Darian slid to a stop, nearly slipping in the mud. The green tide of snapping creatures swarmed over the skeleton, their knives and clubs battering him to the ground. He crawled back to the bank, armor clanging with each blow. Then the largest of the creatures stepped onto the skeleton’s back and cracked his helmet open with a thunderous blow from his hammer. But still the skeleton tried to flee, his bleached white fingers clawing at the dirt.

Darian stepped back, gripping his right shoulder as he summoned his five remaining zombies to surround him. Some of the green creatures shook their weapons at him, but none moved directly to attack.

There came a crash from behind, and Darian turned to see the two remaining knights fall to the ground. Zan was curled up nearby, unmoving, with Gustan rushing to his side. Fria gave the wolf a worried glance, but then she and Gorm moved to join Darian.

“Please,” the skeleton rasped, another hammer blow pushing him into the mud.

The one with the hammer jumped off the skeleton’s back as his fellows kept stabbing. He came to stand before Darian’s wall of zombies, his yellow eyes narrowed to harsh slits as he spotted the bodies of the Lich cultists.

“Not one of them,” he said, voice deep and guttural. “But be you food? Or ally?”

A loud clang came as the skeleton’s armor was torn through. He writhed on the ground, but small green hands and knives stabbed and pulled at the opening, and after only a moment he lay still, dead for good.

“What in the hells is this?” Gorm said, panting, a thick gash on his left arm. He squinted at the gathering green horde. “Goblins?”

The head goblin looked up at Gorm, his eyes going wide. “Yazliar?” The other goblins behind him all stopped, their eyes glued to Gorm.

“Who?” the half-orc said.

“He has returned to us.” Another goblin whispered, the others nodding their agreement.

Then, before what appeared to be their leader could say anything, the little green men starting bowing.

Harper appeared, the wound on her head seeming to have reopened during the battle. “I think they like you,” she said, giving Gorm a sly smile.

The head goblin sighed. He wore fur and leather armor, his exposed arms covered in swirling tattoos. His two long ears drooped as he looked back over his fellow goblins. “He is not Yazliar!” But the others ignored him. “He has not returned!” They continued to bow.

“Who is Yazliar?” Darian asked, pushing past his zombies, his right arm stinging as he moved.

“He was a warrior who led the tribe,” the goblin’s leader said. “An orc from the south. He left us many summers ago and has not returned. The young ones have short memories, but I do not.” He glared at Gorm, his yellow eyes looking feral in the firelight.

“Why did you come here?” Darian asked, ready to fight if need be.

“To attack the camp before moving on to cleanse our lands,” the leader said, gesturing at the carnage with his hammer. “The necromancers are a blight upon our swamp. Them and the grave taken who squat on our holy lands further up the road.”

“Well, we certainly are not friends of them either,” Harper said. “You should have no quarrel with us.”

“Maybe,” the goblin said, looking over his shoulder. “But why do you come here?” His eyes narrowed. “You have the look of one from the so called civilized lands, woman. Do you come to take and steal and burn like those who came before you?”

“Only one of those,” she said, smiling. “But we are not a threat to your little clan, goblin. Leave us be and we shall do the same.”

Darian turned, seeing Fria standing on one of the cultist’s makeshift platforms, an arrow ready. Gustan was tending to Zan, the wolf now sitting up on his hind legs, a fresh wound on his ribs.

“What if,” Darian said. “We were to work together?”

Harper snorted. “With goblins?”

Gorm glared at her, the elf surprisingly losing her smile instantly. “My father’s people ally with goblins regularly,” he said. “They can be mischievous, but they’ll honor a deal if their leader agrees to it. Isn’t that right?”

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The head goblin snorted. “You have met my kind before, then?” He chewed at his bottom lip with sharp, yellowed teeth. “What you say is true, and I am chief. But I must think on this.”

“Think quickly,” Harper said. “They’ll be expecting him back sometime soon.” She nodded at the armored skeleton’s body.

The chief grunted, then turned back to the gathering behind him. Gorm tapped Darian on the back, and the two of them joined Gustan and Zan.

“How is he?” Darian asked, frowning at the wolf.

“He took a bad blow to the ribs and the back. He’s lucky to be alive.” He gave Zan a pat on the head, the wolf leaning into it. “I gave him a potion, but he won’t be able to fight again for some time.”

“When can you give him another?” Fria asked as she approached.

“Every creature is different, but not soon. I’m afraid this was Zan’s last battle for now.”

Darian stroked the wolf’s fur, the scent of his blood tickling his nose.

“Are we honestly considering allying with those…creatures?” Harper stood with her good hand on her hip, staring at the goblins who gathered in a large circle on the bank.

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Gorm said. “And we could use help.”

“I don’t know much about goblins,” Darian said. “Can we trust them?”

“It depends,” Fria said, squatting by Zan. “Each group is different.”

“But each goblin certainly isn’t.” Harper turned to face the group. “What Gorm told to you is true. Goblins will listen to their leader. But if that leader dies, their loyalty goes with them.”

“Individual goblins are sometimes seen as simple creatures by outsiders,” Gustan explained. “But they are intelligent. Many live alongside the other people of Vizzera. And distant clans or tribes such as this one often function as a collective. But eventually they will form a chief that pools the tribe’s knowledge and experience. A leader that is far stronger and smarter than the rest. But if that commander falls, the group might fall into chaos until a new goblin leader forms from the collective.”

“They could go from friends to enemies in the blink of an eye,” Harper said. “I’ve seen it happen more than once.”

“Doesn’t that mean we just have to keep the chief alive?” Darian asked.

“Easier said than done,” Gorm said. “Goblin's have to fight at the front of battle to earn their warriors respect. That makes keeping one alive harder than it might seem.”

“Still,” Darian glanced at the chittering creatures. “If they could help us take on the gate, that would be a massive benefit.”

“And we’re down one member,” Gustan said, Zan whimpering. “It’s not the worst idea. And perhaps this is a blessing.”

“Don’t tell me you think Argus or some other one of your silly little human deities is behind this,” Harper said. “But I agree that this could be an opportunity. A wall of meat standing between us and the undead has its appeal.”

“They wouldn’t be meat,” Gorm said, his voice low, his brow drawn downwards. “Don’t talk about them like they’re not people.”

Harper smiled, the expression flat. “Fine,” she said. “But when this goes poorly, I would like each of you to know I saw it coming.”

“Then we’re going to work with them?” Fria asked. “Are we sure about this?”

“It’s up to them, in the end. We’re attacking the Nether Gate either way.” Darian turned, noticing the goblin chief was approaching them, two other goblins at his back.

“What say you?” Gorm asked the chief. “Have you reached a decision?”

“We have.” The chief planted the head of his hammer on the ground, the mud squelching as he leaned on it. “We can attack the undead together, but you must leave after the battle is concluded. The land they squat on is sacred to us, and it must be reclaimed and cleansed in the name of Garnack.”

“That sounds fair,” Gorm said. “When do you plan on attacking?”

“We attack tonight. I have already sent someone to gather the rest of the tribe.” He sneered, his small face twisting with rage. “I will not allow them to defile our holy place for one more night. The undead will be crushed into oblivion.”

“How long will it take the rest of your tribe to reach us?” Darian asked.

“Not long, but the prisoner may slow them.”

“Prisoner?”

One of the goblins behind the chief smiled. “Got him while he was running.”

“He’s one of them,” the chief said, nodding at the bodies. “He has not answered our questions about the undead army, but maybe you will have success.”

“Have you scouted the undead’s stronghold?” Fria asked. “And does the sky above it unnaturally darken?”

“We have,” the chief said. “And the sky does darken above. They have turned the ruins there into a fortress. They number over one hundred from what we could see, though more arrive each night despite our ambushes.”

Over a hundred? Darian knew the battle wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t think they were going to be that outnumbered.

“How many warriors will your tribe bring?” Gorm asked, the two goblins behind the chief staring at him with reverence in their eyes.

“We can bring sixty. The rest must remain to guard the children from predators.”

“Going to be a massive battle, then, isn’t it?” Gustan asked, his voice shaking.

“It will be,” Gorm said, smiling. “One way or another, I have a feeling this all comes to a close tonight.”

Darian looked down the ruined road, the darkness beyond holding unseen dangers. But he was ready to end this. Gorm was right, for good or bad, things were reaching the end.