The Goblin Wars Part One Page 10

  “Rally around his feet,” she responded with a chuckle, “or perhaps just his head.”

  ***

  YOU WILL NEVER be king. You will never sit upon your brother’s throne. Your fate is not in this kingdom. Your destiny has been written elsewhere. You will never be king.

  Herod awoke in the middle of the night with cold sweat covering his brow. Vrysinoch would not let him find rest. The castle was quiet. Shadows danced along the walls from the few torches that still burned low. The prince stood and pulled his robe tight about his chest to ward off the cold night air.

  He pulled a torch from the wall and started to leave the bedchamber before turning for his sword belt. Herod often went for walks about the castle at night but the hairs standing on the back of his neck told him to go armed. His sweaty hands rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes and he strapped his sword to his left hip, a matching dagger to his right.

  The prince of Talonrend did not know exactly where he was going, but he left his room nonetheless, locking the heavy wooden door behind him. He walked down the short hallway that connected his personal quarters to the throne room and stood in front of the empty chair that had consumed his life.

  In the dim, scattered torchlight of the airy castle, the throne’s green cushions danced with life. It was an immense chair, carved from the very stone of the castle and much wider than any of the kings who had ever sat upon it. The back displayed a pattern of wings, an interlocking design resembling the tower in the city’s center.

  “Why do you torment me, Vrysinoch?” Herod asked the empty throne. The prince’s fingers slowly traced the great talon that protruded from the arm of the chair, its claws clutching an old white skull. “The priests in the tower tell me that you are a good god, providing for all of my needs, protecting me when I am weak.” The emerald placed in the skull’s eye socket was cold to the touch.

  “Why can I not find peace and rest? Why do you torment me?” Herod drew his sword and pointed it right at the center of the throne. His glare and threatening posture challenged Vrysinoch. “If you weren’t made from the very stone of the floor I would throw you in the moat myself.” Herod spun his sword around in his hand and slid it back into the scabbard at his hip. The sound of the metal ringing against his leather sheath echoed in the empty chamber.

  Herod turned from the throne swiftly, his robe fanning out behind him. He stormed to the door with a great scowl stamped on his royal face. The prince had never left the castle in the dead of night before, at least not without a formal guard and good reason. The heavy wood and iron doors were locked. Herod took a step back, thinking to simply return to his room or perhaps walk about the parapet, but a thought struck him and he turned back to the door.

  Reaching inside a deep pocket on his robe he produced the key to his personal chamber. Without thinking about it, he pushed the key into the iron lock on the door and turned it. A subtle clicking sound accompanied the opening of the door. He felt the cool breeze of the night air brush against his cheek and heard footsteps coming from the drawbridge. Herod drew both of his weapons and pushed the door open quietly, standing in the entryway with visible defiance.

  A huddled figure hurriedly moved to the castle. Whoever it was, they hadn’t noticed Herod, likely absorbed in their own thoughts. The prince stepped quickly to the side and closed the heavy door behind him, waiting in the shadows of the parapet for the person to approach.

  Herod exhaled a long breath, steadying his nerves and calming the rise and fall of his chest. The prince was a seasoned warrior, a veteran of many hunting skirmishes with beasts in the wild. He waited, watching every step of his foe before springing into action. Like a cat leaping upon an unsuspecting field mouse, Herod launched his body into action. The muscular prince quickly overpowered his prey, knocking the man to the ground.

  Sentries on the parapet above heard the commotion and began shouting. Herod wrestled the smaller man to his back in moment, the point of his dagger coming to rest right beneath the fool’s chin. The prince’s sword hovered just over the man’s scalp, both weapons poised for an easy kill.

  “Jan…” came the exasperated and surprised voice of the prince as he untangled himself from the king’s steward. “What in Vrysinoch’s name are you doing out here?”

  The terrified man picked himself up, dusting his robes off and collecting his thoughts. “My apologies, my liege. I did not mean to frighten you,” he said as Herod replaced the weapons in their sheaths.

  “And why are you outside at this hour? Why are you awake?” Herod scrutinized the man’s appearance trying in vain to find anything out of place.

  “Well, sir, I may live in the castle but I do not spend every single moment of my time in it. I was out in the city on personal business.” Jan began to walk into the castle, leaving Herod standing in front of the doors with a confused expression on his face.

  “I could have killed you,” the prince called to the steward.

  “Yes, my prince, I am well aware,” Jan smiled, showing no signs of fatigue for the late hour. “I am glad you chose not to.”

  Herod nodded and took a few steps away from the castle doors to stand on the wooden drawbridge. The man stood there, leaning on one of the drawbridge’s heavy chains, and stared into the calm water of the moat below. None of the ducks that often floated atop the water could be seen.

  Something in the back of Herod’s mind told him to be worried. He fumbled through the pocket of his robe and pulled out the metal key to his bedchamber.

  “The key to my personal quarters is the same key that opened the front door to the castle…” Herod turned on his heels and moved swiftly to the castle doors, testing the key again. Sure enough, the key turned easily in the lock and the door opened on its heavy hinges.

  “I knew I should have never trusted that one…” Herod returned the key to his pocket and took a step back, looking up to the sentries on the parapet above.

  “Where can I find a locksmith?” he called to them, barely making out their faces in the dancing torchlight.

  “There is an armorsmith that makes doors and chests just right down the road, not far at all, the building with the red roof,” the drowsy sentry pointed toward a huge structure that towered over the other buildings in the area.

  “Yes, I know the place well,” the prince shouted back to the sentry. “Master Brenning, the head smith of that forge, crafted my armor for me. I did not know he made locks.” Herod began walking toward the smith’s shop, his hand subconsciously fondling the top of the metal key inside his pocket. “If Jan comes back out of the castle before dawn, shoot him down and then come get me.” Herod’s expression was as solid as a statue. The two sentries on the parapet did not question his order. “I want to know every time that man leaves the castle and when he returns. Someone find Darius for me, go wake him and send him to Master Brenning, I need to speak with him at once.” Herod walked from the castle with a quick burst of energy filling his step, his robes fanning out behind him.

  Master Brenning’s forge, Dragon’s Breath Armory, was a colossal business. The burly armorsmith employed a score or more of the city’s best weapon and armor crafters. Herod arrived at the door to the business and found it unlocked. Two of the four stone chimneys were billowing thick black smoke into the night air.

  The ring of metal against metal and a stinging burst of heat greeted the prince as he entered the busy forge. Even in the dead of night, a few smiths stood at their anvils and forges practicing their art. The fires at each of the stations bathed the room in a soft orange light, shadows growing and dying on every wall as the artisans moved.

  None of the smiths took notice of Herod’s entry and the prince moved quickly to the staircase at the back of the room. Master Brenning worked on the top floor of Dragon’s Breath Armory by himself. Herod passed by the second floor, a space that served as a storage area for raw materials, and arrived in front of a heavy steel door that barred entry into the highest level. The prince knocked on the door s
harply and waited a few moments before a small hatch on the metal surface opened.

  Master Brenning’s bearded face filled the tiny portal like a grizzly bear peering into a pot of honey. With a gruff nod the master smith opened the entire door and stood aside as Herod walked into his chambers. The room was sweltering from the heat of the active forges below but no fire burned within the room save one lonely candle held in the smith’s right hand. Master Brenning hadn’t bothered to put the candle on a tray; rather, he held it and let the hot wax drip onto his bare hand. If it bothered him in the least, he didn’t show it.

  “Your captain of guards allows you to wander the streets of Talonrend without armor or escort?” The gruff man was covered in a thick mane of curly black hair that barely revealed his mouth when he spoke.

  “Master Brenning,” Herod said, clapping the strong smith on the shoulder. “Long ago you taught me that not every protection is visible in the form of a steel breastplate or an armed man at my side.” The two men sat down at a small wooden table next to the smith’s tiny cot against the far wall of the room. Remnants of the smith’s uneaten dinner were still strewn about the surface.

  Master Brenning used the lit nub of a candle to light a candelabra on his table before extinguishing the nub in the palm of his hand with a grunt. “Something must be troubling you greatly. Princes do not simply knock on my door in the middle of the night. What’s on your mind, Herod?” Master Brenning spoke in a monotone base that sounded vaguely of a wagon wheel rolling over a bed of crushed rocks.

  Herod placed the key from his pocket on the table between them and slid it over to the smith. “I need to know who made this key.” Master Brenning didn’t even bother to pick the thing up before asserting that it was not his work.

  “I haven’t made keys since I was an apprentice, before you were born, I would bet.” Brenning’s eyes never left the prince. “What does this key unlock?”

  “It is the key to my personal chambers,” Herod replied, taking the key back and holding it in front of the candle flames. “It also unlocks the main castle doors, as I learned tonight.”

  The smith’s eyes closed for a moment as he digested the words. “Where is your escort? As the last living heir to the throne, you should be guarded at all times.”

  Herod’s fist slammed into the tabletop. “Lucius will return! He is not dead!” the prince shouted in a brief outburst of rage. “I am not the king… I will never be king…” The prince hung his head, his thoughts fixated on his brother.

  “It is the castle steward that holds a copy of this key, is it not?” Master Brenning acted as though the prince’s outburst was nothing more than a passing gust of wind.

  “King Lucius’ steward, not mine. Darius, the guard captain, serves as my personal assistant, not that I have ever found much need for him in that capacity. What business does that conniving little man have in keeping a key to my personal chambers?” Herod tried to recall in his mind if he had ever noticed anything amiss in his chamber.

  “You cannot trust that coward. I would suggest that you have your man Darius arrest him at once. It was a clever disguise, changing your lock instead of carrying two keys.” Master Brenning took a tankard of warm ale from the table and finished it in one long draught.

  “I know, I rarely leave the castle when the door is locked, I have no idea how long he has had access to my room.”

  “So,” the bearded smith said as he wiped the foaming ale from his mouth, “I assume that you came to me for a new lock on your door. I would suggest perhaps a new piece of armor as well. You have enemies here, Herod.” The burly man looked around the room nervously. “Especially since the disappearance of your brother. The whole city is on edge, most of them wondering when you will become their king.”

  Herod sneered, anticipating the voice of Vrysinoch in his head. He knew every word that the winged god would say to him. “I cannot become king. Not until I see my brother’s corpse will I even consider it.” The prince shook his head. “You make the armor for the tower’s paladins, what are the priests saying about our situation? Have you heard any rumors there?”

  Master Brenning laughed, a great booming sound that shook the small table. “The priests are always talking, Herod. You should know better than anyone about that. The priests and clerics in the tower don’t respect you at all. The people may love you and love for you to be their king, but the holy men would never allow it.”

  “You tell me nothing that I do not already know.” Herod stood, wanting to leave the hot room. “Can you make me a new lock by tomorrow? You said something about new armor as well. If it fits under my tabard, I’ll take it.” Master Brenning nodded with excitement.

  “Hey, rumor at the forge is that you sent one of my assistants to go fetch your brother!” Brenning was up and about, rummaging through his cupboards for more ale, no doubt.

  Herod stopped and scratched his head, not sure at first what the old smith was even talking about. “Gideon?” he asked, remembering the warrior’s name.

  “The very same!” Master Brenning found what he was looking for, a large silver horn filled with frothy dark beer. He took a healthy swig before continuing. “He was one of my best. He helped me build things that most smiths can only dream about. That one is strong, he will find your king if there is anything left of him to be found.”

  Herod watched in amazement as Master Brenning finished his ale and moved to put on his heavy leather apron, wasting no time getting to work. The prince left the hairy man’s chamber and continued out of the building. He was just past the front door when he realized that Darius had not found him yet.

  The prince made his way quickly to the barracks where Darius worked. One of the sentries from atop the castle parapet was standing in front of the large wooden door that blocked the entrance to the barracks.

  “Prince Herod,” the man called out, tipping his helmet as he spoke. “We have not located the guard captain yet. He was not in the barracks and there are no signs of a struggle within. It seems he is simply out and about this night.”

  Herod shook his head. “Alright,” he said, saluting the soldier. “Notify me the moment he appears. I must speak with him.”

  The guard nodded. “I sent two soldiers out into the town to look for him but it is unlikely that they will find him tonight. He will show up in the morning and I will send him to you personally, sir.”

  The prince liked this soldier. For some reason, Herod felt like the man could be trusted. That feeling of trust was quickly soured by the growing knot of fear in Herod’s stomach. It was unlike Darius to vanish without having told anyone where he could be found or when he would return.

  ***

  GRAVLOX AND VORST left Yael and his band of goblins with fresh supplies, heading south toward Reikall. Despite the goblin’s best efforts, Vorst still needed time to let her body recover from the battle with Taurnil. The two adventurers made slow progress through the thick forest that bordered the river. Gravlox, intently focused on helping the wounded female clutching to his side for support, failed to notice the paladin and his dark companion shadowing the goblin’s every move.

  The beating of leathery wings often heralded Taurnil’s arrival. No rush of air accompanied the thin red portal that rippled through the light of dawn next to Gideon. The alert paladin was on his feet in a moment, a throwing axe instantly in his strong hand. He took several steps away from the portal and pulled his arm back to throw. A scantily clad female leg slipped through the portal, slowly testing the ground, before two gloved hands appeared and widened the shimmering red crease of magic.

  Gideon’s arm lowered just slightly as the full form of Keturah stepped through the magical portal. The soft glow of dawn played with her red hair, causing it to shimmer, a color somewhere between the deep hues of golden wheat and the slick crimson shine of fresh blood.

  Seeing the axe poised to fly at her head, Keturah quickly held up a hand. “Wait!” she called to the warrior, closing the portal behind her with a
flick of her delicate wrist. “I am a friend.” Keturah tried to assume the friendliest pose she could, a stance that the seasoned paladin interpreted as ill-intentioned seduction.

  Gideon grinned, knowing that his target was too close to dodge and completely devoid of armor in her sheer red dress. The axe spun from his hand with expert precision. Keturah’s eyes went wide with surprise. In a flurry of red she spun as the axe neared her face, catching the wooden handle as it passed her vision.

  The beautiful woman plucked the flying axe out of the air and completed her spin, using her own momentum to toss the axe back at Gideon’s feet. “Is that how you greet all women?” The spin maneuver had kicked some dust up onto the bottom of her elegant dress, something the woman quickly fixed. “It is no wonder that most of you brutish warrior types don’t breed. Or does the tower require that all paladins be celibate?” Keturah smirked and stood straight, watching the confused expression on Gideon’s face.

  The warrior’s muscled arm reached to the hilt of his sword, the familiar leather and steel giving him comfort. “Darius, the captain of the guard sent me!” the woman shouted, tired of defending herself and not wanting the man to waste any energy.

  Gideon’s hand stayed on the hilt of his sword and his gaze bore into the woman relentlessly. “Gideon, I’m not here to hurt you!” Keturah said, holding her arms out wide for the man’s inspection.

  The paladin took his hand from the weapon on his back and picked his throwing axe up from the ground. “Who are you and why have you come to me?” Gideon resolved not to charge the woman where she stood, partly because she knew his name and partly because she should not have been able to avoid his axe. It was a perfect throw and the ease with which she had denied it frightened the paladin greatly.

  “My name is Keturah,” the mysterious woman replied. She placed a delicate hand into a seamless pocket on her flowing gown. “Darius wants me to help you find the king. Although I cannot personally join you on your quest, I have someone who might help.” She withdrew her hand from the pocket and revealed a jet black scorpion that skittered around her glove.