The weapon exploded into a shower of metal dust. A few sparks traced their way along the rim of the energy shield and then died away. The tall woman kicked the dwarf behind his knees, sending him to ground, cursing.

  Androlion continued as if nothing had happened.

  "If you do so, your city will be spared and my army will march to where it is needed most. The dwarves and elves of the west and north require my attention. In exchange for supplies for my army, I will not burn your city to the ground.”

  Androlion grabbed the reins of his horse, knowing that his message had been heard and the time-line set.

  “I'll know your answer when I see you hurling those that need to be purged over the sides of your great walls. That, or I will come for the city and none shall be left alive.”

  He turned his horse and looked over his shoulder at the Council of Seven, who stood still and defiant, watching him ride away.

  “Tomorrow at sunrise!” he shouted again.

  Androlion looked over at Blume, who was still riding proudly on her horse.

  He noticed the look of hate and disgust across her face.

  In good time, he thought. She will see the completion of my work.

  “General Cory,” he called as he rode.

  “Yes, My Lord,” came the reply.

  As the delegation rode back to the army that faced them, pride filled him. He was not the disgraced elder he had been two years ago. He was a man to be feared. To be admired.

  He was Androlion Fellgate, the Savior of Men.

  “Ensure my dinner is waiting for me.”

  22: For Thoran

  Teresa ran across the walls of Thoran with Felicia and Urt close behind her. Several soldiers stood along the walls and let arrows fly down at the attacking goblin hordes. So far, none had managed to climb the wall, let alone try. The wretched gray beasts seem content to clamor along the bottom of the defenses and hurl rocks upward at the defenders. Some held crude bows and shot poisoned arrows, but these mostly flew over the wall and landed harmlessly on the buildings below.

  Casting a look over to the streets below, Teresa could see several youth scattering about and collecting the lethal projectiles.

  She prayed the wretched things wouldn't hit them.

  Her focus brought back to the wall and the path she ran down, she found herself at a strong door. Inside of this were a cramped guard table and a few wooden chairs. Though it was a bright morning outside, the room was dark. Light invaded the space at a few openings that were also occupied by soldiers with bow and arrows, sending back down whatever the goblins shot at them.

  Each soldier wore gloves to protect their hands from the poison. Teresa eyed them only for a moment. A male elf let out a triumphant sound, possibly signaling a direct hit.

  He turned to see who had noticed and found himself eye to eye with Teresa, his princess, general, and leader. She gave him a hard stare. His face turned red and he quickly busied himself aiming for another target.

  A stifled smile nearly crossed her mouth, but then it was gone.

  This was a time to plan, not to celebrate.

  The goblins were up to something.

  Hours had passed since the horde of gray skins had begun their assault on the outer wall of Thoran, but no great threat had assailed them. Save for the occasional mad dash at the main gate with fire and wood. Teresa had been proud of her soldiers and their use of boiling water to both repel the attacks and put out the flames all at the same time.

  But to send a massive army to her gates and not do much with them?

  Either it was goblin cunning or stupidity.

  Both were dangerous.

  “What are the little devils playing at?” Felicia asked as they approached the table. Mara, leader of the resistance from the Southern Republic and those who opposed Androlion's regime, sat at the table with a captain of Thoran at her side.

  She had come north to warn the people there of Androlion's schemes and to let them know that there were those even in the south who would not bow to such a madman. Her coming had been a blessing and a curse.

  The news of others who were not taken by the hate of other races was good to hear and encouraged Teresa greatly. However, the goblin army that now assaulted them came shortly after her arrival and had delayed her home going.

  Mara was now trying to offer her wisdom in the defense of the castle and its citizens. Fresh eyes that sought out weaknesses in the fortress and its walls. This was thoughtful and wise, but still it irked at the princess.

  Her castle was strong and these goblins were ill-equipped. How could they possibly breach the walls of Thoran?

  It was that subject Mara was currently discussing with Crawford, one of Teresa's sergeants and one of the most tenured human soldiers in Thoran's army. Though he was nearing his mid-forties, he fought with the vitality and heart of any younger warrior. He was also the one who knew the defenses of Thoran well enough to talk her through the drawings and more drawings of Thoran's structures.

  He was now showing Mara a portion of the wall she had thought might be weaker than the others.

  "No ma’am," he had said, pointing to a spot. "We have soldiers there guarding that portion of the wall and no few goblins would it take to overcome them."

  Teresa came and looked down at the place they were discussing. It was where the wall met the east side of the mountain range. Thoran's capital city and castle lay in the base of a mountain. The walls that rose to protect it sprang from the sides of the solid rock that enveloped them. It was heavily fortified.

  Built with the help and plans of dwarves, the city had never been captured or taken.

  Then again, never had this many goblins come to its walls, either.

  "Vera and Benton are leading the defenses well," Teresa reported as she stood at the table, Felicia and Urt behind her. "Though we expect there's some plot we're missing."

  "Or the vermin are just stupid," Felicia offered.

  Teresa looked back and shrugged her shoulders.

  "It's possible they just attack without a plan," she replied. "But you know how crafty they can be if they attempt it."

  Felicia was still upset about her ship, the White Wind, which was blown to pieces by goblins on the way from Good Harbor to Thoran. She cursed and spat on the ground.

  "Well I say we find a way to rid ourselves of 'em."

  Mara looked disapprovingly at Felicia. The two were related, but they both begrudged that fact it seemed to Teresa. Mara was Felicia's aunt and the two could not be more different. Not a single hair was out of place on Mara's gray head and she always carried herself with poise and dignity. There was hardly a moment when attendants who waited on her needs didn’t surround her.

  Felicia, on the other hand, whose hair was mostly in long braids and topped with a captain's hat, acted just like one might expect a pirate to: coarse and gruff. Her constant first mate, Urt, was a Skrilx, a creature covered in gray fur with the body like a man, save for his tail and feline face.

  "While I agree with you, Felicia," Mara continued, ignoring her niece’s eyes rolling at the mention of her given name. "We can't send the few troops we have in Thoran out against such a force. We would be crushed."

  Teresa agreed. Androlion and his army of warriors and mercenaries had decimated most of Thoran’s fighting force. What soldiers they had left were struggling to defend the castle against the current attack.

  An outright battle would be the end of them all.

  But the castle had only so much in their storehouses. They wouldn't survive a winter's siege.

  "Our scouts said there are thousands of the creatures in the woods just beyond our gates," Crawford offered. "But what can we do about it from here?"

  Teresa had been a soldier for her entire adult life, much against the wishes of her mother. She had seen, time and time again, her father's ingenuity and cunning in battle save the lives of countless soldiers, against both monster and men.

  Now it was her turn to do what she had been trained to do.

  "Send for the Speakers."

  MADAM WISHTER, HEAD of the School of Magic, came down the path, followed by more than a dozen Speakers, all robed in the crimson color of Thoran. Men, women, elves and a dwarf all hurried towards the walls with soldiers on either side. They were not in danger of arrows from this distance, but soon they would need the protection that accompanied them.

  Teresa met them as they walked.

  “Did Vera relay my message to you, Madam Wishter?” she asked, keeping pace with the surprisingly quick old teacher.

  “She did and we will serve as needed,” she replied in a matter of fact tone.

  “I know that several of your students are already on the walls helping to defend but in order to perform what we think will drive the horde back–” Teresa began.

  “You needed more gifted Speakers,” Wishter interrupted.

  It was true.

  Many on the wall wore the robes of a battle Speaker, protecting soldiers with small shields where it was needed and hurling bolts of energy at the goblins where they gathered the thickest.

  But Teresa and her sergeants had plans for a bigger offensive that would require those with the utmost skill. They hoped that this plan would drive back the goblins and send them on their way, saving Thoran from a siege that could last weeks.

  “Yes we did,” Teresa said as she began to lead them to the castle gates. “And we would like to ask you to do something worthy of the renown our magic school has received. Follow me to the wall, please.”

  The company did just that.

  Back at the gate house, above the massive entrance to Thoran, the plan was laid out and all agreed it was a sound strategy.

  All except Madam Wishter.

  “You all are still willing to go along with this madness, even when I showed you the potential folly?”

  It was hard to question the headmistress, but Teresa saw no other options. There was a part of her that wanted to plow ahead, despite Wishter's complaints. But then another part that hesitated. She remembered the way her father had conducted many of his war councils and battle plans.

  When she had disagreed with a decision of his, and had voiced it out of concern for the safety of her comrades or due to the lack of ability she felt the troops had, there was something he always said to her.

  How did it go again?

  “Well then, Madam Wishter,” Teresa said, mimicking her father's intonation from memory as best as she could. “What would you suggest we do instead of the plans laid out so far?”

  Crawford and Benton looked up at the princess knowingly and nodded their approval.

  Even Madam Wishter let a corner of her mouth turn up in a small grin.

  “You say that we cannot withstand a prolonged assault with our forces and our supplies. Why not evacuate the castle through the mountains and send the people north, milady? Save their lives and spare the soldiers as well. Sometimes the best way to ensure you leave a fight alive is to abandon it.”

  The air hung in the crowded room for a moment. Several of the soldiers shooting arrows through the openings in the wall loosed several volleys before Teresa replied.

  Benton coughed.

  “I'll not abandon the castle to ruin and these goblin wretches,” she said resolutely.

  There was no option in her mind for leaving the castle to fall prey to monsters.

  “This castle has never been the home of goblins and I'll see that it never is.”

  Many nods followed her statement, by both soldier and Speaker. They all had a sense of pride in their homeland and in their castle.

  Madam Wishter shook her head.

  “You're in charge and I'll follow where you lead,” she said putting her hands on her hips. “But I still think you've failed to see the danger.”

  Teresa knew there was danger. This was a battle, wasn't it? There was always death sitting close by, waiting to strike as a snake. It was decisions like this that determined whom death would bite.

  "Keep your Speakers focused on the forest," Teresa replied with grim determination. "And we'll see that all goes according to plan."

  She looked around the room, into the eyes of her soldiers and Speakers who would repel the goblin menace from their great country.

  "For Thoran!" she said, holding up a fist.

  All voices echoed her cry and emptied the room, preparing for their assault on the horde.

  23: Flames and Ladders

  This was stupid, Stinkrunt thought.

  He had thousands of goblins at his command, maybe even tens of thousands, and they couldn't climb over some little wall.

  They had been trying for at least a full two hours now.

  Even with their ladders made from trees and big bark shields, the gray warriors hadn't managed to get inside the castle and do some real damage.

  Stinkrunt was so bothered by this, he almost got up from his sitting position in the back of the horde to go see what was taking so long.

  Almost.

  A couple of his favorite goblins had been making him some roasted squirrel over a small fire pit. He knew full well that they were trying to avoid the frontlines and that they snuck bites whenever they thought he wasn't looking, but if it meant he got the Doyen's share of meat, he didn't care.

  As he was biting down on a nice, juicy portion of his third helping, a larger goblin came running back to where Stinkrunt sat among some felled trees and their stumps. One of them currently served as his throne.

  "Hey, big Doyen Stinkrunt," the large goblin spat as he approached.

  Stinkrunt could tell this one wasn't particularly impressed with something. He also knew this bite of squirrel was the best food he had eaten in days.

  He kept chewing for a few more moments before the large goblin brought his club down in a mighty thud on the ground.

  "Hey!" he repeated. "These lazy goblin's ain't doin' nothin'."

  Though Stinkrunt was sure that what this big and threatening goblin said had truth in it, he also felt like he was being challenged in his leadership.

  And to a goblin Doyen, that meant a fight to the death.

  Or to Stinkrunt, it meant a quick nod to one of his loyal, if a little cowardly, cronies.

  Arrahead had snuck up beside the giant goblin when he saw him bash his club into the ground. He now held an arrow drawn back all the way on his bow against the temple of this challenger.

  Stinkrunt spat out a tiny bone.

  "You think I'm dumb?" he asked, not really interested in what this goblin thought of his intelligence.

  "What's your name?"

  The goblin snarled at Arrahead, who relented a step or two. He kept his bow trained on him, though.

  "Veinripper," he answered, hoisting his club to his shoulders and giving the goblin Doyen a menacing stare.

  Stinkrunt didn't bother to ask if the red that coated Veinripper's hands was war paint or something else.

  He knew better.

  "Hey," he said, getting up from his tree stump throne and attempting to make himself big and intimidating.

  That was a difficult task. Veinripper was at least two or three goblin heads taller than he was and he was certainly thicker around. Stinkrunt had learned one thing, though, from becoming the leader of all the goblins who had come west to Thoran.

  Big doesn't mean you're the best.

  Or that you'll live the longest.

  Sometimes the smaller creatures are more willing to struggle to survive at any cost.

  "Why don't you fight?" Stinkrunt asked him. "You came back here. You can complain. But can you get up the walls?"

  Veinripper let a snort leave his nostrils. If Arrahead didn't have him in his sights, he would have probably loved nothing more than to flatten Stinkrunt.

  The little goblin had plans in his head, though. He was fairly certain how he could best put this big goblin to good use.

  "Show me the lazy ones," Stinkrunt said, walking past his massive challenger and towards the front lines at the edge of the forest. "We'll get them to work."

  WHEN THE THREE GOBLINS arrived at the front, Stinkrunt could tell that Veinripper had been right. He was also glad Arrahead kept his arrow pointed at the hulking goblin. Had the two ever found themselves alone, he knew how that meeting would end.

  If nothing else, it would mean no more tasty squirrels.

  The walls of the great capital came into view and Stinkrunt had to give the bigger goblins credit. They certainly were doing a great job of pushing the little ones out and getting them to at least attempt to climb the walls.

  "Lazy guts," Stinkrunt said as he watched the scene. The goblins weren't quite making the push towards the wall that he had envisioned.

  "Where's Greeneye?" he shouted at no one in particular. "Wasn't he supposed to get the goblins up the walls on trees?"

  Arrahead answered him.

  "Over there boss," he said, pointing with the tip of his arrow. For a moment it was pointing right at Stinkrunt and he ducked out of the way. Fortunately, Arrahead quickly brought his arrow back to Veinripper and Stinkrunt saw what he was attempting to point at.

  After swearing a lot of course.

  Greeneye was with a group of other goblins who were pushing the little ones out front to do the hard work for them. He had to admire their goblin tendency to survive by putting the weaker, or more able to be bullied, ones out in front to attempt to scale the walls.

  But this strategy wasn't going to last, or turn out well, for the gray skins. They only had so many weaker goblins before the big ones had to fight. And Stinkrunt knew that would eventually mean he would have to fight.

  That wouldn't do at all.

  “Hey! Greeneye!” Stinkrunt called over the clamor of laughing goblins under the trees and dying goblins out by the wall. “What happened to those tree ladders, you lazy sneak?”

  The huge goblin quit laughing and glared hard at Stinkrunt. There were some words that began to form in his mouth and they were sure to be some excellent curses.

 

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