Realms of War

"Fire!"

Arrows vaulted over the wall of Zerith Hold. The twang of bowstrings drifted off just in time to hear the entire volley slap to the ground like a wind-driven steel rain.

"Again!" shouted Lord Purdun, the rightful ruler and keeper of Zerith Hold. His red hair and the long-healed scars on his left cheek shone bright in the afternoon sun as he stood atop the wall, looking out over the ruined battlefield.

The archers responded with another chorus of buzzing from their bows.

The half-elf, half-steel dragon ranger, Jivam Tammsel, crouched behind the crenellation, beside Purdun, winded from the fight. The ashen scales that ran down his neck, shoulders, and back slid effortlessly over one another with each gulp of air.

The two men had been inducted into Elestam's Crusaders together, and both had sworn an oath to protect the people of Erlkazar-even before there was such a thing as Erlkazar and the land had been ruled by King Alemander of Tethyr.

"How long can we keep this up?" asked Tammsel. He scratched at the thick stone with his powerful claws, dislodg shy;ing a small chunk. "Korox has been gone for nearly a month, and we're running out of supplies."

"He'll be back," said Purdun. "With reinforcements from Tethyr."

"We will be lucky if he returns from Tethyr with his life," replied the half-dragon crusader, tossing the bit of stone down the archer's platform, "let alone reinforcements."

"He will return," repeated Purdun. He looked back over the wall. "We must hold out until he does."

"Do we have any other choice?"

Purdun shook his head. "None that I can see."

They had been at war with the goblin tribes for nearly a year. The surrounding villages of Furrowsrich and Saarlik had fallen tendays before. The battles in Duhlnarim had swayed back and forth for months, only to end up here at the gates to the hold-the last refuge inside a broken, nearly beaten land.

Outside, as far as the eye could see, the two groups swarmed, converging on the hills in front of Zerith Hold. Those goblins with deep yellow flesh were from the High Peaks. They gener shy;ally moved on foot and were particularly good at hiding and laying ambushes. One on one, the beasts were little more than a nuisance. But by the hundreds-and thousands-they were a real danger, as the ongoing war had proved.

Though the High Peaks goblins were problematic, it was the Kuldin Peaks goblins that caused Lord Purdun more concern. They were more organized, were generally larger, and rode atop the backs of worgs-four-legged beasts that resembled huge, ferocious wolves. The goblin and its mount together were nearly a match for a single soldier, and the pairs outnumbered the denizens of Zerith Hold nearly thirty to one.

"Lord Purdun," shouted Lieutenant Beetlestone, his normal youthful enthusiasm replaced by dire seriousness. "They're forming up!"

Purdun looked out to where Beetlestone pointed. Sure enough, there in the middle of the swirling, chaotic mass of goblins, order had broken out. A large group had formed loose ranks, and they charged now for the walls of the hold.

"They've got trees!" warned the lieutenant.

Lord Purdun ran down the wall, bracing his men for another attack.

"Archers to the wall. Ready the oil," he ordered. "Take out the leaders. Don't let them inside." He stopped at the end of the defenses, pulling an arrow tight to his bowstring. "This is your home you're fighting for. I don't need to tell you what happens if Zerith Hold falls."

The goblin horde grew as it drew nearer to the walls. They had toppled some of the hundred-year-old trees from the dense wilderness surrounding Duhlnarim and carried them over their heads. The goblins had tried the trick once before. They would brace the tree, a rudimentary ladder, against the side of the hold and try to scramble up the side to get over the wall.

The result of their last attempt could be seen below. Two broken stumps lay scattered and burned, one on the ground, another in the moat. The attempt had proven unsuccess shy;ful, but they were trying it again-and with twice as many trees.

"Fire!" shouted Purdun, and he released his arrow.

The wall rumbled with the hum of bowstrings. Huge swaths of goblins were pinned to the ground by the volley. But those who held the trees were mostly sheltered from the assault-the arrows glancing off or sticking deep into the ancient wood.

"You there, on the end of the wall," shouted Purdun. "Concentrate your fire on that group there. Wait until they lift the tree. When they're uncovered, give em the Hells." He turned to the crusaders and guardsmen beside him. "You men, focus your fire over there, on the group with the second tree. Hold your shot until you hear my order."

The men nodded or grumbled their agreement.

The trees grew nearer, and the men pulled their bow shy;strings tight.

"Wait for it."

The tree rose, reaching up for the top of the wall and revealing beneath the goblins who held it aloft.

"Fire!"

Arrows rained down again, puncturing the goblins' soft bodies. They fell over, dead on impact, slumping to the ground like blades of grass under a huge foot. The tree grew unbalanced as fewer hands steadied it. It swayed sideways, then toppled over as they lost control. It rolled as it dropped to the ground, crushing the yellow-skinned gob shy;lins underneath it and exposing those who had previously enjoyed its cover.

A cheer went up from the wall as the tree fell. The goblins scrambled around beside their makeshift ladder, trying to lift it back into place, but the archers on the wall picked them to pieces.

"They're coming!" came a shout, followed by two huge thuds and the sound of wood splintering.

Turning around, Purdun's blood ran cold. Two trees had gone down under their concentrated fire, but the other two had hit home. They rested against the outside of Zerith Hold, a line of goblins climbing through their branches on their way up.

"Pour the oil!" ordered Purdun.

Four huge men made their way down the platform. They carried between them a thick log, from which hung an iron caldron bubbling over with animal fat, tree sap, and oil. They moved carefully, for the caldron had been hanging over an open fire. One misstep and they would be scorched on the slick metal-or worse, under a flood of scalding, sticky oil.

The goblins charged up the side of the trees, quickly drawing closer to the top of the wall.

"Hurry," shouted Purdun.

The caldron arrived just as the first goblin topped the tree.

Dropping his bow, Purdun pulled his long sword out of its scabbard, cutting the yellow-skinned vermin in two with his draw. Stepping up on the crenellation, he took down two more goblins, knocking them off the tree to their death far below.

"Pour it," he shouted, jumping back down to the archer's platform.

The four men lifted the log and tipped the caldron over the side. The melted fat and oil oozed out over the stone and down the side of the tree. A gush of foul broth splashed over the climbing goblins, blistering their flesh, cooking them alive. Their skin sizzled as the oil and pitch stuck to their bodies, and half a dozen goblins toppled away from the wall.

Purdun grabbed a lit torch from a nearby sconce and tossed it onto the toppled tree. The oil ignited, catching slowly at first, but then erupting into a huge blue flame.

As the flame followed the oil trail down the trunk of the tree, forcing the goblins to abandon their climb to the top, a second cheer went up along the wall.

But the celebration was cut short by the sound of swords clashing and men dying.

Goblins had reached the top of the second tree, and they poured over the crenellation onto the platform. The first few to reach the top had been cut to shreds, but their numbers quickly became overwhelming. Guardsmen thrashed about, goblins hanging from their shoulders and backs. Crusaders engaged three and four of the invaders at a time, cutting them down as quickly as they could. But they kept coming, flooding over faster than they could be killed.

A roar filled Purdun's ears as Jivam Tammsel bounded into the fray. With each swipe of his hand, he killed a goblin. With each step he took, another fell from the wall. With each breath, he bit down on another of the invaders, tearing its flesh from its bones.

The men rallied behind the half-elf, half-steel dragon, drawing strength and courage from the crusader's raw anger and power.

The goblins seemed to sense the shift in the tide of the battle. They began to scatter, running down the platform, dropping their weapons and looking for places to hide. Crusaders and guardsmen chased them down, cutting the goblins to pieces as they stopped to cower in the corners or against the stone.

Tammsel cut through three more goblins before taking a huge step and leaping over the edge of the wall. His broad shoulders disappeared from view, then the sound of goblins dying drifted over the crenellation.

Landing firmly on the leaning tree, he let out a second roar-right in the face of the oncoming invaders. A few had the courage to face the half-steel dragon, and they were rewarded with a quick, painful death, their bodies torn apart by claw, tooth, or sword.

"Throw me a rope," shouted Tammsel, bashing aside goblins as he made his way farther down the tree.

Lord Purdun obliged, finding a coiled pile of woven hemp wrapped in one of the battle boxes on the back of the archer's platform. Twisting the end into a quick knot, the crusader twirled the rope over his head and let it fly.

Tammsel grabbed the flying rope out of the air. He was about a quarter of the way down, and he dived in, disappearing among the thick branches and needles, dragging the rope with him. A moment later, he came out the other side, the rope wrapped around the trunk of the tree.

Tying it securely, Tammsel dashed back up to the wall. Behind him, the goblins filled the vacated space, not quite sure what to make of the rope. A few stopped to pick at it, but the rest clamored on, for the inside of Zerith Hold.

Leaping over the wall, Tammsel grabbed the other end of the rope and ran down the platform.

"Pull with me," he shouted.

Lord Purdun wrapped the rope around his arm and leaned back. "You men there," he ordered, "grab hold. We're going to pull the tree sideways and free it from the wall."

Archers dropped their bows. Guardsmen sheathed their swords. All of them chipped in to pull the tree away from the hold.

"One, two, three, heave!" shouted Tammsel.

The men added their strength to that of the two crusaders, one after another grabbing hold of the rope. They lined up along the platform, pulling the tree toward the south end of the wall, hoping to dislodge it.

All the while the goblins continued their climb.

"Pull!"

The men groaned as they struggled against the hundred-year-old tree. It was thick and heavy, and it was wedged hard against the stone wall.

"Harder!" shouted Purdun.

The tree lurched a few feet, shaking loose a handful of goblins.

"Again!"

The goblin climbers reached the top of the tree and dropped inside. Swarms more approached the top, and behind them, a hundred others. Gone were the deep green needles of the ancient tree-replaced by a sea of yellow, sloshing up the crude bridge.

"If you want to live to see another day, then pull, damn you!" shouted Lord Purdun.

The rope creaked under the strain. The men gasped and wailed, giving everything they had, pulling with all of their might. Purdun's knuckles grew white, his face red, his legs wobbling from the strain.

There was a deep, hollow grinding sound, and the men all fell backward, the rope going slack as the tree tore loose. They could hear the goblins scream as they plummeted to the ground.

Then the rope went taut again as the falling tree continued on.

"Let go! Let go!" shouted Tammsel.

The men did as ordered, releasing their grip on the rope and letting it slide away.

The rope slithered down the platform, picking up speed as it went. Its tail whipped back and forth, snapping and tearing at the flesh of the guardsmen and crusaders as it sailed past.

A coil at the end wrapped itself around a soldier's leg, binding then dragging him along. The poor man let out a shout of surprise, then he was gone, pulled over the side by the weight of the ancient tree crashing to the ground.

Lord Purdun got to his feet, charging into the thirty or so goblins who had managed to make it to the platform before their crude ladder was pulled sideways. His sword and bow lying somewhere on the ground, he had little choice but to fight with his fists.

Balling up one hand, he punched the first goblin he encoun shy;tered right in his crooked, pointy nose. The little yellow beast squealed as it was knocked backward onto its rump.

"Sword!" shouted Tammsel.

Lord Purdun turned around to see a polished steel long sword flying through the air. Grabbing it out of the sky, he turned back to slash down two more goblins-one on each side of him.

The other crusaders and guardsmen had gotten themselves up off the floor and were wading into the fray as well. The half-steel dragon joined in, and they pushed the invaders back. Step by step they cleared the archer's platform, tossing the bodies over the side and into the moat as they went.

When the final goblin had been dispatched, Purdun dropped to one knee to catch his breath. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and brushed his sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes with his other.

Tammsel handed him a sheepskin full of water.

Purdun nodded his thanks as he looked up at his long shy;time friend. They had been in a lot of fights together. Most of them had involved defending then-Baron Valon Morkann from the Duke of Dusk and the agents of Tethyr. The cru shy;saders had stopped four attempts on Valon's life. They had kept him around long enough to see him become king of the newest nation in Faerыn-Erlkazar.

Now here they were, defending their new country from deep inside its borders.

Purdun poured the cool liquid over his face and into his mouth. It mixed with the dirt and perspiration, turning it salty.

"Do you think we'll ever see the end to the fighting in Erlkazar?" he asked, handing the skin back to Tammsel.

The half-steel dragon shrugged. "Maybe not in our lifetime." He took a drink of water. "It's hard starting a new country, and the Baron Valon-"

"He's King Valon now," corrected Purdun.

"Ah, yes," replied Tammsel, "I've called him 'baron' for so long, I still haven't taught myself to make the change."

"Just don't let him hear you say that."

Tammsel smiled. "He hasn't had the title even a year. I suspect he sometimes makes the mistake himself."

"They're coming over the back wall!" shouted a messenger in the courtyard.

Lord Purdun jumped to his feet and grabbed Tammsel by the arm. "Come on."

The two crusaders ran down the steps, through the courtyard, and directly into the center of Zerith Hold. The interior was quiet and unoccupied. The grand halls and ornately appointed dining rooms had been left as they were before the goblin army had reached the gates. It felt odd, seeing the tables set for dinner and the tapestries neatly hanging on the walls, while outside a war raged.

Through the reception areas, Purdun and Tammsel ran for the other end of the hold, toward the armory and barracks. The doors to all the officers' quarters were open with no one inside. The sound of fighting echoed down the stone hallway as they closed in on the back gate.

Through the stables, the two men burst out into the mustering grounds. One of their fellow crusaders, Rysodyl Boughstrong-the most muscular elf Purdun had ever encountered-was leading the defense. He had a sword in each hand, and pointed one at an oncoming goblin, then lopped its head off with the other.

The mustering grounds were used exclusively by Lord Purdun's army. Mounted units gathered there before heading out on patrols. It had been added onto Zerith Hold when it became clear that the army was going to outgrow the two-hundred-year-old keep's existing barracks.

The gate was heavily guarded, but the wall wasn't as high there as it was at the portcullis off the main court shy;yard, or the rest of the hold. The original, higher wall was where the stables emptied out and was a fallback point in case the mustering grounds were overrun-and that time was at hand.

Goblins rolled over the wall at two points, dropping down in front of the blades of the troops waiting below. So far, they hadn't managed to get more than a few of their number over at any one time, and Boughstrong had the situation well in hand. He stood beside the other men, slicing up the goblins one at a time as they came.

"How are they getting over the wall?" shouted Purdun, his voice competing with the squealing of a dying goblin. "The tree ladders again?"

Boughstrong shook his head. "No. They're forming goblin pyramids, kneeling atop each other's backs to let others climb over. It's not happening everywhere yet, but only because the main force hasn't figured out they can get in this way."

"How many are out there?"

"Maybe a hundred. Half are stacked up on top of one another," replied the elf. "I can handle this. I'll send a runner if we need-"

Boughstrong's words were cut short as he was knocked to the ground by a four-legged black beast.

"Worgs!" came the cry.

But it was too late. Boughstrong already had one atop his chest.

Purdun swung down on the rider-a red-skinned Kuldin Peaks goblin. His sword was intercepted by the worg, its teeth biting down on the blade with a clang.

Purdun pulled back, slipping the sword out of the beast's jaws and cutting a huge gash in its foul gums as he did. The creature yelped and snapped its teeth, but the crusader dodged away, just barely getting out from under its fangs as they clamped down.

With a hiss, Tammsel leaped on the worg, wrapping his arms around the mount's neck and tackling it to the ground. The rider was thrown from its back, as the half-steel dragon and the filthy beast rolled across the dusty flagstones. The worg howled, its teeth making a loud snapping each time it tried to bite into the man on its back.

Purdun quickly dispatched the downed goblin, cutting its body in two with a mighty cleave. Then he helped Boughstrong to his feet.

"Ready to fight?"

The elf nodded and picked up his swords.

Three more worgs bounded over the wall, leaping over the crusaders' heads deeper into the mustering grounds.

Purdun and Boughstrong turned to face them. The man and the elf had their backs to the outer wall. The worgs' leap had put them close to the open doors to Zerith Hold-closer than Purdun and Boughstrong. Nothing stood between the invaders and the undefended inside of the hold.

"We can't let them get inside," shouted Purdun, and he flung himself at the first rider.

The soldiers at the wall followed his lead, spreading out around the worgs.

On the ground, Tammsel continued to wrestle. Fur flew, and blood splashed. They traded claw blows and snapped at each other's throats. It was a fight to the death, two primal forces struggling for survival.

Boughstrong swept around to the right of Purdun to circle behind the closest worg rider. The move confused the hulking mount, because it snapped at the air, first toward one crusader and then the other. The goblin on its back tried to control it, but it was no use; the beast, not the rider, was in charge.

The worg lunged at Boughstrong, and Purdun slashed its tail from behind. The creature let out a yelp and spun around, growling. But that's all it had time for. The elf's flanking move had worked, and he came down on the beast with his blades, severing both hind legs.

The worg's rear end dropped to the ground, little more than a bloody stump, and the creature curled up on itself. It yowled, a helpless moaning wail, and pulled itself in circles with its front legs. Confused and desperate, it flailed on the ground, trying to salve its wounds. In the process, the worg pinned its goblin rider to the ground, smashing it to a pulp with its heavy, hairy frame as it squirmed in agony.

Another yelp echoed through the mustering grounds, overtopping all the other sounds of fighting. Tammsel got to his feet, the worg he had been wrestling gripped in one hand-his dragonlike claws buried in its throat. The creature pawed weakly at his arms, struggling to breathe. Gashes in its sides wept blood and pus, and its tail stuck out straight from its body.

The yelping stopped as the worg expired. Its body fell limp, hanging from Tammsel's claws like a freshly slaughtered cow on a meat hook.

The other soldiers had dispatched one of the final two worgs when the last one turned and made a break for the open door to Zerith Hold.

"You men," shouted Purdun, pointing to half a dozen soldiers close to the door, "after him!"

But his order was drowned out by the growls of five more worgs as they came leaping over the wall. Two men were caught off guard, torn to shreds by a frenzy of claws and teeth.

Purdun looked out at the mustering grounds. They weren't making any progress. The goblins would continue to get over the wall, and eventually more of them would get into the open back door. They really didn't need to hold that part of the keep. It just wasn't smart to stay there.

"Fall back!" he ordered. "Everyone inside the hold. We're ceding the mustering grounds."

The men did as they were told, disengaging from the goblin riders and bolting for the heavy doors at the back of Zerith Hold. Purdun, Boughstrong, and Tammsel took up the rear, covering the retreat. They stood side by side, fighting slowly back, as the worgs and their goblin riders stalked forward, trying to get past and into the hold.

"Inside, now!" Purdun bolted for the opening.

The elf and the half-dragon followed suit, dashing into the waiting door, the goblin riders right on their heels.

The cry went up among the men: "Shut it!"

It moved slowly as they shoved. The heavy wood and iron door had been designed to be difficult to open and as a result was also difficult to close. The old iron hinges creaked and complained as they went, and the worgs clawed at the opening, their fang-filled snouts reaching inside for whatever they could grab hold of.

Soldiers stabbed at the snapping beasts and their riders. When one would retreat, another would take its place, blocking the door from fully closing.

"Put your back into it!" shouted Purdun. He squatted down and pushed with all his might, his shoulders pressed against the heavy wood and iron bands.

The door moved farther, banging into the worgs. They growled, tearing at the wood with their claws and fangs.

Their riders jabbed their swords into the opening, creating a further barrier to getting it closed.

"All together!" shouted Tammsel. "One, two, three-now!"

Everyone who wasn't pushing the door lunged at the opening with their weapons. Blades scissored over one another into the gap. Eyes were gouged out, teeth cut loose, and paws torn to shreds. The soldiers' collective attack forced the worgs back, and the last few inches of the gap were cleared out.

"Push!"

The men groaned, straining with all they had, and the door slammed closed.

The sound of the heavy wooden crossbeam sliding into place brought a wave of relief washing through Purdun, and he took a huge gulp of air. It felt good to rest, his back leaning against the solid old wood of the door. But there was still a battle to be fought, and a worg loose inside his home.

Pushing himself away from the door, he took off into the hold.

"Half of you stay here. The rest follow me." He waved the men after him as he bounded away, Boughstrong, Tammsel, and a host of soldiers right behind.

Moving down the stone hallway, the men peeled off one at a time, searching the rooms as they went. As they cleared them, they rejoined the group. It didn't take them long to search the entire army wing of the hold, and they continued on.

Reaching the entry, they found what they were looking for.

The worg stood its ground, growling at half a dozen pikemen who had it cornered in one of the formal dining rooms. The large table in the center had been turned over, and the dishes were in shards on the floor. The worg's goblin rider had been unseated and stood beside it, waving a short sword frantically back and forth.

The pikemen closed in on the pair slowly, backing them up against the wall. When the worg realized it was cornered, it panicked and leaped at the closest soldier, only to be gutted from throat to belly by the head of a pike.

Seeing its mount fall to the ground, its chest open wide, the goblin tried to skitter under the overturned table. It clawed at the cloth and detritus on the floor, but there was no room, and it too received a belly full of steel.

"I guess that takes care of that," said Purdun. "Well done, men."

Slipping his sword into its sheath, he took one last look at the ruined dining room, then headed out to take stock of the situation in the courtyard.

Outside, things had reached a relative calm. Archers on the wall occasionally lobbed arrows down on the goblins. Soldiers hurried back and forth on the lower level, tending to the wounded and collecting supplies. Bundles of bread and buckets of water were being passed around, as everyone took advantage of the break in the fighting to prepare for more of the same.

Purdun took a loaf of bread, tore it in thirds, and handed a piece to Tammsel and Boughstrong. "I wonder how long this will last."

Tammsel bit into the warm bread. "The food or the calm?"

The relative silence was broken by the sound of a thousand goblins talking all at once. Their voices rose to an excited frenzy. Then all went quiet.

Rysodyl Boughstrong bounded up the stairs to the archer's platform. He glanced down over the edge, then turned around, cupping his hands to his mouth.

"The goblin king has arrived!"

Lord Purdun hurried to the stairs, his half-steel dragon companion right behind him. Reaching the top of the crenellated wall, he looked down into the sea of goblins surrounding his keep. From the west, the goblin king approached, working his way down the road.

Easily three times the size of the second largest goblin on the battlefield, he shuffled to the top of the hill, seemingly in no hurry. In one massive fist he dragged behind him what looked like the throwing arm from a ruined trebuchet. It still had the basket attached to one end-a souvenir from a previous battle.

Even for a goblin, he was an ugly creature. His greenish skin stretched tight over rippling forearms and shoulders. He wore a collection of ragged furs, draped haphazardly over his chest and back. In some cases it looked as if the brute had done little more than bash a skunk over the head and tie its tail in with the rest of the refuse hanging from his body.

Warts covered his arms and forehead. His nose grew out from his face crooked and cocked, as if it had been broken and broken again, each time pushing out in a new direction. And a mop of stringy, greasy hair hung from the top of his head, flopping down his back, cascading over his shoulders, and getting caught under his feet as he trundled forward.

Over the hair, the goblin king sported a tarnished, twisted, and broken copper crown. It looked as if it may have at one time been the wheel of an elaborate coach. Whatever it had been in a previous life, it had seen a lot of fighting and had suffered for it.

A host of red-skinned guards rode beside him atop their worgs. They shoved aside the other goblins, clearing the way for their king. Those goblins that didn't move quickly enough were trampled underfoot or snapped to pieces in the mighty jaws of the worgs.

"So that's the famed King Ertyk Uhl," said Purdun, sizing up his opponent.

He'd heard much about the goblin king. Ertyk Uhl was the first to unite the goblins of both the Kuldin and High Peaks. The resulting union had created the Starrock tribe, the group Purdun and the crusaders had been fighting in Duhlnarim for months. The war had gone on for nearly an entire year, but never before had the goblin king appeared in person.

When Ertyk Uhl reached the top of the hill, he stopped and turned to face his collected army. The goblin king raised his battle club high, then swung it toward Zerith Hold, the loose trebuchet basket flopping over and thudding to the ground in front of him.

The silence suddenly ended as the goblins all started chattering again at the same time. Large groups formed, each working intently on some collective goal. What that was remained to be seen.

Whatever they were doing, it wasn't attacking Zerith Hold, and it gave the crusaders another rare moment to stop and think. Heading back down into the courtyard, Purdun, Tammsel, and Boughstrong sat on the edge of a low stone wall to talk.

"This is never going to stop," started Purdun. "Now that their king is here, they are going to pound us day and night. They have the numbers to rest in shifts and keep us on the defensive until we break."

"I am glad to see that you have finally come to your senses," replied Tammsel. "It is time we abandon Zerith Hold. We have put up a good fight, but there is no sense in giving up lives here. We can live to fight another day, when we have more resources and on our own terms."

"I am not suggesting that we flee," replied Purdun. "There are too many of them, and they have us completely surrounded. Even if we were to make it out alive, where would we go? Back to Tethyr? We fought long and hard to separate ourselves from their rule, and now you want to simply go back and ask if we can return to their bosom?"

"Of course not," replied Tammsel. "We are a free nation, and I intend to keep it that way."

"Good." Purdun slapped the ranger on the shoulder, smiling.

"If you're not suggesting escape, then what are you suggesting?" asked Boughstrong.

"I am suggesting that we go on the offensive."

"On the offensive? Are you crazy?" denounced the elf. "The only advantage we have is this keep. These walls are all that has held back that nearly inexhaustible army of vermin. Why would we give that up?"

"We have to kill their king," defended Purdun. "Without him, they will break. They fear him. They push on to their deaths because we are less frightening than he. But if we kill him, if they see him fall in battle, they will fear us. They will lose their nerve and their discipline, and they will break and run." Purdun looked to his fellow crusaders. "We cannot kill them all. And if we try to wait them out, then I suspect we will not make it through the night. We have no choice. King Ertyk Uhl must die."

The elf and the half-steel dragon looked at each other, then at Lord Purdun.

"We are with you," they said in unison.

"Here it comes!"

The men in the courtyard scattered, running for cover.

Over the wall, the objects flew, screeching as they came. They smelled of rotten flesh and fungus.

The projectiles came crashing to the ground in the center of Zerith Hold-piles of High Peaks goblins. They had been hurled over the wall, swords in hand.

Purdun ran back to the archer's platform. There on the edge of the large hill, the goblins had managed to construct a pair of rickety catapults. They were loading batches of goblins onto the lever arm and hurling them over the wall.

Purdun turned away and ran back down the stairs. "To the portcullis!" he shouted.

The goblins had been tied together for their voyage over the defenses of Zerith Hold. When they landed, those on top had survived the crushing impact. Those who had been unlucky enough to end up on the bottom were little more than squished piles of flesh and broken bones.

The survivors cut themselves free and ran to the portcullis and the cranking mechanism that operated the doors and drawbridge. They swarmed over the handful of soldiers standing beside the door, knocking them down and beating them into the grounds- their screeches echoing off the stone walls.

Purdun and Tammsel arrived first, diving into the pile of squirming goblins-Purdun with his long sword, Tammsel with his silvery claws. The blood of their enemies flowed from the ends of their weapons, but for every goblin they cut down, two more came hurling over the wall.

"We've got to go now," said Purdun, turning and cutting the head from another goblin. "They can waste half their number throwing them over the wall, and we will still lose this fight." He came back again, cutting down two more goblins with a long, wide swing. "Eventually more are going to get inside, and all will be lost." He spun, slashing a yellow goblin across the chest, then turning and kicking another right in the groin, sending it to the ground, face first. "We have no choice. We need to surprise them. We need to kill their king, and we need to go now!"

Tammsel clawed his way through four goblins, one after the other, as he listened to his friend. Then he nodded. "I'm with you."

Purdun looked over the courtyard and spotted Boughstrong near the center, scissoring goblins to pieces before they could untangle themselves from their squished counterparts.

"We're going." Purdun motioned to the door. "Ready your men."

The elf simply nodded, finishing his gruesome work, then turning to speak with the soldiers standing nearby.

Purdun disengaged, taking two huge steps back. The goblins hissed at him, crouching and glaring. When he didn't make a move to attack, they skulked toward the portcullis and went about getting it open. Purdun let them do their work.

"Crusaders! Guardsmen! With me!" he shouted.

The goblins turned the huge wooden crank that rolled up the chain holding the portcullis. The massive iron gate began to grind open, lifting from the ground and exposing the heavy spikes on its bottom edge.

Purdun waited until it was high enough for him to duck underneath, then he made his move, leaving the relatively safe confines of Zerith Hold to take the fight to his enemy.

The drawbridge wasn't even all the way down before he and his men swarmed over. The unholy sea of goblins seethed below, waiting for the opportunity to flood into Zerith Hold. Their eyes grew large as they saw the lord of the keep come swooping down on them, riding the drawbridge like a mount into battle.

There was no time for Purdun to consider what he had gotten himself into. There was no room here for fear. As he came to the ground, he shouted a battle cry.

"For Erlkazar!"

And the killing began in earnest.

Purdun waded in, his sword blazing a trail through goblins and worgs alike. His men followed him into battle, screaming at the top of their lungs as they fell upon their victims. The ground before the drawbridge grew damp with blood, and the offensive surged forward.

So eager were the goblins to get inside the hold, that they pressed against one another, pushing and shoving to be the first in line-the first to be cut down. They filled the battlefield for as far as the eye could see. They stomped down the bushes and the small trees, covered up the stones and dirt on the ground, turning what seemed the whole world into a blur of yellow and red.

Archers on the platform high above rained down arrows, softening up the milling mob of goblins. Soldiers on the ground cut their way through the pressed flesh. All the while Purdun, Tammsel, and Boughstrong led the way.

They pushed out off the drawbridge, slowly working to the center of the goblin army. Worg riders swept in behind them, closing the circle and surrounding the advancing force as they had Zerith Hold.

They were cut off from any form of retreat, but that didn't matter. Retreat had never been an option.

King Ertyk Uhl bellowed something in his garbled, inarticulate language that incited his troops into a frenzy. The goblins surged forward, those in the back stampeding over those in the front. Their frenetic push hit the front line of human and elf soldiers, and they buckled, dividing them into two unequal groups. Purdun, Tammsel, and the bulk of the force remained intact, but Boughstrong was cut off, separated from the larger army with a much smaller band of soldiers.

Goblins filled the gap like a wedge, further separating the two groups. There was no time to try to regroup, no room to maneuver. There was only fighting.

Purdun and Tammsel stood side by side at the front of the pack. Goblins came at them two and four at a time, and the cru shy;saders took them apart. They fought for their lives, fought for their home. But the goblin army was a nearly insurmountable force. They simply had the numbers, and though they died by the dozens, more and more piled into the empty spaces.

The men behind them grew tired. Their swords moved slower as their arms ran out of strength. As well trained as they were, there was a limit to how much any one man could take, and they were quickly getting to the threshold.

The ring of goblins around the soldiers constricted, and Purdun was forced back a step. A blade slipped in under his defenses, catching him just below his arm, right between the plates of his armor. He hissed and grabbed at his side. Blood covered his fingers, but there was little more to do than shake it off and continue fighting.

Beside him, Tammsel too was bleeding. He'd taken several wounds along the arms and had a good gash on the left side of his face. There may have been other wounds, but Purdun couldn't see them through the goblin flesh dripping from the half-steel dragon's claws.

Surrounded, outnumbered, outside the walls of Zerith Hold, and not making any progress toward their goal, things were looking grim. Then out of the corner of his eye, Purdun caught sight of Boughstrong. He and his men had managed to slip out from the middle of the mob, and they approached the top of the large hill-and King Ertyk Uhl.

"Up there," shouted Purdun, hoping that the sight of the elf nearing the goal would rally his troops. "It's Boughstrong." He pointed over the heads of the goblins at the crusader and his men.

A cheer went up behind Purdun and Tammsel as a renewed surge of vigor swept through them.

Boughstrong's men had lost half their own number, but they had reached the goblin king. With military precision, they cut through Ertyk Uhl's worg rider retinue, clearing a path to their target.

Boughstrong himself stepped up to the goblin king, his blades poised, ready to strike. From a distance, the green-skinned leader of the Starrock tribe looked quite large. But standing next to the muscular elf, Ertyk Uhl looked abso shy;lutely huge.

Boughstrong cut into the hulking goblin with four quick attacks. His blades struck the king dead center in the chest, sending chunks of foul fur flying in all directions. Ertyk Uhl looked down on the elf with his goopy, half-closed eyes, as if he'd just noticed a fly buzzing around his nose. Then, with a sigh and a heave, the goblin king came down on Boughstrong with his war club. The basket of the ruined trebuchet picked up speed as it came over the goblin's enor shy;mous shoulder, and catapulted over the top of the lever arm, hitting its target.

Boughstrong's head disappeared between his shoulders, pounded down through his neck and into his chest. The elf's arms went limp, and his whole body fell sideways-he was killed instantly from the impact. The goblin king kicked the corpse down the hill, watching it roll into a pile of dead worgs.

Purdun felt his stomach seize up, then drop. He could sense the energy and vigor draining from the men, watching their friend-and their best hope for success-fail and fall.

Behind him, the call went up: "Zerith Hold has fallen!"

Purdun turned to see the portcullis all the way up and the drawbridge covered with scurrying red and yellow bodies. He could see into the courtyard to the doors beyond. The goblins had reached the entry and filled the hallways. His home was lost. All he had fought for was gone.

A sharp pain brought him back to the battle-a worg clamping down on his arm. With the hilt of his sword, Purdun smashed the beast in the back of the head, pounding the heavy metal against the creature's skull. Then another bit down on his leg. Growling and snapping, it tore at his shin and calf.

Tammsel appeared out of the fray, grabbing hold of both worgs with his powerful claws and trying to pry them loose. But the more they struggled, the more the creatures' fangs dug past Purdun's armor and into his flesh. He thrashed from side to side, trying to break free of the worgs. Then his ears were filled with a jarring snap. His body shuddered in pain and his vision went white.

A calm settled over the Lord of Zerith Hold, and he felt his fatigued body slip backward. His leg was broken, his shoulder dislocated, and he bled from several dozen teeth wounds. He could hear the screams of the people inside Zerith Hold as the entire goblin army rushed through the gates.

He looked up at Tammsel. His friend had a look of utter determination on his face. Nothing was going to stop him. If anyone was going to make it out of this alive, it would be Jivam Tammsel. Purdun considered himself lucky to have counted the half-steel dragon among his friends.

As he fell onto his back, the worgs let go. Tammsel managed to pull them away, tossing one back into the thinning press of goblins-and tearing the other to shreds with his bare hands. Everything seemed to slow, and the battle swirling around Zerith Hold came almost to a standstill.

In the near distance, trumpets sounded. Purdun wasn't sure if they were really there or if he'd imagined them as he drifted off into unconsciousness. Turning his head he looked up the hill to see horses riding into view.

Atop the lead horse, Purdun recognized a familiar face, and hope returned him from the brink.

"Korox!" he breathed, sitting up and holding his torn shoulder against his body with his good arm.

King Valon Morkann and his crusader son Korox had returned, riding triumphantly at the head of fifty men. But it was not the men who were going to save Zerith Hold. It was the five-hundred Shieldbreaker Ogres who marched behind them.

Each ogre was easily the same size as the goblin king. Filthy, ugly creatures, they wore tattered cow hides and bits of scavenged metal with improvised spikes jutting out at odd angles. Many carried broken tree trunks or large rocks in their massive hands. Others wielded the bones of dead animals or the occasional rusty steel sword.

"To the hold!" shouted King Valon, and the men rode into battle, their unlikely allies right behind.

Mass panic broke out among the goblin raiders. King Ertyk Uhl let out what sounded like a strangled wail, then he fled the battlefield, lumbering off the same way he had come. A dozen ogres padded after him, their footfalls shaking the ground as they chased the goblin king.

Spotting Purdun and Tammsel on the ground, Korox kicked his horse and pounded into the fray. He swung his sword like a mallet, in long, looping circles, taking the heads from three goblins as he made his way to the crusaders.

Reaching his friends, he leaped from his horse, sending the goblins and worgs scattering.

"No luck in Tethyr, I gather?" asked Tammsel, eyeing the fifty riders making their way to the drawbridge. "At least you got away with your life."

Korox shook his head. "We didn't go to Tethyr," replied the newest prince of Erlkazar. "My father managed to negotiate help a little closer to home."

The battle wasn't over, but it was clear the tide had changed. Without their king, the goblins were in disarray, and they scattered before the ogre forces.

Korox and Tammsel helped lift Purdun back to his feet, hefting his weight between the two of them.

"How did you manage to get the ogres to agree to an alliance?" asked Purdun, wincing from the pain in his shoulder.

"Turns out they hate the goblins even more than we do," replied Korox. "Come on. This fight's not over yet, and we need to get you fixed up before it is."

And the men left the battlefield to begin preparations for retaking Zerith Hold.