Gondell's Quest - Book 1 - Destiny - Free Sampler Edition

  Chapter 5

  “There is little to gain if we try to track them through the forest,” Tillendur turned to his companions, “Their sign will be confused and the trees will hamper the horses, it will be best if we ride around the edge and search for their tracks as they head into open grassland, there are too many of them to mask their trail, even a drunken Dwarf would be able to follow them.”

  “I was not drunk,” snapped Feron, “I was merry.”

  “Very merry,” laughed Tillendur recovering his smile despite the foreboding that weighed on his heart. Ulaff had been required to extract the singing Dwarf from the tavern as he had forecast, but ill feeling between the trio of friends never lasted long, their bond of brotherhood was far too strong.

  They did consider each other as brothers, race had never been an issue in their friendship, unusual as it appeared in the thoughts of many.

  They had forged a bond of mutual respect and trust, each knowing without doubt that his companions would stand at his side regardless of the odds. And they had stood together through many tests, for although the world lived in peace and harmony they knew that the menace of old would ever be waiting for his chance to rise again. Often he would probe their borders from his realm in the far north, but these incursions were never more than an annoyance to the members of the Guild.

  When Nilgoth, the Bringer of Darkness had been finally defeated at the Battle of Akar, deep in the vastness of the burning desert where two mighty forces had clashed in a battle to end all others. The army of the Guild had been seriously outnumbered, 'suicidal,' many had called their final struggle, but the allied commanders knew that they had right on their side, they also had a formidable weapon in their arsenal, a weapon that had brought Nilgoth to his knees, a weapon that had cleaved his head from his shoulders and brought a lasting peace to the world.

  The might of Nilgoth had been crushed, his fortresses reduced to rubble, his slaves freed and his minions scattered to the winds. His fall had been considered so deep that recovery would prove to be impossible. And so for a time it appeared that those assumptions had been correct.

  But rot is invasive, the smallest blight on one insignificant apple can eventually grow to spoil the entire orchard. And so it had been with the Dark Realm, their leader may have been vanquished, but small pockets of his evil existed lurking in the darkness, brooding and growing over the long years. Waiting patiently for another leader to emerge, an entity of equal malice and cruelty, a creature driven by evil and desire.

  Kangan had risen from the long dead ashes. From humble warlord, controller of a small mountain province in the ever frozen north he had cast his shadow over the icy wastes, forming treaties with some of his neighbours, crushing others without remorse or pity. Ever outward he expanded his kingdom, the Dark Realm yearned a leader to bring the scattered tribes together, to begin the rebuilding of empire. Kangan proved to be that leader.

  As his reach became longer the Guild watched and waited, more and more often teams of Guild hunters were dispatched to patrol the borders of the north, to penetrate the deserts, even to venture into the frozen wastelands. “Watch and report.” Their agenda clearly defined information was gathered, lengthy reports filed, and the most important developments dismissed, or in more frightening circumstances, ignored.

  For teams such as Tillendur's the apathy displayed by the leaders of the Guild set nerves jangling, their 'watch only' orders a frustration.

  Feron broached the subject as Tillendur leapt from his horse to study the outward trail that clearly traced away from their morning camp, “So what happens if we catch up with them?”

  Tillendur sighed heavily, the same question had also been nagging his conscience as they skirted the forest. “You know the answer as clearly as I do my friend... observe, build some structure to their actions, develop the wider picture.”

  “They have a hostage this time,” added Ulaff, stating the obvious but knowing the Elf's mind better than their Dwarfish companion, “Surely we cannot allow them to take a citizen of the free world captive!”

  “We still have our orders,” replied the Elf regretfully, “Without orders chaos would rule, don't forget, we are not at war.”

  “Yet!” replied Feron as he stared along the clear trail that led into the distance, “But we all know it's only a matter of time before Kangan makes his move. Anyway, how many do you sense?”

  Tillendur looked up at the mounted Dwarf and smiled, “It is difficult to say with any certainty, but I would guess... more than ten, but no more than fifteen, and they are on foot.”

  “Fair odds,” grinned the Dwarf, and quickly raised his hand, “I only think out loud, I know we cannot give them battle, but if we were forced...” he trailed off leaving his observation hanging in in the air.

  “Fair odds indeed,” nodded Tillendur, “And as we all know, sometimes the fight cannot be avoided.”

  “In that case, we must be careful not to put ourselves in a position that could lead to conflict,” nodded Ulaff with a wink as his broad face cracked into an even wider smile.

  Their intentions unspoken but crystal clear the three hunters set out along the Goblin trail with spirits high. Elf and Dwarf spurred their horses forward into a leisurely canter while Ulaff drew the pack horses around his massive bulk and began to run, on occasion he draped his arms across their withers and lifted his feet. There had never been a horse born that could withstand his weight, but two together could manage him for a few minutes, using this tactic he managed to keep his companions in sight.

  “I cannot be sure, for as you know I can only estimate their speed and the lead that they have over us, but I would guess we will overtake them before nightfall.” Tillendur grinned as he turned to his uncomfortable companion, noting the fear in his eyes. Not fear for the fight ahead, no foe had ever dismayed the fierce Dwarf, it was the horse beneath him that fed his anxiety. “You would find this much more comfortable if you would just relax, you bounce in the saddle because you are tense.”

  “This is as relaxed as I can manage.” replied Feron through gritted teeth, “Now stop distracting me with useless conversation, the faster we ride now, the sooner I can get off this thing.”

  Hours passed as Gondell bounced across the broad shoulders of each Goblin in turn, they hadn't paused for a second, and as he expected them to tire they had surprised him with an additional spurt of speed. My ribs hurt, he complained silently, but they will just laugh if I mention it, I don't think the comfort of a prisoner is of any great concern to them.

  The forest had long disappeared on the horizon and only open featureless grassland met his gaze as he joggled along, his only view... their heavily trampled back trail.

  At least the tracks will be easy to follow, he consoled himself as the vista behind remained devoid of pursuers, hopefully it will be just a matter of time before the Guild find the trail, I still have some small hope. And slim as that hope seemed, Gondell clung to it with a passion.

  All hope failed as the sun sank lower into the west and the Goblins pace slowed, for a second he imagined that they were pausing to rest, but as he was thrown roughly to the ground the illusion of his salvation faded as a large camp was revealed. Row after row of pale canvas tents marched along what he assumed to be the beginning of a valley and Goblins of various sizes and breeds scurried around loaded with weapons and provisions. Some of the Goblins looked very similar to the picture that he had seen, their features cruel, no trace of nobility there, thought Gondell as he studied the ungainly looking creatures. Slightly hunchbacked their arms appeared over-long for their stocky bodies, their arms are long, he realised as one of the Goblins stood straight to attention as Ruaq approached, its hands almost at the same level as its knees. Yet there were far more of the breed that had captured him, and in a position to compare his amazement grew. It's like the evolution of their species, he commented silently, Yes, they are all Goblins for sure, but the differences are striking. His classical stereotypical image of
the creatures fitted exactly the smaller breed, shorter and clearly stooped, almost the same height as a Dwarf, with a broad chest set atop of bowed legs, legs that looked far too spindly to carry the mass of muscle and sinew above. Ruaq and his kin, although no where near as fair more resembled the build of Elves, much taller though, he realised as he studied the captain issuing orders.

  All Goblins, but their faces are so different, the smaller breed had course features, their eyes almond shaped and black as coal, many had fangs so pronounced that it appeared difficult to close their mouths. But their ears drew most attention, pointed to the extreme and large, many wore multitudes of rings lined around the dangling lobes, some wooden, some made of what looked like yellowed bone, others of gold and silver.

  Ruaq and his kind were easier on the eye, their faces rounder than the long oval shape displayed by the smaller variation, and the eyes are different, he told himself, more like the eyes of Dwarves and Elves, and even Gnomes! They still have sharp fangs, but smaller, I can't even begin to imagine how the others manage to eat. Everything about them is round, he realised, rounder eyes, rounder face, and almost rounded ears... almost like they are a cross between Goblins and the fair folk.

  Another troop of heavily armed soldiers trotted into view, their leather armour heavy with metal plates shaped like fish scales. Standing stiffly to attention their height and erect posture sent a shiver through Gondell as he imagined the Guild soldiers that he had hoped were hot on his trail.

  Now I'm really in deep water he groaned silently in dismay, three Guild soldiers against all of these, fifty of the cursed creatures at least! Forget about being rescued Gondell my lad, he told himself and felt his optimism die.

  Feron crawled through the tall grass, for a Dwarf he could be exceptionally stealthy despite his bulk, not as silent as an Elf of course, but he still prided himself that no Goblin would ever sense his approach. Tillendur who crawled less than an arms length ahead raised his hand. Feron paused instantly, the Elf signalled caution, he held his breath before moving again slowly toward the thin line of bushes they had spied as the Goblin camp came into view. Raising his head slowly he felt his heart sink, too many, even with the aid of Ulaff's mighty sword. Tillendur gave him a gentle tap and began to shuffle backwards, he's obviously seen enough too, thought the Dwarf, I guess this time we will have to follow orders... watch and report.

  Crouching low the two despondent hunters sprinted back to where Ulaff waited with the horses. The patient Ogre didn't resent being left behind to manage the baggage, he knew that his body wasn't built for sneaking and hiding, he represented their power and strength, he acted as their battering ram.

  “Too many for a direct assault,” began Tillendur, 'We are grossly out numbered... but, I have a plan.”

  The trio huddled together deep in quiet conversation and Ulaff grinned wide as Tillendur's plan took shape. “This is an action to my taste,” he chortled happily.

  “To mine also,” added the Dwarf as he hefted his heavy hammer, his eyes bright with anticipation.

  “So we all agree to wait until after dark,” Tillendur glanced from face to face reading their expressions. He had never been formally appointed as leader of the group, it had simply been a mutual acceptance. “Ulaff you will attack from the front, with luck many will be in their tents sleeping, Feron and myself will attack from the sides. Feron, you take this closest side, I will find a way to their opposite flank, we will attack when I am in position. Now if we are agreed, we must hide and rest until the moon is high.”

  The late afternoon and evening dragged by at a snails pace as the trio of eager warriors waited restlessly in a deep gully that meandered out of the high ground that marked the final escarpment as the lush green grasslands gave over to a line of mountains, a lofty barrier before the wide plains beyond. “I hate being so far away,” admitted Feron, “But our fine Elf here is correct, too close to the camp and we would be sure of discovery... even Goblins have scouts.”

  “Will night never come,” complained Ulaff as he ran a sharpening stone slowly along the length of his sword, “I hate waiting, especially when there are Goblin heads to cleave.”

  “Patience, my friends, sleep if you can, the work ahead will be hard, did you not see the size of them, these are no ordinary demons, these are a breed apart.”

  Tillendur had seen much more than a strategy toward slaughter when he surveyed the Goblin camp, his sharp eyes and nimble mind had gathered information unobserved by the more aggressive Dwarf.

  Feron saw only the odds, battle plans and conflict, the thoughtful Elf registered the site on a different level.

  Feron saw many Goblins, Tillendur saw exactly fifty four in the blink of an eye.

  Where Feron saw only a massed foe, the Elf saw that of the fifty four, eight were hobgoblin servants, servants not slaves, an explanation maybe for the gradual disappearance of the smaller breed. He also saw that most of the remaining Goblins belonged to a breed unknown to his experience, taller than myself, he had thought, and broad, heavy physique, hard trained, durable... these are elite troops. The realisation had given him pause as he debated the attack, but the sight of a trembling and bound Gnome in their midst had tipped the balance from caution to calculated abandon.

  He must be an important prisoner to merit such a guard, he thought as he studied the diminutive bearded figure, it is worth the risk just to find out who you are, he whispered below the register of normal hearing, the tone used between Elves who wish to share a secret when in the company of others. Telepathy many had assumed, the Elves had always smiled demurely at the assumption, happy to accept the misguided perception without contradiction. Who are you Mr Gnome? Tillendur couldn't help but wonder if many of the answers to the larger questions that clouded his mind could be revealed by the diminutive captive.

  “A bit of fire, wouldn't go amiss now,” whispered Feron, as much to himself as his companions, the spring sun had warmed the land earlier, but with it's setting an icy breeze had stirred and the Dwarf felt the chill eating into his bones. “If not fire, then a sup of something warming,” he declared reaching for the engraved silver flask in his hip pocket, “It is unwise to go into battle shivering... lest the enemy mistakes the shaking as fear.”

  “Is that the best excuse you can bring to mind?” asked Ulaff quietly, “I think that you shake because it is some hours since you last got rolling drunk,” he paused for a second before nudging the Elf, “Sorry, I meant merry.”

  “For that slur on my good character, I shall offer you not one sip.” chuckled Feron, well used to the friendly taunting, and suspecting there may be a shed of truth hiding behind the jest. “Oh will the moon never rise,” he sighed impatiently as he passed Ulaff the flask of Saurian Rum, a fierce spirit distilled by the strange scale covered peoples of the distant east, “This waiting chafes me more than the cold.”

  “It will not be long now,” replied Tillendur, “It is some time since I heard any stirring from the camp, all is quiet there beside the crackling and spitting of their fires.”

  “You even hear their watch fires burning?” asked Feron in disbelief, all he could hear in the still night being the gentle chirping of crickets and the distant forlorn hooting of a barn owl.

  “I do, but that is also a concern, I hear only the fire, nothing else stirs. I do not believe that they are all asleep, that would be too convenient.”

  “Convenient or not, should we not take advantage of their lapse?” whispered Ulaff as he passed the flask back, “I do not fear that filth, but surely it will be easier to slaughter them as they sleep.”

  Tillendur pondered a moment. His concern had been growing for some time, the eerie silence that had descended seemed unnatural, even if the Goblins slept there should have been guards on duty, whispered conversation between sentries. We can wait no longer, he decided as he picked up his bow and quiver hoping that his suspicions would not be confirmed.

  Ogres are not the daintiest of folk, and even concentrat
ing all of his will on remaining silent Ulaff knew that his approach up the shallow valley must have sounded like a herd of cattle. So they have probably heard me, he excused himself, I prefer a moving target... and I'm ready for a fight, it has been too long since my blade tasted Goblin blood.

  He eyed a line of stunted bushes glowing silver in the moonlight and chuckled, not much cover for me, but better than nothing. Carefully he drew his sword and crouched down waiting for Tillendur's signal. The Goblin camp sat a stones throw ahead, and its watch fires had been built up high, their flickering light reflecting from the sides of pale canvas tents. Nothing stirred, no movement of any kind. Could it be a trap? Ulaff strained his eyes peering into the gloom surrounding the pools of bright light, hunting the shadows for movement, they could be waiting in ambush.

  So deep was his faith in Tillendur that the thought only lingered for a second before being dismissed, he would have heard them, of that I am sure, this is no trap... but it is never this easy with Goblins!

  A night jar called in the darkness and Ulaff felt his heart skip a beat, it called again, louder now and he tightened his grip on the hilt of his heavy sword, anticipation building, his mouth dried and muscles twitched. Tensed like a coiled spring he waited, third call, he heard the sound clearly and burst from cover, his legs pumping hard as he built momentum. Ulaff became an unstoppable force of nature when unleashed, and his heart soared as he pounded down upon the quiet fire-lit camp, sword held aloft as he sought his first victim. From the right he saw Feron charging down the low ridge, his hammer in a powerful double grip. “A creature like me,” he chuckled knowing that the same battle rage coursed through the Dwarfs veins as powerfully as his own, at that moment he felt closer to Feron than any other time. He loved and respected Tillendur deeply, but the reserved Elf delighted not in slaughter, the perfect leader for our group, he understood as his charge broke through the first line of tents, he is the voice of reason and restraint, without his influence Feron and I would become monsters.

  Meeting no resistance Ulaff paused panting heavily and returned Feron's confused stare, the Dwarf also stood frozen, his hammer held aloft but unable to connect with the heads of their shared enemy. Tillendur strolled almost casually into the camp, his bow slung over his shoulder, “It is as I feared brothers,” he announced, his voice heavy with sorrow, “We have been tricked.”

  Ulaff gazed around the deserted camp as realisation filtered into his slow mind, “They have gone.”

  “Yes my friend, they have gone... and I should have known.” replied the Elf as he kicked a Goblin helmet out into the surrounding darkness.

  “On your feet,” snapped Ruaq brusquely. Gondell groaned and reached down to his ankle, only realising his error when a wicked smile broke across the captains thin lips, “I guessed as much you maggot.”

  Gondell offered a sheepish grin as he understood that he had gripped the wrong ankle, bruised ribs or sore legs, not much of a choice, he decided as Ruaq's attention turned to an approaching scout, one of many that had been sent out to scan the dales for sign of the Guild warriors.

  “They watch us from the ridge behind you.” he announced quietly.

  “Elf, Dwarf and Ogre?” asked the captain stepping closer.

  “The Elf and Dwarf watch us, the Ogre is some distance away with their pack animals... do we attack? The lads haven't eaten meat for many weeks.”

  “No,” Ruaq responded instantly, “Do not forget we are under orders, you know I do not fear the Guild, but it is unwise at this point to offer battle. Go back and watch them, I want to know of their movements... and send someone down our back trail, make sure that they don't have reinforcements following.”

  The scout offered a half hearted salute and slipped away grumbling quietly, “I would also relish a feast,” Ruaq whispered, “But our prisoner is too valuable to risk in a fight, and that Ogre would kill many of my people before he could be subdued.”

  “Prudence,” he warned himself, “I must consider the bigger picture.”

  Gondell opened his eyes slowly, early evening he realised, and they seem to be in a panic. All around him Goblins scuttled, Hobgoblin servants busied themselves packing provisions, and soldiers sharpened swords and donned their metal clad leather armour. Tension filled the air as the watch fires were built high, mounded with fuel, we are moving on again, sighed Gondell in resignation as the soldiers formed into ranks.

  Ruaq addressed his troops quietly as the final scouts returned. “We march now,” he announced, “The Guild will be upon us soon, so no chattering. No noise. We must slip away quietly,”

  “They are hiding in a narrow gorge a few miles away,” the first scout to return had told him, “I think that they wait for darkness.” Ruaq had nodded, his decision made. The last scout had raised his spirits considerably as he reported that their trail appeared to be clear, “No reinforcements, they are just three alone.” he whispered, do I risk an attack? We could easily take them by surprise. He quickly dismissed the thought, I must concentrate on getting my prisoner safely back to the Master, nothing else matters.

  And so Gondell found himself draped over yet another Goblin shoulder, evening had faded into twilight and the pace set by Ruaq had been punishing, Uncomfortable, but better than running, decided Gondell as scale armour bit through his breeches and shirt, even his leather waistcoat offered little protection as he bounced with every stride.

  Glancing around in the rapidly failing light he noticed that his assumption that the camp had been at the end of a valley had been correct, every hour that passed had brought the sides closer. Steep cliffs had replaced the gently rolling hills and eventually the columns of Goblin soldiers had been reduced to single file. Just like a bottle neck, thought Gondell as the path narrowed further, the rocky sides now close enough to touch on either side with outstretched arms.

  Moments later the passage gave way to an open glade, a circular space surrounded by high cliffs, it looks just like a giant took a scoop out of the mountain, thought Gondell as he rubbed his aching and chafed ribs, it also looks like a dead end. Looking around he saw only craggy ramparts of stone and wondered why the Goblins had raced headlong into a trap, it was only then that he noticed a deeper shadow in the darkened rock, an arched shadow. A tunnel of course, so it looks like I'm heading underground.

  “We've made good time lads,” Ruaq praised his troops, “From here we can stop looking over our shoulders, they can never follow us through the caves, and their horses will be useless now.”

  The news lifted the Goblins spirits visibly, but Gondell felt his remaining flicker of hope die, the odds are too great now, he groaned quietly.

  “Next stop... the great hall,” announced the captain, “There we can rest tonight, and prepare ourselves for the crossing.”