By Douglas Goff
The dark cloaked figure stared out of a huge side window in the tall tower, lost in his thoughts. Spread out below him was a red and brown clay desert for as far as the eye could see.
The rock-strewn landscape was desolate and foreboding, full of crevices and rises, fit only for beasts such as dragons. He could see several of them flying in circles a great distance away. This barren land was what he called home, but not for long.
The dark cloaked man turned and faced the seven fat green blubbery man-like creatures, sitting around the big stone table in the middle of the room. They were quiet, nervously waiting for him. He walked over to the table and sat in the empty stone chair, across from the goblin kings.
“We march on the land of men with the new moon. Are your armies prepared?” he asked in their language.
The fatter of the seven tribal kings spoke, hesitantly, “Our armies are assembled above the passes that lead into the lowlands. They are ready.”
“And you’ll be able to retrieve your weapons?” the dark figure questioned.
The same fat king, Tubby, spoke again, “We remember. The knowledge has been passed down from king to king. We’ve waited for this day for centuries. But . . .”
“Speak freely,” the cloaked one commanded when the fat goblin king hesitated.
“The boxes that they’re in are protected. We’ll need magic to open them.”
“Perhaps these will help?” The dark figure reached under the table and retrieved a large bag, which he dumped out in front of them. “Give one to your strongest warrior in each tribe. Have each one drip his blood on the weapon and it will be magically bound to him.”
The fat goblin kings chittered excitedly. Lying on the table were seven magical weapons, all red and black. They were a bow, a boomerang, a large axe, a large hammer, a mace, a sword, and a spear.
“Study the map and know where you’re to attack,” the dark one said, and began pointing at the tattered parchment. “You with your 13,000 at Trader Town. You with your 10,000 at Gilead Castle. You with your 10,000 at Frontier Fortress. You with your 9,000 will strike the Two Towers of Dwain. You with your 5,000 at Tuggle City. You with your 5,000 at Mt. Esha. And finally, you with your 8,000 will circle far to the west, dropping south, where you’ll then make your way to Port Turin.”
The goblin kings nodded in agreement. When the Dark One stopped speaking, each king grabbed one of the magical weapons and left the room. The black cloaked figure went back to his large window and stared out of it.
I will smash my sixty thousand goblin forces against the kingdoms of men, dwarves, and elves. That alone should crush them, but if it isn’t enough to break them, then I have additional powerful allies.
In the distance, he could see several of the flying shadows break off from the main group and begin heading towards his tower. So, it has begun, he thought, as he walked back to the stone table and began rolling up the map. Two words were written at the very top. “The Glen.”
* * *
Several days later, in a land very far to the south, Lord Prince Talban scratched his yule’s neck. This caused the large beast that he was riding to let out a snort of appreciation.
Yules were not known for making much noise, but they did let out occasional snorts of contentment. Lord Prince Talban had been riding the beast hard, not that the creature minded, because the sturdy green reptilian animals were built for long distances.
The wingless, half dragon-half dinosaur creatures had long bodies, a tail nearly as long as a man, and four stout legs covered in muscle. They were twice as long and slightly taller than the horses that the men of the Lower Glen rode.
Although they weren’t as fast as horses, they could travel three times as far, without rest. They could also suffer various wounds without faltering. That made them perfect mounts for the vast open terrain of the Upper Glen.
At thirty, Prince Talban was King Darian’s oldest son. He had flowing black hair and was considered to be quite handsome. He was brash, and a bit of an adventure seeker, always traveling to where the action was. That had earned him a lot of respect.
And travel they had. The slender black-haired prince and his men had been following the prints of a goblin horde for over two days now. They had been on the move constantly, only catching the occasional doze in the saddles of their yules.
The prince had pushed his men hard, because the goblin tracks were leading straight north, towards the protection of Timber Lake Mountains. They had followed the prints of two other groups last week, and had turned back only when they reached the shadow of the mountains.
Men of the Glen rarely ventured into Timber Lake Mountains. It was a natural border between the land of men and the land of the seven tribes of goblins.
Goblins had a milky green color to their bumpy warty skin, and most stood about four feet high. They had yellow pointed teeth and wore a perpetual scowl. Their worst feature was that they smelled atrocious because they never bathed, and actually loathed getting in water.
They dressed in animal furs and leathers, which they often obtained by raiding the Upper Glen. Most goblins had round pudgy noses and deep-set black eyes. They were an ugly brutish lot.
Lord Prince Talban had a second reason for wanting to find this horde. The group had dug an iron box out of the earth and had taken its contents. The large chest glowed with a magical hue.
The iron box was completely caved in, looking like a very powerful weapon had done the damage. It was odd that the goblins had travelled so far into the Upper Glen and located a buried box in an unmarked, unremarkable field.
None of this made any sense to the prince. Talban wanted to know what they had taken from the magically protected box, and he knew that his father, King Darian, would want to know as well.
King Darian was the leader of the Yule Riders, tasked by the other twelve kings of the realm to patrol the Upper Glen for goblin encroachments. The Upper Glen was large and had been broken into three patrol areas; the Western Rim, the Eastern Rim, and the Central Rim.
Generally, patrolling was an easy task. King Darian always ran a couple of squads in each patrol area. Being out on the rims was most of the men’s favorite part of being a Yule Rider.
The Bone Breaker Tribe and the Black Eye Tribe were the only goblins that Lord Prince Talban had ever seen. The Bone Breakers were the largest of the goblins. They were incredibly strong, and could often break a man’s bone with a single punch, earning them their name.
The Black Eye Tribe earned their name from dark rings of pigment that colored the skin around their eyes. It was believed that the other five tribes had not entered the Glen in over two hundred years.
It was common for the Yule Riders to encounter small hordes of Bone Breakers, or Black Eyes, about once a month. A goblin horde was a family group of males, usually numbering anywhere from twenty to fifty, although Lord Prince Talban had defeated a horde of nearly a hundred with his father’s patrol last summer.
A horde was always led by a family leader called a yorg. The yorg was usually the largest member of the horde and always the strongest. He dominated the other members with fear. A yorg had no qualms about killing a disobedient underling.
Lord Prince Talban and his twelve-man squad continued north, and just as they reached the growing shadows of Timber Lake Mountains, they caught sight of the horde.
The goblins numbered around twenty-five, with a large male that was surely the yorg, leading them at a fast trot straight towards one of the mountain paths. We got them! Talban thought. Their yule’s were faster and they would catch the horde at the foot of the mountain.
“Charge!” Lord Prince Talban shouted at Hark and Maylay, the two lords that always rode beside him.
Lords Hark and Maylay were the two most experienced fighters in his patrol, and were most likely assigned by King Darian to protect him, more than anything else. This did not bother the brash prince, because he liked and greatly respected both men.
Hark was funny, always with quips and pranks. The man loved to poke fun at his companions. Maylay was usually at the brunt of his jokes, but he too could pull a good prank, keeping the amusing Hark in line.
The remainder of his squad consisted of two captains, the rank just under a lord, as well as six warriors and two archers. The men raised their brown shields, that bore red dragon emblems in the center, and began to race towards the goblins.
The two archers were the first to strike, launching arrows from the backs of their yules. One arrow flew wide, but the second found its mark, piercing the nearest goblin through the back of its green neck.
The creature let out a gurgling shriek when he fell, spitting up blood. The yorg immediately let out a howl, and pointed towards the advancing yules, signaling the underlings to swing around and charge towards the men.
Lord Maylay reached the horde first, and sliced his sword through a stocky goblin’s stomach, dispatching him quickly. Lord Hark was the second to strike, and soon had another goblin underling dead at his yule’s feet, its head separated from its body.
Two things caught Lord Prince Talban’s eye as he shoved his wicked looking, black razor-edged magical spear, into a rather scrawny goblin in front of him. First, the enemy bore the tattooed markings of the Bone Breaker Tribe.
All goblins wore three lines of tattoos on their broad flat foreheads. The first line identified their tribe, while the second denoted their family name. The third line was a series of dots designating their rank. The more dots, the higher the rank. All goblins in a horde had at least one dot on their third tattoo line.
Talban had thought that they were Bone Breakers, even before he had seen the markings, because of their size. The goblins of the Bone Breaker Tribe grew rather large, at least a foot or two taller than the goblins of their six sister tribes.
Even though they were more dim-witted than the other goblin tribes, they nearly matched the height of men and were feared a little more than some of the other groups of goblins.
The second thing that Lord Prince Talban noticed was their metal weapons. He had never seen goblins use anything other than wooden clubs, or an occasional wooden spear.
The goblin that he had just killed had been holding a short sword! His captains and warriors rushed past him, engaging more of the enemy. This shook him from his thoughts.
The yorg let out another howl and swung a large axe at the nearest man, striking him in the center of his chest, killing him instantly as he flopped lifelessly from atop his yule. This brought another howl, one of glee, from the big yorg.
Three more goblins rushed forward, launching long barbed spears at the nearest riders. One of the spears pierced another warrior through his abdomen, while the other two struck the unfortunate man’s yule.
Both tumbled to the ground, sending the wounded yule rolling onto its back, crushing the wounded rider, while flailing its legs and tail wildly until it died. One of its sharp claws raked across the face of a warrior riding by, killing him.
The yorg let out another loud goblin howl and charged at Lord Maylay. The tall skinny man barely dodged the large swinging axe while he slid from his saddle. Maylay drew his blade and approached the goblin leader.
Lord Prince Talban tried to ride towards the two combatants, but a small scrappy goblin rushed at him. After grabbing onto the side of his yule, the creature plunged a dagger into the animal’s front leg.
The yule reared up onto its hind legs, sending the small goblin sprawling, which nearly threw the prince off as well. The yule brought its clawed hoofs down onto the underling that now lay in front of it, crushing the scrawny creature into a green mush.
Meanwhile, the yorg raised its giant axe to take a second strike at Lord Maylay, when an arrow from an archer struck its arm. The yorg hesitated, looking at the fresh wound.
Lord Maylay took the opportunity to slice his sword across the goblin leader’s belly, causing it to fall onto the ground with the contents of its stomach pouring out around it. The remaining goblins saw their leader fall and began fleeing up the mountain path.
The men that were still seated atop yules quickly rode them down, striking from behind. The death cries of howling goblins echoed off the nearby canyon walls, as none were allowed to escape. The entire battle had lasted no more than a couple of minutes.
Lord Prince Talban looked at the carnage strewn about the landscape around him. Twenty-five goblins lay dead, along with three of his men and a yule. He had not lost a man in over a year, and grimaced at the thought of losing three of his companions in one encounter.
Another Yule Rider Patrol Leader, Lord Marcus, had encountered an unarmed Black Eye horde twice this size, just a few days ago, and had not lost a single man in the battle.
The bald black Marcus was a good friend of Talban’s, and extremely capable in combat. Still, Talban realized that goblins with steel weapons might even up the odds a bit. He had to warn his father, King Darian, and the rest of the Yule Riders.
After they tended to their dead, he ordered his men to set up camp in a small nearby ravine. They would nurse their wounds and get some much-needed rest.
At first light they would head out. That night they did not light a fire because they could hear the sounds of many goblins howling from the canyons of the nearby Timber Lake Mountains.
| Author Notes | This is the first book in the Thirteen Kings Series called Lords Of The Glen. |
By Douglas Goff
Camp City was quite active for the evening hour. A commotion in the distance caused King Darian to shift his gaze away from the early morning sunrise. A patrol was coming in, and by the way that they were kicking up dust, they were moving fast.
King Darian stroked his long black beard. He was a sturdy man, in his late-forties, and was considered to be quite handsome in a rugged way. He strode thru Camp City towards the approaching patrol.
It was Captain Elliot and his men. The eleven riders looked exhausted, with their hair and beards matted with sweat and blood. King Darian immediately noticed that one yule was carrying two men.
“Swamp Crawlers!” Captain Elliot blurted out, as he half-fell, half-slid from his saddle.
Captain Elliot was a short man, with a bookish look about him, yet he was well versed with the sword. He was an extraordinarily capable leader, and was in charge of the only yule patrol not led by a lord.
“We rode all night, fast as we could,” Captain Elliot gasped, pushing his gold-rimmed glasses further up on his nose. “Swamp Crawlers are in the Upper Glen!”
“Are you sure?” King Darian asked with surprise. “How do you know it was Swamp Crawlers?”
“They bore the markings and had the blotchy skin. I remembered the tattoos from the lessons at the Captains Academy in Port Turin,” Captain Elliot answered. “We killed eighteen of them today.”
Captain Elliot held out a bloody sack and continued, “I thought you’d want to see for yourself.”
Captain Elliot adjusted his glasses again and dumped out the contents of the bag. A goblin’s head thudded to the ground, its dull lifeless eyes staring off into the distance, with its mouth frozen in a perpetual scowl.
Sure enough, it bore the markings of a Swamp Crawler, and it also had the brown splotches on its skin that were common to its tribe. Most of the men watching had never seen one before.
The Swamp Crawler Tribe dwelled in the marshy regions around Timber Lake, where they thrived in the muddy environment, which was probably the reason that they didn’t venture into the dry lands of the Glen.
The constant moisture caused their skin to blotch and molt, and quite often thin layers of their skin would actually shed away. This left fresh green patches in various spots on their bodies. They were vile creatures.
“This isn’t good news for the Glen,” King Darian thought aloud and scratched his beard, as he often did when contemplating his next move.
“There’s more sire,” Captain Elliot said. “We passed Lord Fidium’s patrol on the way in. They were coming in slow, because several of their yule’s were wounded. They said that they had defeated a horde from the Skin Peeler Tribe somewhere on the Eastern Rim.”
The Skin Peeler goblins had distinctive body shapes as well. They were tall and lanky but had large pot bellies. They earned their name from their tendencies to skin their captives alive, making them one of the most hated of tribes.
This was one of the few times in his life that King Darian found himself at a loss for words. It was surprising that some Swamp Crawlers had been encountered in the Upper Glen, but a second horde from another uncommon tribe? King Darian wasn’t sure what was going on, but as king of the Yule Riders, he was going to find out.
Later that evening, two more patrols came in. Lord Fidium’s patrol of ten riders were the first, and they confirmed the presence of the Skin Peelers in the Upper Glen with a goblin head of their own.
The second patrol that arrived was that of his son’s. Lord Prince Talban’s patrol returned to Camp City with three of his riders rolled in tarps and strapped to yules. This was the customary way that they carried their dead.
King Darian was happy to see his son, but waited for the dead to be taken to the Preparation Tent, as tradition required, before they spoke. The dead warriors would be marked for their afterlife journey, and then their bodies would be burnt on a funeral pyre after the sun went down.
“Sire,” Talban wearily greeted his father.
“My son, an ill wind blows across the Upper Glen!” King Darian replied.
“Yes indeed. I heard about the Swamp Crawlers and Skin Peelers. I’m afraid that I’ve more bad tidings.” Lord Prince Talban rubbed his neck, then continued, “The goblins we encountered were Bone Breakers.”
“That’s not out of the ordinary,” King Darian said.
“No, but the steel weapons that they used against us was. Swords, spears, and daggers. Even a large axe. They crossed deep into our lands and dug them up out of a field.”
“Steel weapons?” King Darian could not believe his ears; or eyes as his oldest son pulled a large rusty axe from his back and handed it to him.
“They dug them up from some type of protected box in the ground,” his eldest son informed.
Then the legends of Hogarth are true, Darian thought to himself. Hogarth was the Glen’s heroic first king and had entered the Glen more than a thousand years ago.
Hogarth had driven out the seven tribes of goblins, along with ogres, giants, dragons, and a wide variety of other creatures that had resided on the large peninsula. Hogarth then created his own kingdom, and all of the men who now resided in the Glen were descended from him and his people.
Incredible legendary tales of King Hogarth and his victories were still told around campfires all over the Glen. Some were so incredulous that many believed them to be fiction.
One such legend told that when the goblins were driven into Timber Lake Mountains, they stopped, just long enough to bury their steel weapons in iron boxes in the fields of the Upper Glen. They did this as a promise. A promise to return one day from the mountains and reclaim their ancient homeland.
“What patrols are still out?” King Darian asked. “We need to warn them about the weapons.”
“Father, Nye’s patrol is the only one still out, and they’re overdue.” Lord Prince Talban continued,” Lord Winston’s patrol passed by them yesterday. He said that Nye and his men were tracking a horde north towards Tortle Village.”
Lord Prince Nye was the youngest of King Darian’s three sons. King Darian scratched his beard as he thought.
“Summons all the lords and captains to the Central Meeting Tent,” he ordered. “We’ve much to do.”
Camp City was exactly that, a temporary camp the size of a city. Every few months King Darian would order Camp City to pack up and move. In this manner, they moved about the plains of the Upper Glen, setting up in various locations as the king saw fit.
The outer tents consisted of troop housing and yule stalls. The second ring of tents housed various small shops and eating areas. The third ring of tents housed the common folks and their families. Directly in the center of the camp were two large tents.
The first, and the smaller of the two, was the king’s quarters. The second tent, which was large enough to hold the entire camp of nearly a thousand people, was the Central Meeting Tent.
Normally they took about a week to move the city. In an emergency, all of the shelters in Camp City could be rolled up fairly quickly and mounted on pack yules to be moved in about half a day.
A short time later, roughly seventy men were seated in the Central Meeting Tent. They were the leaders of the twenty-two yule patrols. The tent fell silent when King Darian strode in, surrounded by his uncanny air of confidence.
The men respected their king, because he always made well thought out decisions, and once he chose a course of action he moved quickly. No one in the tent doubted the man in any way.
“As you’re aware, we’ve run into several goblin hordes in the past few days from the Bone Breaker, Black Eye, Swamp Crawler, and Skin Peeler Tribes. It would appear that they’ve been digging up steel weapons across the Upper Glen.” King Darian paused for a moment, and then continued, “I think that it’d be prudent to assume that there’re goblins from the Bloody Thrasher, Skull Crusher, and Flesh Eater Tribes here as well.”
King Darian thumped his fist on the table in front of him and said, “If that’s our assumption, then we can treat this as no less than a full-scale invasion of the Upper Glen by the seven goblin tribes!”
A mumble went through the rows of men. Lord Winston, a small, usually quiet man, spoke up,” We can’t defeat all seven tribes alone.”
Lord Borlan, a large, well-muscled man, grunted out, “They haven’t birthed the goblins that can beat my patrol!”.
Lord Fidium, a man well respected for his courage, spoke next, “We could move south to the Hills of Hogarth. It’d be easier to fight the goblins from the highland passes with support from our brothers of the three hill kingdoms.”
King Darian raised his hand to silence his men. “We’ve been tasked with defending the Upper Glen. I’ll not surrender it without a fight. Besides, we’ve five villages that need to be evacuated at the base of Timber Lake Mountains.”
King Darian looked about the room and gave his beard a tug, before he continued, “These’re your orders. First, I want Camp City struck by morning and prepared to move out.”
King Darian locked eyes with his middle son. “Lord Prince Nehi and Lord Draydon will take their patrols and guide our women and children south to the Hills of Hogarth. Take them to the Frontier Fortress at Kaylor. They should be safe there.”
“Father,” Lord Prince Nehi interrupted. “My place is on the plains with you and Talban, looking for our missing brother!”
“Prince Nehi,” King Darian’s voice became stern. “It’s a king’s most important duty to protect his people. I’ve the largest patrol, so I’m needed here. I’m asking you to honor me by stepping in and fulfilling my duty. Can I rely on you for this?”
“Yes sire, my apologies.” Lord Prince Nehi looked embarrassed and fell silent.
“Lord Marcus, take your patrol and ride for Gilead Castle. Warn dwarf King Sturdy Axe of the danger.”
King Darian thought for a second, and then said, “Lord Mintor, ride for Trader Town and warn King Wilsom. The kingdoms of Hogarth Hills must be alerted so that they can prepare for attack.”
“Lord Fidium, you’ve a better relationship than any other with Gorin the Gorilla King. Take your patrol to Ape Town and try to convince him to send out his raiders to assist us. Also, advise him to move his females and young to Hogarth Hills. I doubt that he’ll listen, but still, you should suggest it,” King Darian said.
Ape Town is what men called the gorilla city of Tuggle. It sat close to the western foot of Hogarth Hills. The ape raiders had moved into the Upper Glen a few hundred years ago, when the goblins burnt their villages and forced them from Timber Lake Mountains.
The men of the Glen learned to tolerate the apes, but relations were strained due to some recent cattle raids on the nearby human villages. Lord Fidium had not been given an easy task.
King Darian continued to hand out assignments. “Lord Borlan, take your patrol to the village of Nushia and move the people to Hogarth Hills. Lord Grey take your men to Nilot Village and do the same, while Lord Winston goes to Ladox Village. Lord Prince Talban you evacuate Sev Village. Get those people to safety as quickly as possible.”
The men nodded as King Darian continued, “Lord Brickor, ride out with your training unit and find the herdsmen. Have them take the cattle north and out of harm’s way.”
“It shall be done,” Lord Brickor promised.
The king sighed and then finished,” Lord Bruce and I will take our patrols to Tortle Village and find my son, Lord Prince Nye. I want the remaining patrols to ride out, full combat gear. Engage the enemy wherever you find them and make them pay in blood for our plains. We will re-unite at the foot of Hogarth Hills on the road to Kaylor in ten days. Come sooner if you suffer heavy losses. Are there any questions?”
“Shouldn’t we send warning to the high king in the Lower Glen?” someone in the back asked.
“He already knows,” King Darian replied, and strode from the tent.
By Douglas Goff
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Blood flowing on the plains of the Upper Glen . . . . . royal blood . . . . . goblin hordes pouring down the mountain passes into the Glen . . . . . common folk in chains, being led into Timber Lake Mountains . . . . . the great dwarven fortress at Gilead melting . . . . . steel weapons in goblin hands . . . . . a white castle . . . . . spiraled towers with white banners waving from every peak . . . . . the images were a whirlwind in his mind as High King Tronin pulled the Great Helm from his head.
The head piece slid off with a sucking sound. It always felt too tight, but now sitting in his hands, it looked very large. High King Tronin sat still for a moment, waiting for the throbbing in his head to subside.
Using the magical helmet always gave him a headache. Tronin ran his hand through his white hair. He was only forty-two, but the complete whitening of his hair was another one of the side effects of using the helmet.
It also drained him of his energy, often leaving him tired for a couple of days, so he limited his use of the Great Helm to once a month. The images that he had received were disturbing.
He was not one to get excited, but the visions from the Great Helm upset him. Steel weapons in the hands of goblins entering the Glen, the mighty fortress of Gilead melting, and royal blood spilt.
He was certain that it wasn’t King Darian’s, or his oldest son Lord Prince Talban’s blood. He would know if it were either, because he knew them well. The helmet’s visions were usually much more detailed with people that he knew. It must be one of King Darian’s younger sons.
And what of the white castle with the spiraled towers and white banners? He was sure that he had never been there, yet he had been given this image each time that he had put the helmet on for the past few months.
The Great Helm always provided important visions, and they always came true, although he did misinterpret things from time to time. It had not proved inaccurate, even once, in the twenty-one years that he had been High King of the Glen.
The sound of men drilling wafted through the windows of the open throne room, interrupting Tronin’s musings. The Captains Academy was across the courtyard, sitting in the shadows of his palace.
Both stone buildings were fortresses in themselves and sat in the middle of Port Turin, the capital kingdom of the Glen. Due to the close proximity of the buildings, he often heard the men marching about.
Warriors who wished to become captains had to attend a yearlong training course at the academy. It was a rigorous program with various classes from tactics to swordplay, as well as studies in history, creatures, and the local cultures.
Once a man satisfactorily completed the academy, he was awarded the rank of captain. If they so decided, a captain could seek further advancement to the position of lord. To do this they had to Quest. This involved a solo journey into Timber Lake Mountains.
To promote, the captain had to return from the mountains with the head of a foe, and most men who made the Quest returned with the head of a goblin from one of the seven tribes. If the captain returned, about a fourth never did, then he would be awarded the title and position of a lord.
This had been the tradition since the days of King Hogarth. It was a good system, because it gave the men battle experience and it kept the goblin population down. This was important, because the seven tribes of goblins had been enemies of the Glen for centuries.
High King Tronin had implemented one change. In the first year of his rule, the Great Helm had shown him that some of his captains would Quest only to the foothills of Timber Lake Mountains.
Once there, they would lie in wait at the bottom of one of the trails into the mountains, waiting for a goblin to wander too close to the lands of men. They would kill the goblin and return with a head without ever having really left the Glen.
The Great Helm had also showed Tronin that the waters of the great lake, located in a natural bowl at the top of the mountains, had healing powers for men. It was an incredible discovery for his people!
Goblins rarely went in any water, and had no use for the healing powers which did not affect them, but they did ring Timber Lake with their villages because they relished the taste of raw fish.
This led High King Tronin to require the captains to not only return with a head, but also with a vial of the healing water from Timber Lake, in order to earn the title of lord. Not only did this provide a steady supply of the healing water for his people, but it also insured that his men actually Quested up onto the mountains.
Tronin looked down at the helmet in his hands. It was bronze, with red dragons engraved on it in various poses. He instinctively looked up at the dragon skull mounted above his ivory throne.
The giant head, with its empty eyes and large fangs, still looked menacing. The thing seemed almost as scary as it did the day that he had killed it. Tronin closed his eyes and thought back to the day of his Quest.
He had been twenty-one years old when he ventured high up into Timber Lake Mountains. Not that he had been seeking anything more than a goblin’s head, he just had not seen any signs of life during the four days climb that it took him to reach the lake.
On the fourth day, he came across a small goblin village burning next to Timber Lake. It had belonged to the Black Eye Tribe, but the goblins were all dead. That’s when Tronin had noticed a green blood trail leading up a nearby path towards a very large peak.
His first instinct was to leave, but finally decided that such a formidable enemy of the goblins would be a possible ally to men. Tronin followed the path along a ridgeline that overlooked the village, and after several minutes, reached a series of caves that led deep into the peak rising above him.
The blood trail continued towards the caves. Tronin was contemplating his next move when he saw her. She had exited from one of the larger holes in the mountainside.
He had heard of these beasts, but thought that they were creatures of legend and make believe. Yet there stood a dragon! The beast that stood before him was all of forty feet long, with a body covered in bright red, almost shiny scales.
Her eyes were a menacing yellow, which glared at him. Tronin began to back away, with his sword out in front of him, his hands trembling. He was far from being a coward, but she was more than he had bargained for.
Apparently, the goblin village had not been very filling, because she charged at Tronin as if she were starving. He could see green goblin blood and chunks of green goblin flesh still in her fangs.
“Man flesssh!!!” the dragon hissed in an elven dialect.
Tronin did not have time to contemplate that the beast could talk. He had been too busy diving for cover when she spewed a stream of fire from her mouth, directly at him.
He still had burn scars on the back of his legs where the flames had licked him. When Tronin got back on his feet the dragon rushed in for the kill, and Tronin could still remember thinking that he was going to die, but he was going to take the beast with him.
He made a last-ditch effort and with all his strength he threw his trusty sword, later named Vitrium by his people, at the charging red dragon that was nearly upon him. Vitrium meant “victory” in the dwarf language.
Call it luck, or fate, but Vitrium flew true. The blade sank deep into the dragon’s eye, killing it! People of the Glen probably would have thought that he had found her dead, if the red dragon hadn’t managed to rake him with a claw as she fell into darkness.
The strike had nearly killed him, and he bore the proof, in the form of large scars running down the left side of his face and body. They had barely faded over the years, and were still quite visible, even at a distance.
Tronin had entered the dragon’s lair and found the Great Helm. He had also found a hatchling, or baby dragon in the cave. The hatchling, about the size of a cow, hissed at him and puffed smoke in his direction while hiding behind a pile of dead goblin bodies.
Tronin had thought about killing the baby red, but changed his mind. Dragons never entered the Glen, but goblins did. Since the red dragons apparently ate goblins, he reasoned that it would be wise to let the hatchling live.
Tronin was not sure if the hatchling spoke elvish like its mother, but spoke the old language anyways, saying, “I am Tronin of the Glen. Live long and kill many goblins!”.
This merely brought on another hiss from the hatchling, which scurried from the cave and fled down the trail past its dead mother. Tronin left the dragon cave and found another unoccupied cave nearby.
He stayed there for almost three months, drinking rainwater, and nursing himself back to health. His cuts were too deep to make the journey back down to the Glen with the dragon’s head, and he was not leaving his prize behind.
Not to mention that the burns on the backs of his legs also made walking difficult, so it took him a long time to recover sufficiently enough to travel. If only he had known about the healing properties of Timber Lake back then, he thought.
When Tronin returned to the Glen, he was an instant hero. No captain had ever killed a dragon before, though he could remember some old stories about a few who had killed giants, but a dragon was unheard of.
The people were fascinated about the young heroic lord with his dragon scars, causing his story to spread across the land. He soon became a favorite amongst the people who held many celebrations in his honor.
Old Cobb, who had been high king for forty-three years, died a year after Tronin had returned. Cobb’s wives had borne him no sons, so Tronin, who was a distant nephew, was the natural choice to be the new High King of the Glen. The people called him “Dragon Slayer”, and wanted no other ruler. Upon his return, he had told the story of his Quest exactly as it had occurred, but the tale seemed to have a way of growing when others re-told it.
He had heard many versions, including one that had him riding the red dragon. No matter, the people needed to respect their king. That is why he kept the powers of the Great Helm a secret.
Many of his subjects thought him a wizard or a prophet, due to his unnatural way of knowing of things to come. Regardless of what they believed he was, they respected his powers, and more importantly his decisions.
To show his respect to the creature that had earned him his fame and made him high king, he had ordered the red dragon emblem to be placed on all shields throughout the Glen. The people readily followed this order as a sign of respect for their new king.
“Guards!” Tronin shouted. “Send my royal messengers to me!”
When his messengers entered the room, High King Tronin commanded them,” Ride to the kings of Hogarth Hills. Tell them that war comes to the Glen. Ride to the kings of the elves, dwarves, and Lower Glen kingdoms of men and tell them that I’m requesting a meeting in the Great Meeting Hall of Dwain. I expect them there in six days.”
By Douglas Goff
Back in the Upper Glen, King Darian’s youngest son, Lord Prince Nye eyed the columns of smoke rising from Tortle Village. They spiraled high into the blue sky, just to the west, looking like the fingers of a giant black claw grasping at the sun.
He shifted his gaze to the east where a goblin horde was forming a battleline just a field’s length away. The green foe had red tufts of hair on top of their heads, fashioned into mohawk style haircuts.
They looked fierce and seemed motivated to fight. The goblins numbered around twenty-five and carried large black spears. His father would need to know about the metal weapons.
“Your orders my prince?” The question came from his Second-In-Command, a dark black veteran lord named Tobias.
“Tortle Village may be under attack, so take half of the patrol and protect the village, while the rest of us deal with this horde,” Prince Nye answered calmly.
“Aye, my prince,” Lord Tobias responded, and then barked out some orders and rode off towards Tortle Village with eight of the men.
Prince Nye ordered his remaining men into a line and then commanded the yule riders to advance on the goblins. Nye was the youngest of Darian’s three sons, at nineteen years-old, but the men followed his orders instantly.
He was the most level-headed of the three princes, and always carried an air of calmness and leadership about him, just like his father. His patrol had great respect for him, even at such a young age.
A large yorg let out a howl and the goblins began to move forward. The two groups of adversaries advanced towards each other, slowly at first, but then both sides let out a yell and surged forward.
Prince Nye’s only archer struck first, his arrow bringing down the front goblin. Several of the enemy responded by launching their long black barbed spears at the advancing men.
One of the spears struck Prince Nye’s yule in the neck, spraying blood all over him. The yule stopped dead in its tracks, which threw Nye forward, sending him headlong into the rushing goblins.
The warrior closest to the prince had also been hit. He fell to the ground, landing on his back with a spear protruding from his abdomen. He thrashed about for a moment, and then became still.
Goblins and men came together in a loud clash of steel on steel. The sounds were incredible. Merlot and Biv, two of Nye’s lords, saw several goblins rushing towards the fallen prince.
Merlot and Biv were both skinnier men, with Biv being younger than Merlot at thirty years old, and about six inches taller. Merlot, at forty, had completely white hair. Both men began slashing their way toward their leader.
Lord Wilmhelm, the newest lord in the patrol, was closer and charged at the yorg. The goblin leader shoved his spear deep into the man’s rushing yule and killed it. The young Lord Wilmhelm went sprawling, while the yorg charged towards him.
When Lord Wilmhelm rose to his feet, an arrow whizzed over his shoulder, striking the yorg in the stomach. The still mounted archer had come to Lord Wilmhelm’s aid.
The yorg howled angrily and landed a series of spear strikes against Lord Wilmhelm’s shield, nearly knocking it from his arm with each powerful blow. Another arrow pierced the yorg in its lower back, bringing out another howl, causing the beast to turn and look for its attacker.
That’s when a third and fatal arrow struck the yorg in the throat, causing it to fall to its knees, and then straight forward onto its face in the dust. The beast’s chest heaved once, then the goblin leader was dead.
Nearby, five big fat goblins advanced on Prince Nye, where he noted the markings of the Bloody Thrasher Tribe, before he struck down the nearest one. Now the odd red mohawks made sense, because he had never seen those on goblins before. He had to warn his father!
Prince Nye dodged two spear thrusts, but a third caught him in the left shoulder. He grasped the middle of the spear shaft and pulled hard, bringing its owner in close. He swung his sword in a wide arc, chopping off the spear thruster’s head.
Prince Nye spun about to face another charging fat goblin, parrying the creature’s spear with his sword as it rushed at him. Nye stabbed the creature in the heart, killing it.
One of the remaining two fat goblins launched its spear at Prince Nye, striking him in the upper right thigh, causing the blood to flow down towards his boot.
The young prince painfully pulled the spear from the gaping wound and threw it back at the same goblin that had thrown it. The spear struck the creature square in the chest, killing it.
Prince Nye fell to his one good knee, with his new wound rapidly filling his boot with blood. He looked up to see Captain Fairbanks, who had been fighting his way towards him, fall with a spear in his back.
The remaining fat goblin charged at Prince Nye. The young patrol leader swung his sword slicing open the grotesque belly of the foe, but the goblin’s spear found its mark, piercing thru the prince’s light armor and into his chest.
His final attacker pushed forward, driving the young prince to the ground on his back. Nye thrust his blood covered sword up into his enemy’s neck. The dead goblin fell on top of him, with both of them bleeding, their green and red blood mixing.
Prince Nye shoved the disgusting creature off and managed to struggle to his knees. He hurt everywhere, but was lucky to be alive. He had defeated five goblins and survived! He couldn’t believe it!
He never saw a second muscular yorg come up behind him, carrying a red hilted sword with a long black blade. The yorg shoved the magical weapon straight through the prince’s back, until the blade popped out of his chest, sending the young man back to the ground.
The remaining few goblin underlings were scattered about and began to flee. They were quickly cut down by the squad’s archer. It was a victory, but a costly one.
Most of the yules were wounded, and two were dead. Two warriors had also fallen, along with Captain Fairbanks, and young Prince Nye lay dying in the grass.
Lord Tobias rode up and shouted to Lord Merlot, “Tortle Village has been burnt to the ground and the garrison is dead. The villagers were gone, taken up into the mountains.”
Just then, Lord Tobias caught sight of the dying prince, about half a field away. The big yorg was standing over him with the red hilted sword, the black blade dripping red blood.
The older black warrior’s heart leapt into his throat. The goblin leader grinned at him, and then turned and fled. Lord Tobias rode over to Nye and immediately jumped from his yule, hoping that the boy’s wounds weren’t as bad as they looked.
They were. He took the prince’s hand as the young man took one last gasp and died. Tears began to flow freely down Lord Tobias’ grief-stricken face. He loved the youth as if he were his own son.
“No!!! The prince has fallen!” Tobias jumped up, and looked about, wanting vengeance. “Where did the yorg with the odd sword go?”
None of the remaining men had seen the creature and now it was nowhere to be found. A quick search revealed nothing. It seemed as if the yorg had simply vanished.
“Gather up the rest of the dead,” Tobias said, his voice breaking. “I’ll take care of the prince’s body. We have to take him to his father.”
By Douglas Goff
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Over on the Western Rim, Lord Fidium rubbed his hand along the red dragon emblem on his brown shield. He liked the symbol of his people. He looked up when he heard a group of gorillas approaching on horseback. His squad had reached Ape Town in less than a day.
The lead ape was Togris. He was a large black-haired male. His back was just starting to silver, which happened to most gorillas after they passed mid-life. Togris was tough, but had a fairly good disposition, for an ape man.
Togris and his raiders came to a stop a few feet away from the yule patrol. The raiders wore leather armor and leather helmets. They were a fierce looking group.
Their primary choice of weapon was the short spear, which could be thrown, or used for hand-to-hand combat. Several of them had six to eight of these spears strapped to their backs.
“Friend Fidium, what brings man to Tuggle City?” Togris grunted out, recognizing Lord Fidium from previous encounters.
“Greetings Raider Togris. I need to see King Gorin. It is of utmost importance,” Fidium responded.
“What is important to man, is not always important to ape,” Togris replied, but after a moment’s thought, added, “Man Fidium is friend to ape. Follow me.”
Lord Fidium’s patrol followed the ape raiders towards the city. The ape men liked Lord Fidium, or more accurately, liked his reputation. They knew the story of his Quest, which had occurred about ten years ago.
Fidium had climbed up Timber Lake Mountains, looking for adventure. Within a few days he had become disorientated. He wandered about, lost for three weeks, encountering neither goblin nor man.
He exhausted his food supply, and fearing starvation, had eaten an unknown variety of purple mushrooms. They had a bitter taste. His memory of what had occurred after that was blurry.
Fidium could remember dancing naked around large bonfires and howling at the moon, causing some goblins in a nearby village to flee in terror, thinking him to be a possessed mountain spirit.
Still, the majority of his memories were random and unclear, and time had seemed meaningless. Fourteen months later, he had walked into Sev Village, naked and covered in green goblin blood.
It caused quite a ruckus, because he had been thought long dead. It was even more odd that he had went up into the mountains from Tortle Village, nearly on the opposite side of the Upper Glen.
Lord Fidium had babbled incoherently for several hours, and then fell into a deep slumber that lasted a full day. The only thing that he had carried out of the mountain were two brown sacks, both filled with goblin heads from the Black Eye Tribe, numbering fifteen in total.
People had reported that for the next several days he had a blank stare on his face, and although his memory of who he was eventually came back, he never recovered much memory of what had occurred during his fourteen-month Quest. Since then, he had flashes of memories that made no sense to him.
Another oddity that occurred was that Fidium had not been considered a very intelligent man when he had gone up into the mountains, but when he came down, his ability to reason had grown considerably. Lord Fidium attributed this as being a side-effect of the purple mushrooms.
The smell of Tuggle City interrupted his reminiscing. Tuggle City was basically a series of thatched huts, about twenty in all, ranging from small to quite large.
The first thing one noticed when approaching the city was the smell, which came from a large trench that surrounded the entire village. It was about twenty feet wide and twenty feet deep.
The ape men used it for both sewage and garbage, so it was quite rank. There were two rope and plank bridges across the trench, one on the west side of Tuggle City, and one on the east side.
These bridges swayed and slightly buckled under any weight, yet seemed sturdy enough. Still it was somewhat nerve wracking to cross over mounted. Both bridges were always guarded by ape warriors because they were the only way into the city.
There were several hundred ape men living in the village, along with an equal number of women and children. The ape warriors had tried riding yules, but the larger, less intelligent animals were more temperamental than horses, and did not like the apes on their backs.
So, the apes rode horses, like the men of the Lower Glen, broken into four Raider Patrols. One of the four Raider Patrols was always out patrolling the Western Rim.
The apes and men crossed the eastern bridge and headed towards the largest hut located in the center of the city. Two very large black ape guards leaned against the wall near the entrance of the giant hut.
“Man Fidium enters alone,” one snarled, while the other pulled back a large cow hide, exposing the interior.
Lord Fidium climbed off his yule and followed one of the big ape guards into a large room. It was actually more of a lair than a room, for lack of a better word.
Several male apes lay about on piles of animal hides, with several female apes feeding them various foods. Numerous animal skulls adorned the walls, giving the room a primitive, almost savage appearance. The whole thing was lit by large barrel fires.
The most impressive sight in the room was a giant silverback sitting on a throne made from various animal horns and hides. He was easily twice as large as any other ape in the room. A young female ape was hand feeding him grapes.
“Greetings Gorin the Gorilla King, my respects to you and your mighty people,” Lord Fidium said as he bowed low and averted his gaze.
It would be considered a challenge if he looked the Gorilla King in the eyes, and Lord Fidium had no intentions of challenging the huge ape, ever. The giant gorilla gave off an aura of strength and power, creating fear in all but the strongest of men.
“Lord Fidium, friend to Tuggle City, what brings man here?” King Gorin’s voice was gravelly, yet booming.
“Trouble in the Upper Glen your Greatness. Many goblins are advancing into our shared lands,” Fidium answered.
“The green man are always in our lands, which may be trouble for man, but not for ape,” King Gorin scoffed. “We kill all green man we see. They are no match for strength of ape.”
“Your Greatness, it’s more serious, because we believe that goblins from all seven tribes are invading our lands. We seek an alliance with apes to deal with this threat,” Lord Fidium pressed.
“Man seeks alliance with ape? What has man done for ape? Ape raiders kill green man in all the Upper Glen. Does man respect ape for this?” the king growled. “No, man calls our village Ape Town and avoids ape when man sees him. Alliance with man? There will be no alliance with man!”
Lord Fidium had not known that the Gorilla King knew what men called Tuggle City. He thought about his response carefully, before answering, “What has men done for apes? I’m not blind, your Greatness. This chamber has quite a few hides lying about. Cow hides, I believe? The very armor that your raiders wear is made from cattle, yet apes aren’t herdsmen. Men herd cattle.”
Fidium paused, deciding that he needed to be firm. “Apes have been raiding cattle from our herds for years, yet High King Tronin has decided not to respond to this, out of respect for the treaty between our ancestors. The destiny of apes and men are intertwined in the fields of the Upper Glen!”
“Grrrrrr!” King Gorin let out an angry growl as he charged Lord Fidium, pounding on his own massive chest.
The man took a knee and looked at the ground, fighting his instinct to run, or to look into the eyes of the monstrous ape hovering over him.
Apparently pleased with Lord Fidium’s passive response, King Gorin returned to his throne and after settling in, continued, “Ape is no thief. We only take what we have earned for killing green man, your enemy. Man King Tronin respects ape for that, as we respect Tronin.”
The apes actually feared the high king because they believed he was a wizard, and the apes had no love for magic. Tronin had used that fear on several occasions to keep them in line.
Tronin allowed the occasional cattle raids, because it kept the aggressive gorillas busy. Besides, he would have freely given the apes the cattle if they had bothered to asked.
“Consider the hides payment for keeping the Upper Glen safe,” the Gorilla King said, and then let out a series of snorts, with the other apes in the room quickly joining in for what Fidium recognized as being the ape’s way of laughing.
“Your Greatness, my king only wishes to warn your people of the danger, and seek your aid, if you see fit to grant it,” Lord Fidium replied, and then continued, “Also King Darian suggests that you move your females and young to Hogarth Hills, until this danger passes.”
“Ape respect man Fidium and his king. We know of your many months in the mountains. Ape does not like the mountains,” King Gorin grunted out, matter of factly, then continued, “Out of this respect, ape will accept the warning of man, but ape and man will not fight together, nor will any ape retreat in fear to Hogarth. I will send out my Raider Patrols, and they will rid the Upper Glen of man’s problem. Then, maybe man will be more generous, and give ape more hides.”
The Gorilla King turned to his side, ignoring Lord Fidium, as if they had not just been talking. It was the apes’ way of ending a discussion. Lord Fidium bowed low and backed out of the room.
A short time later, Lord Fidium and his patrol left Tuggle City at a good pace. These meetings with the Gorilla King always drained him, so he and his men would camp nearby tonight in the fields of the Western Rim.
Lord Fidium could not imagine sleeping in Ape Town, not that the hospitality was offered. In fact, apes had little manners, nor showed much concern for the welfare of the other races. It was not the apes’ way.
By Douglas Goff
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By Douglas Goff
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At the same time, back in the Upper Glen, Lord Borlan flexed his bulging biceps. The squad leader unslung his giant two-handed sword from the sheath strapped to his back. The steel of the long blade shone brightly in the noon sun.
The magical two-handed sword had a black skull with red ruby eyes laid into the hilt, positioned just before where the blade began. The skull bore a wicked grin, almost laughing at the line of eighteen goblin archers from the Flesh Eater Tribe that were just over a field ahead of them.
The men glared at the goblins, having a particular dislike for this tribe. Men of the Glen knew that the Flesh Eater Tribe had earned its name for their eagerness to eat all types of flesh, including that of man.
They were easily recognizable because they were the only goblin tribe with red pupils in their eyes. The line of green creatures stood between them and Nushia Village.
The goblins returned the glare back at the thirteen yule riders, while they strung their bows. The two groups faced each other on the far edge of the Western Rim. This area consisted of large grassy plains that covered the entire west end of the Upper Glen.
Lord Borlan eyed the bulky men around him. He had no archers, because he believed that combat should be fought with the sword, up close and personal.
“I am proud of you men! Not only because you have killed more hordes than any other yule patrol, but because only the toughest men request to be in my squad!” he shouted at his fellow riders.
When Lord Borlan finished, Captain Trom rode up beside him and asked, “Should I sound the charge?”
The captain knew that they would not retreat. Lord Borlan had never, and would never, retreat from a goblin. Lord Borlan looked at Trom, grinning, and then let out a blood curdling yell as his yule surged forward. His men quickly followed suit and began to rush towards the goblin archers.
When Lord Borlan’s men had closed the distance to under half a field, the goblin yorg, a rather large Flesh Eater, howled out an order and pointed at the lead man. The goblin archers released their deadly barbed arrows, with about half finding their mark.
The front yule was hit twice in the head and once in the chest. The warrior astride the creature, a man named Wilkes, took three arrows in his shield. One pierced thru the shield and tore into his wrist, causing blood to spray from the wound and onto his armor.
A fourth arrow pierced the chainmail armor on his upper thigh, but he never felt the pain, because a final arrow hit him in the left eye. Both man and yule tumbled to the ground in a heap of death. This brought a loud cheer from the goblin archers.
Lord Borlan and his remaining men charged on, urging their yules forward at a thundering pace, the sounds of their claws pounding the earth. With the men closing in, the line of goblins hesitated for a moment, and then began to flee.
This displeased their leader yorg greatly, who let out a screech, and chopped down the goblin closest to him with an axe. Several nearby goblins looked at their superior and stopped their retreat.
The underlings closest to the goblin leader turned back to face the men while the goblins further away from the yorg continued to flee. The mounted men roared into the goblin line, rapidly cutting down the group around the yorg, and then pursued the ones that were fleeing.
Lord Borlan went straight for the goblin leader, throwing himself from the saddle of his yule. The big man struck the beast full on, sending both of them to the ground.
Lord Borlan rolled to his feet, rather quickly for such a large man, and swung his magical two-handed sword. It sliced the yorg in half, just as the slower creature had risen to its own feet. Lord Borlan let out a victory shout that was returned by his men.
* * *
About two days ride south from Lord Borlan’s battle, a yorg stood before Gorin the Gorilla King. He wore a large red mohawk that lay slightly to the right side of his head.
This particular goblin leader had been picked because he spoke the language of men, although quite roughly. The big goblin and his four underlings fidgeted nervously, feeling quite small under the stares of the much larger apes in the hut.
The yorg struggled to get out the correct human words, “Join wes against the kingdoms where are men.”
King Gorin scratched his large stomach, glaring at the yorg. The goblins had arrived the day after Lord Fidium had left, with just over five hundred warriors from the Bloody Thrasher Tribe.
The green men had quickly surrounded Tuggle City. The tribe that wore the red mohawks had come just a couple of hours after Gorin’s own four Raider Patrols had left.
“And if ape do not?” the Gorilla King asked.
“Then we burns this monkey city to ground!”, the yorg hissed, getting his nerve up, while he glared back at the giant gorilla.
King Gorin felt the rage rush through his veins, not from the goblin leader’s offensive words, but from the yorg staring into his eyes. This great offense was an instinctual challenge that the silverback could not ignore.
King Gorin charged the yorg, pounding his chest and roaring as he raced forward. The goblin leader rose up to meet him, quickly realizing that this was a bad idea, when the five-hundred-pound gorilla king smashed his huge fists down on the creature’s head, killing it instantly.
The other gorillas in the room made quick work of the four remaining goblin underlings. All the gorillas began pounding their chests and howling. The battle for Tuggle City had begun.
* * *
While that fight was just starting, the battle for Nilot had already ended. Lord Grey and his riders entered the village at a trot. They had seen huge smoke columns from several miles away and knew that the settlement was burning.
The squad had hoped that they could locate some survivors, but their wishful thinking was dashed when they reached the burnt-out shacks and buildings. No one, living that is, was in sight.
The garrison building had been the scene of an intense fight, with twelve goblins with black circles around their eyes sprawled about dead. Nearby lay the village guards, all six in various death poses. There was no sign of the six hundred or so villagers.
Lord Grey looked about in dismay. He was a middle-aged man, well groomed, with a trimmed beard and moustache. He was one of the more experienced Yule Rider squad leaders, and was quite capable with the sword, spear, and bow. Still, he felt uneasy. War had come and it was going to be ugly.
* * *
At dawn on the following day, High King Tronin rode out of Port Turin. He was surrounded by twelve warriors from his elite White Sash Brigade. The White Sash Brigade had protected all the high kings, since the days of King Hogarth, who had created them.
The White Sash Brigade also served as Tronin’s personal messengers. They were expert fighters and horsemen, easily recognizable by the white sashes that they wore around their waists.
The brigade carried the only white shields in the kingdom, that also bore the red dragon emblem in the center. Lord Caspiat, their commander, rode beside the high king.
Lord Caspiat was a slender black man, with short curly hair, who was highly skilled with the short saber that always hung at his side. He was an intelligent man, and meticulously detailed when it came to protecting his high king.
Lord Caspiat personally selected the men in the White Sash Brigade, and trained them himself. High King Tronin liked Lord Caspiat and had complete confidence in his abilities. There was no man in the kingdom that he trusted more.
The mighty stone walls of Port Turin, standing twenty feet high and twenty feet thick, receded quickly behind the horsemen. They passed through the green fields north of the capital kingdom, and entered the forest that surrounded most of Port Turin, minus the South Seas side.
Gilead Road began at the edge of the forest. It was paved with large flat stones, that echoed loudly with the sounds of the horse’s hooves striking them. This road ran north, more or less, to the Two Towers of Dwain, where the Great Meeting Hall was located.
The Two Towers of Dwain had been named after the tenth High King of the Glen. High King Dwain had been an ambitious man, constructing two large stone towers, each approximately one hundred and twenty feet high.
High King Dwain had moved the capital kingdom from the Frontier Fortress at Kaylor, which had served all nine of the high kings before him, to the Two Towers.
The East Tower, which housed the Great Meeting Hall, was said to be two feet taller than the West Tower because it was settling slower into the earth. The East and West Towers were attached to each other by a large stone archway, located at the very top.
Both towers and archway were highly defensible because they were lined with archer positions that had many arrow slits. This allowed the defenders of the Two Towers of Dwain to rain arrows down on any approaching foe.
Many years after High King Dwain’s death, High King Archibald had moved the capital kingdom to Port Turin, soon after the pirate raids had started. He had died shortly thereafter, in a horse fall, and was seceded by his brother High King Cobb.
Cobb had become high king at an elderly age, and had done little to stop the pirate raiding. The Glen maintained a defensive posture to the pirate attacks, until Tronin became high king. Being younger, and more aggressive, Tronin had initiated the offensive attacks that eventually led to victory.
The Two Towers of Dwain were approximately two horses from Port Turin. The men of the Glen measured longer distances by the amount of land an average horse could cover at a steady pace in one day. Smaller distances were often measured in average field lengths.
The Two Towers of Dwain were located in the center of the Lower Glen, and all of the kingdoms in the Lower Glen were no more than three horses away, which was the main reason that the kings still met there.
King Tronin was happy to be out of Port Turin. He loved his capital kingdom, but to be quite honest, he was growing bored of the mundane duties of a peacetime king.
He loved to ride, and was enjoying the breeze that was blowing through the trees ahead of him. He felt good and was looking forward to meeting with his elven and dwarven allies.
* * *
Meanwhile, back in the Upper Glen, things were going badly for one of King Darian’s yule patrols. The enemy had ambushed them, and they had suffered heavy losses.
The patrol’s last man of rank, Captain Beardog, hesitated. His pock-marked face was tense, while he watched goblins with black circles around their eyes rushing over the berm in front of him.
Lord Davis, the patrol leader, as well as Lord Detos and Captain Temor, were all lying dead at his feet, along with several goblins. The tough fifty-year-old captain was now in command.
For the past two days, the squad had been tracking a small horde across the Central Rim, and had ridden straight into the ambush. Over a hundred Black Eyes, who had been hiding behind a low berm, jumped the front of the column. They had taken the patrol completely by surprise.
Now he had a decision to make. Captain Beardog sliced down the nearest goblin and swung his yule around, shouting, “Fall back! Fall back!”
A goblin, charging at his yule, fell to the ground after being hit by arrows from his two surviving archers. His last eight remaining men began to retreat, following Beardog south.
The tough captain did not like running from the goblins, but there were too many of them for him and his men to defeat. Best to fight another day when the odds were better.
The squad continued to fall back, while the two archers picked off several of the enemy that were chasing them. Eventually, the muscular legs of their yules outdistanced the growing group of goblins that were pursuing them. This was no horde; it was the entire Black Eye army!
“Make haste for the plains of Kaylor. We need the protection of Frontier Fortress!” Captain Beardog ordered, as the mighty beasts carried the men away.
While they rode, the tough middle-aged captain looked down at his left hand, where a goblin dagger still protruded from his palm. The blood flow had stopped because the it was starting to crust around the blade. He looked at the hind quarter of his yule, where two goblin arrows were sticking out.
The man nearest him had his face covered in blood. He had been struck by a black and red boomerang. It had done so much damage that Beardog wasn’t even sure who the man was. He knew that the wounded warrior was still alive because he kept letting out little moans.
Most of them, as well as their mounts, were bleeding Three of the yules were carrying two riders. They would have to tend to the wounds of both men and beasts, once they were safe.
The goblin army did not pursue the riders far, because they had a different goal. They too had continued their march south to Hogarth Hills, but soon angled off towards the sturdy walls of Gilead, the mighty dwarven fortress.
| Author Notes | I was concerned about all the story splits in this chapter but there is a lot of simultaneous action. |
By Douglas Goff
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At about the same time, in Tuggle City, the fifth wave of Bloody Thrashers finally managed to overrun the apes on the West Bridge. The battle had been hard fought, and many goblins lay dead at the bottom of the trash moat, along with several apes.
Ape warriors on the city side of the West Bridge immediately began chopping at the support ropes with large axes, as soon as the first goblins started crossing. The sharp axes tore through the ropes quickly.
The green foe tried to scramble back, but the ropes gave way fast and the bridge tumbled towards the filthy moat. It dragged several goblins that were hanging onto it into the nasty sewage and garbage twenty feet below.
The apes still held the East Bridge, barely. A group of goblins had just been pushed back while the West Bridge had been falling. Now a sixth attack wave was beginning to form up to attack again.
“Take the bridge!” a scrappy yorg screeched in his foul language.
Fifteen to twenty Bloody Thrasher goblins raced onto the planks of the rope bridge, attacking the last three gorilla guards that still defended there. The gorillas speared through the front rows of goblins, killing seven or eight of them, before one of the enemy managed to get close. The goblin stabbed the front gorilla with its small sword, cutting through his belly.
“We goes together!” the wounded gorilla growled and grabbed the goblin that had sliced him and pinned the squirming creature to his chest with his massive arms. Both gorilla and goblin toppled off the bridge into the trench below, adding to the growing number of corpses scattered about the garbage.
The two remaining gorillas fell back, and after grabbing axes, began to chop at the bridge’s ropes. It held for a moment, and then fell with a loud thump into the trench.
This time the goblins were smart enough to hold back. Goblin arrows flew through the air striking one of the axe apes, sending him into the trench, following the bridge that he had just toppled.
The Bloody Thrasher Tribe spent the remainder of the day setting up camp around Tuggle City. The ape warriors howled and pounded on their chests in response to the boo gah drums of the large hordes of arriving goblins that took up positions on all four sides of them.
A few skirmishes broke out between ape spear warriors and goblin archers, with both sides firing their weapons across the large trench during the last hour of sunlight. Many goblins and apes fell during these exchanges, until finally the apes retreated into their huts.
“Take cover!” a large silverback gorilla ordered the apes. “There’re too many of the little green mens!” By the time the last red ember of fading sunlight disappeared from the sky, the apes were completely trapped inside of their own city.
Gorilla King Gorin knew that the green hordes would come in the morning, because goblins liked to attack at first light. The big gorilla frowned. The fight with the green mens will be fierce for they have come for one purpose, to destroy me.
* * *
Back on the western edge of the Central Rim, Lord Harth and his squad ran smack into the center of a large horde of goblins from the Skull Crusher Tribe. Both groups hesitated with surprise, until Harth shouted, “Attack!” Battle erupted everywhere. When it was over, thirty-five goblins lay dead.
The patrol lost a lord, a captain, and a yule. Once the wounded were tended to and the goblins were burnt, they saddled their dead companions. It was grim work.
“Their metal weapons are costing us lives,” one of his archers shook his head.
“Losing two is tough, but they lost thirty-five. There’s no way they can sustain this level of losses. Let’s ride,” Lord Harth ordered.
The squad turned north, heading for the foothills of Kaylor, planning to ride through the night. The Central Rim is just too thick with green for my liking, Lord Harth thought.
* * *
The following morning, another squad suffered a loss. Lord Felix’s patrol had taken three days to finally enter the Eastern Rim. They had stayed close to the foothills of Hogarth, turning north only after they were deep into the Eastern Rim territory.
Lord Felix was one of the youngest Yule Rider squad leaders, but he was smart. He had initially planned to try and swing around any would be goblin forces and surprise them by attacking them from the north, as opposed to riding into them from the south. He expected that most of the other patrols were riding straight into ambushes.
His plans changed when he saw smoke coming from the very distant Lookout Peak, a small rock hill, which was actually the only hill on the Eastern Rim. It sat back towards the center of the territory.
Unlike the rolling hills of grass on the Western Rim, or the rock-strewn fields of the Central Rim, the Eastern Rim was one giant flat grass plain. Except for Lookout Peak.
Lookout Peak was basically a large pile of rocks, no more than half a field long and about seventy-five feet high at the very top. The yule patrols often used the peak as a campsite, due to the visibility it provided in all directions over the flat terrain.
It was Lord Felix’s favorite place to be in the entire Upper Glen. He loved to stand at the top and feel the wind blowing across the plains. But he wasn’t thinking about that now.
“Could be a goblin trap.” Captain Login interrupted his thoughts. Login was a short stocky man.
“Possibly. I don’t think that any yule patrol would be lighting campfires in these dangerous times,” Lord Felix mused.
“Or it could be that a patrol left behind some burnt goblin dead,” the captain offered another possibility.
“I’m concerned that it could be one of the other yule patrols signaling that they’re in trouble. Lookout Peak has been used in that manner in the past. I think we should go check it out,” he decided.
After a short ride, Lord Felix’s patrol approached the foot of the peak. Several goblin archers, fourteen in all, jumped out from behind some boulders. They began firing arrows. Two yules were struck in the first volley, causing minor wounds.
Lord Felix’s patrol consisted of Captain Login and nine archers. They dismounted, and after a brief arrow exchange, defeated the goblin archers. They tossed the Swamp Crawler Tribe’s bodies into their own breakfast fire.
“I’m going to climb to the top of the peak and take a look about,” Lord Felix said to his stocky captain, who gave him a knowing grin, “Have the men attend to the wounded yules until I return.”
Lord Felix made the rugged rocky climb to the top of the peak and began to scan north. He closed his eyes to enjoy a warm wind that was rushing in, blowing through his long brown hair.
A second later, he sensed movement behind him, but it was too late. A huge yorg, who had been hiding behind a nearby boulder, brought a wooden club down on Lord Felix.
The tremendous blow caught the man on his shoulder, breaking his collar bone, and sent him sprawling onto the large flat rock that he had been standing on. So stupid, of course they would have a yorg.
Lord Felix tried to draw his sword, but screamed out in pain with the effort. “Now you bleed!” the muscular yorg said in human and was on him quick, reigning down blow after blow, killing the young man.
The men below had heard the attack and were rushing to their leader’s aid, when the big yorg turned and charged down the peak towards them. A volley from the nine archers quickly dropped the goblin leader. The men hurried to Lord Felix’s side, but he was gone.
Captain Login took charge of the patrol and ordered the men to wrap their fallen leader in a traditional tarp. After they tied him to his yule, the saddened group rode hard, heading back south towards the Frontier Fortress at Kaylor. Lord Felix had been well liked and was a big loss for the Yule Riders.
* * *
Back down in the Lower Glen, High King Tronin and his men arrived at the Two Towers of Dwain, late on the second day of their journey. They made their way through the wooden buildings that dotted the fields in the shadows of the two towers, until they arrived at a large, well-kept stable.
An elderly stable keeper approached them, and after recognizing the high king, quickly bowed, saying,” Always room for your horses my king.”
The stable keeper wiped his hands on his brown tunic and took the reins of the high king’s horse. The old man had been the stable keeper for as long as Tronin could remember, although he could not recall his name.
After seeing to their horses, High King Tronin and the men of the White Sash Brigade made their way to the East Tower stairs. They could see the golden shields with their red dragon emblems ringing the very tops of the towers high above.
The only entrances into the East and West Towers were large wooden stairways, nearly thirty feet across, that climbed up to third floor doorways. These stairways were made of sturdy oak planks, and could be knocked down in times of danger, leaving the towers very secure.
Just how long would it be before the stairs would need to be taken down? Tronin couldn’t help but wonder.
King Heath, master of the two towers, met them at the top of the stairs. He was nearly a foot shorter than the high king and had long flowing brown hair that reached down to the middle of his back, with a flowing brown beard to match.
Behind King Heath stood two of his tattooed lords. The men of Dwain had a long-standing tradition of tattooing the entire right side of their bodies after completing their Quests.
The kingdom’s founder, High King Dwain, had tattoos all over the right side of his body. The men Dwain continued the custom, not only as a sign of respect to him, but also to signify their commitment to the Two Towers.
In times of war, they also braided their long hair. These rituals set them apart from the lords of all the other kingdoms and created a strong sense of comradery amongst them.
Tronin and Heath clasped each other’s arms at the wrist, in the customary formal greeting of the men of the Glen. Both leaders had a genuine friendship and respect for each other.
Following the customs of his people, Heath bore tattoos all over the right side of his body. His were pictures of various towers, including the two of his own kingdom.
“Blessings on you and your house,” King Heath said.
“And on you and yours,” High King Tronin gave the traditional response.
“As always, I’m pleased to see you my liege, but I fear that you bring bad news with this unscheduled meeting?” King Heath inquired.
“Bad indeed. Are we prepared?” Tronin asked.
“The Great Meeting Hall has been properly prepared, and the meeting is set for first thing tomorrow as you requested,” King Heath answered then asked more directly, “What’s the trouble?”
“Are all the kings here?” Tronin continued his questioning, ignoring Heath’s.
“The elves arrived yesterday, and we saw the dwarves approaching from some distance behind you. The king of Keyorlock hasn’t arrived yet,” King Heath answered, realizing that he probably wasn’t going to find out what was going on until everyone did.
Tronin trusted Heath and considered him to be a good friend. They became closer after Heath’s only son, Prince Dorn, had not returned from his Quest. It was a tragic time for the man.
Tronin had stayed at the Two Towers of Dwain for six months, helping his friend through the worst time of his life. Still, he didn’t share the reason for his visit with Heath because he was hoping to learn more first.
King Heath led Tronin to the high king’s chamber located near the top floor of the East Tower. His White Sash Brigade guards had rooms along the same hallway.
High King Tronin had a quick meal in his chamber and then sat quietly, in deep contemplation. Many thoughts were tumbling around in his head. Time was short and he needed to proceed quickly, but cautiously.
Tomorrow’s meeting is going to be difficult, and I will need to pick my words carefully. The dwarf kings are brash and aggressive, often wanting to act before planning. Their counterparts, the elves, like to over contemplate any action and were often slow to respond to threats. He had to get both races support if they stood a chance.
High King Tronin was not worried about King Heath. He and his people were fiercely loyal to him and would support him completely. King Cobborath of Keyorlock was a different story.
The sorcerer of the Red City, as Keyorlock was often called, was power hungry and Tronin did not trust him. He was a master of fire magic and knew many powerful spells.
Cobborath had never acted against the high king, but the Great Helm had shown Tronin many things. Dark things. The mysterious sorcerer was conducting strange magic in his red towered city and had become quite powerful.
Whenever the Great Helm focused on King Cobborath, it gave off an aura of distrust. Tronin took this as a warning, one that he planned to heed, especially during the meeting planned for tomorrow.
Thinking of the Great Helm reminded Tronin that it was time to put it on. He reached into his pack and pulled out the ornate head piece. The more he used the helmet, the more menacing that it appeared to him.
Tronin hesitated before he slipped it on, knowing that he would assuredly suffer a terrible headache from using it so soon after the last time. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be avoided.
He needed as much information as he could get before tomorrow’s meeting. It had only been a few days, but tough times called for tough actions, so he slipped the helmet on.
It felt tight around his head, almost like a steel glove, clutching at his brain and digging into his thoughts . . . . . swirling lights and flashing images began to come into focus . . . . . goblin armies marching in unison down the trails of Timber Lake Mountains . . . . . hundreds . . . . . thousands . . . . . the great fortress at Gilead melting . . . . . seven flying beasts . . . . . dragons . . . . . large and ferocious . . . . . flying over the Lower Glen . . . . . giants . . . . . dead things . . . . . the images were coming fast now, almost too fast to comprehend . . . . . then the white towers . . . . . giant spiraling white towers with white banners blowing in the wind . . . . . then fire . . . . . fire and worse . . . . . men, elves, and dwarves lying dead . . . . . piled five, six bodies high in the fields of the Glen . . . . . blood mingled in a giant pool . . . . . then a dark figure . . . . . evil . . . . . a spell caster . . . . . then a final image that shocked him, so much so, that he nearly ripped the helmet off . . . . . the images became a whirlwind causing High King Tronin to pull the helmet off his head.
It slid off with a sucking sound, followed by a deep throbbing in his temple, which began immediately. High King Tronin laid back on the bed and closed his eyes.
He was exhausted, yet didn’t fall asleep until several hours later. Sometimes the helmet exacted a greater cost than the headaches. He couldn’t escape the last image that the Great Helm had shown him.
By Douglas Goff
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The following morning, the Bloody Thrasher Tribe greeted the sunrise by banging on their large Boo Gah drums, and then attacked Tuggle City at daybreak. Several groups of goblins rushed to the trench and laid long crude ladders across it. They began to climb across them, their flaming red mohawks blowing in the wind.
A few apes tossed spears from nearby doorways, but the defense was relatively ineffective. Within minutes, Tuggle City was full of goblins. They swiftly overran the outlaying huts, killing the few apes within.
The ten larger huts in the middle of the city were a different matter, because each had several ape warriors defending them. The Bloody Thrashers surrounded the larger huts and attacked three that were somewhat separated to the south, sending about twenty goblin warriors into each one.
The apes managed to hold two of them, with the goblins capturing the third. A second wave of goblins attacked the two remaining southern huts, and after some fierce fighting, another of them fell under goblin control.
Around noon, the goblins set the third southern hut on fire by tossing torches onto the roof, where the thatch quickly ignited. The remaining twelve apes defending from within came charging out, where they were quickly surrounded by a superior number of goblins and were overwhelmed.
After a short respite, three large hordes of goblins attacked the three huts to the north. One of these huts had no experienced warriors within and fell quickly.
The second hut was nearly held by the apes, but was finally captured when goblin reinforcements from the fallen hut rushed in. The third hut was the apes main eating hall and was the site of the most intense fighting of the day.
An old, experienced silverback named Mumbo led the warriors within, and they managed to drive off three separate attacks. Goblin archers changed their tactics and began shooting burning arrows into the hut.
Mumbo, and the handful of bloody gorillas that still lived, frantically tried to put out the fires. Soon, the flames licked up the walls to the ceiling, where they joined a large roof fire already ablaze.
Mumbo ordered his warriors out, but realized that it was too late, when the roof gave way with a loud crack and came crashing down on the gorillas. The unfortunate ones who weren’t crushed, burnt to death. By nightfall, only the four largest huts in the very center of Tuggle City remained under gorilla control.
Gorin the Gorilla King was anxious to fight. He had waited throughout the day for the attack to come, but it never did. At various times, he could hear his apes engaging the enemy in the nearby huts, which was followed by hooting with each victory or the death howls of defeat.
King Gorin’s central lair held about thirty of his best fighters, one of whom scowled, “Apes should attack green mens now!”
“No! Apes defend huts. Too many green mens outside.” King Gorin felt their frustration, but would stick with his plan to defend the huts from within.
He had not heard fighting from the direction of the stable, guard shack, or meeting hut. He believed that his warriors still held those structures, but knew that there would be fresh attacks in the morning.
The stable was defended by another thirty experienced warriors, although all of the horses had left with the Raider Patrols. The stable was the only hut with a second-floor loft in it.
The stable defenders were led by a seasoned silverback named Tintock. He had been a ferocious warrior in his youth, and still had an air of strength about him. Gorin knew that he would defend the stable well.
The large meeting hut, where most of the females and young were, had around forty less experienced gorilla warriors guarding them. The alpha male assigned here had been killed in a spear battle with the goblins earlier that day.
A dark black gorilla, named Tero, had taken command of the apes in the meeting hut. He was fairly young, but very large, and was well respected amongst the warriors for his incredible strength.
The last structure was the main guard hut, where fifty new warriors were stationed. They were led by a large alpha male named Tock, son of Tintock. Most apes were various shades of black, but he was a rare rich caramel color.
Tock had abnormally large hands and feet, even for a gorilla. He and his warriors had nothing to guard there, so they decided on a risky move and made a break for the king’s lair around midnight.
Goblins did not like to fight at night, but it didn’t mean that they wouldn’t. Tock’s apes attacked with an initial volley of spears, bringing down about twenty Bloody Thrashers, while the apes poured out.
The goblins were caught by surprise and were initially pushed back, with several of them dying quickly, while only three or four apes fell in the first exchange. It was a good start for Tock’s group.
The king’s lair was just about a quarter of a field from the main guard hut. The apes made it half-way, before the goblins were able to regroup and swarmed them from every direction.
A yorg leader with a large sword dropped the two apes nearest Tock, who turned on the goblin leader and speared him down. Several goblin warriors rushed in, stabbing at the alpha male.
Tock swung his massive fists, crushing two of them, before being stabbed in the side by a goblin with a knife. The gorilla leader brought his mighty fists down on the hapless creature, smashing it into a bloody green pulp.
Nearly two hundred goblins now had the shrinking pack of apes surrounded and more began to fall. The last twenty or so remaining gorillas pressed forward, closing the gap to their king’s hut.
A barrage of goblin arrows, from a line of freshly woke Bloody Thrasher archers, brought down Tock and five apes near him. The rich caramel colored alpha male was on his knees, with three arrows protruding from his chest, yet he still managed to crush two more goblins before he fell to the ground with blood tricking from his snarled dead lips.
The last of Tock’s apes chopped a path to the entrance to Gorin’s hut, with the front gorilla falling dead to more arrows when he reached the doorway. Eight gorilla warriors did manage to enter the lair, with the last taking two arrows and a spear in the back, killing him in the entrance hall.
A handful of goblins, caught up in the fervor of the battle, charged into the dark entrance after the apes. The gorillas within quickly killed them, ending the night’s battle. It had been costly for the apes.
* * *
The men residing in the Upper Glen weren’t having much better luck the following morning. Lord Prince Talban pulled the Spear of Tutog from the custom sling on his back.
It was a ferocious looking weapon with black razor teeth lining the edges of the spear head. Small black metal skulls were etched into the handle. It gave off an aura of magic and could easily pierce most armors. It had been a fitting weapon for the pirate king.
Tronin had awarded Talban the weapon after the Battle of Rowan Bay. The high king had given it to the prince on the deck of Tutog’s ship, the Scorpion, just after he had saved Tronin.
A pirate had jumped out of a rum barrel and nearly stabbed the high king in the back before Talban had speared him. Tronin always had a special affection, and a strong trust, for Talban after he had saved him that day.
The spear felt good in Lord Prince Talban’s hand, familiar and comfortable, almost as if his fingers had missed holding it. It was a great weapon, perfectly balanced, and he rarely missed with it.
Prince Talban brought his arm back, preparing to throw it. The Spear of Tutog sailed through the air, piercing a big yorg through its muscular upper chest, pinning the beast to the wooden door that it had been standing in front of.
Prince Talban’s two archers also fired, killing a goblin archer that had been standing next to its now dead leader. They were the only two goblins that the men could see, and they were from the Bone Breaker Tribe.
While the patrol looked about the abandoned village of Sev, an archer said, “There could be more of the green enemy lurked in the early dawn shadows.”
Prince Talban looked at the many wooden structures that had been burnt down and were still smoldering, saying, “Spread out and stay alert. Clear the rest of the village.”
Several of the village guards lay strewn about, taking on the appearance that they were sleeping, if not for the large pool of blood around them. Lord Prince Talban ran his hand through his long black hair, and scratched his head.
Where are the villagers? The nearly three hundred people who lived here are missing.
“Look,” Lord Hark spoke as he rode up with Lord Maylay, pointing at a nearby trail that eventually wound its way up into Timber Lake Mountains. “The trail is marked with a large line of both human and goblin footprints, heading up the path.”
Hark had answered his unspoken question. Their people had been captured and needed to be saved.
“Follow me,” Lord Prince Talban ordered, and began following the prints, hoping to rescue some of the villages before they got too high into the mountains.
The yule riders reached a low plateau, about a field’s length up, when they heard it. Boogah, Boogah, boogah! Talban and his men could not place the sound. The prince scanned the trail rising above him and could make out what looked like large columns of black dots in the distance.
Boogah, Boogah, boogah! The rhythmic sound reverberated across the walls of the nearby canyons and was followed by the shouts of many goblins sounding off in unison.
“Ride men! We must retreat!”, Talban shouted as soon as he realized that the black dots were a large goblin army of Bone Breakers, marching in rank after rank to the beat of drums, coming down the trail above them.
There must be several thousand of them.
Lord Maylay rode up to the prince, his face twisted in anger, “Are we to run from this foul ilk? These creatures were spawned from the darkest pit and must be killed. I say we ride into them and make them pay a hefty fee to enter our Glen!”
“No!” Prince Talban shouted, knowing what the older warrior felt; men did not run from goblins. “My father needs us; besides, would you have him suffer the loss of another son so soon? The Glen needs us! We shall live to fight another day. You know me well Lord Maylay. I am no coward, but wise enough to know not to throw our lives away. Now follow me and I promise you that we will make them pay when the odds are in our favor. I swear it under the sun of my ancestors!”
The yule riders turned and raced back down the trail at top speed. Boogah, boogah, boogah! The relentless goblin Boo Gah drums followed them, guiding the massive green army that was dropping into the Upper Glen, unopposed.
A short while later, the Bone Breaker columns swung southeast, heading for the merchant city of men called Trader Town.
By Douglas Goff
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“Monarchs of the Glen, we are at war!”, the high king said, looking into the faces of each king before him; the two dwarves sitting to his right, the three elves to his left, and both men to his front.
A large round redwood table, as old as the realm itself, sat between the kings. It was ornate, decorated with symbols of men, elves, and dwarves. Before each king lay a dagger with a ruby covered handle. None of the seven kings spoke as they waited for their high king to continue.
“Large armies of goblins from the seven tribes make war in the Upper Glen as we speak. They are using metal weapons and have brought horrors with them. Giants, dragons, and . . . other things.”
This brought loud gasps from several of the leaders, yet they refrained from speaking, knowing that the high king had not finished.
“They are united under one banner, although I do not know who leads them. The Yule Riders of King Darian are fighting hard, yet casualties are high, and the Upper Glen will soon fall.
Then the three kingdoms of Hogarth will come under attack. Wilsom, Quaid, and Sturdy Axe have been warned and are preparing their defenses now. I believe that we should expect the brunt of the attack to land on Gilead Fortress, which will most likely also fall.”
“Gilead Castle will never fall!” King Timber Wolf of the Woodland Water Dwarves stood, slamming his fist on the wooden table before him, causing his long brown braided hair to fling about “The dwarven hill kingdom has stood for centuries and is impenetrable!” He was the youngest dwarf king and quite brash.
“King Timber Wolf, the high king has never misled us before,” Elder Dwarf King Stone Spear of the Mountain Kingdom spoke.
King Stone Spear was the oldest dwarven king, and as such, was their leader. He stroked his long gray beard, and then his wrinkled black skin tightened as he frowned, “What if we reinforce Gilead?”
“I have told you what I believe will happen,” High King Tronin weighed his words wisely before continuing, “But reinforcing Gilead would buy us time to prepare the Lower Glen for the invasion that is sure to come.”
“What of Gorin the Gorilla King?” King Timber Wolf asked. “Surely he will indeed fight against the goblins.”
Tronin closed his eyes, remembering the last image from the Great Helm. The giant head of the Gorilla King, carried by a black wizard, his mouth locked in a death snarl.
“Gorin is dead, or soon will be. His fate is already decided,” Tronin answered. “He can’t help us now.”
King Heath cleared his throat and said, “So the land of the thirteen kings now has twelve. High King Tronin, what’s your plan?”
The high king looked at each of the leaders before him, trying to gage their thoughts. The two dwarves were clearly upset, while the three elves sat quiet, their faces unreadable.
King Heath was wearing his long brown hair in a bun and looked worried. The other man, Cobborath, sat in a gray hooded cloak, his face hidden. He had not moved since Tronin had entered the room.
While Tronin was looking at the hooded figure, he heard a voice in his head, “You do not trust me good king.” It had sounded like the hiss of a venomous snake.
Tronin quickly shifted his gaze and continued, “The path of dwarves, elves, and men have always been one and the same in the Glen. I’m enacting the Treaty of Hogarth, signed at this very table, by our descendants. I call for mutual protection!”
High King Tronin picked up the jeweled dagger that lay before him and slammed the blade into the wooden table, which was gouged in several places from similar actions in the past.
High King Tronin continued, “First, I order the kingdoms of men to initiate a call to arms. You’ll call in all civilian men of fighting age and quickly train them for war. Second, we must defend the three roads that run south from Hogarth Hills. I’ll send word to the Arturian Raiders, our standing army in the Lower Glen, to defend Gilead Road from the dwarves’ mighty fortress at Gilead to here. I shall order King Darian’s remaining troops to fall back into the Lower Glen and defend Frontier Road from Frontier Fortress to Keyorlock.”
High King Tronin looked at the dwarf kings and continued, “I request that the kingdoms of dwarves reinforce King Sturdy Axe at Gilead. Hold the mighty fortress for as long as you can. Make the enemy pay a heavy price to march through dwarven lands.”
Tronin shifted his gaze from the dwarves to the three elf kings, who still hadn’t said a word, “I request that the kingdoms of elves prepare to defend the Lower Glen. I need you to patrol Esha Road from Trader Town to your kingdom at Mount Esha.”
Tronin sat back in his chair and thought for a moment, making sure that he had covered everything that he had planned to, before continuing, “That should cover all three of the main routes out of Hogarth Hills into the Lower Glen and buy us some much-needed time to prepare the eight kingdoms here for a strong defense. Hopefully the three kingdoms of Hogarth Hills can keep the enemy off our backs for a bit. We need as much time as we can get.”
Tronin looked about the Great Meeting Hall one more time, and then asked in a strong firm voice, “What say you monarchs of the Glen?”
“As it has always been and as it shall always be, my sword is your sword and my people are your people,” King Heath spoke first, and picking up the dagger in front of him, drove it deep into the table.
Elder Dwarf King Stone Spear picked up the ornate dagger in front of him and stuck it in the table, saying, “We dwarves will stand with men and share their fate.”
King Timber Wolf picked up his dagger and slammed it into the table, saying, “Indeed, I promise you this high king, the land will flow with green blood before any dwarven kingdoms fall!”
The leader of the elves, his father-in-law Elder King Willow, stared intently into Tronin’s face. The gaze from his large wise brown eyes was penetrating, almost hypnotizing.
The ancient elf was nearly three hundred years old, yet he had no wrinkles. His blond hair was showing signs of gray, but he still looked quite spry, for one with his many years.
“Elves do not like to move or fight far from their home trees. High King Tronin is wise to ask that we defend Esha Road, so near to our woodlands.”, the old elf chose his words wisely as he spoke for the first time, “We will honor the treaty of Hogarth, made by my grandfather with men and dwarves. King Silverleaf will patrol Esha Road from the ground while King Firestorm protects it from the air with his bird warriors. I’ll send patrols to assist them from our western kingdom.”
The three elf kings picked up their daggers in unison and stabbed them into the table. Then all eyes shifted to the hooded figure of King Cobborath, who had still not moved.
A bony hand, with a red tint to the skin, darted from beneath a long gray sleeve and grasped the dagger before it. With a quick flick of the wrist, the dagger was sticking in the table. The wizard’s right hand disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. High King Tronin couldn’t help but gaze into the darkness of the hood.
“I know your enemy, I know your enemy,” he heard the same creepy hissing voice in his mind. “We must speak in private, in private, in private. I know things . . . as do you!”
The voice was insistent as it echoed in his head. What did this tricky sorcerer know?
High King Tronin rose to his feet, “I call an end to this meeting because we all have much to do. One last thing though. I have a small guard force at Krodall, Pirate King Tutog’s old castle on South Isle. Upon my return to Port Turin, I intend to start sending the women and children of the capital kingdom there. They’ll stay at Krodall until this danger passes. I offer the same option to all of you.”
The kings grasped each other’s arms at the wrists and gave the traditional courtesies before they departed. All except King Cobborath, who sat quietly until the others left.
"Good King Tronin, we must speak,” the quiet voice came from somewhere inside the hood.
“I heard your request in my mind . . . practicing new spells red wizard?” the high king replied.
“Many new spells. Many new spells that will come in handy during these . . . difficult times,” the red sorcerer answered.
“Time is short Cobborath. The enemy advances toward the Lower Glen as we speak,” the high king became direct. “You know that I do not trust you, but I expect you to defend the Glen, with your life if need be.”
The red wizard leaned forward and responded, “As you wish good king. I know many useful things, but I need assurances.”
“Assurances?” Tronin responded. “What assurances?”
“I know that you believe as most men do, that wizards can’t be trusted, and that magic and spells are bad. You dislike that we study the old ways. You wish that the days of the sorcerers were gone, and you hope that my kind will soon fade into the past. Most men share this vision, but it’s a mistake!” The red wizard pounded his fist on the table for emphasize.
Tronin nodded, knowing that the wizard spoke the truth.
“You don’t understand.”, the wizard continued. “The three civilized races all have been gifted with magic in one form or another. Dwarves charm items; weapons, armor, and such. Elven magic lies in their trees, while the magic of men dwells within us. Some men are born with the ability to wield it and bend it to our will. It’d be foolhardy for our race to throw away that gift.”
High King Tronin remained silent, knowing that the wizard was leading him somewhere.
“We sorcerers have . . . hmmmm . . . ways of communicating with each other.” The red wizard was now the one who was choosing his words carefully. ”I’ve communed with my fellow spellcasters at various times. We’re a dying breed, in a world where man lives under constant threat from goblin armies, and various other monsters and beasts.”
“How many wizards remain?” Tronin broke his silence, not sure if he would get an honest answer.
“Only seven trained wizards remain in the realm of men!” the red wizard advised, his voice raising. “There’s another who practice red fire magic, like me. There is a yellow wizard who practices healing magic. There is also a white wizard who deals in the arts of light magic, and there are two black wizards who practice very dark magic indeed.”
“That’s only six,” Tronin stated.
“There’s another, but she hides. I’m unsure of what color magic she represents or where she is,” Cobborath replied.
“So, I think that I can guess the assurances you want,” High King Tronin mused. “You want me to protect the magic in men.”
Yes, my very wise good king.” The red wizard thought for a second, then said, “I’ve identified seventeen children in the Glen who have exhibited the propensity for magic. I’m sure that there’re more.”
“What exactly are you proposing wizard?” Tronin asked.
“A Wizards Academy, much like your Captains Academy or Archery School. It should be set up under my guidance at Keyorlock. There’d be training for each of the magical arts; white, black, red, blue, green, and yellow. Classes could be taught by the remaining sorcerers. This would assure the existence of magic, long after I’m gone.”
“That’s a tall order. What exactly can you provide?” The high king was skeptical.
The red wizard responded with something that garnered Tronin’s full attention. “I know who leads the goblin tribes and I am aware of what other creatures he has at his command. I also know . . . other helpful things.
Tronin stared at the wizard.
Cobborath the Red continued, “I’ll fight this foe and kill him if I can. I’ll also tell you all that I know. Do we have an agreement?”
Tronin thought for a moment. An academy for wizards? It is true, I’ve no love for sorcerers, yet they do have their uses. Can I trust the red wizard with such a responsibility? Doubtful.
Were there truly just seven wizards left? Should the magic of men die? What choice do I really have here with the Glen under such a threat? He had too many questions and not enough answers. Tronin let out a long deep sigh.
“Okay wizard, this is what I’m willing to do. I agree to a Wizards Academy in the Glen, created only after this threat is dealt with. Wizards may run it, but in Port Turin, not in Keyorlock. You may approach anyone that you identify with magic capabilities and offer to train them, but they retain the right to decline your offer. All forms of magic may be freely taught, except for black, which will be strictly prohibited. Accept these terms, or this meeting is over,” Tronin stated, his mind made up.
The red wizard sat quiet for a moment, then his hand snaked out. “I accept your terms.”
High King Tronin took King Cobborath by the wrist, sealing the agreement.
“First, you were right not to trust me,” the wizard began. “I’ve often thought about how to take your throne and make myself high king.”
Tronin stared at the cloaked figure, his blunt honesty taking the high king by surprise.
The red wizard continued, “Throughout the years, I plotted and schemed, but could never follow through with my plans. You see, I’ve a bad streak in me, yet I also have a good one, even if it is a bit smaller. With the passing of time, I could see that you were an extremely honest and good man, and quite frankly, the best high king since Hogarth himself. The Glen could only benefit from such a king.”
Again, Tronin did not know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut. This conversation had taken a strange turn.
“You’re the right man for the right time. The threat that we’re facing is great and our very survival is questionable. I can’t think of a better man then you to lead us at a time like this.” The red wizard admitted, then continued, “Our enemy is strong. He’s one of the black sorcerers that I mentioned earlier.”
“A sorcerer?” Tronin didn’t let on that he already knew. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s called many things in the lands to the north of Timber Lake Mountains, but is known as Daggart the Dark by most. He hails from a barren dead land, where nothing grows. Even the sparsest of brush is choked out by the dust. It’s a terrible place, and he’s long searched for a new, healthy fertile land. Now his envious eyes look towards the Glen,” the red wizard explained gravely.
“How strong is he and how can we kill him?” the high king questioned.
The red wizard answered, his voice becoming quite low, “He’s one of the most powerful wizards. He has morphed his black magic, specializing in death, which destroys all that it touches. As far as killing him, he’s much too strong for swordplay. He must be destroyed by magic and there’s only one wizard powerful enough to defeat him.”
“Who?” Tronin inquired.
“That wizard is me, so I’ll do it. He’ll come for me,” Cobborath replied.
“How do you know so much about this Daggart? How’ll you kill him? How do you know that he’ll come for you?” the questions poured from Tronin’s mouth.
The wizard sat in thought for a moment, almost as if deciding which question to answer first. “I have met Daggart here in the Glen. We have . . . traded . . . things.”
“Traded things?” the high king asked incredulously. “Traded what?”
“Well . . .” the red wizard hesitated.
“What did you trade wizard?” Tronin insisted.
A slender left hand slid from the dark cloak. Unlike the light red tinted right hand, this one seemed to be a shade of light blue. The wizard extended his skinny crooked index finger and pointed it toward the tabletop before him. He lightly touched the tabletop with his fingertip.
At first, nothing happened, then ice formed where his finger was touching the table and quickly spread out across the flat surface, creating a thin sheet of ice all the way to the edge near Tronin.
“What sort of foul magic is this for a fire wizard?” Tronin gasped.
The wizard slowly rose to his feet and pulled back his hood, then dropped his cloak to the floor. High King Tronin stared in disbelief, unable to speak. The red wizard was a sight to see!
His hair was a mess, red on the right side and blue on the left. In fact, the entire right side of his body was red, and the left side was blue, from his robe to his skin.
The thing that was most captivating to Tronin was that Cobborath looked ill. He was Tronin’s age, but appeared to be twenty years older. His eyes, one red and one blue, looked sunken and hollow.
The last time they had spoken, just about a year ago, the red wizard had been a large man, yet now he looked skinny and frail. The magician was a sight to behold.
“I traded magic,” the wizard broke the silence. “Ice magic. Daggart gave me ancient morphing scrolls showing me how to use very powerful ice magic. You see, they came from the last of the blue wizards who was named Blaine the Blue. He lived in the time of High King Dwain. He was studying a particularly powerful spell and accidently froze himself.”
“Froze himself?” High King Tronin interrupted.
“Yes, he did it in this very tower and his frozen remains are still here, hidden in a secret vault in the basement. No one has attempted blue magic since then, until Daggart convinced me that I could master two arts, both fire and ice!” the wizard claimed.
“Have you mastered it wizard?” Tronin asked.
“The black wizard tricked me!” Cobborath moaned. “While I’ve become the most powerful wizard alive, the two opposing magics are killing me. They’re in constant conflict, destroying me from the inside out. My body is aging at an advanced rate, and I believe that I shall be dead within the year!”
“What’d you give him in return for such power?” Tronin pressed Cobborath.
The red wizard slumped back down in his chair, whispering, “I didn’t think that it would harm anything to trade with him, because he lived so far north . . .”
“What did you give him?” Tronin persisted.
“I didn’t know that he would use them against us,” Cobborath mumbled, stalling.
“You swore to tell all, what’d he want?” the high king demanded to know.
“Corpses . . . he wanted corpses from Glen graveyards . . . for his army…………..his army of the dead. He’ll bring them against the Red City, Keyorlock,” the red/blue wizard said so quietly that Tronin could barely hear him.
The dead? Royalty and warriors were always sent into the afterlife by fire, but the civilians and poor were always buried. This was mainly because the oils that dissolved bones were extremely expensive.
Tronin was aghast, but before he spoke, he took a moment to control his surprise and anger, because there was no time for it, “How do you know that this black wizard, Daggart, will come for you? Now that you’re so powerful, why not surpass Keyorlock and simply wait for your death?”
“Daggart wants to fight me. He’ll have Gorin’s head by tomorrow and then he’ll come for the remaining kings, especially me. He relishes the challenge and will not miss the opportunity to do battle with a wizard that he considers to be his equal in power,” Cobborath explained. “And I look forward to it as well, fighting and killing him in a wizard duel.”
“What if he kills you?” Tronin asked.
“Should Daggart the Dark defeat me, then he is more powerful than I thought, and all is lost. If I kill him, then his forces will fall apart and become disorganized, and we can finish them off easily,” the red wizard answered.
“Is that everything wizard?” Tronin asked, hoping that it was.
“You were right to assume that the threat is great, and your defensive plans are sound. I’ll seek more information on the enemy’s movements as I know you’ll do from your dragon’s treasure. I’ll send you a message if I learn anything useful. Now I must take my leave, since there’s much work to be done,” King Cobborath finished, and slowly rose to go.
High King Tronin waited for the red/blue wizard to exit the Great Meeting Hall, and then called for his messengers. He needed to prepare his kingdom for war. Two things refused to leave Tronin’s thoughts. The first was that Cobborath the Red knew about the Great Helm.
The second was that the wizard had told him that if Daggart defeated him, then all would be lost. What Tronin had failed to mention to the sorcerer was that Gorin would not be the only king to fall. In the last vison from his “dragon’s treasure”, the dark wizard had been carrying two heads, not one. The second had been Cobborath’s.
By Douglas Goff
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Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
By Douglas Goff
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Arturian stood, muscles flexing, holding a four-foot stick in his hands. The ancient weapon was known in the Glen as a tog, which Arturian began spinning in circles over his head, from hand to hand.
He stood in the middle of a ring of black shields, with two opponents to his front and two to his rear. A large group of men were watching the fight from outside the ring of black shields, with the red dragon emblems in the center shining in the afternoon sun.
The two men directly to Arturian’s front charged at him, swinging their togs. He dodged the blows easily and brought both attackers to their knees with two quick pokes from his tog to their solar plexus areas. This brought a loud cheer from the excited onlookers.
Arturian spun about, just in time to deflect the blows from the two attackers to his rear. He swept one man off his feet with a quick tog strike to the back of his knees and dropped the second man with a blow to his groin. All four men had been dispatched in less than ten seconds.
The ring of men surrounding the combatants clapped loudly as the training session ended. It had been a rare opportunity to watch the great Hero Arturian in action with his tog, because most days they trained with more common modern weapons.
There was no greater fighter in all the Glen then Hero Arturian. He had mastered all of the weapons of men and was also quite skilled with the elven bow and the dwarven axe. He had earned the title of Hero from High King Tronin for his extraordinary successes in the Pirate War.
Hero and Master were not titles of rank, like captain, lord, or commander. They were more an earned title of respect, granted by the high king himself. Arturian’s formal rank was commander.
Arturian wiped the sweat from his brow. He was an average size man with short black hair and a thin moustache. His body was covered in sinewy, well-defined muscles, marked with various battle scars. He had killed many foes, from pirates to goblins, as well as an errant giant that had wandered into the Upper Glen many years ago.
His Arturian Raiders were currently searching for a band of thieves, led by one known as Bullseye the Bow Slinger. Little was known about Bullseye, except that he always covered his face and was known to be an expert with the longbow; some even claiming that he was the best archer in the Lower Glen, with skills that matched that of the elves.
Bullseye and his group, numbering around thirty, had spent the summer raiding caravans that ran trade supplies between the kingdoms. Arturian had tracked the thieves to this area and knew that they were closing the distance to their prey. He believed that they would engage them within the week.
Arturian was the Commander of the Arturian Raiders, the only standing army in the Lower Glen, although they had travelled and fought in Hogarth Hills and the Upper Glen when needed. His army consisted of twelve squads, with roughly twenty men in each squad. That did not include his training squad of new recruits.
They were well versed in the art of war and constantly practiced their profession. Even though Arturian had easily defeated his four attackers, he still felt that his performance had been a bit sloppy.
“You took it easy on them!” the gritty words came from a black-bearded dwarf that sat under a nearby tree. He was middle-aged, bald, and stocky with a bit of a potbelly. His beard was so long that it just about touched the ground.
A large hammer, nearly matching his three-and-a-half-foot height, leaned against the tree next to him. The long wooden shaft bore intricate carvings, intermingled with an ornate gemstone here and there. The impressive steel head matched the size of the dwarf’s head. Several smaller throwing hammers ringed his belt.
“Yeah, it was a bit sloppy,” the second, lighter voice, was that of a five-foot tall elf, his long blond hair flowing to his waist. He had an elven longbow slung on his back. He sat perched, perfectly balanced in a squat, on one of the lower branches of the tree that the dwarf was resting against.
“Easy and sloppy?” Arturian laughed at his two best friends. “I suppose that you two squad leaders feel that you could’ve done better?”
“Well,” Iron Hammer, the slightly graying black bearded dwarf answered with a twinkle in his eye. “Solaris, my elven friend, may accept your challenge but we dwarves are wise enough to save ourselves for real battle.”
“Rider! Rider!” the alarm sounded from a sentry on a nearby hill, interrupting the three friend’s jovial banter.
Solaris jumped spryly from the tree branch, landing on his feet, and raced past Arturian with a speed that always surprised the commander. Arturian and Iron Hammer followed quickly behind their nimble elf friend. They were not expecting a rider, because nobody knew where they were.
The raider’s camp was positioned in a saddle between two hills, with sentries positioned on each rise. The guard to the south had called out the single rider coming in.
Three of Arturian’s squad leaders, Lords Slayer, Eaglet, and Paladian the Master Bowsman were already waiting by the fire pit at the center of camp. Lord Stoney, Lord Bruiser, Captain Crutch, and Captain Raymer, four more of his squad leaders, soon joined them.
Arturian and his two companions jogged up to the men. He knew that his three missing squad leaders, Lords Quash, Nero, and Snake would not be joining them because they were out on patrol, looking for the bandits.
A cloud of dust in the distance soon transformed into a horseman as he drew near. Arturian immediately recognized his outfit. He was a member of High King Tronin’s White Sash Brigade. Arturian shook his head.
How did the king always know where he was? No matter, if Tronin sent one of his personal guards, then something was definitely amiss.
The horseman raced up and quickly slid from his saddle. He was covered in dust, and both he and his animal looked exhausted.
“From High King Tronin’s hand to your hand Hero Arturian,” the messenger said while he dug a sealed letter out from inside his tunic and handed it to the commander.
“Sir, I must make haste back to Port Turin. We’re preparing for war and my place is at High King Tronin’s side. Can I trade out my horse?” the messenger asked.
“Solaris, take this man and get him a fresh horse,” Arturian ordered, even as the messenger’s words bounced around in his head. Had the man said war?
The elf nodded and led the man, and his worn-out animal, towards some horses grazing in a nearby field.
Arturian opened the letter and read it to himself. His face remained emotionless while he reread the letter a second time. A moment later he addressed his men.
“Strike camp immediately. The seven goblin tribes have invaded the Upper Glen and march on Hogarth Hills at this very moment. Our orders are to patrol Gilead Road and destroy any enemy forces that try to enter the Lower Glen by that route. Make haste men, we’re three horses from there. War is at hand!”
| Author Notes | This is a short one! |
By Douglas Goff
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Back in the Upper Glen, King Darian looked about the hillside, his handsome face now tired and drawn, almost haggard. He had not taken the death of his youngest son too well and now his oldest son, Prince Talban, had not reported in.
He was watching the men forming up below him, hoping to see that his overdue son had arrived. His men looked weary. They had all engaged the enemy and each squad had suffered losses.
Four of the five villages at the foot of Timber Lake Mountains had been destroyed and the people were now missing. He could only assume that the fifth village, Sev, had met the same fate. That is where Lord Prince Talban had gone.
Lord Naysha and Lord Graves’ patrols had not reported in, and were not expected to. Several wounded yules from their patrols had been found by other squads, wandering aimlessly, and covered in red and green blood. It appeared as if those brave souls had met their fates.
The losses suffered by the remaining squad leaders numbered from one man to half their squads. Several lords had fallen, to include two more of his patrol leaders, Lord Felix and Lord Davis.
Many of the men and yules that had returned were wounded. Yet, his troops still had a resolute, determined look on their faces, that came with experience and loss. They were a tough group, and he was proud of their spirit.
The good news was that his middle son, Lord Prince Nehi, had safely guided the people of Camp City behind the sturdy wooden walls of Frontier Fortress. Nehi had reported that the women, children, and elderly would travel from there to Port Turin and then to the safety of Castle Krodall.
Darian was glad to learn that High King Tronin was already making preparations. Gilead Castle and Trader Town had also been alerted and were hopefully preparing their defenses. They needed to hold the goblin tribes back, while the civilians were being safely evacuated.
Lord Partom had arrived earlier in the day and had reported an encounter with the Gorilla Raiders the day before. The bald lord told him that one of the four ape Raider Patrols had been destroyed. It had been led by Tig, a young alpha male that he had never met.
No matter, I tried to warn the Gorilla King. Gorin is going to have to take care of himself; I have my own issues to deal with. Foremost on his mind was his missing eldest son.
King Darian approached his remaining squad leaders and was about to speak, when he was distracted by a large cloud of dust approaching from the north. A group of mounts were coming in fast, yet it appeared to be too many riders for one patrol, and what was the giant black mass on the horizon that followed them?
“Incoming! . . . Men . . . and gorillas!” the sentry positioned furthest north bellowed out.
When the group drew closer, King Darian could make out at least a hundred apes astride their horses, riding along with his son Talban’s patrol. They were riding hard, with the horses matching the top speed of the slower yules. They closed the distance to the camp quickly.
“Father!” Lord Prince Talban cried out breathlessly as he jumped off his panting yule, taking a moment to catch his breath before continuing, “Skull Crushers . . . several thousand . . . moving fast . . . we ran into them as we crossed the Central Rim . . . I don’t know how they managed to pace us this far on foot.”
King Darian looked to the horizon. He could now barely make out the sound of goblin boo gah drums in the far distance. They were trotting in formation, row after row, as far as the eye could see. They would cover the distance in an hour, maybe two.
The Skull Crushers had very thick skulls that they used to headbutt their enemies with, earning them their name. This gave them a distinct look with their huge foreheads that were lined with small bony ridges.
“Son, can you fight?” King Darian asked. “We ride out to meet them!”
“Of course, my king, you know my sword is yours!” his eldest son responded, his answer refuted only by his appearance, because he was covered from head to toe in dust and looked like he would drop from exhaustion at any moment.
“Tuggle City is gone!” the nearest ape could no longer hold his tongue.
It was Raider Patrol Leader Togris, an ape that Darian had met once before. He had forgotten about them in his excitement to see that his oldest son was alive. It looked like the three remaining Raider Patrols were with Togris.
“Gone? How?” King Darian asked, unsure of what the ape was talking about.
“We went to worn King Gorin. When ape return, we find several hundred Bloody Thrasher marching around with ape king’s head on a pole,” Alpha Togris growled out.
“Then you can ride with us to protect the Glen,” King Darian offered, still shocked by the news.
“We will ride with you, but not to protect. We ride for revenge!” the large black silverback shouted, raising his spear towards his fellow apes who responded with howls and growls towards the ever-advancing goblin army. Once the gorillas fell silent, the men continued talking.
“Lord Tobias, you’ll retain control over Prince Nye’s patrol,” a hint of pain flashed across the king’s face, causing him to hesitate before continuing, “Lord Biv, you take Lord Davis’ squad. Lord Brickor take command of Lord Felix’s squad. Assign the new recruits to the lighter squads. Training is over.”
Lord Brickor was a tough short and squat old warrior, in his mid-fifties, yet stout. As the lord with the most years on the Yule Riders, he ran the training unit for new riders who volunteered from the southern kingdoms and villages to join the yule patrols. He grunted his acknowledgement and joined his new men.
“The Upper Glen is our responsibility, and we shall defend it. Now mount up and form battle lines!” King Darian shouted.
Men began to run towards their mounts and within minutes, the disorganized group formed into three well-organized ranks of mounted warriors.
“Father, you should know that we saw about the same amount of Bone Breakers dropping from the mountains into Sev Village,” Talban advised. “These Skull Crushers are only the beginning.”
King Darian gave him a weary nod and then began riding up and down the front rank, addressing various men. He made his way to the center, and was preparing to address them as a whole when a shout came up from the back rank.
“Horse rider approaching from the rear!” someone yelled.
While King Darian waited for the approaching horseman, he noticed a white sash hanging from the man’s waist, denoting the significance of his arrival. High King Tronin’s messenger rode straight up to King Darian, bowed from horseback, and handed him a sealed letter.
“From High King Tronin’s hand to your hand defender of the Upper Glen,” the horseman said, then turned and sped off the way he had come, back towards Kaylor Pass, the rocky trail that eventually led up to Frontier Fortress.
King Darian quickly broke the seal and read the letter, then addressed his men, “We have new orders. The Upper Glen is surrendered to the enemy. We’re to fall back into the Lower Glen and patrol Frontier Road from Frontier Fortress to the sorcerer’s keep at Keyorlock. We’ll let the goblin armies throw themselves at the three kingdoms of Hogarth Hills. Gilead, Frontier Fortress and Trader Town will take the brunt of the enemy’s fury.”
King Darian paused for a moment to reread part of the letter, then continued, “I need three patrols to stay in the Upper Glen for harassment purposes. You’ll engage in ‘hit and run’ tactics, destroying and delaying the enemy wherever you can. Do I have any volunteers?”
“Aye, my men and I will give them a taste of steel!” Lord Borlan said, his rippling muscles bulging in the late sun.
“Ape need revenge against green mans. My patrol has no taste for the Lower Glen,” Raider Leader Tobin spoke up, his tone fierce and his words punctuated by a snarl on his dark black face.
Tobin was one tough looking ape. He was the largest of the three raider leaders and most experienced. He would most likely be the gorilla’s next king, if their would be any apes left needing a king.
Lord Prince Nehi and Lord Grey also volunteered their patrols at the same time, looking to take the last spot.
King Darian tugged at his beard, then spoke, “It’s decided then. Raider Tobin will take the Central Rim and seek vengeance. Lord Borlan you take the Western Rim. Lord Grey, you and your men head for the Eastern Rim. Lord Prince Nehi, I need you at my side. You three patrols that are remaining still have time to outflank the advancing goblin army and to get clear. Fight as long as you can and if you take heavy casualties, fall back to Frontier Road and join us. Let’s ride!”
Lord Prince Nehi frowned in disappointment. When will I get a chance to fight? I want to engage the enemy now and prove myself.
Lord Borlan, Lord Grey, and Raider Tobin took their patrols and headed north. King Darian and the remaining patrols started south for Kaylor Pass. All of them moved fast while the sounds of the huge goblin army drew nearer, the rhythmic “boo gah boo gah boo gah” of the goblin drums grew louder and louder.
On their way up the pass, they encountered King Quaid’s oldest son, Lord Prince Benhurst, with a squad of over a hundred archers and warriors from Frontier Fortress, heading to the bottom of Kaylor Pass to set up an ambush for the goblins. The men from the Yule Patrols and Frontier Fortress exchanged shouts of encouragement and clasped wrists.
King Darian greeted each passing soldier, wondering which, if any, would live to climb back out of the canyon. His men must have looked a rugged dirty mess to all these fresh-faced inexperienced troops.
At the top of Kaylor Pass they encountered an even larger group of men, led by King Quaid’s youngest son, Lord Prince Jayden. These men were already in position to ambush the goblins, just before the canyon topped out onto the rolling hills of Hogarth.
These nervous young men were the last line of defense before the goblins would reach the wooden walls of Kaylor the Frontier Fortress. It was good to see that their fellow brothers were prepared to fight.
King Darian knew how difficult it must have been for King Quaid to send his only two sons out to defend the pass. He liked both princes, the taller mature Benhurst, and the brown curly haired, always jovial, Jayden.
Nearly all of the troops they had passed were young and inexperienced. Most of them had never seen a goblin, let alone fought one. King Darian sighed with the realization that casualties would be a lot higher now that the goblins were marching on Hogarth Hills.
He could hear the sound of the goblin’s boo gah drums wafting up from the bottom of Kaylor Pass as he topped out of it. It was the first time that he has set foot out of the Upper Glen in over a year. He had always thought that he would die in the grassy flatlands of his home, but now he wasn’t so sure.
By Douglas Goff
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In the farthest east kingdom of Hogarth Hills, King Wilsom rubbed his gnarled old hands together, almost as if he were trying to rub off the many liver spots.
He sat on his thrown, leaning forward, his thinning white hair not doing much to cover his wrinkled scalp. King Wilsom had been a great warrior in his youth and a wise king for Trader Town in his later years. Trader Town was the center of commerce for both the Upper and Lower Glens.
Men, dwarves, elves, and even apes brought their wares here to the Bazaar for trade and auction. This included all manner of items from clothes, jewelry, furniture, food, and herds.
King Wilsom had been a vital part in the growth of Trader Town, creating a credit system and even a warehouse bank, where money and goods could be stored. But nature had taken its course, and now he sat on the throne in his late eighties, his mind as frail as his body.
“How many goblins?” his voice crackled with age when he spoke to the men assembled in front of him. They were the Bazaar Advisor, Tax Advisor, Auction Advisor, and his troop commanders.
“Just over two hundred from the Bone Breaker Tribe, my liege. They are assembled on the far end of Commerce Field. We evacuated the Bazaar, and all our people are now safely behind the moat,” Lord Haven answered.
Haven was a tall, lean man, in charge of the city guard and its defenses. Half of his face was scarred from saving several horses during a stable fire when he was a boy. The bravery followed him into adulthood, and he was the city’s most experienced, capable, and well-respected lord.
Commerce Field was a large grassy plain, about two fields long and a field and a half wide, located just north of Trader Town. It was where the daily auctions were conducted and had several rows of brightly colored tents, where various types of merchandise were bid on. Barters Pass ran from the north end of it down into the Upper Glen.
“Sire,” Lord Charlton, leader of the Blue Lancers, requested to be heard.
The Blue Lancers were a unit of horsemen that had been formed as guardians of the trade caravans during a particularly tough bandit season several years ago. It had been created and led by Hero Arturian, until a couple of seasons ago, when the high king had put him in charge of the raider army in the Lower Glen.
“Bone Breakers in Hogarth Hills?” King Wilsom mumbled. “Never heard of such nonsense.”
“Sire,” Lord Charlton said again, “The last caravan to arrive reported seeing several thousand goblins marching towards Trader Town. We shouldn’t act to hastily. We should send out scouts to locate the rest of the goblins.”
“Nonsense,” King Wilsom waved his liver-spotted hand dismissively at Lord Charlton. “Take out my Blue Lancers. Wipe the goblin scum from Commerce Field!”
“Sire, the rest of us agree that scouts should be sent out first.” Lord Haven tried to persuade his king.
“Nonsense. Commerce has stopped. The Blue Lancers are supposed to protect commerce,” spittle formed on King Wilsom’s weathered lips as his mumbling voice became shrill. “Send out my Lancers! Lancers! Lancers!! Lancers!!!”
The Auction, Bazaar, and Tax Advisors looked at each other and shrugged, and then after bowing to the king, left the room.
“Filthy goblin scum,” King Wilsom thought aloud as he slumped back deep into his throne.
Within twenty minutes, Lord Charlton had his men assembled in battle formation. The dark-skinned lord rode up and down the rows of horsemen, inspecting all three ranks of six hundred men.
They looked impressive, with their armor shining brightly in the late afternoon sun and their bright blue capes flowing down the backs of their horses until it stopped a foot above the ground.
Each man in the first two rows carried a long-pointed lance in one hand, and a large blue shield with the red dragon emblem in the center with the other hand. The third row of men carried longbows or crossbows.
Lord Kragen, Charlton’s second-in-command, led the front rank. Lord Bane led the archers and crossbow men in the rear rank. Both were capable men, although Lord Bane was only twenty and lacked combat experience. Lord Charlton would take up position in the center of the middle rank.
“Today we engage the enemy on our own soil, for he’s come here to make war. While we’re a peaceful kingdom, we’re not afraid to give him what he seeks. Many of you haven’t seen combat. This is the last day that anyone will say that about you. Ride for your land, ride for your family, ride for your king. Blue Lancers forward!” Lord Charlton’s sturdy voice boomed through the ranks.
The lines of horsemen lunged forward, moving at trot towards a group of about two hundred Bone Breakers that were milling about the opposite end of the field, just where it began to drop down into the Upper Glen.
While they were the tallest of the goblin tribes, the Bone Breakers seemed easy prey for the men astride horses. When the horsemen began to advance, several yorgs started to bully the goblins into battle lines.
At a field and a half away, the horses quickened their pace. The goblins were now standing in two long ranks, facing the advancing men. Six yorgs stood behind them shouting orders.
A field away, now the horses were at a fast run, their hooves beating a steady rhythm on the hard turf. Several goblin drums began beating and the green foe let out a shout in unison.
At a half a field away, the horses sped up even faster. Many of the goblins in the front rank began edging back into the rank behind them.
“Lances down!” Lord Kragen shouted while the horsemen closed the last quarter of a field. The front row lowered their lances in unison, while their horses surged forward at maximum speed, their hooves now pounding like thunder on the ground.
Some of the goblins in the front row, sensing their impending doom, turned to flee. The largest yorg sliced the goblin at the front of the retreat in two with a giant rusty sword. This sent the remaining deserters back to their ranks.
Lord Kragen heard arrows whizzing overhead into the line of goblins, killing several of them. Then his row of horsemen ran smack into the front line of goblins. The sound of the impact was incredible as the horsemen ran over the first line of Bone Breakers and crashed into the second row.
Lord Charlton’s rank followed closely behind, lancing any goblins that had not been speared or trampled by the front row of men and horses. The ranks of goblins and men intermingled and soon broke into various combating groups.
Lord Charlton speared two goblins that were attacking one of his captains. From atop his horse, it looked as if well over half of the goblins were already dead, with only a hand full of Blue Lancer casualties.
Lord Charlton had seen two archers fall to goblin spears, and then watched a captain die in the front rank, right in front of him. He could see a few other dead men and horses nearby, but it looked like light losses.
Lord Charlton struck down another goblin and then caught sight of Lord Kragen. His horse had been killed and he was on foot, engaged in combat with three yorgs, with a fourth, the one with the big rusty sword, lying dead at his feet. Lord Charlton started towards Lord Kragen, but within moments, the man had slain all three of the large goblin leaders. The burly warrior was talented.
It didn’t take long for the scattered remnants of the goblin forces to begin to flee down the north rim of Commerce Field into Barters Pass. Lord Kragen and his men gave chase to the edge, where several of them stopped their horses and sat frozen in their saddles.
Lord Charlton rode up to the edge and also froze in place. A large pair of angry blood-shot eyes stared at him as they rose over the rim, followed by a large, fat, hairy body. The man creature that rose before him had very bushy black hair and stood fourteen feet tall.
“Giants! Giants!” the panicked cry, filled with disbelief, went up and down the ranks of men.
Several more giants began topping over the rim from Barters Pass onto Commerce Field. They were a motley crew of twenty hairy dirty beasts. The giants ranged in height from twelve to just over twenty feet tall.
Some of them carried large wooden clubs, the size of trees, while others carried large boulders about the size of horses. There were piles of stacked boulders just under the rim and out of sight, that must have been staged by the giants last night. It had been a trap!
All of the giants wore fur tunics, which were no more than a patch work of different colored animal hides, woven into a gown of sorts that covered them from shoulders to knees. Most of them also wore necklaces made from bones, probably from the same animals that had provided the materials for their clothing.
Giants were not unheard of, but were long extinct in the Glen. They lived in small groups of around twenty, called covens. This coven had come from the lowland plains, just north of Timber Lake Mountains.
Gorg, the largest giant, was the Chieftain. He carried a huge spear with a gnarled wooden handle, the metal pointed head was broad and black. The weapon would have been much too heavy for a man to carry.
Lord Charlton did not have time to consider any of this. The giants holding the boulders, including the one directly in front of him, leaned back and bowled the rocks at the horsemen.
Lord Charlton was so close to the giant at his front, it was black and wore large golden loops hanging from its ears, that he had no chance to react. His horse was literally knocked out from under him by a rolling boulder, causing it to let out an odd wheezing sound when it died.
A second later, the dark-skinned Charlton was landing hard on the turf and rolling head over heels. He came up on his behind, dazed and stunned. Where is my lance he thought? It was his last. A second giant, a tall, bald, black, skinny one, brought his wooden club down on the Blue Lancer Commander, obliterating him.
The bowling of the rocks was quite effective against horses, having knocked many lancers from their saddles while the club giants rushed in and smashed the dazed men who had fallen.
One giant, with an extremely scarred face, began jumping up and down with glee, shaking the ground while showing that he was extremely proud that he had taken out five horses with one rock.
Chieftain Gorg let out a tremendous bellow and began spearing men from their saddles with his giant weapon. When he had four warriors impaled on his spear, he stopped and shook them off. He sneered menacingly, highlighting rows of sharp yellow pointed teeth that were accented by black holes where a few were missing.
Lord Kragen, who had managed to commandeer a new horse, rallied several riders to his side and led a charge at the nearest giant, who was a thirteen-footer with a mean disposition.
Several of the riders successfully lanced the giant in the upper thigh areas, causing the creature to let out a howl before clubbing the nearest two riders. They fell from their horses, dead.
The remaining riders turned to attack again, but their charge was interrupted when Chieftain Gorg smashed thru them. Lord Kragen turned just in time to pierce the giant Chieftain with his lance, which Gorg responded to by shoving his spear straight thru Lord Kragen’s chest.
Chieftain Gorg picked the hapless man up from off his horse with the huge spear and slung him into the air. He flew some thirty feet and crashed to the ground in a crumpled heap.
The remaining three attacking riders turned to flee, but became sport for the rock throwing giants who began tossing boulders at them. Soon all were crushed, each direct hit causing gleeful celebratory screams from the rock throwers.
The line of horse archers tried to support the lance warriors, scoring several hits on the enemy. The arrows caused mostly minor injuries, although one had struck an eyeball, causing the wounded giant to run in circles screaming in pain.
This angered the club giants, who quickly rushed forward swinging their mighty wooden clubs to and fro, wreaking havoc on the horse archers. Lord Bane and several of them sat firing until the end, but they were no match for the mighty angry giants who quickly overwhelmed them.
It took the giants a few more minutes to mop up the scattered men that tried to flee, but soon, all six hundred Blue Lancers were dead or dying. The fight with the giants had lasted less than five minutes.
Chieftain Gorg scratched his belly where he had been lanced, and then let out another loud bellow. As if in response, an older gray-haired giant, called Nash, came over the rim onto Commerce Field. He was pulling a large wooden cart.
The other giants looked about, and then began collecting the bodies of both men and horses. They loaded the dead onto the huge cart, and once that was full, they slung more dead over their shoulders.
Still, it took them three trips to clear the field, but they knew that they would eat well tonight, as they headed back down into Barters Pass. Back at the Trader Town palace, the advisors followed Lord Haven into the throne room.
“They’re all dead sire!” Lord Haven blurted out.
“Good, I hate those filthy wretched green scum,” King Wilsom cackled.
“No, my king, the Blue Lancers are dead. They were ambushed by a coven of giants,” Lord Haven clarified, then asked, “What’re we to do?”
“Giants? Nonsense! King Hogarth drove the giants from these very hills centuries ago. Giants? Nonsense. I know exactly what to do. We’ll drive them from the hills. Call up my Blue Lancers!” King Wilsom continued to mumble, now incoherently, his mind clearly gone.
“My king?” the Tax Advisor questioned.
An odd, almost calm look overcame Lord Haven’s face, as he made a decision, and called out for the king’s personal aid. “Take King Wilsom to his private quarters and make him comfortable, but keep him there.”
Lord Haven turned to the Trader Town advisors and said, “I’m assuming control of the city’s defenses. If we survive this, we can appoint a new king later, but now we must prepare to defend ourselves. If anyone disagrees with my decision to relieve King Wilsom, speak now. If not, then I expect you to go and prepare for the upcoming battle. First, we must pull the bridges from the moat and then prepare the catapult and the spear gun towers.”
The advisors voiced no complaint, but instead seemed quite happy to have Lord Haven take control. They rushed from the room, knowing that they had much to do.
Lord Haven climbed the stairway to the rooftop of the king’s palace. It was actually more of a small stone fortress than a palace, sitting in the center of Trader Town. It was the oldest and the largest building in the city.
When the tall, lanky lord reached the roof, he could see that Trader Town was bustling below. Several men were pulling on a large handle at the North Bridge.
The handle was attached to a spool that pulled the chains in, which in turn pulled the bridge in that spanned the moat. It was an advanced design, created by King Wilsom in his younger years. Men were also starting the process on the South, East, and West Bridges.
Each bridge was guarded by two ten-foot stone towers that sat just inside the city, overlooking the brackish water in the moat. Archers were forming on those positions, as well as atop the two twenty-foot stone towers near the palace.
Men were setting up a catapult on one of the larger towers and a large wooden ballista, or spear gun, on the other. He could see more warriors placing the giant spears it fired near the weapon. Those will get the giant’s attention, Lord Haven thought to himself.
Next, he looked towards a long wooden building used as the food storehouse. People were taking food supplies from there, carrying them to the smaller buildings. The only other large building was the wooden stable, which was eerily quiet.
Lord Haven sighed. I’ve lost many friends today. Lord Charlton and I grew up together. We were like brothers. No time for sorrow now, he thought, and turned his attention to the moat. The city had no outer wall, to enhance their image as a place of commerce.
The moat itself surrounded the entire city and was thirty feet wide. The water was a murky black with a thick mossy green scum that covered the surface. What concerned Lord Haven was the depth.
It was nearly twenty feet deep in some spots, but only twelve in others. He feared that it wouldn’t take the giants long to locate these shallow spots and simply walk into the city.
A bright flash of orange light erupted next to Lord Haven, momentarily blinding him.
“Cobborath!” Lord Haven exclaimed, startled by the sudden appearance of the wizard right beside him.
“Your concerns are well placed young lord, the moat is your weak spot,” the red/blue wizard said as if reading Lord Haven’s mind.
Lord Haven did not speak, but just stared at the dual-colored wizard, who had appeared to have aged some twenty years since he had last saw him, only just a year ago.
"I am here to shore up your defenses,” the red/blue wizard stated, and began to mutter an incantation.
Soon the water in the moat began to bubble and steam, and . . . move. It began to flow, slowly at first towards the north corner, and then faster as it travelled from corner to corner.
The moat had become a black, boiling, steamy, swirl of racing water! The wizard reached out a bony finger and touched Haven on the forehead, which seemed to complete the spell.
“That should keep the giants at bay, at least for a while,” Cobborath advised. “I tied the spell to you, and when you die, so shall it.”
“What should we do about the giants? Can we kill them?” Lord Haven finally managed to speak a full sentence for the first time since the arrival of the bizarre looking magician king.
“They’ll fear the rushing water, so instead of crossing it, they’ll bombard the city with rocks. Then the goblins will come. You must hit them with whoever is left, every time that they try to enter the city. If you manage to push them out, then the bombardments will start again. That’ll buy time,” the sorcerer replied, not really answering Lord Haven’s question.
“Do you really think that we can keep them out of Trader Town?” the tall lord asked doubtfully.
“No,” the wizard said. “Trader Town will fall. King Nalop of the Bone Breaker Tribe will sit in the throne of Trader Town. What High King Tronin needs from you is time. The alarm has already been sounded in the Lower Glen, but it’ll take time to raise an army to defend the southern kingdoms.”
“I understand, but can we at least get the citizens of Trader Town out?” Lord haven asked, hopefully.
“A few days ago a messenger warned King Wilsom and asked him to send the women and children south,” Cobborath said, hesitating as he looked at Haven’s confused face. “Oh, that’s unfortunate. He didn’t share that information with any of you.”
“There must still be time,” Lord Haven insisted, although the sounds of boo gah drums from every direction signaled that there was not.
“It’s too late. Bone Breaker encampments already surround the city. Arm everyone to fight. Fight as if the survival of man in the Glen depends upon it, because it does. We need time Lord Haven. Give it to us!”
With an orange flash, the wizard was gone. Lord Haven looked out at his city. I’ll give you all the time that you need, and just maybe the odd wizard is wrong. At least, I hope so.
By Douglas Goff
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Boo gah drums were not only being heard at Kaylor Pass and Trader Town. They were also sounding across the plains below Castle Gilead, beating out a steady pace for the several thousand disgusting green beasts that marched towards the stronghold of the dwarves.
The goblins pressed forward from the north, strung out in several long columns, looking like a sea of green against the brown grass that they were trampling beneath their feet. They carried several banners bearing the markings of the Black Eye Tribe.
The dwarf king had agonized for a full day, before ordering his women and children to retreat south to Port Turin. He knew that High King Tronin would move them to safety, but hadn’t felt that it was necessary.
Now, seeing the giant army massing below his walls, he knew that he had made the right decision. Not that his stone kingdom wasn’t sturdy, it had not fallen from dwarf control since it was built centuries ago, but this looked to become a long siege and now he didn’t need to protect any non-combatants.
Men called it a fortress, but the dwarves called it a castle. The discrepancy came, because the stone walls of Gilead Castle were sixty feet tall and sixty feet thick, making the wall itself more like four large defensible fortresses guarding each side of the smaller interior castle. Each of the four walls had two sturdy archery towers evenly spaced along them.
The dwarves positioned high atop these sturdy walls were quite busy. Some were placing spears and small hand axes all along the walls for the upcoming battle, while others were stoking large fires under giant steaming caldrons of oil. Still others were tying off big nets full of boulders and various other heavy objects that were perched precariously atop the edge of the walls at strategic points.
Although the dwarves of this era had never had to defend Gilead from attack, each one went about his assigned task as if he had done it every day of his life. The knowledge had been passed down from father to son for generations, in both story and practice.
King Sturdy Axe was walking from wall to wall, inspecting his defenses. He stopped for a moment to watch a group of dwarves placing a large net full of rocks over the Main Gate, when another group of dwarves running from the south wood line caught his eye.
Two of the dwarves were urging a mule, that was pulling a cart full of wood, forward. Several goblins burst out of the woods chasing them. Foolish woodcutters he thought, as goblin arrows killed the mule and the wagon dwarves.
The remaining fleeing dwarves made it through the South Gate, causing the pursuing goblins to return to the south wood line, dragging the dead mule and fallen dwarves with them.
King Sturdy Axe tugged at his bushy gray beard and leaned against his battle axe. It had a spear point at the top of it, curving into axe heads on both ends. The wooden handle was as long as he was tall.
King Sturdy Axe thought for a moment. His herders had been attacked earlier that day, and soon after his dwarves collecting the boulders also came under fire. Both groups, at least what was left of them, were now safely inside the castle.
His dwarves had collected enough supplies to withstand a very long siege, and now with the wood dwarves attacked to the south, they were surely surrounded. King Sturdy Axe had given the order to bring everyone inside the walls of Gilead an hour ago. The woodcutters must not have gotten the word.
A commotion from the walls to his east and west disturbed his thoughts. Several dwarves were taking up defensive positions on those positions. The troops defending those two areas belonged to two brigades of dwarves that had arrived from the southern kingdoms, about an hour ago.
One brigade was black dwarves from the Mountain Kingdom and the other was white dwarves from the Woodland Kingdom. The mountain dwarves were led by a tough old dwarf named Iron Fist. The woodland dwarves were led by a younger, less experienced, but highly motivated dwarf named White Fang. He was pleased to have his brother kingdoms at his side.
A dwarven brigade consisted of two hundred warriors and their arrival had greatly boosted the morale of the Gilead dwarves. The southlanders had arrived in an impressive fashion, marching in unison under the banners of the two southern kingdoms, their polished gray armor and shields shining brightly in the afternoon sun. Dwarven ram’s horns had announced their arrival. It had been good for all to see that their fellow dwarven kin were supporting them.
* * *
Sometime later, on the other end of Hogarth Hills, Lord Prince Benhurst peered out into the darkness. His curly brown hair felt dirty, and his knees ached, reminding him that he was in his thirties. He shifted his position and immediately felt better.
It had been nearly two days since the Skull Crusher army had arrived at the bottom of Kaylor Pass, and still they did not make a move towards Frontier Fortress.
He and his men had spent the first day listening to the enemy arguing, drinking, and dancing down below. It had sounded as if there were several thousand of them, yet they did not advance into the pass.
The second day the enemy had grown quiet, which was even more unbearable, with his men constantly wondering what they were up to. The prince found that his mind wouldn’t stop racing.
What were they up to? He had needed to send men back to Frontier Fortress earlier that day for food and now night had fallen and still no attack. Benhurst had never been in combat, and the nervous waiting was becoming unbearable.
When darkness came, the prince had sent two scouts down to check things out. That had been several hours ago, and they had not returned. Maybe he should send two more? The dark night dragged on and on.
Lord Prince Benhurst was startled awake by shouts. The sun was just beginning to rise in the pre-dawn morning, making every shadowy rock look like a crouching goblin.
He could hear metal banging on metal and a man screaming. It took him a second to realize that his forward position was being overrun by goblins who were coming up the pass.
The sounds of battle died down, and a few seconds later, two of his men came into view. One was limping from a red feathered black arrow protruding from his knee. They moved past Lord Prince Benhurst and his men’s ambush position.
Two more wounded men came into view and immediately a goblin arrow struck one in the back between his shoulder blades, dropping him. The second man turned and threw a spear at an unseen foe.
Several arrows then struck him, and he fell. Those arrows were small, crude wooden ones, unlike the long red and black one in the first man’s knee. Then it became quiet again.
A short time later, Lord Prince Benhurst could hear goblin drums banging in the distance, followed by the sounds of the approaching enemy, marching in unison. What he heard was frightening.
They came into view quickly, shadows that soon formed into goblins from the Skull Crusher Tribe. Now he could see them clearly, two or three rows of goblins with broad foreheads, swords in the lead, followed by row after row of goblin archers.
Lord Benhurst and the twenty men with him were laying in a ditch that ran along side of the trail. They waited quietly, allowing the first couple of rows of goblins to pass by. Lord Prince Benhurst jumped to his feet and ordered, “Charge!”
He took two steps forward when a black goblin arrow with red feathers pierced the left side of his chest. The barbed shaft collapsed a lung and knocked him to his knees.
The well-aimed arrow had been fired by a muscle bound yorg carrying a wicked looking black longbow. To have fired so quickly, it must have spotted the hiding men earlier.
The yorg snorted contently at his direct hit and strung another of the custom black and red arrows. The bow yorg launched it into the throat of a warrior near Benhurst, killing him.
Captain Weable, Benhurst’s aid, ordered two guards to grab the wounded prince and retreat back up the pass. Then the heavy set, short captain, led the remaining men in a charge towards the goblins.
Benhurst was surprised at Captain Weable taking charge, because the man had always been extremely quiet and seemed to lack self-confidence. The two warriors followed their orders and grabbed Lord Prince Benhurst, lifting him to his feet, which brought out a painful groan.
The trio began rushing up the main trail towards the top of Kaylor Pass, while the goblins were distracted by Captain Weable’s attack. Lord Prince Benhurst glanced back, catching sight of the battle. He saw Captain Weable standing over a dead goblin with a slight grin on his face. It was the last time he would ever see the man.
The three retreating men made it a half a field up the trail when they heard the now familiar sound of the goblin boo gah drums, signaling that the green filth were advancing again.
The prince, with the help of his two men, hurried up the pass past the next ambush. Lord Prince Benhurst had placed fifty archers and crossbow men on both walls of the ravine, about thirty feet above the trail, hidden amongst the boulders.
The three fleeing figures moved to the far end of the ambush area and stopped, because the prince needed to rest. The retreat up the steep pass was taking its toll on the wounded man.
The shorter, older warrior with very broad shoulders, gently grabbed the arrow shaft protruding from the prince’s chest and broke it near the wound. Benhurst let out a painful scream. The shaft would have gotten in the way if the prince needed to be carried.
“Hold them as long as you can! I need time to get the wounded prince up to the top!” the older man shouted to the archers above.
Grelly is his name, or something like that, Lord Prince Benhurst thought. Gosh, my mind is getting foggy. I hope that I don’t pass out or we’ll die here. At least the excruciating pain is starting to ease up and go numb.
The sound of the approaching goblins grew louder, so the trio began to move again. They rounded the next bend in the pass just as the battle ensued. The human archers were more accurate than their goblin counterparts, but they were heavily outnumbered.
The clashes and clangs of the battle below were fierce, with squeals and screams marking each hit. The three men continued up the pass another half a field, and had to stop again, when Lord Prince Benhurst actually did pass out. It took a couple of minutes for the two warriors to revive him.
While they were preparing the prince to get started up the trail again, a goblin spear flew through the air, and struck the younger warrior in the back of his knee. The flat steel spearhead popped out of the front side of the man’s leg, causing him to fall down onto his good knee.
“Go!” the fallen man yelled at Grelly, and turned to face seven advancing Skull Crusher warriors. The goblins had run past the archer’s ambush, intent upon catching up to the trio. Benhurst and Grelly hesitated for a moment, and then continued up the path.
The man with the spear in his knee managed to get to his feet and swung his sword at the closest goblin, killing it. Two of the creature’s companions rushed forward, swinging swords at the man. One of the goblins scored a hit, chopping off the warrior’s non-sword hand at the wrist, sending red blood spraying all over the goblin.
The man screamed in agony and countered by thrusting his sword through the offending goblin’s throat. The goblin fell backwards, pulling the man’s sword from his grasp. The goblin died, clutching at the blade, while spurting green blood on the warrior.
One of the remaining goblins walked up to the unarmed man and head-butted him hard, crushing his skull. The five surviving goblins rushed up the trail, chasing after the two fleeing men.
“I am done. Leave me,” Lord Prince Benhurst moaned, sinking to his knees.
“Pull it together now my young prince, or we are both done, for I shan’t leave you here. I couldn’t face your father and you do not want me to tell him that you gave up. Now get up!” Grelly’s voice had started low, but ended in a shout.
He’s right, Lord Prince Benhurst bemused, father would not be pleased if he knew that his son had given up. The two men began to move again, but it was too late. Grelly felt two goblin spears bounce off the large green shield strapped across his back.
The green scum had caught up, punctuating that with their screams of glee. Grelly turned and drew his sword, fear gripping his belly. He had never killed anything, even at fifty-two, and had hoped to live out the rest of his days without ever having to.
The five goblins raced towards the older man, his sword shaking in his trembling hand. They closed to within five feet when arrows struck the front two, killing them. Several more arrows flew from the shadows on the walls of the pass, killing two more goblins. The last goblin turned to flee back down the trail, but he only made it a few steps before an array of arrows brought him down.
Grelly grinned. They had made it to the forward ambush set by Lord Prince Jayden. That meant that they were near the top of Kaylor Pass. Grelly dropped his sword and hoisted Lord Prince Benhurst, who had passed out again, over his broad shoulders.
Grelly grunted under the weight, and then began to make his way up the last half a field to the top of the ravine. The middle-aged man still had some strength left in his aging bones.
Lord Prince Jayden’s forward archers were soon engaged with the main body of advancing goblins. The missile fire was short, but intense. When it ended, nearly a hundred goblins lay dead at the cost of all twenty bowmen. Their sacrifice bought the wounded prince some much needed time.
The next ambush was led by the princes’ cousin, Lord Gib, who had ten warriors. They fought the enemy from a cave, with no rear escape. Lord Gib and his men fought to the death, taking many goblins and two yorgs with them.
This bought Grelly even more time, allowing him to reach the top of Kaylor Pass, where Lord Prince Jayden was lying in wait with Lord Toye and his remaining men.
“Is he dead?” Lord Prince Jayden asked, his face anguished at the sight of his motionless, bloodied older brother. The curly haired princes could have been twins, if ten years of age did not separate them.
“No, but he is close,” Grelly grunted out while he carefully set the wounded prince down.
“The goblins are coming. Prince Jayden, escort your brother to Frontier Fortress. I will take lead of the men here,” Lord Toye said. He was a very short man, but capable with his sword.
“No, you go. It is my duty to stay here and fight,” Lord Prince Jayden responded.
“My prince.” Lord Toye grasped his arm and said, “Your brother is dying. Your father can not withstand losing both of his sons on the same day. Go and defend the fortress. Defend our families. It’s my privilege, as your best friend, to take your place and lead the fight here.”
Lord Toye gave his friend’s arm a shake, smiled sadly at Jayden, and turned to join the last remaining defenders of Kaylor Pass. Boo gah, boo gah, boo gah drifted up from the trail below, letting them know that the relentless enemy was once again closing in.
Lord Prince Jayden was torn, but a low wheezing moan from his brother helped make up his mind. He and Grelly lifted the wounded prince between them and headed for the walls of Frontier Fortress, which could be seen rising in the shadowy distance.
Lord Prince Jayden looked back one last time at Lord Toye crouching in the shadows. Grief gripped his heart, because he knew that his childhood friend would soon be dead. All of the ambush teams had been swept aside by the tidal wave of goblin filth.
I can only hope to die with such courage. I swear on the bones of my ancestors that I will somehow honor your sacrifice, Toye, by making a difference in this war. The three men hurried towards the fortress.
By Douglas Goff
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“They’re coming!” a Gilead sentry shouted.
King Sturdy Axe stood on the roof of the Command Tower, located in the middle of the southern wall. It was the highest point on the four walls of Gilead, and from his perch, he could see all the approaches to the castle. Hundreds of goblin archers from the Black Eye Tribe were advancing from every direction.
“Signal archer attack, all four walls,” King Sturdy Axe commanded, his tone calm and collected, as if he conducted warfare on a daily basis. Dwarves with crossbows bustled about, taking up various firing positions.
“Signal catapult launch, four volleys at medium range, one in each direction,” King Sturdy Axe ordered.
The Command Tower flag dwarf signaled the catapult positioned just below. A moment later, the first large stone hurdled past the Command Tower, flying north. It landed outside the walls of Gilead, crushing several advancing goblins. Three more volleys followed, fired in different directions, all with the same results.
The dwarven rams’ horns sounded and the air erupted with missile fire. Dwarves were too short to use the bows of men, so they opted to use the smaller crossbows with steel bolts, often magicked.
They were a good match for the goblins who used a much shorter, somewhat cruder, version of the longbows of men and elves. The dwarves held the advantages of height and protected positions, while the goblins held the advantage of heavily superior numbers.
King Sturdy Axe watched the battle unfold, with the first barrage of goblin arrows whizzing all about. One goblin arrow struck the west wall flag dwarf in the shoulder. He was quickly replaced, while the battle raged and both goblin and dwarf blood began to flow.
The largest number of Black Eye archers attacked both the east and west walls. Commanders Iron Fist of the Mountain Dwarves and White Fang of the Woodland Water Dwarves managed to drive off the attackers, although dwarf casualties were high. Some boo gah drums sounded and an even larger force of Black Eye archers, about a thousand total, advanced on the south wall.
King Sturdy Axe had his flag dwarf signal for reinforcements to the south wall. As soon as they arrived, an intense exchange of bolts and arrows erupted, lasting nearly an hour. Casualties were again high on both sides, including the south wall flag dwarf who took an arrow through the throat.
King Sturdy Axe, along with most of his dwarves, had been focused on the attackers at the south wall when the ram’s horn sounded a blast of alarm from the north wall. Column after column of goblin archers had taken up positions there.
There were too many to count, but King Sturdy Axe had to guess that it was at least five thousand Black Eye archers launching this newest attack. The air became dark with goblin arrows, killing many dwarves positioned on the north wall and towers.
King Sturdy Axe signaled all of his remaining crossbow reserves to the north wall, and ordered the catapult to fire continuously into the enemy ranks advancing there.
It took thirty minutes of fighting before the continuous pounding of the catapult rocks finally drove the large goblin force back, but the cost was high. Most of the crossbow dwarves originally assigned to the north wall were dead, along with some of the reserves.
Within minutes, all four walls reported specific numbers and the news was grim. Of his four thousand crossbow warriors positioned on the walls, a fourth had been killed. Another two thousand were wounded from slightly to severely, leaving just about a thousand unharmed.
A very high cost for just the first day of battle, but the Black Eye Tribe had also suffered. When they retreated, they left a couple thousand goblin bodies strewn about the fields at the foot of the walls of Gilead. The struggle for the dwarven stronghold had a very bloody start.
* * *
Back on the roof of King Wilsom’s palace, Lord Haven was watching while Trader Town prepared for war. It was quiet down below, because he had ordered that all of the women and children be moved into the palace.
He continued to look about, and noticed that there was trouble at the East Bridge. The chains that pulled the bridge in were tangled in the main sprocket and it had only been retracted about a foot.
A captain named Weser was wrenching on a large pick, trying to separate the chain, while six men unwound it from the main sprocket. Weser was a skinny, but muscular man, with incredibly talents as a mechanic. He was in his mid-fifties, and walked with a limp from an old wound.
It appeared as if his crew would have it fixed rather quickly, when a goblin drum began beating and fifty large Bone Breakers appeared. They had come out from some nearby boulders brandishing spears. Several of them launched their spears, killing two of Captain Weser’s men.
Lord Haven looked about for nearby help, and spotted Lord Torse’s squad carting some boulders towards the palace, only a half a field from the East Bridge.
Lord Torse, and his twin brother Lord Tagtor, commanded the two roving city patrols of eight men each. They were easily recognizable, because the city patrols wore a highly polished black armor designed especially for them, due to their mostly ceremonial duties in a trade community such as this.
“Lord Torse, East Bridge!” Lord Haven shouted at the man below. “The East Bridge is under attack!”
Lord Torse looked up, and then looked towards the East Bridge. He gave a command that Lord Haven could not hear, causing his men to draw their weapons and rush towards the melee.
By the time Lord Torse and his squad covered the distance and reached the bridge, only Captain Weser and one of his men were still alive. The bridge was twelve feet wide, with both men standing side by side, in the center, holding off the remaining forty goblins.
“Fix the bridge!” Lord Torse shouted at Captain Weser while he and his squad pushed past him.
Lord Torse blocked a goblin spear thrust with his sword and quickly chopped the beast down. A second goblin rushed him. He side-stepped, and shoved the attacking foe hard, toppling him off the bridge into the churning magical moat water three feet below. The goblin struggled for a moment, and then disappeared under the steaming rushing water.
Lord Torse and his men quickly cleared the bridge of the green foe and jumped across into the remaining goblins who had been waiting to cross. The man next to Lord Torse fell, speared through his mid-section. Lord Torse sliced through the goblin that had killed the man.
Captain Weser and his remaining warrior managed to unravel the chain and were wrenching on the sprocket handle with all their strength. The bridge began to move, just in time, because five large yorgs had rallied the goblins.
They were leading a counterattack against Lord Torse and his remaining men, killing three of them. The rest of the dwindling patrol were now being pushed back to the moving bridge.
One of the warriors in front of Torse fell when a yorg drove a spear through his shoulder. The speared warrior drove his sword deep into the belly of the yorg that had wounded him, causing it to fall off the bridge while still holding onto the spear stuck in the warrior’s shoulder. Both goblin leader and warrior toppled into the rushing moat water together and disappeared beneath the surface.
Lord Torse ordered his last two men back onto the moving bridge, now that the gap was at four feet and still growing. One man either did not hear him or did not heed his command. The man struck down two more goblins and was then speared through his chest by another charging yorg.
Lord Torse and his remaining squad member jumped the gap and turned to fend off more attackers at the edge of the retracting bridge. One goblin jumped across the gap, only to be sliced in half in mid-air by Lord Torse, spraying green blood all over both men. Captain Weser and his man continued cranking the bridge to a five-foot gap.
The largest yorg let out a hideous bellow and rushed forward, leaping into the air. He barely made the jump onto the bridge, and if he had been from any tribe other than the extra-large Bone Breakers, he wouldn’t have.
The large goblin leader teetered on the edge of the bridge for a moment, and reached out grabbing the warrior’s cloak. For a second, it could have gone either way, but then the big yorg fell backwards towards the water, dragging the man with him.
The hapless warrior let out a yelp of surprise, and then followed the goblin leader over the edge into the racing water. Both man and beast were swept away. No more goblins attempted the jump and the bridge slowly slid across coming to a rest on the city side of the moat.
Lord Torse jumped to land after the bridge slid into its closed position. He turned to congratulate Captain Weser, but didn’t get a word out. One of the remaining yorgs had thrown a spear across the moat, finding its mark.
The weapon pierced Lord Torse through the back of his beautiful armor, and after ripping through flesh, it popped out the front of the chest plate almost a foot. The gruesome spear had scored a direct hit through his heart. Lord Torse looked down in surprise, falling face first into the dust, his life gone before he hit the ground.
Captain Weser grimaced as he watched the man who had just saved him die. He and his last man retreated to the relative safety of the nearest tower, as a large boulder flew over their heads and smashed a nearby shack to splinters. The giants were back!
From his rooftop palace perch, Lord Haven could see the giants approaching on all fronts. Several were pulling large wooden carts that creaked with the weight of the boulders packed on them. Men began to run for cover when the large rocks began bouncing off buildings and towers.
The tall Lord Haven threw himself behind the three-foot wall that ringed the palace roof when a large boulder hit the palce below him, smashing through the exterior wall, and leaving a gaping hole in its wake. The sound was terrifying each time a boulder struck a structure and people began to scream in agony. The pounding of the city went on for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, the rocks subsided, and Lord Haven was able to stand up. What he saw was appalling. It looked like every building and tower had been hit. He could see splintered wood and stone blocks from various structures scattered about the streets. Some had minor damage, while others were nearly demolished. His beautiful city had taken a beating.
Lord Haven found himself staring at one of the towers near the West Bridge. He could not understand how it was still standing. Large sections of it had been knocked asunder and it was leaning severely. It looked like a strong breeze would topple it into the moat. He could see some movement on the roof, and realized that there were men still alive there.
One of the East Bridge towers was also heavily damaged, with half of it gone. The palace had only been hit once. Although Trader Town did not have walls, there were four stone barricades at each corner of the city.
These barricades were built as defensive positions and were almost half a field long. They all seemed to be intact. After the dust settled, an aide rushed onto the roof.
“Lord Haven,” he blurted, “Initial casualty reports are in. A hundred and fifty-five men have been killed and at least double that have been wounded. About twenty citizens were also killed. They were aiming mostly for the towers, but it looks like we survived the brunt of it.”
For now, Lord Haven thought, while he watched the giants pulling the now empty carts away. They would be returning, carrying more death.
* * *
The men of Frontier Fortress could hear the victory chants of several thousand Skull Crushers down in Kaylor Pass. The glow of a giant bonfire could be seen just below where it topped out, lighting up the twilight sky. The goblins were celebrating the capture of the pass, but King Quaid was not worried about them right now, his concern was for his oldest son.
Lord Prince Jayden had brought his brother in a few minutes earlier, unconscious and bleeding heavily from the left side of his chest, where the remainder of the shiny black shaft of the arrow could be seen. Blood was also tricking from both corners of Lord Prince Benhurst’s lips.
The dying man’s eyes fluttered open, and realizing where he was, he spoke with labored breath, “Father, I have failed you.”
“Your plans were good son. Your men killed many goblins today,” King Quaid reassured his son, and then turned to the royal physician and said, “Bring some of the healing waters from Timber Lake!”
“Sire, it won’t help, he is too deeply wounded,” the royal physician said, his face wrinkled in dismay.
“Bring it!” King Quaid shouted, his voice booming through the royal quarters, his waist long hair braid swinging back and forth when he yelled.
“Father . . . make them pay . . . make them . . . pay . . .” Lord Prince Benhurst spat out the words, blood mixed with spittle.
The prince’s face grew calm as he stared at the broken arrow shaft protruding from his chest, and said, “I wonder where they got such fancy arrows?”
He drew one last breath and crossed over into the land of the dead. King Quaid stared at his eldest son for a few moments, and then looked at Lord Prince Jayden.
“I want all archers and crossbowmen to take up their stations on the outer walls. You are to go to the South Tower and take command of the ballista and the defense of the Main Gate below. Don’t let the enemy breach your position. Do not abandon your position unless you hear the bell in Hogarth’s Hall sound. If it sounds, fall back to the hall,” his father scowled in anger. “I’ll be on the North Tower with the catapult. We’ll honor your brother’s last request and make them pay for every inch of this fortress. We’ll spill their blood and cover the fields to the very gates of Hogarth’s Hall!”
Hogarth’s Hall was a small stone fortress in the center of Frontier Fortress, which had been the seat of power during Hogarth’s reign, many centuries before. Originally it had been called Kaylor, named after the giant that Hogarth himself had killed in the nearby pass that now bore its name. Men of the Glen still often referred to the kingdom as the Frontier Fortress at Kaylor.
The Hills of Hogarth had several huge cedar groves scattered across it. These trees were as tall as giants and as big around as horses. Giant cedar posts from these trees were used to build the eighteen-foot walls around Hogarth’s Hall.
The posts came to sharp points at the top of the walls, with large wooden platforms attached to the insides, at heights that allowed the archers to shoot from between the sharp post points at the top. These pointed parapets allowed for excellent cover for the men positioned there.
Five of these platforms protected the ancient Hall of Hogarth, and each could hold six to eight men comfortably. The platforms were accessed from the courtyard by large sturdy wooden ladders.
Sections of this wooden wall had been replaced at various times, throughout the years, although the main hall was still the same stone building that the first high king of the Glen had ruled from centuries before.
A second, much larger cedar post wall, had been built surrounding the outer buildings that had sprung up over the years. This exterior wall was designed much the same as the interior wall, except it had fifteen archer platforms that encircled the fortress.
This second larger wall was where the archers of the kingdom were now taking up positions, as they prepared to defend their home from the goblin army that had come to destroy them.
By Douglas Goff
The goblin archers returned with the morning sun. King Sturdy Axe ordered his flag dwarf to signal his crossbow warriors into their positions. He had no doubt that they would drive the enemy back a second day.
A brilliant orange flash erupted on the southern wall Command Tower, startling King Sturdy Axe. The light quickly faded, leaving a frail man in its place. The appearance of the red/blue wizard unnerved the dwarf king. He had a strong dislike for magic users.
“Crazy magician, we are in the middle of a war,” King Sturdy Axe growled.
“All of Hogarth Hills is aflame with war,” Cobborath answered dismissively, and then commanded, “Dwarf king, do not engage those goblin archers. They’re sacrificing themselves to exhaust your crossbow warriors. Once they’re gone, a much fouler foe will attack your walls.”
“What say you wizard?” King Sturdy Axe inquired. “What foe could be fouler than this green gob menace?”
“King Sturdy Axe, I’ve come to aid you with my advice. You must reserve your crossbow dwarves. Order them to cover as you’ll need them against a much greater threat. Winged creatures are lying in wait to lay waste to your mighty walls!” the wizard pleaded urgently.
King Sturdy Axe stared intently at the odd wizard, and then reluctantly ordered his flag bearer to signal his crossbow dwarves to cover.
“You’ve chosen wisely dwarf,” King Cobborath said, and then waved his hand and a large bag of seeds appeared at King Sturdy Axe’s feet.
“What’s afoot meddling wizard?” the dwarf king asked, unaware of his pun.
“Unfortunately, both kingdoms of man on Hogarth Hills shall fall rather quickly. Your walls are thicker, and Gilead was built for war, so there’s a chance that your siege may long outlast your supplies. Once your food and water has dwindled, have your remaining dwarves swallow one seed a day. It’ll sustain them as if they had eaten three full meals. High King Tronin needs you to hold out as long as you can!” Cobborath said, and with a brilliant orange flash, was gone.
The goblin archers took up positions below the mighty stone walls of Gilead and fired several volleys into the kingdom with little to no effect, before falling back to the wood lines.
The enemy archers advanced twice more before noon, trying to get the dwarves to engage them. Still, King Sturdy Axe heeded the wizard’s warning and held his crossbow dwarves in reserve. After having failed, the goblins retreated each time.
The tough old dwarf king watched from high above, while several yorgs met in a distant clearing. He could not hear them, but could tell that they were arguing. Soon, the largest goblin King Sturdy Axe had ever seen walked out of the woods and joined the group of yorgs.
The newcomer wasn’t muscular, just big and fat, and wore a headdress that had many colorful feathers, beads, and bones dangling from it. The giant black circles around his eyes completed him as quite a fearsome spectacle. Sturdy Axe realized that he was getting his first look at Tubby, King of the Black Eye Tribe.
King Tubby spoke some words and slapped every yorg that tried to interrupt him. After a couple of minutes of this, the group walked back into the woods. Within moments, the boo gah drums began a steady beat and every single goblin that was visible to the dwarves of Gilead disappeared into the woods.
About an hour later, several ranks of goblin warriors formed up near the edge of the north woods across from the Main Gate. About twenty of them rushed forward carrying a large wooden battering ram with a steel head in the shape of a fist.
King Sturdy Axe allowed them to reach the Main Gate, where they slammed the large metal fist against the mighty iron door. It resounded with a loud thud, but did little more than make a dent. The Black Eye goblins pounded a few more minor dents into the iron door before the dwarf king reacted.
King Sturdy Axe had his flag bearer signal the warriors on the north wall, who immediately swung one of the nets full of boulders out over the attacking goblins and released the heavy load. The boulders fell with a mighty crash, splintering the ram into several pieces and killing half of the goblins below.
The survivors scattered, fleeing for the woods. King Sturdy Axe couldn’t help but grin, thinking to himself that the gobs would never enter Gilead. Still, the wizard’s warning of winged beasts worried him.
The next couple hours passed with no activity. King Sturdy Axe was enjoying an early dinner on the rooftop of his Command Tower, when a dark shadow passed over his table. The dwarf king dropped his wine goblet, splashing the red liquid all over his long bushy beard, and stared towards the sky in disbelief.
“Dragon!” someone shouted, vanquishing all doubts of what King Sturdy Axe thought he had saw.
The next thing King Sturdy Axe felt was fear. He had never expected to see such a creature, nor had he wanted to. He watched as the huge, winged reptile turned back towards the castle. When it came about, he could see that the beast’s large scale covered body was a dull mirky black.
Dragons were classified by age, either as younglings, who were under a hundred years old, or oldlings who were over a hundred years old. The most ancient and wise leader dragons were called Elders. A dragon had to be at least five hundred years old, before his peers would even consider making him an Elder.
This particular dragon, unbeknownst to the dwarves, was a two hundred and fifty-year oldling named Ephraim the Black. He was well respected amongst dragons, and well feared by all others.
Ephraim the oldling glided towards the castle, almost as if in slow motion, and then dove fast towards the east wall. The dragon opened his giant fanged mouth which began spewing out a black liquid.
The black substance shot forth, covering a large section of the wall, as well as several of the dwarves on it. That included Commander White Fang of the Woodland Water Dwarves.
The Woodland Water Dwarves began screaming when the black substance burned through their armor and into their flesh. It was acid! Within seconds, Commander White Fang and several of his Woodland Water Dwarves were dead.
The dragon acid’s hunger didn’t stop at dwarf flesh, but continued eating down into the stone wall, cutting a path about twenty feet deep towards the ground.
Two ballistae crews, located on the southwest tower, began firing their giant arrow spears at the dragon, which continued to fly low over the castle. The dragon made a wide turn and came back towards the east wall. Ephraim the oldling let out a ferocious roar and dove towards the remaining dwarves on the east wall.
The fifty-foot-long black dragon came in fast, grabbing a dwarven crossbow warrior in his two front claws and bit his head off. The dragon quickly dropped the decapitated dwarf and swung its tail at two nearby dwarf warriors. The large black tail struck them both, sending their crumpled bodies crashing onto the grounds of the castle courtyard below.
Several warriors threw their axes at the dragon when it flew by, causing one to imbed itself in the dragon’s right shoulder. The axe knocked a scale loose, but didn’t really hurt the monster.
The black dragon turned and headed off, followed by several ballista arrows. One scored a hit, striking the black beast in the neck, which caused a trickle of blood to run down its scales.
Ephraim the oldling let out an angry roar and immediately swung around, diving on the two ballistae on the southwest tower. The creature tucked in its wings and dove in fast.
The black dragon landed directly on top of one of the giant crossbows, smashing the wooden war machine to the ground, which sent two dwarf crew members tumbling off the tower. The beast snapped its mighty jaw at the surviving two ballista crew dwarves and chomped them in half.
The second ballista crew fired their weapon point blank into the chest of the black dragon, causing it to hop back on its hind legs, clearly injured from the four-foot arrow that had embedded itself just below its neck.
Ehpraim the oldling let out a very angry snarl and rushed forward while the ballista crew frantically tried to reload another arrow. They were much too slow for such a fast attacker.
The giant black dragon tore into the crew, biting off heads and slashing through the dwarves’ armor with its sharp front claws. The beast then smashed the second ballista to pieces with one swing of its mighty tail.
Ehpraim looked about at the destruction that he had caused, and with a contented snort, launched himself from the southwest tower. After taking flight, the black dragon sprayed the east wall with another blast of acid, killing nearly all of the remaining Woodland Water Dwarves positioned there.
The black liquid struck the wall, from the interior side this time, and began eating its way towards the giant hole in the center caused by the earlier acid blast. The stone smoked and steamed while it disintegrated in the wake of the black dragon, who flew away unhampered this time.
King Sturdy Axe surveyed the damage from his Command Tower, and was surprised to see that the east wall had not been breached. The two damaged areas had met in the middle, but there were still a few feet of stone left on the exterior side. He knew that a direct hit on that spot from the black dragon would breach the wall.
The dragon had killed many of his dwarves, including almost the entire force from the Woodland Water Kingdom. He also knew that the black dragon had been wounded by the ballistae, but how badly?
The giant arrow firing crossbows had been excellent weapons against such ilk as dragons and giants in the past, so initially had been placed every fifty feet along the walls of Gilead.
Since no dragons or giants had been seen in the Glen for centuries, the weapons had not been fixed or repaired when they fell into disrepair. The last two on his walls had just been destroyed.
King Sturdy Axe believed that he had two more ballistae stored in the armory. He ordered one of his commanders to have them brought up and placed on the east and west walls. While he was issuing those orders, a young dwarf ran up and handed him a large black object, which was nearly the size and shape of a shield.
The dwarf king stared at the object for a moment, before realizing that it was a scale from the black dragon. He had never expected to see one of these in his lifetime, let alone be holding one. He ordered that the scale be made into a shield, thinking that it may come in handy.
They had clearly done some damage to the flying menace, but round one had obviously gone to the dragon. Surely it would return tomorrow, bringing more melting death.
* * *
Back at Trader Town, Lord Haven watched Lord Tagtor and his men sneak back across the North Bridge, just as the sun began to rise. In the early morning mist, he could see their blue shields slung across their backs, strapped to their now dirty black armor.
Once they got closer, he could make out the outlines of the shovels that they carried in their hands. They looked very dirty and very tired. Hopefully, they had accomplished what he had asked.
Once the exhausted patrol was safely in the city, the bridge crew immediately and as quietly as feasible, began to retract the North Bridge. It took them a while, but they managed to quietly get the bridge locked back into its retracted position.
Lord Tagtor had volunteered for the risky mission to avenge his dead twin, Lord Torse. The muscular black-haired man looked up towards the palace roof and gave Haven a thumbs up. The new leader of Trader Town returned the gesture.
Lord Haven quickly turned his gaze towards the horizon where he could see some movement. The giants were returning to Commerce Field. Several trumpets sounded from the towers near the bridges, sending warriors and civilians scrambling for cover.
The giants took their time crossing Commerce Field and getting into position around Trader Town. They placed several large carts full of boulders on each side of the city and then many of them began stretching and limbering up, almost as if they were preparing for a sporting event. Lord Haven might have laughed, if he hadn’t been painfully aware of what was coming next.
Chieftain Gorg walked past some of his giants and gave them high fives, until he reached the cart on the southside of the city and picked up a large boulder. All twenty of the giants followed suit, picking up large rocks from various carts.
Chieftain Gorg let out a tremendous yell, and in unison, the giants all hurdled their boulders at Trader Town. The sounds of the big rocks impacting the stone structures were earth shattering.
Two towers, one at the East Bridge and one at the West Bridge, collapsed under the heavy barrage, sending dust clouds several feet into the sky. It was a terrible start for the men in the city.
The assault continued, and soon the screams of the wounded and dying could be heard throughout Trader Town. Archers and crossbowmen fired randomly at the giants with little effect.
The ballista tower was more successful, scoring three or four solid hits by noon, the most damaging one piercing a giant through the wrist and sending him off the field of battle.
The giants took their time with the attack, pounding the city well into the afternoon. Once again, they targeted the towers of Trader Town. By the end of the attack, both of the North Bridge towers had been pounded into rubble, killing all who had defended from within. The barrage ended once the carts were empty, and the giants ran out of ammunition.
Lord Haven was concerned that his night mission had failed, once the giants began pulling their carts towards the far end of Commerce Field. Then one particularly fat, squat monstrosity, let out a loud bellow when he stepped onto a concealed pit.
The giant’s blubbery body crashed through the branches that covered the hole. The fat thirteen-foot giant fell onto several large spears lining the bottom of the pit, impaling his body in several places.
The trap had been set by Lord Tagtor and his reinforced twenty-man patrol. They had snuck out in the early evening and spent most of the night digging the pit, and then lined it with long spears from the armory.
The squad had barely finished covering it with branches and sod when the sun started to climb into the morning sky. They had only needed one unfortunate giant to walk in the right spot. Luckily, their night’s work had paid off!
The speared goliath thrashed about in the bottom of the pit, and then let out a last painful bellow as it died, that reverberated across Commerce Field and bounced off the palace walls in Trader Town. The city’s defenders began banging their weapons on their blue shields and let out a cheer.
King Wilsom heard the mighty death scream and his men’s jubilant response from his private bed chamber. My Blue Lancers are destroying the enemy, his confused mind thought. Afterall, he had ordered them out to Commerce Field.
A bright flash interrupted the old king’s muddled thoughts. When he regained his vision, King Wilsom could see a dark robed figure standing where only seconds before, no one had been.
“Who dares to disturb the king?” the old frail man questioned from his bed.
“I am Daggart the Dark,” a solemn voice came from somewhere deep within the shadowy hood of the dark figure.
“What do you want?” King Wilsom mumbled, his voice cracking when he caught sight of a black mist creeping across the floor towards his bed.
“Just your head, old fool!” Daggart said, gliding quickly across the bed chamber at an abnormal speed.
He grabbed the old man by his throat and picked him up off the bed. King Wilsom flailed about, his feet not touching the floor. The elderly king couldn’t breathe under the black sorcerer’s tight grip.
King Wilsom thrust something into Daggart’s side. It was a small, jeweled dagger, that he had pulled out from under his robe. The black wizard let out a grunt, and grabbed Wilsom’s knife hand with one of his own hands, yet still retained his grip on Wilsom’s throat with the other.
Daggart snapped the old man’s wrist bone, causing the now bloodied magical dagger to fall to the floor. The evil wizard produced a black orb from under his own cloak with his now free hand.
It was dark and shiny like the one that he had used on Gorilla King Gorin, yet it was only half its size, allowing for it to fit in the palm of his hand. He held it up in front of the king’s face.
“I would’ve easily killed you in the old days,” Wilsom sputtered out, his voice faint, because the lack of oxygen was starting to affect him.
“Welcome to the new days old man. The days of Daggart the Dark!” the black sorcerer hissed.
Daggart took the orb and pushed it into Wilsom’s mouth, forcefully cramming it down the old man’s throat. Daggart raised the frail king high over his head and tossed his small body against the wall on the opposite side of the room. The impact caused the orb to explode, separating King Wilsom’s head from his body.
The old man’s dagger must have been magicked, Daggart thought as he pulled a vial of blue liquid from a pocket in his cloak and drank it. The blood trickling from his side stopped. Daggart picked up the old king’s head, and with a flash, was gone.
Word of the king’s death spread quickly across Trader Town. Lord Haven did not know how somebody could have gotten in. He ordered the palace to be searched, to no avail.
The only evidence left behind was a bloody dagger and the headless body of their king. It was a gruesome sight to behold. He felt that there was some foul magic at play.
Later that night, King Wilsom’s advisors met with Lord Haven in the throne room, at least what was left of them. The Bazaar Advisor had been killed during the first bombardment and the Tax Advisor had died today, along with several hundred warriors and citizens. The surviving advisors wished to make him their new king.
That night there were two rituals that took place on the roof of the palace. The first was the solemn funeral of King Wilsom. The traditional oils turned his body and bones to ash, sending him off to the land of darkness.
The Auction Advisor took charge of the second ceremony, and anointed Lord Haven as the new king of Trader Town. These events were usually celebratory, but this one was short and somber.
The evening concluded with the traditional blessings of “Long may you reign.” For obvious reasons, the ominous words seemed highly unlikely to King Haven.
By Douglas Goff
The following day, the men of Frontier Fortress peered anxiously over their green shields. That blasted goblin army was yelling and singing all night down in Kaylor Pass, and now complete silence? Those foul beasts are up to something.
King Quaid was contemplating sending out a scouting patrol, to see what the goblins were up to, when he saw the dragons. There were two of the beasts, large and brown, circling high above the fortress.
One of the dragons looked to be twice the size of the other. The smaller of the two dragons spiraled down towards the North Gate, landing about twenty feet in front of it, just outside of the walls.
The beast, glaring at the men perched on the wall platforms with its yellow eyes, lowered its head and let out a deafening roar. The brown dragon then began stomping and strutting about, slapping its tail on the ground.
The men stared at the beast, having never seen a dragon before, let alone one doing some type of aggressive ritual dance. Nobody moved for several moments, while the creature strutted back and forth, growling and baring its long fangs at the men.
The brown dragon was about twenty feet long, covered with oval shaped flat brown scales of various shades, and had a ten-foot tail that ended in a spiked ball about the size of a man’s head. The creature had a large wingspan, at least as wide as it was long.
The lower half of the wings had a webbed-like appearance, while the upper half was thicker and fleshy, with bone spikes jutting out at various junctures at the top of the wings. It had four very muscular short legs with bony claws at the base. The brown dragon was one impressively frightening looking animal.
The smaller dragon was a twenty-six-year-old youngling named Secrium the Brown. He was not incredibly bright, being more of an instinctual creature, as was the way with brown dragons. What he lacked in intelligence, Secrium more than made up for in aggression.
Once he finished his ritual battle dance, something that no other dragon species other than the browns did, Secrium the youngling looked at the men on the nearest wall platform and almost appeared to be smiling as he launched into the air above them.
The dragon opened his large mouth and made a hissing sound that spit out a cloud of two-to-three-inch needles at the men. The needles, made of similar material to that of the dragon’s protective scales, devastated the eight crossbowmen on the platform.
The deadly darts ripped through their chainmail armor and into their flesh. All of them were knocked from the platform, dead before they hit the ground inside the fortress.
The archers and crossbowmen, positioned on the adjacent platforms, fired at the dragon when it flew by. The beast swung its spiked tail, bashing in an archer’s head, while it flew along the outer wall. The arrows and bolts seemed unable to penetrate the beast’s hard scales.
A ballista on the North Tower fired at the brown dragon when he passed overhead. The arrow struck the creature in his hind flank, imbedding itself about a foot deep, leaving three feet of the shaft sticking out.
Secrium the Brown let out a loud screech and swung around, dropping low towards the North Tower, sending men scattering as he crushed an unlucky few with his spiked tail.
When the brown dragon passed by the North Tower, two archers jumped out from hiding to fire at it, only to be torn from the tower by two mighty claws. The two men never knew what hit them.
Nobody had been paying attention to the larger second dragon, who promptly bit the two men in half with one bite. The big brown dragon casually tossed the broken corpses away, spiking them on the top of the pointed log wall below.
The new attacker was a forty-foot long oldling named Ladicrum the Brown. He was a hundred and thirty-three years old, making him an oddity for his kind. The aggressive nature of the breed of brown dragons, along with their lack of intelligence, allowed very few of them to reach enough years to become an oldling.
Ladicrum was an exception, as he was very intelligent. He flew off immediately after his attack, steering well clear of the ballista, and suffered no wounds.
King Quaid strung an arrow on the mighty Bow of Togra. When he was a young man, he had found the weapon in the ruins of an abandoned temple on an island that bore the same name.
The bow clearly had magical properties, because it could send arrows twice as far as a normal longbow, with twice the accuracy. And it had punch! The Bow of Togra launched arrows with such force that they often split shields and could penetrate most armor.
Secrium the youngling came around for another sweep, knocking men to and fro. When the smaller brown dragon flew past the South Tower, King Quaid let one fly from his magic bow.
The arrow thumped the younger dragon hard, penetrating a scale on the creature’s underbelly, wounding it. This brought a cheer from the defenders of Frontier Fortress.
Ladicrum the oldling saw this and used the opportunity to swoop down again, this time hissing a large burst of needles from his mouth at the largest platform on the west wall.
None on the platform survived the deadly blast. Ladicrum the Brown flew out of the men’s range, having completed another successful surprise attack. Once again, the oldling flew away without injury.
The two brown dragons continued to attack the walls of Frontier Fortress, at various times throughout the remainder of the day, in much the same manner. The youngling flew about heedlessly, wreaking havoc and death, although it received many wounds. The oldling continued to swoop in at unexpected times, causing the casualty rate to climb even higher.
During these attacks Lord Prince Jayden commanded the ballista crew quite well, scoring several hits on the smaller dragon, causing the price to slap his men on the back with congratulations each time.
“Send him another gift!” the young prince shouted as his crew left their mark on the youngling, leaving five of their arrows sticking out of the beast, as well as putting two fist size holes in the webbing of the brown dragon’s left wing where the ballista arrows had passed completely through.
The younger brown also had a dozen smaller arrows sticking out of his underbelly, where King Quaid had scored hits, as well as a few of the longbow archers that had gotten lucky.
Ladicrum however, was hardly injured. The smarter dragon had used his younger, less intelligent counterpart as a distraction, allowing him to choose his moments to pounce.
While the oldling had killed less men, he had only been hit twice. King Quaid had struck him with an arrow in the tail, drawing a trickle of blood, and a warrior had managed to stab him in the neck, just before he had been swallowed whole. Both wounds were minor.
Throughout the entire battle, Ladicrum the Brown had not once come within range of the ballista. The dragon had also done a good job of avoiding King Quaid’s magic bow. He was very smart indeed.
Later that night, after the brown dragons had withdrawn, King Quaid held council with his advisors in Hogarth Hall. Most of the lords, including Prince Jayden, were present.
The broad-shouldered, older warrior Grelly, stood in the shadows behind the prince. After helping to bring Lord Prince Benhurst back, he had joined the ballista crew, and always stayed near Jayden.
Grelly felt that he had failed in saving Benhurst, and he wasn’t going to let his king lose another son. There was also a very familiar wizard sitting at the table.
“Blessings on you and your house,” King Cobborath said, grasping King Quaid at the wrist.
“And on you and yours,” King Quaid responded in the traditional manner.
“From the looks of things, you have had some unwanted guests,” Cobborath began, already knowing what had occurred.
“Two mighty brown dragons attacked us today. They devastated my first line of crossbowmen and archers,” King Quaid replied in a dismal tone.
“They killed nearly everybody that had been on the outer wall! Perhaps we could deal with one such creature, but two? They will surely destroy us. We have barely enough archers to man the outer wall tomorrow,” Lord Prince Jayden spoke up, his usually jovial voice somber.
“I think these may help.” The red/blue wizard extended a thin and bony, blue tinted hand, and laid two arrows on the table in front of King Quaid.
They were completely black and had an ancient dialect of dwarven written in glowing blue letters all over the shaft. The feathers also glowed blue, as did the arrowhead.
“Thank you, but what can two arrows do against monsters such as these?” King Quaid questioned, eyeing the magical arrows skeptically.
“They are weapons that were made in the Dwarven Mountain Kingdom, many centuries before our time. The heads of these arrows were forged in the fire pits deep in the heart of Mount Esha. At that time, a hundred were made. To my knowledge, these are the only two that still exist, as all of the others were used in long forgotten wars. This type of magic has long since been forgotten.” Cobborath paused, somewhat dramatically, before continuing, “If you penetrate the dragon’s scales with one of these arrows, you’ll bring him down.”
“Bring him down?” King Quaid asked, looking at the two magical arrows with more respect, after hearing the wizard’s words.
“He’ll not be able to fly,” the wizard answered.
“Well, that’d even things up a bit!” King Quaid said, picking up the two arrows and inspecting them closely.
“Even grounded, they’ll still be quite dangerous,” Lord Cray, commander of the Frontier Fortress Horse Warriors spoke.
“Quite right horse warrior,” King Cobborath replied. “That’s why you’ll need a plan. Once you bring one of them down, you’ll need to kill it quickly. The arrows are very old, and I’m unsure of how long the dragon will be flightless.”
“Well, any suggestions?” King Quaid said, looking about the room.
“Yes father, I know what we should do,” Lord Prince Jayden spoke up, an eager excitement returning to the voice of Quaid’s youngest son.
The men continued to speak deep into the night, while the young prince laid out his plan. The men agreed that it was a good one and went off to make preparations, before the sun rose. Soon, only the two kings remained.
“I want to thank you King Cobborath. Most of our fellow kings don’t trust you, but you’ve come through and helped us. I owe you my gratitude. You know that you’re always welcome here.”, King Quaid broke the silence.
"Quaid the Hunter,” the wizard said, using a name that Quaid had not been called since before he was made king. “I consider you a friend. I’ve always respected your abilities. You’ve slain most creatures that walk this Glen, and you’re the most fearless man that I’ve ever met, but do not mistakenly thank me. Your days are nearing an end.”
The wizard rubbed his red hand through his two-toned hair, looking old and tired, and then said, “The Frontier Fortress at Kaylor will fall. Goblins will sit in the hallowed Halls of Hogarth. As we speak, their seven armies are marching toward the fall of man in Hogarth Hills!”
“I don’t understand. You gave me two arrows to kill two dragons. Why bother if there’s no hope for us?” King Quaid asked, now wary of the wizard.
“High King Tronin needs time. Even now he raises an army, as does King Heath of the Two Towers, and myself. This war’ll be decided in the Lower Glen, at the last three strongholds of men. You must make sure those magic arrows penetrate the dragon’s scales so you can bring them down and kill them. That’ll be two less dragons for Tronin to deal with. Besides, I only gave you two arrows and there are three dragons here,” the red/blue wizard finished speaking, and with a bright orange flash, was gone.
King Quaid stood staring at the spot where the odd wizard had been standing, just a moment before. Three dragons? Well, regardless, he intended to prove the wizard wrong and would kill however many dragons need be to defend his home and his sacred hall. Frontier Fortress would hold, as long as he held the mighty Bow of Togra in his hands.
King Quaid strode confidently from Hogarth Hall, knowing that it was going to be a good day, his long hair braid swinging back and forth. It was time to kill a dragon. King Quaid’s good spirits proved that the wizard was right about one thing. The man had no fear.
By Douglas Goff
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Death was everywhere . . . . . the fields of Gilead, Frontier Fortress, Trader Town . . . . . all running red and green with the blood of men and goblins . . . dragons attacking . . . . . elf trees burning . . . . . a giant cocoon . . . . . more death . . . . . then . . . . . something different . . . . . a path . . . . . a path up Timber Lake Mountains . . . . . but which path . . . . . the helm was taking him on a journey . . . . . racing up the mountains . . . . . past the goblin villages . . . . . over one peak . . . . . and then another . . . . . and another . . . . . until seven mountains had been crossed over . . . . . the helm slowed the pace now . . . . .exiting the mountains onto amber colored plains . . . . .fields of harvested grain . . . . . then . . . . . a winding dirt road that quickly became a road of bricks . . . . . unbearable pain in his head . . . . . the journey was excruciating . . . . . the journey to the white spiral towers . . . . . they arose in the distance . . . . . white banners flowing from every high point . . . . . the towers soon grew into a huge castle with the helm taking him ever closer . . . . . across a stone bridge . . . . . up a stone walkway . . . . . across a sturdy wooden bridge that covered a wide moat . . . . . through the metal bars of a portcullis . . . . . the helm slowed even more while it burned the images into his head . . . . . he would surely lose consciousness from the pain . . . . . then came a stairway . . . . . up to two huge ornate pillars . . . . . guarding a large set of bronze doors . . . . . a giant symbol . . . . . a letter . . . . . half engraved on each door . . . . . he could not pull the helm off; the painful images pierced his skull into his very brain. He tugged hard, but to no avail. Finally, he gave one last pull with all of his remaining strength, causing the helmet to pop off with a loud sucking sound.
High King Tronin did not hear it. He had fallen to the ground, unconscious, with a trickle of blood running from his ears.
The young Queen Skara found him like this, his white hair spilled about his head. She called Beth Ann and Aura to assist her, and Tronin’s three wives managed to get him up onto the bed.
The women tended to him until he came to. His head ached so intensely that he needed the cool healing waters of Timber Lake to ease the pain. They argued with him not to leave the bed chambers, but he had so much to do!
High King Tronin spent the next several hours in the castle library, pouring over old ancient scrolls and tomes with the Port Turin scribes. Once they located what he was looking for, he knew what must be done. He sent for a messenger who arrived shortly thereafter.
The symbol that he had seen on the bronze doors burned in his mind, reinforcing the plan that he had just formulated, only minutes before. There was still hope for the Glen! He turned to his White Sash rider, handing him a scroll, which was secured with his own royal seal.
“Take this to King Darian. Make haste like never before. Do not stop, not to eat, not to sleep, not to fight. The fate of the Glen may very well depend upon the rapid completion of your mission. Ride now!” the high king commanded.
“Your order is my oath!” the messenger replied.
The man ran from the palace, stopping for nothing. He arrived at the stables to find two horses waiting, already packed with light supplies. He would ride the first until it tired, then switch to the second. The man rode out of Port Turin at breakneck speed, not looking back. He would not fail his king.
“Caspiat! Caspiat!” High King Tronin shouted for his most trusted messenger. He had a second situation that needed handling. The Leader of his White Sash Brigade showed up moments later.
“You called for me, my king?” the slender black man was eager to serve. He and Tronin spoke for a few minutes, ending with Tronin handing him another sealed parchment.
“Your order is my oath!” Lord Caspiat said and exited the room, leaving the High King alone to turn his focus on the upcoming siege that his city was sure to face.
Things are moving forward fast, but still I’ll be prepared for the armies that are marching towards my city. If it’s a fight they’re looking for, then I shan’t disappoint them.
* * *
On the Upper Glen, Lord Borlan rode at the front of his column, an angry silence was visible in the scowl on his face. The large muscular man hadn’t spoken all morning and he was falling into a deeper gloom as the day wore on.
Lord Borlan was not happy about the way his patrol was going on the Western Rim. It was not the area, the Western Rim was his favorite part of the Upper Glen, and he knew it well. It was the ambushes.
The goblins were striking them with groups of five to ten archers and then attempting to flee. Of course, his men were running these groups down with their yules and killing them, but the initial volley of enemy arrows were proving effective.
Lord Borlan was a strong man, probably the physically strongest man in the whole Glen. Cowards! I want to fight the enemy head on, warrior against warrior. The green filth is picking us off one by one in a game of cat and mouse. I’ve lost three men in as many days.
Yesterday, Corley, his flag bearer had fallen. The big black man had also been his best friend. It was no way for him to die. Not by a random goblin arrow, without having struck a blow. It was no way for the big warrior to have fallen. It was almost insulting.
That is why Lord Borlan had his patrol heading for the main path that dropped from Timber Lake Mountains onto the Western Rim. His plan was to place his men at the bottom of the trail and attack anything that came down the mountain path.
Lord Borlan picked up his pace when he saw the formidable mountains looming ahead. Captain Trom, and the remaining seven warriors in his patrol, matched his pace as well as his silence.
The yule patrol continued at a quick rate, when suddenly the silence was disturbed by the sound of “boo gah, boo gah, boo gah” in the distance. A mighty shout rose from the foot of the mountain.
Lord Borlan smiled, knowing that he had found his fight. They rode for another field’s length, then Lord Borlan brought his patrol to a halt. The enemy stood before them.
The men stared for several moments, hardly believing their eyes. Forming at the bottom of the pass were several thousand goblins. They were forming into ranks and columns under a large Flesh Eater Tribal banner.
Several boo gah drums were beating out a steady rhythm while various hordes of goblins were chanting and joining the ranks. Numerous yorgs were walking about, hollering orders and guiding the goblins that were still coming down the mountain pass into the formation.
“Boo gah, boo gah, boo gah” sounded off in the nearby grass, startling the riders. It was probably forward goblin scouts. A couple of the men turned their yules towards the sound.
“Hold!” Lord Borlan ordered, the single word halting his men.
Lord Borlan sat very still in his saddle, watching the goblin ranks. The newly alerted yorgs began pointing at the yule patrol and started forming the goblin ranks into battle lines.
All of the goblin boo gah drums started beating in unison and the entire battle formation lurched forward, marching towards the men. The large Flesh Eater banner waved gently in the breeze, positioned in the center of the enemy formation.
“Your orders sir?” Captain Trom asked.
Lord Borlan leaned back on his yule, stretching his muscular back. Then he stretched out his powerful arms, which expanded his bulging biceps. He turned to face his eight remaining men.
Borlan looked each one in the eye, knowing that they were the best of the Yule Riders. It wasn’t their strength, although they were all very muscular, but their loyalty. They were hard men with hard spirits, who would never disobey his orders.
Lord Borlan thought for a moment longer, then responded, “Orders? I’ve no orders for you, but I’ll explain my intentions.”
Lord Borlan began to walk his yule up and down the line of men while he continued, “I do not fear death, if it’s a good one, but I do fear a bad death. We could retreat and continue riding the Western Rim, getting picked off one by one until we are no more. That, to me, would be a bad death. Or even worse, a couple of us could go crawling back to our king in defeat. So, for me, there can be no retreat.”
Lord Borlan turned and pointed at the goblin army that was drawing ever closer, and continued, “There’s not a goblin in this land, or any, that can say that Lord Borlan ever ran from him. Nor shall there ever be. I’ll not surrender the field of battle to goblin scum on this day, nor on any day. I intend to ride into them and die with my honor intact.”
Lord Borlan turned and faced his men again, “I do promise you this. Many goblins will be dying with me. The more that we kill here and now, the less that our inexperienced and untrained countrymen will have to deal with in the Lower Glen. These creatures will also see that the resolve and courage of men is unwavering. They’ll know after today that they face a foe that’ll never surrender to them. They’ll feel fear before this day ends!”
Lord Borlan stopped speaking when several boo gah drums sounded. The riders could now hear the sounds of the goblins marching towards them with the steady pounding of many feet, “thump, thump, thump.”
“That is why I have no orders for you,” Lord Borlan continued. “I’ll not order you to join me. Every man must make his own decision. No dishonor. No dishonor! I swear to you under the sun of my ancestors that there’s no dishonor to any who wish to leave.”
Lord Borlan scratched the neck of his trusty yule and continued, “You may ride for the Lower Glen. If you so choose, head for Frontier Road and rejoin King Darian’s patrols to help defend the Lower Glen. You’ll depart with your honor intact, that I promise.”
Lord Borlan took one last ride along the line of his men, smacking his brown shield against each of theirs. It was an old Glen tradition that was rarely used anymore. It meant that each man was discharged from his command.
“Each man must decide for himself. As for me, my destiny will be fulfilled today. If you’re joining me, then meet me under that giant Flesh Eater banner. I intend to trample it in the dust and leave my boot prints all over it!”
With that said, Lord Borlan tossed his brown shield onto the ground. He unslung the large two-handed sword from his back, causing his muscular arms to ripple in the sun, the black skull with ruby red eyes grinning up at him.
Borlan reared his yule onto its hind legs and let out a blood curdling scream. The animal came down hard and lurched forward, charging at the goblin ranks, which were now only a field away.
Lord Borlan and his mount raced forward at top yule speed. He did not look back to see if his men were following. He knew that they were. Afterall, they were the most loyal men in the Glen and would follow him even to their deaths.
* * *
Several hours later, at Trader Town, King Haven stood on the roof of his palace, as the lanky man often did. He was watching the bank across from the South Bridge for any sign of movement. It was early morning and the sun had just begun to rise over the eastern horizon. It would soon break over the wood line and burn off the morning fog.
“Sire?” it was the Auction Advisor speaking hesitantly. “Now that you’re king, we can offer terms.”
“What?” King Haven looked at the short squat fat man, incredulously. “You mean surrender?”
“Well, several of the upper-class citizens and even some of the troops have been talking and . . . ”, he hesitated, then scratched his balding head with one hand and tugged at his purple silk robe with the other, looking for the right words. “Well, surely you can see that there’s no way to win this.”
“I’ve been aware of that since the first day of bombardment. We’re buying time for High King Tronin. Every day that we hold off the enemy is one more day for them to prepare. There will be no surrender,” King Haven said firmly.
“But sir,” the Auction Advisor pushed. “We believe that we don’t all need to die. Sure, it’ll be a terrible existence to be slaves, but surely they’ll allow those of us who’re in charge to keep some power over the others.”
“Did you see those giants? They were wearing the heads of the Blue Lancers hanging from their belts and were using their bones for toothpicks. Those were our friends. No, they’ll certainly grant us no favor if we surrender. There will be no surrender,” King Haven said in a dismissive voice, watching the sun come up.
The fat man stood for a moment, again hesitating as if he had more to say, then turned and left. King Haven did not like the man. A moment later, the king saw what he had been watching for. The crew at the South Bridge had begun to extend the bridge.
King Haven could barely make out Lord Tagtor and three of his men, crouching on the far side of the moat in the morning mist. The four of them had axes, as long as they were tall, strapped across their backs. Haven thought that he could see green blood on the heads of the axes.
The new king continued to search the bank, and then realized with a sickening feeling that there were no more men. Lord Tagtor had lost sixteen of his patrol! The night mission had been costly. King Haven hoped that it had proven fruitful.
When the bridge reached the far end, Lord Tagtor and his men began to cross it, dragging a large heavy sack. The sack was covered in red and green blood, and whatever was inside it appeared to be heavy.
The moat crew was retracting the bridge, even as the squad crossed it, with Lord Tagtor and his men reaching the city side just before the South Bridge slid into its closed track.
It was good timing, because the morning mist had all but dissipated. Several warriors ran over and took control of the bloody sack, dragging it towards the catapult tower.
Lord Tagtor looked up at the tall king on the palace roof and gave him a weary thumbs up. King Haven returned the thumbs up and watched the muscular lord enter one of the troop barracks. He wondered how the man would possibly sleep during the upcoming bombardment. He needed Tagtor sharp for tonight’s mission.
The giants did not keep the men in Trader Town waiting for long. They appeared on the horizon, soon after the sun rose, pulling their carts. Within minutes, they started the stretching routine in preparation for their attack.
The giants began cheering each other on while they took turns hurdling boulders at the city. It looked like they were targeting the bridge towers again, and they managed to knock down the remaining tower by the South Bridge that had been damaged the day before.
It fell with an intense crash, launching the giants into a frenzied shout, although due to its heavy damage it had been evacuated yesterday and no one was killed. King Haven waited for the first volley to stop, and then jumped up and signaled the catapult to fire.
The catapult arm rocketed forward, sending a round object flying through the air towards Chieftain Gorg. It was the object that had been in the sack that Tagtor and his men had brought in from the night raid.
While the object flew through the air, it became apparent that it was a large head, no, a giant head. The face was battered and bruised, with the long stringy black hair was matted with blood.
The gray-haired head hit the ground about twenty feet from Chieftain Gorg, and after bouncing twice, it rolled towards him. The head came to a rest perfectly between his feet, with the face of Nash the giant staring up at his leader in a perpetual death grimace.
King Haven had sent Lord Tagtor out to try and lure away a giant and kill it without alerting the others. Lord Tagtor had great luck in finding the night sentry sleeping some distance from the coven, probably trying not to get caught taking a nap while on guard duty.
They quickly killed the sleeping giant, and with great effort, had drug his fifteen-foot body to the spike pit that they had dug the night before. They cut off the giant’s head and dumped his body into the pit and threw dirt over the two dead giant’s bodies now entombed within.
While the squad was retreating back to the South Bridge, they were jumped by thirty Bone Breakers. The skirmish was quick and costly. That was where Lord Tagtor had unfortunately lost most of his squad.
Now the men in Trader Town were the one’s cheering. Chieftain Gorg was genuinely surprised because he had thought that Nash had deserted them in the middle of the night. The coven leader let out an incredible howl that reverberated through the palace walls in Trader Town.
Gorg’s fellow giants, sharing in their leader’s anger, let out similar howls and rushed towards the rock carts. The giants had no great love for Nash, but he had been their cook and he had been a very good one.
The pounding was incredible. The giants were no longer taking turns as they unleashed their fury on the city of men. They threw their rocks in rapid succession, until there was none left to throw. The entire onslaught took only thirty minutes, but the damage was terrible.
The last tower at the East Bridge had been reduced to rubble, all hands lost. The catapult tower, having taken several direct hits, was barely standing. The ballista tower was also severely damaged, along with several other buildings that had been struck, including the palace.
Initial casualty reports put civilian deaths at about four hundred. There were nearly two hundred troops killed, with half of those being lost in the demolished tower by the East Bridge. King Haven grimaced at the heavy losses, but at least he had gotten the enemy’s attention.
We’ve killed two giants in as many days, and tonight, I’m hoping to make it three. I’ll make them pay dearly for Trader Town. I’ll reinforce Lord Tagtor’s squad and send them out again tonight, with a little surprise for the enemy. The king didn’t know it, but he was the one in for a little surprise.
By Douglas Goff
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About four horses to the east, Lord Grey and his men could smell a foul odor upon the wind. They had ridden the Eastern Rim for three days, searching for the enemy.
On the first day, they had killed eighteen goblins from the Swamp Crawler Tribe that they had found sleeping in some high brush. It hadn’t been much of a challenge and they suffered no losses.
The following two days of patrolling had been fruitless, although they had seen many goblin tracks heading south. The men had grown restless, speculating that the enemy had all passed by heading south. Lord Grey had swung his patrol back west, and rode to the Central Rim, wondering if the apes were having any better luck.
Now the horrid smell. Lord Grey and his men continued west at a cautious pace, seeking out the source of the awful aroma. They came to a small rise, and as he crested the top, Lord Grey let out a gasp. The source of the smell was spread out before him. Corpses.
There were numerous dead bodies bloating in the noon sun, and by the smell, they had been there for a couple of days. They were goblins from the Swamp Crawler Tribe.
When they advanced forward, the men started to see dead horses and apes scattered here and there. Lord Grey’s men began to spread out, searching for any would be survivors. When Lord Grey reached the center of the corpses, he came across a small group of dead apes, surrounded by over forty goblin bodies.
“Over here Lord Grey!” one of his men shouted from nearby. When the squad leader approached, he observed a large dark black ape lying dead in the center, with several goblin arrows sticking out of his leather helmet. He still had a spear gripped in his dead hand, with a goblin corpse stuck on the end of it.
“It’s alpha male Tobin. Looks like he and his raiders had met a heroic end,” Lord Grey said, then turned to his Second-in-Command. “Lord Turk, take half of the men and bury the apes individually in the ground, as is their custom.” Turk was a bald man, with a long curled black moustache.
Grey turned to Lord Bone, a recent addition to his squad, and said, “Take the rest of the men and gather the goblins into large piles and burn them.” The burning, bubbling green flesh only added to the stench.
By the time that the men completed their tasks, they realized what an epic battle it had been. While all twenty-one apes in Tobin’s Raider Patrol had died, along with their horses, there were two hundred and sixty-seven dead goblins! The apes had died very well.
Lord Grey and his men headed off at a fast trot, back towards the Eastern Rim. They wanted to leave the area quickly, least the column of black smoke rising high into the evening sky brought back the army that had destroyed the apes.
I’m so very glad to be leaving the smell of rotting and burning flesh behind. My lungs are joyously greeting the fresh clean air. Still, I can’t help but wonder if we are the last defenders of the Upper Glen left alive.
* * *
At Gilead, the black dragon came in low this time, spraying more of its deadly acid on the detachment of dwarves from the Mountain Kingdom. The acid left several of them writhing in death pains. The mighty Ephraim the Black had chosen the west wall as the target of his rage today.
The morning’s second blast of dragon’s acid struck the inside of the wall, eating into the dwarf stone, heading straight for the center. The earlier blast had done the same from the outside edge of the wall.
Soon, only a small portion of wall remained intact at the very center, about the same size as had been left on the east wall during yesterday’s attack. The ballista scored a couple of hits on the black dragon, but it seemed unfazed and continued its rampage.
Commander Iron Fist of the Esha Mountain dwarves ordered his remaining troops to take cover on the fortified tower on the northwest corner of the west wall. It was the only place that seemed safe from the black liquid.
Ephraim the Black made another pass overhead, snatching up two dwarves in his mighty claws, while several crossbow bolts bounced harmlessly off his hard black scales. The dragon surveyed the damage that he had caused, and apparently satisfied, flew off tossing the two flailing dwarves against the hard rock wall below before he left.
King Sturdy Axe surveyed the damage himself, and then summoned his senior commanders for counsel. The meeting took place in a small planning room in the Command Tower.
“That filthy black flying lizard is destroying our walls!” Commander Oak Thump, leader of the Palace Guard, exclaimed angrily and then in a more solemn tone said, “He’ll dine on our bones before this week is out.”
“Bones?” Commander Dirty Dog, the dwarf in charge of the three main halls sneered, “That nasty acid attack of his leaves nary a bone behind!”
“Once the wall is breached, those Black Eye gobs are going to pour in by the thousands!” Commander Oak Thump bemoaned.
The two commanders could not be more opposite, yet they were the best of friends. Oak Thump was a plump and round, well-groomed dwarf with a flowing beard.
His counterpart Dirty Dog was skinny, disheveled, and unkept. He had no facial hair, which was very odd for a dwarf. He also had a balding head.
“Silence!” King Sturdy Axe raised his hands to calm his rowdy commanders, “I did not bring you here to bicker about how we’re going to die.”
The dwarf king’s face looked drawn and haggard, yet his eyes still flashed with the strength of a great leader. He thumped his fists on the table and stared at each dwarf present, his impressive gray beard shaking with the effort.
“This castle was designed to be penetrated. Why do you think the giant bronze doors at the Main Gate have never been magicked, as is our way?” King Sturdy Axe asked, and not waiting for an answer, continued, “Any sizable army could smash through them into the courtyards. This is no oversight; it’s by design. The walls and their towers are the strength of Gilead. The walls are Gilead!”
“The walls are thick and strong, with built in storehouses and fortified towers on each corner,” Commander Oak Thump mused.
“Yes, when faced by superior numbers the tactical strategy is to allow the enemy to enter.” King Sturdy Axe continued, “Unlike most kingdoms, the Palace Hall, Golden Helm Hall, Silver Helm Hall, Bronze Helm Hall, the Stone Market Hall, and the Stable Hall were all built lower than the surrounding walls.”
“Why?” Commander Oak Thump questioned.
“Once the wall or gate is breached, then the enemy can be fired upon from the rooftops of the six main structures. If any of those structures fall, then the dwarves on the walls will still have the advantage of height while firing down upon them,” the dwarf king stated, then added, “So worry not about the dragon breaching sections of the walls. Let them come in.”
“That’s a touch of brilliance!” the skinny disheveled Dirty Dog said, appreciating the strategy of his ancestors. “And the three main halls are their own mini fortresses. It would cost a lot of gobs to take them.”
Gold, Silver, and Bronze Halls each had four floors and were designed as self-contained battle positions. The bottom floors were used as troop barracks, while the second floors were civilian housing, and the third floors were used for supply storage.
The rooftop was the fourth floor, with covered areas and small gardens, complete with rooftop parapets for crossbow dwarves who could fire down onto the streets from all four sides of the structure.
“But what of the dragon?” the plump, well-groomed Commander Oak Thump asked, then stated the obvious, “He has the height advantage on us all.”
“Well, he is the problem, isn’t he?” the tired dwarf king said, rubbing his eyes. “Any ideas?”
“I got one,” Commander Iron Fist of the Stone Mountain Dwarves spoke for the first time since the meeting began. The tough seasoned black dwarf was in the back of the room, leaning against a large two headed axe, smoking a wooden pipe.
“When I was but a wee-one, my mother used to tell me ancient stories of battles long forgotten, when dwarves made war against fantastic creatures, including dragons,” Iron Fist began, then continued, “They would weight the ballistae arrows by adding chains and such. That way, the dragon would have to retreat after a few hits, because he would grow weary from carrying the extra weight.”
“Interesting . . .” King Sturdy Axe furrowed his bushy brow. “Of course, the ballistae crews would have to let the dragon get in close before they could fire such a heavy shot with any accuracy.”
“Yes, and forcing the dragon from the field of battle early would slow down the attack. Maybe the gobs will become impatient and attack any breach,” Commander Oak Thump said, getting excited about the thought of killing some goblins.
“Let’s do it. Have the ballistae crews prepare the weighted arrows. When the walls open, I want each hall heavily defended. How many troops do you have to defend your three halls Commander Dirty Dog?” King Sturdy Axe inquired.
“Well, I’ve about a hundred and fifty warriors and nearly twice as many crossbow dwarves in total,” Dirty Dog answered his king.
“Okay, split them evenly between Golden, Silver, and Bronze Halls. You personally take charge of Bronze Helm Hall. Put Crusty Mug in charge of Golden Helm Hall and Toothy Maw in charge of Silver Helm Hall,” King Sturdy Axe commanded.
“Sire, Toothy Maw fell to a gob arrow yesterday. Broken Shield is capable of handling Silver Helm Hall,” Dirty Dog suggested.
“Make it so,” the king said, followed by Commander Dirty Dog exiting the room.
“Oak Thump.” King Sturdy Axe turned to his palace commander. “Place fifty warriors in the Stone Market Hall under young Frothy Stump. Put another fifty in the Stable Hall. I think Teak Tumbler should take command there. That should leave you with roughly two hundred dwarves to defend the palace. Remember this is all or nothing. Tell them to defend to the last dwarf.”
“Aye sire!” Commander Oak Thump said and hurried away.
“So, that leaves you and me Commander Iron Fist,” King Sturdy Axe said, realizing that he liked the tough old mountain dwarf. “Let’s hope that your mom’s stories were more than just old legends.”
King Sturdy Axe thought for a moment, tugging at his long graying beard. They still held a small section of eastern wall that had a tower. It also had the only stairway access from the walls to the courtyard down below, just past the acid eaten areas. He had three brothers commanding there and would leave them be for now.
“What are your orders for me sire?” Iron Fist asked, his grin showing some missing teeth.
“Well, it’s obvious that the dragon intends to split the wall in the east and west. That’ll leave two large sections at the north and south, each with a ballista and two fortified corner towers,” King Sturdy Axe thought aloud, and then addressed the mountain dwarf, “There’re a couple hundred dwarves patrolling the courtyards and I still have a hundred dwarves in reserves. We’ll split these troops to reinforce what few dwarves we have left on the north and south walls. I’ll lead the southern section from the Command Tower. I want you to command the northern section.”
“As you wish sire.” Iron Fist turned to leave, honored at the assignment.
“Commander Iron Fist, the walls are Gilead, and I’ve given you half of Gilead to defend. Do not let me down. Defend her as if she were your own home,” King Sturdy Axe said solemnly.
“Sire, she is my home now,” Iron Fist answered, and with a wink, he turned and walked out.
By Douglas Goff
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The following day, the dragons followed the rising sun back to Kaylor. The two brown beasts, Ladicrum and Secrium, flew several circles over Frontier Fortress, studying the men’s defenses. Secrium the youngling was the first to move in.
“The flying demons return!” an archer on the nearest east wall platform shouted and pointed skyward towards the approaching beasts.
The yell immediately attracted the smaller, more aggressive brown, who swooped in fast and sprayed its deadly needle breath on the platform that the man had shouted from. The small sharp boney daggers pierced the men in several places, killing all four of them.
“Fire!” Lord Prince Jayden ordered his ballista crew to engage. The four-foot arrow flew forth, but missed the retreating brown dragon as it flew overhead. He couldn’t help but admire the stamina and resilience of the winged beast.
“We wounded that smaller dragon several times yesterday, yet now it looks fresh and ready to fight. You have to admire their strength,” Grelly stated what his prince had just been thinking.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I relished the thought that I may very well end up in the creature’s belly,” Jayden said with a smirk.
Secrium glided back around and snatched an archer off the east wall. Several arrows bounced off the brown dragon’s scales while he tore the screaming man in two with his sharp claws. They needed the flying monster to attack the platform in the middle of the west wall for their plan to work.
“Lookout!!!” Lord Prince Jayden’s thoughts were interrupted when he was struck hard and knocked to the floor; two giant sharp claws missing him by inches. Grelly had tackled him to the ground, saving his life.
The remaining men on the tower scattered, but a hapless crossbowman moved too slow, and Ladicrum the Brown snapped his head off. The ballista crew scrambled to aim their war machine, but were unable to get another shot off. The large brown dragon had flown off as quickly as he had flown in.
The two brown dragons flew about, randomly attacking the fortress defenders much the same as they had the other day. Every once in a while, the men would score a lucky hit and send one of the beasts off with a wound.
Within an hour, several of the under-manned outer wall platforms had been cleared off by the brown dragons, but neither dragon neared the center of the west wall.
“They avoid the west wall. Maybe they can sense danger?” Jayden said to his men.
“Probably just coincidence,” Grelly mused.
Secrium the Brown flew in low again, coming up on the south wall, and unleased another blast of needles at a platform. The men stationed there died screaming. This time, when the dragon passed by, Lord Prince Jayden’s ballista crew scored a hit on the monster’s side, sending the beast screeching off with the giant arrow hanging from its mid-section.
“Yes! Direct hit!!” Jayden exclaimed, slapping Grelly on the back, while the dragon retreated away from his tower.
Jayden could hear a horse snicker from within the tower below, causing him to think, Maybe my plan isn’t going to work. Time is running out. As if in answer to his doubts, Secrium swung about again and dove for the fully manned platform in the middle of the west wall.
The brown dragon hung in the air, snapping and clawing at the men there, until he had killed them all. A moment later, when the dragon flew gloatingly over the now empty platform, he saw a man with long braided hair and matching beard step out from behind a wall of animal hides placed under it.
The fearless man carried a mighty bow in his hand, and stared straight into the eyes of the dragon, shouting, “Come to me foul dragon!” The aggressive brown youngling could not resist the challenge and dove screeching for King Quaid.
The king took careful aim with the Bow of Togra and fired one of the magical black arrows that had been created in the fires of Mount Esha. Twenty archers, who had also been hiding behind the animal hides under the platform, rushed out and launched a volley of arrows at Secrium. The trap had been sprung!
The magic arrow struck the brown dragon in the neck, the power of the mighty Bow of Togra sending it deep into flesh. The magical blue writing slid down the arrow and into the dragon, causing a blue haze to encircle the beast, who began to give off a slight blue glow.
All of the bowmen’s arrows also scored hits at such a close range, causing Secrium to let out an angry roar and attempt to fly away. Instead, much to the brown dragon’s surprise, he landed with a thud.
The dragon tried to take flight again, but only managed a small hop. This elicited another great roar from the young brown dragon when he came to the realization that he could no longer fly.
Lord Prince Jayden signaled one of his men, who immediately sounded a trumpet. The sound of the horn was followed by a ballista shot that ripped through the webbed part of the brown dragon’s left wing. The arrow passed completely through and stuck into one of the nearby cedar wall posts.
The trumpet also alerted the Frontier Fortress Horse Warriors, who had been lying in wait inside the tower down below Prince Jayden. Lord Cray led twenty of his riders from their hiding place, crashing open the wooden doors of the tower.
His Second-In-Command, a tall lord with an amusing personality named Morris, led another twenty riders out of the doors of a nearby storage building. The forty horse warriors charged at the grounded dragon.
The beast was down, but not out. It launched a blast of needles at the archers in front of him, killing a couple of them and wounding a few more. King Quaid took two needles in his right forearm.
The blast was not as strong as the earlier ones. The brown dragon had overused his breath weapon and was running out of needles. He needed a day or two of rest for his body to replenish them.
The young brown dragon swung about, swinging the spiked ball on his tail into Lord Morris’ charging horsemen, killing two horses, while throwing Morris and one of his men high into the air. The lord landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him.
“Charge!” Lord Cray shouted and led the remaining riders in, thrusting their long sharp spears into the brown dragon. The wounded beast reared up, slicing two riders from their horses with his razor-sharp claws.
“Reload the ballista! Reload the ballista!” Lord Prince Jayden ordered his men, looking for a second shot at the dragon. He could see his father unleashing arrow after arrow into the brown dragon’s chest, with most penetrating the scales.
Lord Prince Jayden knew that his father’s wounded arm must be aching, yet the man did not falter in his attack. The remaining archers also continued firing, but at a slower rate and with less success.
The attacking men managed to push the brown dragon back into the cedar logs of a west wall corner. The youngling let out a hiss, but none of the deadly needles came, so he began to lash out with his claws.
The mounted warriors had lost most of their horses and were now on foot. They bravely rushed in at the snarling creature and swung their swords at his underbelly.
The dragon’s head came forward, clamping his huge jaw around Lord Cray. Only the man’s legs remained in place, after his torso was torn away and disappeared down the dragon’s throat. Secrium spit Cray’s gory chainmail out on the ground.
King Quaid waited for the dragon to finish his gruesome meal, and when the brown raised his head the king shot, putting an arrow thru Secrium’s left eye. The brown dragon let out a screech and reared up, opening his mouth to bite down on the relentless archer king.
This is what Jayden had been waiting for, so he shouted, “Now!” The ballista arrow flew perfectly, entering the young brown dragon’s mouth and tore through the back of his neck.
The brown beast staggered about, clawing at the four-foot arrow protruding from his throat. The creature began flailing about in his death throes. Secrium the Brown had killed over a hundred men of Frontier Fortress, but now he was finished.
Jayden and his men let out a loud cheer. The young prince fearfully caught himself, realizing he had lost sight of the larger dragon. Where’s the big one? Is it coming?? he thought as he began scanning the blue sky for its outline, not wanting to be surprised again. It was too late.
Ladicrum hadn’t been too concerned about the plight of his youngling companion. He had invited Secrium along, planning to use the younger less intelligent dragon as a sacrifice, if need be. The older brown dragon had a different concern now.
Ladicrum had come in very low and snuck up under the shadow of the opposite side of the Ballista Tower. The men above were concentrating on killing Secrium, so no one had seen him.
The large brown had been waiting for the men above to fire the big arrow weapon again. He feared it, and wanted to destroy the contraption, so that he could kill the men here at will. Ladicum began to crawl up the tower after he heard the ballista fire.
Lord Prince Jayden was looking up when he should have been looking down. He froze in terror when the huge brown scaly head came over the rim of the tower.
He could see the milky yellow eyes and the spiked ridges that ran from above the eyes to the back of the neck. The big brown dragon emitted a terrifying aura of fear, yet he was an awesome monstrosity to behold this closely.
Ladicrum reared his head back, preparing to release his massive blast of deadly breath needles. At the last second, Lord Prince Jayden felt two hands shove him hard, knocking him to the ground, which sent him rolling against the two-foot wall that rose up along the edge of the tower.
This provided him protection, but when he looked back, he could see Grelly standing where he had been. He also noticed that the rest of his men were looking over the opposite edge and still had not seen the big dragon.
The needles flew forth, turning Grelly into a pin cushion, and sprayed the nearby archers and crossbowmen. The brown dragon rushed forward, stepping onto the ballista platform, its weight sending the weapon and the now startled dragon spinning.
Catapult and ballista towers were specially designed with large rotating wooden circular platforms in the center of their rooftops. The war machines were placed on these platforms so that they could be easily rotated to fire in any direction.
Lord Prince Jayden didn’t have time to mourn his friend, who had just given his life to save him a second time, because a surreal scene was unfolding before him. He might have laughed if he hadn’t been in so much danger.
The dragon, who was much too big for the tower roof, was spinning around in circles with the ballista, knocking men all about. The creature’s tail flung out, toppling an unfortunate crossbowman off the tower, who screamed all the way down.
Ladicrum the Brown wrapped his large claws around the ballista and yanked on it, popping the bolts loose that held it to the platform. The dragon then leapt off the spinning disk, disappearing from view while clutching the war machine in its front claws.
The creature fell below the lip of the roof, only to immediately reappear when his powerful wings forced him higher into the air. The brown dragon slammed the ballista onto the top of the west wall, splintering it into many pieces.
Jayden swore that he could see a smile on the brown dragon’s snarled lips while it flew away. The battle had ended, with many of his men now dead or dying. The warriors below let out a joyous cheer, while some of them continued to stab Secrium the Brown’s now limp body, just for good measure.
That night, King Quaid held a mighty feast, with the main dish being dragon steaks. The men of Frontier Fortress had only heard legends of dragon meat, and unbeknownst to them, the brown dragon was the most sinewy and toughest of dragon flesh. It did not matter, because they were reveling in their great victory.
“Dragon, I salute you!” King Quaid said, raising his silver goblet to the large brown dragon head that sat as a centerpiece on the king’s table, his men immediately cheering.
King Quaid turned to the lords seated in front of him and said, “If we can kill one, then we can kill the other!”
“Here! Here!” they joyously shouted in unison, banging their silver mugs on the wooden table.
The victorious warriors ate and drank elven wine and dwarven ale deep into the night, celebrating the dragon’s death. Lord Prince Jayden sat quietly, saddened by the loss of Grelly, as well as mourning the destruction of the ballista.
That war machine had been their best chance of beating the larger brown dragon. I also lost most of my men, with only eight surviving the tower attack. I’ll celebrate when the big brown is dead, Jayden swore.
His thoughts were interrupted by several screams. King Quaid and Lord Morris, who had just been singing an old Hogarth lore ballad, jumped to their feet. They scrambled for the door.
Lord Prince Jayden followed them from the banquet hall, his nostrils immediately filling with hot stinging air. Smoke! His eyes focused on a distant red glow. The south wall was burning!
Lord Prince Jayden saw a flash of red pass through the smoke overhead and realized that he was seeing another dragon. This new one was about the same size as the smaller brown one had been, but differed in color.
This dragon was red. Men dashed about frantically and Lord Prince Jayden joined them, heading for his tower. Even as he ran, he realized that his position was basically defenseless without the ballista.
The new dragon, known as Titra the Red amongst her own kind, was a fire breathing youngling of twenty-three years. She flew towards the north wall and unleashed a blast of liquid fire at the center. The large cedar logs immediately burst into flame, along with three unlucky crossbowmen positioned on the middle platform.
The red dragon changed directions, and within seconds the west wall was also burning at the center. A nearby archer managed to score a hit on the red dragon, only to be torn apart by the sneaky large brown dragon that had swooped in out of the darkness and then disappeared back into it just as quickly.
Jayden changed direction and joined several warriors who had begun to form a bucket line from the large well located near the entrance to Hogarth Hall. It wasn’t long before they were dousing the fires with water.
From time to time, Ladicrum the Brown would swoop in, dragging off one or two of the men, greatly hampering their efforts to quell the multiple fires. Still, the survivors fought the urge to run and continued battling the blazes.
“That beast is going to burn down the entire fortress!” the usually happy Lord Morris shouted, after the red dragon unleased another blast of flame onto the center of the east wall.
“She’s getting tired,” Jayden yelled back, realizing that her fire breath was getting weaker, even though it was still starting fires.
King Quaid unslung the mighty Bow of Togra and strung the last magical dwarven arrow, thinking, We’ll all have to charge the fire breather once she is down. Maybe we can kill it.
He took careful aim and sent the magic shaft at the red beast when she flew past. The arrow tore deep into the red dragon’s front leg, just above the claw. The dragon flew another ten feet towards the south wall as the blue dwarven writings flowed into her.
A blue haze formed around the creature and then she started glowing a faint blue. The red dragon fell from the air, smacking onto the pointed top of the burning outer wall. She teetered for a moment, then fell to the outside of the fortress.
No! I wasted the last magical arrow. We have no chance to kill her outside of the walls. King Quaid fell to his knees, clutching the Bow of Togra, disgusted by his mistake. I should have waited for the red dragon to get lower. He could hear her screeching from outside the wall, punctuating his failure.
The men fighting the fires had almost quenched the flames on the south wall, when Ladicrum swooped in and unleashed his needle breath. Twelve of the firefighting warriors fell over dead with another twelve falling wounded. The big brown beast was slowly tearing them apart.
“Cover men! Seek refuge in the buildings and towers! The walls are lost!” Lord Prince Jayden shouted, taking charge after seeing his father on his knees, while he himself began helping the wounded to Hogarth Hall.
King Quaid looked towards the walls and realized that his son was right. The east wall was already breached, and the others would soon follow. He got back to his feet and slowly walked to Hogarth Hall, his walls a burning inferno behind him.
The bell inside of Hogarth Hall began to sound with very loud “bongs”, signaling the retreat from the courtyard areas. Soon, all of the fortress defenders were hiding in their assigned positions. Then another sound could be heard.
“Boo gah, boo gah, boo gah” the goblin drums were sounding out the morning march from down in Frontier Pass. The green filth was stirring, and they would reach the fortress by first light.
The goblins could now enter Frontier Fortress from any direction, because the cedar log walls were burning to the ground. Titra the Red had turned the tide of battle against the men of Frontier Fortress.
By Douglas Goff
Gilead and Frontier Fortress weren’t the only kingdoms faltering under heavy attacks. At Trader Town, men were rushing back and forth, reassembling the catapult in the center of the palace roof. They moved with purpose, even though they only had the dim light of a fire barrel to assist them.
The moment darkness had fallen, King Haven ordered the war machine repositioned from the badly damaged Catapult Tower. The catapult crew had spent several strenuous hours moving the large instrument of war.
They had broken it down into three smaller wooden sections and hoisted them, using a pulley system, down to the courtyard. Next, they carried the pieces to the palace, and using the same pulley system, hoisted them up onto the rooftop. They were completing the reassembly, just as midnight approached.
The ballista was already in place on the palace roof. It had also been moved from its crumbling tower, but the process had been much quicker thanks to its lighter weight, so the ballista crew busied themselves by helping several warriors who were hoisting large rocks to the roof for the catapult.
With the arrival of midnight, King Haven looked towards the West Bridge. Lord Tagtor would be crossing at any time. He had been assigned some replacements and would be going out with nine men. The squad would be carrying flint and oil to burn the giant’s carts. That should buy them some time.
The king listened intently, not expecting to hear anything. The bridge crew would do their job very quietly, moving at a snail’s pace. First, they would slide it open, and then slide closed the heavily oiled bridge contraption, all in complete darkness. They were very good at what they did.
King Haven jolted awake, startled to find that he must have dozed off. It took him a second to realize something was amiss. He could hear sounds…………swords clashing near the West Bridge. Next, several large brush piles began to burn on the bank to the west.
The blaze rose quickly, lighting up the scene. Lord Tagtor’s squad had made it about half a field from the bridge when they were ambushed by a large horde of Bone Breakers, and two of his men already lay dead. An even larger horde of goblins were rushing the West Bridge, where some had already made it across.
The captain of the bridge crew was lying dead, while a handful of his men were engaged in a sword fight with the goblins who had already crossed. The men were quickly swallowed up by the sea of green that was entering the city.
“Close the bridge!” King Haven screamed, knowing in his gut it was already too late.
Just then, he heard the familiar “swoosh” of a catapult ball flying over his head. Lord Zobo, the Catapult Commander, had realized the situation and was attempting to smash the bridge! The first round went long, although it did kill four goblins. Rocks began to fly as fast as Lord Zobo’s men could load them.
Each one splattered green blood while they slowly zeroed in on their target. The king held his breath, willing them to hit the West Bridge before the entire Bone Breaker Tribe crossed into his city. Several hundred were already in Trader Town.
The men on the one remaining south tower, led by a petite captain named Fernhower, began engaging some goblin archers who had just crossed the bridge. Skirmishes began erupting all about the west side of the city.
The majority of the goblin force who was already across the bridge attacked the men behind the barricades on the west side of Trader Town. The fighting was intense, with the sounds of the dead and dying piercing the night.
A handful of archers had stayed on the leaning Catapult Tower. They began firing at Bone Breakers who had started to run across the fifty-yard distance to Barracks Two.
The five major wooden buildings on the west side of the city were two-story troop barracks, numbered one through five. Barracks One and Two housed warriors. Barracks Three housed the crossbowmen and Barracks Four was for the archers. That left Barracks Five for the guards who worked in the palace.
It didn’t take long before the sounds of battle could be heard coming from all five of those buildings. Still, the goblins were pouring across the open bridge, re-enforcing their attacking troops. A full-blown night battle had erupted!
King Haven caught one last sight of Lord Tagtor’s muscular silhouette, just as he and three of his men disappeared. They had made it to the far wood line, with twenty or thirty Bone Breakers chasing them. They wouldn’t last long because the woods were where the goblins were encamped.
A loud crash signaled that Lord Zobo and his catapult crew had finally found their mark. The first hit sent at least ten goblins and their yorg leader toppling into the rushing moat waters. They let out howls while they disappeared beneath the swirling steaming waters.
It took three more shots to bring down the West Bridge completely. With a thunderous splash, it also disappeared beneath the churning moat, dragging with it two or three goblins who had been clinging to it in desperation.
King Haven breathed a sigh of relief. But how many had made it across? At least a hundred had entered each of the five troop barracks. He looked towards the barricade to the south. About half of the men assigned there, maybe sixty, were fleeing in terror to the east side of town.
It didn’t look like anyone had escaped from the barricade to the west. That fight had been brutal, evident from the several hundred goblin and human corpses scattered about.
King Haven could see some goblins walking around, spearing the bodies of the men, to make sure they were dead. Every so often, one would scream. This brought about happy chitters from the enemy forces.
Haven looked away in anguish, his eyes refocusing on one of his men, a black fellow named Captain Borno. He was leading about thirty men away from Troop Barracks Five, the quarters for the castle guards.
They were not being chased while they moved in the early dawn light, making their way to the safety of the east side of town. They must have killed the goblins who had entered their barracks, King Haven surmised.
He could see goblins going in and out of Barracks One and Three. Any defenders that had been there were surely dead. Then a commotion caught his eye.
About fifteen of his archers had made it to the roof of Barracks Four. They were now engaged in a shoot-out with around fifty Bone Breaker archers who had the building surrounded. The battle lasted for several minutes.
After more than thirty of the goblins had been slain, the nine men who had not fallen, threw a rope down the east side of the barracks. They had cleared this side with their arrows.
One by one they climbed down the two-story building and made their way towards the east side of town. While the last man made his way down the rope, four goblin archers rounded the corner and shot the man off the middle of the rope.
That left only Barracks Two in the hands of men. Lords Hish and Hash were holed up with over a hundred warriors on the second floor. The first floor had been taken by a goblin horde that outnumbered the men above by two to one.
The two lords were brothers, identical in every way. They were twenty-years old, short, petite men, with curly red hair. They had been born triplets, but a year ago, their brother Hosh had never returned from his Quest into Timber Lake Mountains. Now the surviving two brothers were inseparable.
The Bone Breakers tried to force their way up the narrow stairway several times, but were pushed back on each attempt, although they did kill a few men each time.
Lords Hish and Hash thought it was better to try and make a break for it, rather than be slowly picked off man by man. They decided to attack the superior number of goblins on the first floor. The brothers led the headlong rush down the stairway, into the mass of green enemy.
At the bottom of the stairs, Lord Hash ran smack into a six-foot yorg who was bulging with green muscles. The yorg skewered the young lord with a wicked looking double-edged long sword.
“No!” Lord Hish screamed when he saw his brother fall and leapt onto the back of the big yorg, stabbing him several times between the shoulder blades until the beast fell dead. When he turned to face the remaining enemy, he took three goblin spears in the gut.
The fighting continued for another ten minutes after the brothers had died. A handful of men attempted to flee back up the stairs. Half of them died before they reached the second floor. The rest were quickly chased down by the thirty remaining goblins and slain. The battle for Barracks Two had ended.
Trader Town fell strangely silent after that. King Nalop of the Bone Breakers seemed content to secure the west side of the town for now. The goblins tended to their wounded and threw their dead, along with the bodies of men, into the swirling moat.
The rushing water had become a grizzly sight. It was demoralizing, so King Haven ordered his men to try and fish the bodies out when they passed by the eastside of the town. It didn’t take long for the funeral fires to begin.
The goblins made a couple of attempts to place ladders across the moat, in the areas that they controlled, but the magicked rushing waters frightened them. The yorgs threatened and bullied the underlings, but gave up after none would cross. The goblins settled in and waited for the giants.
The bombardment began at noon. It had been a wise decision to reposition the catapult and ballista. The giants targeted those highly damaged towers first, dropping them with their first volley of rocks.
During a short lull in the action, King Haven heard shouting coming from the South Bridge, and saw a man in purple standing next to the moat. To his amazement, it was the Auction Advisor, waving a large white flag and yelling at Gorg, the giant’s leader.
“We wish to surrender! We wish to surrender! I’m authorized to discuss terms!” the short round man yelled, as the king watched the sunlight reflecting off the fat man’s bald head.
“I’ll put an end to this,” said a lord in the palace guard, named Flint, who was standing nearby.
“Hold!” King Haven commanded when Lord Flint turned to leave. “I want everyone who has a mind to surrender to see this.”
Chieftain Gorg scratched his head and stared at the squat fat man in the purple robe. The giant walked over to the edge of the moat with a large rock in his right hand and said something to the fat man in a foreign tongue.
“We wish to discuss surrender,” the Auction Advisor repeated, this time in the elven tongue, and then again in dwarven.
It was important for him to know these languages, in order to run the auctions, because all three races usually attended. The Auction Advisor probably knew a few gorilla words as well, and possibly some other foreign tongues.
Chieftain Gorg looked at the two giants nearest him; the tall, bald, black one with the golden loop earrings and the one with scars on its face. Gorg shrugged his shoulders. They shrugged back.
Gorg scratched his head again and repeated the same foreign phrase that he had said before. The leader giant cocked his head to one side and stared at the fat man, as if waiting for a reply.
When the Auction Advisor failed to respond, the giant let out a large belch. Chieftain Gorg broke out into a big grin, exposing his jagged yellow teeth, along with several gaps, one of which had a human hand protruding from it.
The Auction Advisor thought that the grin was a good sign and returned the smile. A large rock smashed him into a pulp, leaving only a red and purple splat where he had been standing. Gorg’s right hand was now empty.
Chieftain Gorg pulled the huge gnarled handled spear from his back and roared at the men inside the city, shaking the broad black metal pointed head towards the palace roof. The scarred faced giant clapped his hands together while the one with the loop earrings high-fived Gorg.
“I say no surrender for you mens, only pains and deaths!” Chieftain Gorg spat out menacingly, speaking in the language of men.” You will roast in our fires and we will feast upon your meats until the delicious taste of mens fills our bellies.”
The giant had understood the Auction Advisor and had been toying with him. In response, a few arrows flew past Gorg’s head. The giants replied immediately with flying boulders, signaling that the bombardment was beginning anew.
The giants focused on the damaged tower near the South Bridge and the last one standing near the East Bridge. Both had already been struck several times during the previous days.
The two structures took a couple of direct hits before they came down, killing the men within. Now only one tower remained standing in Trader Town. It was the second South Bridge tower, which oddly enough, had not been struck even once.
This last tower was unique because it was the tallest of the Trader Town structures. All the destroyed towers had been thirty feet tall, and about thirty feet across. The final tower was fifty feet tall and stood about ten-feet higher than even the palace roof.
The giants spent the next few minutes slapping each other on their backs, congratulating themselves for their efforts. Finally, they grew tired of celebrating and Chieftain Gorg led them back across Commerce Field, until they disappeared from sight. King Haven was glad the attack was over.
By Douglas Goff
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“Sire.” It was Captain Weser, the bridge leader who had managed to secure the damaged East Bridge that first day. “We dropped the remaining three bridges into the moat as you ordered. Nobody’s leaving now.”
“Good. Were you able to get a casualty report?” Haven asked in a weary voice.
“No sir. It’s impossible to tell how many died on the west side of town, or if anybody is still alive in any of the captured buildings,” he answered his king.
“Well, what can you tell me?” King Haven asked, a bit annoyed, with his lack of sleep making him cranky.
“It’s pretty grim my liege,” Captain Weser responded. “Lord Zobo had been watching the West Bridge throughout the battle while he adjusted fire upon it. He said that he was able to count the goblins by tens as they crossed. It’s a rough estimate, but he believes that around twelve hundred Bone Breakers entered the city.”
“Twelve hundred?” the tall king said in astonishment, and then mused, “Well, I should think some died taking the five barracks.”
“Yes, we fished three hundred and six goblins out of the moat,” Captain Weser answered. “So that’d put their forces at around nine hundred.”
King Haven smiled, pleased that his enemy had unwittingly provided them with useful information. His smile slowly faded, as he grimly remembered that he had lost half of his city in just one day. At least most of the goblins are still on the other side of the moat, he thought.
“Okay, so how many men do we have left?” Haven asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“Let’s see, there’re one hundred and thirty archers and crossbowmen on the north barricade, and still another ninety at the east barricade.” The intelligent Captain Weser began calculating. “We’ve also about thirty archers and crossbowmen on the roofs of the East and West Markets. Another eight archers managed to get on top of the Dining Hall. I think that they’re the men who fled from the archer’s barracks.”
“That leaves the bank and the stables,” King Haven interrupted.
“Lord Zoot defends with thirty warriors in the rubble of what used to be the bank. Most of the building was reduced to ruins by the giant’s boulders.” Captain Weser continued his report, “Captain Borno has thirty warriors on the first floor of the stable. The other two surviving captains from the bridge crews are on the second floor of the stable with another sixty warriors.”
“What about the last tower?” King Haven questioned.
“Captain Fernhower still has about forty warriors, eighty crossbowmen, and thirty archers,” Captain Weser replied, and then added, “It’s one of our strongest positions. He should be able to hold out for some time.”
“Excellent job captain,” King Haven praised the man. “I want you to stay here by my side, in case I need you for anything else.”
“Thank you, my king. I’d consider it a privilege,” Weser said, meaning it.
Haven turned and stared out across the carnage of his once proud city. In the afternoon sun, he could see boulders, blocks, bricks, and splintered wood and beams strewn about everywhere.
His people were gathering up much of the debris in an attempt to create a makeshift barrier across the middle of the city. They were hoping to keep the goblins on the west side out.
I have one undamaged tower left. My few remaining buildings all have heavy damage. Even the palace has several holes through the walls on every side. I’ve more wounded men than not, and we are almost out of the healing water. The situation is bad.
King Haven went over the numbers in his head. Weser hadn’t factored in the roughly two hundred warriors defending the palace under Lord Flint. I also have at least two hundred archers and crossbowmen positioned on the roof with me.
This means that we probably have the goblins inside the city outnumbered. That will change though, after a few more days of bombardment from the giants.
“If we’re going to destroy the Bone Breakers inside of the city then we would have to strike soon, but we’re short on leaders for such a coordinated push on the enemy. We only had a few lords left,” King Haven said to Weser. “I want to attack the majority of the enemy at the same time, and that means hitting all five barracks at once. Lord Flint isn’t too experienced, but he is a good fighter. I myself could lead a second group, which leaves Lords Zoot, Zobo and Qan.”
“Lord Zoot is out as he took an arrow in his knee over at the bank. Lord Qan is pushing seventy and is running the ballista crew. Lord Zobo is on the catapult. The man is great with numbers and trajectories, but no offense, he is fat and out of shape. Besides, he is needed on the catapult. Perhaps you could use Captains Fernhower and I?” Captain Weser counseled, impressing King Haven with his deductions.
The sound of the catapult launching interrupted their conversation. A second shot followed, which surprised the king. Lord Zobo had been occasionally firing single shots into the west side of town whenever too many goblins would gather at any one place. The second shot signaled something bigger was going on.
The rocks were falling near the last tower, which was now under attack. A group of goblin warriors were using a wooden beam to pound on the door at the base of the tower. It was reinforced, but would soon break under the onslaught.
Fifty to sixty Bone Breaker archers had taken up positions on the nearby Barracks Four roof and were firing up at the men on the tower. They were trying to distract the men from shooting at the door bashers below.
The men on top of the tower began shooting at the goblin archers, which enticed more goblins to join in. Soon, enemy archers joined in the fight from the ground below, attacking from both sides of the moat, until over a hundred goblins were shooting at the men above.
For the next thirty minutes the air became thick with arrows, causing casualties to mount on each side. Only a handful of goblins managed to retreat from the melee, at the cost of over eighty men, mostly Fernhower’s crossbow warriors.
The difference in the missile fire battle was made by the twenty or so remaining longbow archers, who had the height advantage and had far superior accuracy compared to the goblin archers. Although they were driven off, the enemy had accomplished their mission.
The goblins at the tower door managed to break through during the archery battle and two large yorgs led a hundred Bone Breaker warriors into the dimly lit bottom floor.
One of the yorgs rippled with muscles, looking like he was built for war. He carried a long gruesome black spear with a foot long razor-sharp metal head that was oddly enough, red. The second yorg was only slightly smaller, and carried a large axe.
Captain Fernhower and his forty warriors met the goblins at the bottom of the wide stairwell and fought a retreating battle up the fifty feet of staircase, leaving a trail of dead men and goblins along the way.
Captain Fernhower reached the roof, just as his last two warriors fell at the hands of the two large yorgs, who rushed onto the roof behind him. Several underlings followed their leaders out onto the roof and charged at the remaining archers.
The two powerful yorgs circled the petite Fernhower, until the smaller one got behind him and charged with his axe raised. The captain had expected the move and swung about slicing the yorg deep across his throat, sending his green blood spraying out.
The man quickly swung around to face the second, bigger yorg, only to be speared through his mid-section with the razor sharp black and red spear. The small man swung his sword hard, twice, slicing across the muscular yorg’s massive green chest, leaving a deep bloody red X on the beast. Then Captain Fernhower fell over dead, landing on top of the axe yorg he had just slain.
Fernhower’s archers dropped the first row of goblins with arrows and then engaged the second row with their short swords. They were holding their own, until the red X yorg rushed forward and knocked two of the archers off the roof.
The muscle-bound red X yorg went from man to man, grabbing them and tossing them off the tower to their deaths. After throwing the last defender off the roof, several goblin archers took up positions on the rooftop and began firing arrows down at the men positioned on the lower palace roof.
A crossbowman standing next to King Haven took a goblin arrow through the throat, killing him. Haven now knew why the giants had spared the tallest tower.
The enemy could use the higher position to clear the palace roof with overwhelming fire power. Several men scampered for cover while Haven’s archers and crossbowmen returned fire.
“Lord Zobo bring that tower down now!” the king shouted at the obese man.
The catapult crew swung the wooden machine about, and after a few calculations and adjustments, launched their first shot. Amazingly, it scored a direct hit on the center of the tower roof, crushing both stone and goblin flesh. The men on the palace roof let out a loud cheer.
Zobo’s crew continued pounding the tower, which took hours to smash into rubble. Only the red X yorg, along with a handful of goblins escaped out the bottom door, just in time. King Haven’s catapult had saved them again, at the very capable hands of Lord Zobo.
With the loss of Captain Fernhower, King Haven mused, There’s no way to launch an all-out attack.
“Captain Weser!” he called out. “Have Lord Flint and a captain pick eighty men to lead on a raid against Barracks Two.” The king had picked that target because there had been reports that the goblins were holding some civilian prisoners there.
Just before the sun went down, Lord Zobo began a catapult barrage on the Barracks Two. They were no longer concerned about disguising their target, because Lord Flint and his men were already halfway to the building. The first rock went long, but the second one scored a hit.
Lord Zobo pounded the visible fires around the building, sending wood and dust into the air. The moment the bombardment stopped, King Haven saw Lord Flint and his men enter Barracks Two. Seconds later, darkness fell on the city.
It didn’t take long for the sounds of combat to erupt, which lasted deep into the night. Metal against metal, followed by the screams of goblins or men. Sometimes both could be heard at various times, until silence finally fell on Trader Town.
A long restless night passed, and the king’s hopes fell with the rising sun. He came to the grim realization that none of his night raiders would be returning, not to mention that he had lost another lord. Everything I’ve tried has failed, and soon, the rocks will begin to fall.
| Author Notes | The blue text ghost continues to haunt my submissions. |
By Douglas Goff
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King Sturdy Axe signaled for another round of fire from the catapult. Two seconds later, a large stone rocketed through the air and pounded the goblins that were charging through the breach in the west wall.
The big rock landed on two of them, and bouncing through the opening, killed another three of four. Still, the foul ilk continued to pour into Gilead Castle, which had not been breached in centuries.
Ephraim the Black had struck earlier that morning, spraying first the west wall, and then the east wall with his destructive acid. The two walls had begun to hiss and bubble while the acid ate through stone.
Both ballistae crews had scored hits with their weighted bolts, leaving man length chains hanging from the black dragon’s flanks. The plan seemed to work, because after swooping in to eat a few crossbow dwarves, the dragon had left, tiring quickly.
Quiet followed. For the next several hours the dwarves watched helplessly while the acid burned through the east and west walls. Each now had a good thirty-foot gap opened into the kingdom. The dwarves quickly emptied supplies from the newly exposed rooms inside of the walls.
Boo gah drums had initiated the current attack, beating frightfully close, and now the green enemy was rushing through both gaps. Black Eye archers, at least a hundred through each opening, took up positions just inside the courtyard, and engaged the dwarven crossbow warriors on the nearby walls.
The missile fire battle lasted for several minutes before King Sturdy Axe ordered his fighters to take cover. The dwarves had the upper hand due to their higher positions, but again, they were highly outnumbered by the goblin archers.
The enemy archers outside the walls had started firing, randomly over the walls, adding to the confusion in the courtyard. Over half of the Black Eye goblins who ran into Gilead were now dead, but so were forty more crossbow dwarves.
The remaining goblin archers found whatever cover they could, just inside the gaps, then one of them began beating a boo gah drum. This signaled a large yorg and about eighty goblin underlings to run past the archers holding the west gap and into the nearest building, which was the Stone Market.
A second horde of eighty Black Eye warriors ran through the east gap and attacked the Stable Hall. King Sturdy Axe watched the battle from high above and could not believe how organized the green foe was.
The tough old dwarf king could not see what was happening inside of the buildings, but the battle sounds were fierce. They continued for nearly twenty minutes, before a handful of goblin warriors retreated from the Stone Market Hall. The young Commander Frothy Stump signaled from an upper window that he had only lost a handful of dwarves.
The story in the Stable Hall wasn’t as clear. Another hour passed, with the sounds of battle in that building starting and stopping on several occasions, until finally, the portly Commander Teak Tumbler could be seen in one of the lower windows.
He was bleeding from a head wound that had matted his black beard red. He also had a goblin dagger sticking straight up out of his shoulder, buried to the hilt. The fight inside the stable had been ferocious.
The wounded commander signaled he only had ten warriors left and all the Black Eye attackers were dead. Commander Teak Tumbler gave a weak wave towards the Command Tower and then disappeared from sight.
The Stable Hall would not survive a second wave and the dwarf king had nobody left to reinforce them. Teak Tumbler and his forces were on their own. Everyone left was, for that matter.
The remaining couple of hours of daylight saw little action, except for the occasional minor exchange of arrows and bolts in the area of the breached walls. This usually ended with the death of a goblin or dwarf.
The catapult crew launched a couple of shots towards the goblins camped outside the walls, just before the sun went down. Ominously, night fell over Gilead. The silence of the dead was a grim reminder of the day’s events.
* * *
Just below Trader Town, on the trail that led into the pass that climbed to Commerce Field, Lord Grey and his men were riding for Hogarth Hills. They were seeking refuge and resupply at Trader Town. The last men on the Upper Glen had endured a difficult morning. It had all started when they had come across some strange prints
The footprints were very similar to that of the claw marks of a yule, only larger. Both Lord Turk and Lord Bone had thought them to be those of a dragon, but that didn’t make sense. The bald Turk had pulled at his long moustache, trying to figure this out. Dragons could fly, so why would one walk so far?
The tracks went from the west to the east, staying down in the Upper Glen, following the base of Hogarth Hills. Lord Grey was concerned and curious about this new threat, so he decided that his patrol would track the creature and see what it was. The sixteen men had tracked the unknown threat for the first half of the day, with a young warrior named Fen in the lead.
They had not seen Titra the Red until she pounced. The sleek, twenty-five-footer, literally jumped from her hiding place in some thick brush where she had been crouching. The red dragon had swallowed Fen in two gulps and then ripped his yule open with her sharp claws.
Lords Turk and Bone, who had been right behind Fen, raced forward only to have their yules swept out from under them by the dragon’s long tail. Titra advanced, and with one swipe of her claw, killed Lord Grey’s yule.
Lord Grey managed to strike the red dragon in the side with his sword, but it had little effect. He noticed she had an odd, slighty blue magical glow. The dragon killed two more yules, before the archers managed to score a couple of good hits that penetrated her scales.
Lord Turk had also wounded the red dragon with his sword after charging it from behind and striking her on the underbelly. The dragon responded by turning her mighty head and snaping at the lord. Her teeth tore through his large brown shield and sank into Turk’s chainmail.
Amazingly, the armor protected him from major injury, although the dragon had left a five-inch tooth stuck in the chainmail. After the battle, Lord Turk had made a necklace out of the tooth and was currently wearing it. The bald man had been very lucky.
The red dragon, apparently not liking the odds, opened her mouth and spewed a line of fire into the grass between her and the men. This created a fire wall between them, which she used to cover her retreat. They last saw the red dragon running south.
Lord Grey had been perplexed as to why she hadn’t taken flight, where she could have easily picked them off one by one. Of course, the men didn’t know it, but she couldn’t.
They were lucky that they had only lost one man, although the beast had killed several yules. They were very fortunate that the red dragon had fled, or they may have all been on foot.
The men had to unload the pack yules so that they had mounts to ride. Leaving most of the supplies behind was an easy decision, because tracking the dragon had taken them close to Trader Town. They decided to go there to pick up some yules from the animal stables and to get fresh supplies.
That is what had brought the patrol to the foot of the trail leading up to Commerce Field. Lord Grey wanted to warn the men of Trader Town about the red dragon. King Wilsom could then warn the rest of the kingdoms about the new threat.
Lord Grey slowed the patrol down and started to proceed more cautiously. He was aware that Frontier Fortress was most likely under attack, and it was quite possible that Trader Town may have their own goblin army to deal with. Still, they needed mounts and supplies.
The riders followed the trail into Barters Pass that led up into Hogarth Hills. The trail became steeper, and when they rounded the first bend, they came face to face with a giant.
The scraggly creature was laying on his side, across the path, with his head resting in his hand that was propped up on an elbow. The giant was making a good deal of noise snoring and snorting while it breathed.
This is surreal, Lord Grey though, doubting his own eyes. Goblins, dragons, and now giants! This truly was the end of men in the Glen. Lord Grey found himself wondering if any men had ever fought all three before in the same day. Then the giant sat up and stretched his arms high into the air.
“Charge!” Lord Grey yelled, rushing forward with his men following close behind.
The giant rose to his feet at a speed that seemed impossible for a creature that came to a full nineteen feet tall. The beast let out a very loud bellow and grabbed a large wooden club, swinging it at the riders. It bashed in the first two yule heads that it came into contact with. Then the monster stomped on the two warriors who had fallen from the dead mounts.
Lord Grey pulled a spear from his saddle bag and shoved it into the giant’s upper thigh. Lords Turk and Bone followed suit, spearing the hairy creature in the opposite thigh, while their yules instinctively danced back and forth, avoiding the swinging wooden club.
A captain rushed in to help, but accidentally got too close. The giant whacked the man with his club, sending him flying thirty feet into the air. Lord Grey didn’t see where the unfortunate captain had landed, because he was too busy ducking a club blow.
The archers joined in, striking the giant several times in the mid-section, penetrating the pelts that it was wearing. The beast bellowed out again, while trying to back up, only to be charged on by the three mounted lords with spears.
Grey and Bone shoved their spears deep into his thighs, while Lord Grey slung his spear with all his might, scoring a direct hit on the giant. The spear buried itself about two feet deep into the giant’s throat, sending blood spurting out.
The giant let out a gurgling sound and fell forward onto his knees, obviously in distress. Still, the creature managed to bring his mighty fist down on top of Lord Bone and his yule, crushing them into a bloody mangled pile of flesh. The giant flailed about for a moment longer, while the men continued to hit him with spears and arrows, and then fell forward on his face, motionless.
Lord Turk rode up to the large body and poked it with his spear a couple of times, shouting, “We felled the mighty beast!” When it failed to move, he turned to Lord Grey, and breaking into a large grin, gave a thumbs up.
Then a large boulder came bouncing down the trail and knocked the bald Lord Turk’s yule out from under him. More boulders followed, knocking several archers from their mounts. Lord Grey could see a coven of angry giants coming down Barters Pass, stopping only to grab and hurl a boulder now and then.
“Run!” Lord Grey shouted and turned his yule around, noting that he was the last man with a mount, before everything went dark.
Lord Grey had no idea how much time had passed when he came to, laying in a ditch at the side of the pass. He sat up and wiped a trickle of blood from his forehead. What in the stars happened? Something dismounted me, but I don’t know what.
A giant with a scarred face ran past him and clubbed a dismounted archer to death. Lord Grey realized he must have been knocked from his saddle by one of the boulders and mistaken for dead by the passing giants.
He caught a glimpse of Lord Turk fighting a sixteen-footer that wore an eye patch. The creature had a gruesome looking spear and was poking at the man, who was trying his best to dodge the attacks.
Lord Turk sliced the giant across the knee, twice, then mis-stepped which resulted in him catching the giant’s spear through his stomach. The monster broke out into a horrid grin and lifted the bald lord, who was still struggling, high off the ground.
The one-eyed giant licked his lips and hoisted Lord Turk to his face, staring at him with his one good blood shot eye, as if he were studying a tasty snack. Lord Turk had dropped his sword when he got speared.
The man reached for anything that he could find, grasping the five-inch dragon tooth that hung around his neck. He yanked it free and plunged it deep into the center of the giant’s one good eye.
The giant screamed in pain, dropping the man and spear onto the ground. The beast began to dance about in pain, smashing Lord Turk to mush with his huge feet.
The wounded giant pulled the dragon tooth out of his eye, which caused another earth-shattering scream, and then ran south down the pass. The blind beast banged into the sheer side of the rocky pass and headed out into the open fields of the Upper Glen.
Lord Grey could no longer see anyone else in his squad, but saw several giants nearby, clubbing the ground. Pained screams told him his men were all dying.
The once meticulously groomed lord began to crawl away, using the mud-filled ditch as cover, to escape the mayhem. With any luck, maybe I just might get away.
By Douglas Goff
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Back at Gilead Castle, King Sturdy Axe had expected the enemy to hit the Stable Hall first, so he had the catapult positioned on the east gap. He was wrong. The goblins came through the west gap and rushed the Stone Market Hall.
Dwarves positioned on the wall above the gap pushed several rocks and timbers down onto the attackers when they entered the kingdom. The falling debris crushed several goblins, but barely slowed the attack.
Young Commander Frothy Stump was prepared for them. He and his dwarven warriors allowed the goblins to enter the Stone Market Hall and rushed at them from all sides once they entered the largest room on the first floor. Red and green blood mixed on the stone floor as both goblins and dwarves fell.
A tall skinny yorg, heavily scarred from past battles, charged the dwarf commander and chopped off Frothy Stump’s right arm with an axe. The dwarves fell back to the stairway, carrying their wounded leader, and retreated to the next floor.
One of the warriors tied off Commander Frothy Stump’s wound as best he could. The surviving sixteen dwarves waited at the top of the stairway for the goblins. They did not have to wait long.
The tall yorg came first, swinging his bloody axe. A dwarf with a crossbow shot the goblin leader in the shoulder and was rewarded with an axe blow to his head. Six goblin underlings raced past the yorg and engaged the nearest dwarves.
Frothy Stump charged the tall yorg, using his one arm to strike it in the head with his war hammer, which knocked the beast down. The goblin leader recovered quickly, jumping back to its feet.
The creature shook his head as if he were dizzy, then swung his axe at Frothy Stump. The axe buried itself into the dwarf’s knee, causing the commander to grunt in pain.
Frothy Stump swung his hammer in retaliation and struck the tall yorg in the temple, sending it to the ground again. The dwarf jumped on top of the creature, axe still sticking out of his knee.
With his one arm he bashed the yorg’s head in with several hammer blows, causing green blood to cover the walls. The goblins retreated back down the stairs after their leader fell.
Commander Frothy Stump looked about and realized that he only had three dwarves left, all of whom were wounded. They were too injured to attack back down the stairway and would not be able to repel the goblins again when they came.
Frothy Stump decided to abandon the stairway, so he and his bleeding trio of warriors retreated to a storage closet at the far corner of the second floor. The room was small and gave them the best chance of defense.
Frothy Stump pulled the axe from his knee and the blood began flowing freely. One of his dwarves had been hit in the head with an axe and was missing an ear. Half of his face was covered in blood.
Another had been stabbed in the stomach, while the fourth had internal damage from a war hammer strike. The four dwarves sat against the wall facing the door and waited for the goblins to come.
The leaderless goblins hesitated, spending a lot of time at the top of the stairs, arguing about what rooms to check first. Then they bickered about who would go in first.
Once they finally cleared a room, the whole process would start all over again. They moved from room to room very slowly. More than six hours passed before the gaggle of goblins entered the closet.
Once in, they found four dead dwarves sitting in a large pool of blood against the far wall. All had bled to death. They still held their weapons, as if eternally prepared to defend their post. The Black Eye Tribe had taken the Stone Market Hall.
* * *
In another faltering kingdom, Lord Prince Jayden peered out from various parapet holes along the inner wall of Frontier Fortress. I wonder from which direction the goblins will attack, he thought. His curly brown hair was matted with sweat and dirt, and he had black smudges on his face from fighting the fires set by Titra.
Large sections of the outer wall were still smoldering where the red dragon had burnt the great cedar logs to the ground. He could see the mighty Skull Crusher army encircled around Frontier Fortress and knew that they would be coming soon.
A couple of nearby crossbowmen had also been looking out of the gaps, until one let out a groan and fell backwards, dead. An arrow, with a black shaft and red feathers, was sticking out of his eye.
He had been shot through the hole that he had been peeking out of. Prince Jayden wondered what kind of goblin could fire an arrow at such a great distance? Regardless, Jayden stopped peeking.
Lord Godog, a short man known to be quite grumpy, had assumed command of the Catapult Tower after King Quaid had taken up position with the archers on the inner wall surrounding Hogarth Hall.
That morning, the king had sent several catapult rounds into the mouth of Frontier Pass, which was one of the preset notches set on the war machine. Now his crew was firing rock after rock at the formations of goblins that surrounded the fortress, attempting to disrupt the upcoming attack.
The rhythm of the boo gah drums intensified, creating anticipation as they built to a rapid crescendo, and upon reaching a peak they abruptly stopped in unison. Then they came. By the thousands.
Lord Prince Jayden no longer needed to wonder from what direction they would attack. Skull Crushers poured in thru all four breaches, attacking from all directions. It looked like a green wave coming to wash away the men of Frontier Fortress!
While the men were distracted, Ladicrum the Brown pounced. He landed on top of the Catapult Tower, immediately chomping on an unlucky captain. The mighty brown dragon kicked the catapult with one of his muscular hind legs, which sent it toppling off the roof to the cobblestone below, where it smashed into ruin.
“Take him down!” Lord Godog shouted while charging the brown monstrosity, shoving his short sword into the creature’s side three times before the brown dragon grabbed him and tore him in half with his strong claws.
The dragon followed that up by sweeping the tower clean with his deadly spiked ball tail, knocking off the remaining defenders, who fell thirty feet to their deaths on the cobblestone below. Ladicrum the Brown settled onto his newly captured perch to watch the battle unfolding down below.
Several wooden structures were scattered about between the inner and outer walls. Goblin warriors ran from building to building, engaging men wherever they found them, pushing them back towards Hogarth Hall.
“Hold men! Hold!”, one of the newer captains, a man named Sork could be heard shouting, while defending the largest storehouse on the north end, with over a hundred warriors. They fought valiantly, repelling two goblin attacks, before they were finally forced to make a break for Hogarth Hall.
“To the Hall!” Captain Sork shouted as he led his thirty remaining men towards the stronghold, fighting Skull Crushers all the way. The captain was struck by a goblin arrow less than twenty feet from the Hogarth gate, and died. About twenty of his warriors managed to make it through the gate into the temporary safety of the hall.
Elderly Lord Disroy, commander of the City Patrol, also made a break for Hogarth Hall with his men. They cleared a path through the goblins, losing about twenty of his sixty warriors, before they reached the last stronghold. Most of them arrived wounded.
The last man to make it through the gate was the heavy Lord Sibbs. He was alone, having lost all his men in a battle at the armory. He had two goblin arrows sticking out of the back of his left shoulder and bore a bloody bruise across his temple where he had been head-butted.
“Bar the gate! Bar the gate!!” Sibbs groaned out when he came in, leaning against a nearby wall.
The gate slammed shut behind the chunky lord, alerting the men inside that nobody else would be coming. The fierceness of the goblin attack had overrun most of their courtyard positions rather quickly. Yet, there were still men outside.
One was Lord Prince Jayden who had run from Hogarth Hall. He planned to continue to man his tower, because even though they had lost the ballista, he still had a sturdy group of archers at his disposal.
He would rather have died at his father’s side, but knew that they could still do some damage to the enemy from this high position. He slew two goblin underlings as he made it to the tower. Once his men let him in, they bolted the door and made their way to the roof.
The four buildings nearest Jayden’s tower were held by the twenty remaining Horse Warriors, although only a couple of them still had horses. Lord Morris had two lords and four captains with him. There were also twenty warriors from the Main Gate House hiding alongside them.
A hundred or so goblins charged the door at the bottom of Lord Prince Jayden’s tower. As soon as they busted down the door, Lord Morris and the men with him sprung out and attacked the enemy force from behind.
With Jayden’s men helping, they killed every single one of the enemy attackers. The remaining defenders took refuge inside Jayden’s tower, which was quickly surrounded by a couple hundred Skull Crushers.
The goblins busied themselves fortifying their newly captured buildings and spent the rest of the day exchanging arrows with the men on the inner wall platforms and the tower. They had the men bottled up and were in no hurry to finish them off.
Lord Prince Jayden could see his father standing on one of the inner wall platforms. He gave him a thumbs up to show that he was okay. His father returned the gesture.
Darkness fell on the Frontier Fortress of Kaylor, but the remaining defenders could not sleep. They knew that tomorrow would be their last day breathing the fresh air of the Glen. Tomorrow they would surely die.
* * *
King Haven lay flat on the palace roof trying not to die, covering his head while the building shook from another direct hit by the giants. The huge men had arrived late this morning, but were making up for lost time.
Dust hung thick in the air, and he could hear a woman screaming from somewhere inside the palace. The barrage was so intense, it almost seemed as if it were raining boulders. His thoughts were punctuated by a thunderous crash that sounded in the distance.
If King Haven could have looked, which he couldn’t, he would have seen that the West Market had collapsed, killing all thirty men defending there. The giants had turned another of his buildings to rubble.
Just when the attack seemed like it would never end, the bombardment suddenly stopped. The king could not believe his eyes once he was finally able to survey the damage.
The palace had been hit several more times, causing new gaping holes in both the east and west walls. The Dining Hall, East Market, and Stable all had new damage. The complete destruction of the West Market was not the worst of it.
Both of the eastern barricades, the last ones held by men, had been devastated. King Haven could see the bodies of his men sprawled all over the two mounds, with very little of the actual barricades left.
A handful of men stationed there had survived and were now making their way through the rubble towards the palace. Their faces looked drawn and haggard. Most of them were wounded.
One of the archers on the roof tapped King Haven on the shoulder and pointed towards the goblin territory to the west. It took a moment for the king to see what the man was pointing at.
The Bone Breakers were on the move, running past the palace into the east side of town. Over two hundred of them were rushing by, dodging the arrows that were now being fired at them from the palace roof. A few of them did not make it.
Sixty goblin archers broke off from the main body and took up positions in the rubble of the destroyed West Market. Soon, they were engaging the twenty or so crossbowmen and archers who had survived the bombing on the roof of the East Market. The rest of the goblins continued east, breaking into two groups.
A very fat yorg led a hundred goblins into the stables, and a second, even fatter yorg led the rest into the shell of the bank. He had to have been the fattest goblin that Haven had ever seen. The sounds of battle erupted all over the eastside of Trader Town. It was the beginning of the end.
King Haven watched the archery battle unfold, with the goblins quickly overwhelming the men on top of the East Market. They died fast, but took about twenty Bone Breakers with them. The king then turned his attention towards the stables where he could see some terrible activity.
A black man covered in blood, it appeared to be Captain Borno, staggered out of one of the horse pen doors. He had a short sword run through him, buried to the hilt in his chest, with the blade protruding out of his back. He made it a few steps, before a goblin followed him out of the same door and dropped him with an arrow. Obviously, the stables had fallen.
Next, smoke caught his attention. The numerous goblins surrounding the Dining Hall had set it on fire. The five or six archers left on the rooftop held their ground, firing arrow after arrow at their attackers, even as the flames licked up the sides of the wooden walls and danced around their feet.
The archers killed about forty goblins before the fire consumed them, along with the building. King Haven could see a couple of men still firing their bows, even while they were burning alive, then smoke covered the scene.
The king instinctively touched the half of his face that had been scarred by fire so many years before. Now the bank shell was the only defended position on the east side of town still held by men, although not for long.
Haven had a good view of the bank due to the roof and walls being destroyed. Lord Zoot and his eighteen men put up a great fight, pushing the goblins back twice, and had even killed the big fat yorg.
Then the muscular yorg with the red X cut into his chest arrived. He launched the black shafted spear with the red head at Lord Zoot. Perhaps he could have dodged it, if he hadn’t had a goblin arrow still stuck in his knee.
As it was, the gruesome spear tore through the red dragon emblem on his blood covered blue shield and entered his body, pinning the man to a timber post near the now missing front door of the bank.
Lord Zoot struggled to get free for several moments, while the rest of his men fell to the goblins. The red X yorg walked over to the pinned lord and pulled the spear loose, dropping the wounded man to the ground on his back.
Lord Zoot reached for his sword, which lay nearby, only to have the muscular yorg step on his wrist. The fierce yorg shook his head back and forth, as if telling the hapless man “no”, then stepped on Lord Zoot’s chest. The yorg sliced the man’s head off with the razor-sharp foot long head of the red and black spear.
Holding Zoot’s decapitated head up towards the palace rooftop, the red X yorg shouted in broken man tongue, “Now it’s our turn to take your heads!”
Lord Zobo responded by firing the catapult at the newly fallen east side of town. He used his last few boulders to flatten the East Market. Then his crew began firing anything that they could find, including large chunks of marble, blocks, and even some statues, before they were finally able to push the goblins away from the bank, which was now rubble. King Haven felt that it was a sad ending to the only such establishment in the Glen.
Once the battles died down, he could hear men screaming from Barracks Two, where Lord Flint and his men had disappeared the night before. It sounded like they were being tortured by the goblins and it lasted for over an hour before the city grew quiet.
The sun set with the palace being the very last stronghold of men in Trader Town. King Haven sat on his palace roof that night, wearily watching the goblin campfires that surrounded his position.
By Douglas Goff
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The day had gone just as bad at Frontier Fortress. Three hundred Skull Crusher archers attacked Hogarth Hall at dawn. Arrows flew back and forth, killing men and goblins.
The goblins were now engaging the men on the inner wall platforms, drawing their fire while twenty goblin warriors charged the main gate into the inner courtyard. They began ramming the gate with a large cedar log.
King Quaid launched arrow after arrow into the sea of green in front of his platform, bringing down many goblin archers with the Bow of Togra. The defenders appeared to be getting the upper hand, having killed over half of the attacking archers, until Ladicrum the Brown attacked.
The dragon had been watching the battle from atop his perch on the former Catapult Tower. He decided to target the man with the mighty bow, not because he was killing so many of the pesky goblins, but because the magical bow was the only weapon left in the wooden city of men that could harm him.
The beast swooped in fast, intent on slaying the man. The brown dragon’s first claw struck the Bow of Togra, knocking it from King Quaid’s hands and sent it tumbling off the wall towards the goblins in the main courtyard below.
The second mighty claw tore across the king’s chest, shredding his chainmail and knocking him from the platform into the smaller courtyard behind the interior wall. He fell to the ground with his chest bleeding heavily from five deep cuts.
Ladicrum circled about, and seeing that the man was not moving, turned his attention to another platform. He unleashed a hiss of death needles, killing all seven of the men caught in the blast. Ladicrum left the devastated platform behind and returned to his perch upon the Catapult Tower.
Lord Prince Jayden wasn’t sure what had happened to his father, but he had seen the Bow of Togra fall over the inner wall. He looked at Lord Morris, who nodded yes. The man knew what he was thinking. Without that magic bow, they didn’t stand a chance.
“To the Bow of Togra!” the young prince shouted, and with raised sword, rushed down the stairs and out of the tower.
Lord Morris and a handful of men mounted the horses on the first floor and rushed out, followed by two lords, five captains, and about a hundred men on foot. They caught the goblins, who were focused on Hogarth Hall, completely by surprise attacking them from behind.
Lord Prince Jayden quickly struck down two foes, and then stabbed a third who had turned to face him. A burly yorg charged him, thrusting his spear forward. Jayden blocked the spear with his shield and shoved his sword deep into the yorg’s fat green belly, where it became lodged.
Lord Prince Jayden pulled hard, but could not dislodge his weapon. At that moment, a warrior fell dead at his feet. He grabbed the dead man’s sword and removed the head of the goblin leader stuck at the end of his own sword. Then he continued towards the Bow of Togra which lay in the dust a quarter of a field away.
Lord Morris thundered by, winking at Jayden while he trampled two goblins that were running up behind the prince, only to have a goblin archer shoot his horse in the neck. The animal fell, throwing the lord into the dirt.
A captain, his name lost to Jayden, rushed past the prince and cut down a goblin archer, just before he took a spear through the stomach. The captain threw his sword at the yorg that had speared him, sending his blade through the creature’s chest, killing it. The captain then fell over, not moving.
Lord Prince Jayden killed another pair of goblins and rushed towards the Bow of Togra, which was now in the green hands of a puny goblin archer. The Skull Crusher was trying to string an arrow, but could not pull it back. Its skinny arms lacked the strength. Still, four goblins were between the prince and the magical bow.
Archers on the inner wall began to fire at the goblins near the prince, dropping all four of them. Lord Prince Jayden continued forward, just as Lord Morris struck down the goblin struggling with the Bow of Togra. Lord Morris grabbed the magical bow and slung it at Jayden, who caught the weapon!
The Skull Crushers began to flee from the area, apparently not liking the way that the battle was going. The men from his tower who were still alive, around twenty or so, began to rally around Lord Prince Jayden. He could not see any of his captains nor the other two lords. They must have fallen.
Lord Morris gave a loud battle cry and smiled at the young prince, obviously elated with their hard-fought victory. The man was covered in green goblin blood, and had three goblin arrows sticking out of his shield.
“Let’s make for the Hall of Hogarth!”, Lord Morris hollered, and then died. He had not seen the large brown dragon swooping in. Ladicrum dropped on the ground directly behind the lord and bit him in half, killing the man instantly.
The goblins saw the dragon land, so they regrouped and counter-attacked the remaining men. Lord Prince Jayden strung the mighty Bow of Togra, with some effort, and let one of his own arrows fly. The shaft buried itself deep into the underbelly of the beast, drawing blood.
Ladicrum the Brown let out an angry snort and charged the prince. The creature grabbed Jayden in one mighty claw, and then snatched another nearby warrior with his other claw.
The forty-foot dragon leapt skyward, hanging onto the two helpless men. When the brown dragon passed over the north side of the heavily damaged outer wall, he slung the warrior towards it, piercing the man on top of one of the few remaining pointed cedar logs.
Lord Prince Jayden could see the rest of his men down below, being killed by the goblins that now had them surrounded and outnumbered. The enemy looked like a sea of green surrounding the last remaining men inside of the Hogarth Hall stronghold.
Lord Prince Jayden strained to free himself, but the massive dragon’s grip was tight. He could feel the mighty Bow of Togra pinned against his side, even as he struggled to catch his breath. This is the end, he thought, while the dragon took him higher. I’m going to be dragon lunch.
The brown dragon continued north, flying over Frontier Pass. Ladicrum was going to make sure the nasty stinging bow did not fall back into the hands of men again.
Once he reached the bottom of the pass, the dragon circled about, and then tossed the young prince towards the rocky landscape below. While he fell, Jayden could see even more goblins, in several large formations, climbing up Frontier Pass towards his doomed kingdom. Then the ground came.
* * *
Dawn broke over Gilead, where Commander Teak Tumbler had been having a rough time. After the initial attack on the Stable Hall, it had taken over an hour for his head to stop bleeding.
Once his dwarves pulled the goblin dagger from his shoulder, he had discovered that he had lost the use of his right arm. The blade had probably caused nerve damage. No worries, he thought, I only needed one arm to swing a weapon.
The filthy goblin assault on the Stable Hall had been brutal. Commander Teak Tumbler only had nine dwarves left, and most of those were wounded. He had expected to be attacked again the following day, but the enemy hadn’t come. No matter, if it is today, then we are ready. Well, as ready as we can be.
The tubby dwarf leader looked about the stone room. The pens were empty, with the animals having long ago been hoisted up onto the walls, for the upcoming siege. There were still a couple of chickens in a crate, minus the one that they had eaten last night. No sense dying on an empty stomach.
Teak Tumbler knew that he would not be able to hold the Stable Hall against any large force of goblins. I only want to kill as many of the Black Eye enemy as we can before we surrendered the building.
He decided to make a stand right at the front entrance, hopefully managing to fool the goblins into thinking that they had a much larger force, if they could still defend the bottom floor.
The dwarves would fire crossbows at the first wave of attackers and then engage them with their axes. Hopefully, they could do a lot of damage at the narrow entrance to the building. Movement in the flickering torchlight caught his eye.
A goblin with dark rings around his eyes poked his head through the entrance. One of the dwarves shot him through the left eye with a crossbow bolt, dropping him. They can’t be coming yet, it’s still a good hour before sunrise, Teak Tumbler mused.
Several goblins rushed through the entrance, as if in answer to his question. The first four fell to crossbow fire, and then two more went down from dwarf axes.
A muscle strewn yorg rushed in, smashing one of the dwarves with a huge iron headed mallet. It had a wooden handle that was as long as the dwarf that it had just bashed.
The big yorg swung the mallet over its head in a large circle, pushing the defenders back, which allowed more goblins to scamper through the entrance way and attack the dwarves. The yorg brought the mallet down on the head of another unfortunate dwarf, killing him.
Commander Teak Tumbler took steady aim with his crossbow, holding it extended with his one good arm, and fired. The bolt struck the yorg right between the eyes. The creature stood for a moment, as if wondering what had happened, and then fell to the floor dead.
Commander Teak Tumbler and his last two warriors began to fall back towards the stone stairway. Goblins poured into the room, spreading out to the sides of the three remaining stable defenders. A goblin arrow dropped one of the dwarves.
Teak Tumbler slashed two of the goblins with the sharp axe that was now in his good hand. When they reached the stairway, the portly commander climbed up a few stairs to a waiting crossbow, while his last warrior put up a stout defense at the foot of the stairs.
Teak Tumbler heard the dwarf grunt, and then could see the shadows of the goblins dancing on the walls in the torchlight as they began to climb the spiral stairway. I have a little surprise waiting for you, he chuckled at the thought.
When the first goblin rounded the bend, the dwarf commander shot him with the weapon, causing the creature to burst into flames as he sprawled backwards down the steps.
“Get a taste of dwarf magic you filthy gobs!” Teak Tumbler shouted while he climbed a few more steps to the next bend and grabbed another crossbow.
The Black Eyes hesitated, which gave him a moment to rest. The goblins were wary of the dwarf and his fire bolts. Soon, one grew bold and began to creep up the stairs. A moment later, he was a flaming green corpse, rolling back down the stairway.
“Toasty enough for ya?” the dwarf commander shouted.
Teak Tumbler climbed a few more steps and grabbed the next crossbow. This continued to the top of the stairs, costing the Black Eye Tribe three more goblins. Once he reached the second floor, the portly dwarf grabbed one of the three crossbows he had placed there earlier, and sat down on the top step.
He dropped two goblins, one right after the other, when they rushed around the last bend in the stairway. They fell over face first, and slid back down the staircase, their burning flesh creating a stink that nearly caused the dwarf to vomit. He tossed the spent weapons aside. They are useless now. I can’t reload them with only one good arm.
“Hey gobs! Do you smell your roasting friends?” Teak Tumbler shouted down the stairs. “Come on! Come on! This barbecue has just started!”
Teak Tumbler sat on the top step with his last crossbow. At first, he could hear a yorg trying to get his subordinates to move, then it grew quiet. After about twenty minutes, the burning corpses flamed out, and the torch at the last bend was extinguished.
The commander sat in the darkness, straining to hear if the goblins were approaching, but he could not make out anything. Teak Tumbler decided to take a chance. He aimed his last fire bolt and shot it into the darkness directly in front of him.
A goblin, just three feet away, burst into flames. The creature turned and fled down the stairs while the fire consumed him. The chittering screeches ended abruptly when it finally died.
Five minutes passed before another goblin peeked around the corner, backlight by the still burning corpse of his comrade behind him. When nothing happened, it chittered at the Black Eyes behind him and a group of them began to climb towards the dwarf. Guess it’s time, he thought.
“Filthy gobs!” Teak Tumbler shouted and flung his large body at the mass of advancing attackers, swinging his hand axe back and forth.
Two goblins fell before the rest of them dragged the dwarf commander down the stairs and killed him. He had taken many of the enemy with him that day, before the Stable Hall had fallen to the Black Eye Tribe, just before the sun rose.
* * *
Later that evening, King Haven and his men entered a large hole in the rear of Barracks Two. They killed twenty goblins they found sleeping in the main room. Things were going better than he expected.
They had also killed eight to ten goblins sleeping around a small fire on their way over from the palace. Now, the large group of men moved further into the building, looking for any survivors from Lord Flint’s raid.
Haven had left Lords Zobo and Qan in charge of the palace forces on the roof. He left Zobo behind because of his obesity, and Qan because of his age. He had also left a new captain and twenty warriors on the first floor, just in case the goblins tried to enter during the night.
The brave king was not one to sit around and wait to be attacked, so he took two captains, including Weser, and nearly a hundred men with him. Haven knew the palace would most likely be smashed to the ground in the morning, so he decided on an offensive maneuver, to kill as many of the Bone Breakers as they could before the sun rose.
He really didn’t expect to find anyone still alive in Barracks Two, but thought it was as good as any place to start. When he did find Lord Flint, he wished he hadn’t.
The man was stuck to a post in the center of the main sleeping room, with a spear through his shoulder, pinning him to the timber. The room was the largest on the first floor, about two hundred feet in width and length.
There were lit oil lamps hanging on the four center columns, lighting the middle of the room, but not the far ends. Next to Flint was a burn barrel with glowing embers in it, as well as a couple of red-hot knives and pokers.
King Haven approached the center of the room, and was barely able to recognize the man as Lord Flint. He was dead, or worse. He had clearly been tortured, visible by the various patches of skin that had been burnt off him, and he had been cut in several places on his face and was missing his ears.
Still, that wasn’t the worst of it. Something had . . . sucked . . . the life out of him. He had been no more than thirty years-old, but his body was crumpled up and wrinkled, almost hollowed out like an empty husk of flesh.
King Haven shook his head, wondering what manner of beast could have done such a thing. Then the hair on the back of his neck stood up. They were not alone.
“Good. Now I don’t need to seek you out,” a low neutral voice sounded from the far dark end of the room, causing the king’s men to spread out on his sides and draw their weapons.
“I thought this city would crumble quickly after I killed that old fool King Wilsom. Then you, a scarred faced stable boy, came along and mounted a very respectable defense,” the neutral voice continued. “Now it’s over. Trader Town will be mine before noon today. I offer you one chance to surrender now with no conditions.”
“Show yourself so that I may know my enemy!” Haven responded, and after a short silence, continued, “Trader Town will not surrender as long as I am alive.”
“Then die,” the monotone voice never changed tone.
Arrows flew from the darkness, striking down two warriors who had jumped in front of the king to protect him. Goblins began to chitter and rushed forward into the light.
“Let them taste your steel!” King Haven shouted, and chopped off the head of a small goblin underling that ran up on him.
Captain Weser came up beside Haven and struck down another goblin. Swords clashed and men and beasts fell. In very little time, the remaining pocket of men were surrounded by a growing sea of green that blocked any routes of escape.
Men continued to fall, while King Haven and Captain Weser fought back-to-back, creating a pile of dead goblins at their feet. They could see the huge muscular yorg, with the red X carved into its chest, enter the lighted area flanked by two smaller yorgs. All three began slicing through men, advancing towards them.
The fierce trio reached their target quickly, killing the last warriors defending their king. The two smaller yorgs rushed at Haven, but Captain Weser jumped in front of him and cut the front yorg across the stomach. When it fell, King Haven finished it with a sword through the back.
The second yorg shoved his sword into the captain’s upper thigh. Weser responded by sending his blade clear through the yorg’s throat. Captain Weser did not see the oncoming black spear with the red tip, until it ripped through his chainmail and tore through his body, dropping him to his knees.
The captain looked at the yorg with the X cut and wondered how it could throw so hard. It was his last thought before he fell forward and crossed over into darkness.
King Haven raised his blue shield and stepped towards the muscular beast. The yorg with the red X stepped back, receding to the edge of the shadows, and was followed by the remaining goblins. A newer, dark form appeared in the light, followed by black fog swirling around his feet.
“I am Daggart the Dark. You should know the name of your killer,” the bald, ashen wizard said, matter-of-factly.
“You will find me to be a most difficult prey,” King Haven said, showing a bravery that he didn’t feel, as he stared at the man’s black eyes.
The black wizard merely gave a pale creepy smile and pointed his finger at the tall man, mumbling some unintelligible words. At first, nothing happened. Then a black, pencil thin beam, shot forth from the tip of his finger and headed straight for Haven.
The king instinctively ducked down behind his large blue shield. The thin black beam hit the red dragon emblem dead center, stopping at first, then created a small hole and passed through striking King Haven in the chest.
Haven took a step towards the wizard, not even realizing that he had dropped his sword and shield, when the black beam burnt through his armor and into his chest. He managed another step, when a tiny hole appeared that passed all the way through the stunned king and started to expand.
The hole grew from pencil size to fist size and then head size while it continued to enlarge. King Haven let out a gasp and forced another step towards the wizard, before his entire middle was gone, then his arms, followed by his legs, until finally his head began to disappear from chin to forehead.
In less than a minute, the tall, lanky king had completely disintegrated. The only thing that remained where he had been standing was a small pile of black dust.
Dawn came much too quickly for the remnants of men who still defended Trader Town. They knew that the palace was the only target left for the giants. It also had not escaped anyone’s attention that their king had failed to return.
“Look, there’re only sixteen giants coming. Two are missing,” the gray-haired Lord Qan said to Lord Zobo.
“Get to your ballista man!” Lord Zobo yelled, his double chin bouncing with each word. “The moat water has stopped swirling. The king is dead!”
The giants looked at the still water for a few moments, wondering if it was safe to cross. One of the smaller fifteen-foot giants, the only giant with a mohawk, cautiously stepped into the water.
The mohawk giant hesitantly walked across the moat with the water never reaching his chin. When he climbed out on the other side, a ballista arrow struck him in the left shoulder.
Boo gah drums began beating and several thousand Bone Breakers ran to the moat. They laid ladders across the now stagnant water and began to cross over it. The green army swarmed into the city, looking for any surviving men to kill.
The remaining giants abandoned their rocks and advanced across the moat, attacking the palace from all sides. They smashed the catapult and ballista first, killing both Lords Zobo and Qan, and then turned their mighty wooden clubs on the remaining roof defenders. They made short work of them.
A handful of archers escaped off the rooftop back into the palace, only to be confronted by several goblins who had overrun the warriors on the first floor. A brief melee ensued, and the last defenders fell to King Nalop and the Bone Breaker Tribe, just before noon.
It took the goblins the rest of the day to round up the surviving women and children, and after caging them, sent them north towards the mountains. Trader Town was the first kingdom of man to fall into enemy hands, but would not be the last.
By Douglas Goff
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Frontier Fortress was teetering on the brink of destruction. King Quaid ordered the last of his reserve archers and crossbowmen to the inner wall platforms.
He also sent the walking wounded, who could still shoot a weapon, onto the platforms. This gave him over a hundred men to hold those positions on the inner wall. He also had the sixty-two-year-old Lord Disroy, an extremely loyal and disciplined man, stationed with forty warriors in the inner courtyard. Finally, Lord Sibbs and twenty warriors were guarding the door into Hogarth Hall.
Quaid himself retreated into Hogarth Hall because the brown dragon had cut him deep. His personal healer could not get the bleeding to stop, and they were out of the healing waters from Timber Lake. They had used every last drop on the steady stream of wounded who had been coming in over the past few days.
Quaid ran his fingers over the large worn “H” carved into the backrest of the stone throne in front of him. I’ve spent my entire life protecting the first high king’s throne, he thought as he took a seat. Now it will be destroyed. At least my people had been evacuated.
His gaze turned to the words chiseled onto the large flat stone above the throne. All twenty-one names of the high kings of the Glen had been immortalized there. They represented over a thousand years of royalty.
The first four, Hogarth, Hodar, Haldrin, and Achrin had all been known as very strong leaders who increased the territory of the kingdom. They were all first born sons to their predecessor.
Then the line split, because Achrin had no son, so his cousin Nogdar became king upon his death. High King Nogdar was very weak, and almost lost the kingdom to the Bloody Thrasher Tribe.
Nogdar was followed by High King Slinn, who had led several successful campaigns into Timber Lake Mountains, against the seven tribes of goblins. During his seventh year as high king, he had been ambushed on the eastern trail that led up into the mountains and was slain by Skin Peelers.
He was succeeded by his six-year-old son, Barlow, who was the longest reigning high king. His time was mostly peaceful, and he died at a hundred and two years old.
Next came Carbin and Nellon, both decent men, but mediocre kings who fought several skirmishes with the dwarves and elves when the men pushed further south into their lands.
They were followed by the mighty High King Dwain, who had built the Two Towers and moved the capital there. He felt that it was safer to have the capital kingdom south of Hogarth Hills after a Skin Peeler and Black Eye army had pushed all the way to Kaylor before being driven off.
High King Dwain also negotiated the first framework of treaties with the elves and dwarves. Towards the end of his reign, he cleared the lands of dangerous creatures all the way to the South Seas, starting many villages, including Port Turin and Keyorlork.
Dwain was followed by Mosharth, Bellishob, and Nedyshob. There wasn’t much known history on these three high kings, so it was widely accepted that they didn’t accomplish much and probably benefitted greatly from High King Dwain’s aggressive policies leading to peace.
The next two high kings in the line were Marcos and Podrias, both great warriors. They implemented many laws, civilizing the kingdom, and made stronger treaties with the elves and dwarves. They were so widely respected that parents still named their children after them.
Teebow, a very religious man, reigned for the next eighty-three years. He was followed by his nephew, Sordium, who was easily the worst high king to rule the Glen.
High King Sordium implemented heavy taxes, and ran the Glen as somewhat of a tyrant. He was also known to dabble in magic and considered himself a wizard, which caused the citizens in the Glen to have a lot of resentment towards any magic-users, that carried on to this day.
Sordium also had the dubious distinction of being the only high king to have been assassinated, which occurred in his twelfth year of rule. Someone had poisoned him with the venom of a South Sea snake, and the mystery of who had done it had never been solved.
The next three high kings were Archie, Archibald, and Cobb. These three lazy men had long reigns, which allowed the uprising of the pirates in the South Seas to go unchecked. They seemed content to deal with the pirates in a defensive manner, only responding when seriously provoked.
High King Tronin, the last name escribed on the stone, had changed all that. He built Port Turin up from a small harbor village into a defensible fortress, where he gathered intelligence on the pirate leader and his lair.
Next, he spent seven years fighting the pirates and sinking their ships, wiping them from the South Seas. After the war, he moved the capital to Port Turin. The Glen had not seen leadership like that since the days of Dwain and Hogarth.
The wounded King Quaid looked about the hall, counting his men. There were Lords Kell and Seth, three captains, twenty archers, and a hundred warriors standing solemnly nearby.
They were known as the Royal Hall Guards, and were all dressed impeccably in long flowing green robes, with four-foot green shields. Each shield was a foot longer than the normal kingdom shield, and bore the “H” symbol of the Hogarth family, instead of the red dragon, just as they had in the days of the first high king.
The Royal Hall Guards were a very elite unit of fighters. They were all volunteers, diligently accepting the lifelong task of maintaining and defending Hogarth Hall.
None of them were married and they carried out their duties religiously, taking an oath to die for the hall if need be. On this day, they would fulfill their oaths.
The sounds of boo gah drums once again signaled that the Skull Crushers were on the move outside of Hogarth Hall. Several hundred archers had returned and were exchanging arrows with the men on the wall platforms.
At the same time, goblins were once again battering the main gate that led into the interior courtyard. The wooden doors wouldn’t hold much longer. Once they fell, nothing would stand between the green menace and the hallowed hall.
The missile fire battle raged on, killing about seventy men, and more than double that in goblins. Then the main gate came crashing down, sending the Skull Crushers pouring into the inner courtyard.
The Skull Crushers battled with Lord Disroy and his men. They killed another seventy goblins, fighting to the last man, but the superior numbers simply overwhelmed them and Lord Disroy fell to a vicious head-butt.
The archery war continued while the green menace in the inner courtyard turned their attention on Lord Sibbs and his squad. The men were positioned on the stone stairs that led to the iron doors into Hogarth Hall.
The hefty Sibbs and his twenty men made a valiant defense at the door, killing another sixty Skull Crushers before they were overwhelmed. Sibbs himself fell from a black and red arrow, fired from the yorg with the deadly black bow.
After that, several hefty goblin underlings, led by an even heftier yorg, brought the ramming timber to the iron doors and began pounding them. Initially, the hits left only small dents. Then the iron began to fold inward.
The archery battle outside came to an abrupt end, when Ladicrum the Brown flew in and launched his breath needles at the last main platform of men, clearing it.
The dragon followed up by clawing and chewing through the last few men on the inner wall. The brown dragon swung about, and came to a landing on top of the ancient hall, peering over the edge of the roof at the goblins assaulting the iron doors below.
The big iron doors gave way with a loud bang, and the first line of goblins fell at the hands of the Royal Hall Guard archers inside. A large horde of goblin archers engaged these men and quickly dispatched them, due to the range advantage of the human longbows being eliminated at this short of a distance.
A group of young muscle bound yorgs led the charge into Hogarth Hall. The remaining Royal Hall Guards were positioned in front of the throne platform with their swords drawn. The battle was brutal, covering the floor in a mosaic of red and green blood.
King Quaid watched his heavily outnumbered men push the goblins back three times, while falling one by one. One captain killed a yorg, only to fall to a head-butt from another. A second captain was cut down by goblin arrows. The third captain fell to a goblin axe.
Finally, the last handful of bloodied Royal Hall Guards fell back to the throne platform, fighting from the three large steps. They too, fell one by one. King Quaid very painfully strung an arrow on a longbow that he had picked up after losing the mighty Bow of Togra.
Four yorgs climbed the steps, with their goblin minions crowded close behind, advancing on the last two Royal Hall Guards, Lords Kell and Seth. The yorgs charged forward, shoving their spears into Lord Kell, killing him.
Lord Seth rushed towards the nearest yorg and chopped off its arm with his first blow. His follow-up swing slit the yorg’s throat. Lord Seth turned and shoved his sword through a second goblin leader’s belly, only to have a spear driven through his stomach by a different yorg.
Lord Seth shoved the limp yorg off his sword and swung his blade at the goblin leader that had speared him, removing his head. The grievously wounded Lord Seth staggered towards the fourth yorg, who was the mighty goblin leader with the black bow.
The bow yorg sent a black arrow with red feathers through Lord Seth’s chest. He let out a small sigh and fell to his knees, dying in that position. This brought out a low contented snarl from the big beast.
The big yorg strung another red and black arrow and climbed the throne platform steps towards the wounded king, when the creature noticed a black mist climbing up the stairs towards the throne and wrapping around its green feet.
The bow yorg snarled at King Quaid and turned away, walking back down the steps towards the growing shadows. The muscle-bound beast took one last look at the king and snorted at him, before taking up a guard position in the broken doorway.
Quaid was hoping to get a chance to kill the bow yorg that had killed his oldest son, but his attention shifted when a black shape passed up the stairs, forming into a short bald wizard in a black robe. His eyes were as black as midnight.
“Ah, the mighty hunter does not look so mighty.”, Daggart said, “Perhaps you are now the hunted?”
“Who are you that defiles the Hall of Hogarth?”, King Quaid asked, spitting up some blood, his undershirt soaked with even more blood from the dragon wound.
“I am Daggart, the new master of this hall.”, the dark wizard stated.
“Well then, I have a gift for you.”, King Quaid said and fired the arrow from the longbow straight at the wizard’s torso. The arrow passed clean through the magician, as if he were smoke. Daggart was unharmed by the direct hit.
“That may have worked, if you hadn’t allowed my dragon to take the Bow of Togra.”, Daggart made his creepy grin, “Your men are dead, your fortress is burnt. Your hallowed hall is defiled, and your son’s bodies are now feeding the crows, yet you are still defiant. I think it’s your turn to receive a gift.”
The dark wizard reached inside his robe and pulled out a black orb that was the size of his hand. Daggart casually tossed it at King Quaid. The explosion knocked both him and the stone thrown backwards, cracking off the top corner.
King Quaid rolled to his knees, and shaking his head, climbed to his feet. He pulled his sword from its sheath and rushed at the dark wizard. Each move causing the dragon wound to ache in excruciating pain.
Daggart the Dark waved his pale hand at the charging man and an invisible force sent him sprawling back onto the floor. King Quaid was slower to rise this time, and moved more cautiously towards the shadowy figure of the dark wizard.
Daggart waved his hand at the wounded king again, this time whispering some words in an unknown language. Quaid immediately froze in place, unable to move a muscle. The king struggled to release himself from the wizard’s dark spell, to no avail. He could only move his face.
“High King Tronin will kill you for this!”, Quaid spat out.
“I certainly hope that he tries harder than you did.” Daggart answered, “Or this whole endeavor might actually turn out to be quite a bore.”
“I swear under the sun of my ancestors that the Dragon Slayer will avenge me!”, Quaid promised.
“Take his head.”, the black wizard said to the shadows, in a calm voice, as if he had just asked for a meal.
The yorg that had retreated from the platform earlier, came back up the stairs, although now he carried a long axe instead of the black bow. The blade was jagged, but sharp.
The big yorg walked up to King Quaid, stopping merely inches from his face, and snorted. The creature had terrible breath. He knocked Quaid to his knees with a half strength head-butt.
The yorg brought the axe back and hesitated for a moment, hoping to enjoy some fear on the frozen king’s face. There was none. King Quaid merely winked at the muscular yorg and blew him a kiss.
The goblin leader growled and brought the cruel weapon down, biting into flesh and sending the man’s head bouncing to the floor, trailing the long brown-haired braid behind it. Quaid, King of the Frontier Fortress at Kaylor, was no more.
Several goblins up-righted the throne for King Gorpo of the Skull Crusher Tribe. The hideously fat goblin, with an incredibly broad forehead, climbed up the stairs onto the throne platform, and while steering well clear of the dark wizard, sat his grotesque butt upon the ancient great throne of Hogarth.
Daggart didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all. My throne is waiting for me in Port Turin.
| Author Notes | This is the first book in a five book series. Hope comes in the last few chapters of this book, in the form of a young boy prince. |
By Douglas Goff
Lord Fidium was deep in thought. His patrol had been moving north on Frontier Road for three hours and had not encountered any goblins. It had been over a week since King Darian had set up Tent City in Kokor Village, so the enemy should be near.
The squad leader rubbed his stubbled chin and then pulled some thickets from his flowing brown hair. They hadn’t been away from Kokor long, and already he felt sweaty and dirty.
Kokor Village had been a good choice for the mobile base camp. It was a small town with no more than twenty wooden structures in total. All of the villagers had been evacuated to Port Turin, leaving only an eerie silence behind, to greet King Darian and his men.
Kokor Village was about half a horse north of Keyorlock, which left about a horse and a half to patrol between Kokor Village and Hogarth Hills. Every day since setting up their tents in Kokor, the Yule Riders had patrolled north on Frontier Road, as well as in the fields to the east and west without encountering any goblins.
Maybe Frontier Fortress is holding the enemy back, Lord Fidium mused. Highly unlikely since several patrol leaders had seen large columns of smoke rising from the direction of Kaylor.
A slight movement by the west side of the road caught his attention. It was a goblin concealed in a nearby bush, stringing his bow. Superior eyesight was another gift from his mushroom experience during his Quest.
“Shields up!” Fidium ordered, and raised his, just as the sky became thick with goblin arrows when Flesh Eater archers sprung an ambush!
Thud! Lord Fidium’s brown shield reverberated with the strike of a goblin arrow. Several more followed and soon half a dozen arrows were protruding from his shield. The yule next to Lord Fidium reared up with two fresh arrows stuck in its side. The animal fell, throwing its rider to the ground.
“Charge into them!” Lord Fidium yelled, knowing that they would be picked off by such a large horde if they tried to withdraw.
Lord Fidium turned his yule and rode into the brush line that was concealing the goblin archers on the west side of Frontier Road. His yule immediately trampled one of the red pupiled goblins that was lying concealed in the low brush.
He swung his sword, slicing through two more goblins with one strike as he charged forward. He could no longer see any of his men, after entering the tall foliage, but could hear their mounts crashing through the brush around him, mixed in with the sounds of combat and the dying screams of goblins.
An enemy arrow whizzed by, narrowly missing Lord Fidium’s face, followed by a second that struck his yule in the side. He urged his mount forward towards the bush that was concealing his new attacker.
The small green goblin jumped up and charged at Lord Fidium, with a jagged dagger in its hand, only to fall beneath a mighty blow from the squad leader’s sword.
Lord Fidium heard a loud crash and then a yule rushed into view. It carried his flag bearer, a young warrior named Twider. He was the newest man to the squad.
“I think we are winning, but---”, Twider stopped in mid-sentence, when a large flat headed spear pierced his back and exited through the left side of his chest.
Twider looked down at the protruding spearhead, and then tried to grasp it from behind, where it had entered. A large yorg stood grinning with its red pupils glinting in the sunlight, just behind the young man, holding the far end of the weapon.
The goblin leader jerked the spear back out the way it had entered, pulling the wounded Twider from his yule. The young warrior screamed when he toppled to the ground, where he quickly became motionless.
Lord Fidium rushed at the yorg with his sword raised. A moment before he struck, an arrow whizzed by, striking the goblin leader through the left eye. The yorg staggered backwards, while clawing at the offending arrow, and then fell over. The beast let out a couple of heavy breaths before it became silent.
Lord Fidium turned to see one of his archers standing between two nearby trees. He was on foot with his yule lying dead behind him. Even with two goblin arrows stuck in his left shoulder, his aim had been true.
The sounds of battle died down and the surviving patrol members began to regroup on Frontier Road. About forty bodies of goblin archers from the Flesh Eater Tribe lay dead throughout the brush. Lord Fidium had lost four of his men.
A captain, an archer, and two of his warriors had fallen. Four more of his men had arrow wounds. Three yules had also died, with the rest having at least one arrow sticking out of them.
The patrol tended to their wounded men and animals, and then stacked the bodies of the Flesh Eaters into a large pile and burnt them. When the sun began to fall, the weary riders turned back towards Kokor Village, with four of their own now riding strapped across their saddles.
* * *
In an unknown location, Lord Caspiat stood outside the entrance to a cave. His attention was on nine wooden stakes sticking out of the ground, standing roughly six feet tall.
At the top of each stake was a goblin head, with each green face caught in its own frozen death pose. They were goblins from the Bone Breaker and Swamp Crawler Tribes.
Nailed lower down on the stakes was a large bear hide with words written in green goblin blood scrawled across it. The words were written in the goblin language saying: Warning! All goblins must leave their heads at the front entrance before entering the cave!
The slender black lord caught himself smiling at the crude joke. He looked towards the cave entrance when he heard the faint sound of laughter from somewhere within.
Now he was no longer smiling because he knew that the danger within was very real. That is why he had decided to personally deliver this message, rather than risk one of his men. He was certain that he was already being watched.
Lord Caspiat unbuckled his belt sheath and laid his weapon on the ground near the goblin heads. He had left his shield on his horse. He peered into the cave entrance and cautiously entered the black hole, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He immediately felt a cold blade on his neck, pressed firmly against his jugular vein.
“Walk slowly forward,” a voice whispered in his ear while the knife pressed even deeper.
Lord Caspiat did what he was told, walking slowly forward, yet feeling only the blade from behind him. He could now see a faint glow in front of him and then the passage opened up into a large cavern, dimly lit by a small campfire in the center of the room.
The smoke licked its way up the ceiling, where it snaked along several large boulders and disappeared into various cracks and crevices, apparently finding its way outside, following some unseen route.
There looked to be about seven people sitting around the fire, all of whom immediately stopped talking and grabbed their weapons, when Lord Caspiat appeared. The unseen figure from behind shoved the black man, sending him to his knees.
“How did you find our hideout?” asked a short black female, maybe in her mid-thirties, with scraggly short black curly hair.
She approached him with a dagger in her left hand. She wore the brown leather tunic common to thieves. It provided some protection while allowing maximum manual dexterity for climbing walls, picking locks, and slitting throats.
“My king told me where to find you,” Lord Caspiat answered, looking the female straight in the eye.
“Liar!” she shouted, then moving with surprising speed, punched him in the face with her right fist.
The blow knocked Caspiat back. He hadn’t expected such strength from so small a woman. When he looked up, he could see several others moving towards him from the shadows and realized that his count of seven was a severe underestimation.
“I am Lord Caspiat from Port Turin and have entered your domain unarmed,” the White Sash Brigade Commander said, with a trickle of blood running down his lip. “I have a message from my king for your leader.”
“Unarmed? Into a lair of thieves and murderers? That was your mistake,” the scraggly haired female swung at him again.
This time Lord Caspiat caught her fist in his hand with a loud smacking sound. He twisted her around, knocked the dagger from her left hand, and shoved her away. Instantly, a boot kicked him hard in the back, knocking him face fist into the dirt.
“Enough!” the voice was deep and firm, with an air of command. “That’s no way to treat High King Tronin’s personal messenger.”
Lord Caspiat got back up to his knees, and watched the new speaker approach, noting that the strong voice did not match the slender body.
“I’m Bullseye the Bow Slinger,” the man spoke through a red mask, and in fact, wore all red from boots to baggy tunic and hood. “I hope this message from your master is worth the life you forfeited the moment you entered our cave uninvited.”
“I serve my king and my life is his to do with as he pleases,” Lord Caspiat replied, meaning his words.
“Good work Twoober. You can go back to guard duty now,” Bullseye ordered, the red mask covering his entire face, except for his eyes, which were barely visible through slits.
Lord Caspiat thought he should stand, but was unsure if the man behind him had left, because he had heard nothing. He glanced at Bullseye, thinking that he didn’t want that blade back on his throat.
“Give me your message,” Bullseye said in his deep strong voice.
Lord Caspiat rose, and after brushing the dirt from his clothes, pulled a sealed scroll from beneath his chainmail. He walked over to Bullseye, realizing that the man was a full foot shorter than he was, yet the leader of the thieves stood his ground, showing no fear.
“From High King Tronin’s hand to your hand, Bullseye the Bow Slinger,” Lord Caspiat said, handing the scroll to the bandit leader.
Bullseye broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. He took a moment to read it, then turned his attention back to Caspiat.
“Your answers to my next couple of questions will decide your fate,” Bullseye the Bow Slinger said. “So, answer truthfully.”
“I always do,” Lord Caspiat replied firmly.
“First, how did High King Tronin know about this location? This hideout is held in extreme secrecy amongst our kind,” Bullseye asked.
“High King Tronin knows many things, including information that he gives no explanation for.” Lord Caspiat paused, choosing his next words carefully, “I am his most trusted guard and even I do not know how he gets his information. Some say he’s a wizard, while others say he’s psychic. I do not know for sure, but I’ve never known him to be wrong.”
The uninformative answer seemed to unsettle the leader of the thieves, who thought for a moment before asking, “Is the goblin threat as great as this letter states?”
“I didn’t read the message, as it was not meant for my eyes, but we believe that Frontier Fortress and Trader Town have already fallen, as well as Tuggle, city of the apes. Gilead crumbles as we speak. The seven tribes are sparing no one as they advance south,” the royal messenger answered.
“How long until the goblins reach Port Turin?” Bullseye asked another question, the conversation causing more of the bandits to gather.
“No more than a couple of weeks, maybe sooner,” Lord Caspiat stated.
Bullseye the Bow Slinger turned away from Lord Caspiat and began to pace. He then looked about the room at his band of thieves. Lord Caspiat could see over forty of them now.
“We have a decision to make,” Bullseye’s voice boomed across the cave. “The seven tribes have invaded the Glen and are making war on all who live here. The high king has offered us amnesty for all the crimes that we have committed. In order to receive this amnesty, we have to go to Port Turin and help defend the city.”
“Nonsense!” the scraggly haired black girl spat out. “I’m wanted for three murders. More likely our necks will meet a noose than find amnesty, if we set foot in the capital kingdom.”
“King Tronin’s word is more solid than gold!” Lord Caspiat interjected. “That’s known throughout the lands.”
“It’s true Icky,” Bullseye said to the woman. “I met Tronin a long time ago. He’s a man of his word, no question about that. The real question is, do we want to fight for those who have been hunting us all these long months?”
“I too am a murderer several times over,” a bearded burly man spoke. “Amnesty sounds real good from where I’m standing.”
“Aye!” some of the others agreed.
“But we live good here!” Icky shouted, her dirty curls bouncing as she yelled. “We take what we want, eat what we want, and live how we want. Are you willing to give all that up?”
“No!” most of the bandits agreed.
“Listen to me!” Bullseye’s firm voice interrupted the argument. “Our way of life here is over, no matter what we choose. We lost four to the Bone Breakers yesterday and six to the Swamp Crawlers a few days before. They’re coming. It’s no longer safe here.”
“You are our leader,” the bearded murderer spoke, leaning on the handle of a wood cutting axe. “What do you want to do Bullseye?”
The bandit leader placed his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side, taking a minute to think before he spoke, “I can not be your leader here Jorgon. Everyone must make their own decision. I don’t relish the idea of dying alone here in this cave, so I for one, will go to Port Turin and rejoin the world of men, aligning my fate with theirs.
Regardless of our moral differences, our fellow humans need us, and we share a common enemy. The scroll said that I could retain leadership of this group, so all who’re with me will fight under my command in the capital city. Decide!”
“To Port Turin!” the thieves began shouting in unison, all wanting to follow their leader.
“Well Lord Caspiat, I guess your fate will be met on another day, for we’ll be following you to Port Turin.” Bullseye the Bow Slinger laughed. “Help yourself to some of the high king’s best meat that we borrowed. It’s cooking on the fire. Then get some rest, for tomorrow we ride for Port Turin!”
By Douglas Goff
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Two days had passed, with only minor exchanges of arrows and bolts marking the days at Gilead. The Black Eyes seemed content to fortify the hard-fought buildings that they had captured and to tend to their wounded. On the third day, Ephraim the Black returned.
The dragon had grown bored and decided to get the battle between the green men and the half men going again. He swooped in fast, landing on the roof of the Ballista Tower located on the corner of the south wall. The dragon landed in the center of several dwarves, sending them scattering while he clawed through them.
The ballista crew that was positioned there, attempted to swing their weapon about, but they were too slow for the speedy beast. Ephraim was on them quick, smashing the big gun to pieces. Then he turned on the ballista crew and gobbled them up.
Slippery Tog, the tower commander, bravely led several warriors against the black dragon. The black beast swept most of them from the tower with his massive tail. Slippery Tog managed to get in close and cut the dragon’s underbelly.
Slippery Tog’s sword, having been forged with dwarf magic, penetrated the dragon’s scales and cut deep into the creature’s flesh. Ephraim turned on the dwarf commander, biting down and swallowing him whole.
This sent the few remaining dwarven defenders scurrying for cover into the two stairways that led down into the storage chambers inside of the tower. Now they were trapped inside.
Nearly forty crossbow warriors stationed on the nearby wall fled west, attempting to escape to the Command Tower. Ephraim let them go, and busied himself snapping his teeth at any dwarves that poked their heads out of the stairwells.
Ephraim scored a few lucky hits, resulting in the dragon pulling a screaming dwarf from one of the openings and gobbling him down. The black dragon was enjoying the game, and only stopped a couple of times to spew his acid down onto the south wall.
It didn’t take long for the expanding pools of steaming black acid to eat all the way around the Ballista Tower, completely separating it from both the south and east walls.
King Sturdy Axe watched Ephraim the Black settle in on his newly captured tower perch. The dwarf king stared at the strong, sleek, sinewy creature for a long time.
The dragon had been wounded several times, but hardly looked bothered. I have to find a way to destroy that black menace before it devours my entire kingdom, but how?
* * *
Meanwhile, on Frontier Road, Lord Winston was not happy. He felt that the Yule Riders should never have retreated from the Upper Glen. Goblins are no match for us mounted warriors. We could have stopped the enemy in the Upper Glen!
The seven tribes never would have reached any of the kingdoms of men, if we had been reinforced in the Upper Glen, by warriors from the Lower Glen. Lord Winston’s yule let out an uneasy snort, pulling him from his thoughts.
He reached down and patted the animal’s thick neck. Lord Winston was a small man in stature, and the animal seemed huge to him, yet he stroked its neck lovingly. He had a strong bond with his mount and could not imagine riding another.
Lord Winston looked towards the young warrior in front of the patrol. He had halted them, just after the road started to bend into a wooded area, and appeared to be staring intently ahead.
Lord Winston ordered his four archers to hold back while he led his captain and five warriors to the man. He soon saw what the man was staring at. Lying in the middle of Frontier Road, about fifty feet away, was a skinny goblin.
The creature bore the tattooed markings of the Bloody Thrasher Tribe on its forehead, just below its bright red mohawk. The green creature was rolling around in circles and was waving its arms, all the while moaning.
Lord Winston was not sure what to make of it, when several of the yules snorted. The goblin looked towards the mounted men and stood up. The goblin blew a “raspberry” at them and ran into the nearby woods.
Boo gah drums began beating from everywhere, sounding so close that Winston could feel their vibrations. The goblin had distracted them from seeing the numerous Bloody Thrashers that were now chittering, and rushing headlong at them, thrusting their spears forward.
Lord Winston’s captain fell immediately, with two spears shoved through his stomach. He also saw the young warrior who had been in the front fall with his yule, but wasn’t sure where he had been hit.
Lord Winston blocked several spear thrusts with his sword, and then cut down the two nearest goblins, while urging his yule forward to trample a third. A spear pierced his mount in the side.
The small lord swung his sword at the offending goblin, slashing its throat. The bleeding goblin took two steps backwards and fell over dead. Still, the enemy kept coming.
An arrow flew past Lord Winston’s head, striking a charging goblin in the forehead, sending it rolling off the road into the brush. Several more arrows flew past, with many finding goblin flesh. Lord Winston’s archers had joined the fray.
A very tall yorg ran from the woods, with three human heads bouncing on its belt. The horrible creature was swinging a large menacing spiked metal ball on the end of a chain.
The spiked ball whirled through the air over the yorg’s mohawk covered head and came crashing down on the skull of Lord Winston’s yule. The animal fell over dead, throwing the patrol leader into the dirt on Frontier Road, which knocked the wind out of him.
Two goblins rushed at the toppled lord, but were plowed over by a warrior charging by on his yule. They were trampled beneath the claws of the rampaging mount, which swung back around.
He was the only man still alive near Lord Winston, although he still had his four mounted archers firing from up the road. The tall goblin leader growled in anger at the mounted warrior, and swung the spiked ball hard, tearing flesh off the side of the man’s yule.
The spiked metal ball came around again and caved in the yule’s head, which sent it and the rider crashing to the ground. Several goblin underlings rushed at the dazed warrior and speared him.
Lord Winston, now back on his feet, sliced through the middle of the nearest goblin, causing it to spin around and fall. Winston quickly parried a spear thrust and stabbed the new attacker through the chest.
The tall yorg let out a howl and ran towards Lord Winston, swinging the deadly spiked ball. The creature bore down on the lord, when two arrows struck it in the left chest, followed by a third in the right side of its chest.
A fourth arrow hit the goblin leader in the throat, knocking it to its knees. The squad leader swung hard, removing the kneeling yorg’s head. Lord Winston’s archers had saved him.
A dozen goblin underlings, that had been racing towards the small lord, saw their own leader fall. They turned back, fleeing into the woods on the west side of the road. Soon, the chittering Bloody Thrashers disappeared from sight.
Lord Winston turned and gave his archers a thumbs up, happy that they had won! He did not see the wounded goblin on the ground in front of him grab a nearby spear and thrust it up. Lord Winston had thought that the creature was dead, which was a costly mistake.
The green foe sent the spear through the surprised man’s abdomen. He brought his own weapon down, chopping the goblin’s head in half, right along its mohawk line.
Lord Winston staggered backwards, looking down at the spear stuck in his belly. This isn’t good, he thought, falling to the ground. “A goblin killed me?” he said with disbelief.
The four remaining archers rode over to their fallen leader, but he was already dead. They sadly gathered the bodies of their eight dead companions and tied them over the supply yules.
Next, they piled over eighty Bloody Thrasher bodies onto Frontier Road and set them on fire. The gruesome task only fueled their anger at the loss of their leader and friends. This wasn’t over.
The archers tied the supply yules to some trees and set out after the group of goblins that had fled, intending to let none live. The green ambushers had over an hour head start on the riders, and it took the archers nearly four hours of following their tracks west to catch up to them.
The twelve surviving Bloody Thrashers, who apparently felt that they had travelled far enough away to be safe, stopped and made a campfire. They were wrong. When the archers spotted the fire, they dismounted and headed to a nearby hilltop.
Their arrows did not stop flying until their vengeance was spent and all twelve goblins were dead. The men finished the task by burning the enemy bodies in their own campfire.
The archers retraced their route, returning to their fallen companions. They would ride hard this night to get back to the base camp at Kokor Village. The only hint of their sorrow was the dark silence that accompanied them on the long journey.
* * *
Back at Kokor Village, Lord Fidium rode by his best friend Lord Duve, and asked, “Are you heading out?”
“Yes. Probably stay out for three or four days, unless we have trouble,” the man replied, cocking his large floppy hat towards Lord Fidium, causing the big yellow feather on top of it to point towards the sky.
"Good luck my friend,” Lord Fidium said, clasping Lord Duve by the wrist, “Watch yourself, it’s starting to get a bit more dangerous in the Lower Glen. I lost four men on my last patrol.”
Lord Duve gave his friend a wink and rode off. Fidium continued to watch the man in the purple fitted jacket, with the floppy feathered hat, until his patrol rode out of site.
The odd man had returned from his quest with a bear’s head, earning him much respect amongst his peers. Fidium and Duve got along very well, probably because they were the two most eccentric men amongst the Yule Riders.
The two were outsiders, Lord Fidium because of his strange Quest, and Lord Duve because of his eccentric style and dress. The fact that they both had unique Quests only added fuel to their loose bonds with the others.
The patrols sent out towards Hogarth Hills were now running into goblin hordes nearly every outing and Lord Fidium hoped that he would see his friend again. Speaking of danger, he had business to deal with.
Lord Fidium made his way to the Kokor Village Command Center, which was actually a small wooden house near the center of town. When Lord Fidium entered, King Darian looked up from a scroll that he was reading and gave him a warm smile. The king was very fond of Fidium.
Lord Prince Nehi stood at his father’s right-hand side. The prince nodded at Lord Fidium when he entered the room. To the left of the king was a man that Lord Fidium did not recognize.
The stranger wore a white sash around his waist, designating him as one of the personal messengers and guards of the high king. The man looked dirty and tired.
“Lord Fidium, it’s good to see you my old friend,” King Darian said and grasped his wrist. “Blessings on you and your house.”
“And on you and yours,” Lord Fidium gave the customary response, surprised by the formal greeting, which brought him to the realization that this was no strategy meeting, but something more important.
“Good then, we’re all here, so let’s get started,” King Darian began. “I’ve received orders from High King Tronin. He has requested that I send my two most trustworthy and capable lords on a special mission. I have chosen the two of you.”
Lord Fidium felt an immediate sense of extreme pride. It was a great honor for him to hear his king’s words. He looked at Lord Prince Nehi, wondering if the young man was feeling the same emotions, but could only see a hint of disappointment on his face.
“You’re ordered to leave for Port Turin tonight, with this White Sash Brigade messenger,” the king stated. “You must make haste. Leave as soon as this messenger can get a warm meal in his belly.”
“What is this all about father?” Lord Prince Nehi questioned, some distress in his voice. “I want to stay here and fight the goblin menace by your side.”
“Son, I know that you are eager to fight, but you must abide me in this,” King Darian answered, knowing that his boy thought that he was sending him away to protect him. “I don’t know anything about your mission, only that it’s extremely important, so much so, that no details were provided in this scroll in case it fell into the hands of the enemy.”
“Of course, father,” Nehi replied, unconvinced.
The prince wanted to kill goblins. He and his squad had found eight Skull Crushers that morning, while returning from patrol, but his archers had slain them all before he had been able to use his sword. It was so unfair!
The entire war is going to be over before I can even get a kill! Nehi had been so angry with his squad, that he did not speak during the entire two-hour ride back to Kokor Village.
“You may take your squads with you, but only nine men each.” King Darian sighed, not wanting to lose any more fighters, because his forces were already stretched thin and were getting thinner by the day. “Any questions?”
“No questions father. I’ll go and choose the best in my squad,” Lord Prince Nehi replied, and after hugging his father, turned to High King Tronin’s messenger and said, “My men and I will meet you here in one hour.”
“I do have a request my king,” Lord Fidium said after the prince left. “I’d like to take Raider Togris with me, along with some of his warriors. I get along well enough with them, and that way you can use my men to reinforce your squads that have had high casualties.”
“Excellent Fidium! That will help me out immensely!” King Darian beamed. “You have my permission to take them, if they agree to go.”
Lord Fidium turned to leave, feeling extremely proud that his king thought so highly of him. No matter what lay ahead, he knew one thing. He would not let King Darian down.
By Douglas Goff
Ephraim the Black scored a direct hit. The acid took several minutes to burn through the stone archway above the Main Gate at Gilead. Once it hit the mighty iron doors, the main gateway into Gilead Castle melted away fairly quickly.
The goblins didn’t wait long to utilize the new opening, and at noon, around a hundred Black Eye archers rushed in and engaged the crossbow dwarves on the roofs of the three main halls.
Following them came three groups of goblins carrying large logs that they used to bash in the doors leading into the same three halls. Not one of the doors withstood more than two hits.
The battle between the goblin archers and the crossbow dwarves on the rooftops were intense, with high casualties on both sides. When it looked like the goblins were gaining the upper hand, Commander Iron Fist ordered his crossbow dwarves to engage from the northwest corner of his wall.
The height advantage quickly led to the last fifty goblin archers falling at the cost of about fifteen of Iron Fist’s dwarves. His quick thinking spared the dwarves on the rooftops of the halls, for now.
The Black Eyes used the distraction to send a hundred warriors into each hall, and soon the sounds of battle could be heard in all three buildings. The battles for Bronze, Silver, and Gold Helm Halls lasted for over an hour.
The fight in Bronze Helm Hall ended first with a big victory. Commander Dirty Dog had prepared a surprise for any would be attackers. Earlier in the day, he had his dwarves pour oil all over the floor on the first level, and then torched it once the goblins had entered.
The enemy burnt up quickly, with only a handful of them making it to the stairway, where they managed to kill a couple of dwarves before they were slain. None escaped, and smoke billowed from every window.
The dwarven defenders were forced to seek refuge on the roof for several hours. Now, the usually dirty and disheveled Dirty Dog was also covered with smudges of oil.
The battle for Golden Helm Hall did not go nearly as well. Commander Crusty Mug and his warriors tried to hold the enemy back at the front door. He and his dwarves fought bravely, but were overwhelmed by superior numbers.
Commander Crusty Mug and all of his warriors died on the first floor.
The remaining forty-five Black Eyes charged up the stairs, only to encounter the crossbow dwarves. They held the goblins back, utilizing a fighting withdraw towards the rooftop.
One line would fire, and then quickly fall back behind the next line of dwarves, who would then fire. By the time the crossbow dwarves reached the roof, only six goblins remained. They charged onto the roof with their yorg and were quickly shot down by the nearly seventy crossbow dwarves that could still fight.
The situation at Silver Helm Hall was the most desperate. Commander Broken Shield had been killed by an errant goblin arrow, through the eye, when he foolishly passed by an open window. He had died before the Black Eyes even made entry into his hall.
When the goblins attacked inside, the situation deteriorated rapidly. There was no organization to the defense, with some dwarves making a stand on the first floor, while others stayed on the stairway. Even more retreated to the roof.
The goblins overran the first floor fast and rushed towards the stairway. The attack turned into a search and destroy mission, with the enemy going from room to room on each floor, eliminating various pockets of resistance. The only thing that saved the hall was the crossbow dwarves on the roof.
They stood at the top of the stairway and shot anything green that poked its head out. Finally, the goblin leader peeked around the corner and took a bolt to the forehead. The battle had ended, with just under fifty dwarves left to defend Silver Helm Hall.
King Tubby did not attempt another attack that day. He did not know the dire situation of the dwarves in two of the halls, and was more concerned about having lost three hundred of his underlings in the fight.
The goblin king decided to wait until tomorrow, and then they would attack one hall at a time, with a large force. They would hit one building until they captured it, then move on. The only question was, which hall?
King Sturdy Axe had watched the goblin attacks from his Command Tower. He was very pleased that Commander Iron Fist had taken the initiative to finish off the first wave of attacking goblin archers, and was even more pleased that the black dragon had only made one attack before retreating to its captured tower perch.
King Sturdy Axe received damage reports from his flag dwarves, who had received signals from the rooftops of the three halls. Although all three buildings still remained under dwarf control, the loss of two of his three hall commanders meant that their ownership would probably change quickly.
* * *
Clonal Mistletoe was from the Tree of Narn. He was a handsome, middle-aged elf, with sharp distinguished features. He had just been promoted to clonal a week ago.
The title was coined from the respect the elves had for their elder trees, and in elvish, meant very wise, strong, and sturdy tree. It was awarded for ability and didn’t have much to do with an individual’s age. The rank was similar to that of a dwarven commander or human lord.
Clonal Mistletoe was kneeling on one knee, staring intently at Esha Road, looking for any sign of the horde that they had been tracking. The elf pulled his green tunic tight around himself, feeling the first signs of cold that was heralding in the new season.
His warriors stood a few feet back, knowing that their leader was the best tracker in the group. Several of them wore healing leaves over fresh wounds, but none of them were too seriously hurt.
The squad had left the Tree of Narn three days prior. The Tree of Narn was the primary kingdom of elves, with the Eastern Tree Village and the Mount Esha Village being the secondary elven kingdoms.
The Tree of Narn was on the west side of the Glen while the other two elf villages were on the east side of the peninsula. King Willow was using magic to transport his patrols from the Tree of Narn to the Eastern Tree Village, so they could help patrol Esha Road.
Once Mistletoe’s squad had reached the road of men, they had begun to trail it north, traveling the wood line just to the east of the thoroughfare. After only an hour, they had run into a horde of thirty-two Swamp Crawlers and their yorg leader.
The blotchy skinned goblins had also been traveling in the woods to the east and were also focused on Esha Road as they came south, so both groups were completely surprised when they ran into each other.
A bloody battle ensued at the edge of the road, resulting in the destruction of the Swamp Crawlers. Clonal Mistletoe was still mad at himself for not having spotted the goblins first, because he had suffered heavy casualties, losing half of the squad.
Twelve warriors and four archers had fallen, leaving Clonal Mistletoe feeling guilty over their loss and wanting revenge. He was a new leader, and until that battle, had never lost anyone under his command.
Now they were tracking a larger horde of goblins, and this time, he had every intention of surprising them. He glanced down Esha Road, when his superior elf ears picked up some sounds in the distance. It was the distinct and familiar sound of steel on steel. Combat!
“Our brethren are fighting down the road, follow me!” Clonal Mistletoe ordered and quickly sprinted off.
Elves were quite spry, and the quickest of the races in the Glen, so they closed the distance fast and entered into a grizzly scene. They saw Clonal Silverbell, whose squad had left the Tree of Narn a couple of days before Mistletoe’s, lying on the ground with a squat, ugly yorg standing over him.
The fair-haired young elf, known to be a true beauty even amongst the handsome people of his race, was obviously dead. This did not stop the yorg from sinking its large rusty axe into Silverbell’s bloodied body, over and over, until it was no more than segmented pieces.
The ugly goblin leader howled with glee while it mutilated the dead elf leader. Several more elf bodies littered the ground nearby, while others were still fighting a superior number of big Bone Breaker goblins.
The rest of Silverbell’s squad would be wiped out if Mistletoe didn’t act now. He strung an arrow and sent it whizzing towards the yorg. The goblin leader never knew what hit him.
The elf leader’s arrow drilled the creature in the ear, dropping him immediately. The archers in Clonal Mistletoe’s squad were just as deadly, killing six more goblins within seconds. His warriors rushed in and engaged the remaining startled and confused enemy.
It didn’t take long for the elves to get the upper hand, and after a few fleeing goblins were shot down, the battle was over. Nine of Clonal Silverbell’s elves died with him, leaving another nine alive. They quickly agreed to join Clonal Mistletoe’s squad.
The young, handsome elf leader wearily ran his slender fingers through his long blond hair. So much death. Clonal Silverbell was very popular amongst the Tree of Narn elves and would be a huge blow to his people’s morale. He himself felt sick to his stomach over the loss.
The road was much thicker with goblin hordes than Clonal Mistletoe had expected, and he found himself wondering if the patrols of men were fairing any better on the other two roads leading south from the Hills of Hogarth.
It seems that the enemy has the alliance of elves, men, and dwarves outnumbered. The killing is going to go on for a long time. No matter, we have work to do.
After placing the healing leaves over their new wounds, the elves gathered their dead companions and buried each one at the base of different trees, marking them in elvish with the name of the fallen, as was their custom. In this way, their life force would return to the beloved forest.
Next, the elves stacked the thirty-nine dead Bone Breakers into a large pile, and set them on fire. The smell of burning goblin flesh permeated the evening air. The odor was overwhelming, so they quickly left.
By Douglas Goff
By Douglas Goff
The next morning in Port Turin, High King Tronin sat at the head of the table in his War Room, located on a corner of the top floor of his palace. A chilly breeze blew through the two large open windows, giving him a good view of the South Sea, as well as a large portion of Port Turin which spread out below.
At the far end of the large wooden table sat Lord Fidium, Lord Prince Nehi, and Captain Prince Classius. The high king had not spoken since the men had entered the room a few minutes ago, as he was busy reviewing and marking on three maps that he held in his hands. The three men said nothing, maintaining the nervous silence that hung in the air.
“The three of you have been summoned here for a very important mission,” High King Tronin said, after another anxious five minutes had passed. “In fact, the fate of the entire Glen may very well rest in the hands of one of you.”
High King Tronin allowed the statement to sink in, and then continued, “Goblins will surround these very walls within two weeks, maybe less. With them comes dragons and giants. We cannot look to our elven or dwarven brothers for help as they are hard put to defend their own kingdoms. So where should we look for aid in our most desperate hour? I know where. North!”
“North?” the three men gasped, looking at High King Tronin, intensely curious now.
“A white kingdom lies far to the north, over several mountains,” the high king said, while he spread one of the maps out on the table before them, causing them to quickly gather around. “You’ll travel through the Lower Glen, over Hogarth Hills, past the Upper Glen, and up into Timber Lake Mountains. Once there, you must pass over seven major peaked ridges, and then down into the fields below. You’ll know that you’re in the right place when you see the things that men plant. That is the edge of the white kingdom.”
“How do we know that they will render us aid?” Lord Fidium asked.
“That hardly seems likely father,” Captain Prince Classius added, skeptically.
“We can’t be sure,” High King Tronin answered. “But they are our relatives. Our scribes and wise men have dug deep into the archives in the basement library. They discovered that King Hogarth had ventured south with his brother Hogram. Before they entered onto the Timber Lake Mountain range, an argument ensued. Hogram wanted to settle the lands north of the mountains. He felt that the soil was good, and the land was plentiful. Hogarth wanted to continue further south.”
“So, the brothers split up?” Lord Prince Nehi guessed.
“Exactly,” King Tronin said. “Hogarth crossed the mountains and established the Glen while his brother Hogram stayed north. I believe that the men in the white kingdom are the descendants of Hogram, because they bear the same symbol as Hogarth.”
The three men did not bother to ask how their king knew that, respecting his secrets, but believing his words completely.
“Your map doesn’t show which of the three main trails to take into Timber Lake Mountains,” Classius observed. “How do we know which one to follow?”
“That’s why there is three of us here,” Lord Fidium answered for the high king. “We’re each going to take a trail, so as to cover all options.”
“Correct, Lord Fidium.” The high king smiled at the man’s post-Quest intelligence. “One of you will head for the Eastern Rim, one of you for the Central Rim, and one for the Western Rim. You will seek out Hogram’s descendants and act on my behalf as my emissaries.”
“Father, this journey’ll take many days, and even if they do agree to aid us, it’ll take several more days to return with an army,” Captain Prince Classius stated, scratching his head. “Will you be able to hold out that long?”
“I’ll not lie to you men, the situation is grim,” High King Tronin said. “You must travel with the utmost haste, avoiding all delays, including friend or foe. We’ll hold out as long as possible, and even though the armies of Daggart the Dark heavily outnumbers us, there will be no surrender. As far as the white kingdom helping us, you must convince them. Perhaps these will help?”
High King Tronin pulled three rings from his pocket. Each bore the great “H” seal of King Hogarth. He laid one in front of each man.
“Is there anything else that we should know my king?” Lord Fidium asked.
“No, except that I’d expect all three of the main trails up into the mountains to be guarded by the minions of Daggart. Be cautious, because he controls things far more dangerous than goblins,” the high king said grimly, then continued, “The fate of the Glen has fallen upon your shoulders. Know that, before you pick up the ring of Hogarth and accept this mission.”
Lord Fidium quickly snatched up one of the rings and said, “I’m honored to go. I have Raider Togris and his apes with me. We’ll take the Western Rim trail, because I have experience in that area from my Quest. We’ll ride as soon as we’ve collected supplies, and I’ve acquired a horse.”
Lord Prince Nehi thought for a moment. He did not wish to avoid the enemy. He wanted to fight, but how could he possibly decline the high king? It was too great an honor to be chosen, besides, his father would be greatly disappointed if he declined.
“I accept,” he said, and picked up one of the rings. “My men and I will take the Eastern Rim.”
“I also accept father,” Captain Prince Classius stated, picking up the last ring, before continuing, “I was to take my Quest next month anyways, but this wasn’t quite the way I had planned it.”
Tronin looked into his middle son’s deep blue eyes. He wasn’t as muscular as Ryker, nor as tall, and wore his straight black hair just above his shoulders. He looked fairly average, but had a quick capable mind and was very creative.
“That leaves the center path for you my son,” Tronin said. “But you can’t go alone, so you may take any nine men from Port Turin.”
“Hmmmm.” The prince thought for a moment, then said, “I do not wish to take warriors that you’ll need. I’ll only take my best friend, Sir Red, from your men. I know where I can find some more help.”
“Very well then,” Tronin said. “I’ve a map for each of you. Let your men study it until each of them have it memorized, then destroy it. That way, if any of you fall, your men’ll be able to continue on. Burn the maps before you leave Port Turin, and don’t let your men know about the other two squads, in case they’re captured. We don’t want Daggart the Dark to learn of your mission. And Classius, I would like to speak with you alone.”
Classius waited for Nehi and Fidium to leave, and then approached his father, waiting for him to speak.
“Take this,” his father said, handing him a sword in a sheath that was covered in dwarvish writing. “It’s one of the enchanted blades brought to us by our allies, the mountain dwarves. I’m sure that it’ll earn a name during your travels.”
“Thank you, father. I hope I can do the same,” Classius answered.
“Son, I’m aware of your bad feelings towards your older brother Ryker,” Tronin said, staring into his boy’s eyes. “Your jealousy.”
“I’m not . . .” Classius began stammering, then stopped, realizing his father always knew everything, so finished with, “Yes.”
“It’s understandable with his many skills and talents as a warrior, and he will be high king one day when my reign is over.” Tronin smiled warmly. “But you have talents also.”
“Such as?” Classius wondered aloud.
“Such as your ability to find solutions. To overcome obstacles. To look at situations from angles that most people do not. You’re a problem solver,” Tronin answered. “That’s why I chose you for this extremely important mission and not your brother. I needed to choose one of my sons for this endeavor, to show the others how important this is. Ryker hits things head on with brute force, and would probably fail here, where I’ve every confidence that you’ll succeed.”
“Thank you, father,” Classius replied, surprised at his father’s praise. “I shall not fail you.”
“I know that you won’t, and don’t be so hard on your brother. You must find a way to overcome the jealousy,” Tronin continued. “When Ryker is high king, he’ll need a man with your talents at his side. You too will be a king of the Glen, but also a hero, after completing this mission and saving the Glen. No one’ll be able to take that away from you, and the people will always remember what you did.”
“I’ll help him in any way that I can father, out of respect for you,” Classius answered, meaning it.
Tronin leaned in close and placed a kiss on each of Classius’ cheeks. He pulled his boy in tight and hugged him in a very uncharacteristic way, as he was not known to show much affection.
“Return to me, my boy,” Tronin the Dragon Slayer said, and after wiping a tear from his eye, left the room.
* * *
Four yule riders thundered south on Frontier Road, pushing their mounts to their limits. After another three fields distance, they came to a halt. Surely, they had outrun their pursuers.
Lord Harth looked over at the arrow protruding from his right shoulder. He was known to be the strong silent type, but the wound really hurt. The blood stain on his chainmail was steadily expanding out from the wound.
One of his warriors sat on a yule beside him, barely conscious with an arrow through a lung and a second stuck in his wrist. One of the two riders just behind them was an archer that had not been hit, although his yule looked like a pin cushion with various goblin arrows buried in its side.
The fourth man was one of Lord Harth’s captains. No arrows were visible, but his left leg was covered in red blood. The ambush had been brutal, killing the rest of the squad and their supply yules.
They’d been on patrol for just an hour when a large horde of Bone Breaker archers had surprised them. Lord Harth figured that the enemy had numbered over a hundred, most of whom had been firing down on Frontier Road from up in the trees.
The initial volley had killed Harth’s second-in command, Lord Jeber, as well as a captain and his other archer. The squad immediately fought their way through a group of goblin archers that had tried to block their escape.
After trampling them with their yules, the squad fled back south into a second ambush. That one killed a couple more of his warriors, and another captain, and had earned them their wounds while escaping the trap.
Lord Harth’s thoughts were interrupted by a small “crack” on the west side of the road, sounding like a stick snapping in two. He was about to order his men to ride when a goblin arrow pierced his right knee, pinning him to his mount. A second arrow tore into his left arm, causing him to drop his shield.
“Ride!” he screamed at his remaining men.
The captain and archer fled south, but the warrior did not move, because he had passed out in his saddle. A goblin arrow quickly brough him down, sending his yule crashing riderless through the nearby brush.
Lord Harth charged into the goblin archers that were forming a line in the bushes on the west side of Frontier Road, hoping to buy his last two men some time to escape.
He trampled through their ranks, killing several with his mount and sword, before an arrow struck him in the throat. Lord Harth fell from his saddle, painfully ripping his knee free, while he thrust his sword through the tattooed forehead of the nearest goblin.
The strike caused such pain from his shoulder wound that he lost grip of his weapon and fell onto his back. Lord Harth pulled a dagger from his boot and gutted another goblin that got too close.
The remaining Bone Breakers surrounded the wounded lord, taking careful aim. While the goblin arrows tore through his flesh, Lord Harth hoped that his men had gotten away. That was his last thought before he descended into the darkness.
The remaining two men from Harth’s patrol raced down Frontier Road, followed by the howling goblins. They could hear the sounds of their pursuers giving chase through the forests on both sides of the road, but with the help of their yules, they managed to stay ahead of the enemy.
Finally, the lights of Kokor Village glimmered into view and the goblins broke off the chase. The captain, a sturdy man named Heart, and the archer rode into the quiet streets of Kokor and safety. The goblins faded back into the darkness. They were not ready to attack here, at least not yet.
* * *
“Thunk”, the familiar launch of the Gilead catapult sounded in King Sturdy Axe’s ears. His crew was launching rocks at the Black Eye forces who were once again charging towards the gap where the Main Gate once stood.
A hundred of the three hundred attackers never made it into Gilead, their bodies left broken in the high grass just outside the kingdom. The two hundred that did survive, attacked Golden Helm Hall, where the dwarven defenders were anxiously waiting.
The seventy or so remaining crossbow dwarves were lined up along the edge of the rooftop facing the gap at the Main Gate hole. When the goblin archers came through, the dwarves unleashed a blistering fire upon them.
The survivors returned fire at the dwarves, while a hundred goblin warriors raced past and entered Golden Helm Hall. The second of the great halls was now in danger of falling.
A handful of surviving dwarf warriors from the courtyard patrol, not too wounded to fight, made a stand against the goblins at the entry way. They gave the green enemy a good fight, buying enough time for the crossbow dwarves on the roof to reposition themselves on the stairway.
The Black Eyes fought their way upstairs, losing warriors to the initial shots, but then overwhelming the dwarves before they could reload their crossbows. Many goblins fell, before the last of them reached the roof to face the remaining thirty defenders, who already had various wounds.
The defenders on the roof fought valiantly, to the last dwarf. Once they were all slain, Golden Helm Hall was in the hands of the Black Eye Tribe. It was costly for the enemy, with only seventy of the original three hundred attackers surviving.
King Sturdy Axe had watched the engagement with dismay. His halls were falling much quicker than he had anticipated. He could only hope that Commander Dirty Dog would have better luck holding Bronze Helm Hall.
The dwarf king busied himself by watching the black dragon spitting more acid on the gap in the ever-shrinking South Wall. The beast seemed content having spent another day extending the solitude of its perch.
That evening, just before the sun fell, the Black Eyes marched another five hundred warriors near the Main Gate gap. The dwarves were not sure if the enemy was planning a rare night attack.
In actuality, King Tubby feared the dwarves in Bronze Helm Hall, after having all of his warriors burnt up in the first attack attempt. He wanted to make no mistakes with his preparations for the upcoming attack tomorrow morning.
King Tubby had assumed that he could spare his goblins the catapult barrage if he positioned them just outside the gap in the dark. Then they could go in fast and hit the hall at full strength.
Luckily, the fat goblin king did not understand catapult technology and did not know that the position was preset on the war machine. The dwarves could zero it in on the attackers’ position, simply by swinging the weapon to a preset notch.
King Sturdy Axe waited until the goblins had settled in for the night, hoping that most of them were asleep, and then unleashed a mighty barrage. The goblins were caught by surprise and confusion quickly ensued in the darkness.
The catapult crew dropped rock after rock onto the enemy, knowing that they were on target by the shrill screams of the wounded and dying. Soon they ran out of rocks.
The dwarves began to sling anything that they could find, such as concrete blocks, wooden furniture, and even empty wooden supply barrels which had been filled with dirt days before. Hundreds of the green filth died that night.
The terrified goblins ran in all directions, chittering and howling in their native tongue. Their bodies littered the field just outside the gap, while all of the creatures that survived fled in terror. The catapult finally fell silent, with the crew completely spent from the exertion.
The victory was short lived, as a frightening sound echoed in the night. It was a mighty roar from the black dragon. The angry sound sent shivers of fear through all who could hear it.
The beast was angry about the catapult attack, not because it had ended so many of the green men, but because dragons did not like to be woken up. The beast stomped about, bashing its tail against the tower while roaring, yet it did not leave its perch.
King Sturdy Axe ordered extra torches lit on the walls. Dragon lore told that the beasts could see at night, and although dwarves had excellent vision at night, the king figured that the fires may mess up the creature’s own night vision if it attacked.
The king also ordered his warriors to bang their weapons against their shields every time the dragon roared. This caused the agitated winged devil to stomp about and roar even more.
King Sturdy Axe hoped that the noise and light would keep the black dragon at bay until daylight, when they could fight it better. What he could not have possibly known was that black dragons, unlike the browns, could hardly see at all at night and Ephraim was only growing more and more angry.
Nobody got much sleep at Castle Gilead that night, due to a serious lack of knowledge of the enemy. They did manage to anger the monster. The furious dragon would come in the daylight and with it would come death.
* * *
A plume of smoke rose high into the sky above Frontier Road. A fat, particularly bloated yorg, and a few of his minions were burning in a large fire. They were the last of a Skull Crusher horde that had been tracking Lord Bruce’s patrol.
Throughout the day, goblin archers had harassed the patrol, attacking the men in groups of two or three. Several of Lord Bruce’s archers and yules had been wounded and one man had fallen.
The patrol had killed goblin after goblin, until finally the fat yorg had attacked with his few remaining troops. Lord Bruce stared at the burning goblin leader, glad that they had finally rid themselves of the pesky horde.
"Fifty-three total sir,” Lord Capri, his second-in-command, gave him the tally.
“Excellent!” Lord Bruce answered, tearing his gaze away from the bubbling flesh of the yorg. “Although we lost one, this is a great victory. As soon as we have tended to the wounded, we’ll make for Kokor.”
“What the . . .?” Lord Capri gasped, looking at a large black shadow that was passing over the ground and heading straight for them.
Lord Bruce, who had also seen it, looked to the sky. Fear immediately gripped the muscular man. He was staring at a shiny black winged creature. It was a black dragon!
The twenty-five-foot youngling, known as Nephrum the Black by his own kind, swept in on the two lords and unleased a blast of black steaming acid directly upon them.
The acid devastated their brown shields and armor quickly, then ate into flesh, melting the men and their yules into a pile of unrecognizable goo, until even that too disappeared.
The nine archers immediately began firing at the winged beast while the mounted captain drew his sword and waited for an opportunity to charge at the dragon. The men would attempt to make a stand against the black monster that had just slaughtered their leaders.
Nephrum snaked his forked tongue out over the thin lips surrounding his sharp toothy maw. The sun reflected brightly off his mirror-like shiny black scales. Black dragon scales didn’t turn the murky dull black color of Ephraim until they were much older.
Nephrum the youngling would make easy work gobbling up these puny manlings and then would steal their meal of roasted green men. He snorted contently. Finally, his belly would be full.
After that, he would make for the stronghold of the half manlings who lived on the water. The dark wizard wanted him to melt their stone buildings and fill his belly with their small bodies. But first, he had work to do. The dragon dove in spraying forth its deadly acid again.
By Douglas Goff
A hand snaked out of a dark corner, grabbing Captain Prince Classius on the shoulder. It was a skinny hand with long fingers. An elf hand! Classius jumped when a slender, middle-aged elf stepped from the shadows. He wore the shoulder length blond hair of the Eastern Tree Village.
“I am called Cedar,” the elf introduced himself in a firm confident voice, while he eyed Classius up and down.
“What do you want?” Classius stammered, less confidently.
He knew full well who the elf was. He was the one who had come in alone the day before, from Esha Road. It was rumored that his entire squad had been killed by a horde of Swamp Crawlers and he was the lone survivor.
“I know of your quest. I know where you’re going and what you’re seeking,” Cedar said matter-of-factly. “I wish to accompany you, should you have me.”
“How do you know?” Captain Prince Classius asked, genuinely confused. “And why would I take a stranger?”
“One can keep a secret. Two gossip. People are whispering. Squads are gathering heavy supplies. You’re heading north. Way north.” The elf winked at him, as if enjoying the forbidden knowledge.
“Elves don’t wander too far from their home trees,” Classius retorted, realizing that he needed to expedite his departure before the rumors spread further.
“I’m not like most of my kind, who fear leaving their trees, and cringe at the mere thought of travel,” Cedar explained, somewhat disdainfully. “I’m somewhat of an outcast with my people as I have the wanderlust to see new places. My people call elves like me rogue.”
“Rogue?” Classius repeated, not having heard the term before.
“Yes, meaning free from the tree bond. I’m much like men in that respect,” Cedar laughed. “I’ve travelled far and alone on several occasions. Past Timber Lake.”
“Are you saying that you have seen the white kingdom that I seek?” Classius asked suspiciously, but was actually interested now. ”Because no one in the Glen has ever heard of such a place.”
“No. I’ve never gone that far, but I can get you safely past Timber Lake,” the elf answered.
“Many men Quest to the lake. It’s quite large and would be hard to miss. I think we can find it,” Classius stated and turned to leave the elf.
“I didn’t say to the lake, I said past it,” Cedar continued with a mischievous smirk. “I found a goblin village on the lake shore. They use small wooden boats, no more than rafts really, to catch fish. I’ve used their rafts to cross the lake a couple of times. I could take you to them, unless you already have a plan to cross the big deep lake?”
Captain Prince Classius thought for a moment, not really trusting this odd elf, but seeing the value of such a huge time saver to have a guide. Besides, he didn’t have any kind of a plan for anything, and this odd rogue elf would probably fit right in with the group that he was planning on taking up into the mountains.
“Okay you may come.” Classius decided. “Meet me at the Livestock Gate at sunset. We ride at night because unfriendly eyes watch the city. Make sure that you have a horse and as many provisions as you can carry. If you aren’t there, we’ll leave without you.”
“I’ll be there with my horse and supplies. Thank you, prince,” Cedar said happily.
“Livestock Gate when the sun falls,” Classius reiterated, and headed for the jail. He still had much to do, and his father had given him one final duty as Jail Captain.
Captain Prince Classius entered the jail with the seven guards that were assigned there. He had all of the prisoners, from petty thieves to murderers, brought to the common room. The group of prisoners numbered seventeen, and they had never been all together at the same time before.
“Listen to me,” Captain Prince Classius began speaking. “You’ve probably heard that the seven tribes of goblins have invaded our lands. We’re in dire times, and I’m here to offer you a deal.”
Several of the prisoners laughed, while others grumbled, until Borgu said, “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
“I’ve been authorized to offer pardons to any prisoners that volunteer to help defend Port Turin. Full pardons for all past crimes,” Classius announced.
“And if we don’t wish to fight for you?” a scraggly older man named Galgord hollered from the back of the room.
“Then you’ll be escorted to the Main Gate and given a weapon and some supplies,” Classius answered. “You may go where you will. If you survive the ravaging hordes of goblins and find yourselves alive at the end of the war, you’ll still be held responsible for your crimes, should we meet again.”
“I, for one, will not fight alongside my jailers,” a chunky blond woman named Helga scowled. She was known for her quick temper and was currently in the jailhouse for beating a shopkeeper unconscious.
“I’d defend you, handsome,” the cute Kara snickered.
“Get a room at the inn,” the gruff Helga scoffed at Kara’s remark.
“It must be bad if you need our help,” Galgord, an experienced thief who had killed three men when a caravan robbery went bad, mused as he scratched his shaggy dirty hair. “It’s a tempting offer, prince, but I shan’t die inside these city walls.”
“Each one of you must decide for yourselves. Time is short,” Classius advised.
The prisoners began to chatter amongst themselves, trying to decide which option was better. There was quite a bit of arguing and bickering until Helga decked one of the men and a fight had to be broken up.
In the end, Galgord, Helga, and five of the more hardened criminals decided to leave the city. Classius ordered his seven guards to escort them to the Main Gate.
The group of vagabonds planned to find a place to hole up until the war ended, thinking it would be a safer option. They were wrong. A few days later they would be found by a patrol, tortured and hanging dead from trees near a cave that they had tried to hide in.
“Borgu, I have a different offer for you,” Classius said after he had managed to get the big black man aside from the remaining nine prisoners. “I’m leaving the kingdom on a special mission. I’m going far to the north and there’ll be much danger. I’m hoping you’ll accompany me on this journey.”
“My young prince.” Borgu ran his big hand over his bald black head before continuing, “I wonder why you would trust someone such as me? In the past we were enemies.”
“You speak of the past my friend,” Classius said, grinning. “I’m speaking of the future. You complete this mission and I give you my word you’ll be a lord, with full honors, in my kingdom. Few men get a second chance in life. That is what I am offering you.”
Borgu grinned his large toothy smile, and answered, “You’ll not be disappointed. I shall accompany you to the white kingdom.”
“Wait . . . what?” The prince shook his head at how fast and far word had travelled about his upcoming journey. “How did you know . . . oh never . . .”
“What about me?” the interrupting voice was that of a female.
“What about you Kara?” Classius asked.
The pretty thief stepped forward, and having eavesdropped their entire conversation, began to speak, “I don’t like either option you’ve given the others, so I too accept your offer of a quest.”
“It was not made to you.” Prince Classius sighed, exasperated by her boldness. “Besides, where we plan to travel is no place for a woman.”
“The cute female’s wild blue eyes flashed with anger. “No place for a woman? I’m quite sure that I can take care of myself and would be of great use to you.”
“This is not a debate,” Classius said. “You are . . .”
Kara held up two daggers, stopping the prince in mid-sentence. They were the ivory daggers from his belt that his father had given him when he had turned eighteen. The spry thief spun about, launching both daggers!
The blades flew through the air, straight at a tall skinny prisoner who was leaning against a nearby wall. The two knives sunk deep into the wooden wall, one on each side of the man’s neck, pinning him there. If they had stuck any closer to him, he would be bleeding. The man’s eyes darted back and forth, wide with fear.
Classius’ mouth hung open, so Borgu spoke, “Now that could come in handy!”
“Okay, you’ve proved your point,” the prince found his voice, yet he was still staring at the pinned man. “You can come, but if you double cross me, I’ll have Borgu here run you through with a spear.”
“Fair enough,” Kara said, smiling her cutest smile at the prince, and then added, “So I guess I better return this to you before we go?”
Kara held out a money pouch that Classius recognized as his own. He quickly snatched the bag from the pretty thief’s slender hand as Borgu let out a belly laugh.
“How did you get that from under . . . oh never mind. Let’s go find you two a couple of horses . . . that we plan to pay for,” Classius warned while retrieving his daggers and found his mind wandering. What have I gotten myself into, and more importantly, why am I so bothered by that female thief?
The jailhouse guards returned from the Main Gate and took the remaining eight former prisoners to their new assignment at Tower Eleven. Captain Prince Classius hung the now empty jailhouse keys on the hook near the front gate and led his two new recruits toward the stables. My life is changing a lot faster than I expected, the young prince thought.
His odd little group had grown to five. The strong former pirate Spear Master Borgu, the cute but feisty master thief Kara, the odd rogue elf Cedar, his best and most trusted friend Sir Red, and the inexperienced untested jailhouse prince. How in the world can we possibly pull this off?
* * *
With the yellow sun, came the very angry black dragon. The beast had once again been healed by the black magician and was battle ready. Ephraim made one circle, high above the Command Tower, and then dove straight for the catapult. The dragon let loose a large blast of acid across the entire top of the tower.
King Sturdy Axe, his flag bearers, and the catapult just below them on the south wall took a direct hit. The dwarf king saw the black death rain coming down and dove under the small wooden table that he had just been eating his breakfast on.
He could see his four flag signalers disintegrate before his eyes, even as the black acid burned through his table and began to drip onto his chainmail and beard, with a loud hissing sound.
The king pulled the small dragon scale shield from his back and blocked as much of the black liquid as he could. The table he was under burst into flames, while the acid puddles bubbled towards him along the stone floor.
King Sturdy Axe jumped up, knocking the burning table over, and ran through the puddles of acid that were now eating through the stone floor around him.
He made it to the stairway and threw himself down them, tumbling head over heels, while his long bushy beard sizzled. The Command Tower was only one story high, and a dwarf story at that, so he rolled out onto the south wall fairly quickly.
The dwarf king looked up to see the nearby catapult smoking. He hated to see that the acid had hit it, not wanting to lose a weapon that had killed so many goblins. Perhaps I’m about to meet the same fate, he thought, when he started to feel his chest burn.
Several dwarf warriors, and a recently promoted commander named Hard Dock, rushed up and grabbed their king. They ran for the big tower to the west, where the ballista had just fired at the black dragon and missed.
Ephraim swung about and dove on the group of dwarves helping their king. Commander Hard Dock turned and threw a large hammer at the attacking dragon. It bounced off the beast’s chest, apparently doing little damage, because the flying beast still swooped in
The black dragon grabbed Commander Hard Dock in his clawed hands and flew off. The dragon unceremoniously bit off the struggling Hard Dock’s head and dropped the decapitated body into the courtyard below.
King Sturdy Axe let out a scream when they entered the tower on the west corner of the wall. The acid was eating into his chest. Two warriors managed to pull the melting chainmail from their king, while a third pulled off his boots, which were smoking from when he had run through the acid puddles.
There was a large burnt patch on his tunic, which they also removed. The king’s chest had some black and red burns, where the acid had reached his flesh, causing the old dwarf king a lot of pain. His feet also started to burn while his socks dissolved.
Ehpraim circled the entire kingdom, and after hearing the dwarf king scream, flew off. He thought that his acid would surely finish off the leader of the half manlings, not realizing that the dwarf chainmail had protected his victim, somewhat.
The armor had been forged with dwarf magic and may have saved King Sturdy Axe. It was in the hands of the healers now, who were busily scurrying around their wounded leader.
| Author Notes | Only three chapters left in the first book of this series. I know it needs work, so I appreciate you all hanging in and providing great edits!!! |
By Douglas Goff
King Darian's squad rode into Kokor Village around noon the following day, along with Tucs' ape raiders. They were tired and dirty after completing a three-day patrol on Frontier Road, yet they were in high spirits.
They had ambushed a large group of Bloody Thrashers that had been feasting on scavenged goats, killing about forty of them. The apes had hit the goblins from the east side of the road, while the men had attacked from the west side.
During the ensuing melee, King Darian had lost two warriors and the apes had lost one. Out of respect for their fallen comrades, his men would build their funeral pyres before doing anything else. King Darian made his way to the Command Center.
It was eerie walking through the empty village. He couldn't help but remember the bustling streets from better days. He could almost smell the aromas of the street side cafes, which is what Kokor Village had been known for. Many of his men would travel here from the Upper Glen, while on break, to stay and enjoy the delicious foods. He had done it many times himself, long ago.
King Darian caught sight of Lord Biv's patrol heading out. The ten men looked excited to be back in their saddles and Lord Gondor, who was in the rear of the column, gave the king a wink as he passed by.
King Darian knew the cycle well. After a few days in the camp the men would become restless and want to go back out, and after the men were out for a few days they would become tired and want to come back in.
King Darian entered the Command Center and saw Captain Elliot standing over a map. The man was always looking for a combat advantage. He would make an excellent lord, but had shown little to no interest in making a Quest.
Captain Elliot's patrol had ridden in on the day King Darian's patrol had rode out. Captain Elliot's second-in-command, a good man named Captain Andrew, had returned strapped to his saddle after falling to a head-butt.
Andrew had been a very capable apprentice to Elliot and was a big loss, even for the twenty-seven Skull Crushers they had slain. They were now losing men with nearly every patrol that went out.
"Sire, it is good to see your well," Captain Elliot stated, pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up.
"Thanks, it is good to be well," King Darian said with a grin. "Who came in while we were out?"
"Well, the day after you went out, Lord Brickor's squad returned. They had a successful patrol, having killed eight Flesh Eaters and didn't lose anybody," Captain Elliot reported. "The following day, Lord Draydon's squad returned. They killed forty-six Skull Crushers at the cost of three warriors."
"That's a large horde." King Darian frowned.
"It would appear the enemy is pushing further south, with most of our patrols only making it out about a day or two before they are attacked, but it would seem we are holding our own and causing heavy damage," Elliot advised. "Maybe we are finally starting to stem the mighty green tide."
"Good. My patrol took out a decent sized horde of Bloody Thrashers and we also lost three." King Darian, rubbed his beard before continuing, "What about Lord Tobias' squad? Weren't they due back yesterday?"
"Yes sir. They came in last night," Captain Elliot answered, wondering how his king could keep track of who was due when, even while he had been out on his own patrol. "They killed another forty Bone Breakers. One of his captains fell, although I do not know which one. I think they also lost a couple of yules."
"Are we running low on mounts?" King Darian yawned.
"No, the riderless ones seem to find their way back to us. They wander in daily. We will run out men before we run out of yules."
"Okay, I am going to get some sleep. Wake me if anyone comes in," King Darian requested, as he headed for a doorway covered by a tattered saddle blanket at the back of the room.
He knew the lumpy cot hidden behind the saddle blanket all too well. He was just tired enough to be eager to lay down on the uncomfortable bed. King Darian was asleep a moment after his head hit the dusty pillow.
* * *
Two horses north, Lord Duve and his men sat laughing around a campfire. He had allowed the fire, but only after they had travelled half a horse from the goblin infested Frontier Road. The squad had passed through several large farm fields, now dormant with the oncoming cold and the departure of the field workers. They made camp in a small oak grove. Their yules were just out of sight, grazing on the edge of the field.
His second-in-command, Lord Pedigrass, was recounting the tale of the morning's battle. Pedigrass was an animated man, which made him a great storyteller, and he was telling this one with great excitement!
They had been ambushed by a large horde of goblins from the Skull Crusher Tribe. There had been intense confusion for several moments while the battle raged on. By the time it was all over, there were forty-one dead goblins. Lord Duve had lost a yule and two warriors. Despite the losses, it was a great victory. Still, the green enemy kept coming, with seemingly endless numbers.
The sun would be going down soon, so Duve threw another log on the fire and lay down on his bedroll, carefully setting his floppy purple hat nearby. He felt safe because his men would be standing guard in shifts throughout the night.
Goblins don't like to fight in the dark, but they seem to be learning. Frontier Road will be loaded with goblin ambushes tonight. We will head back to Kokor Village tomorrow morning, he thought, as sleep approached.
My squad has been out for three days, and it will be nice to sleep in a real bed again, even a lumpy dust filled Kokor bed. Soon the eccentric squad leader was in a deep slumber.
Lord Duve was awakened by a horrendous sound. It took him a moment or two to realize it was their yules. They were screaming, or something very similar. It was a horrible sound, the sound of death.
Lord Duve grabbed his hat and sprung to his feet, along with the rest of his squad. The two men who were on guard duty were heading for the mounts, hoping to save them, even though the yules had already grown silent.
"Hold!" Lord Duve ordered. "Gather your weapons and make a circle around the fire. Our foe isn't goblins. Something worse."
"Worse things than goblins?" Tooke, the newest lord in the group gulped.
"He's right, goblins wouldn't be concerned with our mounts," Pedigrass agreed.
The men gathered around the fire, listening for any danger approaching from out in the deep darkness of night. They didn't have to wait long. A low, surreal moan, sounded from the edge of the oak grove.
"What under the sun of my ancestors was that?" Lord Pedigrass asked, and was immediately answered by several more of the eerie moans, coming from every direction.
Then they could see . . . something. Shapes and forms coming through the trees towards them. It looked like men, yet they were moving in an odd, slow fashion, almost shambling towards them.
A chill ran down Lord Duve's spine when the creatures came into view, illuminated by the glow of the fire. They were men. Dead men! Their flesh was rotting and falling from their bones.
There were no eyes in their eye sockets, only an eerie yellow light coming from within. They were zombies, the walking dead, created by a very dark magic indeed.
"Strike them down! Send them back to the black pit from whence they came!" Lord Duve shouted while he chopped off the arm of the nearest zombie, although it continued to advance with the nearly forty undead now surrounded his men.
Lord Duve's archer fired arrow after arrow into the monstrosities coming towards him. The impact of the arrows slowed them, but soon the zombies were upon him, pulling him to the ground where they began to eat him.
Lords Pedigrass and Tooke ran over and chopped the creatures off the archer, but it was too late. The unfortunate man was dead. The two lords turned to face more zombies, and did not see the fallen archer rise to his feet behind them, his eyes now hollow and glowing yellow.
The dead archer grabbed Lord Tooke and bit deep into his neck, causing blood to spray forth. Lord Duve chopped the archer down and then tried to help Lord Tooke, but it was again too late. Duve swiftly removed the bit man's head and limbs.
The zombies were slow, but hard to kill. It took several blows to keep them down. Lord Duve chopped into one eight times before it finally dropped to the ground, where it lay twitching until the yellow glow faded from its eye sockets.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the remaining zombies turned and shambled off, moaning into the darkness. Five of them lay motionless on the ground, with the yellow light having left their hollowed eyes.
The zombies disappeared into the darkness, except for one that had lost its head during the battle. It kept walking into a large oak tree, over and over again. Lord Duve grabbed a spear that was stuck in the ground near the fire.
He threw it at the headless creature, striking it in the back and pinning it to the oak tree. The pinned zombie began twitching, which lasted for a couple of moments, then it became still. Lord Duve looked about, surveying the damage.
They numbered only five now. Lord Pedigrass, a captain, two warriors, and himself. They had suffered heavily, then he heard another sound. It was not over. There was no doubt about the new sound he could hear approaching from the gloomy darkness. Bones!
Creaking and cracking announced the arrival of a new threat that appeared out of the darkness. There was no mistaking these attackers for men, although they had once been. Row after row of skeletons, carrying rusty swords, came into the firelight.
They were moving towards the five men, surrounded by the same eerie glow that had been coming from the zombie's eyes. It was the same foul magic that had re-animated these poor souls.
"Get in a circle, backs to the fire!" Lord Duve commanded.
He swung his sword through two of the advancing skeletons, smashing them into a pile of bones, only to be replaced by four more. He kept swinging, dropping attacker after attacker.
Within minutes, he had smashed so many skeletons that his arm grew tired.
The skeletons were much quicker than the zombies, but could be destroyed much easier, usually crumbling from a single blow. Still, the skeletons kept coming, until the only thing Duve could see was a sea of white bones.
Duve was not sure where his men were or how they were faring. He just kept swinging his sword over and over, switching hands to rest an arm when he needed to. A skeleton managed to slice his hand and another knifed his thigh. Finally, without warning, the remaining skeletons turned and retreated into the darkness.
Lord Duve saw Lord Pedigrass laying on a nearby pile of bones, with several rusty blades sticking out of his chest. He was clearly dead, and with a sickening feeling, Lord Duve realized that he was the only one still alive.
He did not have time to mourn, because something caught his eye, causing him to raise his sword. An image of pure beauty was approaching him from the darkness.
A female, bathed in yellow light, was gliding across the clearing towards him. She had long flowing hair and a warm inviting smile, yet she looked sad somehow. She came to within two feet from him and opened her arms to embrace him.
Lord Duve could not take his eyes off the woman. She wore very revealing, primitive clothing, that showed much of her very supple feminine body. She seemed so warm and inviting. He could not break his gaze with her and felt his sword slip from his hand as she leaned in to kiss him.
Lord Duve felt a sharp chill enter his body. It turned into the coldest cold he had ever felt. It was the cold of death. He had not seen the male apparition, his beauty and appearance matching that of his female counterpart, glide up behind him. The male creature passed through Lord Duve's body.
Lord Duve's terrified screams melted into the darkness. When the male creature passed through Duve, it drained him of all life, withering him into a crumpled pile of wrinkled skin without bones.
His corpse looked as if all the liquid had been sucked from his body. His floppy purple hat with yellow feather still sat atop his head, although it now covered half of his withered face.
A couple of the warriors who had been bitten earlier, started to twitch and groan. Where eyes had once been, a yellow glow now resided. They rose to their feet, now part of the living dead.
A black robed figure walked into the clearing. The figure removed his hood, revealing the pale bald head of Daggart the Dark, his black eyes reflecting the moonlight.
The zombies busied themselves stacking the men killed by the skeletons into a pile around Lord Duve. Daggart walked up to the horrendous pile of death and began to chant a very old and very dark spell. He was replacing the losses to his army of the dead.
By Douglas Goff
Commander Dirty Dog pulled the goblin arrow from his left arm. It hurt terribly, and blood began to flow freely towards his hand, where it eventually began to drip onto the rooftop floor of Bronze Helm Hall.
The dwarf busied himself wiping blood from his short sword, only this blood was green. The dwarven commander could feel a sharp sting in his back and realized he had another arrow sticking out of his chainmail there.
He reached around, and yanked the foul goblin barb loose, causing even more pain. After fighting the urge to pass out, he contemplated their situation, not believing how quickly they were being destroyed.
The goblins had rushed into the hall, nearly four hundred strong, about an hour after first light. The fighting had been fierce, lasting for over an hour, and cost the commander about half of his defenders. Still, they had left two hundred of the enemy dead, in the wake of their retreat from the first floor.
Dirty Dog had reorganized his remaining warriors and made another stand on the second floor, where the supplies were located. Once again, the dwarves had left many dead goblins behind, until they were forced up to the third floor.
Here they fired several crossbows into the advancing goblins coming up the stairs. In response, the enemy threw spears and fired arrows back. Once the dwarves had exhausted their pile of weapons, they didn’t waste time reloading them. They retreated to the roof.
When they reached the sunlight, only two warriors still stood with their commander, although the three of them had various wounds. The dwarves on the rooftop patched them up as best they could.
Now the enemy could be heard, chittering from the third floor, while others shot arrows onto the rooftop from the courtyard below. Dirty Dog felt trapped like a rat on a sinking vessel.
The exchange of arrows and bolts must have been going on since the attack on Bronze Helm Hall had started, because only twenty of Dirty Dog’s forty crossbow dwarves still lived, and most of those were also wounded.
“We thought you dead for sure,” a dwarf with two arrows sticking out of his right shoulder exclaimed, happy to see his commander.
“Would be if the gobs had their way!” Dirty Dog laughed, then with a serious tone said, “I don’t think it will be long now.”
“Aye,” the wounded dwarf responded. “But I could pick no better dwarves to die fighting beside.”
A fat yorg and forty goblins interrupted the conversation by rushing onto the roof, where they were quickly met by dwarf steel. Commander Dirty Dog made quick work of the overweight goblin leader, only to have his left hand chopped off with a hatchet wielded by a goblin underling. A crossbow bolt dropped the offending goblin.
Dirty Dog shoved his bleeding stump into the coals of a nearby fire barrel and after gritting through the pain, returned to the fight, swinging a hand axe he grabbed off a dead comrade. I can’t have myself bleeding to death before I finish off a few more of these gobs!
The battle raged on for another twenty minutes, before all of the attacking goblins had been killed. The commander was surprised to see that he still had five crossbow dwarves standing, although all were bleeding from deep wounds.
The dwarf that he had been talking to before the attack, bandaged the bloody burnt stump, where his leader’s hand had once been. Dirty Dog couldn’t help but notice that the dwarf now had four goblin arrows stuck in his right shoulder.
The bloody, oily, disheveled Dirty Dog took a seat on the top step of the stairway that led down into the darkness of the lower floors. He ordered the men to load as many crossbows as they could carry.
He had a crazy idea. Mad in fact! The dwarf commander planned to surprise the enemy by attacking down into the hall. It will be suicide, of course, but we’re already dead anyways.
Dirty Dog gave the order and the six remaining defenders of Bronze Helm Hall rushed headlong down the stairway, shooting crossbows, and discarding them as they went.
They caught the enemy by surprise, dropping many of the green foe before they could react on the third floor. Several of the Black Eyes scattered into the darkness when the dwarves reached the second floor.
Once they arrived at the stairway to the first floor, they were jumped by a yorg and ten underlings. The goblin leader managed to axe down the crossbow dwarf with the four arrows in his shoulder, before he was gutted by Dirty Dog.
The remaining dwarves slashed through the rest of the goblins, surprisingly only losing one more of their own. The last four defenders reloaded some crossbows and charged down the stairway to the first floor.
Commander Dirty Dog and the three remaining crossbow dwarves entered the main hall, where they could see sunlight in the distance pouring through the opening of the entry way, where the iron doors lay torn asunder.
Between them and the doorway lay several wooden tables and beds turned on their sides. The four dwarves cautiously took a step forward, and for one brief moment, Dirty Dog thought that they might have held the hall.
Goblin archers, twenty in total, popped up from behind the beds and tables and fired an intense volley of deadly arrows at the dwarves. His three crossbow dwarves fired randomly as they fell dead. Two of the bolts harmlessly struck tables while the third wounded a Black Eye archer in the arm.
Dirty Dog raised his axe with his one good arm and managed to take a step forward before he felt something knock him backwards. He looked down at his chest and saw three goblin arrows protruding from the chainmail.
Then a black and red boomerang struck him in the head and knocked him onto his back, before returning to its owner. The last twenty attackers had defeated them.
“The three great halls of Gilead have fallen,” the dwarf commander whispered, and then with a sigh, died.
* * *
The kingdoms of men and dwarves were not fighting the enemy alone. As the goblin threat flowed south, soon the three elven tree kingdoms would be in danger.
The three beautiful kingdoms of the elves had not yet been attacked, but soon, all would be in great danger of destruction and the very existence of the fair-haired woodland race would be threatened to the point of extinction in the Glen.
Clonal Glitter and his falcon riders were heading back to Mount Esha, but it would take some time. Not that the giant birds were slow, they were actually the fastest of the elven bird mounts. The fact that they had lost a bird and two elves were now riding double had slowed them down.
The nine riders of the Falcon Patrol had travelled above Esha Road, all the way to the foot of Hogarth Hills, seeking the enemy. They had spotted nine archers from the Bloody Thrasher Tribe chasing a hers of sheep dropping down from the hills onto the flats. Their flaming red mohawks had made them easy to spot.
The goblins had fallen quickly, being no match for the elven archers mounted atop their speedy falcon war birds, although one did get off a lucky shot before he died. The creature had fired an arrow into the neck of one of the giant falcons, causing it to suffocate in its own blood.
Now they were cruising at a low altitude, enjoying the late fall day, when a large red blur swooped in from above, striking one of the falcons in mid-flight. Clonal Glitter could not believe his eyes. A red dragon!
Titrus the Red was a twenty-eight foot youngling, and was actually quite muscular and large for his age. The dragon had surprised the elves by attacking them from a direction that they’d never have expected, from above.
Titrus bit the head off the falcon that he was clinging to, and sent the body and rider flailing towards the ground below. This did nothing to satiate the ferocious beast’s mighty hunger.
The Falcon Patrol immediately separated, taking off in different directions, and then turned around to face the red dragon. Titrus pursued another falcon, but the falcon was much faster, even with its rider.
The other falcon riders kept their distance, firing arrows into the red monster. Most of them bounced harmlessly off its scales, but a few caused slight damage.
When Titrus realized that the elves were faster, he changed his tactics, zooming in on the falcon with two riders. The red dragon gave chase, closing the distance to the overloaded bird, with Clonal Glitter and his elven archers close behind, firing arrows with their longbows at the flying monster.
The sleek red dragon caught up to the slower falcon and with one sweep of its claw, knocked the two elves from the bird’s back. A second claw raked down the falcon’s side, sending it down the same path that its previous two riders had taken.
The red dragon swiftly changed course, flying straight up, and then back towards the elves that were chasing it. The speedy maneuver seemed quite impossible for a creature of that size.
Titrus was flying upside down, bulleting towards the approaching elven archers. The red dragon opened his sharp fanged mouth and released a stream of liquid fire at the advancing elves.
The front two riders, along with their falcons, burst into flames. The burning fireballs fell to the earth. A third elf was unable to avoid flying through the fire, and after being badly burnt, fell from his saddle to his death.
The riderless falcon was hit by the oncoming dragon which tore into its flesh with his flame dripping teeth. Clonal Glitter and his remaining riders rapidly scattered.
“Ride! On to Esha! We shall lose this flying devil on the wings of the wind!” Clonal Glitter ordered.
The three surviving members of the Falcon Patrol flew south as fast as they could. The speedy falcons soon outdistanced the red dragon, until he became no more than a mere red speck at their backs, and finally disappeared altogether.
* * *
Others were also dancing with death that morning. Within seconds, a peaceful dawn ride down Frontier Road had erupted into turmoil. The warrior in front of Lord Mintor tumbled from his saddle with a spear through his chest.
Goblins from the Flesh Eater Tribe were pouring out of the woods on both sides to attack the patrol. Several were heading straight for Lord Mintor, some carrying long black metal daggers while others had spears.
Lord Mintor was one of King Darian’s more quiet, reserved squad leaders. His ability to analyze problems had earned him his position as a patrol leader. He was a fairly tall, lanky figure, with a bald head and pale skin that never quite seemed to tan in the sun.
Lord Mintor hesitated for a moment, when an odd feeling came over him. It was a tingling sensation that started in his toes and spread throughout his entire body. It felt like energy, pure energy. He had felt it once before, a long time ago.
The first time the feeling came, he had been standing beside Timber Lake, watching a goblin trying to catch a fish. The goblin had spotted him and charged. Then the tingling energy came.
The next thing that he could remember was standing next to the goblin’s body with its head in his hands. He could not remember killing it. One moment it was threatening him, and the next it was dead.
Now, the nearest goblin rushed at him swinging a black dagger. A shrill, maniacal scream interrupted his hazy thoughts. It had been his own. The goblins around him stopped and stared, the ferocious sound stopping them in their tracks.
Lord Mintor charged his yule forward, his mount stomping one of his green foes into the ground. Mintor swung his sword left and then right, chopping down two more Flesh Eaters.
Next, he swung his yule about, blocking a goblin spear with his brown shield. A second spear stabbed him in the side, but he never felt it. He quickly caved in the head of the goblin that had wounded him with his shield.
Three more goblins raced towards him, thrusting their spears forward. Lord Mintor spun his mount about again and charged at them, howling like a wild animal, his eyes ablaze with bloodlust.
He rose in his saddle and launched himself at the three attacking goblins, placing his shield directly in front of himself, which smashed the enemy spears into several pieces.
Lord Mintor landed on one of the green creatures and bashed its head in with his shield, adding to the green blood and brains covering it from its earlier kill. The two remaining goblins, now weaponless, attempted to flee.
The tall, bald Mintor let out a lunatic yell and slung his sword at one of them, hitting him squarely in the back and dropping him. The last of the three goblins saw that the man was now unarmed, so it pulled out a sharp black dagger from its boot and turned back to face him.
Lord Mintor rushed forward and punched the green creature squarely in the jaw, which sent it sprawling. Lord Mintor delivered several kicks to its head with his large boot, until it lay motionless. He gave the immobile creature one last large furious kick.
Just then, a muscle-bound yorg ran from the woods onto Frontier Road. It let out a loud bellow and chopped a warrior in half, then flexed its big muscles at Lord Mintor. The beast was carrying a large red wood handled axe, with a dark black metal head.
Lord Mintor swiftly pulled his sword from the dead goblin’s back, and with a wild yell, charged at the big goblin leader. The creature raised the magical axe over its head, planning to cleave Mintor in two.
It never got the chance. Two slices from the enraged lord’s blade spilled the yorg’s guts onto Frontier Road, killing it. The magical axe fell onto the ground, shimmered for a moment, and then turned into a fine black and red dust.
Lord Mintor turned to face the remaining handful of goblins. He hacked and slashed his way through them, until there were none left to kill. When he had finished, he was standing in a pool of green blood, surrounded by goblin body parts.
The man stood in the middle of Frontier Road, his chest heaving from the exertion. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and spittle was running down the side of his mouth, dripping onto his green blood-soaked chainmail.
His remaining men stood quiet and stared at him in disbelief, unsure of what to make of their usually quiet and reserved patrol leader. None of them ventured to speak, until one of the junior men finally got up the nerve.
“Sir?” one of his archers said.
Lord Mintor slowly regained control of his breathing, and the tingling subsided from his body. His pale bald head glistened with sweat.
“Sir, are you okay?” the same archer questioned.
“What happened?” Lord Mintor asked, looking at the carnage, and realizing that several of the yules were now missing riders, with just five men standing beside him.
“Six men are dead, including the captain,” a different man hesitantly answered him.
“Sir, there are over forty dead Flesh Eaters here and you killed at least half of them, including their leader!” the archer who had initially spoke exclaimed.
“I did?” Lord Mintor asked, confused because he could not remember the battle.
He looked down at the red blood running down the side of his chainmail and realized with surprise that he had been wounded. What happened? His men just stared at him, blank looks on their faces. He knew he needed to take charge.
“Saddle the dead on the extra yules. Stack the goblins and light them up. It’s time to return to base camp,” Lord Mintor ordered.
The men did as they were told, happy to have their leader back, although they now felt something new towards their berserker leader. Fear.
| Author Notes | Only one more chapter in this book. |
By Douglas Goff
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The sun was falling quickly in the western sky when Captain Prince Classius arrived at the Port Turin Livestock Gate. Borgu, Kara, and Sir Red were already there, but the one that caught his eye was Cedar, or to be more accurate, his horse. The slender elf sat astride a beautiful white mare. She was sleek, yet muscular, with a beautiful flowing mane. The horse matched the elf quite well, and Classius found himself wondering where he had found such an animal.
The five riders set out, just as the sun left the horizon. It was that unique period when the sun was gone, yet there was still some light left in the sky. When they left the port city, they crossed through the lily fields at a trot and entered the pine forest where they could parallel Gilead Road while they travelled north.
They had barely entered the woods when Cedar, who was in the lead, signaled them to stop. He hopped from his horse and took a few steps forward, unslinging his cluster bow. It was a customary weapon amongst his people of the Eastern Tree Village. The bow was about half the size of the common longbow, and could only shoot about half the distance.
It had three notches near the hand grip, each a position for an arrow, allowing the weapon to fire three at once. While it didn’t have the distance of the elven longbow, its deadly punch usually killed whatever it hit.
The elf stopped suddenly and stood motionless for several seconds, watching the trees ahead. Captain Prince Classius[D1] climbed off his horse, a little perturbed at stopping, because he knew that Nehi and Fidium had left hours earlier. We are still close to Port Turin and don’t have time for this dramatic nonsense.
He approached the elf, and started to say, “What . . .”
Cedar brought his bow up and fired three arrows into one of the nearby trees. At first, Classius thought the elf had missed, but then he could see that the branches were moving, and even heard some of them snapping.
A moment later, a Bone Breaker archer crashed to the ground. He landed in a heap of dead green flesh, three arrows in his chest. Classius could hear Sir Red draw his sword behind him.
Cedar knocked three more arrows and cocked his head, as if listening. The elf fired the cluster bow again, this time at a different tree. A second goblin crashed to the ground, dead.
The enemy’s response was immediate. Several goblin arrows struck the ground around Classius and Cedar, one bouncing off the prince’s white shield of Port Turin. These shots had come from ground level, where Classius could now see several goblin archers firing at them from behind some pine trees.
Cedar disappeared behind a tree, moving faster than the inexperienced young prince. Classius dove for cover behind another tree and watched Borgu launch a spear through the air.
The spear struck one of the Bone Breakers in the stomach, pinning him to one of the big pine trees. The scrappy green creature struggled for a moment, then became still.
Classius’ attention was caught by something crashing through the brush to his left, where he saw a yorg and two underlings rush from the bushes near the still mounted Sir Red.
The goblin leader carried a large nasty looking axe while his two underlings carried smaller hand axes. The big blond warrior urged his horse towards the trio and dove from his saddle, bringing his huge two-handed sword down on one of the smaller Bone Breakers while in mid-air.
The large blade split the creature from head to groin, but Sir Red didn’t have enough time to admire his handy work. He landed hard after killing the first goblin, and rolled forward, coming up on his knees.
In this position, he swung at the second underling, slicing him completely in two, right at its waist. Captain Prince Classius had watched Sir Red take out the two goblins and knew he did not see the big yorg coming up behind him with the large axe raised over its head.
Classius cursed himself, realizing he hadn’t even drawn his sword yet, but instead was acting like a fool watching a stage play. By the time he could un-sheath his weapon, his best friend would be dead.
Classius rushed forward, and lowering his shoulder, plowed into the attacking yorg. Both man and beast went sprawling into the dust. They landed on their butts, but the yorg was much quicker and jumped back to its feet.
The goblin leader quickly charged at the still seated prince, again raising its nasty axe over its head. Classius kicked backwards, moving on his hands and feet, looking much like a crab as he tried to back pedal away from the attacking creature.
The yorg closed the distance rapidly and began to bring the sharp axe down. The young prince raised his hands in a futile attempt to block the impending blow.
At the last second, a loud “thunk” signaled a spear piercing the yorg’s chest. It had been thrown from just behind Classius. The goblin leader dropped its axe into the dust next to the prince and staggered backwards, clutching at the spear.
The beast then fell on its back, still holding the wooden shaft of the spear. Classius looked over his shoulder and caught sight of Borgu, who gave him a wink. The former pirate had saved his life.
“Guess that answers your question, my young prince,” the big black man said, grinning from ear to ear.
“And what question would that be?” Classius asked, getting to his feet.
“You have been wondering if you can trust me.” Borgu laughed. “Now you know the answer to your question.”
“You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you,” Captain Prince Classius said, realizing he hadn’t really fully trusted the man until now, and surprising himself at how much his answer had sounded like something his father would say.
Sir Red walked up and slapped the prince on his back. It was his way of saying thanks for saving him from the yorg. He then began cleaning the green blood off his sword.
The slap from the large man nearly knocked Classius over. It wasn’t that Sir Red was necessarily muscular, he was just big. He stood six foot six inches tall and was a big boned man with a barrel-chest.
“Where’s the female?” Cedar asked, walking over from the tree he had been couching behind.
Prince Classius looked about, realizing that Kara was gone. Figures he surmised, as soon as the arrows began to fly, she had abandoned them. Well, Classius thought, that’s what you get when you trust a thief.
“Guess you can trust me too!” a female voice said, coming from the tree line in front of them. A moment later, Kara exited the woods, carrying a scrawny dead goblin archer over her shoulder, while dragging a second one by its foot. She was sweating with the effort.
Kara tossed both of the goblins at the prince’s feet. Each one had their throats slit from ear to ear. Even though the dead goblins were smaller than the thief, Classius realized with admiration that she was actually quite strong.
She stood there, breathing heavily, and eyed him curiously with a brown curl falling over her left eye. The prince was startled to realize he was happy that she hadn’t abandoned them.
“I bet you thought I had deserted you?” she giggled.
“Of course not, I hadn’t even noticed you had left,” he lied, and then looked down at his feet, because her intense gaze made him uncomfortable, or maybe it was her pretty blue eyes.
“While you were tackling yorgs, I was busy taking down these two who tried to flee. Didn’t want them alerting more,” she explained.
“Good then. I’m . . . ah . . . glad you stayed,” Classius stammered, realizing she had been watching him even while she was dispatching two of the enemy.
Kara stepped in very close to him, forcing him to look into her light blue eyes, because she was nearly a foot shorter and said in a serious tone, “I understand the importance of what we are doing and I have never done anything of importance before, so you can count on me until we finish the mission, my handsome blue-eyed prince.”
“Of . . . course,” Classius replied, nervously.
“Besides, once we have saved the Glen, I can go back to snatching purses from the rich fat socialites of Port Turin!” she said with a wink and brushed past the now blushing prince, returning to her brown mare, which she mounted in one fluid motion.
“Probably a goblin scouting party,” Cedar scowled. “No doubt they’re watching your father’s every move.”
“Good job spotting them,” Captain Prince Classius praised the elf. “Let’s ride before any more show up. No time to burn the bodies, as night has already fallen, and we can’t afford to delay any further.”
He wanted to get away from this place. I performed very poorly in the fight, but at least now, I know I can trust my companions. They had just spilt blood together and protected each other.
The small group mounted their horses. Classius was glad to get moving. That’s as close to a goblin as I ever want to come. Hopefully, we will see no more of the vile green beasts.
But war did not concern itself with the whims and wishes of man. War had a way of writing its own story and little did Classius know, as they rode off into the darkness, that this was only the beginning of what was to come.
| Author Notes |
This is the last chapter of book one. The series includes:
Lords of the Glen Red Menace Unlikeliest of Heroes The Eighth Tribe Wizard War I appreciate everyone who stuck with me to the end, and that includes all of the critiques as well, because they will help me to improve this series. I'm undecided if I will put the other books into FS or not. I need to make some adjustments. Hope you enjoyed it. |
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