Armies of the Silver Mage (13 page)

Norgen explained how towns and villages gradually got larger the closer they got to the capital of King Maelor’s realm. Compared to the heart of Averon, Fel Darrins might as well be in another world. Delin and Fennic assaulted the Dwarf with questions upon questions until they had to stop to regain their voices. By dusk all were beyond tired.

A foul odor woke him shy of midnight. It was the smell of death. Norgen rolled over and clutched his axe. He knew it was a battle he couldn’t win. No Gnaal came though and the night carried on. The tiniest sliver of a moon hung in the sky. He barely made out the Twin Spires of Ragnash in the distance. Sniffing the air, Norgen grew more concerned. The decay wasn’t of Gren, but of flesh and blood. An evil thing was going on.

Ignoring the urge to wake the boys, Norgen dropped his cloak and went in search of the danger. The grass was wet and fresh, making it easier for him to move unheard. It wasn’t long before he came upon a recent campsite. There were half a dozen burnt logs in the fire pit and a stack of kindling and firewood off to the side. A burned out wagon lay on its side with several short, black arrows in it. Norgen immediately recognized the threat. The Dwarf ran to the wagon, using it for cover until he decided it was safe to move in the open.

He eased forward to a partially hidden lump in the mist. A Goblin. The throat had been slashed. Norgen search for any other clue of what happened but didn’t need any. A half dozen more bodies lay around the site, none of them Goblins. Axe ready, Norgen moved from body to body. The first was burned beyond recognition. He quickly abandoned the corpse and went to the next. His stomach turned rancid after rolling the body over and seeing the face. It was one of the boys from the common room of the Golden Scarab. The Goblins had apparently ambushed a caravan of recruits. The Dwarf nodded. It was a sound tactic with dour portent for the kingdom. Having seen enough, Norgen went back to his own camp.

Dawn found him standing watch over the boys. His eyes were cold and bloodshot from horror inspired nightmares he’d witnessed during the night. Packs of Goblins loose west of the Gren Mountains wasn’t unusual, but this close to Paedwyn and openly attacking the king’s men mean war was already begun.

Fennic yawned. “Good morning, Norgen. I hope you slept as well as I did.”

“Pack your gear. We need to move,” he replied in a strained voice. “It’s not safe here.”

“What did he say?” Delin asked from behind the boulder where he relieved himself.

“Is it the Gnaal?” Fennic asked. He hurriedly pulled on his trousers. Painful memories came back to him.

“Worse,” Norgen replied. “There are Goblins about.”

“What’s this about Goblins?” Delin asked. “I thought we were close to Paedwyn.”

“Aye. I came upon an encampment last night. There were bodies all over, one of which was a fat, gray Goblin. They attacked right past dusk from what I can tell. Killed a good number of recruits before they got away.”

Fennic flinched. “Recruits?”

“Same ones we seen leaving Alloenis. My guess is we’ll run in to the rest of them afore long. The enemy is moving at last.”

Delin groaned. Gnaals were beyond comprehension, but the thought of murderous bands of Goblins ranging the landscape unchecked was simply terrifying. This was not the adventure he dreamed of as a child. His first thoughts were of Tarren and her safety. Little did he know she was but a few weeks behind them along a different path. The simple security of his life was shattered from a whim. He was beginning to regret ever going to Old Man Wiffe’s home.

“I think I want to go home now,” he muttered to no one in particular.

If they heard him they didn’t reply. The tiny band kept walking. Fennic had no misgivings about the journey. Phaelor urged him onward to untold destinies. He and the sword were one now, to whatever end was in store.

They heard evidence of Goblins just after midday. The angry sounds of sword and spear clashing in battle sang a wicked song. Norgen whipped his axe into position and sprinted into the fray.

SEVENTEEN

The cool afternoon sun was barely enough to melt the patches of snow and ice still clinging to life across the plains and fields. Crows picked through old corn in the hopes of finding one last meal before winter struck. Song birds fortified their nests against the bad weather and small forest animals sat quietly in their dens. Aside from the crisp sounds of battle raging, it was a normal autumn day.

Delin and Fennic gained the top of the small rise and jerked to a halt. What they saw horrified them. Soldiers dressed in green and gold surrounded a small group of weaponless civilians. Dozens of bodies already littered the ground. The remaining wagons sent up puffs of smoke while they burned. A few men were still on horseback, but it was apparent the horses and wagons had been the initial targets. Across the field massed a large body of Goblins. Delin and Fennic were so absorbed by seeing their first battle they failed to see Norgen charging into the rear of the Goblin formation.

Dwarven steel bit deep into the under protected Goblin flesh, felling four before they rest knew what was among them. They drew back and tried to rally but the Dwarf was in a battle rage. Another two fell to the gouging blade of his axe. Then he paused and a Goblin club knocked him off his feet. He rolled once, swinging viciously at a nearby leg. He blocked a blow from a rusted sword with the haft of his axe. Norgen easily turned the thrust aside and punched the dull end of his axe into the Goblin’s belly. He quickly upper cut the blade through his foe’s lower jaw and spun to his feet.

Sergeant Hallis was prepared to die, though not entirely willing. He’d been forced to leave his friends at Gren mot after his last patrol was killed. Commander Fynten told him it was for the best if he spent a few weeks off the line. So they made him a recruiter. He protested at first, for Hallis was a born warrior. A sword was as natural to him as a scythe in the hands of a farmer. Recruiter was a slap in the face, yet still he obeyed.

Any rest Fynten had in mind for him was cut short the first time Goblins came upon them in the dark. It was a quick strike, but got the job started. One wagon was destroyed and a handful of men and horses were slain before Hallis readied a defense and fought back. He killed five by himself in a matter of minutes. The half column of cavalry fought hard, eventually driving the Goblins back into the night. The retreat was planned, of that there was no doubt, but Hallis was glad for the respite. The bedraggled band dressed their casualties during the frantic retreat. Hallis regretted the decision of not burying the dead, but many more would have lost their lives in the process. There simply wasn’t a choice.

Goblins harassed them for two more days, casually whittling down the numbers until just over half of their original number remained. His captain was already slain by an arrow. Hallis quickly assumed command. The unarmed men were herded to the center of the circle with instructions to snatch up a sword when it became available. A young recruit dropped his blood stained sword and yelled in horror upon seeing the dark mass forming a hundred meters away. Hallis grit his teeth and growled for them to buckle down. He reminded them why they volunteered in the first place and made ready to meet his doom.

The squat figure bounding down the slope might well have been another Goblin for all Hallis was concerned. Just one more pound bearing down the total weight. He wasn’t expecting to live much long, not with the current odds. Then the figure attacked the rear of the Goblin formation. The formation broke moments later. Only one race was capable of causing so much mayhem. A Dwarf. A glimmer of hope resurfaced in the veteran.

“Marsh! Keep watch against those archers in the trees,” Hallis roared. They had to act now or be swept away. “The rest of you on me!”

The remaining soldiers formed a tight wedge on Hallis and charged into the enemy.

Dark blood stained Norgen’s leather plate armor and beard. An irrepressible rage welled inside. All the friends slain by the Gnaal, the recruits murdered by Goblins in the night. The Centaur giving his life to save the three of them. All of it boiled down into one massive bloodlust. Revenge!

A dull blade bounced off his shoulder, nicking his tricep before Norgen grabbed the Goblin’s arm and thrust the blade into another’s chest. The Dwarf crouched to leap but was tackled from the side. Both roughly the same size, the Goblin had more mass, easily putting Norgen on his back. The wind drove from his lungs. The rotted smell of his enemy made Norgen gag. Hot spittle drooled onto his cheek and he saw bits of half chewed flesh dangling between the ruined teeth. Pressing down, the Goblin started to crush his throat.

It took every ounce of strength Norgen possessed to keep the long fingers from wrapping around his throat, but Norgen was up to the task. He used one had to start punching the Goblin’s ribs, crushing bones. Still the enemy pressed. Soon the pressure was too much and Norgen could feel his strength fading. One last move and he drew the Goblin’s own dirk and stabbed him in the armpit. The Goblin howled worse than a dying dragon, throwing his head back a second before it was hacked from his shoulders.

Blood splashed onto Norgen’s flushed face. He didn’t hear the long sword whistling through the air. Nor did he see the handful of soldiers hit the exposed flank and break the Goblin spirit. Having lost the advantage, the Goblins broke and ran. Delin watched the scene unfold with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. He just knew Norgen was going to die.

“What should we do?” he asked.

A sharp metallic ring was Fennic’s reply. He drew Phaelor and prepared to join the fight. Delin snatched at his arm, jerking him back to reality.

“What are you doing? You’ll be killed if you go down there!”

Fennic struggled in the grip and snapped, “let me go! I’m supposed to fight. Phaelor says so.”

The sword. “Phaelor’s going to get you killed, you dunce! Listen to yourself. What do you know about fighting a battle or wielding a sword? Nothing! Same as me,” Delin fumed. He was as scared as he was furious.

“How am I supposed to learn if you keep holding me back? All my life I’ve been second to you and now you can’t take it that I was chosen. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re jealous of me and Phaelor.”

The blow caught Fennic off guard. He staggered back a step from the force of it. His face turned red and sore.

“Fennic, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, but you need to calm down and listen. If you, if we, go down there we’ll only be in the way. We don’t know about battles or how to fight. Phaelor may want to go, but it doesn’t know you. Look into your soul and see the truth. It’s the only way we can make it through this.”

Slowly the intensity in Fennic’s eyes ebbed and caution returned. He was embarrassed and it took all the courage he could muster to look his friend in the eye.

“I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he meekly offered.

Delin’s shoulders dropped. “I know, but there’s no time for that now. We need to figure something out to help.”

The battle changed. More and more Goblin bodies lay across the field. Most of them centered around the berserk Dwarf and his deadly axe. Then Norgen fell. The boys needed to act.

“Look,” Fennic pointed.

The surviving soldiers were rushing towards the Goblins, leaving three wounded men looking after twenty frightened boys. Norgen was beyond their help. His fate was out of their hands, but they were in position to help the recruits and wounded.

“In the trees. See there? The archers are sneaking closer. Those guys will be murdered if we don’t help.”

Delin looked closer at the Goblins. Fennic was right. “So what do we do?”

“I say we sneak down behind them and attack. Hopefully we kill one or two before they get spooked enough to run. Then we turn their bows on them. We may not know swords, but each of us grew up hunting.”

“This is crazy.”

“I’m listening if you have something better in mind,” Fennic queried.

Delin shook his head in defeat. “I hate when you do it.”

“You only hate it because I’m right. Come on.”

“When did you become the leader of this adventure?” he asked before following.

They went as fast as they dared without risking discovery. Neither was especially sure of how to handle the situation so they just eased into it. Patches of sunlight and shadow dotted the lightly forested slope, making it almost impossible to spot their foe. The Goblins were cunning and well camouflaged. Delin quickly realized the only way to kill a Goblin was to view it as a deer. They moved closer.

Gentle thrumming danced across the slope. Lines of fire sped from the trees into the diminishing ranks of the defenders. Delin saw another recruit topple over with a burning arrow in his chest. The world suddenly became a terrible place more real than his darkest fantasies. The recruits weren’t much older than he and Fennic.

Fennic crept closer to the Goblin archer, Phaelor humming softly in his hands. His blood pounded with the warrior spirit of generations long past. The star silver sword demanded justice for blood spilled. And Fennic delivered. He strode confidently forward, the instrument of the gods. Life and death were insignificant compared to the power he wielded. Fennic attacked.

The Goblin archer spun about suddenly. His bow was knocked and drawn. Fennic charged from the trees at the same moment and the Goblin loosed in terror. The arrow sped past Fennic’s head, forcing him to duck right. As heightened as his reflexes now were, the Goblin was better trained and quicker. The beast dropped his bow and drew the wicked blade from his waist. He was on Fennic in a heartbeat. Steel clashed, with the village boy fighting for his life. The Goblin was much stronger than he anticipated. A brutal slash knocked Phaelor from his grasp and he knew it was over. The Goblin slowly drew back for the killing blow.

Fennic found he couldn’t close his eyes, no matter how hard he tried. He saw his own reflection his the Goblin’s soulless eyes. He watched the rust stained blade arc down. But the blow never fell. The Goblin jerked back in mid-swing and pitched forward in a spray of blood and ichors. Fennic looked up to see Delin holding a blood stained sword.