Realms of War

Balling up one hand, he punched the first goblin he encoun­tered 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 long­time 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 cru­saders 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 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