could not believe what she saw. “Tark?” She breathed excitedly. The ranger, too, gasped at the sight that could not possibly be true.
“Are you two alright?” Jeraud called out with his thick accent. “I fear you have missed all of the action in camp, my friends,” the dark-skinned man grinned. A couple of Kandairian soldiers crawled to the ridge behind the large nomad.
Dalia lowered her head to Flade’s chest and closed her eyes tightly. She felt the sting of disappointment. Flade swallowed the lump in his throat and gestured with a nod of his head to the battlefield behind them.
“Don’t worry about us, we found our share of the action. Help me get her to the priestess. She has sustained some serious injuries.”
The nomad and the soldiers paused for a moment in shock before moving to assist Flade. They could not help but to notice the many goblins strewn about in heaps. Jeraud just stood and stared at the piles of goblin bodies the two had evidently dealt with a
lone. The Waynan warrior was very, very impressed.
* * * * * * * * * *
Timbre had finally gotten back into a routine. It was a routine that at least resembled their lives before the war had come to their gates. Barst looked upon the city with a sad smile from his place atop the watchtower. His home would never be the same again. Little Jillian Pandle said that to him once. He knew now that it was a statement with wisdom well beyond her years. A movement caught his attention in the sizeable clearing surrounding the town. Over the last few weeks, the people of Timbre made the field wider and used the wood to expand and fortify their defensive wall. It was something that needed to be done. The mayor watched as a lone rider approached the front gate. The rider appeared to be human. He nearly fell from the tower’s ladder in his excitement and haste to get to the man.
“Open the gate! Open that gate!” He shouted as he ran to greet the visitor.
Barst knew it had to be a scout sent here to announce the coming of their reinforcements. Sir Manifor Stormblade had reached the resistance headquarters after all. Barst wiped the sweat of a hard day’s work from his brow as Tanford hobbled over to join him in greeting the scout. The Kandairian soldier was busy training the people in basic fighting techniques despite his mangled leg.
“I knew the commander would come through,” the gruff soldier chuckled as he patted Barst on the back.
The gate opened and a youth rode in on a chestnut mare. His clothes were crisp and clean. The sight of a traveler never looked so good to the men. Every new day brought the possibility of another goblin raid or more enemy troops. Many of the townsfolk gathered quickly to witness the arrival of their salvation.
“Welcome to Timbre, brave scout!” The bearded leader of the small town offered warmly.
“What good news do you bring us? How fares the queen and the war?” Tanford added, shifting his weight to his good leg. “Does Sir Manifor lead the turning tides yet?”
“I have been sent to give you just warning and opportunity to surrender your settlement to Drackmoore,” the youth stated flatly.
“What?” The gruff Kandairian soldier roared in shock. “You little bastard, I’ll rip you from that horse myself!”
Barst froze as chills ran up his spine. He gazed back out of the gate to see many more horses entering the clearing. A pennant of red with a black dragon emblem was held high and waving above them. The mayor was stunned.
“Lord Rugen, General of the Drackmoorian Army, wishes to speak with the leader of this settlement. If you cooperate, no one will be hurt. If you do not cooperate, then you will all die. These are his only terms.” The messenger spoke to them, but did not make eye contact with either man. He ignored Tanford’s threat altogether.
The people of Timbre that began to gather in excitement turned to fearful silence. Upon the rider’s announcement, a murmur spread through their ranks. Barst looked at his people. They had been through so much already. They were mostly women, children and elderly now. The majority of the younger men were killed in the goblin raid. He then looked to Tanford, the soldier Manifor had left behind to aid them in defense preparations. The gruff man had a fire in his eyes despite his gimp leg. The sound of many horses riding began to thunder across the clearing. The sound was like the drums of war heralding their doom.
The young rider turned his horse back towards the clearing. “I need an answer -- quickly.”
“Their general has come to Timbre, but why? What do you suggest?” Barst whispered to Tanford fearfully. He desperately needed a second opinion.
Tanford stared back at the mayor fiercely. “This is Drackmoore we speak of, there is no choice,” he spat in contempt. The gruff soldier swatted the messenger’s mount hard on the flank sending them trotting back out of the town. “There will be no mercy no matter what we choose to do.”
The mayor nodded and then sighed heavily. “Of course, you are right. Bar the gate and prepare for battle!” Barst yelled to his people. “Forgive me, my friends, for I fear we will not win this round,” he whispered somberly as he drew his heavy axe. He then rushed to direct what remained of his meager forces.
A woman called down from the tower in panic. “Barst, there are hundreds of them, hundreds!” She was looking out at a clearing filled with dark land troops. Their dragon emblem waved high in the breeze.
Tanford shouted orders in every direction as he hobbled to be of use. The soldier’s leg was shattered, and its healing would never be complete. He carried a bow now; his days in hand-to-hand combat were over. Barst and the soldier were doing their best to arrange a semblance of defense. The attack was so well organized and so complete that the defenders of Timbre barely had time to draw breath before they were cut down. The Drackmoorians carried ladders to breech the wall, and brought with them priestly magic that ended much of the fighting before it had even begun. Barst watched in horror as his friends fell to the onslaught.
He heard his voice shouting but the words would not register. “To the river!” He cried. “To the river! Women and children first! Shove off as soon as a raft is full!” Slowly the meaning sank in. His words filled his heart with pain. He knew the calls he shouted meant Timbre was no more.
The terrified people scrambled to reach the rafts. There were screams and shouts all around them. Barst and Tanford stood side by side on the central street, as the front gate to the town burst open. The men stood with axe and bow raised valiantly against the hopeless odds. Battle cries rang out as the tide of dark soldiers washed over them.
“For Timbre!” and, “For Kandair!” They shouted in unison as they fell to the evil tide that was Drackmoore.
They knew they could not win. They knew they did not stand a chance against the dozens of soldiers rushing for them. They only hoped to buy a little time so that a few more people might escape the slaughter.
Rugen rode into the defeated town on his powerful black stallion. He would have entered first had he thought there to be any possible resistance. The general was sorry to have missed the opportunity to challenge the mayor properly. He looked like a worthy man, dead in front of the gates to his town with his blood-splattered weapon in hand and several dead dark land soldiers around him. Another man in the armor of a Kandairian soldier lay next to him.
“You did your people proud. May Trakarass welcome you both with open arms,” he whispered beneath his horned helm. He made a gesture of respect to the two bodies and then turned his attention back to the siege. “Bring me any captives, and there had better be a few! I have questions that need to be answered!” The large knight commanded.
* * * * * * * * * *
Arrivand exited the scrying room with his report ready on the state of affairs in Talwen. As of late, he had become little more than a glorified go-between. His master’s new ally and member of his “Gauntlet Generals” that interested him the most, the beautiful woman, was dispatched to Villinsk. It turned out she was a leader, a high priestess, among the religious group known as The Order of Four.
“What a pity,” he mumbled, “So much beauty wasted on a fanatical lot like that.”
According to their connections within the worshippers of the reivers, the famed magic city had fallen completely. Their strike against the heart of Villinsk was going well. There was also news of a large warrior who carried a trident and counted a magic-wielding gremlin among his allies. His entrance into the city had caused the mighty dome of protection to lapse for a second. This warrior had drawn much attention to himself. Interrogation of the doorman to the city revealed the presence of a magical blue gem in the warrior’s possession. Of course, Arrivand knew who this man was. Actually, he was surprised to hear that the gladiator was still alive. The Messengers of Vergehen had proved themselves to be more resourceful than he gave them credit for. From what the foreign apprentice pieced together, during his absence, much had transpired. The dark elf captain of the elite guard, Kaith, had been slain. The attack on the Merintz temple was turned away at a heavy cost to both sides. His master, Mei
ron, seemed unsure about the fate of the messengers or the Kandairian King. Whether they lived or died in the assassination attempt was unclear. Actually, the unpredictable wizard showed little concern either way. He only cared that his captain had been lost to him and that whatever the treasure he had been searching for still needed to be found. Could this gem be what his master sought? It was a powerful magical treasure that the gladiator reportedly carried.
Arrivand wondered briefly if either of the lovely women of the messenger band had survived the attack. His mind wandered back to that sight of the emerald-clad priestess outlined in a brilliant light. As he thought about the last moments before he lost consciousness, there came a tickle in the back of his mind. It was a very familiar tickle, but it was not possible. The mage took a moment to attempt something he had not considered since his return from death’s door. He closed his eyes and reached out with his magical link. The images were fuzzy so he added a magical incantation to enhance his sight. Sure enough, he saw a camp of soldiers. They were Kandairian soldiers engaged in a game of dice. There was a familiar rodent-looking man present as well. It was the messenger’s guide to that temple.
