$0.99 Shameless Book Promotion!!!

     To go along with all the free chapters from my epic fantasy novel, Ascent of the Holy Blade, I've lowered the price of its Kindle edition to  $0.99!! Here is the link to the amazon  page. Ascent of the Holy Blade eBook to help you with your purchase. Enjoy and remember a sequel is scheduled for late this year or early 2017!!

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-EW-

Shameless Book Promotion Part VI! Homecoming

     Though they felt as if they had left they people of Roughstock to die, Galen and his companions knew that they had to return to Stoneheart if the goodly people of Avolund were to have any hope of defeating the Blood King and his monstrous warriors. With heavy hearts Galen, Mellay, and the silent Ox escort the Knight of Everwatch, Sir Olan and his precious treasure back behind the stout walls of Stoneheart. Read on to see where the story takes our heroes!

Chapter 16


They had pushed the horses hard across the frozen ground and through snow covered

forest for the last day and night since the gorthin attack.  The strong-spirited mounts had carried

their masters to safety and as the sun rose in the east, Galen and his companions found

themselves welcomed by the sight of Stoneheart nestled in the valley below them.

“Home sweet home,” Galen said with a weary smile.  “We should head to the farm to tell

Father what has happened before we head into the village, right Uncle.”

“No, we’ll go directly into town,” Galen started to object but Olan held up a hand to ward

off the young man’s protests.  “Your father would have moved himself and your mother into the

town so he could help with the defenses easier and your mother would be safer.”

Galen snapped his mouth shut and nodded in agreement with Olan’s sound conclusions.

Nudging Mercury forward, Galen led them down the road that a little more than a week ago he

and Olan had met on.

Mellay’s rose scented perfume reached Galen’s nose as she rode Dahknee up next to him

and a smile parted his lips.  The thought of Mellay’s presence made his heart light and the memory

of her soft, warm hands entwined with his stirred strong feelings in the young man.

“We made it,” Galen said with a smile, but his smile faltered when he saw the anxious

look on Mellay’s sun-darkened face.  It dawned on Galen that his beloved was worried about the

reception she and Ox would receive in Stoneheart.

“Everything will be okay, the people of Stoneheart are of good heart and will be able to

see you and Ox for who you are, not what you are.”  Galen said with more conviction than he

felt, and then he reached across the horses and gave Mellay’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

With a grateful smile and a return squeeze of her own, Mellay gazed out over the snow

covered valley towards the village of Stoneheart.  “Your homeland looks so beautiful and

peaceful compared to the harsh, chaotic cities of the Mol’ tan.  The snow blankets the land like

the sand of the desert, but unlike the sand, the snow seems to have a  feeling of tranquility

instead of the irritating effect of sand.”

Galen would normally have agreed with Mellay’s observation since he too had always

felt a peaceful, quietness during the snowy winters, but that visage had been shattered during the

gorthin’s attack a few short days ago.  Surveying the bustling village below them only reinforced

his lost innocence.  In the past the only people out in the streets at daybreak would be the smithy,

Turek and Odom the miller lighting their fires for their forges and stone-ovens.  But now there

was activity everywhere Galen looked.  A crew was putting on the finishing touches of the

spiked trench his father had suggested while under the protective watch of a score of bowman

walking the walls.

“Your village has worked with the determination of a dwarf to accomplish so much in the

short time we’ve been gone,” Olan said with no small amount of respect in his voice.  “No doubt

your father has been barking at then like a old master-at-arms to keep them going for this kind of

results.”

“More likely it was my mother,” quipped Galen then with a hint of sadness edging into

his voice said. “Let’s go home Mercury.” With a click of his tongue Galen urged the tired
 
mount towards their much changed home.  The three companions filed into a line behind the now

brooding young man. Silently the four made their way towards the village’s gate with only the

sound of crunching snow breaking the silence.

They held their horses to a mild trot as much to rest the weary beasts as to let the

defenders on the walls notice them.  When they had crossed half the distance to Stoneheart a cry

went up from the sentries posted on the wall.

“It’s the knight!  Sir Olan and Galen have returned, go fetch Orin!”  Ordered a tall, twig-

thin of a man that Galen placed as being Burek.  The shepherd was renowned for his eagle like

eyesight.  Orin had told Galen, when as a young boy he had watched Burek shoot an acorn out of

a tree from three hundred paces, that the shepherd’s acute vision came from watching over his

large flock of sheep in the harsh Blackstone Mountains.

Within moments of Burek’s cry the heavy wooden gates of Stoneheart swung wide,

issuing forth a unit of mounted soldiers that raced towards the companions.  Stoneheart’s newly

formed cavalry thundered across the valley with their freshly hewn lances held high, their virgin

tips glistening with oozing sap.  Their motley collection of arms and patchwork armor made

them no less fearsome then the king’s own Royal Golden Lancers as they bore down on the now

waiting group of travelers.

At their head rode Orin, his dark green ranger cloak billowing wildly behind him as he

rushed to meet Galen and Olan.  Unlike those he lead, Orin’s equipment was well tended and he

struck an imposing figure in his glimmering chainmail and hunter green tabard with the golden

cross of the knighthood emblazoned on his chest.  Galen’s chest swelled with pride as Orin and

Dapple, his gray and white spotted charger quickly outdistanced the pack.  Orin reared in Dapple

 next to Mercury and clasped Galen in a powerful bear hug that nearly pulled the surprised young

man from his saddle.

“Ah, it’s good to have you home safe and sound Galen,” Orin said with one last pat on

Galen’s shoulder.  “You to Olan.  Maybe now Anna will stop scowling at me since you’ve

brought her boy home in one piece.  I’ve had nothing but cold dinners and a colder bed since I let

Galen leave with you.”

“Sorry about that Orin. If she’s anything like her sister you’ve had a rough few of days.”

Responded Olan with a grimace.  “But I’ll have you know your suffering wasn’t in vain.  We

learned some things about the gorthin horde that is headed this way and that Galen seems to have

a natural affinity for the arts martial.”

“What of Roughstock?  Will they join with us against the gorthins?”  Orin’s innocent

probing had a sobering effect on the companions joy at reaching Stoneheart.

“They decided to deal with the gorthins on their own father.  But in truth even if they had

decided to join with us there would not have been time for them to organize and march to our

aid.”

“Galen is right Orin the gorthins were less than a day’s march from the Roughstock’s

walls when we left and as it was we were attacked on our way here by several Skylings, a

scouting party I believe.”  But the look Olan gave his brother meant that wasn’t entirely true but a

better explanation needed to wait for less ears to be around.

“They were a brave people and many gorthins will fall before the blades of the valiant

defenders of Roughstock,” Mellay proclaimed from Galen’s side.  “Your tale-weavers will tell

the story of the battle of Roughstock for many generations.”  Nearby Ox bowed his head and

thumped his chest in respect to the brave villagers.

Orin moved dapple closer to the two Nabukians to get a better look at the heavily cloaked

woman at his son’s side and her very large friend.  The ranger had traveled the kingdom

extensively on his treks for the monastery and had more than a couple of unfriendly run ins with

the demon worshiping magic-users, but Olan had a knack for judging people and he would trust

his brother’s decision on these two.  By the way Galen and the young woman looking at one

another whenever they thought no one was looking, Orin hoped his brother was right.  Burying

his dark thoughts Orin turned his attention back to a pair of inquisitive green eyes that were

judging him in return.

“May you find shade and water on your journey,” Orin greeted Mellay and brought his

fingers to his lips and then fluidly swung his open hand wide, tilting his helmed head slightly in a

token bow.

With a slightly deeper bow of her head, Mellay responded, “May the winds of fortune

blow your enemies from your path.”

A whistle escaped from Orin’s lips.  Nabukian aristocrat and her bodyguard!  It seems,

Galen and Olan, that the two of you have some interesting stories to tell, but unfortunately they

will have to wait until after Olan and I talk with the council.  Come, we’ve dallied out here in the

open for too long already.”  With one last look at the young couples clasped hands and his shrugging

brother, Orin lead the procession back to the safety of Stoneheart’s thick, stone walls.

*******************************

“Torvid has put your mother and I up in apartment above his tavern.  His mother-in-law

was using it but since she was always at he and Mira’s place he thought that someone might as

well get some use of it.”  Orin chuckled, “Galen, why don’t you take Mellay and Ox to meet

your mother and get them something warm to drink and eat.  Olan and I can report to the council

about the gorthins and Roughstock, I was on my way to meet with them anyway when you were

spotted.”

“But shouldn’t I be with you and Olan to tell my part?” Asked Galen with the hint of

dismay edging his voice.

“The council member’s all know of, and respect, your mother’s fiery temper and will

understand why I sent you to her first, besides Olan can give them all the information they need

to know.”   With that said the older Stoutheart shooed his son towards the direction of the Green

Pine Tavern across the village commons.

A heavenly scent drifted from the direction of the tavern. The enticement of warmed

spiced cider, hickory bacon, and fried eggs were the deciding factor as Ox and Galen’s

stomachs simultaneously performed a growl that would have done a mountain lion proud.

“Time to meet the rest of my family,” Galen said with a nervous smile.  He had never

brought a girl home for his mother to meet and now his first one was of a race of people

considered to be an enemy of the kingdom.

“It will be alright,” soothed Mellay sensing her lovers nervousness.  “The fruit doesn’t

usually fall far from the tree.  Besides your father seemed alright with Ox and I.” She flashed

Galen a dazzling smile that slightly loosened the knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

Ox’s stomach growled so loudly that it spooked a rooster that was perched on a wagon

wheel beside them.  With an indignant squawk the frightened bird jump to a nearby post and

puffing his chest, growl-clucked at the mighty warrior till Ox through him a piece of leftover

crusty bread that he had dug from a saddlebag.  With one last cluck the rooster snatched his prize

and moved underneath the wagon to eat.

With a forlorn look at the feeding fowl the big Nabukian rapidly flashed his fingers

through the complex movements of the hand language and then urged his horse towards the

tavern.

“What did he say Mellay?”  Mellay and Ox had started to teach Galen the intricate hand

talk, but so far all he knew was his name and how to greet people.
 
“He said that he doesn’t care what your mother does to us as long as she feeds him first.”

With a laugh the two followed their large friend down the snowy street to the hitching

post in front of the tavern where they dismounted and tied up their horses next to Ox’s already

riderless mount.  Near the door to the Green Pine, Ox was anxiously urging them to hurry with

exaggerated hand motions.  Suddenly the tavern door burst open and Anna Stoutheart rocketed

out of the cozy tavern interior into the frigid winter air to embrace her stunned son.
 
Pushing Galen to arm’s length, Anna visually scoured her weary son like a  hen fussing

over a newly hatched chick.  “It’s about time you came home.  I’ve about worried myself

sick fretting about your wellbeing.  You could use a shave for that stubble and a bath wouldn’t

hurt but other than that you seem alright.”  She finished with a tousle of his hair.

“I’m fine Mother.  A little tired but fine, besides Olan was there to watch over me plus my

two new friends, Mellay and Ox.”  Galen flashed Anna Stoutheart one of the disarming half grins

he relied on to keep him out of trouble with his fiery mother.

Anna turned her gaze to Mellay and her eyes tightened slightly at their corners as she

regarded the beautiful nabukian standing so close and comfortably at her son’s side.  Anna’s dark

gaze bore into Mellay’s as if seeking to scour her soul for ill intent.  The old hatreds were hard

for her to look past along with the death of two of her cousin’s stationed at the border keeps.

Mellay broke the tense silence first.  “Your son is a brave and honorable young man.  If it

weren’t for his skill with bow and blade, Ox and I would have surely perished in the foothills of

the mountains.  We own him a great debt.”  Mellay curtsied before Anna and bowed her head in a

sign of submission.  “It is an honor to meet the Mother and Father of such a wonderful young

man.”

Anna’s eyes softened slightly in pride of your son and the deep felt admiration the desert

woman felt for her boy.  “Please come in out of the cold.  We’ve prepared some warm food and I

would like to hear of how you and Galen met.”  Taking Mellay’s hand Anna turned to lead the

young lady into the tavern when she bumped, face first, into a wall she did not remember being there.

Her gaze climbed the giant in front of her until she saw Ox’s grinning face smiling down

at her causing Anna to take an involuntary step back.  Despite his gentle nature and broad toothy

grin, Ox still looked fierce with his vast assortment of weapons dangling from his harness and

massive girth and towering height.  Anna’s astonishment and silence was broken when Ox’s

belly rumbled making the giant blush and dip his head in embarrassment.

“This is Ox, Lady Stoutheart and despite his fearsome appearance you will never meet a

kinder or gentler soul.  If not for Ox’s intervention on my behalf I would have died in the pits of

the mortae un.  Like your son, I owe him my life.”

“By the looks of him I don’t expect he misses many meals and I wouldn’t want to be the

first to deprive him,” Anna stated with a kindly pat on the blushing warrior’s forearm.  Leading

the three into the tavern the kindhearted Anna realized that there was more to these strangers than

their dark heritage would lead one to believe and she found herself looking forward to hearing

their tale.

Chasing after the womenfolk, Galen and Ox hurried into the tavern, nearly bowling over

one another in their haste- Ox’s desire for food and Galen’s urge to be with the two most important

women in the world to him.  Once inside the pair’s senses were assaulted by the warmth and

smokiness of the roaring fire that heated the tavern and created the cozy feeling that weary travelers

always seem to enjoy and the mouthwatering aroma of honey and spiced oatmeal.  Removing their

heavy cloaks the two men joined Anna and Mellay at a large  sturdy table near the fire.

After returning from the kitchen with a platter loaded with heaping bowls of oatmeal and

mugs of warm spiced cider, Anna sat and listened while Mellay and Galen told her of the events

of the last few days.  She flashed Galen a concerned look when Mellay told of the goblin’s arrow

that had pierced his shoulder and gave the girl an appreciating hug when Galen spoke of Mellay’s

healing work on his wounds.  With the warm food and drink securely in his belly Galen was

finding it difficult to keep his eyes open and as Mellay’s melodious voice told of the accounts in

Roughstock, he found himself drifting off to sleep.  The last thing he heard before sleep stole over

him was his mother asking Ox to carry him up to their rooms and place him in bed.




































Chapter 17


A rooster crowed, heralding the arrival of the morning sun as it breached the snow-

capped peaks of the Blackstone Mountains.  Warm sunbeams filtered through the frosted window

panes of the Green Pine Tavern gently coaxing Galen from his peaceful slumber.

Unable to resist the rooster’s greeting and the sun’s caressing touch he woke to find

himself sharing a small room with Ox, who was snoring loudly from a bed he made on the floor.

The Nabukian had been unable to fit comfortably in the second bed in their shared room and had

improvised using some thick furs and heavy blankets provided by Torvid and his wife.

Stretching to relieve the knotted muscles from the arduous race from Roughstock, Galen

stifled a groan as a particularly tight knot released that had been plaguing the small of his back.

Not wanting to wake his sleeping friend, he picked up his hard soled boots and padded stealthily

from the room and down the staircase to the tavern’s common room.

Olan and Orin sat near the river-rock fireplace with their feet propped towards the roaring

flames while they smoked their long stemmed pipes.  In a booth near the stairs Anna and Mellay

were whispering and giggling like young girls at a festival dance.  Both women ceased their

talking and gave Galen a withering look when they realized he was watching them.  With a shrug

and his most charming grin, that neither of them returned, Galen moved over to the hearth to join

his father and uncle in one of the several rocking chairs situated around the fireplace.

“Women,” the young man huffed pulling on his boots.  “I was greeted like a hero

yesterday when we arrived and now you’d think I had the pox the way those two glared at me.  I

just don’t get it.”  He jerked the boot roughly over a heel that was being stubborn.

“Well if you ever do, please tell me so I may finally understand your aunt,” Olan

chuckled.

“What surprises me,” began Orin talking around the pipe stem.  “Is how well my wife has

taken to the desert girl after the things the Nabukian have done to her family.  That must be one

amazing young lady you two brought back.  I’m guessing that your mother isn’t the only one

taking a fancy for Mellay, eh Galen.”  Orin finished with a sly grin for his blushing son and a

knowing wink for Olan.

“It’s...well...you see...” Stammered Galen trying to control the heat spreading to his

cheeks until he caught the wink between the two brothers.  “You could’ve let me tell them

Uncle.”  Galen scolded.  “I would’ve in time.”  But in truth he knew that he had been worried

how his mother and father would react to his feelings towards Mellay.

In his defense Olan raised his hands in surrender.  “I just told him about the things that

happened during our trip, nothing about you and Mellay.”

“I figured it out when I saw it in your eyes when myself and the militia rode up.  Willing

to defend her from your own people plus I saw the two of you holding hands later.  Galen, Olan

told me what happened in Roughstock, but you don’t have to protect her and Ox from the people of

Stoneheart.  Olan and I have spoken for the Nabukian and the villagers trust the knighthood and I

trust you.”  Orin placed a reassuring hand on his son’s thick shoulder.

“Now I want to hear more of how my son has become a hero.  Olan and Mellay both

spoke well of the way you handled yourself in combat and with the villagers of Roughstock.

Maybe you should have went into the knighthood, you appear to have the qualities needed.”

Galen’s blush faded into pride as wide a grin split his face.  “Well at first Olan started to

train me in observation and I did pretty good at it, but that evening we heard a scream and

rushed...”

At that moment the door to the tavern burst open and Tav, the miller’s nine year-old son,

burst into the room, panting heavily and trying to catch his breath.

“Orin, Da sent me to fetch you and the knight,” wheezed the boy.  “A group of people

where seen coming out of the woods and are heading for the gates and there are wolves howling

in the distance!  Please hurry!”  Tav knew that wolves were only spotted slinking around at night

and he was frightened, but was doing a good job hiding it but his wide eyes spoke volumes.

“Wolves?  This time of the morning?”  The ranger exchanged a knowing glance with his

brother.

“Goblins,” Olan nearly spat the word and quickly moved towards the door while buckling

on his sword belt.

“Galen come with us,” Orin ordered while following his brother to the door rack to grab

their cloaks.  “Fetch your bow and sword.  Be quick!”  His father barked.

Trying to remember where his weapons were, Galen scanned the room in panic until he

caught sight of the familiar tip of his longbow poking out from under his hanging cloak.

“Hurry, Galen!”  Orin ordered as he and Olan rushed out the door hot on Tav’s racing

heels.

“Mellay, wake Ox and join us at the gate we entered.  Do you know the one?” Mellay

gave her lover a reassuring nod and Galen hastily grabbed his cloak and bow before rushing out

the door.

Along the stonewall the sentries watched as a small parade of people staggered across the

open ground between the village and tree line.  They were close enough now that Burek could see

that it was a line of children lead by a child with a bow and a man watching their rear.

“By the sacrifice of the Savior, they’re children!”  Burek swore as he squinted to get a

better look.

“What was that shepherd?”  Olan asked as he climbed the ladder and stood next to Burek.

“I see children and one man and they seem wore out as if something was dogging their

steps.”

“Those are Mayor Bearbreaker’s children at the head and that’s Buroc.  He and his

brother are Roughstock’s best hunters.  They must have escaped during the gorthins attack and

made for Stoneheart.”  Confirmed Orin as he shielded his eyes from the rising sun to get a better

look.  “I recognize them from my journeys to see Father Judah, Roughstock’s priest.”

The howling of the wolves had turned to excited yips as the pack found the humans’ scent

and streaked unerringly towards the refugees.  A lone wolf broke through with a goblin lancer

astride his back.  As one the two announced to the pack they had found their prey, the large

timber wolf howled to his brothers while the goblin brought forth a hollowed ram’s horn and

blew a resounding note.  Within minutes twenty wolves and their vicious riders prepared to run

down their fleeing prey.

A plaintive cry escaped from the children as they saw the goblins and broke into a

limping run for the safety of the walls in front of them.

“They’ll never make it,” Burek muttered.  “It’s too far.”

“Yes they will,” Orin growled and then spouted orders to the watching soldiers.  “Bows

ready!  Aim for the wolves!” The sentries scrambled to notch arrows and take aim at the racing

wolves even as they hardened themselves to the horror unfolding before them.  All knew there

would be no mercy for the defenseless children.

“Fire!” As one the archers’ bows sang and three wolves dropped, tumbling their riders into

the frozen ground from which they did not rise.

“Tav, fetch our horses!  Quickly now lad!”  Olan commanded.  Like a shot the boy was

racing back to the tavern with another youngster in tow to help.

Calmly Galen drew his powerful bow and took aim at the lead wolf rapidly gaining on

Buroc who was carrying a babe in each arm and had a toddler hanging on his back.  Releasing

 his breath and bowstring Galen didn’t watch as the arrow drove deep into the great beast’s heart,

killing it instantly, but instead knocked another arrow.

The goblin leader, Wort, rolled with the impact and began to stand; shaking his head to

gather his wits.  He looked up in time to see Galen’s second arrow punch through his leather

armor and drive the unfortunate goblin back to the ground.

“What’s going on?”  Mellay called from below.  “What are you shooting at?”

“Roughstock sent their children but they were set upon by wolfriders before they could

get here.  They’re making a run for the gates but it’s going to be close.” Answered Galen without

stopping his barrage of steel rain.

Thunderclouds collided on Ox’s knitted brow and lightening flashed in his eyes with the

promise of death as the battle-forged warrior climbed the ladder and bounded clear the wall with

speed belying his huge stature and mass.  Dropping to the ground and rolling to absorb the impact,

the unfazed Nabukian sprang to his feet and was up and charging towards the children, a razor

edged throwing axe in each hand.

The defenders on the wall watched in amazement at Ox’s spectacular feat, forgetting to

keep up their hail of arrows.

“Haven’t you ever seen a seven foot man jump off a ten foot wall before?”  Barked Orin.

“Now get back to firing those bows!”

Mellay watched with grim satisfaction while her friend raced towards what would be suicide

for most men. Briefly she felt pity for the doomed goblins as death charged mercilessly towards them in the guise of enraged Nabukian gladiator.

Led by Galen’s deadly aim, they renewed battery of arrows forced all but three of the

wolfriders to skulk at the edge of Stoneheart’s archer’s range.  They had been ahead of the pack

and now even Galen and Burek with their keen eyes were afraid to fire in fear of hitting Ox or

the refugees.  The defenders held their breath and prayed for the Savior to aid the selfless Ox as

he closed with the lead goblin.

So intent was the lancer in spearing the fleeing man in front of him with the three

children that he had no idea why he was suddenly lying on his back with a crushing weight on

his chest.  A deliberate probe with his clawed fingers revealed the ironwood grip of a unusually

large throwing axe sticking out his sternum.  With eyes growing heavy with the approach of death

the wolfrider watched as a terrifying monster with moon-bladed axes for hands feinted to his right

and when the wolf lunged forward to eviscerate the man, slid impossibly fast back to his left and

buried the moon-blade deep in the lupine mount’s thick neck.

The refugees had stopped and were now staring in awe at Ox while he ripped the weapon

free and faced the two wolfriders that now were now cautiously circling their prey.  Wary of the

powerful Nabukian’s skill and the reputation of his dark-skinned kin the wolves feinted and

nipped at the group slowly working them into a tighter circle.  The goblins and their mounts

shouted and snarled outside of the villager’s bowshot urging on their brethren while the wolves

snapped and the lancers prodded at the terrified children.  Unable to contain their fear anymore

two little girls made a break for the wall. Tears made streaks of pink skin in their scruffy faces as

they ran hand in hand towards the village.  Their voices raised in incoherent screams of fear.

“Maria!  Selva! NO!!”  Buroc screamed as he tried to lower his charges to the ground so

he could race after the two panic stricken girls.

Ox threw his remaining axe at the wolfrider in front of him causing the beast and rider to

scamper away to safety when he heard Buroc’s scream of frustration.

Two steps and a bound, launched by tree thick legs, propelled Ox across the distance

where he tried to tackle the wolf.  Missing the intended target of the wolf’s body he instead

found the beast’s fluffy tail captured in his grip.  With a grin the heavily muscled warrior

jerked up and back with all his considerable strength.

The wolf yelped as he found himself suddenly flying through the air backwards and

landed hard on his goblin master, breaking the vile creature’s spine.  The wolf struggled to its feet

just in time to see Ox slam his gauntleted fist into its skull, the poor creature’s world exploded with

light just before it went black for the final time.

Ox shooed the frozen group towards the open gate before retrieving his weapons.  Whether

from the sight of safety so close or Ox’s fierce blood-spattered visage, the children surged forward

at the pace of a flooded river.  The Nabukian followed slowly bringing up the rear to keep a watchful

eye on the remaining goblins.

At the gate, Tav and his young friend breathlessly ushered Olan and Galen’s horses to the

waiting men. “Here are your horses, Sir,” Tav said while keeping a nervous eye on Blade as he pawed

at the ground in impatience.  The smell of blood and the sounds of battle had the warhorse itching

for combat while Mercury waited with indifference and calm.

“Come on Galen, we’ll give those children an escort in.  Although I’m afraid Ox has had

all the fun.”  The veteran knight said with a grin.  Everyone had felt relief when the remaining

wolfriders had held back seemingly content with their prey slipping away.

“They forgot to get Dahknee, Mellay.  I guess you’ll have to wait here with the women to

greet your mighty champion when I return with Radek and Helsa.” The young man teased the

proud fighter after getting into the saddle.

“Hardly,” Mellay quipped back dryly.  “Move up or slide back because I’m riding with

you.”

“My horse, my reins.  You get on the rump.”  Galen extended a hand to aid Mellay up,

but she smacked it away and with the grace of plains deer and sprang into place behind the

grinning Galen.

“You’d better get out there quick, Olan, or your friend is going to be in a lot of trouble!  A

Gorthin hunting pack just flew over!”  Orin cried out in warning.  “Keep those bows going!

Those wolfriders have found their courage with the sight of their winged allies!”

The villagers’ bows twanged and halted the newly formed charge of the goblins, stalling

it before it could gain any momentum.  The frustrated goblins waved their crude pine lances at

the wall’s defenders and spouted curses in their vulgar tongue.

The horses sped from the gate while the gorthins swept low over Ox and his charges

causing the children to drop and cower with fear on the ground.  Maria and Selva huddled around

Ox’s massive legs seeking comfort in the giant’s presence.

Buroc, Jax, and Ox created a triangle with the children between them.  With axe blade,

steel arrowheads, and long bladed hunting knife the three challenged the circling monsters to

attack them, each grim face etched with determination.  And come they did from all directions.

Unable to fire their bows for fear of missing, the villagers watched in dismay as the five

Skylings descended, their eyes filled with bloodlust and fangs bared wide.  Two swooped at Ox

while a third and fourth attacked Jax and Buroc.  The last Skyling held his dive until the

children’s protectors were all distracted then slipped between the points of the defensive triangle

and grabbed a struggling Radek by the scruff of his shirt and flew off.

“Ox!  Help me!”  Radek screamed before the Skyling could clamp a taloned hand over the

boy’s mouth to silence him.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll drink your blood myself and to the abyss with Blackfur’s wishes,”

growled Talon, fearful of drawing the deadly giant’s wrath.

“Drop him gorthin and I might let you live!” A female voice shouted from behind.

Talon glanced back over his shoulder to see the Nabukian’s companions racing to join him

and the young man and his woman were hot on his heels.

With a surge of strength born of desperation and fear Talon flapped his leathery wings

and shot into the air, but not before he felt something close around his ankle and a great weight

that nearly pulled him down.  A burst of pain shot through his calf as something tore into it,

causing him to drop the boy into the waiting lap of Galen.

“I told you to drop the boy, monster.  You should have listened.” Talon howled with

frustration and pain as Mellay ripped her dagger free and prepared for another strike.

“Get off of me witch!” Talon screeched and then kicked out at the fighter

dangling from his leg.  Mellay’s head rocked back as Talon’s kick connected with her face, shattering

her nose, and causing her to lose her grip. Her limp body hit the ground with a sickly thump.

“Nooooo!” Galen screamed in denial, slipping off of Mercury and handing Radek the

reins.  He reached for his sword, but his hand closed on nothing but air.  A memory of his

swordbelt hanging from the bed flashed into his mind.

“Jester’s luck!”  He cursed.  The gorthin had landed and was drawing a slim bladed knife

as he stalked towards Mellay’s prone body.  Just then Olan rode by rushing to aid the struggling

Jax and Galen saw a sword hilt sticking out from his uncle’s bedroll.

“Sorry Uncle, but I need this,” he apologized as he swiped the sword as Blade charged

past.

“Wish I had time to taste you, girl,” snarled Talon as he stooped to plunge his blade into

Mellay’s heart, “But I wouldn’t want to face your friends again so I’ll just settle for killing you

quickly.”  His voice broke into a gurgle as a foot of glowing steel blossomed from his chest.

Shoving the Skyling’s corpse from the blade with his boot, Galen knelt by Mellay’s side.

The sight of all her blood across her face had Galen’s stomach tight with worry while he gently

shook her, desperately calling her name.

“Mellay?  Mellay are you alright?  Can you hear me?”  Galen said with concern while his

eyes rapidly searched her face for any sign that he was getting through.  His efforts were

rewarded with the fluttering of long eyelashes that spread open like the wings of a butterfly to

reveal the green eyes that had stolen his heart.

“Galen...”  Mellay blinked her eyes trying to get them to focus.  “You are holding...”  But

before she could finish Buroc slipped on an ice patch and stumbled to one knee.  With a howl of

triumph the Skyling sprung forward, long knife held high to deliver the final blow.

Galen saw it all out of the corner of his eye and in a blur of motion leapt to the fallen

man’s aid.  The Skyling’s blade arced down towards the exposed head of the bowed Buroc.

Galen swung the borrowed sword up to intercept the falling blade, but the strange lightness of

the unfamiliar weapon caused him to miss his mark and instead of knocking the knife harmlessly

away Galen’s blade severed the Skyling’s hand off at the wrist.  Using the momentum of the

rising blade, the young warrior spun on the balls of his feet and brought the sword into a

horizontal slash that gutted the wide-eyed gorthin before its severed hand, still grasping the

bone-handled knife, could hit the ground.

Barely out of breath, Galen took stock of the battlefield seeking for more of the vile

creatures to slay.  To his left, Olan and Blade had bowled over the gorthin that had been

harassing Jax and the powerful warhorse’s steel shod hooves made short work of the unfortunate

Skyling and now the stalwart knight was herding the children towards the gate once again.  There

was a grunt of pain to his left and Galen spun preparing to charge in and help his mammoth

friend, but to his surprise he saw Ox picking himself up off the ground while the last Skyling was

tearing through the air back towards the coming gorthin army.

Galen turned his attention back to his fallen friend but Mellay was already at Ox’s side

checking the warrior over for wounds and helping the giant to his feet after she deemed his was

fit to stand.

“Is Ox alright?  I heard him gasp but by the time I went to aid him he was on the ground

and the Skyling was flying away as fast as his wings could carry him.”

“The last one caught him with a surprise kick after Ox’s axe became lodged in his friend’s

skull.  Fortunately it seemed more concerned with fleeing than continuing the fight.  I think the

gorthin saw something that frightened him very badly.”  Mellay finished with a knowing look that

was totally lost on Galen.

“Ox is a very imposing figure, but I wouldn’t think one of those savage creatures would let

a chance of killing a downed opponent slip by.”

“Nice piece of steel you have there Galen,” Olan stated as he lead the children past the

small group towards the open gate.  “I imagine that’s why the Skyling was so intent on escaping.

So he could report to the Blood King.”  Olan pointed a mailed finger at the borrowed weapon in

Galen’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Olan.  It was just that Mellay was in trouble and I had forgotten my sword

back at the tavern and you happened to charge by on Blade at that moment with the hilt of a

sword protruding from under your saddle blanket.  I knew you wouldn’t mind if...”  All the color

melted from Galen’s face as the memory of his hand wrapping around the hilt of partially hidden

sword.  A hilt in the shape of an outstretched angel.  “I’m sorry Olan!  I didn’t mean to.  I just

needed something to save Mellay with and...”

“It’s okay Galen.  The sword chose you, you didn’t choose the sword.”  Olan patted his

nephew assuredly on the shoulder.  “Now raise that glowing pig-sticker high so the people on the

wall have something to cheer about and the village can have a reason to rejoice in the fact that

their champion has been found.”

Feeling foolish but trusting his uncles advice, Galen raised the holy weapon high into the

air and as the blue angelic flames danced the length of the blade a mighty roar resonated from the

walls and then as the news spread like wildfire the rest of the village added their own voices.

Fear of inadequacy and self-doubt started to form in Galen’s stomach, but Mellay gripped

his hand solidly with her own and whispered, “You will not walk this path alone.”

Ox moved his hulking form beside his friend and gave Galen a reassuring squeeze on the

young man’s shoulder and nodded his agreement.

Glad to have friends like these two, Galen whispered a quick prayer of thanks and

humility to the Savior before he and his companions headed back through the gates of Stoneheart.

**************************************************

Gnarl beat his wings rapidly through the chilled air as he raced to meet the gorthin army

and tell Goldeneyes what he saw.  So intent was he that the Skyling didn’t see or feel the loss of

heat as a large shadow draped over his streaking form.  Pain exploded between his shoulder

blades and fire seemed to race through his body causing him to spasm uncontrollably.  The last

thing the unfortunate Gnarl saw before his twisted body crashed into the ground, dashing the life

from its broken form was the leering smile of Raz, second in command of the accursed assassins.

The Morgog landed gently next to Gnarl’s lifeless body, so silently and smoothly did the

assassin come to a stop that he didn’t disturb the fur on Gnarl’s body.   The Morgog slid his

poisoned blade into the Skylings heart, making sure that his prey was indeed dead.  After placing

his hands around Gnarls throat and failing to find the tell-tale thump of pumping blood, the

highly skilled killer launched himself into the air and headed to a small clearing out of sight of

Stoneheart’s well-defended walls.

“The Skyling has been taken care of?”  Cutter questioned his second as Raz landed next

to him.

“Gnarl will be feeding the scavengers tonight, though I wouldn’t want the bellyache he’ll

give em,” laughed Raz.

“Good,” Cutter turned his yellow, bloodshot gaze back towards the distant walls of

Stoneheart, “I think we have just found our way to repay Blackfur for his ambition.”  The

Morgog chief sneered as he spoke the Blood King’s name.


“I want you personally to keep an eye on this human, Raz,” ordered the scheming chief.

“I want to know when he leaves those walls so I may have a word with this young man.”

With a bow, Raz spread his leathery wings and flew off towards the settlement to find a

place where he could watch the village without being spotted.

   









Chapter 18



“I’m fine,” Mellay groused trying futilely to avoid Anna’s probing fingers.  “I’ve suffered

worse than this in the pits.  Tell her Ox.”  She added with a plaintive whine directed towards her

old friend.

Fire blazed in those green orbs when the taciturn warrior shrugged his mountainous

shoulders from the foot of the bed they had made her lie in after the battle till Galen’s mother,

Anna, could tend to her busted nose.  She had stubbornly told them that she was fine and that

they should see to the refuges, but Galen and Ox had argued that there were others to help with

the children and Burek.  Mellay disliked others taking care of her, it made her feel weak.  A

feeling the independent warrior didn’t like.

“Hold still Mellay,” Anna lowered her strong skilled fingers from the Nabukian’s bruised

face to inspect her work.  “That should do it and I don’t believe anyone will be will be able to tell

that it was broken.”  Anna finished by handing Mellay a small pocket mirror so the young lady

could see for herself.

“I know how we women feel about our looks, especially when we’ve set our heart on

someone.”  Anna’s eyes flickered, if briefly, to her son, sitting quietly at Mellay’s side. Concern

etched clearly on his face as he watched his mother administer to his beloved’s injuries.   “Now

drink this tea, it will help with the pain and swelling.”
 
Mellay hurriedly snatched the steaming mug, nearly spilling the hot liquid in her haste to

hide her blushing face.   Inhaling the warm vapors deeply, Mellay sipped the herbal concoction

and nearly emptied her stomach due to its vile taste and odor.

“What’s in this horrid stuff,” Mellay asked while wiping newly formed tears from the

corner of her eyes.  “I it’s hard to believe that anything so foul can be of any aid to healing

someone.”

“The plant is called Morning Breath as I’m sure you can guess why,” answered Anna

with a sympathetic smile.  “I know it tastes and smells terrible but there is no greater herb for

swelling.  Now drink it all down Mellay.”  Anna stood watch until the young women, with much

grimacing, finished off the mug of tea.

With one last cursory look at Mellay’s nose the matronly Stoutheart decided she had done

a satisfactory job and turned her attention to the juggernaut at the foot of the bed.  “Now let’s

have a look at these wounds Ox.”  As She escorted Ox from the room to the tavern common.

The two lovers sat in silence while they listened to Ox’s heavy footsteps diminish down

the hallway and the incessant fussing as Anna inspected the many cuts and bruises the battered

warrior sported.

“So the sword finally chose its wielder,” Mellay pointed at the beautiful weapon belted at

Galen’s hip.  “I believe your god has chosen well.” A small smile parted her beautiful face as she

watched Galen squirm in discomfort at her words.

“I don’t know,” Galen’s hand caressed Heaven’s Justice’s hilt, but his eyes locked onto

Mellay’s.  “I just needed a weapon to save you and I could see the hilt of a sword sticking out

from Olan’s saddle bags.  I didn’t know that it was the Holy Sword, not that it would make any

difference.  I would have grabbed a greystone serpent to save you.”

It was Mellay’s turn to shift uneasily but she also felt a warmth spread across her face and

chest that wasn’t caused by embarrassment alone.  Minutes passed as the two stared into one

another’s eyes and drank in the sight of the other while they each searched for the best way to

express themselves.

Galen spoke first and took Mellay’s hands into his own, marveling how warm and soft

her hands were with the exceptions of the callouses that months of fighting had caused.

“Mellay, when I saw you fall after taking that hit from the Skyling ...I...I thought that you

might be seriously wounded, possible even dead.  I felt as if something was squeezing my heart

and I couldn’t breathe.  If you were to die than a part of me would go with you.  I realized that I

want to spend the rest of my life with you as husband and wife.  I know that this seems fast but I

can’t help the way I feel.”  A eager light filled the young man’s eyes seeking reassurance from

Mellay that she too felt as he did.

“In the Mol’ Tan we have what my people call Heart’s Love, and in a land full treachery

and deceit most believe it to be a myth.  I did until I meet you, Galen Stoutheart.”  Bright

emerald eyes swallowed the besotted young man while perfect rosebud lips begged to be kissed

as Mellay continued her tale of the nabukian myth.

“The myth goes that when a boy child and a girl child are born at the exact same moment

instead of each child getting their own soul they instead share one.  If and when these two people

meet the soul recognizes its lost half and they instantly fall deeply and truly in love...a heart’s

love.  You, Galen, are my other half...my Heart’s Love.”

Gently Galen cupped Mellay’s face with his hands and softly caressed her olive skin with

his thumbs as his eyes traced every inch of her flawless face trying to etch every inch of it in his

memory for all time.

“I love you with every fiber of my being, my desert flower.  We have no fable like yours

in our land, but it is a wonderful idea and I believe in you and as such believe in your Heart’s

Love.”   He whispered to her before softly kissing her velvet lips.

Moments passed as the two lovers embraced and each shed tears as they shared tender,

passionate kisses.  Later they would each swear that they felt an overwhelming feeling of joy and

rapture as if their souls had become one again, but for now they had their duty and personal

feelings needed to be set aside for the greater good.

Gently Mellay pulled away from their embrace and placed her hands softly on Galen’s

broad shoulders.

“My love, I will marry you, but first we must see to the needs of your people.  You have

been chosen as their champion and as such must put their needs ahead of our own.”  There was a

hint of sadness in Mellay’s voice but the joy and happiness that shone from her angelic face

eased the hard truth she spoke to the young man.

“What kind of man would I be if I abandoned my duty for my own desires, surely not one

that Mellay Zanathrith would want as a husband.”  Galen stated with a smile.

“But we will marry at the earliest possibility when this is over.  Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Mellay vowed and they sealed their promise with one last kiss before someone

cleared their throat at the doorway.

Regretfully they parted to see who had intruded on their intimate moment.  In the

doorway, Tav stood staring at his shifting feet trying hide his blushing face from the young

couple.  “The council would...um...like to speak with you two.  If you are ready..err...that is if

Mistress Mellay is feeling up to it.”

“It’s alright Tav, Galen and I were just discussing the very same thing,” Mellay soothed

trying to make the poor lad a little more at ease.  “Weren’t we Galen?”

A rough elbow to his ribs jolted the amused look from Galen’s face.  “Yes,” he wheezed.

“Yes we were.  Duty, honor, and the such.”

“Now if you would be a good lad and bring me my swordbelt, Tav, and we gladly will

follow you to the council.”  She pointed to where her ornately tooled, burgundy belt hung with

its contrastingly plainly adorned and deadly twin shortswords from a peg near the door jam.

Glad for the chance to remove himself from the awkwardness of the situation, Tav

scurried to the peg and reverently cradled the weapons as he carried them back to Mellay.  Shyly

he held the belt and scabbards to the beautiful Nabukian.  “I’ll go ahead and tell the council that

you are on your way.  If that’s all right?”

“That would be just fine Tav, we‘ll be right behind you,” Mellay flashed the young boy

one of those dazzling smiles that Galen so loved about her and Tav’s cheeks flared crimson with

pleasure, with an rough bow he backed out of the room and sped off to the village hall.

“I believe you made his day.”  Galen said with a smile for his beloved.  “I know that

smile of yours lifts my spirits no matter how low.”

“Thank you, I just thought it would be a good idea to brighten his day with everything

that has happened.” Tightening her belt and adjusting her scabbards so they rode comfortably on

her slightly curved hips, Mellay took Galen’s hand and together they left the room and inn.

As they passed through the inn’s stout door and into the street a figure detached himself

from the horse post that he had been leaning and joined Mellay and Galen.  Jax silently walked

next to Galen and the young Stoutheart could tell something was eating at the boy but he wisely

chose to let Jax speak when he was ready.

After a few quiet moments Jax quietly spoke, “Nobody made it out of Roughstock.

That’s why the gorthins are here.  Right Galen?”  He looked up at new Champion of Everwatch

with haunted eyes but a firm jaw.

Galen’s heart ached to tell Jax that everything was fine and that his family will stroll

through the gates any moment now, but they both knew that was a lie.  The gorthins never left

any survivors.

“Yes, Jax, I fear you are right, and  I’m truly sorry for your and the other children's loss.”

He laid a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulders.

The haunted look melted from his eyes with the smolder of determination and his words

were spoken with confidence.  “Then we won’t let that happen here; will we Galen.”

“No.  No we won’t.”  He gripped the hilt of Heaven’s Justice and a serene strength

flowed into him that gave Galen’s mind the conviction to match his words.  “With the Savior’s

blessing we won’t.”  He added to himself.

Mellay gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and the three walked the rest of the way in

stony silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Happy Reading

-EW-

More Shameless Book Promotion Part V, The Fall of Roughstock!!!!

This part of my novel was one of favorite parts to write. My hope was to convey what parents and a village would be willing to do to save their children. I hope you enjoy the Fall of Roughstock as much as I did!

Happy Reading 

-EW-

Chapter 13

Orange-pink rays of the rising sun crested the Blackstone Mountains, illuminating the

surrounding countryside for the apprehensive watchers of Roughstock.  What they saw would

have most of them praying for the return of the blanketing darkness that hid the horror before

them.

Normally this was Captain Morlan’s favorite time of the day.  The taciturn captain of the

watch could always count on seeing a bear beginning its daily hunting or a herd of white-spotted

deer returning to their hidden beds after a night of foraging for food. But not today.  This

morning the vigilant captain and the walls defenders were greeted by the presence of several

hundred battle-hardened gorthin warriors.

Morlan watched as the hideous monsters taunted and jeered the beleaguered soldiers on

the wooden walls, walls that seemed little defense against the vile horde gathered before it.

Not for the first since the council’s decision to defend Roughstock, Captain Morlan

considered whether it was folly or not to defend the village.  Homes and businesses can be

rebuilt, but lives cannot be replaced.  By the looks of the army at his doorstep Morlan didn’t

think there would be many survivors.  The stories of whole-sale slaughter by the gorthins left no

doubt that any villagers caught, including women and children, would forfeit their lives in the

service of Ahmah.

Someone clearing their throat brought the captain from his dark reverie.

“Jax, I’m sorry.  I was lost in my own thoughts.”  Captain Morlan apologized as he turned

to address the young boy that the mayor had assigned as a go-between.

Jax was the youngest boy to be chosen in defense of the village and had been so full of

fear and self-doubt that he couldn’t draw his bow let alone lift his eyes from the ground to aim at

anything.  But the young man from Stoneheart had a talk with the boy and now Jax carried his

bow slung across his back with the ease of a seasoned campaigner.  Jax returned the yellow,

murderous gaze of the gorthins with his own steely-eyed determination.

The Captain of the Watch gave Jax an approving pat on the shoulder.  “I would gladly take

a hundred more of you Jax to face this evil.”  Morlan gave Jax another approving pat on the

shoulder and a rare smile.

Jax returned the smile in acceptance of the praise of the veteran soldier.  The stories of

Morlan’s valor while in the service of the king were near legendary and it meant a lot to the boy

to have the hero’s approval.  

“Thank you sir,” Jax said while the smile faded back into determination.  “Would you

like me to fetch the mayor, sir?”

“Yes, Jax.  Fetch the Mayor and tell him the gorthins have arrived.”

Jax scurried down the pine ladder with the ease of a black tailed squirrel and hit the

ground at a run dashing off towards the village hall where the mayor was locked in council with

a few of the village’s veteran fighters.

Morlan watched the young boy run with his oversized bow bouncing wildly on his back

until Jax turned the corner of a building and was lost from view.  With a sigh the captain turned

his attention back to the enemy gathered outside his walls.

“Maybe they will set a siege to demoralize us and weaken our resolve,” muttered Morlan

absentmindedly pulling on his neatly trimmed winter beard.  “No, no siege they aren’t setting

tents or building fortification, if the beast’s do those kind of things.  I would say by the way they

are all mustered around the walls with weapons and armor ready that they will attack very soon.”

He continued to study the gorthins hoping to find some way out of their dire predicament

when he thought he spotted a chink in the gorthins’ plan.  A few hundred yards to the south of

Roughstock was a shallow ravine that the inhabitants used to dump their refuse.  Unable to stand

the smell or some other unknown reason the gorthins were giving the ravine a wide berth.

“If I remember right that ravine’s edge is concave making it possible for someone to hide

from prying eyes above and Torpan’s tavern has a cellar opening that has access to the outside so

he can sneak in those vaunted casks of dwarven fire-fruit brandy.” Slowly a plan began to form

in the captain’s mind.  “It won’t save us all, but at least it will protect the innocents.”

“The mayor is on his way, captain,” shouted Jax from the ground.  

“Good work Jax.  Now I need you to fetch Torpan from the Scaled Dragon tavern and

Buroc.  No doubt he’ll be there also.  Hurry lad, I need them here shortly after the mayor

arrives!”

Like a bolt of lightning Jax shot off towards the Scaled Dragon, nearly bowling over the

mayor in his hurry.

“Sorry Mayor Bearbreaker,” Jax apologized as he streaked past.  “Excuse me!”

The mayor shook his head at the Jax’s boundless energy.  The boy had been running non-

stop since he was sent to fetch him and he still wasn’t breathing hard.

“Energy is wasted on the youth.”  He moaned, feeling wore out from the strain of

protecting his village in what he knew was a longshot.  Gunther had put on a show of high hopes

and bravado for his people but deep down he knew they were in for a rough ride.

“Gunther, there’s something I would like to show you,” called Morlan from the catwalk.

“I know, five hundred gorthins.”  Gunther quipped as he climbed the ladder to join the

captain.  “Excuse me if I’m not excited about it.”

Morlan ignored the mayor’s cynical remark as he helped Gunther to the walkway from

the ladder.  The mayor was breathing heavily from climbing the ladder in his weighted scale mail

hauberk and the two-handed sword with its pommel carved in the likeness of a roaring bear that

he wore across his wide back.

“The gorthins have surrounded the perimeter of the village very effectively, but they

have made one error.  They have left a large gap to either side of the refuse trench and I believe

with the right diversion a small group could sneak past the gorthins and use the hidden edges of

the ravine to escape.”

Gunther mulled over Morlan’s idea while he examined the ground between the wall and

the ravine.  He could see a problem with Morlan’s plan and he questioned the captain.

“There are only two entrances to Roughstock, the main gate and directly opposite it

across the village is the smaller man gate and neither face the ravine.”

“Those are the only gates known to you, but there is a certain enterprising tavern owner

that has created a way around your liquor taxes.”

At that moment Jax arrived with a downtrodden, bleary-eyed Buroc and a very

uncomfortable looking Torpan in tow.  Torpan stole a glance at the captain and mayor and gave a

small squeak that seemed to match perfectly with his rodent like features.  Buroc on the other

hand regarded the town’s authority figures with red-rimmed eyes that convey a profound sense of   

resignation.

“I’ve brought them sir.  Torpan complained that he was too busy to come, but Buroc

grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic and drug him half the way here.” Jax stated with a small

grin as Torpan tried to regain some dignity by smoothing his twisted tunic and wiping some of

the mud from his britches.

“I was merely trying to explain to the boy that I was preparing my tavern for the siege,

my lord,” weaseled Torpan.  “Surely you can...”

“Thank you for your assistance in aiding Jax, Buroc, and helping our friend Mr. Torpan,

find his way here.”

Buroc gave Morlan a slight bow of his head but said nothing to his former captain.  The

woodsman stood stoically next to the sniveling Torpan waiting to see what Morlan and the

Mayor wanted with them both.

“Torpan, I was just explaining to Mayor Gunther that there is a way to reach the ravine

dump without using the two gates.  Would you care to inform our mayor of the secret door that

you and the dwarfs have fashioned that leads to the storeroom at the back of your tavern?  The

one you use to bring in fire-fruit brandy.”

“I...I don’t know what you’re talking about, captain,” stammered Torpan, his eyes shifting

back and forth between the mayor and Morlan.  “All my spirits are brought in through the main

gate, inspected, and taxed according to the law of his honor, Mayor Bearbreaker.”

“Let me remind you,” said Morlan icily, his eyes boring into the tiny miserable man

beneath him.  “Every twenty seven days during the dead moon when there is no light in the night

sky, you open your secret door to allow the dwarven merchant, Thorin Redaxe, and his

dwelvinkin bodyguards to remove several casks of their Dwarven fire-fruit brandy from a hidden

compartment on their wagon and place them in your storage area, tax free.”

“How did you know that?”  Asked a white faced Torpan.  “I had been so careful.  I

thought no one had known.”

“Those mountain elves love that dwarven potent brew as much as we humans do.

Unfortunately the dwelvinkin can’t handle their spirits like us humans and become quit free with

their tongues as long as you keep their mugs full.”  Answered a smiling Morlan.

“But why didn’t you stop us?” A dumbfounded Torpan asked.

“Because on my captain’s wages I couldn’t afford to buy my favorite drink after the

mayor put his god awful taxes on it.”  Stated Morlan as if it were an obvious answer.

Gunther could tell that Morlan was enjoying tormenting Torpan, and knowing how much

his captain disliked the disreputable owner of the Scaled Dragon, the mayor was worried that

Morlan would forget the situation at hand.

“I now see what you mean Morlan.  That would leave less than fifty paces to the ravine,

but surely the gorthins, despite their dislike of our rubbish, would chase down anyone trying to

flee.”

“That’s true mayor.  But only if something else didn’t have their attention first.  If we

were to use a diversion to distract the gorthins attention from the ravine and towards the gate

then Buroc, with his woodsman’s skills, could lead the children to Stoneheart while evading

gorthin patrols.”

Gunther Bearbreaker massaged his left temple as he digested Morlan’s plan while Torpan

and Buroc awaited his decision.  A fire was beginning to spark in Buroc’s eyes at the thought of

denying his brother’s savage killers some of their intended victims.  Beside him, Torpan was

grinning to himself.

All of the villagers had resigned themselves to their fate and were determined to take as

many of the beasts with them as they could, but not Torpan.  He had been futilely racking his

brain for some way to escape, and now it seems he had the means to do it. He figured he could

sneak out after Buroc and the children and save his own hide from those ruthless killers.

Chanting from outside the walls caught everyone on the ramparts attention, even bringing

the mayor from his inner speculations.  There was the clinking of chainlink armor and the

screech of metal being freed from scabbards as the defenders fidgeted nervously as the chanting

grew louder and a wildness entered when a name was added by the howling gorthins.

“BLACKFUR!  BLACKFUR!”  The assembled army chanted as a large, black furred

gorthin strode forward with an evil look axe and crag wurm armor stained blood-red.  A step

behind walked a mammoth gorthin wielding a serrated sword taller than an average man as if it

weighed no more than a toothpick.  His close cropped orange and black fur clashing with the

brown-green of his crag wurm breastplate creating a sense of vertigo to those watching him.  

Next to him was a stooped gray furred gorthin that walked with the aid of a gnarled staff and was

armed with only a dagger.  Devoid of any armor and with beads, small tokens, and an occasional

skull woven into his long matted gray hair marked the wizened gorthin as a shaman.

The black furred gorthin reached the front of the army directly across from Gunther and

his party, flashed the defenders of Roughstock a toothy grin, and then stabbed his axe into the air.  

The gorthin army quieted instantly from the signal of their revered new king.

“Humans of Roughstock,” bellowed Blackfur while swinging his axe in arc to encompass

the walls.  “Know that when night falls my army will descend upon your pathetic village and kill

all within in the name of the almighty Ahmah!  We have you completely surrounded and there is

no escape!  Now is the time to beg for my mercy which I will grant with a swift death!  No

matter how you die, your death serves the will of our god!”

There was the audible twang of a bow string in the ensuing silence after the Blood King’s

speech and a yard long arrow flew unerringly at the king’s yellow eye.  Blackfur grinned even

wider as the arrow ricocheted off the protective shield provided by Maruk and pierced the neck

of a nearby Warmuh.  The surprised warrior had only a moment to realize what had happened

before he collapsed, dead, to the ground.

“You can take your offer of ‘mercy’ and shove it up your hairy arse!”  Roared Gunther as

he drew his own sword and pointed it challengingly at the gorthin leader.

Inspired by the mayor’s valiant words, the soldiers shook their fists and waved their own

blades at the assembled horde.  Several more arrows were launched at the gorthins but were

deflected harmlessly by the now prepared warriors’ shields.

“Good shot Jax,” praised Morlan as he and the mayor made their way past the grim faced

boy as they moved towards the ladder.  “That’s one less we have to fight now.”

Jax smiled slightly as Morlan tousled his hair while passing.  “That’s just the beginning.”  

And then the young boy drew another arrow and began scanning the horde for his next target.

“What I would give for more like you, boy,” chuckled Morlan at the Jax’s bravado.

“Come, Morlan,” ordered Gunther.  “We need to get this plan of yours into motion.  

There’s a lot to do and not much time left to do it.  Torpan, start spreading the news that all the

families need to gather outside your tavern by noon.  Buroc, gather what you will need to get the

children to Stoneheart and safety.”

Each man knuckled their head to the mayor and them took off at a run to perform their

duties.  

     

Chapter 14

Gunther Bearbreaker stood atop a makeshift platform consisting of two barrels and a

couple of wooden planks holding his hand up to quiet the gathered forces of Roughstock.  The

winter sun beat down on mayor in his heavy chain hauberk, but it was the stakes of the gamble

he was about to embark the village on that had Gunther sweating profusely.  Before him was

gathered the entire village with the exception of a few sentries along the wall to keep an eye on

the gorthins.  There wasn’t a tear in a single eye of villagers as they waited for last minute

instructions from their mayor.  There were tracks of tears or a smudge of dirt across the faces of

many, but they had spilled those hours ago when the mayor had told them of the desperate plan

to save the children.

“Everyone needs to split into their assigned group,” ordered Gunther.  The mass split

somberly into three groups, two equal groups of fighting men and women, and a smaller group of

small children.  “Very good.  Now when I give the signal the sentries will throw open the main

gates and Olric and I will lead a charge directly into the heart of the gorthin line.  At the same

time Mot will open the rear man gate, allowing Morlan and Old Pete to lead a charge at the

gorthins stationed there.  If all goes as planned, the remaining gorthins will rush to join the fray,

hopefully allowing Buroc and Jax to slip the children out the secret door in the Scaled Dragon

and into the ravine where they will stealthily make their way past the gorthins and eventually to

Stoneheart.”

Gunther gazed at his people and his feelings of doubt were mirrored in their faces.  He

believed in his fellow villagers, but they were less than a hundred with only a handful of

seasoned fighters against a race of creatures that are bred to fight from birth.

“Father Judah, would you come forward and lead us in prayer?”  Asked the mayor of a

heavyset middle-aged man in front of the platform.

Father Judah awkwardly climbed up on top of the platform with Gunther’s aiding

arm, and after rearranging his disarrayed brown robes, addressed the villagers.

“My brothers and sisters let us bow our heads in prayer before the Savior Almighty,”

requested the priest in his deep, rich voice.  “Blessed Savior, you have always looked upon our

village of Roughstock favorably and even though we were founded by the less desirable of

society we have grown into a pious village and have keenly felt your sheltering embrace.  We

have not asked of you nor do we feel that you owe us anything, but we beseech you in aiding the

escape of our children, your lambs, from this evil that has gathered in front of your humble

village.  We do not fear the evil that is here for to die will allow entry into your paradise, but we

do fear for the heinous and vile treatment our children will face in the hands of these monsters.  

We ask this in your name, Blessed Savior. Amen.”

There was a resounding chorus of “Amen” when Father Judah finished his prayer.

“Morlan, take your group and ready yourselves.  I will give you till the count of one

thousand before I’ll call for the gates to be opened. May the Savior grant your sword arm

strength.”  Said Gunther clasping the captain’s forearm in a final show of friendship.  “Know

that you have served myself and the people of Roughstock well these past years, and I know that

you will continue to do so today.”

“Thank you, Gunther,”  Morlan said returning the mayor’s firm clasp with one of his

own.  “It has been my greatest pleasure to have been trusted with the safety of so many. I will not

fail the mothers and fathers of this village.  This I pledge.”

Gunther once more turned his attention to his gathered people, and was surprised to see

the determined, glowering faces watching him.  Father Judah’s prayer worked as Gunther had

hoped, infusing the people of Roughstock with hope, purpose, and most importantly...faith.  

Pride flooded through the mayor and though today’s outcome was inevitable, he knew that their

mission would succeed due to the faith and love of this tiny frontier community.

“My brothers and sisters!” Roared Gunther.  “Today the mighty gorthin army will feel the

wrath of the even mightier people of Roughstock! Today our hopes and dreams will live on in

our children!  Someday when they return, and they will return, they will rebuild our village and

they will tell their children of our sacrifice and of our love!  They will tell our grandchildren of

the day when the few stood against the many and that the light of faith held back the flood of

darkness so they may live on!  FOR THE CHILDREN!”  

Gunther punched his fist in the air and was mimicked to the person by the gathered

villagers.  The air vibrated with the echoing chant, “FOR THE CHILDREN!  FOR THE

CHILDREN!”  

**********************************************************

Outside the wooded walls of Roughstock, the gorthin horde stared at the village in

wonder as their tufted ears twitched with agitation at the muffled chanting coming from behind

those stout walls.  The lustrous winter sun slid from its hiding place behind gray snow clouds and

many of the gorthins had to squint their sensitive eyes from the gleaming rays that burned down

on them as in retribution from above.

There was a single blast from a hunting horn and the gates of Roughstock flew open, the

enraged villagers charged screaming battle cries at the disoriented gorthins.  At their head was

Gunther Bearbreaker, his marvelous two-handed sword shining in the sun, blinding the

unfortunate gorthin in the mayor’s bath.  With one powerful swing the Warmuh’s head was

separated from its body, and the enraged Gunther barreled past without breaking stride seeking

the black furred leader.

Next to him was Olric the blacksmith, whose cobbled platemail armor had pieces from

three different decades and clanked nearly as loudly as his wildly swinging flail as it split crag

wurm armor and gorthin skulls alike.  Behind him rolled the rest of their group, driving like a

nail into rigid line of Warmuh warriors.  There were screams of triumph mingled with cries of

pain as human and gorthin battled desperately against one another.

Across the village, Morlan and Old Pete’s host drove into the unprepared gorthins like a

hot knife into warm butter.  Morlan’s longsword danced alongside Old Pete’s heavy, ancient

broadsword, both slashing away with reckless abandon as they worked their way deeper into the

amassed enemy.  Their fellow villagers copied the pattern of wild recklessness and soon they

were completely surrounded by the monstrous beasts.

“Fight hard!” Rallied Morlan as his blade slid past a Warmuh’s slower defense and

pierced the unfortunate beast’s open mouth to burst from the back of its head. Wrenching the

blade free he continued to shout encouragements.  “For the children!  For Roughstock! For the

Savior!”  Each time he shouted out a gorthin fell to his deadly blade.

Buroc watched with relieved satisfaction as the gorthins assigned to guard the area by the

ravine rushed off to partake in the battle.  He cracked the cleverly designed door a little further to

make sure the way was safe and after a quick survey popped the door shut again.  He turned to

the small group of children huddled around him in the storeroom of the Scaled Dragon.  

There were twenty-one children in total, including the mayor’s two and Jax who had been

assigned to aid in the protection of the younger children.  At first Jax had been angry at not being

allowed to defend the walls with the other boys his age, but after a lengthy discussion with

Morlan, the boy had grudgingly admitted the importance of his assignment.

“Let’s go over this one more time,” instructed Buroc.  “Jax and Radek will take the lead

with the smallest children behind them.  Following them will be Helsa and the rest of you bigger

ones carrying the babes and the ones who can’t walk well yet.  I will bring up the rear and assist

any of the stragglers.  Any questions?”

“Why don’t we help our parents,” Radek growled through gritted teeth, his hand

caressing the carved pommel of his knife.  Touching the knife gave the boy a sense of security,  

as if the giant Ox was beside him.

There was a few nodding heads in agreement from some of the other older children.

Buroc squatted down in front of the feisty Bearbreaker and placing a firm hand on each

of the child’s shoulders, looked the boy in the eyes.

“You are helping your parents, by making their sacrifice worthwhile and by carrying on

their memories as I must carry on to preserve my brother’s memory.  It is not easy but we are

northmen, the most hardy and brave people of Allura and we will succeed.”

Radek straightened and returned the soft careworn gaze of Buroc with his own steely-

eyed determination.

“You are right, Buroc.  We will carry on and someday I will return to rebuild Roughstock

as my father proclaimed.  This I swear.”  Pledged Radek his hand tightening around the pommel

of the little knife so hard that his knuckles shone white.

“As will I,” both Helsa and Jax stated as one and one by one were joined in their pledge

by the others who could understand what was going on.

Checking the door once again Buroc decided it was time to go.  He slowly opened the

door and stepped into the snow covered field that led to the ravine.  Loosening his sword in its

scabbard and then notching an arrow to his composite horn bow, he deemed it was time to go.

“The way is clear, Jax and Radek move quickly to the ravine and keep an eye on the little

ones behind you.”  Commanded Buroc, his head swiveling back and forth trying to watch both

sides of the field at the same time.

The boys moved steadily towards the ravine, Radek in the lead with his knife drawn.  

Behind him stalked Jax, an arrow knocked and ready should a gorthin notice the tiny group

stealing across the snow covered clearing.  They had nearly reached the ravine when Satie, the

diminutive three year old daughter of Olric, tripped and fell down in the deep snow.  Fruitlessly

she tried to regain her feet, but a combination of layers of thick clothing and knee deep snow

were making it difficult for the little girl.

“Keep going Radek.  I’ll help Satie.”  Said Jax as he trudged back through the snow to

help the struggling girl.  “Give me your hand, Satie.”

Holding the bow with one hand, Jax reached down to the snow dusted girl and pulled her

ungracefully to her feet.  Brushing the snow out of the blacksmith’s daughter’s face Jax saw

Satie’s large, blue eyes were heavy with unshed tears.

“It’ll be alright Satie.”  Reassured Jax.

“I’m scared,” Satie whispered through trembling lips.  “What if they catch us?”

“They won’t.  I promise you Satie that I will protect you and once we get into the woods

there isn’t a man or beast that can find Buroc if he doesn’t want them to. Now join the others.”  

Jax gave Satie a comforting pat on the back and then gently pushed her towards the waiting

group of young ones being watched over protectively by Radek.

Jax looked back down the line towards Roughstock and was pleased to see the rest of the

children were having no problems.  The young archer then notched his arrow and started off

towards the ravine and that’s when he saw movement not more than fifty paces from them at the

edge of the clearing.

Slowly he drew back the bowstring and aimed at the stray gorthin that had just stepped

from the woods.  His heart hammering in his chest, Jax held the bowstring taunt at his ear

waiting for a clear shot between the gaps in the crag wurm armor.  A low whistle caused him to

look over at Buroc who also had taken aim at the gorthin, but was signaling for Jax to hold his

shot.  Trusting in the hunter’s instincts, Jax held his shot in check even when his arms began to

ache and tremble from holding the drawn bow.

One Eye had been relieving himself when the humans had burst from their fortified walls

and attacked his Warmuh brothers.  Anxious to spill some blood in the name of Ahmah or any

other blood thirsty god that allowed him to kill, One Eye was rushing back to the main gate

where the fighting seemed to be the thickest.  Out of the corner of his good eye he thought he

spotted a group of children dashing across the area between the two on going battles.  Squinting

against the midday sun, One Eye tried to confirm what he thought he saw.

He had just about made out the line of hurrying boys and girls when the sun itself seemed

to flare and its searing rays reflected off the frozen snow, blinding the sensitive eyed gorthin.  

Shaking his shaggy head in a feeble attempt to clear his watering eye, One Eye couldn’t see how

close he was to becoming a pincushion.

“He’s been blinded!”  Hissed Buroc.  “Hurry children!  Make haste before the beast can

clear his eyes!”

As one, the line of children raced across the clearing and disappeared over the edge of the

ravine.  Jax waited while Helsa, the last of the group, carefully slipped over the edge of the

ravine while trying not to wake the sleeping baby in her arms, before he lowered his weapon

and slid down next to the mayor’s daughter.  A heartbeat later Buroc’s wiry frame smoothly

slipped down among the wide eyed, frightened children.

“The gorthin never saw us.  So far the Savior has watched over us, but it is a long run to

Stoneheart and we must be very quiet and watchful.  Do you understand?”

Despite their fear and loss of family and home, the valiant young ones nodded their

heads.

“Good.  You all have done well so far.  I will lead you while Jax will bring up the rear to

make sure nothing takes us by surprise.  Helsa and Radek, since you two are the next oldest I

will count on you to aid me with keeping an eye on everyone.  Your parents would never forgive

me if I didn’t get you all there.”  The stout hunter said with a smile.

The children returned his smile with their own uneasy grins and then followed Buroc into

the sheltering boughs of the forest.  They silently marched into the woods without a single

backwards glance at the battle being fought behind them, fearful they would be overcome with

emotion so instead, with determination etched on their tiny faces, followed Buroc towards the

east and Stoneheart.  

All but one. Jax stood at the edge of the trees watching the villagers fight their suicidal

battle against the gorthins and felt his heart tearing.  Although an orphan, he had been treated

kindly by nearly everyone in the village and had never went hungry or been left homeless.  All

the children in the village had been like brothers and sisters to him and now many of his friends

were facing their deaths along with his surrogate mothers and fathers while he was escaping to

safety.  He knew his assignment was important but it did not diminish the feeling of abandonment 

he felt as he listened to the screams of the dying and knowing that they were the cries of his loved 

ones.  With tears in his eyes, Jax turned his back on the village that had taken care of him and headed 

towards Stoneheart.    

**********************************************************

“You!”  Roared Gunther when he spotted the black furred axe wielder.  The enraged

mayor shouldered past a pair gorthins wearing red dyed armor and charged Blackfur, sword point

leading the way.

The Blood King grinned when Gunther cried out in pain and surprise when his sword

collided with the enchanted shield provided by the deminoc bladitoth.  The burly arms that once

broke the back of the mighty black bear fell useless to his side, tingling and numb.  He watched

in horrid fascination his magnificent two handed sword, a gift from the king for his protection of

Roughstock, crash to the ground and shatter into a hundred pieces.

“Time to die human,” sneered Blackfur, raising his flaming axe to cleave the wretch in

front of him.  “Know that Ahmah will gorge himself on your people’s blood tonight!”

Gunther’s last act of defiance was a string of spittle that found its way through the

shielding enchantments and smacked the Blood King between the eyes.  With a growl of anger,

Blackfur smote Gunther’s body a devastating blow that killed the mayor instantly.  The bloody

axe thrummed contentedly in Blackfur’s hand as he strode away from the fallen leader of

Roughstock in search of more prey.

If he had taken the time to watch his victim die he would have been unnerved to see

instead of the normal grimace of a painful death, a peaceful, serene look settle on the mayor’s

face when his soul left his mortal body to join the Savior.

Morlan knew their luck had run its course when the blazing sun was eclipsed by heavy

clouds.  By his side Old Pete screamed as a wickedly barbed spear drove through the veteran

soldier’s stomach ending the life of the stable owner.  Morlan lashed out at Old Pete’s killer and

the tip his arcing blade tore the Warmuh’s throat out.  Man and beast alike fell in a single heap,

but Morlan had no time to worry over his old friend’s death.  Around him lay the battered,

lifeless bodies of his assault group.  Of the fifty villagers who went out the gates only he was

left.

A fire ignited in his chest and quickly raced throughout his weary body. White hot rage

burned the fatigue from his limbs and he threw himself with reckless abandon at the tightening

circle of gorthin warriors.   Even the battle tempered Warmuhs were taken back at the ferocious

dark haired warrior attacking them, and slowly their circle respectfully grew around Morlan as

they waited for an opportune time to overwhelm the berserk human.

At the center of the circle, Morlan panted heavily in his blood splattered chainmail, his

broad chest heaving as he gulped in air.  Twin braids whipped back and forth when he snapped

his head from side to side seeking his next opponent.

“He is mine!” Roared a grinding voice from behind the wall of Warmuhs.  “Step aside

dogs and let your chief show you who is truly mighty!”

The circle parted and in strode the giant orange furred Warmuh and his massive two-

handed sword.  Klankor snarled at Morlan revealing three inch long incisors, and then rolled his

black, forked tongue across his thin lips.

“If your womenfolk’s blood tasted so sweet, I wonder how delicious the children’s will

be?”  Taunted Klankor .

With a roar that was half heartache and half fury, Morlan propelled himself towards the

hulking Warmuh chief.  His deadly blade whipped back and forth in x-pattern trying to drive

Klankor off balance, but with little success.  An experienced fighter, Morlan changed tactics and

began raising his attacks little by little until Klankor was blocking attacks that would either have

cut his throat or removed an eye.  Not until it was to late did the Warmuh chief realize Morlan’s

plan as the human quickly spun around and using the momentum of the spin to drive his

longsword faster slashed the chief’s exposed thigh.

Normally that move would have cut a normal man’s leg off, giving Morlan time to

recover from the desperate move, but Klankor’s thick fur and dense muscle protected him and

the blade only caused a minor cut.  He sensed his danger and raised his well-made dwarven

blade above his head to block the descending weapon of the Warmuh chief.

The weapons collided and the force of Klankor’s blow was so much that it knocked the

sword from Morlan’s hand as it broke three of his fingers, and knocked him to his knees in the

bloody snow.

“Here, I’ll make it fair, worm,” Klankor teased, driving his wicked sword a foot into the

frozen ground.

Pain and the thought of failing the children melted the rage from Morlan’s body, leaving

him cold and beaten.  But then he saw something that brought a smile to his torn lips.  Looking

past the monster in front of him, Morlan saw the last of the children slip safely into the ravine

closely followed by Buroc.  Warmth flowed once again into his body, but this time it was not the

fires of rage but the flame of hope.  They had not failed.

Morlan focused his gaze on the Warmuh chief before him and shakily regained his feet.

With his remaining good hand Morlan drew his dagger and saluted the sky above.

“FOR THE CHILDREN!!” He shouted as he rushed towards Klankor, dagger high above

his head, and his broken hand pointing accusingly at the waiting chief.

The powerful Klankor wrapped his burly arms around Morlan as the captain struck a

glancing blow to the side of the Warmuh’s head, taking the chief’s right ear but doing no real

damage.  Klankor lifted the man as if he weighed no more than a child and squeezed with the

strength of a hundred constrictor snakes.  There was a loud crack as Morlan’s back bone and

rib-cage were crushed, stealing his life.  

Raising the lifeless body high above his head for all his warriors to see, Klankor bellowed

his triumphant battle cry.

“For Blackfur the Blood King!  For the glory of our god!  For the glory of Ahmah!”

His cry was taken up by his warriors and soon by all of the victorious gorthins.  They had

vanquished the village of Roughstock and its proud people and were now more than ready to

follow their new Blood King on his dark crusade against the weak humans and their impotent

god.

How many of them would have changed their minds if they had seen the placid, peaceful

faces of the dead villagers of Roughstock and could understand what those faces meant.

One gorthin did and could.

Greytooth walked among the dead and was disturbed by what he saw.  Surely Ahmah was

with his people today but so was the human’s god with them.  What did it all mean?  Were the

humans just that way because they had been rejoined with their god or did it have some greater

meaning and if so how did it effect Ahmah’s plans.

Unable to come to a satisfactory answer, Greytooth went looking for Blackfur and the

rest of the chiefs who were celebrating in the streets of Roughstock now.      

        

Chapter 15

There was a loud crash as another jug of wine smashed into the wooden walls of the

Scaled Dragon’s storeroom.  The entire room was in a state of anarchy due to the less than tender

searching of a pair gorthins thinking to pilfer some of the tavern’s spirits.

“No wonder these humans are so weak if this berry-water is what they call liquor,”

growled a scarred faced Warmuh sniffing another of the wine filled jugs.  Wrinkling his nose in

distaste he sent the crockery on the same path as its predecessors.

“Maybe there’s something stronger in these casks, Snake Tongue,” growled a silver

furred gorthin rolling a large barrel from a group of several lined up against the wine painted

wall.

Snake Tongue moved next to his companion and eyed the barrel greedily.  “I hope so

Ash, Klankor and Blackfur won’t be happy with the berry-water, but there are enough casks of

whatever this is to wash away the dust of battle from our brothers’ mouths.  Hand me your axe

and we’ll crack this cask open and see what’s inside.”

Ash handed  Snake Tongue his still bloody battle axe, rolling his forked tongue across his

lips in anticipation.  “I hope it’s some of that mushroom whiskey those bird-boned elves make.  

They may blow over in a strong breeze but those tree-huggers sure can make spirits that will

make your head spin three different ways.”   

With a powerful swing  Snake Tongue smashed the axe through the top of the stout

barrel.  Inside a golden liquid sloshed back and forth.  The grizzled gorthin sniffed deeply

of the fumes escaping from the previously sealed cask.

“Could it be?” He asked himself eyes wide with disbelief and mingled with a sliver of

hope.  He then plunged his shaggy head into the barrel and drank deeply of the amber liquor

inside.  A minute passed and still  Snake Tongue stayed submerged though the level of fluid

inside had diminished greatly.  Ash had just begun to reach for  Snake Tongue’s mane to remove

him from the cask by force if necessary when older gorthin’s scar laced face erupted from the

foaming barrel and shook his head like a dog, sending amber droplets everywhere.

“It is! It is!”  He howled in delight.  “I would not have expected these weaklings to have

the constitution for such strong drink, but by Ahmah here it is!”

“What is it,”  The younger Ash asked, “I don’t remember it as anything we’ve ever had in

camp.”  Staring with wonder at the spirits that elicited such cries of exuberance from Snake

Tongue.

This is the strongest drink in all the land, cub,” answered  Snake Tongue with a brotherly

clap on Ash’s back.  “It is very hard to come by since the dwarves and us don’t get along so

well.”

The light of recognition lit up Ash’s bestial face and his reptilian eyes widen in awe.  

“That’s fire-fruit brandy?  That’s Blackfur’s favorite drink!  We’ll be heroes!  Maybe even be

allowed to join the Red Fangs!”  

“Come on let’s tell Klankor what we found.”  Ordered  Snake Tongue, but not before Ash

dipped his head in for his own mouthful.

“Burns going down,” sputtered Ash, pounding a hand across his meaty chest.  

Snake Tongue gave the youngster another slap on their back and the two left the Scaled

Dragon in search of their chief, laughing about their new found luck.

If either of the two had looked back they would have noticed the next barrel was

shaking.  There was a couple of muffled grunts and then the wooden lid popped off the cask.  

Slowly a weasel faced man raised his eyes above the rim of the barrel and furtively searched the

room for signs the gorthins.  Convinced it was safe, Torban slipped out of the barrel and

stretched his aching muscles.

“Whew, I thought they would never leave.”  He said as he reached back into the barrel

and withdrew a small bundle.  “With the stupid dog men searching the village for survivors I

should be able to sneak out and follow Buroc and the children to Stoneheart.”

The cowardly tavern owner had hid himself in the barrel when the rest of the villagers

had attacked gorthins, and had planned on sneaking out during the confusion.  Unfortunately for

Torpan, he had been unable to hear the battle waging at the gates, and missed his opportunity to

escape.  Not until the gorthins had entered his tavern did he realize that the battle was over and

Roughstock was lost.

Torpan cast a last, longing gaze across his ruined tavern and released a deep sigh.  “She

was a good tavern.  Made me lots of money she did.”  And with a sniff for his lost bar and home,

Torpan turned his back on The Scaled Dragon, like he did his fellow villagers, and slipped out

the secret door.

He had barely cleared the doorjamb when a vise-like hand wrapped around his spindly

throat and lifted him from the ground.  A stony voice whispered into Torpan’s quivering ear.

“I knew I saw something over here before the battle, but the accursed sunlight bouncing

off the snow blinded me.  When I could see again there was nothing there.”

One Eye turned his wrist so he could look into the frightened eyes of the human he had

caught and showed Torpan a wide smile full of razor sharp fangs.

“Good thing I can back, worm,” taunted One Eye, his cold reptilian eyes boring into

Torpan as if promising painful torture and agonizing death.  “I bet Blackfur would like to know

who it was that used this door earlier.”   

Torpan tried to speak, to beg for his life, but all that came out of his crushed throat was a

pathetic whimper.  One Eye laughed as he carried the squirming human back into the village.

At first Torpan tried to fight against One Eye, clawing at the rock hard hand around his

throat, kicking futilely against the monster’s chest, but all that got him was a couple of well

placed punches to his stomach.  The rest of his trip to the Blood King was spent trying to suck in

air through his bruised larynx and holding onto the Warmuh's arm to relieve some of the strain

on poor throat.  After passing several groups of victory-drunk gorthins, Torpan shut his eyes

tight to blot out their leering smiles, but unfortunately he couldn’t let go of his gorthin captor to

cover his ears and drown out their taunts and jeers.

Soon they reached the center of the village were two gorthins were engaged in a heated

argument.  The larger of the two, a black furred giant, was shaking his axe in the face of stooped,

smaller gorthin.  Despite their size difference the smaller gorthin was facing down his younger,

larger opponent, vehemently shaking his head from side to side in disagreement.

“The battle was a complete success, Greytooth!  There are no humans left alive and we

control the village!  What more could Ahmah want?”  Blackfur roared, waving his deadly axe

inches from Greytooth’s gnarled muzzle.

“Ahmah is displeased my king,” stated the shaman calmly.  “Did you see the faces of the

dead villagers?  There were no death grimaces or frozen masks of pain and suffering.  Every

single villager had a peaceful, almost blissful, look on their faces.  Ahmah was unable to steal

any of their souls for his pleasure, instead He got them!”

“So what!  Their weak god could not help them.  He could only grant them peace in their

death.  Their faith was strong and it made them honorable opponents.  We were victorious with

very few casualties, our god was with us as theirs was with them except Ahmah showed his

supremacy over the humans’ pathetic god!  The gorthins’ are the chosen of Ahmah and we will

not fail him.”

“What of the children, Blackfur? Where are the children of this village?  You know of

Ahmah’s lust for the pure, innocent blood of children and his requirement of their sacrifice.”   

“We all do shaman, there is no nectar sweeter then drinking the blood of a vanquished

foe’s offspring.  The humans have hidden their children very well, but we will find them and

Ahmah will have his fill.”

“The shaman is right Blackfur.  The abyss is shaking from the Blood Demon’s rage.  It is

rumored that he nearly tore the sulfur baths apart before the Dark Master came and calmed the

Blood God down with honeyed words and open threats.” Maruk interjected on Greytooth’s

behest.

“My king, this weakling may know something of the missing children,” One Eye

interrupted, flinging Torpan through the air to land in a heap at Blackfur’s feet.

 “I caught him trying to sneak out of a hidden door near the ravine.  I saw thought I saw a

group of humans crossing there during the battle, but the glare of the sun off the snow

momentarily blinded me and when the spots cleared there was nothing.  I joined in the battle to

help my Warmuh brothers in the rout, but after the battle when there no children or their bodies to

be found, I went back to the spot where I had been blinded.  There were several tracks that lead

into the ravine and the edge of the woods, but when I  tried to follow them the trail vanished. I

was walking back past the wall to report to Klankor when this worm stuck his head out.  I

thought he might know whose tracks they were and where they were headed, so I brought him to

you, Blackfur.”

“Good work One Eye,” acknowledged the Blood King while took stock of the sniveling

man prostrate before him.  “Whose tracks were they, human?”

Blackfur kicked Torpan in the ribs when the tavern owner didn’t respond, flipping the

man onto his back.  In his fear of the deadly monsters into whose clutches he had fallen, Torpan

began to cry freely and his bladder gave way making him even more uncomfortable and

miserable.

“I...I wo...won...won’t tell you anything!”  Torpan cried, sending a stream of tears and

spittle at Blackfur.  “You...you’re jus...just going to k...kill me anyways.”

“If I promise to free you, will you tell me who made those tracks and where they are

headed?”  Asked Blackfur stepping back to appear less fearsome to the cowardly man.

“How can I trust you?  How do I know that you won’t kill me after I tell you what you

need to know?” Torpan questioned the gorthin leader through tear swollen eyes.

“You have my word upon my honor as a gorthin warrior and the Blood King, I will free

you after you have told me what I want.”  Answered Blackfur.

Torpan tried to stare into Blackfur’s eyes, but the alien coldness revealed nothing.  He

had been told once that the gorthins have a strange code of honor based on their reputation as a

fighter and to lose that honor would cause them to lose face in their martial society.  Torpan

glanced around to see if he could make a break for it but there were to many gorthins and in his

heart he knew that they would catch him, torture him to get what they wanted , and then finally

kill him in the name of their wretched god.  He felt his only hope was to take the Blood King at

his word.

“They are the tracks of the villagers’ children.  They escaped into the refuse dump when

the villagers attacked and kept you distracted and their path leads to Stoneheart.”  Torpan felt a

prick of guilt in his heart for betraying what the rest of the people of Roughstock had died to

protect, but always a selfish man, he buried the common feeling as he always did when his

conscious acted up.

“How many and are there any adults with them for protection?” Asked Blackfur moving a

step forward towards the tiny man.

“Eighteen or twenty, I was never real sure how many of the brats there were in the

village.  Buroc the forester leads them and is aided by a young boy with a deadly bow,” the

betrayer answered in a high pitched whiny voice, wringing his hands in anxiety.  “That’s all I

know.  Please, please let me go now.  You promised you would.”

“May Ahmah enjoy your soul and know that thanks to you, all of the villagers deaths will

be in vain after we catch the children,” Blackfur raised his eagerly pulsating axe over the

traitorous human cowering in front of him.

“But you promised on your warrior’s honor,” Torpan whined, raising his hands to ineptly

shield him from the coming blow.  “YOU PROMISEDDDD! He shrieked as the flaming blade

severed his head.

“I promised, but a warrior only keeps his word with another warrior, not with worms.”

Blackfur laughed as the head rolled to his feet, the mouth still silently pleading.  Greytooth and

One Eye joined in with their kings laughter at the naivety of the cowardly human.

“Are we celebrating already my king?”  Klankor asked as he and his escort arrived at the

grisly scene.  He barely gave the dead body at Blackfur’s feet a passing glance before matching

the smiles on the shaman and One Eye’s faces.  “If so then my warriors have brought the liquor.  

Snake Tongue and Ash here have found several barrels of your favorite drink, fire-fruit brandy in

a tavern nearby.”

“Unfortunately that will have to wait Klankor.  We have found out what happened to the

children and we need to send a party after them before they can reach the walls of Stoneheart.”  

Blackfur said with regret.

“I will have One Eye gather some of our swiftest scouts immediately.  We will drag the

children back here for you and the shaman so that Ahmah may be appeased.”  Stated Klankor, his

mirth slipping from him and swiftly replaced by the air of the seasoned soldier he was.

“Not this time.  The scouts would never catch them with the humans head start and the

forester’s ability at hiding.  No, I need Goldeneyes and his Skylings.  One Eye, go and fetch the

Skyling chief.  I heard he and his flyers are celebrating somewhere in the center of the village, a

barn, or something like that.”

With a short bow towards his king, the scarred Warmuh was off to do Blackfur’s bidding.  

After much looking he found the raucous Skylings gathered in what must have been the village

stable.

One Eye loosened his sword in its scabbard and sucked in a deep breath to calm the

simmer of disgust that was beginning to boil inside him.  Like all Warmuhs he looked upon the

smaller, weaker Skylings with disdain.  Without any further hesitation he strode into the

courtyard of the stable and jumped back with his hand on his sword as a streaking Skyling passed   

through the spot he had been standing just a second before.

“I think you frightened the mighty One Eye, Blackhawk,” snickered Goldeneyes , picking

at his teeth with the splintered bone of a chicken.  “Maybe next time you should send him a

message telling him that you will be flying by.”

“Wouldn’t do no good,” replied the jet black gorthin as he landed next to his chief who

was sprawled languidly across some grain sacks.  “Everybody knows that a Warmuh can’t read!”

The gathered Skylings hooted in laughter at the fuming messenger, but One Eye let their

taunts slide off his back like rain while he marched to within a few paces of the lounging

Goldeneyes.  He crossed his thick arms across his wide armored chest and glared with his good

eye at the Skylings.  One by one they stopped laughing as his baleful gaze locked eyes with each

one of them until finally he was staring into the golden orbs of the clan chief.

“You shouldn’t eat your relatives Chief Goldeneyes,” he snarled, his voice resonating

with ice and acid.  “You never know when you might have to recruit them.”

The jovial mood of the Skylings disappeared and was replaced with the bristling of

manes, growled threats, and the rasp of steel daggers sliding from their sheaths.  Abruptly One

Eye found himself surrounded by several enraged Skylings calling for his blood.  Tightly keeping

his anger in check, the Warmuh ignored the knives at his throat and matched Goldeneyes, glare

for glare.

“Do you have a reason to be here Warmuh, or are you just tired of living and would like

for us to assist you on meeting Ahmah?”  Snapped Goldeneyes, his tone layered with rage and

contempt.

“Blackfur requests your presence immediately.”  Fulfilling his duty One Eye turned to

leave, but his way was still barred by a pair of snarling Skylings.  “What’s the matter my little

sparrows?  Somebody steal your eggs?”

As one they lunges for the Warmuh, points of their blades leading the way.  They were

topped in mid bound by a command from their respected chief and slowly backed away.

One Eye watched with a smug smile and burly arms folded across his chest as the

Skylings jammed their weapons back into the sheaths at their waists in frustration.  

“Afraid to lose a couple of your birdies, chief?” One Eye said.

In less time it took for One Eye to blink his good eye, Goldeneyes had pounced to his

side and placed a wiry arm around the warrior’s thick shoulder in a brotherly manner.  “You

weren’t so smug when I took that eye of yours, but if it makes you feel better it tasted terrible.”  

Goldeneyes gave One Eye an ear to ear grin and patted the fuming Warmuh soundly on the back.

One Eye gave the Skylings one last glare before stalking out of the courtyard to the

cadence of laughter.  With a bow to his brothers and a gracious wave in acceptance of their

cheers, Goldeneyes turned and followed One Eye through the ravaged streets of Roughstock.

Hurrying to keep pace with the longer legged Warmuh, Goldeneyes pondered on how he

would like to sink his daggers into the bristling back in front of him.  It irked him to have nearly

run after his litter brother like some kind of dri’ val , but the Warmuhs were made to march while

the Skylings were made to fly and only Ahmah decided what each pup would be.  It still amazed

the Skyling chief that his mother had birthed seven pups and all were strong Warmuhs except for

him, he had been cursed with the lighter, smaller frame of a flyer.

His brothers teased and bullied him until one day he and One Eye got into a scrap and the

agile Skyling had been victorious.  The memory of One Eye’s pain wracked cries and his siblings

grudging respect brought a wide grin to his feral face.

His reminiscing was interrupted by the call of his name from above.  Goldeneyes held a

hand to his eyes to shield them from the harsh rays of the winter sun while he scanned the sky for

the source of the call.  Within seconds he spotted the battered form of Talon dropping through the

air towards him.  When he failed to spot any of the other members of the hunting party and by

judging Talon’s condition, Goldeneyes muttered to himself.  “This can’t be good.”

Talon landed hard in front of his chief due to his fatigue from chasing after the humans,

the abuse he took, and from rushing back to report their failure all in the last day.  Panting

heavily the scout finally calmed his racing heart and reported to the impatiently waiting

Goldeneyes.

“Well get on with it, Talon.  Blackfur is waiting for me and he’ll want to know what

happened,” Goldeneyes prodded, his leathery wings flaring with agitation.

With a slight bow towards Goldeneyes and avoiding eye contact with the Warmuh, Talon

began to recount the events of the ill-fated hunting party.  When Talon finished describing the

battle and how the four humans had defeated eight trained gorthin warriors, some of the Skylings

best fighters, Goldeneyes gnashed his teeth and rubbed his sloped forehead in frustration.

After a few moments of contemplation Goldeneyes decided to just tell Blackfur the truth

of the Skylings defeat instead of concocting some kind of story to cover their misfortune.  His

scouts had fought well during the battle of  Roughstock, nearly claiming as many slain humans

as the Warmuhs.  Hopefully that would help ease the fiery king’s wrath when he learned of the

humans escape.

“Go and fetch yourself something to eat and get some rest.  I’ll give the Blood King your

report.”  

“Thank you, my chief,” Talon stated with relief and with another bow scurried towards the

stable were his brothers were gathered.

Once Talon limped past the frustrated chief, Goldeneyes could see One Eye staring at him

with contempt.  With a snarl the chief shouldered past the now snickering Warmuh and stalked

off to where Blackfur awaited him.

Moments later Goldeneyes stalked into the town square were Blackfur and Klankor were

drinking heavily from a stout wooden barrel.  As he approached the Blood King motioned for

him to join them.  Goldeneyes approached his king and hated rival with the nagging feeling of

being a lamb being embraced by a pack of wolves.  That feeling was coupled with the fur on his   

back bristling at Klankor’s palpable air of haughtiness.

“He wouldn’t be so smug if I were to drop a very large boulder on his head,” Goldeneyes

thought to himself.  “Probably just hurt the rock anyway.”  His trademark lop-sided grin lit up his

face as he contemplated the thick-skulled Warmuh chief getting hit on the head by an falling

boulder and the rock spiting in twine without Klankor even realizing he had been hit.

“You and your Skylings fought well today, Goldeneyes.  Let us toast to the beginnings of a

new era of gorthin rule,” Blackfur praised while handing Goldeneyes a mug of potent smelling

spirits. He raised his mug and the two chieftains did likewise.  

“For the glory of Ahmah!” Blackfur said.

Tilting his mug high, Blackfur quaffed down his mug-full in one gulp.  Goldeneyes and

Klankor mimicked their king and in minutes the air filled with their satisfied belches and sighs of

contentment.

“By Ahmah, Blackfur, where did you find fire-fruit brandy in this wretch of a town?”  

Asked Goldeneyes while he stared at the barrel as if it were filled with priceless jewels.

“A pair of Klankor’s Warmuhs found it in a tavern.  The Warmuhs also found a human

that was willing to tell us where the children are and that’s why I sent for you.  The children

escaped through a hidden door and fled through the rubbish ravine.  They can only move as fast

as the littlest child can move, and there is only one adult with them acting as a guide and

protector so it should be an easy target for your Skylings.” Blackfur explained while dipping his

mug into the barrel.

Goldeneyes listened to Blackfur as the Blood King recounted the events of the last hour

and felt the heavy grip of disappointment engulf his heart.  The Skyling chief was proud of his

fliers and had hoped that this dark crusade would provide the opportunity to advance the

standing of his Skylings.  But so far Klankor and his rock-brained Warmuhs had managed to find  

Ahmah’s dark blessing and favor.  

The somber chief realized that Blackfur had just asked him a question and was waiting

for an answer of some kind.  Goldeneyes looked at the vacant wooden buildings around seeking

for a hint of what the king had asked him, but their response was as empty as their broken-out

windows and skewed doors.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Klankor watching with

cockiness of a barnyard rooster.  Angry, but unable to figure a way to turn the events around on

his rival, Goldeneyes admitted his defeat.

“What did you ask me, my king? I didn’t catch all that you said.”

Blackfur exchanged a knowing look with Klankor before he addressed Goldeneyes.  

“Have you heard from the hunting parties yet? Surely they must have caught up with

those humans by now.”

If it hadn’t have been for One Eye witnessing the return of Talon, Goldeneyes would have

lied to Blackfur, but since it wouldn’t do any good he just told the truth and waited for the Blood

King to erupt.

Minutes passed while Blackfur’s icy eyes bored into Goldeneyes’s soul.  To the scrutinized

chief it felt as if something was ripping apart his mind and if it didn’t stop soon his head would

explode.  

Finally the king spoke to Goldeneyes in an icy way that made his skin shiver with goose-

bumps and dread.

“Maruk has weighed your soul and found you to be loyal to Ahmah and me and that the

failure of the hunting parties was not due to poor leadership but to an underestimating of the four

humans abilities.  Therefore you will not be punished and I will give you and the Skylings one

more chance to redeem yourselves.  You will send Talon with another hunting party to meet with

the goblin chief, Wort, and have his wolfriders join the hunting party to track down the children

of Roughstock.  Make it clear to Talon that his life and your honor hang on the success of this

mission.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, my king.”  Replied Goldeneyes with a deep bow and bent neck.

“Good.  Be on your way, flyer.”  Commanded Blackfur.

With one last bow Goldeneyes propelled himself in to the air and flew off to choose the

new hunting pack and give Talon a severe berating on his failure.

“Blackfur, let myself and the Warmuhs handle those four humans.  They will not be able

to defeat my warriors.”  

“No, Klankor.  I need you here to control the Warmuhs and lead them.  I fear there is

something very dangerous about these humans, especially the young man.  I felt a connection of

some kind with him and I believe he felt it too.  Our fates have been bound together.”

Then send your Blood Fangs,” suggested Greytooth from the bench he had rested his

aching joints on.  “They are loyal to you and obedient of every command you give them.”

“They are a good idea but I think I will send those that excel in assassination. I will have

Cutter and his Morgogs finish the job that the Skylings failed at.  With him there will be no

mistakes or excuses.”

“A wise decision, my king,” praised the shaman with a tip of his shaggy head.

“He and his backstabbers would be more efficient then my warriors,” admitted

Klankor grudgingly.  “I will send for Cutter immediately Blackfur.

“Very good Klankor and after that start having the army prepare to march at the first light

of day.  We must reach Stoneheart in two days’ time when the Bloodmoon rises.”

With a nod of respect, Klankor left to find Cutter and to order his under-chiefs to

start organizing the warriors to march.

A short time later found a nervous Ash addressing Blackfur and Greytooth.

“I am sorry, Blackfur.  I searched everywhere my king, but I could not find Cutter

or his Morgogs anywhere.  It’s as if they all have disappeared.”  The young fighter apologized.

“Damned snake-kisser!” Blackfur roared, emphasizing his anger with the hurling of his

mug at a dri’ val female who was bringing him his evening meal.  “Where could he and his

accursed assassins be?”

“I feared Cutter would betray you, my king,” stated Greytooth.  “He was always a strong

supporter of your father and his ways.”

“The shaman is right Blackfur.  The Morgogs agenda is different than most gorthins and

care little for Ahmah and his requirements of faith.”  Maruk added.  

“Thanks for the warning,” replied Blackfur sarcastically.  

A shadow within the shadows slipped away and made its way stealthily from the village

to the sheltering trees of the forest.

“Blackfur knows of our defection and is very angry, my chief.”  The Morgog reported to

the heavily cowled figure leaning against the thick trunk of a mighty oak.

“Everything is as Ozra wishes then.  Return to your post and continue to report to me,

Raz.”  

“As you wish, Cutter,”  Raz melted in to the shadows and was gone.

Cutter smiled evilly as he reflected upon the effects he and his Morgogs would have on

their new king.  “Watch your back Blackfur, for when you die I will be the hand that guides the

blade and steals your last breath.”  A dark laugh escaped from Cutter’s throat and was carried

away by the wind.

More to follow in a few days!!!!!! Thanks for reading!!