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.