Chapter IV:
The Goblins of Mount Coronis
The Army at Megd-u-Coran
By the time Mityai found Daryas again he was already reunited with the Galva army. It was due to Revere's testimony that they were sent to to seek the goblins' in the first place. Cheft Faros brought the army to a place called Megd-u-Coran where the land flattened out for about two leagues before flying up into the sky in treacherous rocky cliffs. Here the animals stopped, for there was no longer a path fit for hooves and wheels. Faros ordered a camp to be made and set about ordering the pitching of tents and the building of barricades. The weary men welcomed the change and soon they were warming their feet in front of roaring fires.
Steep cliff walls shielded the camp from the west, while the northern edge was protected by the fierce and freezing Falsi River. To the south the land sloped down swiftly toward the plains of Andu and fifty leagues beyond that was the Old Highway. 'The only place from which we are vulnerable to attack is from the very road on which we came,' Cheft Faros remarked.
'Indeed,' Cheft Rahm agreed, 'this seems to be a secure place to camp, at least for the time being. At any rate, it will do us good to get the men out of the snow and wind, for many of them have already taken ill.'
When at last their tent had been set in order, Daryas and Sion sat down to eat in front of a small fire. 'You never did explain your strange words,' Daryas said as they ate a meal of dried meat and stale bread. 'What is this 'soul-foolishness'?
'Soul-foolishness,' Sion began with a smile, trying not to choke as he stifled a laugh, 'Is that sin of which the Ancient spirits were guilty; one that so angered the gods that they were condemned to live upon the face of Tel Arie in poverty, bondage, and weakness.'
'Spirits? Soul-foolishness? Sion, you are going to have to start your explanation at the very beginning!' Daryas insisted.
'Very well, I see that they no longer raise children with wisdom among the Noras and they need to have everything explained to them very slowly and in order.'
'Very slowly and in order is better than not at all,' Daryas responded. 'And we shall see if it is wisdom that I lack!'
'Well, according to my father - and we know that my father's words are true - this is the way the world was formed:
"In ages past, long before there was any earth or sea, the world was inhabited by Spirits. Our spirits in fact, for we are immortal, though we do not yet realize it. But our souls lived for aeons under the stars dancing and singing the hymns of the gods in harmony.
"But there was a rebellion, the Evil One seduced some of the lesser spirits and caused them to try and overcome their brethren and destroy the works of the gods. Had this gone on much longer, there would be nothing but darkness left in the world.
"But the mighty Pelas and his twin brother Agon defeated the Evil One (this was before Agon became evil himself). They cast him into outer darkness, somewhere, and decided to punish the spirits who had sinned by imprisoning them within bodies of flesh and bone. These soul-fools, as they were known among the gods, were then forced to live on the earth as animals and as people.
"Being fair and just, Pelas created a prison for each spirit in accordance with the grievousness of their sins. So to the most rebellious he gave hideous forms, like unto worms and creeping things and to the least rebellious he gave human forms or animal forms. Each spirit was given a form that was befitting his prior life."
'And what is the meaning of all this?' Daryas asked.
'The point is, my good friend, that when the peasant stops at the house of Ponteris he can be turned away without a thought. The Cheftan's conscience is clean, for he would not want to deny the decrees of the gods by comforting a sinner in his duly received affliction.
'But doesn't that mean that Cheft Ponteris is also among the condemned, as well as so many other men and women of renown?'
'You are not as clever as you look, Daryas,' Sion laughed. 'You see, the gods in their wisdom knew that these foolish souls would need guardians that would make sure that they did not once again make war against all that is good and just. So they also sent in souls of the highest order to serve as nobles, kings, philosophers and various other wealthy lords to make sure that these Soul-fools were well managed.'
'Souls such as Cheftan Ponteris?'
'Indeed,' Sion could barely contain his laughter as he spoke, 'My dear father is a guardian and a shepherd to these poor Soul-fools!'
'But this is absurd!' Daryas said half in disbelief.
'Oh my friend, you have only heard a little bit. But in truth there are many elaborate tales and stories by which men drive empathy from their hearts. The moment a man's poverty and want is considered his own fault, there is no longer any need of compassion; and more importantly there is no longer any need of generosity.'
A large tent was placed in the center of the camp with a large bonfire built near its entrance. Inside, around a small wooden table, the four Cheftans sat in council. Cheft Rahm spoke first. 'We have come far and with little difficulty, my lord. But now we have need of council. For the words of the scout Revere weigh heavy on my mind, and his report was confirmed by the testimony of the Cheftirne. Daryas, son of Biron, and Hassan, son of Ponteris, have returned with the same news. The goblins of Coronis are unarmed and vulnerable, yet the smoldering ruins of Wesla and Cronla tell us there is more to them than meets the eye.'
'Then you are of the same mind with that braggart?' Faros said harshly when the old man had finished speaking. 'I know what he was hinting at. A Conjurer of all things! Surely you don't believe such nonsense.'
'Whether it is nonsense or not, it would be wise to tread with caution in these lands. They are seldom visited, and they have never been fully mapped. We cannot know what sort of evil dwells above us in the high places. Goblins,' Rahm paused and then lowered his voice, 'Goblins are clever brutes, my lord.'
Cheft Faros grew increasingly impatient with his captains. His face was bright red and he was almost yelling as he spoke. 'I will not lead this army into war against superstitions and old wives' tales, when there are enough devils of flesh and blood with which to contend. Show me a Conjurer, and then I will believe that the braggart speaks the truth. I have scoured every scroll and every military record of Dadron the Great. I have read the Silvirne stories and the stories of the Daevars and the Noras. There is one thing in which all these folks agree, that there are no Conjurers!'
'My lord,' Cheft Vilav said with amazement, 'How is it that you can say such a thing, when the legends and stories of the Noras are teaming with such accounts? Not to mention the histories of the Silvirne?'
'You can believe what you want, Cheft Vilav,' Faros snapped. 'But none of those tales even seem to be within the bounds of possibility. And if they are not possible, then they certainly aren't true. They are no more real than the Chronicles of the Merkata or the tale of Idu the Fool.'
'One last word, my lord,' Cheft Rahm said in a clear and calm voice. 'The cause of the goblins' odd behavior is unknown, but the effect is certain. That much none of us can deny. There is something strange at work here, something unknown to us. And that man is a fool who takes no care when he acts without knowledge.'
The First Battle
There were three goblin camps located about three leagues apart from each other in a relatively flat section of the mountainside. The first was about seven leagues due west from Megd-u-Coran, in a place where the trees were very thin. The next camp was made about two leagues north of that one, and the third was about a league further to the north along a quick running mountain spring.
Cheft Faros' will prevailed; Cheft Lonos supported him, Vilav refused to oppose him openly, and Cheft Rahm was too honorable a warrior to press the matter further. 'We will see what the gods have prepared for us,' was all that he said.
On the morning of the fifteenth day of Leonius, Cheft Lonos marched with five hundred men far to the north while Cheft Rahm and Cheft Vilav marched northwest, each with five-hundred men under the
ir command. Cheft Faros marched also, though with only a small force of about seventy men with which he could move swiftly and send orders to each of his captains. The rest of the Galva Army remained in their camp at Megd-u-Coran.
Their intention was to drive a wedge between each camp and cut them off from one another. This they hoped would allow them to be conquered separately and more easily.
As Revere had reported, each goblin camp held around three-hundred and fifty goblin men, and these were all unarmed. The Galva army marched toward them eagerly with their spirits raised as high as their green banners.
'You must almost pity them,' Sion said as they marched northwest with Cheft Rahm's band. 'I know they are just brutes, but they are unarmed and unawares. It will be a dark day for them.'
'But they may not always be so,' Daryas reminded him. 'And once they have acquired weapons we might regret any thoughts of pity. And we must not forget to spare some pity for those of our own lands who will suffer at their hands.'
'Suffering will come to Noras as likely from human hands as goblins. It is not righteousness that makes us different from the goblins.'
Cheft Rahm's great horn blared and the Galva army attacked. The warriors of Noras fell on their prey with the swiftness of a hawk. They marched into the camp with their blades drawn and their spears held high. The goblins fled at the sight of them, but were unable to escape. Cheft Rahm was in the midst of the camp, hewing them down with his mighty axe, with his nephews guarding his side, stabbing goblins here and there with their spears.
Before the fight began, Sion led Daryas to a ridge just south of the camp, within an arrow's-flight from the center. There they hid among the snow covered rocks and fallen trees, waiting in silence for the battle to begin.
From their hiding place they sunk many arrows into the backs of their foes. By the end of ten minutes Sion had taken down sixteen altogether, but Daryas slew only seven.
'I have never been that great of an archer,' he said as he watched Sion drop his fourteenth goblin.
'There is time yet to improve, friend,' Sion said as he released an arrow into his fifteenth.
Mityai was nearby, and she giggled to herself when she saw them competing in this way. Sion aimed for his seventeenth foe, but when he released his arrow Mityai grabbed it from the air and guided it with her swift feet away from the neck of the goblin for which it was destined and drove it through his heel instead. In an instant she returned to the archers and likewise snatched Daryas' arrow in its flight and drove it into the heart of the very same goblin.
'Now that is just unfair,' Sion complained. 'That should have been mine!'
'Don't fret it, Sion,' Daryas said, surprised at his success, 'I must admit that it was little more than chance that drove my arrow so fatally.'
Mityai rushed back and forth between goblin and archer, dragging Daryas' arrows into his foes and leading Sion's away. All the while her laughter echoed through the hill, though not to the ears of mortal men. In the end their counts were matched at eighteen.
'There is more to the son of Biron than I would have guessed,' Sion said shaking his head. 'If this were a game I would call you a cheater and walk away in anger and wrath. But in this dread business of war I say, cheat as much as you wish! We will all be the better for it.'
It was not long before all the goblins lay slain upon the ground. From the ridge Daryas and Sion could now see Cheft Rahm walking about among the fallen brutes with his bodyguards on each side. He found what he deemed to be the Hob-goblin's hut and entered it, followed by two of his guards.
'That is unusual,' Sion said.
'What do you mean?' Daryas asked. They now rested on a small boulder with their feet dangling off the edge overlooking the camp.
'Cheft Rahm went into the tent first. It is customary to let the bodyguards enter first to ensure the Cheftan's safety.'
'He seemed to be in a bit of a rush,' Daryas said as he stood up. He brushed the dirt from his pants and prepared to climb down. 'We should go down and see if there are any arrows to be reclaimed.'
'A moment,' Sion said as he tugged on Daryas's shoulder. 'There is something strange at work here. These were all petty goblins, and there is no sign of a hob or an orc.'
'What could it mean?' he asked.
'All things act according to their own peculiar patterns and rules. But in these camps I see none of the things that are supposed to govern goblins. There are no women, which makes them seem more like warriors than raiders. There are no weapons, which makes them look more like fools than cunning brutes. And there is no hob-goblin or orc to rule over them.'
'But if they are not ordered by a hob-goblin, then by what are they ordered?'
'By something else,' Sion whispered. Mityai drew her face close to Daryas and tried to speak, but none of her words could enter his mortal ears. She could not warn him of the danger that her lord Pelas had seemed so concerned with.
Even as she tried to speak, Cheft Rahm emerged from the tent and looked around frantically. 'Return to camp at once!' he shouted. He said more, but his voice was overpowered by a shrill scream.
All eyes were drawn to the northwest, where there stood a lone goblin on the top of a high ridge. It was a she-goblin.
High atop the ridge she wailed and screamed at the sight of the slain goblins. In a short time she was joined by others who likewise began to wail and scream. The warriors below covered their ears. Some of them were so vexed by the shrill sound that they dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. Sion tapped Daryas's shoulder and the two darted off the rock, sliding, climbing and almost falling down the hill toward the camp.
The screaming ended abruptly. The she-goblins charged forward, stumbling with rage and trampling each other as they rushed down the slope of the mountain. Fury is not an adequate word for the heat of passion and anger with which they smote the ranks of the Galva Army.
Cheft Rahm's force retreated quickly, the little warning they had was enough to save most of them from being overcome in the ambush. But nothing would stop the raging tide of goblins.
Unlike the poor brutes they had just slain, these she-goblins were not unarmed.
Most of them carried wooden spears or stone hammers and many other primitive weapons. But there were many among them that bore swords, daggers, and even shields. They were terribly unorganized, as is to be expected among goblins; yet their numbers and their anger supplanted every design and every strategy of the Galva Army. There was nothing left to do but to flee. Shields were dropped and cloaks cast aside as they ran and slid down toward the main camp. More than a dozen of Rahm's warriors, in the panic of the moment, were betrayed to their deaths by the hidden pitfalls and sheer cliffs that surrounded their path.
Mityai followed close behind her charge in quiet fear, not knowing what to do. For she was no great warrior, and she could not stop the goblins by might. All that she could do was to scatter the stones and roots that might trip the fleeing warriors and to cast branches and rocks in front of the charging horde.
As the fleeing Galva Army drew closer to their camp they came to the edge of a tall cliff. There they met the remains of Cheft Vilav's force. In one glimpse they could see by the fear and sorrow in their eyes that their force had met a similar, but worse fate. There were many wounded among them, and as they walked they left in their wake a trail of blood.
The injuries and sorrow of their comrades revived the spirits of Cheft Rahm's men. Without a word or a command they turned on their heels and charged the rampaging she-goblins. The two forces met like the crashing of two rams, horn against horn. There they fought for the blood of Vilav's men; the Galvahirne to save it, and the she-goblins to spill it. Cheft Rahm stepped into the front of the battle and with a loud shout swung his mighty battle-axe into the wave of foes. His powerful strokes severed heads and limbs and sent the she-goblins into retreat, if only for a moment. To his side rushed all of the mighty warriors of the Galva army to hold them back while their wounded companions escaped
down a steep path from the cliff's edge.
Many hundreds of she-goblins fell at their feet in that spot. Ander and Silos rushed to their uncle and guarded him on each side as he cut his way through the goblins. Sion and Daryas along with many other archers rained arrows upon their enemies until all their arrows were spent. Then they drew their knives and fought alongside the warriors. Mityai turned also to help them, but this time she guided the blades of both men, caring more for their lives than for their tallies.
But in the end even this ground had to be abandoned and Cheft Rahm led his men back to the camp, fighting every step of the way.
By the time the night fell the she goblins gave up their pursuit and returned to the mountain by the same path. The wind was cruel that night as the survivors returned to the camp with heads hung in sorrow. Cheft Rahm hurried to Cheft Faros' tent and asked for news of the other forces.
'Cheftan, what news have we from the others?' he said with a flame of sorrow in his eyes. 'We have been driven back, but the greater part of our number are unharmed. We have lost no more than sixty, from what I can tell in this darkness.'
Faros paused for a moment and then spoke softly and without emotion, 'Cheft Vilav returned with only one hundred of his warriors.'
There was a long pause before Rahm pressed him again, 'Cheftan, what about Cheft Lonos and his force?'
Faros turned away and looked into the darkness in the corner of his tent. 'Cheft Lonos returned alone.'
'By Agon,' Rahm whispered. His heart sunk and his eyes fell to the floor. 'Where is he now?'
'He is in his tent, he has not spoken a word since he returned.'
Cheft Rahm spoke only briefly with Lonos that day.
'My body is untouched,' Lonos complained, 'but I fear that my soul has perished within me. For I alone escaped alive. A fate most unfitting for a warrior; to live on while all of your youths perish.'
'Such a fate was not of your own making,' Rahm said softly. 'It is Pelas who decides who is to sleep and who is to wake. You cannot lay the blame at your own feet.'
Lonos looked nervous for a moment and opened his mouth as if he was going to speak but then shut his lips quickly.
'We are sending out scouts in the morning,' Rahm told him. 'We will not let these goblins draw our blood without drawing our own share from them. And we will put such an increase on our portion that they will not henceforth spill the blood of the Noras lightly.'
The Strange Path
The following morning Sion and Daryas were sent into the mountains to find the goblins' lair. Tracking them was not a difficult task; it was simply a matter of following the trail of blood and abandoned bodies back to the camps and up into the mountains. But as they climbed higher into the Coronan the weather once again turned against them. There were few trees in this section of the mountain to guard them from the frigid wind that came rushing down the mountainside. They drew their cloaks around their faces and pressed on, always trying to stay out of sight.
For two days they searched without success for signs of a camp or a settlement. On the third day, however, they found a small trail heading south and veering toward the western side of the mountain near the ridge from which the she-goblins had descended in their fury.
They followed this trail, occasionally passing the frozen bodies of she-goblins whose injuries had apparently been too severe to survive the retreat. With every step they became more apprehensive and cautious; they had no desire to bring upon their lonely heads the fury that they had experienced in that first battle.
At long last, when the sun reached its noonday height they came to a high ridge overlooking a flat plain below. There they saw an enormous goblin camp stretched out beneath them. 'Seven hundred tents at least,' Sion said after they had watched it for a few minutes. 'Each holds not less than twenty goblins I expect. And the hordes of she-goblins are but the lesser part of their might.'
'Then they have the mastery of numbers,' Daryas said in a low whisper. 'We should leave here immediately and warn the others. For this is a task beyond the Galva Army.'
'This may be a task beyond all the warriors in Noras,' Sion responded. 'Whoever told Cheft Faros that we would make an easy slaughter of these brutes was either stupid or a traitor.'
'Or both more likely,' Daryas said sharply. He shook his head and said with urgency, 'Sion, the enemy now lies between us and our camp; we must hurry lest we get cut off from our path.'
'We will leave soon enough,' Sion said. 'But we should learn more about their numbers and arms first. The Galva Army has been deceived; we were not sent here to save Noras.'
Daryas turned his head sharply, his face losing all color. 'What are you saying, friend?'
'Comrade,' he spoke with a strange confidence born of humor. 'We are not dead yet, so do not look at me as though I were a ghost. Let us learn more and then return to our fellows. When we are returned, that will be the time for council and speculation. But if we do not make it back in a timely manner, and with a more certain knowledge of our enemies, all our pondering will be turned into vanity.'
So they remained in their hiding places until they had made several more observations.
There were far more goblins than they had been told. In this camp alone they saw evidence of a force greater than ten-thousand strong. But among those encamped below them they saw no she-goblins.
'So the devils that routed us with such fury must be from yet another camp,' Daryas said with frustration.
Such a large number of goblins would need many provisions. 'These are no raiders,' Sion said as he watched them move about their camp. They have crated food and barrels of drink. We are not looking at a tribe. This is an army.'
Daryas pointed out some of the larger guards. 'Look below at those orcs. It is hard to see from here, but their blades are straightened and sharp. Every now and again I can make out a glint of light from their edges. No goblin raider is so careful as to keep their blades free from rust and dent.'
Perhaps the most alarming discovery was that of a strange stone pathway by which many goblins were entering and leaving the camp.
'This is no mere trail, these are cut stones,' Sion pointed out.
'I think you are right,' Daryas said as he looked closer at the stones on each side.
'Daryas, you know the tales of Noras better than I,' Sion said, 'Should we expect to find a carved stone road in the high places of Mount Coronan? Could this path have been been carved by the delvers, many ages ago?'
Daryas took a moment to think and then answered, 'It is true that until the wars of Galvahir they had built many strongholds in the mountains. But I have never heard of them building on Mount Coronis. In fact, from what I have been taught, the delvers regarded this mountain as sacred and swore never to set axe or hammer against it. That is, if you can believe the old stories.'
'Could there be delvers in these mountains still?' Sion asked.
'I don't know,' Daryas answered. 'I do not think they would last here long with these goblins about. The only thing that delvers hate more than men are goblins. At any rate, these walls are too large and too poorly crafted to be the work of delvers. I would say that these walls are of human making.'
'Could they have been made by the Noras?' Sion asked as he crept in for a closer look.
'I don't think so, the Noras build things for strength and use, this path seems to be built for haste. And built recently, for that matter,' Daryas walked over toward Sion and pointed down toward the side of the path's entrance. 'Do you see those mounds?'
Just to the south of the path's entrance there were many mounds of dirt and stones. 'These mounds have not yet been torn down by the wind and the snow. I would say that this path was made sometime last spring, certainly no more than two years ago.'
Sion suddenly grew uneasy. 'We had better return to the camp and tell the Cheftan. I have an ill feeling about this path.'
The scouts made their way back to the camp by the same road they had come. They were less cautious o
n their return, sometimes even walking openly along the bloodstained paths. It seemed to them that matters were so hopeless that stealth and survival now had little use.
But despite their speed they were unable to make their way back before night and found themselves setting up a hasty campsite about a half an hour's walk from the trail in a small rocky cave where they would be protected from the wind at least.
They set a small fire and ate some dried meat. 'I'm liable to break my teeth on this,' Sion complained. 'But I will eat it all the same,' he quickly added when Daryas glanced at his portion with hungry eyes.
After they finished eating they set up a shelter around the fire to block the wind and to conceal the flickering light. 'If it weren't so cold I would suggest we put it out altogether,' Daryas said. 'I do not like the feel of this place, I feel like we are walking into a dragon's mouth, step by step.'
'There are no dragons in the Coronan Mountains, thankfully,' Sion laughed. 'Do not worry, brave Daryas, we will return to camp soon enough.'
The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the howling wind from outside and shivering next to their fire.
'Daryas,' Sion began after some time had passed. 'I always hated hearing the old fairy stories about this mountain. But now that we are sitting here contemplating its mysteries, I am somewhat ashamed that I know so little of its history - if there be any history in the old tales.'
One thing that perhaps did distinguish Daryas from his peers was his skill as a storyteller. When he was a child his friends would listen for hours to the strange and fantastic tales he would invent or recount. Yet as he grew older his timidity took control and his stories became more infrequent until finally he ceased telling them almost entirely. Now the only people he would share his stories with were his brother and his friend Sion. But as the fire danced around the walls of the cave, and as his companion's eyes widened with interest, the talebearer awoke within him and he began to tell the ancient stories of the Noras forest and the Coronan Mountains. Most interesting to Sion were the stories that spoke of the Coronan Mountains themselves. Mityai also sat in the firelight listening, though neither of the spies even knew she was there. She listened to his tales with wide eyes and with excitement, even though she knew most of his tales already. She not only knew them, but she knew them better than he did. For in her long years she had seen many of the heroes and villains with her own immortal eyes.
'In the Dark days, before the coming of the Nine Heroes, the Coronan Mountains were trampled by the feet of goblins above and shaken by the hammers of the delvers below. These two races were never at peace; they were constantly striving one against the other. It was said that the mountain streams ran red with the blood of their conflict, and sickened all those who drank from the Falsi River. The Delvers, it was said, wanted the meat for which the goblins hunted and the goblins wanted the gemstones and silver for which the delvers mined.
'Every now and again, the goblins would take a respite from their conflicts with the delvers and come down into the forest to raid the foolish people who lived there enthralled by the Devil King Agon. But the darkness of those woods was more than even their foul souls could tolerate. In due time, Galvahir and the other Heroes defeated Agon by the power of the Holy Sword of Pelas and drove him over the Mountains to the wastelands of Amlaman, where he was condemned to dwell for all eternity. They made an end of the Temple of Agon, and stole his priestesses to be their own wives and servants. Upon their return, however, they found that goblins had filled the woods and the delvers had carried away all of their wealth.
'Galvahir gathered his followers and began a war with these creatures. He destroyed the delver strongholds in Libron and Galva, sending them into exile in the west. Some say they perished in the wilds, while others claim that they came to a place beyond Amlaman called Desset; and there they remain even to this day.
'But the goblins they treated more harshly. They slew every goblin that set foot in Noras and drove the others out of the mountains and into the northern sea. So fearful were they of Tanak, the sword of Pelas, that they leapt from cliffs and ridges down into valleys of ice and stone, or into the frozen seas to escape its wrathful edge. Others fled into the caves of the delvers where they were soon overcome by the foul Gaians - those spirits who dwell in the deep darkness of the earth. All this being accomplished, Galvahir returned to Noras and rested from his trials for twenty years.
'But Mount Coronis itself was not settled by the delvers. They seemed to have considered it a god of some kind, and as a result they never set axe nor pick against it. Neither did they ever set foot on the mountain if they could avoid it.
'The goblins seemed to have had some dwellings in the foothills of Coronis, but they are not stone-masons. As far as I know, they have never made such a path as the one that we've seen today. They can make tools, but not the like of those that carved such a path through the stones of this mighty mountain.'
'So what are we to make of this path?' Sion asked after he had listened to Daryas' tales.
'I don't know,' Daryas replied. 'But it is work too extensive and too well-crafted for goblins. On the other hand it is too simple and poorly made to be the work of Delvers.'
'And delvers do not make paths in the open air, if my memory serves,' Sion added with a thoughtful look on his face.
'Quite true,' Daryas confirmed. 'They make their paths in secret places under the darkness of the mountains, only breaking the surface where it is necessary, whether for air or for water or food. These paths, if we are not deceived, were made by men.'
Daryas stayed awake much longer than his friend, as was now his constant practice. He had not slept for many days now and as he sat there Old Man Sleep approached him quietly from the mouth of the cave.
He passed his hand over Daryas' eyes and his weary head nodded for a moment. But the young man resisted and shook his head violently to rouse himself. He sat up and began busying himself about the fire until it roared to new life and warmed his sleeping companion.
Old Man Sleep sighed and sat down wearily beside Mityai. 'You gods can be such nuisances,' he said in his dry and toneless voice. 'Always meddling with mortals and never minding your own business.'
'But is that not our curse,' Mityai's gentle voice asked.
'It is not my place to say anything different from what your lord Pelas teaches you,' he sighed. Mityai looked confused.
'But Lord Pelas has taught us that we are cursed to be both servants and lords of mortal men, until the time that Pelas once again gains the ascendancy and redeems the whole earth.'
'Indeed you are cursed to be the servants and lords of men,' Sleep replied, 'But that doesn't mean that it is what you should be doing.'
'What do you mean?' Mityai asked.
'What should a mortal man do?' Sleep asked her.
'I suppose he must make for himself a living, and care for his children and his wife.'
'Indeed, but suppose he was a bad man, and found himself condemned to labor as a slave for some other man. Is that slavery and hardship what he ought to do, or is it what he must do?'
'It is what he must,' Mityai said, her eyes now glowing with inquisitiveness.
'But what he should do remains the same, is that not correct?'
'Yes,' Mityai said thoughtfully. 'He should still do those things. But now he is unable, and doomed to fail before he even begins.'
'Yet it is still his duty, is that not right?' Sleep asked her.
'It is,' she answered.
'And that is the most shameful part of mortal chastisements: To be forbidden to do that which you ought, for having done that which you oughtn't. All wicked men are thus twice-damned.' Sleep looked into her eyes now as he spoke. 'Perhaps it is much the same with you immortals. 'You "must" meddle with mortal affairs, but you still "should" do that which is right.'
Mityai sat in silent thought for a moment. After a while she furrowed her silvery brow and spoke boldly to the Old Man. 'We will do something ri
ght then,' she said with resolution. 'Young Daryas will rest tonight, and you will help me.'
'Me?' Sleep exclaimed. 'If I knew that you were going to draw me into your scheme I would have remained silent altogether. I have no authority over the wills of men. That is the portion given to my brother Folly.'
Mityai sighed and moved away from the old man. She sat down gently behind Daryas. 'Very well then,' she said lifting her nose to the sky, 'then I will be Old Man Sleep tonight.'
The Old Man watched as she softly began to sing in her immortal voice, songs long forgotten by men in languages their ears had never heard. For some time she sat there, gently caressing his head as though she were trying to calm a weeping babe. Slowly he lowered his head and she eased him down onto his bedroll and closed his eyes. After a moment he stirred and he began to rise. But Old Man Sleep rose from his seat and placed his heavy hand upon his eyelids and dragged them shut once more. 'Far be it from me to cede my rights to such a little god,' he laughed. 'But there is still some part that you might play. Behold! The young man sleeps now, and his dreams will return if there is no one near to guard him.'
'Thank you, Old Father Sleep,' Mityai said in a broken voice.
There she sat for long hours watching over him with his head cradled in her arms, singing her lovely songs to him. But sometime in the middle of the night, foul spirits came to torment him with visions of things not yet to be. Mityai held on to him all through the night, singing and praying; but she had no strength to stop his troubled nightmares. For they were sent to him from Lord Pelas himself.
He dreamed that he was running, as always, through a forest in the darkness. Suddenly he looked behind him and beheld a great fire, burning in the distance. Smoke was rising in great billows, blotting out the light of the stars. He turned and ran toward the fire, not knowing what he expected to discover.
Suddenly, he became aware of the presence of another. A voice cried out, saying, 'How dark is your will Daryas! It hides even from yourself!'
The Second Battle
The following afternoon, the camp of the Galva Army was sent into an uproar. The scouts returned with news of the goblin army and it seemed as though the courage of the Galvahirne melted away. All would have broken down into complete chaos had not Cheft Rahm taken matters into his own hands. He walked to the center of the camp with his nephews on either side of him, dressed in full battle attire. He climbed atop one of the wagons and blew three loud blasts with a ram's horn. The sound echoed through the mountain and every ear turned toward the old hero of Noras.
'Men of Noras! Galvahirne, Oastirne, and Vivlirne alike!' he called out. 'It was not that long ago by the ages of this world that your fathers marched against the armies of the goblins of these very mountains. They were armed with their own hides and knew not the mountain passes. Their swords were dull and their spears were made of wood. Their numbers were less than yours as well. In every way you stand here a more excellent force than theirs. Yet their small numbers and feeble weapons were compensated by the intense fire of their passion. Their love of our great wood drove our fathers to heroics the likes of which Noras has not known before or since.
'But there is no reason that those heroics must die. We are their sons, every one of us. The blood of heroes flows through our veins and will not be easily spilt. So turn your eyes once more toward Coronis' peak. We will not be driven back; not by a hundred goblins, nor will be pushed back by a hundred-thousand goblins. As long as we draw breath from the same air as our ancient ancestors we will not relent in our defenses.
'For the sake of our mothers and our sisters, who will be carried off as spoil, to be ill-treated in some orc or hob-goblin's den, we will bleed the devils till they are swept off this mountain in a rushing torrent of their own blood!'
With these words the men cheered and their courage was renewed. Even Cheft Faros, who had been pacing within the walls of his tent was brought back to a courageous disposition by his bold words. 'Truly Pelas smiled upon us when he sent Cheft Rahm to march among us.'
Rahm continued with many words of encouragement. 'Do we not have among us many heroes among the Noras. Is there not marching with us men like Swagar Prostirne? Pater Borirne and Tiltos the High Priest's son are also among us. Gergius Gergirne and many of the sons of Clinlor and Mallor have answered our call to arms. We have also Hassan Ponterirne, whose skill with both bow and sword is unparalleled.
'Truly not in the history of Noras since the days of Galvahir himself has such a force been assembled. We would shame every one of our ancestors if we were to turn our backs to these goblins today.'
The warriors were encouraged and they prepared their weapons and armor once again for battle. Nevertheless, Cheft Faros sent runners hurrying eastward down the mountains to seek aid in Belnan.
Cheft Faros proved his skill as a strategist and commander during the second battle. He sent Cheft Vilav with two thousand men marching up the mountain paths toward the goblin camp. They marched openly and in full sight with shields and banners and flags waving about in the cold mountain wind.
The sun rose high above the Galva Army, unhindered by clouds as its light danced upon their swords and shields. Vilav's men marched in perfect step so that each time their feet fell upon the ground it was like an earthquake. They marched to a narrow place just to the north of the goblin encampment. It was so close in fact that from the highest points almost the entire goblin camp was visible.
The goblins lost no time in scrambling for their weapons and arms. Orcs ran about with hammers and maces, pounding the alarms with great strokes. In less than an hour their warriors were making their way uphill toward the army of Cheft Vilav.
The two forces met with a crash. The goblins came upon them like the crashing of a mighty river against an immovable stone. Their skirmishers were slain ere they could arouse any confusion and the warriors in the Galva vanguard were fully prepared for the coming of the goblins. Shields shattered and swords splintered. The goblins were cast down and driven back, but the Galva army stayed in their place.
Three times this repeated, until it became clear that the goblins would have no success trying to move the Noras. So out came the orcs; they were better armed and much taller. They carried maces and hammers, axes and spears of immense size, the edges of which gleamed like gold in the afternoon sun.
But the army of Vilav pulled back and marched to the north between two great the walls of the mountain into a place called Corhen. Here there was almost a bowl shaped valley with steep ridges all along the north and western sides. On the east there were several lone pinnacles of rock, soaring high above the edge of the valley. On the eastern side was a steep cliff that fell down to jagged rocks and a swift flowing mountain stream.
When they entered Corhen they immediately positioned themselves along the western wall. There were many archers positioned along the ridges above the valley, lying in wait for the goblins. Sion and Daryas had taken their place upon the top of one of the eastern pinnacles, after a somewhat treacherous climb.
'From here we will not easily miss, and we will be invincible from the devices of the goblins,' Sion said.
'Unless the valley is lost,' Daryas said with some worry in his voice. 'Then we will starve atop here or be caught and slain below.'
The goblins took the bait and marched boldly into the valley. 'It is certainly true what they say,' Faros said as he saw them enter, 'These fools have no mind for open war.'
When the goblins entered, with their orc captains at the lead, Faros blew a loud horn from the top of one of the ridges. At that moment Cheft Rahm and Cheft Lonos appeared from a hidden path and marched behind the goblin force, driving them through the pass and into the valley. The goblins that were crowded into the pass became defenseless to the arrows of the Noras who stood above them shooting arrows and hurling spears and stones upon their heads. Those goblins that entered the valley were driven by a wall of shields and spears to the cliffs edge where many hundreds of goblins met their end
s.
From atop their rocky platform, Hassan and Daryas rained down arrows on their foes. They shot with care and wasted no arrows. Fifty goblins at least were slain by each of them. From up there Hassan slew one of the orcs with an arrow that slipped between his breastplate and his helm, piercing his throat. He fell with a heavy thud on the cold stony ground. Upon seeing one of their captains fall, the goblins were seized with fear; many tried to rush out of the valley in a ferocious panic. Now there were goblins trying to enter, driven by the swords and axes of Rahm's men, and there were also many goblins trying to flee from the arrows and the cliffs. The whole force was trapped in the pass without any hope of escape. Many tried to clamber up the steep rock wall, but to no avail. The Noras archers shot them down and they crashed heavily on their fellows, crushing many beneath themselves.
Even the mightiest stone, however, cannot forever withstand the rages of the sea. In time, the mightiest warriors weary and must rest from battle. As the sun began to sink that day things turned once more against the Galva Army. Goblins are masters of the night, and they were now gathering in hordes in the open places in the west and the north, preparing for the descent of the sun.
Unexpectedly an enormous army of goblins descended upon the scene and crashed into Cheft Rahm's men. They were wrathful, and there was, as I said earlier, no semblance of human mercy within them. A spirit of bloodlust seemed to fly through their ranks, whispering in their devilish ears of the spoil and the taste of human flesh. They chomped and bit at the swords that cut them, and raved like madmen across the battlefield. So dreadful was their onset that Faros at once called a retreat. He was too shrewd a strategist to allow the losses of the first battle to be repeated. He had anticipated such an assault, but he was taken quite aback by the ferocity of the goblins warriors.
They gnawed the bones of men still living; they dug their filthy fingers deep into the throats and faces of their prey and carried off with them trophies of tongues, eyes and scalps. With a few blasts of the ram's horn, the Noras were in flight. Those Noras who were within the Corhen valley rushed over the mound of goblin dead and through the pass. They rushed headlong into the fray and drove hard against the fresh goblin troops. But they were weary and they could not withstand them. By nightfall the Noras were in full flight.
As Faros passed Cheft Rahm's forces he shouted out, 'Cheftan of Noras! Flee while there is still life within you.'
But Cheft Rahm responded, 'If we yield our position there will be nothing to turn away the hordes and nothing to stop them from slaying us one and all in the passes. Fly, my lord. We will follow when the army of Galva is safely beyond their grasp in Megd-u-Coran.
Cheftan Rahm Cossirne
At the vanguard of the Noras army, remaining as a last protection against the army of goblins, stood Cheftan Rahm Cossirne along with his nephews Ander Cossirne and Silos Cossirne. They stood fast against the goblins like a mighty oak against a spring zephyr. Can any man number the goblins that lay dead at their feet ere the end? Legends were made on that mountain in that day, and stories that would be retold in Noras for many ages.
The goblins were driven into a mad rage. They sent many orcs against Rahm and his men, slaying many of them and driving away many others. In the end, all that remained was Cheft Rahm and his nephews, surrounded on all sides by goblins of every shape and size.
'They have been impressed, sons of my beloved sister. They will not touch us,' Rahm said as he lowered his bloodstained axe. His nephews followed suit. Indeed, the goblins did not strike; they now kept about a stone's throw away from the three warriors, but hemmed them in on every side. There would be no escape.
'What will become of us then?' Silos asked.
'They are waiting for a hob-goblin or some orc-hero to challenge us. One by one he will fight us.'
Then I will face him first, uncle,' Ander spoke, 'for I am unafraid.'
'No, brother,' Silos spoke, 'I am elder and I am unharmed, you're hand has been cut badly.'
'Fools,' Rahm said at last, 'Men of courage and honor, blessed am I for knowing such kinsmen, but fools nonetheless. I will face him first. If the gods grant me victory, the goblins may release us. And if it is my fate to die here, then in the very least I will drain from him so much strength that he will fall more easily to you.'
'One last thing,' Rahm said as he checked his armor, set aside his axe and drew his sword, 'No matter what the gods decree, do not anger the goblins by interference. For they will then close in about us with such hatred that there shall not be any bone or tuft of bloodied hair remaining of our corpses.'
No hob-goblin appeared that day. The western edge of the goblin ring parted and a path appeared. Entering the field they saw, to their great surprise, the figure of a man. This was no goblin, for his gait was too refined and his posture too straight. His armor was all black and he wore a cape of crimson that hung down behind him, blowing in the breeze as he walked. Upon his shoulder there perched a large black crow. The goblins carried in piles of wood and lit bonfires to light the darkening mountainside. The evening gray vanished away in a moment and they stood in an orange circle with the horrible silhouettes of goblin warriors dancing upon the mountain walls.
The man approached them swiftly with his blade already drawn. It's edge gleamed like a shooting star in the bright light of the bonfires. The great bird leapt from his shoulder and flew away toward the east. Screeching as it sped away.
'Son of Cossa,' the man said through the faceplate of his helmet. 'You have fought well, worthy of many songs. But here your tales must come to an end. Neither you nor your army will leave this mountain alive. Such is the will of Lady Arie.'
'They may make songs,' Rahm said as he lifted his blade into the air. 'But by Pelas I pray that you at least will never live to hear them.'
Rahm lifted his blade to strike. His sword clashed against the blade of his foe, sending sparks flying in every direction. Cheft Rahm was a master swordsman, but the armored man blocked each blow effortlessly, holding back the fierce warrior's strokes with one hand. After less than a minute he turned swiftly aside and dodged one of Rahm's strikes altogether. He struck the old man in the temple with his elbow and drove his sword deep into his heart.
Silos shouted and sprang from his place, sword held high. Though his blade was sharp and his skill unparalleled, he too met his end by the sword of this strange man.
Ander lowered his blade and sunk to his knees. A stream of tears flowed from his eyes. 'Come for me, and I will end your sorrow also,' the man said in an almost kind voice. Ander raised his blade and furrowed his brow prepared to meet his kinsmen in death. 'Or perhaps you may be of some further use,' the man said coldly and thoughtfully.
In the distance could be heard the howling of wolves.