The Dark Storm (28 page)

“Alford, you know the rules about disturbing Orden when he holds court,” Gilchrest said, leaping onto the larger goblin’s shoulder. “Taken leave of your senses, have you? Or tired of living, you must be?”

“Forgive me, Prince Gilchrest,” Alford said, trying his best to hide his loathing of the smaller goblin. “The man-thing entered the goblin lair uninvited. No outsider may cross our threshold without invitation.”

Gilchrest slapped Alford on the back of his shaved head. “Silly beast, who gives you power to say who comes and goes into the Iron Mountains? Only sons of the royal family have that power here. You’re just a stupid guard!” Alford growled as if he were about to attack, but Gilchrest held up the royal crest that hung around his neck, halting Alford. “You know the price for hurting a royal. You ready to give your life over rage?”

Alford fought to bring himself under control and knelt before Gilchrest. “No, my prince.”

“Good.” Gilchrest kicked Alford in the rear with his tiny clawed foot. “Go guard tunnel while I take the mage to Orden.”

If looks could kill, the one Alford was giving Gilchrest would’ve caused him to drop dead on the spot. Most of the goblins in Midland hated Gilchrest because of the way he abused his princely power, but none would dare touch him for fear of what Prince Orden might do. The poor fool who had bitten the tiny goblin’s ear off was still hanging in the dining hall, where he had been for the last half century. Every so often Orden or one of his guards would bite away a chunk of the offender’s flesh, but they refused to let him die. He would serve as a warning to all those who dared lay hands on one of the royal family. Alford slunk away into the main tunnel, but he vowed that he would have his revenge against the little prince one day.

After making sure Alford was gone, so he wouldn’t have to turn his back on the centurion, Gilchrest addressed Flag. “You play a dangerous game, wizard. Alford bring death to him who offends. You need learn goblin protocol.”

“I should tell you the same,” Flag said, dousing the magic he had called.

“I not outsider. Only fools try to hurt prince of goblins. Now, what you want here, Gilchrest missing trial?”

“Trust that if I had it my way I wouldn’t have come to this hovel that you goblins claim, but Titus has sent me to speak with Orden,” Flag said, looking around the chamber in disgust.

Gilchrest looked at Flag suspiciously. “And what the dark lord want with goblins now?”

“That is between Titus and Orden. Now, take me to him.”

“Gilchrest not take orders from you, wizard. You are murderer of your own, like the Halfling, Titus. The mages say Flag a dead man.” The small goblin snickered mockingly.

Flag’s hand shot out faster than Gilchrest could dodge and gripped him about the throat. He released enough power to make the small goblin uncomfortable but not enough to hurt him. “Make no mistake, you animated footstool, I do not fear the likes of your or the decomposing circle of half-ass conjurers. I would gladly risk the wrath of my lord, as well as the goblin prince, if it would silence your insufferable ranting. You will take me to Orden, immediately.”

Gilchrest mustered a weak smile. “No need we fight, friend Flag. I shall take you to my brother.” Flag released Gilchrest, allowing him to drop to the ground. The tiny goblin gave Flag a wicked look before leading him through the gates of the goblins’ keep.

Inside the goblins’ lair the air was twice as bad as in the tunnel. The smell of rotting flesh was more pronounced here and the screams of the tortured souls louder. Crossing the rickety bridge, Flag was allowed a better view of the kingdom. Below him fires raged and whips cracked across the backs of the dwarfs who served the goblins. What was left of a once-proud race now toiled beneath what was once their home, making weapons and armor for the goblins who now ruled the Iron Mountains.

“No pity for the slaves, wizard. It’s better to live as a servant than to die as a meal,” Gilchrest said after having read the look on Flag’s face.

At the far end of the bridge was a door embedded in the mountain. The door was at least twelve feet tall and made from a finely hammered bronze. On either side stood a goblin guard, armed with a heavy spear and shield. Through the door Flag could hear shouting and the clashing of
steel. He hoped that Titus hadn’t made the mistake of sending him into the bowels during one of the goblins’ notorious feedings. When truly caught up in the bloodlust the more primal of the species had a hard time controlling it and were known to turn on friend and foe.

The armored centurion bowed from the neck at Prince Gilchrest before pushing the massive door open. Beyond the door was a sea of goblins of different shapes and sizes. They exchanged snarls and pats on the back while focusing on something in the center of the room that Flag couldn’t see just yet. Several heads turned hungrily towards Flag when they recognized the smell of the magic in his blood. Had it not been for Gilchrest leading Flag through there was no doubt in his mind that the goblins would’ve descended on him. Regardless of what Titus needed, Flag vowed that this would be his last trip to the Iron Mountains.

“Move aside; move aside. Make way for your prince.” Gilchrest swatted and nicked the goblins blocking his and Flag’s way. There were more than a few murderous glares sent their way, but the goblins parted like the Red Sea for the little prince.

In the center of the room a brutish-looking goblin was pacing back and forth, naked from the waist up. The beast wasn’t quite as tall as Alford but was still quite imposing, sporting three battle-scarred arms. Jutting from his left side was the stump where the fourth had once been. His massive head lolled from side to side as he moved, but his deformed red eyes never left the goblin standing opposite him, Prince Orden.

Orden resembled a shaved gorilla with his squat legs and arms that almost brushed the ground without him bending. Fangs jutted from behind his bottom lip and tickled his top lip like short tusks. A spearhead was woven into the blood-dyed braid on his head, which swung
freely every time Orden rolled his thick neck. Physically he was just as imposing as his kin, but his blue eyes held an intelligence that was rare amongst the cannibals.

Standing between them was a third goblin, who was only slightly taller than Flag. The goblin had an angular face that was obscured by stringy purple hair that hung almost to his knees. His skin was a sun-blasted yellow and smooth, unlike that of his deformed brethren. The only imperfection he seemed to have was his right arm, which was as black as night from fingertip to elbow. Had it not been for the reptilian eyes staring at the two combatants, he could’ve almost passed for human. In his hands the purple-haired goblin held two five-foot curved blades, which he handled as easily as if they were pocketknives. When he addressed the crowd, Flag was thoroughly surprised at the clarity of the goblin’s speech.

“Look well, brothers and sisters of the Iron Mountains, and bear witness as two of our fiercest brothers have come to settle a dispute. The offender,” he pointed to the three-armed goblin, “has laid challenge for the ax that has led our people into battle for the last ten thousand years. And in so challenging for the weapon, he so challenges for the throne now held by Prince Orden.” He pointed at the smiling prince. “As it has been since the beginning of us, blood will settle this dispute.” The crowd roared at the proclamation. “Are the two combatants ready?” He addressed both of the goblins, who nodded. “Good. Die well, brothers.” The purple-haired goblin tossed both the blades into the air, signaling the beginning of the contest.

The three-armed goblin moved incredibly fast for a creature his size. Two of his hands seized one of the blades and he immediately moved to gut Orden, but to his surprise the prince hadn’t jumped for the other blade. Instead the prince caught the three-armed goblin when he
was coming down and slammed his fists into his opponent’s side. He flew to the other side of the room and crashed against the wooden table that had been turned over to act as a barrier between the combatants and the crowd. Orden tried to put his fist through his opponent’s head, but he moved just as the fist made contact with the wooden table. The three-armed goblin swung the blade in an arc that would’ve splayed Orden had he not already moved to the other side of the room. He too was incredibly quick for a goblin.

The three-armed goblin howled and rushed Orden. Orden managed to avoid the blade’s wild swing but not the crushing blow landed by the goblin’s third arm. Orden stumbled and the three-armed goblin slashed him across the chest. Blood sprayed the combatants and the crowd, adding to their frenzy. A small pocket of goblins had broken out into a fight, which resulted in one of them losing an eye before the attention was turned back to the contest. The three-armed goblin tried to take Orden’s head, but he rolled out of the way and came to a crouch on the other side of the circle, holding the second blade.

This time it was Orden who took the offensive, attacking his opponent with a series of thought-out strikes that opened up several gashes on his arms and legs. He was a warrior, but Orden was a skilled swordsman. Orden took his time with his opponent, opening a cut on his back before creating an identical one on his chest. The three-armed goblin tried to attack with his third arm again, before Orden hacked it off. Next went his opponent’s ear, followed by his left arm. By the time Orden had finished his circuit of the three-armed goblin, he was on his knees with one arm left and defenseless.

“Mercy,” the now-one-armed goblin croaked.

Orden laid the blade at the base of his opponent’s neck. “Under the Iron Mountains, death is the only mercy.”
Orden soundlessly removed the goblin’s head and addressed the crowd. “Look well, brothers and sisters of the Iron Mountains.” He held the head up for all to see. “The challenge has been met, and as it has been since the beginning of us, the debt is settled in blood.” With his free hand he picked the three-armed goblin’s body up and held it above his head. “Under the Iron Mountains, only the strong rule, and he who rules provides his people with strength and flesh!” Orden tossed the body to the crowd. The goblins wasted no time in swarming over the corpse, devouring it.

“Save some for Gilchrest.” The little goblin hopped around, trying to get to the corpse. He was roughly snatched up by his wings just before being trampled by a goblin who was just smaller than an elephant.

“Quiet your babbling, little brother.” Orden sat Gilchrest on the edge of the table. “I’ve not left you out of the feast.” He handed Gilchrest the severed head.

“Many thanks, my prince,” Gilchrest said happily before sinking his teeth into the head. Flag had to turn away from the spectacle.

“What’s the matter, wizard? No stomach for the feeding?” Orden taunted Flag. A bloodied goblin tore himself from the feeding long enough to present Orden with the heart of his enemy. The heart was always saved for the leader.

“I think this is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen,” Flag said, rubbing at a spot of blood that had landed on his shirt.

“And that is why you are weak, man-thing,” Orden said, licking the blood off his hands. “Tell me, what brings you into the bowels of Midland this night?”

“I have come on behalf of my lord Titus,” Flag said.

“And what does the murderer of his brother need of the goblins now?” Orden asked, amused.

“Something of great power has been loosed topside and the mighty goblin army may be needed to help us retrieve it for the Dark Order.”

“And what does he offer for our services?” Orden rubbed his blood-caked hands together greedily.

Flag smiled. “The flesh of holy men.”

Orden’s laugh sounded like rocks crashing together in a cardboard box. “Illini!” Orden bellowed.

“My prince.” The purple-haired goblin knelt before him, with his blackened hand planted in a puddle of blood. The liquid seemed to sizzle under his touch.

“Ready the Adder and a battalion of our hungriest. Tonight we dine topside.”

Rogue brought the Viper to a stop on an isolated block off Flushing Avenue. Aside from a large warehouse that dominated one side of the block and the gas station at the corner, the block was abandoned. On the buildings and posted on street signs was an eight-hundred-number for anyone who wanted to get in on the ground floor of a prime real estate deal. Rogue got out of the car and started without waiting to see whether Gabriel was following.

“Where are you taking me, Rogue?” Gabriel got out of the car and followed him.

“I told you that I was taking you to see a friend of mine.”

“Your friend lives in a warehouse?” Gabriel studied the building across the street.

“No,” Rogue said, and kept walking. The building he stopped in front of reminded him of a school that had seen its prime come and go. Removing his glasses, Rogue scanned the building. “He’s home,” he told Gabriel before pulling one of the planks off the entrance. “Stick close to me while we’re inside. You make a wrong turn in here and there’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to save you,” Rogue warned him before stepping inside. Gabriel pondered it for a minute, but he eventually followed Rogue inside the abandoned structure.

The first thing Gabriel noticed when he got inside was the smell. The stench of rotted flesh pushed up into his nose, almost causing him to vomit, but he was able to hold it down. It reminded Gabriel of when his history teacher had played the movie
Glory
in class for them one afternoon. Gabriel figured that the corpses of the Union soldiers they dumped on the beach had to smell as bad as the abandoned building, if not worse. He was so preoccupied with trying to keep from throwing up that he didn’t notice Rogue stop and walked into him.