“Master!”

The Surton Spire draws the attention of every passing individual. A monstrous, jagged mountain trapped between three twisting fangs is difficult to not stare at. It is a wonder of the world—unknown as to why it rose the way it did.

“Master! Are you there?”

Was it the gods that constructed such a mountain? Did they paint the Heavens so that clouds would be cut by The Spire’s peak? Did they flatten plateaus across the faces of the stone to sit above the world and ponder?

“Master, please permit me in.”

Or was it the mortals of this world that shifted the lands? Could it have been roaring engines of some complex technology that spewed molten rock as if it summoned the very contents of the various Hells? Or was it magic performed by some unfathomable, and forgotten, hero of ancient times?

“Master, please!”

No being within The Spire knew for sure, and neither did its current ruler. Only that dwarves had once called this place home. That was truth, but time has since marched on and the dwarves long since disappeared.

“What?” A growl broke the leather lips. He hadn’t wanted to seem annoyed, yet he had.

“Excuse me, my Lord! Lady Corallan is here.” It was a sharp and nasally voice that cut through a small crack in the door. This goblin hadn’t dared to sneak a peek, but his thin nose was stuck into the gap so his lips could inject the voice. “She wishes to speak with you.”

Christoph saw this bulb of green in the darkness. He considered it and wanted to smile, but the sudden rush of reality set in. He hadn’t slept, but the hours passed by as if he’d finally been able to relax. To what degree, this was unclear. His muscles did not ache, but he felt as if he were preparing to head out to the fields long before the sun rose.

“Come in.” Christoph heard an odd squeal and clicks—making him immediately reconsider. “Er, tell her to meet me in the study.”

“Where?”

“Sanctum.” It’d slipped his mind, but he tried to pass it off. “I will be right there.” He roared out his command hoping his voice would end the questions. I still don’t know how to run things. I’m going to have to learn. Hopefully Corallan will give me some lessons in royal behavior. He looked around his room and stretched his long limbs out of habit. His spine snapped a few times which felt great despite most of his nerves being dulled.

Still wearing all of his gear, The King of the Undead left his bedroom. The goblins both shuffled and stood straight in an odd form of salute. He waved them off and continued to move toward the room where secrets had been discovered and left behind.

Opening the door himself, not waiting for his goblin servants to do so, he entered the room with five members of his society waiting for him. Four were the Captains he’d met before. One final, newer face stood to the side; keeping a safe distance from the others.

This goblin was covered in fleshy tags and what looked to be warts. His long nose stretched forward before lifting slightly at the end. His yellow eyes barely glistened in the eternal light that was cast by the braziers in the room. He had no hair on his head and wore extremely simple furs. Though he was short when compared to the other goblins, his arms, neck, and legs were thick. Veins stood out on his limbs. He glanced over at his master, and he immediately fell to one knee.

All Captains did as well. They each took their place close to the ground in honor of their king. Christoph twirled a hand to brush pass the pleasantries.

“Reports, I imagine?” Christoph heard the doors shut behind him—the goblins taking their post outside.

“Indeed, my Lord.” Jeseph stood to tower over the rest. His head wasn’t near the ceiling, but it was still unsettling to Christoph just how tall this goliath was. “There are things that need your attention.” The bass in his voice rattled Christoph’s ribs.

“Then proceed.” Christoph permitted his servants the right to speak, but he couldn’t stop from glancing over at the one person in attendance that hadn’t raised their head. The goblin stayed bowed and hunched; his shoulders moved rapidly.

“My Lord-d,” Corallan chimed up first. “The Southern Guard-d has seen no activity around-d The Spire that-t would warrant defensive measures-s. Our scouts-s noticed no disturbances-s in your absence-ce, though a fall in morale has-s been noted.” She bowed and returned to the line.

Morale? Christoph wanted to scratch his head, but his claw simply twitched at his side.

“Indeed, morale has suffered, my liege.” Bo’Ra’Set took a step forward and cleared his throat with a purr. “Rrr, I’ve put my men straight, but your departure seems to have emboldened a few that would question your authority.” He slammed his right fist into his breastplate. “The Northern Guard’s scouts have seen no movement in the surrounding fields or forests to suggest outside involvement. Grr, this means it is entirely from within. Our beasts are still scouring the local region for signs of any enemy.”

What happened while I was gone? Christoph hadn’t realized his mouth was agape. They’re just going through this like I know what I’m doing. Oh, I should know, but they don’t know. Corallan, you know! He began to breathe a bit heavier through undead lungs.

“Morale is important amongst the people, my Lord. However, it can be solved.” Sashro began to speak. Christoph turned his attention to the man that removed his cloak from his face. “The forces and workers have seen a decrease in efficiency since your journey. This can be corrected; however, we’ve detected whispers amongst the lower levels and begun our investigations.”

What are you talking about, man? Christoph continued to stare.

After a moment of waiting for his master to speak, Sashro’s eyes opened a bit wider. The one, black burning eye sparked with life.

“My Lord, as always there are those that would defy you. Not even the gods know existence without treachery.” He lifted one hand high and dropped one low as if combining the forces of Heaven and Hells. “We work to ensure loyalty remains though treason hisses from the shadows. My Lord, we work as we always have to correct this. Your command to not lift this lockdown has soured the populace—more so since your departure.”

Christoph had finally been able to close his mouth, but the blankness reflected in his eyes made Sashro continue—stumbling a bit over the words to cover for his master. “Jeseph’s and my forces have already begun arresting those we suspect are connected with this blasphemy against Lord Gohdin!” His hand gripped at the air as he continued. “Tell us how you wish to proceed, and we will make your intentions reality.” He nodded with soft eyes in hopes of approval.

“Good job.” Christoph nodded and looked around the group. “No enemies outside, but a few in our walls.” His head moved up and down, but the brain spun wildly to connect.

“We will weed out this uprising. They speak as if you cage them instead of preparing them for the glories of tomorrow. No one betrays our Lord’s graces and lives!” Jeseph lifted on hand and pounded it into his other palm. “I assure you.”

Good, maybe some of these creatures will kill each other. They seem to be going a bit mad cooped up in here. Christoph’s reptilian face cracked a smile. They all took it for the blooming intention of a powerful king, but his true intentions were directed toward them with a toothy grin.

“Take care of it then. I leave it in your hands.” Christoph waved a claw toward his Captains. “My journey was necessity. As is the continued lockdown.”

“T-thank you, my Lord.” Jeseph, standing, bowed his head high over Christoph. His shoulders shifted back into a heroic pose as if he’d been given a medal of honor.

“We will not disappoint you.” Sashro chimed in.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“I have no doubts of that.” Christoph looked again at the goblin that still bowed to the side. “If that is all for your reports, I’d think there’s nothing I should worry about?” He spoke to his Captains, but his eyes were on the silent individual.

“You have given us direction, and we shall carry out your orders.” The monsters tasked with correcting those that had wronged The Spire and its king grinned at the prospect. Their Lord had often taken such tasks upon his own shoulders, but they were now left free to do as they saw fit. There was a sickly mixture of childish glee and a servant’s absolute duty. A most deadly concoction.

“And who do we have here?” The goblin tensed his back at the dragonkin’s voice. His breathing slowed as he tried to make himself invisible.

“He is one of the Underground Faction. He came to us with information of the rebellious lot.” Sashro answered his master. “We checked on the individual names he’d supplied and found several of them to be involved.”

Christoph glanced back at his team with empty eyes. “Ah.” He returned his attention to the goblin. “What is your name?”

There was a sudden shift in the room. “Mmm?”

The King of the Undead and his Captains were all glancing at him. This single, overwhelmed goblin shivered slightly at the surrounding presence. He couldn’t lift his eyes to his master, but he tried his best to answer him.

“Your name. What is it?”

Christoph had heard terrible stories about the goblins out in the world. Had he found this creature stalking his village, he’d have swung a sickle or shovel at it until it stopped moving—perhaps even long after. They were nasty little creatures that ate what they killed, played with what they caught, and violated every concept of civilized. Still, this goblin and those he’d experienced within Surton Spire had been domesticated in sorts. He waited for the creature to speak; though, his mind’s eye remained on his sword should he need to act.

Even if they think I’m their king, one of these guys could snap.

“Ormal.” The goblin cleared his throat a bit. His answer had come out high and quickly dropped into a deeper grunt. Their goblin language is a harsh uttering of phlegmy syllables. It sounded as if he’d attempted to pronounce his name without the harsh accent, but it sounded wrong. “Ma Lord.”

“Ormal. Very well.” Christoph leaned slightly toward Sashro. “Is there more?”

“We thought you’d desire to hear the details from the informant.” Sashro motioned for the goblin to move. At this, the tannish green creature stood with his head down and moved closer to their king.

“Ah seen ‘em meetin’.” Ormal spoke as if he were reliving the event that seemed so arbitrary to Christoph. “There were five in an alley. Ah listened around the corner. I couldn’t make out who was talkin’ or who was there, but Ah could hear ‘em. Ah heard every word.” His eyes shut tightly as if he were trying to hide. “They were plottin’, ma Lord. Different races came together.” He opened his yellowish eyes to the floor. “Ah know who was talking the most.”

“What is his name?” Christoph was surprised when Jeseph’s low voice interrupted the lack of information with another question.

“Gem, Captain Wall. Gem is the goblin. Gem is plottin’.” He nodded as if a weight were being lifted from his shoulders. A heavy exhale followed. “Ah’ve known Gem for a time. Rash. Wild.” He shook his head. “A feral goblin for certain.”

Christoph was impressed with the goblin’s communication skills at the very least. He’d always heard how mindless these creatures were. Most he’d spoken to thus far were difficult to understand, but the voice of this goblin was rather soothing—a low tone that ensured children listened and tales were remembered.

“Thank you.”

Another shift.

Cold air swirled in the sanctum. The Captains shared a glance to their king who stared down at the goblin with a smirk pulling up at one side.

Ormal couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. His head moved upward, but he stopped himself and threw his eyes to the right as to keep from looking upon his master.

“Of course, ma Lord. Ah live to serve.”

Him too? Christoph huffed at the pitiful submission. If they all died, it’d be safer for my village, but it’s like looking at the eyes of a kitten. If I have to pick a side, at least it’s with this little guy. Unable to imagine the goblin dragging women into the woods or setting a crib ablaze, Christoph offered his thanks again.

“I appreciate the service.” The dragonkin spun to complete the circle with the Captains and their informant. “Then—”

“Ma Lord.” Everyone froze as the shaky voice of the goblin interrupted.

Christoph turned once again. His yellow, slightly bloodshot, eyes bore down on the goblin. Though he didn’t truly mean to glare, the natural structure of the dragonkin’s face allows for little difference in expression to an untrained eye.

“A-apologies, ma Lord.” Ormal couldn’t lift his head. He stared at the ground and tried to explain through the shiver running down his spine. “G-Gem is the leader.” His warm voice distorting made Christoph’s spine shiver, too. “But, they don’t follow ‘im because it’s Gem. They follow ‘im because of what he said.”

A growl escaped Christoph’s throat.

Purely instinctual. It was not his honor, but the honor of the body he’d stolen. Christoph couldn’t hear this without a defensive response. This meant it wasn’t a leader taking hold of his monsters; those he planned on keeping caged…

No.

This meant simple words from a simple dreg were enough to challenge the rule he didn’t earn.

Illogical as this is, the pride of a dragonkin will not rest while another speaks ill of his name. No, such words create action.

“And what words birth rebellion?”

“He spoke of your awakenin’.” Ormal shuffled his shoulders a bit as if the shadow of Death were creeping up his back. “Claims Lord Gohdin lost ‘imself, lost power, even lost the right to lead.” The goblin seemed to relax getting it out. “We stand loyal, ma Lord. Those with ‘im, they were never loyal. They think you’re weak.”

“Hm.” Christoph watched as the goblin closed his eyes. It was either a sudden relaxation of the body or he’d accepted that his end was coming. Either way, Christoph appreciated the newly lightened atmosphere. Moreso, he enjoyed the rush this revelation provided him. “Very well.”

“Sire?” Sashro cocked his head. “Do we continue our interrogations? We can have this Gem handled in little time.”

“No.”

The tension in the room had returned. It was not a sense that anyone’s life was immediately in danger—at least, not within the sanctum. This tension was the flexed muscles and halted breathing of the ever-vigilant servants awaiting their master’s orders. They had not lost faith in their king. Though some had seen the losses he’d suffered, they stood beside him with absolute faith.

They waited for his words of war.

“They believe I’ve lost my strength? Lost my right to rule?”

They waited in silence.

“That I’ve become weak?!”

Christoph’s voice roared as the dragonkin’s honor had been challenged. A promise had been made. This Spire, his new home, would be a prison for himself and his loyal populace. They’d come to the first major fork in this road; the warden must demonstrate his authority.

“Consequences.” The group, even Ormal, lifted their heads to listen. “I’ve been insulted. It is my word,” his voice growled, “MY WORD, that must be followed. I say all must remain within The Spire. All will obey!” The large chamber echoed with the ghoulish ring of violence. “Do any object?!”

The thundering voice of the dragonkin boomed in every ear. Spines tingled with pleasure and fascination at the fury. As though flames lashed out of his mouth to call down the judgement of the Heavens, their king roared his demands and offered them one chance to speak.

None would take it.

“Then let it be known,” his voice gripped each’s attention as a talon of the eagle tears into the now flying fish. “This will not stand. There will be punishment. I, and I alone, will deal it to those that have betrayed me.

“I have lost no power. I have lost no right. I am still the law. I am The King of the Undead! I am king of Surton Spire!”