The Coldstone Conflict (13 page)

Slythi growled, and the two opponents circled each other warily.

“Sword want!” the troglodyte king screamed, throwing down his flail. “Now! Sword want!”

He caught the first blade that was thrown to him, then had to dodge the other two.

Gordo marched determinedly forward, prepared to take on both the king and the pair of troglodyte soldiers who had taken positions beside him.

The dragon, still wheeling far above, dived yet again, driving the remaining troops toward the army of possessed men that was rising up the mountainside.

Chaos reigned.

Further along the rocky path that wound down the far side of the mountain, Diek and Burnie were hurrying to escape the explosive conflict behind them.

“Th-they don’t stand a chance!” Diek cried, leaping over rocks and rogue bushes while carefully clasping the box in both hands.

“Slythi’s a fool!” Burnie replied. “He should have ordered a retreat! I told him to—”

“Wha’s ’appenin’?” said Groan’s voice. “All I can ’ear is screamin’!”

“That’s all there
is
to hear,” Diek replied, narrowly avoiding the treacherous edge of the path he was on.

“We were attacked by an obsidian dragon,” Burnie croaked. “Now we’re trying to escape.”

“Dragons ’re ’ard.”

“We know that!” Burnie blurted. “That’s why we’re running away.”

“Besides, it’s leading an army of zombies,” managed Diek, tucking the box under his arm as he ran.

“Did you see the dwarf?” Burnie asked.

“Dwarf? Where?”

“It was riding the dragon.”

“Really?”

“Yeah; fiery beard and a mean-looking axe strapped behind it.”

“I don’t like dwarfs,” Diek snapped. He didn’t know quite why he said it, but he realized, in voicing the opinion, that it was true.

Tha’ sounds like Gordo,’ Groan boomed. “Bu’ he wouldn’ side wiv no dragon.”

“Maybe he had
his
body taken, too,” Burnie muttered. “Still, look on the bright side—at least you didn’t kill him …”

“Yeah,” the barbarian mumbled. “I s’pose so.”

Behind and above them, the battle on the mountaintop raged on.

The dragon, having totally eviscerated the remaining troglodytes, had landed on the rise. Two soulless scouts, the first of their army to reach the mountaintop, hurried over to the beast and carefully removed the spears from its side. The resulting wounds healed up before the zombies had even cast the spears aside.

The dragon turned toward the dwarf and the troglodyte king, its great yellow eyes watching the unfolding duel with intent curiosity.

Gordo jumped to his left, avoiding a flail-lunge, and cleanly decapitated the first of the troglodyte king’s bodyguard.

The second caused him more of a problem, glancing two mighty blows off his iron helm before he managed to cleave the warrior in two.

Gordo didn’t get a moment to reflect on the kill before Slythi barreled into him, literally peppering the dwarf with sword strikes. Gordo blocked the first, but then took two nasty arm-wounds before he managed to dive aside and bring up his battle-axe in a defensive block.

There was a furious clash of steel, but the king was relentless. His next three attacks caused Gordo to suffer gashes to the face and both legs. Eventually, the dwarf turned and retreated, hurrying toward the sanctuary of the crouched dragon.

Slythi made to pursue him, then stopped, a look of terrible certainty on his scaly face.

The dragon had unfolded, its wing-spread an awesome sight on the great mountaintop.

“Coward are!” Slythi taunted the dwarf, as he saw Gordo climb the monster’s side. “Coward are! Coward are!”

Now astride the beast once again, Gordo urged it forward, its giant nostrils flaring.

King Slythi recognized the danger, and turned to run. He got about twenty paces before the hellfires rolled over him, reducing the troglodyte king to ash.

“I
’M SORRY, GENTLEMEN,” PRINCE
Blood finished, moving toward the cottage door, “but I’m not willing to send my men to their almost certain death without first exploring
every
avenue open to consideration. I wish you all the best of luck defeating this evil, but for now I must adjourn.”

To the accompaniment of a series of vengeful mutterings, Blood made his way to the door and wrenched it open, just as an out-of-breath guard fell against the frame.

“Visitors, my lords!” he managed. “They say it’s urgent business!”

“No visitors today,” Visceral snapped. “They can see me at the weekly forum, if it’s a matter of publi—”

“Lady Vanya said I should bring them both straight here, my lords! They arrived in the courtyard while she was helping to groom the horses.”

Earl Visceral rubbed his tired eyes. “Very well,” he said. “Send them in.”

The guard moved aside, admitting the imposing form of Grid Thungus and his cloaked companion.

“What’s this?” asked Blood. “Some sort of dance troupe?”

Grid Thungus muttered something under his breath and shoved the prince backward, causing him to collapse onto a chair.

“How DARE you!” Blood screamed. “Do you have any idea who—”

“Prince Viktar Blood,” Moltenoak stated. “Son of Etley Blood, grandson of Irmington Blood, great-grandson of Torrider Blood … and arguably the most spineless member of the entire line. You run Legrash—when it suits you—and a more hideous den of depraved villainy I’ve seldom seen. You have no children, which really grates on your nerves, as the only thing that has ever mattered to you is passing on the crumbled wreckage of a throne you yourself inherited at the age of sixteen. Any questions?”

The room had become suddenly very quiet. A group of guards had gathered outside the door as a result of the commotion, but none of them appeared keen to enter the building.

“Do you mind if
I
ask who
you
are?” said Loogie Lambontroff, oblivious of the fact that Earl Visceral was attempting to get his attention with a series of nods and silently mouthed indications.

“My name is Moltenoak,” said the hooded man, drawing level with the table and taking an empty seat beside it. “My companion is the fabled warrior known as Grid Thungus. We are here to assist your … current dilemma.”

Effigy Spatula smiled. “Jimmy found you, then?” he said, his face alight with glee.

“He did,” Moltenoak confirmed, casting a sideways glance at his companion. “But I think he’ll be a while yet … we knew a shortcut here.”

“What can you do?” Obegarde said. “I mean, how much do you actually
know
?”

“We know that Vanquish has taken the city of Dullitch, and that he has two dragons working for hi—”

“Do you know that Vanquish is a dark god?” Effigy interrupted. “And that he has taken the body of Groan Teethgrit as his vessel?”

“Groan Teethgrit?” Thungus exclaimed. “I’m sorry to hear such news—Groan was a good friend of mine.”

Prince Blood, who had until now been silently fuming, could contain himself no longer.

“You stride in here, as if you are royalty yourself!” he growled at Moltenoak. “And yet what are
you
going to do against a pair of dragons? Not much, I’ll wager!”

Moltenoak turned to him, and nodded.

“You’re absolutely right, your Majesty. I’m not going to do anything against two dragons.
My
time is best invested in the reclaiming of Dullitch. Therefore, I will fight Vanquish and attempt to take the city back. My friend here will help you with the dragons. He has some experience with them.”

All eyes flicked from Moltenoak to Thungus, and back again.

“You’re going to take on a dark god?” Prince Blood sneered. “Who exactly
are
you?”

Moltenoak placed both hands flat on the tabletop.

“I have told you my name,” he began. “I am … very old—and quite powerful in many ways. Do not question my word or think to second-guess me in any way, and I will do my best to see you through this situation. Understand that I do this thing not for money or reward, but because I know the foe you face of old … and I utterly despise him. Now—before I begin, does anyone wish to challenge me?”

The room suddenly contained a large selection of shocked and, in most cases, preoccupied expressions.

“Very good. First of all, I must tell you that even now Vanquish scours the land in search of his true body—no, no questions please—just know that he will not find it … and that I am already in the process of blocking his powerful sight. My own special talents tell me that he removed the souls of three warriors and many thousands of unfortunate citizens who now follow his word, their bodies commanded by his own cursed pool of hive-minds. Of the warriors—as you point out—Groan Teethgrit is currently serving as Vanquish’s own temporary vessel. The others—Groan’s barbarian brother and the dwarf, Gordo Goldeaxe—have also been utilized and are leading his two black hordes, accompanied by the dragons you’re all rightly worried about.”

Effigy looked at Moltenoak with a sudden, incredible respect. Even Obegarde looked shocked. The lords gathered around the table began to mutter among themselves, but Moltenoak spoke again, forcing them into silence.

“Firstly, I shall attack Vanquish at his base in Dullitch Palace. While I am occupied thus, I will require a small group of fighters to perform a very delicate mission for me.”

“I’ll gladly help!” Effigy shouted, rising from his seat.

“Count me in,” Obegarde added. “And I’m sure Jimmy will be on board: he knows the city better than anyone. What is it you want us to do?”

Moltenoak appeared to study the vampire, but when he spoke it soon became clear that his words were directed at his own companion.

“Coming and going between many lands as I do, I am not
greatly
familiar with Illmoor’s current mythology. However, I am given to believe that Groan Teethgrit, Gape Teethgrit and Gordo Goldeaxe are among the most legendary heroes of this age … is that correct?”

“I don’t know Gape that well, Molten,” Thungus growled. “But Groan and Gordo ’ave taken on plenty of things I wouldn’t touch in a million years—and won. They were a mighty pair, the talking point of just about every inn from here to Shadewell.”

Moltenoak widened his grin and turned back to Effigy and Obegarde.

“Then your cause cannot afford to lose them to the enemy without a fight. Therefore, Effigy, Obegarde and their redoubtable friend will travel with me to Dullitch and locate the soul-carriers that contain the three spirits. Break them open and the souls will quickly return to their original hosts.”

Effigy glanced at Obegarde, and the pair of them nodded.

“You may be able to do the same for the citizens of Dullitch,” Moltenoak continued, “but I’m guessing that Vanquish will have their wretched containers moving along with his army. Nevertheless, you should
all
look out for these receptacles as potential targets. Break them … and those who bear arms against you
will
regain their senses.”

“Wait just a second.” Prince Blood struggled to his feet. Placing both hands flat on the tabletop, he leaned across to the hooded man and said: “Now, I’ve listened patiently to your little speech and I’d like to have a few words myself. I don’t know exactly
who
you think you are … but
we
give the orders around here and—”

Moltenoak looked up suddenly and snatched Prince Blood by the throat, yanking his head down so they were face to face. The prince stared in terror at the two pinpoints of screaming energy that Moltenoak’s eyes had become.

“You will do exactly what is asked of you,” he growled, in a voice like thunder, “and you shall keep your kingdom. Otherwise, Legrash and the very foundations it once stood upon will be
no more
… by my
own
hand.”

He threw the trembling royal aside, and turned to address the group at the table.

“Two armies are on the move, my friends. One is headed here—via Phlegm, no doubt. The other has begun to cross the Gleaming Mountains.”

“Phlegm?” Loogie screeched. “Oh, that’s great, that is! And to think I’d just got the place looking decent …”

“The other is presumably heading for Legrash,” said Earl Visceral, giving the prince a significant look. “Let’s hope your legendary defences hold out.”

“What do
you
suggest we do?” Effigy asked Moltenoak, prompting murmurs of agreement and causing every head in the room to turn toward the hooded man.

Moltenoak took a deep breath, and looked to Earl Visceral. “How many soldiers do you have, exactly?”

“Counting on support from the viceroy here, and Steward Lambontroff, and
assuming
Prince Blood lends aid, we should be able to muster a force of around one thousand, five hundred men.” He rose to his feet and began to pace the room. “Assuming we need to divide in order to conquer these armies, we could send ravensage to Phlegm and Beanstalk, requesting that
ALL
available soldiers should join us, here. Legrash has more troops than the rest of us combined … even if Blood
is
insufferably arrogant about the truth of it. I suggest …”

There was a sudden intake of breath from Viceroy Funk, who thought he’d guessed the earl’s next words. However, he was wrong.

“… I suggest that Prince Blood marches his troops out of Legrash, in a move to defend the whole of western Illmoor. That way, we give strong protection to the innocent lives at stake in Legrash itself, as well as those in Beanstalk, Sneeze, Shinbone, Crust, Chudderford and Little Irkesome. I’m sure Viceroy Funk and Baron Muttknuckles—wherever
he
has got to—will assist the battle with their own troops.”

Prince Blood straightened out his long coat, but made no hostile reaction to the comment. “That said, I shall attempt to put your
ridiculous
plan into action,” he muttered. “Though what chance we stand against a dragon is anybody’s gu—”

“Grid will go with you,” Moltenoak finished, accompanied by a nod from his companion. “You will find him a great help in the coming conflict. Allow him to lead your army and you stand at least half a chance: I guarantee that.”

“And
where
do you suggest we make such a stand?” Visceral asked.