***
Garrant stood before the trembling warlock, twirling a stiletto in his right hand. The warlock, still held by the roots of the briar, watched the blade in terror as Garrant cut the plant fibers from its face.
"We've met before," Garrant said, examining the goblin's hand, "at Garnet Ford." Garrant thought for a moment. "Gestorn." The warlock sneered. "Only, last time it was just a projection on a demon, was it not?"
"Y... yes." Gestorn remembered the events of the day only too well. "I remember you."
"You are obviously not the leader, so who is? I do not see any signs of the king, so who leads you this day?" Garrant asked.
Gestorn snarled, "We have a new king. He will kill you all."
"And probably you as well," Garrant smiled, watching the approaching riders. "It would seem your day is over."
"Yours too, soon," Gestorn spat at Garrant, ready to die. Goblins had a way of accepting death as being sometimes inevitable.
"Where did you get that?" Garrant asked Royd as he dismounted Bolsover.
"From a goblin in the town, it was... willing to change sides." Royd greeted Garrant with a hearty hug. "Good to see you friend."
"You too, you old rogue." Garrant quickly stepped around Royd to intervene with Bolsover. "No eating the prisoners, you."
Bolsover bowed his head as he backed away from Gestorn, who was left with his hand running with skitterling drool.
"Keep it away, keep it away," squawked Gestorn, doing his best to avoid being eaten. "I'm no good to you dead."
"Curious," Garrant smiled to Royd. "One minute the goblin's ready to die, the next it's frightened of its own mounts."
"Why don't we let Bolsover torment it and see what it has to say? Bolsover," Royd called the creature to his side. "Tell me goblin, who sent you?" Royd edged the skitterling closer to Gestorn. "I want a name."
"Ah." With every move the roots closed tighter around Gestorn. "He'll kill me. Can’t tell you." The skitterling inched closer. "Keep it back," Gestorn pleaded, his wide eyes welling with tears.
Royd loosened his grip on Bolsover's reins. Gestorn screamed briefly as Bolsover closed his mouth over the goblin's head and ran off with it to his mate. "Oops."
The briar holding Gestorn retreated slowly back into the earth.
"Thanks, Royd," Garrant laughed. "He wasn't going to give us anything anyway."
“What's that?” Royd pointed at the Gestorn's hand.
A glint caught Garrant's eye. "What have we here?" Taking the stiletto from his belt he cut the stone from the back of Gestorn's hand and held it up for a better look. "Have you ever seen anything like this, Royd?"
"Not quite, but I do remember seeing one similar in the temple of Ariklon in Kelross."
"What were you doing in there with the God of Dark Magic?" Garrant gave Royd a knowing once-over.
"Not always been a brawler, or a fighter," he smiled widely. "I used to be into all the magic stuff like you, only darker." Royd grinned.
"Right." Garrant called Balto across. "Get this to Magnus, but if you can find Arrborn he would be a better bet. Find out what you can about it." He gave the jewel to Balto and waved him away, "Speak to no one else about this."
"I know where the priest will be, I'll go there first." Balto climbed up on his horse before riding off alone deep into Meregith.
"Tell me more about this temple and the dark arts," said Garrant, putting an arm around Royd's shoulders. "Some mead and some of that famous spiced stew might be in order. What do you say old friend?"
"I'd say, see you there." Royd called for Bolsover who sprinted around behind him and scooped him straight up onto his back.
"Might have to get myself one of those." Garrant looked around at the fire-scorched walls of the castle, musing to himself. “If they ever master magic we are going to need a bigger army.”
Garrant wandered around the battlefield silencing any injured horde as he worked his way across to where he had left his mount on the far side of the castle. Illicia was tending to the wounded, already looking weary. More medics were coming out of the castle laden with supplies.
"What a mess," he sighed and rode off after Royd for a victory celebration.
a new covenant
"Well done Gestorn, my friend. Your projection was most convincing this time, but you really must keep yourself protected," Vargor said as they approached the outpost. "We'll use this for ourselves. Have the builders repair it at once. It will make a convenient place for a garrison."
"I placed a few protected nails, my lord." Gestorn stared across the open expanse of The Reach, lusting for battle. "In time we can rebuild the bridges."
"First we will have to get across to the other side and secure the mountings, but the idea is good." Vargor turned to face Gestorn. "Where exactly did you leave the nails?"
"Some are in the woods, wrapped in wax, near the drop off at the far end." Gestorn, shuffling his feet in the long grass, watched Vargor's face for any signs of appreciation. "The others are by the castle wall, but..." he wavered.
"Go on." Vargor knew something was amiss.
"I lost the shard," Gestorn hesitated. "I used it to create the illusion."
"This time, I will let it go," Vargor stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "We will waste no more time. You will go right away to the woods and take more nails from these three, and this," he said slipping the green gem from his finger. "Wrap this in wax, together with the finger nails and bury them carefully, as near to that wall as possible. Once it is secured we can project the four of you across and then you can open a tunnel for us all to pass through." Vargor turned toward The Reach. Placing one hand over his eye he drew it from its socket holding it out at arm's length. Gestorn and the other apprentice warlocks all backed away.
Vargor opened his hand, the eye swiveling around in his palm. "Go forth and see," he whispered.
The eye lifted from his hand and floated out over the edge of The Reach, descending slowly under Vargor's mindful control. The eye scanned back and forth allowing Vargor to assess the damage to the fallen bridges. The one the druid had sealed was a solid mass of tangled fibers, but was otherwise intact, together with all of the goblins who were on it at the time it was severed. The second was of no use at all – the hailstorm had splintered most of the walkway – and the last one had been shattered to atoms. The eye reappeared over the edge of The Reach, returning to Vargor's hand. Placing the eye back into its socket, he turned to face his subjects.
"One bridge is still intact, one can be repaired, but the last is nothing more than hanging vines, though it too will be useful. We have much to do. I want the Outpost ready in three days, and then we will make a full assault on Castle Thraw."
Vargor called out, "Tharon, come." The sound of heavy, leathery wings filled the air as Tharon appeared out of the gloom. "Gestorn, I trust you to do what needs to be done. The rest of you can get to work on the Outpost. Soon Meregith will be ours." Vargor climbed onto Tharon's back, "Home!"
The belkin lowered its head. Flapping its tattered wings it snatched up a goblin in its powerful jaws. The goblins scattered in all directions, knowing if they failed Vargor they would be Tharon's next meal.
If the goblins were anything, they were master builders and expert engineers; they also possessed an immeasurable enthusiasm. They were quick to learn, though the magical arts seemed to elude most of them. They could be taught just about anything, it was just a matter of patience. A time was coming when a simple proposal would forever change the way goblins were trained.
In less than two days, the old outpost had been fully restored and expanded as a goblin stronghold. Gestorn, succeeding beyond all he had been asked, was now able to open a portal at will. The time for the assault on Castle Thraw was drawing near.