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.