Erasmus and Ruadh hurried down dark, seldom used tunnels of earth and roots. The sound of rushing water became louder, they entered in a wide chamber, housing a platform stood over rapids that flowed down a tunnel.

“Where the hell does all this water come from?” asked Erasmus, who received a more or less scientifically feasible answer. To avoid being dragged under, the men took off their heavy clothes and armour, sparing only their helmets. Erasmus strapped his sword to his back.

“Will it be safe?” asked a paladin, staring down the tunnel

“No.” Ruadh answered curtly.

“Good enough,” said Conn, “I’ll go first. Meet you on the other side mates.” The young ranger, breathed in deeply, plunged into the rushing water, and allowed himself to be carried away. A few other rangers followed, before Erasmus took the plunge himself. As the water took him away, he fought against the current to keep his head above water. Soon, he was plunged into a deep pool. Holding his breath, he remembered Ruadh’s instruction, fumbling about in the watery darkness. He swam on, sensing rather than seeing the men in front and behind him. Soon, the stone roof above him gave way into open water and he swam up into it. He was sucked down another tunnel, buffeted along by the current, nearly cracking his skull on the rocks.

The goblin-sappers outside the gates rushed behind cover. The heavily armoured company waiting to pour in were all kneeling down, heads covered. “Now!” a voice rang out. Fuses were lit. The seconds passed by, each man hearing his own heartbeat like thunder in his ears, even as battle raged behind them. The stillness was torn apart just as the gate was, the explosion shaking the very ground. The waiting company huddled down as much as they could behind the barricade, shards of wood raining down on their helmets. After a few seconds, the dust had settled, and where there had been a gate, now stood a gaping portal.

A whistle was sounded. The goblin-men arose and leapt over the barricades, swords and pistols drawn. The front ranks ran into the open gate, ready for battle. As they passed the remains of the obliterated gate, they howled blood curdling cries and fired pistols. But then they slowed their run, and came to a stop. The hall that opened before them was dark, and empty of life. The goblin-men looked around them in confusion. There were weapons and barrels of stuff laying about, but no defenders. Smelling a trap, the captain crept forward slowly, his men doing the same. They came to the foot of the slope that led to the door of the opposite end of the hall, shrouded completely in darkness. The captain and his men began climbing the slope, slowly, cautiously, eyes trained on the dark passageway ahead.

Suddenly, there was a glint of steel, the captain held up his hand to halt his men. He drew his pistol, eyeing the darkness. The sound of footsteps was heard. From out the darkness, a solitary figure stepped forward with predatory deliberation. The man was armoured, a naked sword in his hand.

The captain, just a few feet away from the man, aimed his pistol and fired. In the brief second the muzzle flashed, the figure was shown to be a shadow, with eyes flashing. The next instant, the captain’s body went hurtling down the slope, followed soon by his head. The goblin-men faltered, stepped backward, as the shadowy man approached. Their blood froze in their veins as they saw his eyes, flashing like cold stars. Pupils blacker than night.

“I’m not trapped in here with you… You’re trapped in here with me…” Pike said, wanting for a better one-liner. He leapt forward, sword shearing through the first man in his path.

Outside, the Lord Hobb sat in his chariot, wringing the haft of his mace nervously as his eyes darted between the tree-fort on one side, and the raging battle on the other.

“What’s taking them so long!” he growled.

“Sir, should I send men to reinforce the mercenaries?”

“Forget it. We can’t risk the rangers slipping out. We need every warrior to scour every inch of that place.” Taking out his small snuff-box, and helped himself to a double sniff of the stuff. Before leaning back and clicking his fingers anxiously. “But what the hell is taking them so long? The breaching party should have rolled over them by now.”

“Sir, the men report hearing ghastly screams from the place, they’re fighting desperately…”

“If they don’t get the job done, I’ll give them something to scream about!” So fixated he was on the battle, he paid no heed to the thin river that flowed from the roots of the tree-fort, or the helmets that bobbed along its surface. Save except for the lone scout who was watering his horse nearby. He nearly mounted and rode off to warn his lord, before a sodden man burst from the reeds behind him and bonked him on the head.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“Sir! Sir!” Cried one of Hobb’s attendants.

“Oh what is now!” the goblin-king said, before going silent. The tall grass to his left, where once it was but an empty field beside a the stream, was now alive with sodden figures, rushing towards him. A man with a bright sword leading them on horseback.

In the midst of the battle, Myra ducked below the sword-stroke of a mercenary, hacking of his leg with her axe. She was nearly run through by a spearman, before a great sweep of Wasan’s claws tore the man in half. Myra caught the glimpse of light in the corner of her eye, racing across the field like a shooting star.

“Erasmus…” she breathed.

The horse tore great clumps of earth in its wake. Erasmus raced ahead of Ruadh and the others. Hobb called out to his men, they formed a ring of steel about him. Erasmus raced on, sword raised. Flashbacks running across the screen as he remembers everything at stake. Everyone who has given up their lives already. Everyone who is fighting still. The sword is almost alive with fire.

The goblins brace themselves. Erasmus is almost upon them, but he the horse leaps, one hoof crushing the head of one the soldiers. Erasmus leaps of the horse and rolls to his feet, sword flashing and taking off the legs of one man. He slashes around him, the enemy backs away from the burning blade, but he presses on.

Ruadh and the others catch up, throwing themselves at the enemy. The fighting is fierce. Erasmus sheers through the breastplate of one man. Lord Hobb has the reins of his chariot-boars. But Erasmus darts forward and slashes the wheel in twain. The chariot topples, sending Hobb hurtling to the ground. Erasmus presses the attack, but Hobb makes a desperate swing with his mace. Erasmus nearly has his head taken off. He loses his footing and falls backwards.

Hobb stands up to his full height, son of a bitch is like twice as tall as a normal person. His eyes red and his moustache bristling, the large goblin-man strides forward, intent on pulping the paladin before him. Ruadh shows up, smeared in mud and blood and bearing a heavy battle axe.

“Hobb! You remember me! The lashes on my back remember you! Have at thee!” Ruadh’s axe meets the haft of Hobb’s mace, sheering it in two. The broken mace flies from Hobb’s hands, but before Ruadh can make another swing, Hobb draws the sword at his side and slashes the ranger across the chest. Ruadh falls backward. Hobb raises his sword and swings down, but the blow is stopped by a shining blade. Erasmus is back up again, and the two trade blows. Sparks go flying. Few can hardly see the furious exchange. Erasmus’ arms are numb from the reverberation of his blade meeting Hobb’s cleaver-like weapon. A hapless goblin tries to get in a sneak attack on Erasmus, but one of Hobb’s stray swings takes off the sucker’s head. Erasmus is pushed back. A downward strike nearly sends him to his knees.

Erasmus’ fight goes slow-motion. More quick flashbacks. Faces appear on the screen. But one face stands out above the rest. He sees Myra before his him. She mouths a word.

“Erasmus!” the name cuts through the clangour of battle. A fire spreads through the paladin’s blood. He gives out a manly roar. He deals one mighty stroke that makes Hobb falter. Another stroke, and Hobb is driven backwards. The two square off, each man yelling defiantly. They clash, swords meet in an explosion of light.

And Hobb’s sword is cut in twain.

Erasmus’ blade sheers through Hobb’s breastplate, blood gushes. The goblin-man howls in pain and lashes out with the his broken blade. But Erasmus ducks underneath it, his sword slicing through Hobb’s thigh. The man falls to his knees. For brief moment, Erasmus pauses, sword held high. Hobb scowls up at him, but the scowl falls away to show a deep sadness. Hobb drops his broken sword, and nods at Erasmus before closing his eyes. Erasmus bows his own head a little. Hobb’s face is peaceful, when Erasmus’ blade removes his head.

A cry goes up, one man after another of Hobb’s guard begins to break and flee. Erasmus raises up the severed head by the hair, roaring in triumph. The panic first runs through the besieging goblins. First the diabolic cries from within the fort, and now rumour the the king is dead. They see the guard fleeing, where they stood now a band of bloodied men waving the king’s head on a spear shaft.

The mercenary captains see this too. “Bugger this,” they think. They have no employer now, the baggage train has most likely been captured and the prospect of mercy from these forest savages seemed unlikely. The signal to fall back is called.

Erasmus falls to his knees, even as the others leap into the air in joy. Against all odds, they have won. But a voice calls his name. He gets up, it is hard to see through the lingering power-smoke. Myra races across the battlefield, ditching her helmet to let her hair flow free. They spot each other across the distance, and run into each others arms. The music swells as the camera pans around the two as they kiss passionately, holding each other close.

Tears well in their eyes. Erasmus holds Myra’s face, taking in the sight he had thought to never see again. But realisation dawn’s on Erasmus’ face. He looks back towards the tree fort mound grove thing. He grabs Myra’s hand, and the two race over to the shattered gate. Tentatively they step into the darkness. It is frightfully cold. The air is rank with the iron tang of blood. Bodies are everywhere, ruined in their cloven armour. They continue forward. Until they make out an armoured figure standing alone amongst the carnage, caked entirely in blood. A broken sword in his hand, haft of a pear sticking out of his back. Pike’s eyes open, they are dim and clouded.

“You’re late…” he says in a croaky voice. Erasmus and Myra rush over as Pike collapses on his face.