The hobgoblin leader’s presence was such that Harald fell back in dismay; Nessa gave ground, eyes wide, and while they both kept their weapons up, each moment they didn’t press Barko back was time for more hobgoblins to flood into the back of the room and start moving up the sides.

But even as Harald felt unnatural horror and fear wash over him, a soft white radiance arose about his own body, enveloping him with warmth and comfort.

Sam’s Guardian’s Mantle.

The fear abated, loosening Harald’s mind, and he manifested the Amulet of Hobgoblin Kings and raised it high. “Get back!”

The effect was paltry on the enraged hobbo, but enough to stymie Barko’s charge; his little eyes narrowed in confusion as he stared at Harald’s amulet.

Nessa, similarly bolstered by Sam, unleashed an Echoing Strike, lunging forward with the terrific skill and precision that only a Bladeweaver Level 5 could muster, and slashed her sword across the bulbous rusted cuirass. Her Ability flashed bright white, and Barko roared, snapped out of his reverie to bring his mace screaming around.

It would have taken Nessa’s head off if Sam hadn’t placed her Shield of Valor in its path. The summoned shield shattered before the blow, but it allowed Nessa to glide back out of harm’s way, and then Harald felt a hand on his shoulder as Sam stepped up to confront Barko.

“Sam!” He went to haul her back, but she raised her longsword, closed her eyes, and the entire chamber went white as she unleashed a flood of purity that washed over Barko and the hobbos behind him.

Barko screamed in pain and pressed his forearm over his eyes; the other hobbos behind him seemed to wilt back in dismay.

Sam’s Celestial Flair.

Vic had been aiming carefully, and lunged forward with his rapier, and slid the tip of its blade with perfect precision into Barko’s armpit.

The rapier sank a good three inches in, and emerged dark with blood.

Beacon of Hope banished Barko’s aura of dread, and Harald felt his chest unlock. The power of his Thrones flooded back into him, and he swept his Dawnblade up in a great arc, unleashing Demonic Edge.

The dark power seemed to come directly from the Demon Seed, and flooded out of his blade on a coruscating arc of night to slam into Barko’s chest. It cut through the rusted cuirass, lopped off his left arm at the elbow, and caused the hobgoblin leader to roar and swing the mace about blindly.

But enough hobgoblins had snuck in around the left flank to now come charging into Harald, forcing him to turn and weave a desperate defense as he summoned Umbral Aegis and tried to hold the line. Four hobbos, moving in good order despite the chaos of the room.

The drain on Harald’s twin thrones was tremendous. He was rapidly running out of time as he fought to maintain his shadowy armor.

Barko was still roaring, still standing, somehow.

The hobgoblin warriors attacked him in a coordinated manner; their phalanx overwhelmed him, so that only his Aegis kept him from behind skewered or hacked apart. Cursing his lack of fencing prowess, Harald stumbled back, only for Kársek to move forward and right into the face of the grouped hobbos.

Who, sensing something amiss, hesitated, huge blades poised to hack the dwarf apart.

“Khazadrok.”

The huge rune appeared before the dwarf and flew clear through the phalanx like mist.

They exploded, as did the other two pressing behind them.

The ceiling, the back wall, the floor, all of it was instantly drenched in dark crimson, shards of metal embedding deep into stone, tatters of clothing and leather, fragments of bone sticking to the walls then beginning to slowly slide down to the floor.

The violence was instantaneous and absolute.

Kársek lowered his rune hammer, shoulders rising and falling.

Harald gaped, the Aegis fading away. He wanted to just stand there, trying to process the sheer power at the dwarf’s command, but heard Barko’s cursing laughter and turned to see the Thornguard’s vines engulfing the hobbo’s good arm.

Nessa grunted as cut down with all her power, both hands latched on her blade’s hilt, and cut off the hobgoblin’s remaining arm.

Vic slide in right up to the monstrous hobbo, angled the Point, and caused it to extend vertically, coming up beneath the monster’s chin and clicking as it hit the inside of the helm’s top.

Barko sighed and collapsed onto the corpses of his fellows.

Harald’s Thrones guttered out and died, depriving him of all his Abilities. But even so, he leaped over the dead hobbo and got to work on the remaining hobgoblins who yet reeled from Sam’s Celestial Flair.

Blinded, they waved their weapons about as they clustered back, trying to retreat, but Harald cut them down, the last falling to a thrust from Nessa.

And then, abruptly, it was all over.

“Everyone all right?” called Nessa, casting around, blood smeared along her left cheek.

“Fine,” said Sam, sounding shocked.

“Aye, fine,” grunted Kársek.

“Lovely,” said Vic. “I was a bit panicky there for a moment, to be honest, but now? Just lovely.”

“Fine,” said Harald. And he was. The Aegis had protected him from real trouble there for a crucial few moments. Scales were appearing over the dead monsters. The room was an abattoir.

It had all happened so fast.

“Collect scales,” said Nessa. “We keep moving.”

“Kársek,” said Vik, wiping his rapier clean. “That thing you did. Twice. Kazza-boom? I was already impressed when you knocked Yseult through the wall, but this…? Incredible. Beyond incredible.”

“No kidding,” said Harald, moving around to scoop up Silvers. The memory of the hobgoblins just… bursting apart… was horrifying. “How often can you do that?”

Kársek frowned, clearly taking no pleasure in the praise. “The Dreadrune is respected in dwarven society for a reason. I am still very unskilled. It takes me a long time to charge the rune, and I can only summon it in the face of actual foes. With my rune hammer, however, I do not suffer as I did when I used it against Lady Yseult Khan.”

“Ah,” said Vic. “So you can’t just, I don’t know, charge it up and walk ahead of us, ready to destroy anything we come across?”

“No,” agreed Kársek. “I must see the foe that I am to destroy.”

Nessa had fallen into a crouch, one hand resting on the crossguard of her blade. “And it takes you, what, ten seconds or so to charge up?”

Kársek shrugged. “I cannot be precise. There are many variables. But I will grow faster with practice.”

“What happened to the other orcs?” Harald moved to the archway and glanced out over the bridge where pools and puddles of gore were all that remained of most of their group beneath scintillating scales.

“They ran,” said Sam. “The ones who were coming up from behind. They saw their friends explode, and… had a change of heart, I guess.”

“No kidding,” said Nessa, smiling wryly. “Incredible. Can you discriminate between who gets destroyed by your rune?”

“No,” said Kársek, tone grave. “Anyone caught by the rune will be destroyed.”

Nessa nodded. “So you need ten to fifteen seconds, and a clean line of attack. Good to know. How often can you unleash the rune?”

“I’m not sure.” Kársek frowned, considering. “The rune is powered by Earthblood and limited by my ability to channel. I could have unleashed a third rune without much trouble, but beyond that, it might have begun cost me.”

“It’s a terrifying power,” said Sam softly.

“It is,” agreed Kársek sadly.

“It’s effectiveness will be limited by the strength of the foe,” said Nessa, rising to her feet. “Which isn’t a criticism, just a fact. I doubt Vorakhar would notice the rune if it hit him.”

Kársek’s expression soured. “Not today. But I haven’t come into my power yet. One day he will notice indeed.”

“That’s terrifying,” said Vic brightly. “So there’s a future where we all just walk along behind Kársek as he clears out dungeon floors? Fantastic.”

Harald had collected 97 Silver Starbursts from the dead hobgoblins. Sam returned from the bridge where the orcs had dropped another 61, her every footstep now accompanied by a sickening squelch.

But Barko was clearly the main prize. Two Golden Dawns floated above his corpse, along with his helm. It was a heavy, crude item, made of the same thick, rusted iron as his armor, and heavily spiked. Its face plate was shaped into the visage of snarling hobgoblin, and heavy straps hung from its sides that would no doubt bind it tightly to its wearer.

“This is the first time I don’t want to examine an Artifact,” said Vic reluctantly.

“I’ll check it out.” Harald claimed the helm.

Artifact Acquired: Helm of Wrath

Quality: Uncommon

Special Ability: Wrathful Might

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Activation: When donned, the Helm grants the wearer terrible strength and induces a state of berserker rage, greatly enhancing combat effectiveness at the cost of rational thought. In this state, all attacks deal increased damage, but strategic decisions become impossible.

+5 to Strength

+3 Constitution

Limitation: The wearer cannot remove the helm while in a berserker rage unless subdued or knocked unconscious. Prolonged use risks permanent reduction of Intelligence.

“We’re not going to be using this one,” said Harald, holding the helm gingerly. It felt warm and strangely heavy. “Uncommon, and grants hugely increased strength due to causing its wearer to enter a berserker frenzy, though at the cost of intelligence and an inability to think strategically.”

“Oh, so it won’t affect you much,” said Vic.

“Ha ha ha. Thanks.” Harald pulled his pack around and strapped the helm to its side. “Still, it’ll sell for, what, a Zenith Tide?”

“Much less,” said Nessa. “Its cursed nature will make it more of a curiosity than anything else. But you never know.”

“We can pay Master Ling a visit,” said Vic brightly. “See what he thinks.”

“There are those who buy such items to sell to the dwarves,” said Kársek. “My people in Dumrûn have the craft to break Artifacts down and refashion them.”

Everyone stared at the dwarf.

“I didn’t know that,” said Vic. “Really? That’s fascinating.”

Kársek nodded. “It’s why we maintain such a strong presence in Flutic. There are other reasons, but providing a market for the sale of unwanted Artifacts is one of them.”

“Huh.” Vic smiled. “Perhaps you can handle the sale for us, then?”

“I may introduce you to the correct vendors, but will not take part,” said Kársek firmly. “Dreadrunes do not engage in barter.”

“Well then.” Vic made a face.

“It is not arrogance,” said Kársek, tone even. “But as a Dreadrune, my asking for scales in exchange for an Artifact would place any merchant in a quandary. Their refusal to give me all their scales would be an insult.”

“Is that so!” Vic glided over to Kársek and laid an arm over his shoulders. “Kársek, darling, you should have told me. You can just… ask for scales?”

Kársek frowned. “I could.”

“And they’d just… give them to you?”

Kársek nodded.

“That’s amazing!” Vic looked elated. “When we get back, we’re going straight to the dwarven quarter to ask for… I don’t know, a Nightshard, perhaps?”

“They would give it to me if I asked,” agreed Kársek, “but I will not ask for one.”

“Dwarven honor and all that? What about doing it for Harald? To recover his manor?”

“Vic,” warned Harald, expression darkening. “Don’t play with this.”

“I’m not!” Vic beamed at Kársek. “Just exploring options. Isn’t he your dear tharkoon, or whatever?”

Kársek frowned and glanced worriedly at Harald. “If he demanded it of me, I would seek to explain how it is improper, but…”

“Enough. I won’t ask it. Especially not for the return of my manor. Leave him be, Vic.”

Who only smiled disarmingly and spread his hands. “Fine, fine. I’m sure Karsy-baby and I can talk later. I’m sure I change your mind.”

From Kársek’s expression, Harald was sure Vic was mistaken.

Nessa had been listening at any archway. “We should… we should press on. We’ve probably cleared the immediate area, but more patrols will be on their way.”

And Harald instantly intuited her reluctance. She preferred to go back, to not press their luck, but didn’t want to upset him.

To return too quickly, after the crew’s dedication to keep up with him.

And he didn’t want to return, either.

So he nodded. “A little more, perhaps. I don’t think any of us sustained a wound?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“A little more,” agreed Nessa. “My scratches and cuts have already been healed by Sam’s Guardian Mantle. Yes. Let’s try the right archway, see where Barko came from.”

They moved to the archway, peered beyond into a long hallway whose length was all stark lines but otherwise empty.

“About Barko,” said Sam. “The boss goblins didn’t drop Artifacts.”

“The further you go into a level,” said Nessa quietly as she stepped into the hall, “the more likely you are to find individuals who are several times more lethal than the common monsters. The boss goblins were your first example of that, but it becomes ever more common the deeper one goes into the dungeon.”

“And,” said Vic, stepping out to the side and hugging the wall as they all entered, “the more overwhelming force you bring to a level, the more likely you are to trigger a powerful response. Our Dreadrune here, delightful as he may be, is no doubt causing the Fallen Angel to regard us as much too deadly for this level.”

Kársek sketched a mocking bow.

“We’re definitely drawing a strong reaction,” murmured Nessa, gliding down the center of the hall, sword at Plow. “To be hit by an orc patrol and a Barko-led hobgoblin group that large all at once… we’d have been in real trouble without Kársek.”

Harald tried to imagine how they would have fended off the orc berserkers at their rear while fighting off Barko, and knew Nessa was right.

“And the longer we stay down here, the more the level will react to us,” said Vic, tone tense as he peered into the gloom up ahead. “Which some—not us, obviously—might find vaguely alarming.”

Harald rippled his fingers on the Dawnblade’s grip. “We’ve always got the Goldchops if things get dicey. And Shadowpaw.”

Vic considered. “True.”

They fell into wary silence as they traversed the length of the hall. It ran along the inside of the huge curtain wall, and seemed to extend forever into the gloom, but after only a few minutes of padding along they came to a broad archway on the left.

They clustered before it, and Vic was the one to peer out around the corner, dropping into a crouch to do so.

“Hmm,” he said, drawing back and ushering them to retreat a-ways. “It opens into an enclosed courtyard below, three levels down, surrounded by walls on all sides. Mostly in ruins, one big tower stuck in the north side. It looks to be a hobgoblin camp. Tents crowded in on the bottom, and sentries posted at all points.”

“But not the archway?” asked Sam.

“There was one,” grinned Vic. “He was a foot from me. Asleep. I think we got lucky.”

“No kidding,” said Harald. “Could you get a sense of how many?”

“Not really. The tents could be full of hobgoblins. Perhaps a dozen sentries with bows arranged around the top? There had to be, I don’t know, seven or eight tents below. Say three hobgoblins per tent, we’re looking at a camp of some thirty or forty of them.”

“Including a leader,” said Nessa. “Who’s might not be a mindless brute like Barko.”

She looked uneasy, and with good reason. Harald could see her figuring out the best way to call the retreat, so he took the initiative. “This is what we do. Vic, you use the Point to assassinate the sentry. We pull him out of view, and then I send Shadowpaw around the periphery to kill more of the sentries while we work our way around the other direction. As soon as we’re spotted, we retreat back into this hallway.”

“What are you thinking?” asked Nessa. “We draw everyone after us, constrain them in this hallway, then have Kársek destroy them?”

“Right,” said Harald. “We then move forward to mop up whoever’s left.”

Nessa frowned, considering. “Vic?”

“It sounds like an absolute shitshow in the making,” said Vic. “The kind of plan that’s perfect until it isn’t.”

“Agreed. Especially as we don’t know who’s in those tents. Could be thirty hobgoblins. Could be a hundred.”

“Probably not a hundred,” said Vic. “Unless they’re stacked up like cordwood down there. Which, you know, everyone needs to pass the time somehow.”

“Worst case scenario I deploy the Goldchops,” said Harald.

“No, that’s absolutely not the worst case scenario.” Nessa rubbed her thumb beneath one eye. “Very well. With your Goldchops and Kársek, we should be able to handle it as long as we draw them into this hall. If I sound the retreat, however, there are not arguments. We clear?”

“Clear,” murmured everyone.

“Kársek, you’re going to position yourself…” Nessa glanced up and down the hall. “About twenty yards down from here. That should allow a critical number of hobgoblins to fill the hall before you unleash your rune.”

“No,” said Kársek. “I need at least ten seconds to charge the rune once they appear. I should be forty yards down. They’ll be chasing you, will be coming fast.”

“Forty yards.” Nessa frowned. “If we’re fighting a retreat that will be a lot of ground to cover.”

“Kársek can move up if we’re fighting a slow retreat,” said Harald. “Place himself right beside the last of us and kill everyone pursuing us.”

Nessa raised an eyebrow at Kársek, who shrugged then nodded.

“Very well. Shadowpaw goes to the right, I’ll take the left with my Phase Daggers. We need to rile them up. If we retreat too quickly, they won’t give immediate chase. Hobgoblins are smart and disciplined, they’ll regroup, discuss, then come after us cautiously. We need to fire up their blood.”

“I can do that,” said Harald. “I’ll use my amulet to confuse and enrage them.”

Nessa frowned. “We’ll try that. But if they don’t give immediate chase, we’re quitting the battle. With their bows and the length of this hallway, we risk being turned into pincushions if they come at us prepared.”

“Sure,” said Harald, trying to hide his excitement.

“Then let’s begin. Kársek, find your spot. Vic, you’ve got the lead. Harald, summon Shadowpaw.”

Harald did so, reaching into his Cosmos and calling the Mastiff forth. The darkness swarmed and thickened and then Shadowpaw was there, huge and vicious, his crimson tongue licking his chops as he gazed about them, his triangular ears erect, big enough that he was almost the same height as Kársek.

Harald scritched the huge hound’s ruff, and whispered the instructions to him. Harald wasn’t sure it was strictly necessary to do so; the mastiff seemed to intuit what Harald wanted through their bond alone.

Still.

Vic padded forward, Point in hand. Nessa came next, then Harald and Shadowpaw, followed last by Sam.

Her Beacon of Hope warmed him, and tamped down his rising bloodlust. Without it, he knew he’d be much more on edge, ready to act on instinct, to give in to his darker impulses. But Sam’s presence kept him grounded, sharp, alert, and steady.

Vic reached the archway, peered around it, then positioned the Point. A second later it extended silently, and Vic lunged out to catch the falling body of the sentry, whom he dragged into the hallway, blood pouring from a hole beneath his rust-red ear and the top of his skull.

Instant kill.

They laid the body out, Nessa palming the four Silvers that appeared over it, and then she took a deep breath. “Shadowpaw ready?”

The Mastiff moved up alongside her and nonchalantly passed through the archway, cutting right and melding into the shadows as he went.

“Luck,” whispered Vic, and then Nessa moved after the Servitor.

Harald went next.

The courtyard opened before him, all of it drowned in the slate green light, hazy with mist, and looking a thousand years old. Their arch opened into the highest level, a walkway hugging the high stone walls, but shattered and reduced to rubble here and there, with the entire far side little more than a steep slope of broken blocks.

There was a second level below, its walkway jutting out and accessed here and there by stone staircases, and then the courtyard floor below, the flagstones hidden by a tent city, awnings stretching across the expanse, arranged with military precision, with few gaps visible between them.

The tower Vic mentioned stood on one side, blocky and square, rising a good thirty yards above the tops of the ragged courtyard walls, a single blocky finger pointing accusingly at the cloudy skies.

Harald crouched down, aware that his ability to creep silently was severely limited. There was no sign of Shadowpaw, but Nessa had her first Phase Blade out, and was sneaking along the wall toward the first sentry, a heavily armored hobgoblin facing outward, bow gripped in one hand.

She drew her arm back, took one last glance at the other sentries, then threw.

The Phase Blade spun up to sink between the hobgoblin’s shoulder blades, passing through the heavy chainmail with ease.

The hobbo grunted, reached behind himself to try and grab the blade, turned then fell out of view.

On the far courtyard side, Harald saw Shadowpaw appear as if by magic alongside another sentry, the darkness peeling back to reveal the Mastiff’s huge jaws just before they crunched the hobbo’s head into bone slurry.

Sam was by Harald’s side, biting her lower lip, watching Nessa with fierce focus.

Nessa drew back a second Phase Blade, crept closer to the next sentry. They were spaced haphazardly apart.

But just before she could throw, she stepped on a loose stone. It rolled under her foot, and she dropped to one knee even as the stone dislodged and dropped to clatter down to the second level.

It happened so fast.

The sentries glanced back, then as one let out hoarse shouts and spun, bows coming up.

Shadowpaw let loose his horrifying howl and leaped at the closest hobbo, punching into the monster with such force that the sentry was knocked off his feet to fall before the Mastiff as both plunged out of view.

Nessa leaped to her feet then staggered. She’s hurt her ankle. She began racing back.

The hobgoblins loosed their arrows.

The Shield of Valor appeared beside her, catching the bolts. A few slipped past only to shatter against the walls.

“Stop!” shouted Harald, raising the Amulet and stepping out into view. “I command you to stop!”

Half the sentries glanced his way, then blinked, confused, and hesitated.

Those on the far side of the courtyard however ignored Harald.

They loosed more arrows, but Sam focused and swung her Shield into position, blocking the attacks. One arrow got through, but somehow curve around Nessa’s leg at the last second and miss.

Nessa’s Veil of Aether Ability.

A figure appeared in one of the tower windows. Not a hobgoblin, nor yet an orc, it was a lanky, slate-skinned goblinoid, tall as a hobgoblin but not a goblin boss either. It looked wicked, vicious, dangerous, and raised a huge crossbow whose head was a cannister.

“Watch out!” shouted Harald, breaking free of the archway to run to Nessa. She was almost back, just a dozen yards away when the eerie goblinoid loosed his bolt.

It hit the third level walkway just below the lip, and detonated.

The masonry of the path exploded.

Huge chunks of rock and shattered blocks blew out, and then the entire section cracked and gave way, sliding free to plummet down toward the second level.

“Harald!” screamed Nessa, arm outflung as she fell with the shattered walkway.

He lunged, missed her hand by inches.

Fell to his knees on the ragged edge of the ruined walkway, and stared in horror as she fell with the rocks, was carried over the edge of the second level, and disappeared amidst the tents far below.