***
The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of trees overhanging the Tibus, mourners at a graveside weeping for the lost. The old priest settled his fishing pole neatly between his toes and leaned back against the tree to resume his meditation. At first he thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him where the sun danced with effulgence on the water. However, there it was, a mound of scaled flesh drifting into his fishing line and beginning to draw it away into the reeds and rushes. The old man waded into the water, never one to miss the opportunity of a free meal or, better still, a complete scaly hide. Now there was a thing of rare beauty.
"What have we here? Razor fish!" The priest gleefully squelched about among the rushes as he reached out for the prize ensnared in his line. "Oh my. My, my, my. Boy!" The priest waited by his catch for the servant boy to answer. "Quickly boy, I need your help." Carefully lifting the dragon's head he picked out the mud from its nostrils. The pup snorted, opened one eye and passed out.
"Master?" The boy inquired wide-eyed and mouth agape.
"Go to the house and get everyone down here. We have to get this little fellow home."
the dogs of war
"Regis, get your people to the other side of the castle and hold the goblins there. We'll work our way around from this side. Now get going," Garrant yelled above the sound of exploding fireballs and clashing shields. Turning to his captain, he said, "Charge at them. Drive them back through the defenses, we cannot allow the goblin army to get inside."
"Sire, we have just spotted a mounted division coming from The Reach, at least fifty of them with foot soldiers," Captain Balto said, gasping after his run in full armor up the embankment surrounding the castle grounds. "I fear that we may be outnumbered. We need to get more fighters, and we cannot sustain our current losses, not without the priests."
"Make it so," Garrant conceded, "and get someone inside to open a portal to all of the available Fighters' Guilds." He thought for a moment. "This may be our chance to make use of the local ruffians. Send your fastest feet to the inn at Hamrock see if you can stir up Royd."
Balto laughed, "Aye, any willing hands would be of use in this battle."
Garrant watched Balto dispatch his fastest riders into the village. The fight was not going well. They were all feeling the absence of the priests from the battlefield.
"At last," Garrant muttered, closing his eyeglass.
"What is it, sire?" Rham asked, loosing a lightning bolt into a squad of goblins. "That's taken care of them."
"The last of them has crossed The Reach. It looks as though they have another warlock with them. It figures, I suppose." Garrant smiled at Rham. It had not been easy for him, losing Dekor, but Rham was proving to be a worthy aide. Garrant was still a bit old world when it came to battle, preferring to have a man at his side than a woman, but Rham was remarkably adept. "We'll close The Reach then take down the warlock. Then we'll come at them from behind. We'll need the druid." Garrant leapt from behind the cover of the rocks deflecting a fireball with his shield.
"They do not seem to have much power in them," Rham observed, freezing a fireball in mid-flight.
"No, the goblins are not the brightest of creatures, but in large numbers, even their weak powers can be devastating." Garrant slammed his shield into the face of a goblin as it sprang up from a pile of corpses. It fell back to the ground, its face a bloody mass of torn flesh. "I never regret the money I spent on this shield," he said, showing it to Rham.
"Quite a weapon, sire," she agreed, eying the spiked shield, "fine workmanship indeed."
"Dwarven," Garrant puffed, dispatching another goblin. "There, the druid." He pointed to an overturned wagon where Illicia was applying triage to some of her fellow elves.
"We need your assistance. Can you take us to The Reach? We need to close it and get in behind the goblins." Garrant wiped the sweat from his brow.
Illicia looked at the elves around her. "I cannot leave them here, the goblins will slaughter them," she said, meeting Garrant's gaze. "I could send you on, but I cannot come with you. I am sorry."
"More will die if you stay. You are the only healer on this side of the castle. Can you not get them inside?" Garrant raised his shield to deflect another blast of fire.
Rham responded with a barrage of her own, freezing the goblins in a tomb of ice. Moments later the upturned cart erupted into flames, killing one of the injured elves.
"I have no choice." Illicia stood up. Taking her sword from its sheath, weeping, she killed the last two elves. "It is better done through love than hate. Let us go."
Amid the chaos of the battle, Illicia ported the three of them behind the warlock to where The Reach ended. What they saw there terrified them all. The Reach itself was a set of three rope bridges suspended across a wide chasm, the bottom of which was a mass of twisted briars and thorns. The Reach was the only direct link between Castle Thraw and the old outpost, now buried beneath a seething mass of goblins.
Garrant, shaking his head with dismay, sighed, “We're too late. The goblins have overrun the outpost. No one could survive against that many.”
The old region was awash with a sea of green goblins who were now turning their attention toward The Reach.
"Quickly, destroy the bridges. We cannot let them get across, or we'll lose the castle as well."
Garrant summoned a rain of freezing hailstones the size of vulture’s eggs upon the foremost goblins, pelting them from their skitterling mounts. The skitterlings turned in an attempt to flee the downpour, but were caught in a second shower of freezing rain. Amidst the chaos, brought on by the hail attack, the goblins at the center of the bridge were frozen into a mass of ice. Garrant drew his sword and began hacking through the living vines supporting the bridge. Rham, not possessing Garrant's power, did what she could; she summoned a freezing to coat the whole bridge in a sheet of thick ice. Goblins slipped and fell in all directions, cursing as they plunged hundreds of feet into the thorns below. Then Rham began to hack away at the supporting vines.
Illicia, the druid healer, grasped the twisted vine handrails, whispering to them, "Take hold." The goblins screamed and wailed as the vines rapidly entwined themselves around their limbs, binding them fast.
“Mine's down,” Garrant let the bridge swing away, watching as it crashed into the opposite wall of the Reach. Rham was not far behind and both of them joined Illicia in severing the final link to the old outpost. It was done. Now all they had to do was to take care of the warlock and clear up the invading horde.
"Let's get this over with," Garrant muttered, heading back toward the castle.
He could see Regis and his unit driving the goblins back on the far side of the castle. He could also see the warlock and its imp about to strike Regis. Garrant formed a giant ball of ice within a swirling mist and sent it thundering across the battlefield toward the warlock. The boulder of ice pounded everything in its path; wagons, corpses and goblins alike. The imp turned and, seeing the danger, threw itself into the path of the ice ball, ending its life with a pitiful yelp, but It was sufficient to divert the course of the ice-ball and redirect it harmlessly into the maw of The Reach. Regis spun around, sword and shield at the ready.
Illicia grabbed hold of Garrant and Rham, porting them closer to the warlock. Illicia, dropping instinctively to her knees, held out her hand. Curling her fingers upwards she whispered in the song-like tongue of the high elves, "Arise, and take hold of that which offends."
To the warlock's side a smoldering briar shook gently. Then violently. The briar's roots burst from the earth, a mass of writhing, snakes, and enveloped the warlock, trapping him in their fibrous snare.
"He's going nowhere," Regis laughed, blowing out his breath. "It's good to see you made it through in one piece, Lord Garrant."
"It is indeed," Garrant slapped Regis on the shoulder. "It is unfortunate that we lost the outpost. It was overrun by goblins. I'll leave you to tidy up here. I need to get down to Hamrock
and see what has become of Balto."
South-east of Castle Thraw, about half a league down a gently sloping hill, lay a small village. This was Hamrock, the home of the brawlers, fighters and warriors with a low regard for discipline and order. Their leader, Royd was one of the most well respected gentlemen in the region. The goblins, having got as far as they had, were unsure as what to do next. They never believed they would get beyond The Reach. Now they had run into Royd and his motley crew of brawlers as they sat feasting. The last thing Royd wanted was to have his lunch interrupted. No one in Hamrock, or anywhere for that matter, got between Royd and his food.
"What is that stench?" Royd roared. Looking back over his shoulder he threw his bread on the table. "Goblins. How can I eat with the stench of goblins fouling up the air?"
Royd picked up his pitcher of mead, drank it dry then wiped the drips from his chin, his hand rasping across the stubble, all the while assessing his foe. "You have one chance to leave, all of you.” He waved the empty pitcher at the goblins and their skitterling mounts and let out a loud belch. “And take the reptiles with you."
The lead goblin, tugging at the reins of his skitterling, trotted over to Royd.
"We do not listen to filthy humans," the goblin sneered, yellow spittle foaming at the corners of its mouth. It leaned closer to Royd. "You will all bow down to Vargor, King of the Goblins."
The skitterling opened its slavering maw, revealing row upon row of fanged teeth. Its eyelids quivered as it growled menacingly at Royd. Royd never flinched; ever. Staring the skitterling straight back in the eye he waited. The diners sprang from their table and spread out behind him. Royd slipped his free hand into his trouser pocket, gently pushing his fingers into a bronze knuckleduster. He smiled at the skitterling revealing his own set of crooked and broken teeth, discolored by mead and general neglect. The goblin leaned out further to get a better look at events.
The skitterling was standing on its heavily muscled hind legs, easily capable of supporting a fully-grown human let alone a lightweight goblin. Its front legs were shorter; arms with eager clawed hands opening and closing involuntarily. In a single swift movement, Royd swung his left hand up gifting the goblin a face full of clay pitcher. The tankard shattered leaving the goblin's face in ruins. At the same time he pulled his other hand from his pocket and slammed it into the skitterling's soft under-jaw.
The skitterling leapt up, twisted around, and lashing out with its tail attempted to catch Royd with the gnarled bony tip. Royd launched himself at the rider. Grasping the mounted goblin by his tatty tunic he yanked him to the ground. The brawlers followed closely behind, eagerly leaping into the affray. Royd's weight carried him forward and he knocked the now riderless skitterling to the ground. Royd rolled onto the creature, pinning it beneath his knees, landing blow after blow into the back of its head, caving it in after just a few seconds. Royd's hands glowed red with blood rage as the skitterling slumped beneath his fists. Roaring triumphantly Royd leapt to the aid of a fellow brawler who was having a problem extracting his arm from a skitterling's mouth. Royd rammed his fist into the skitterling’s throat so that it gagged and released its hold.
Realizing they were no match for the brute force of the brawlers, the goblins turned and fled. The magic they had learned was no use in melee, especially against such ferocious opponents. The goblins scattered across the hillside, desperate to escape. Two skitterlings remained, curled up, cowering in a doorway as Royd approached the creatures, both fists at the ready.
"Up," he commanded. Nervously the two skitterlings obeyed, keeping their heads low to the ground.
"Here." Royd, his mouth curling into a smile, pointed to his feet. Once again the animals duly obeyed. Royd reached out to the first one, a large, dark red male. Taking the reins, he mounted the animal. The skitterling bobbed its head, cawing loudly. Royd had won himself a couple of new pets. The brawlers guffawed, "Hail the lizard king!"
Royd patted the skitterling's neck, "I wonder what it eats?" He looked at his brawlers for any viable suggestions. As if in reply, the skitterling reached down and bit the head from a dead goblin. "Nice. I think I'm going to like you."
Balto appeared, reining his mount to halt.
"What have you got there?" he said to Royd.
"Like it?" Royd smiled, trotting over to Balto. "Bolsover," he grinned, patting the skitterling on the broad, flat space between its eyes, "he seems to like it."
Balto shook his head, "Whatever. I've seen some stuff in my days, Royd, but you… on that!” Balto tried to rub the image from his eyes, but the big man on a skitterling was still there when he looked again. "Garrant has requested for you to come and help with some trouble at the castle."
Royd looked around at his men. "Well, are we up for it?"
"Aye, we are," they all cheered.
"Mount up and get to the castle, boys, it's brawling time. Then it's back for beer and bitches!"
Royd steered Bolsover toward the castle, pushing the animal to full stride, leaning in close to its neck to keep his balance. There was no time to waste; a brawl was spoiling. The brawlers grabbed their weapons and mounts, and also raced for the castle, leaving Mika, Royd's 'bitch', with the remaining skitterling.
"How about you?" Mika growled. Snatching up the reins of the skitterling, she mounted up. The animal turned its head and cawed at her. "Let's ride."
The skitterling sped away at a pace which left Mika bouncing wildly on its back.
"Do you mind warning me next time?" she yelled into its ear.
The mages were hunting down the goblins that had dispersed into the nearby woodland. The whole area was littered with the dead and dying of both sides amid the smoldering remains of gorse and shrub. Still clinging to the neck of her mount, Mika had overtaken the horse riders and was gaining on Royd. They entered the castle grounds together and rounded on a small group of goblins.
Bolsover lowered his head and sprang into the party of goblins, tearing into a goblin's throat just as Royd jumped from his back pulling another goblin to the ground, snapping its neck as they fell. Rolling back onto his feet, Royd spun around in time to catch a fireball square in the chest. He stood there stunned for a moment, his fists glowing with rage. The goblins began to back away, drawing their swords, forgetting all about the skitterling. One goblin began conjuring a fireball just as Bolsover leapt onto it, ripping the goblin's hand from its arm. Screaming, with its eyes as wide as its fetid mouth, the hapless goblin stared at the tattered bleeding stump. The last goblin turned and ran straight into Mika on her mount. The skitterling pounced at the goblin and pinned it to the ground. Losing her grip, Mika tumbled to the ground in an untidy heap at Royd's feet. The two skitterlings jumped about cawing to each other as they shredded the goblins with their hind feet before devouring the soft innards.
"What happened to you?" Mika said, dusting herself down.
"It threw a fireball at me. I didn't know they could do that," Royd said straightening himself up. "Thanks, I owe you one."
The rest of the brawlers rode straight into the woodland and threw themselves onto the fleeing goblins, tearing them down one by one beneath a hail of fists and feet. With the help of the mages, they quickly cleared the woodland of all the invading forces.
"Not very strong magic,” Mika observed as she inspected Royd, “nothing more than smoke and few singed hairs," she added, giving his backside a firm slap.