The Land: Founding (Chaos Seeds Book 1)

CHAPTER 9

“How much mana do you have left,” Richter asked.

“I’ve managed to recover about thirty five points. Enough to imbue two or three arrows or one very strong strike.”

Richter absorbed this information silently. At his current state, his Wisdom had only ten points. That equated to one mana point regenerated every ten seconds. Sion’s Wisdom had fifteen points, which would increase mana regeneration but not by much. The risks of waiting for full regeneration outweighed the benefits though, when those roving patrols of goblins were factored in. And so the two Companions made their way forward into what was clearly not a natural formation. Though the outside looked like rough-hewn stone, the inside of the cave, showed tight fitting blocks comprising a hallway of grey marble. Richter could only imagine that the opening, having been exposed to the elements, had eroded over time while deeper into the structure, the original architecture had been preserved.

Their footsteps echoed as they moved forward. There was a sense of heaviness and age to the place. It was clear from the lack of trash and offal that not even the goblins had the nerve to disrespect this place. They listened intently, but heard no signs of life. The sun had set as they made their way back to the encampment, but it would not have mattered if it was noon on a clear day. Sunlight had never reached the depths of these passages. Using a torch taken from the goblin encampment, they moved forward in a small sphere of flickering light, the entire rest of the world seemingly draped in darkness.

On they walked for several hundred yards, steadily going deeper as the floor sloped downward. After a final turn of the hallway, they walked into a large gallery. The ceiling reached a hundred feet into the air, and multiple hallways branched out irregularly from the roughly circular room. All of this was of less importance, however, than the room’s occupants. They had finally found their quarry. In the middle of the room, there stood a large goblin with a reddish hue to his green skin. There was a second slightly taller figure reclining against a large mound.

The goblin chief was just over four feet tall and powerfully built. It wore leather boots and a tunic made of poorly sewn together animal skins. Over this was a chain mail shirt with a large rent in the side, most likely created when the chief had killed the previous owner. A large axe was by its side and buckler hung from its arm. It leaned heavily upon its weapon, and glared with all of the animosity its weakened body could afford it.

Its companion was five feet tall or would have been if it was not hunched over. It was covered in black robes. Dark splotches gave a matted look to the rough material in places, giving that blacker than black appearance that is only imparted by congealed blood. It had sickly mustard yellow skin and was completely bald. Its face was more human than the other goblins, but its beady eyes imparted the same malicious glare as the goblins. The deep wrinkles on its face gave it the appearance of old age. It held a staff in one hand with a small animal skull attached to the top and red veins of color glowing up its black length, the color throbbing at the pace of a measured heartbeat.

“Hobgoblin,” Sion spat.

The mage nodded, the same smug smile on its face not changing. It was the chief who spoke in guttural but clearly understood common tongue, “Why are you here? Why has a human allied with this forest rat?”

“You are in the Forest of Nadria, filth,” Sion shouted back. “Answer instead why you, a fire goblin from the mountain tribes has come to sully this ancient place. What is your purpose?”

A raspy chuckle came from the hobgoblin. With a loud breathy whisper, sounding like the crumpling of old parchment, “Have you forgotten so quickly? Have your people forgotten so easily the Places of Power that exist in the world? We are here with a glorious purpose. To reawaken forces and corrupt them. We will cleanse the Forest of —Urghk!”

All Richter saw was a blue flicker, and then the hobgoblin’s body was flying backward. Looking to his right, Sion shrugged, “I decided it was time to fight, not talk.”

Guess that makes me Eastwood, Richter thought with a grin, drawing his own arrow and firing at the goblin chief. The chief blocked with his buckler, clearly not easy prey like the dead goblins outside the cave. He drew again, confident that the two of them could overcome the sickened goblin, but then the mound that hobgoblin had leaned against turned around. Richter was suddenly staring into the bloodshot eyes and frothed muzzle of a rabid cave bear. You have got to be kidding me! That was Richter’s repeating thought as he began to launch arrow after arrow at the bear. His short bow lacked the power to deeply penetrate the bear’s body, unfortunately.

Richter dodged to the side as the bear took a swipe at him with its massive paw. It still caught him in the side though, and flung him several feet through the air. He landed hard, losing fifteen percent of his health from a glancing strike! Rolling with the blow, he regained his feet only to see an axe head swinging at him from the left. Falling on his backside again, he felt a brush of air on his face as the passage of the axe passed only a finger length over his head. Dropping his bow, he drew and threw his dagger in a weak underhanded toss towards the goblin chief’s face. The buckler again moved to block the strike, knocking the projectile to the ground.

The distraction allowed Richter to regain his feet and draw his short sword. He began to swing his blade with an untrained, but furious barrage at the goblin chief. He had to hope that Sion could occupy the bear. The boom he heard from his right followed by a roar of pain and anger gave him hope for a respite from the animal. As he rained blows upon his foe, it was clear that the poison had taken a toll. A particularly heavy blow drove the chief down to one knee. Grabbing the buckler attached to the goblin’s right forearm, he pulled the chief forward off balance. The goblin fell to an awkward stance on all fours, one shoulder higher as it braced the buckler against the ground.

The goblin chief’s prone position offered Richter the opportunity he needed. With his stamina lowered to 30%, he reversed his grip on the short sword and drove the blade down through the goblin’s back. The two feet of blade penetrated the chainmail covering him and sank until only a few inches remained free. The red goblin shuddered and then died.

Turning to his right, Richter saw Sion running from the bear. The sprite was quickly losing ground. Scooping up the axe he threw it with all of his strength! The weapon was strangely unwieldy though, and only struck a glancing blow. It did pull the bear’s attention though, and it turned to lumber toward its latest aggressor. As it hobbled its way toward him, it was clear that it had suffered damage, but also was more than hale enough to still be able to cause him serious injury. Placing his foot on the body of the chief, he attempted to pull his sword out of its body. The sword was stuck fast in the body!

At his current rate of exhaustion Richter could barely muster the strength to continue. An arrow from Sion struck the bear in its hamstring causing its leg to collapse. Richter sighed in relief, the bear was only a few feet away when it dropped. Richter drew his battered knife and prepared for a last stand as it continued to crawl towards him. That was when he saw Sion lightly jump on its back and run swiftly towards its neck. With a sharp jab, the sprite plunged his sword into the crook of the bears neck and front leg. When the sword came out, there was a bright red spout of arterial spray. As its lifeblood spilled on the floor, the bear made a pitiful mewling noise and then finally collapsed.

Feeling exhausted, Sion looked up just in time to see a dark bolt of energy surging from the magician’s staff. The only cover available was the bear’s body. Sion fell to place the animal’s body between him and the hobgoblin. There was no great blast of force like with the imbued arrows. Instead dark tendrils of magic crawled over the bear’s body liquefying the flesh and causing large gobbets of meat to slough off. Richter picked up his bow again, and shot an arrow at the mage. The results were less than impressive. The arrow bounced off an invisible barrier surrounding the black clad figure. The red light on the mage’s staff began to throb faster and with more intense red color, looking like lava seen through basalt.

There could not be much time until the mage released whatever horrible spell he was building up to. Basic rule of thumb was that the longer a spell took to cast, the more powerful the result. This would most likely be no different. With no time to lose, Richter knocked another arrow, giving his complete focus on imbuing it with his mana. After only a moment it glowed golden. He released, and this time the arrow maintained its shine as it streaked towards the mage. It too struck an invisible barrier but the extra force added caused the hobgoblin to stagger. Once it lost focus on the spell it was building, the light gathering at the staff’s tip died. A second and possibly more important consequence, was that the hobgoblin grabbed its head in both hands and shouted out in pain. The backlash from the interrupted spell must have been horrible based on its cries.

Nocking another arrow on the string, Richter once again focused his magic in the arrow, pouring more energy than before. For one, then two heart beats, he held his bow at full extension as the golden glow brightened and black streamers seemed to cross over the golden shell, then he released. The resultant boom deafened both he and Sion momentarily. The mage must have lost the ability to maintain its shield with the backlash. The arrow flew unimpeded and then detonated on target. The chest of the yellow-skinned mage caved inward and a red mist appeared in the air. The staff fell from its outstretched fingers as its body was flung across the room.

The stench of blood, viscera and feces filled the room after the fierce fight. The two Companions stood looking at their vanquished enemies. Having given it their all, they both stumbled towards the center of the room and the body of the slain goblin chief. Standing there above its body they suddenly heard raised voices and angry cries coming from the tunnel. It could only mean one thing. A patrol had returned!

Richter looked to Sion, “Run. I don’t have much stamina left to resist them, but I will be reborn if I die. You won’t.”

Grimly Sion looked back, “The only known way to the surface is the direction they are coming from. Personally I have no interest in dying alone in the dark at the claws of some subterranean monster. I will stand or fall with a friend!” With that he stuck out his arm, which Richter clasped, each holding the others wrist.

Sion released his grip and said, “Now move quickly. We have one chance. Goblins are cowards at heart, and will always bow to those of greater strength. Take the axe and remove the chief’s head.”

Not wasting time asking more questions, Richter picked up the axe. Again it seemed somehow to want to squirm out of his grasp, but his control was sufficient for this task. He struck down at the chief’s neck, severing it in two strokes. Seeing a clear gem by the chief’s body, he also picked that up and put it in his pouch.

“Now pick up the head, and stand by me with the axe at your side.”

And so the Companions stood, awaiting the goblins as the noise of their approach grew louder. The sprite was covered in gore and blood, a large tear in his cheek where the bear had scored a hit upon him. The human was favoring one leg. The wound from his skirmish with the scouts had reopened during this latest fight. Richter’s green armor was bespeckled with blood, both red and black. Despite his exhaustion, he stood tall and held the chief’s head by the hair. Drippings of blood making a soft pat pat on the floor beneath it as the head surrendered its remaining fluids. This was the sight that greeted the goblins that filed into the open space of the cavern.

Sion said in the common tongue, “This is our land! We will nourish it with your blood as we did the blood of your comrades! The Land is always thirsty!”

Richter followed in the goblin’s own tongue, “I have taken the head and axe of your leader. I WILL take your souls as well! This was not enough,” and with that he tossed the chief’s head to lie at their feet. Then shouted “Kill them!”

Sion released an arrow, bright blue with magic at the one warrior in the group, killing it instantly. Where he had mustered enough mana to imbue another shot Richter didn’t know, but he was absolutely thankful! In the same moment, Richter ran at the remaining scouts screaming with the axe raised above his head. This was too much for the simple minded goblins. The group had just walked over the bodies of dozens of their people, and it had only been the strong will of the warrior that had propelled them forward. Seeing a blood drenched warrior running at them, they squealed and ran, dropping weapons behind them in their urgency to escape.

Richter chased them only to the edge of the chamber, before stopping and lowering the axe. The damned weapon seemed as much a risk to him as the enemy. As he watched the back of the last goblin turn the corner, a short gasp escaped him, followed by a loud grunt, and quickly followed by laughter. The type of laughter that can only come from the mouth of one who has passed through the shadow of death’s domain and come out alive. He laughed to release all the tension he had accumulated through the dark day. He laughed in vain attempt to balance out the horror of the slaughter he had committed. He laughed at the ridiculousness that he could still be alive! As the peals of manic laughter followed the goblin scouts, they ran all the harder, out of the cave, away from the ruins and into the forest. They met up with other patrols, and the fear in their faces, convinced those patrols to flee the forest as well. The goblins never fully rested until they had reached their marshy homeland. When they arrived, they passed along the horrible tale of the wild laughing demon that had slain so many of their people.