33. Vengeful

“King Zalak brought both Magar and I to his throne room, having heard that the young shaman did not value the usurper monarch’s continued survival.

Full of rage, and appearing worse for wear, Zalak may well have punished us both severely, but his bitter rantings were interrupted when dozens, then hundreds, of goblins poured into the throne room chanting the name of Chief Halar.

His allies carved and clubbed the nearest goblins of Zalak’s faithful, and the rest scattered, most brought down before they could escape, while others swiftly switched sides. Magar’s reaction was so quick that it was if he had preempted events.

The huge, block-headed twins who had protected him worked together to both clear the way to a nearby tunnel and to retrieve the steel box in which resided Agrak.

With the box, both shamans, and both bulky twins in the tunnel, the guards used great hammers to bring down the tunnels behind them with remarkable precision.

‘Don’t worry,’ suggested Magar kindly, meeting my wide eyed concern with a slight smile. ‘This was always a possibility. We are prepared for many eventualities.’

‘You wanted this to happen?’

‘Of course not, Izzig.’ The young shaman’s smile broadened. ‘But Chaos will always worm into things. Zalak was a malleable target for all sides. It is a shame he could not have ruled more effectively, as things would have precede more smoothly and far more safely.’

‘Set Agrak free,’ I demanded in a snarl more vicious than was my custom.

Magar glanced down at the dwarven lockbox. ‘He would kill us, Izzig. He has been trapped in a lightless, soundless place for many seasons. His release must be handled with great care. For now, we are safer—and he is safer—exactly where he resides.’

For a long moment, I considered all the ways that I might steal the box from the young shaman and the huge twins.

‘Do not let Chaos make use of you, Izzig. You are only one that I can rely on.’”

Queen Zelerath presided over court in her royal cavern.

She laid atop an earthen mound that overlooked her subjects while a score of newborn kobolds nursed on her swollen teats. Dozens of adult kobolds watched in muted unison, most standing in a long line that stretched from beneath the monarch’s mound to a tunnel further back, while others watched from the sides, richly dressed as in Rubinold’s courts, but with no seats to accommodate them.

Hjorvarth might have thought the scene comical, were it not for the armoured escort and the ominous mix of mellow candlelight and eerie blue stones.

He was led to the front of the queue, despite quiet complaints, and placed, alongside Russ, beneath the queen’s harsh gaze .

Her mound had been built with a curved slope so that the kobold queen could look down at them while laying on her side. Hjorvarth also had sight of the queen’s pink body, large and layered in fat, skin so thin that he could see unborn kobolds pressed against her distended belly. “You mated with this?”

“Indeed,” Russ answered, his sorrow edged by pride. “Her beauty cannot be denied.”

“Behold!” A tall kobold stepped forward wearing a loose green robe. “You sit in audience with the monarch of monarchs, Queen Zelerath the First.”

Queen Zelerath spared them an annoyed glance. Hjorvarth wondered whether the monarch could even speak.

“She has granted you this audience,” the green robed kobold went on, “emissary of the Small King, in exchange for the prisoner known as Russ.”

“Russ?” Zelerath croaked. “Where is Russ?” She struggled further onto her side, nearly crushing newborn kobolds, pushing others off of the edge. “Ah,” she sighed. “It truly is you. You unfortunate fool.”

“My only mistake was to let you leave Rubinold’s domain in peace.”

“Is this meeting not a mistake?” Queen Zelerath’s laugh was strained. “How poorly Rubinold will fare without you. He will die. You have done that in coming here. Thus this war is over.”

Hjorvarth paid no mind to the disparate pair. He watched a newborn kobold squirming on the cavern floor, watched as an armoured guard edged ever closer.

“It is over,” Russ replied, struggling to his full height. “You have created divides, and now we will all be destroyed by goblins and fanatics.”

“I was born to breed,” Zelerath hissed. “He would not replace his ancient mate.”

“I would know nothing of that. I serve by serving the king, not by questioning him.”

Queen Zelerath snorted. “Who accompanies you?”

“The Son of Isleif. Come to bring ancient judgement against the new usurper.”

The kobolds in audience murmured surprised and turned to the huge man, in time to watch him hurl a stone at the armoured guard as it tried to steal the kobold newborn.

Metal clanged and the guard staggered back and collapsed.

Queen Zelerath frowned. “Do not do that again, goblin.”

Hjorvarth walked over to collect the newborn, despite brandished spears. He placed it back on the mound with the other squirming babes. He returned to stand beside the cloaked kobold then took a deep breath. “The Small King comes to destroy you and your people. What do you intend to do?”

“I will kill any intruders to my domain. Whether they be kobolds or goblins. But you are not a goblin. You are from Timilir. Sent by the fool Rubinold, along with Russ, who claims you are here to lay judgement. And for that you will be skewered with spears and eaten. Do you have any words of import to share before your death occurs?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Hjorvarth gripped tighter to his last blue stone, trying to settle rising fear. He decided he might be able to hurl it at the queen’s head then bluff his way clear of the place. “I would only warn you that I am a competent fighter. And I am beyond certain that I can defeat all of your guards and slay the entirety of your kingdom.”

Zelerath met the words with disappointed, breathy laughter. “Is that so…?”

“Yet,” Hjorvarth went on, “I have no desire for needless violence. My friend, Dan, is being held captive by Rubinold. Surely, with the goblins at war with you both, an accord can be reached. I do not wish to be here. I have no loyalties to anyone other than Dan.”

“Betrayer,” hissed Russ.

Hjorvarth disagreeably grunted. “Who is Rubinold to me, other than a stranger who threatens and imprisons?” he demanded. “I have never belonged here. And I owe no favors to any monarch—those beneath the earth least of all. You say that Rubinold is a fool,” he then said to Zelerath. “While you are not. Surely you can see that I have had no choice but to come here? And I bare no ill will to you or any other kobold. I wish only to save my friend. I have not harmed nor wounded a single one of you. Save for him,” he conceded, waving to the guard, “and he seemed likely to eat the child.”

“Hm…” Zelerath shifted on her mound, causing her newborns to squeak. “There is wisdom in your words, son of Isleif. I—”

“For the Hallowed!” came a nearby screech.

Queen Zelerath’s eyes widened in alarm, while panicked murmurs swept forth.

“For the Hallowed!” echoed another, amid the clashing of stone on metal.

“For the Hallowed!”

A thunderous boom rocked the cavern, sending Hjorvarth and all the kobolds staggering. Debris swirled forward with a hail of small stones that extinguished candles and left the cavern in darkness.

Hjorvarth fell to his knees now a second blast sounded out.

Flames curled through the smoke choked air. Kobolds screeched in agonized terror.

The sounds of anguished chaos blended together in a cacophonous din, punctuated by the steady rhythm of four more explosions.

Hjorvarth had the thought that his whole plan had been ill advised. He waited to die, for flames to engulf him, for rocks to crash into his head. He prayed for Dan to find safe passage home despite his failures, and for Gudmund and the others from Horvorr to prevail in Timilir as well. He wondered if he would soon be back in Gudmund’s Hall.

Instead, the cavern settled into the sounds of whimpering, wailing, and hissing dust.

The cloud of debris cleared enough for Hjorvarth to see by dusty blue light. Robed figures emerged from all sides, squeaking, their furred faces shadowed by white hoods.

***

Hjorvarth trudged at the back of a giant mole, watching the sharp claws dig in and out of the earth. He had been bound at the wrists and waist, tethered to the line of kobolds behind him. The mole had been tied as well, but to a large bronze cage that grated against the earth and spat up a trial of debris.

They followed a wide tunnel, earth rugged and adorned by sparkling stones of all colour, which painted the white cloth of the hooded kobolds in varied shades.

Hjorvarth seemed to be the only one among the company that had no clue as to their destination. The kobolds in fine clothes, or no clothes at all, were afraid of those draped in white, and they walked with numbed gazes and slouched statures as if having already accepted their deaths.

Russ kept a step behind the huge man, but he had also spoken no words. He kept looking instead towards the bronze cage, where Queen Zelerath’s rolled flesh pushed up against the rusted bars.

“How far is Hubbard’s domain?” Hjorvarth asked. “Are we in grave danger?”

“Not far,” Russ replied. “They will burn us and eat us alive.”

“Perhaps we should try and escape.”

“The way backward is blocked by spears. The way forward is blocked by the mole.”

“Russ,” Zelerath croaked. “Russ!”

Hjorvarth saw her massive figure move, but couldn’t see her head.

“You must kill me,” Zelerath pleaded. “You must kill me, Russ. Please. He will make me suffer. He will torture me and humiliate me. I must die before we reach his domain.”

“Things happen as they happen,” said Hjorvarth.

Russ offered no answer of his own. He trod on in silence.

Hjorvarth considered trying to cut his bonds on the claws of the giant mole but decided it was better not to risk losing his fingers. The great beast turned a corner and the choice was removed altogether. They came into a modest cavern with four adjoining tunnels, though the way to the left had since collapsed.

Red and orange stones lit the space, belying the coldness of the earth.

A group of kobolds, armoured and cloaked both, had paused up ahead. The kobold riding atop the mole looked towards the blocked tunnel in alarm. They all spoke among themselves hurriedly, as if fearful of what was to come.

“The Small King wages war against the Hallowed,” Russ observed. “My people will soon meet a permanent end.”

A great weight struck the earthen blockage, sending up a plume of dust.

“Does it sorrow you?” Hjorvarth asked.

“I thought it would not. But, yes, it does. Why do you ask, goblin?”

Hjorvarth shrugged, wincing at pain. “That is a hard question to answer.”

Zelerath writhed in her cage, squealing and squeaking. The line of prisoners recoiled and cried out in panic.

The armoured kobolds formed into a line that faced the collapsed tunnel, which shook and crumbled, muffling the savage roars of whatever sought to break through. Those in cloaks poured powders and readied stones and pipes.

The rider of the giant mole tried to turn his mount.

A short kobold with a conical helmet strode up to Hjorvarth. He cut the rope that tethered him to the mole. “You are to follow me, goblin. I will lead—”

A cacophony of upturned earth crunched into the cavern. The collapsed tunnel was broken open by a massive creature with the horned head of a beetle, which then reared up to reveal an almost humanoid body with chitinous limbs.

“For the Hallowed!” a kobold declared.

“For the Small King!” Loffi answered, waving forth dozens of burly goblins that looked like children beneath the massive creature. “Kill the—”

Powders sparked and erupted, puncturing the wave of goblins with shards and stones. The armoured kobolds charged forward with spears leveled while the cloaked kobolds split apart, pouring in more powders.

Hjorvarth grabbed the sword from the stunned kobold that had freed him. Cutting himself free, he handed the blade to Russ. “We should run.”

Russ freed himself, and handed the sword further down the line. “Go this way.”

He nodded to the tunnel opposite and Hjorvarth ran around the giant mole, which had started to edge forward in defiance of the horned monster it now faced.

The armoured kobolds clashed with the goblins in a din of rent flesh, broken bones, and clattering armour. Goblins shouted and spat while they tried to break the necks and tear the limbs from their skinnier foes, while they hauled rocks at cloaked kobolds who were busy with their metal pipes.

The chitinous monster bowed its horned head and charged forward, trampling kobolds and goblins underfoot, paying no mind to the spears that struck it. The giant mole reared up in answer, and the two combatants clashed together.

Hjorvarth turned back when he reached the opposite tunnel.

Russ had not followed. He had shouldered sacks of powders instead.

Hjorvarth met eyes with the cloaked kobold as he came to stand beside Zelerath’s cage. Russ’ lips curled slightly upwards over his fangs, forming a resigned smile. He lifted his arms above his head, clapping clawed hands together, showering sparks over himself.

Hjorvarth ran, as fast as he could manage, while mad screeches and forceful roars overshadowed the cacophony of the battle. He consider leaping as soon as he heard the roar of burgeoning flames, only to be hurled from his feet by swift, deafening thunder.