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.”