***
In the lowlands of Gnell, beneath the gaze of the old king's caves, stood Vargor's palace, a construct of obsidian night-stone forged in the fire caverns of Qtar. It was a vast glittering structure of high walls and vaulted ceilings, heavily guarded by a battalion of warlocks. Vargor sat on his throne, the residing despot. Outside a battle was raging.
Warlocks stood in groups of five and six, hurling balls of fire at the invading undead. Goblin warriors swung their swords like fly swatters, frequently missing their targets. The undead, undaunted, pushed forward their swords, cutting down the goblins as a butcher carving meat.
“The chain,” Belfor barked, shoving a soldier toward it. The soldier jumped onto the chain and summoned the master of the house.
"He comes," the palace guards cried out as one. "The King!"
Their shouts resounded across the assembled ranks as Tharon's head appeared above the palace wall, renewing their vigor. The goblins lunged toward the invaders. The palace gate folded inward forming a giant, fang-lined maw through which Vargor calmly wandered into the melee as though he were out for an afternoon stroll.
"Desist," Vargor commanded and everyone froze, including the invaders. Vargor waved his arm ordering his forces to back off. "What do you want?" he demanded.
"We seek an audience with the king of the goblins," the lead warrior said. Stabbing his sword into the ground, he stooped and retrieved his severed lower arm as if he were picking up a dropped glove. Pushing the limb back into place with a twist and snap, he wriggling his fingers and sheathed his sword. "I am Andrew of the Brotherhood."
"I wondered when you would show up," Vargor said, walking away toward the palace gate. "This way."
The members of the Brotherhood followed him inside the palace grounds.
"This was not here before," Andrew remarked as they crossed the entrance to the courtyard where Tharon lay curled in a corner, feasting on dead goblins.
"I had it built. I could not abide in the stench of the mountains. Shall we?" Vargor ushered his guests into the lobby.
"Most impressive." Andrew sat in the seat Vargor had indicated. "And well guarded too."
"It has not been easy to train the goblins as I lack the warrior skills you clearly possess, but it is still quite a feat for so few of you to kill so many of my guards." Vargor walked purposefully around the table where the Brotherhood was seated. "What brings you here to Gnell, exactly?"
"We have come to offer our services to your majesty."
Vargor raised an eyebrow. "Indeed! I thought you had come with some kind of veiled threat." He laughed. "What's in it for you?" He was never one to skirt around an issue.
"We help you to get what you want and you leave us alone." Andrew leaned back putting his heavily armored feet up on the table. "We had a similar agreement with King Saltorn. We could cross Gnell without conflict and in exchange we would aid him should the need ever arise."
Walking back across the room, Vargor shoved Andrew's feet from the table, much to the amusement of his comrades. “The agreement is sound, but I demand respect. I will kill anyone who will not abide by my laws whilst in my lands. I will not be toyed with. Anyone who crosses me will forfeit their soul. Is that quite clear?" He stared Andrew in the eyes, searching his mind, waiting for his decision.
"It is understood. I am sorry for any insult." Andrew stood, bowing politely.
"Very well. As proof that your offer is sincere, here is what I want. We recently attempted to cross over The Reach into Meregith where the Mage Guild has their advanced…" he laughed to himself, “training facility. We encountered far stronger resistance than I expected. Clearly the Mage Guild is well supported by warriors and druids. I want that castle. If you can deliver the castle to me, we will share it as a joint outpost. You will also have the freedom to come and go in Gnell as you please. Just try not to kill too many of the goblins as you go. Is this agreeable to you?"
"It sounds like the beginning of a wonderful new covenant." Andrew reached inside his chest cavity and pulled out a dark iron portal ring about a foot in diameter. "This has two properties.” He placed the ring on the floor with its flat side facing up. "The first is to call us. Just put the dust of the dead within it and it will open to us. There will always be someone there to answer, I assure you. The second," Andrew flipped the ring over with his foot, "will open a two-way portal directly to Grimond in the shire. To open it, you will need to call us first so that we can both turn the rings and attune them. We wouldn't want any uninvited guests, would we?" Andrew smiled, placing a small urn on the table.
"You have mages in your ranks?" Vargor took the urn from the table and looked it over before replacing it.
"Our people come from all walks of life, some willingly, others less so. We number warriors, mages, conjurers, elves, humans, trolls and even an orc. It's all a matter of what you can offer the Brotherhood."
"There is nothing quite like blood to seal a covenant." Vargor slipped a silver dagger from his sleeve.
"You will have to speak to Barramon himself about covenant seals." Andrew moved a step closer. "Blood pacts are a bit difficult for us." He took the blade from Vargor and drew it across his palm. "What manner of magic is this?" he exclaimed, surprised by the crimson flow. "I have not bled in over two hundred years!"
"It is a vampiric blade. It can draw blood from anything that has had breath." Vargor took the blade from Andrew. Drawing it across his own palm he held out his hand.
Andrew grasped his wrist saying, "By my authority in the Brotherhood, our people are one. If anyone attacks you, they also attack us. You may call on the Brotherhood to serve and protect you and your people."
"As king of the goblins, I hereby offer ourselves as brothers to the Hood. Gnell is now a second shire and can be considered your home. We shall open a portal between our lands. It will remain so unless the blood-bond is broken. Welcome to my kingdom." The two men embraced. "A celebration is in order. Let us make it a double one. In two days, we will lay siege to Castle Thraw. Once we are victorious, we will make the castle a joint throne from which to rule Meregith as one. Tell your master that I look forward to our future together; I am sure there will be benefits to both of us."
"Barramon will be pleased to hear of this. We have waited a long time to test our mettle in full-blooded combat."
Andrew opened the urn. Scattering some dust over the portal ring, a shimmering window opened into Drakeshire. "Opening the portal," he said, stirring the awaiting guard into action.
The window closed. Andrew flipped the ring over, kicking it into an open space. "Be open," he commanded. A larger portal opened into the Grimond town square. "By the way, Vargor, did you know that a young battlemage has recently chosen the ways of the warlock and even now he is headed toward Gamran Mire?"
"No, I have not received this news. I have been too busy building up my forces here, but thank you for the information."
"Not to worry, we have an envoy on its way to meet with him. We would very much like to ally ourselves with him also, as he can give us a way into Northshire."
"That would be most useful for us all, but the halflings are friends of no one," Vargor caught the look on Andrew's face. "Can I assume from your countenance that you already have that in hand?"
"Yes, we have wanted this for so long. Now we are on the verge of emergence. Soon the men of Mor and those who side with them will know what suffering really is." Andrew chuckled. "In two days, we strike the first blow against the humans, but we must be careful not to give away our strengths. We must let them think that we are still at odds, therefore our alliance must remain secret for a while longer."
"I agree," Vargor clasped arms with Andrew, "caution must be observed at all times. I will ensure that my people are aware of this. Go now. Two days hence, we will strike terror into the very heart of the Mage Guild."
Andrew shook Vargor's proffered arm. The agreement was fully sealed.
clouds on the horizon
; The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the Tibus where the weary Arrborn sat in silent contemplation. Recent events had shaken the old priest, even though he had prophesied their coming. From where he sat, on the moss-covered wall, he watched the shale-skinned wolves lurking along the Drakeshire shore. It was unusual to see so many roaming around so close to the water. Other shapes were also moving around in the mist, but Arrborn could not make out what they were at this distance. One thing was for sure; whatever they were, there was a large number of them. A decision was needed, but it would not be an easy one.
After leaving the Council of Twelve in such uproar, he was no longer accepted as a public figure, and as such he could not guarantee access to Magnus. Many lives had been lost on the battlefield, lives the priests would normally have saved. The Mage Guild had been severely fractured by H'rat's outburst, causing the temporary removal of the darklings from the council. More than a month had passed since Arrborn had spoken to Magnus and his sabbatical to Luz had also ended in tragedy and heartache. Events across Alzear were keeping the Archmage extremely busy indeed. Now all Arrborn needed to make his day just perfect was to be disturbed during his quiet time of contemplation and prayer.
"Master Arrborn," Balto called out reigning in horse. "Master Arrborn, at last I have found you."
"Whoopee," Arrborn muttered under his breath. Then he said loudly, "Balto, how goes the war?" He neither got up nor looked round.
"I will not disturb you for long as I know how important your times of prayer are, my lord," Balto said dismounting his destrier.
"But disturb me, you will. Not to worry, there are enough things across the water to disturb anyone," he shrugged, gesturing toward the mist veiled banks of Drakeshire. "What brings you all this way?"
"This, my lord." He offered the garnet to Arrborn who just sat looking at it. "Master Garrant believes you may know what it is. I have heard there is a stone like it in Kelross." He waved the stone at Arrborn who continued to stare at it.
"I'll not touch it," Arrborn said, waving it away. "Where was it found?"
"On a goblin at The Reach." Balto's eyes were drawn to the shifting mist across the Tibus.
"The Reach?" Arrborn jumped to his feet.
"It was on the back of the right hand of a goblin warlock that had a pet imp at its side," Explained Balto.
Arrborn walked over to the water's edge. "A goblin that is no longer there, no doubt."
"I have no idea; I left immediately," Balto said trembling slightly.
The old priest raised his face towards the sky and cried out aloud, "Why must it all come to this?" Softly weeping, he continued, "Balto, you must return at once to the University of Elements. You will find Archmage Magnus in his chamber writing in his journal. Speak to no one until you talk to Magnus. Tell him I have gone to Grimlaw to call the Holy Order together. Give him the shard and tell him to destroy it. It is an Eye of the Beholder. With it, it is possible to project a living double that is as effective as its creator. Tell Magnus that Castle Thraw is in danger, grave danger. They must do all they can to protect the castle, and Hamrock from imminent invasion. Do you understand me?"
"But we have crushed just such an invasion, my lord, the castle is safe." Balto laughed a little; to think of the Castle being in such danger was ludicrous.
"What you crushed was nothing more than a probe sent to test your mettle. You can be sure that the warlock has by now secured a way to open a portal across The Reach. I would also guess that the Outpost is now a goblin stronghold. There will certainly be a full-scale assault on the castle, and you, in your arrogance, will lose it to the horde. The Mage Guild is too pious for its own good, believing itself to be unassailable. The great prophecy has already begun. The lands of men will soon be running rich with our own blood and our enemies will rule those that remain with an iron hand." Arrborn spun round to face Balto, gritting his teeth as he spoke. "Get to Magnus, deliver the message before it is too late to save us all. I have much to do."
Arrborn vanished, leaving Balto open-mouthed and speechless.
A young priest appeared at Orland's side. “Master Balto?"
"Wh... what?" he said, startled.
"Master Arrborn is rarely wrong. The entire priesthood is leaving this very day. If Arrborn did not believe the lands to be in danger then he would still be here fishing." He pointed to the abandoned rod and nets.
Balto turned to look at the spot where the young priest was pointing. When he looked back, he too was gone. Balto looked around the woods somewhat unnerved, then mounting his horse he rode as quickly as possible for Belgor where he found Magnus, exactly as he had been told, writing in his journal.
"Balto, please be seated I'll be with you in a moment." Dipping his quill into the ink Magnus continued his daily journal entry.
Balto sat picking at his fingernails, swallowing hard, taking in large breaths. The last time he had been in this room was to give the grave news of his daughter; Magnus had never forgiven him for not forcefully preventing his daughter from chasing after her dreams. You did not negotiate with the undead. Liza, was gone, lost beneath the veil of Drakeshire. Now it seemed fate would have him here again with further grim tidings.
"What is it that brings you here, Balto?" Magnus turned in his seat, his face half lit by the brass oil lamp on the writing desk. It was getting late and the last of the light had already gone from the diamond glass window.
For a moment, Balto was unsure how to begin, but then the words of Arrborn rang true in his heart.
"Master Arrborn," he began, moistening his lips, "has gone to Grimlaw to call The Holy Order together." Magnus straightened in his chair. "He says that I am to give you this." He placed the shard on the desk next to the journal, not wishing to offer it directly to Magnus after Arrborn's refusal to so much as touch it. "You are to destroy it at his request."
As Magnus held his hand out over the shard, a shell of thick frost formed around it. The shard rattled on the desk as though it were trying to escape the cold, and moments later it burst into tiny ice crystals, melting away to nothing. "It is done. What else did he say? You have nothing to fear from me, Balto," he added reassuringly, relaxing his posture.
Drawing a long breath Balto continued. "Master Arrborn believes that the goblins are about to lay siege to Castle Thraw and that they will succeed in conquering it." Lowering his gaze to the floor. "I am sorry, Archmage, there is nothing more. Right after..."
"He disappeared," Magnus interjected, sighing heavily. "Balto, I want you to go to Castle Thraw. If things look grim when you get there, use this to return at once." Magnus opened a slim drawer beneath the writing surface of his desk and took out a portal ring together with a small leather pouch. He passed both to Balto. “Arrborn has a habit of being right in such matters. I will consult the Divines and see what they have to offer. If you have faith, seek the wisdom of your god and may it ride with you." Magnus took a second ring from the drawer. "I will open this in the council chamber, so you will return there. I will send warning ahead of you of what has transpired. We will have to close any portals that are open between here and the Castle at the first sign of trouble. We cannot risk any of them getting into the University. Go now; further delay will cost lives."
Once outside the University gate, Balto opened a portal to Meregith. Spurring his horse and driving it forward, he lashed the animal with a gathered length of the reins.
first strike
As the morning mists faded from the land, Gestorn closed his eyes and slipped into a trance, incorporating the essence of his being into the awaiting demon. The demon's skin began to blister and peel, transforming it into a perfect facsimile of Gestorn. Gestorn smiled at himself; the practice had all been worthwhile. His effigies were as capable as he was, and so long as he remained undisturbed, the apparition would remain under his control, though it could not yet think for itself.
Standing at the lip of The Reach, Gestorn and his demonic effigy waited with a group of warlocks, among th
em Belfor who had at last mastered the flame. The four of them raised their arms above their heads and began circling their hands in perfect unison, between them conjuring a wall of fire. With it in their hands they began to pull at its edges, teasing it out, slowly guiding it forward and forming it into a fiery funnel. The four warlocks lowered their arms and entered the conduit, emerging a heartbeat later on the other side of The Reach where they had left their fingernails embedded in the castle defenses. Once there they repeated their fire summoning, creating a second conduit and joining it to the first one spanning The Reach.
Tharon swooped from the morning sun with Vargor sitting proudly on his back. Beating his leathery wings at a lethargic rhythm he hovered over the goblins baring his teeth, a hungry serpent poised to strike. Vargor dropped a portal ring next to Gestorn commanding, "Open it. Summon our brothers."
Gestorn took the ring, dutifully obeying his master. His demonic effigy vaporized with an agonized hiss.
Stretching from the old outpost more than a league back into swamp forests of Gnell, the column of the goblin army began entering the fire bridge. In Drakeshire, the undead were rising, advancing through the portal in Grimond. The invasion of Meregith had begun. Vargor swung Tharon around to face Castle Thraw. He called down fire and brimstone upon the battlements from the skies. Burning rock run down the outer walls of Castle Thraw in glowing rivulets while on the mages burned on the battlements.
Goblins beyond counting surged across The Reach. Joining with the undead army they rushed as one toward the castle to claim their prize. The next to die were the lookouts as Tharon flashed from the skies and snatched them from their posts, tearing them apart with his bloodied claws. A gigantic fireball exploded in the central courtyard, destroying the winch and chains holding the heavy drawbridge in place. The castle shuddered as the dark iron drawbridge slammed into the earth, opening the way to the amassed armies of the Horde. The mages stood no chance. Taken without warning, many were still sleeping as the horde swept through their dormitories slicing throats and spilling innards in a tide of bloody viscera.
In the depths of Castle Thraw, the elders were at their morning prayers and devotions seeking guidance and absolution from their gods. Some stood before blood-stained altars, drawing knives across their chests but holding back their cries to avoid the wrath of their divine masters. Others beat their chests until bruises grew dark and bloody upon their flesh. The last, Dolomire, stood silently at an altar thumbing through a hefty tome, feeling the thick, coarse pages between his fingers, smiling contentedly.
The sound of ill-fitting armor came clattering through the sanctuary door. Dolomire quietly closing the tome, turned toward the door and waited. A soft fizzing began around the seal of the sanctuary door. Red and green sparks dissolved into a pungent smoke which raked at the throat, stealing breath from faltering lungs. The chamber door groaned painfully before exploding into dust, adding to the choking atmosphere. Only Dolomire remained on his feet, defiantly drawing deep breaths of the acrid smoke.
"Tear down these idols." Andrew pointed to the ornate statues of the Divines lining the walls. "This will be a shrine to the Dark Mistress and Accuson the Great. Leave the humans to me," he growled at the undead as they filtered around him into the room.
The elders, their breath rasping in their contracting throats, offered no resistance; the undead were too many and too strong for them to have any hope of success. Andrew pulled two small vials from within his chest and threw them into the altar of incense. The elders watched in horror as the mist swirling about them turned black and eldritch, coiling itself around them. Soon they too would be joining the ranks of the undead and their powers would serve Barramon and his Dark Mistress.