DISCLAIMER: I claim Gorbath and all of his army. The rest is just wishful thinking.
Chapter One
The Labyrinth. It is an amazing thing from any viewpoint.
But in the morning when the sun rises, brilliant, scarlet rays illuminate its jigsaw of passages. It is truly glorious. No earthly visage could ever hope to match the beauty of the sparkling walls that surround the goblin city. And beyond the city a great castle stands, a castle made all the more imposing by the simple huts surrounding it. It is a place of power and of mystery. In the red light, it appears to be bathed in blood.
And within the castle lives a doomed man of inhuman elegance, a man who has touched the dreams of so many, and yet is fated to spend eternity with the ashes of failed love, destroyed by a curse of his own making. He sits alone, a roaring fire in the hearth, eyes staring into the flames but face emotionless. He is lost in tortured memories, unaware of the passage of time, unaware even of what transpires in his own throne room.
The shadows are alive. They creep along the edges of the light, dropping into crevices and silently leaping through doorways. They navigate the Labyrinth with studied ease and slip swiftly through the city without a sound. By the time they enter the castle, they have begun to coalesce into forms. There is the jingle of metal, the clatter of armor, the careful tapping of creeping feet on the stone floor. An entire army of shadow warriors, holding the castle without lifting a finger. It might have been called a peaceful conquest...but for Gorbath of Baccha.
The supreme commander of the shadow warriors, it was Gorbath who led his army into the throne room expecting to find the Goblin King. Instead, he found hordes of goblins sprawled across the room, piled on top of each other, sleeping contentedly in their own filth. It was Gorbath of Baccha who ordered the massacre. It was Gorbath who slit the first throat of a goblin too drunk to protest.
And when there was no one left to kill, he sent his army to search the castle and find the Goblin King. After losing several dozen men in a room of stairs, a deputy commander finally found a hidden door. Gathering the rest of his soldiers, a group of two hundred or so, the deputy charged through the door.
So lost in his memories was the Goblin King that it was several moments before he even realized that someone was trespassing in his private chambers. By then, it was too late. He only had time to turn and realize that the invaders were not his subjects before half a dozen warriors seized him. He did not resist; there was no point. Mere soldiers could not harm the Goblin King, ruler of the Underground and sole possessor of all its magic. Manacled, he was taken to his own throne room. Only when he saw the slaughter there did he begin to realize the seriousness of the situation.
The Warlord entered. He was a strong man, a dark man, and he met the king on equal terms. He spoke in a voice that was deep and sour. "I am death and decay and all that is evil. I am Gorbath of Baccha." A simple introduction and for a moment the two
faced each other not as rivals but as nobles. Then the moment passed and the Warlord sneered, reaching towards the Goblin King. He appeared to be reaching for the king's neck but his hand grasped something on his chest instead. His grip tightened as he lifted the object.
"The medallion, the key to all the power in the land." He pulled on the cord and it tightened around the Goblin King's throat. He leaned closer. "Name me ruler of the Underground." There was no response, but the Warlord did not really expect one. He released the medallion abruptly and slammed his fist against the king's jaw. Unprepared and off balance from the heavy manacles the king stumbled, but the warriors caught him. The Warlord approached, hit him again, but still the Goblin King made no sound.
He was aware of the danger now. The Labyrinth was linked to its ruler. The Warlord couldn't kill him, but he could bring about the destruction of the Labyrinth by hurting the one who controlled it. With the Labyrinth gone, the Warlord would be able to summon the rest of his forces, those without the shadow warriors' knack of traversing the great maze. But it was too late for defense. Surrounded by an enemy army with the Warlord himself demanding to be named ruler and the goblins massacred, the Goblin King had only one choice. Retreat.
The Warlord's fist connected with his jaw. He ignored the pain, thinking only of how to escape. The next blow hit his temple, causing his vision to blur. As his eyes focused, he saw that the Warlord's attention had been diverted. A young soldier, probably of little importance, delivering a message. It was a chance, possible his only one, and he took it without thought.
The Warlord turned back in time to see the Goblin King's form dissolve into a small bird. He leapt towards it but it nimbly avoided the attack and slipped gracefully out the window. Face blotchy with anger, the Warlord roared to his army.
"Send riders. Arm them with crossbows. He must not escape." Moments later, the castle doors were flung open and dozens of men on horseback trampled through the city in pursuit of the white owl. City dwellers gaped at the scene. Until then, no one knew the castle had been seized.
The owl darted through the Labyrinth, sometimes flying along its narrow passages, sometimes gliding high above, but the riders were well trained. He found himself dodging crossbow bolts, losing speed in his effort to avoid them. He couldn't fly forever; he had to find a safe haven, someplace the Warlord would never think of looking.
Sarah. Her name was like a bell in his thoughts. He would go to Earth, a place the Warlord might not even know existed. He could find Sarah. Even if she would never help him, she would defend the Labyrinth for her friends' sakes. He remembered how beautiful she looked when they danced.
It was a split second of distraction, but it was enough. Blinding pain ripped through him. It was suddenly difficult to keep aloft. He had to escape, had to go now, before it was too late. Several crossbow bolts whizzed towards him. He could see them coming, but couldn't react. He thought of Earth, of Sarah, willed himself there.
The riders paused in confusion as their prey suddenly vanished, the bolts shot moments ago passing through the space where he had been and falling harmlessly to the ground. The horses shifted their feet nervously and the soldiers exchanged grim looks. The Warlord would not be happy.
End Chapter One
Chapter One
The Labyrinth. It is an amazing thing from any viewpoint.
But in the morning when the sun rises, brilliant, scarlet rays illuminate its jigsaw of passages. It is truly glorious. No earthly visage could ever hope to match the beauty of the sparkling walls that surround the goblin city. And beyond the city a great castle stands, a castle made all the more imposing by the simple huts surrounding it. It is a place of power and of mystery. In the red light, it appears to be bathed in blood.
And within the castle lives a doomed man of inhuman elegance, a man who has touched the dreams of so many, and yet is fated to spend eternity with the ashes of failed love, destroyed by a curse of his own making. He sits alone, a roaring fire in the hearth, eyes staring into the flames but face emotionless. He is lost in tortured memories, unaware of the passage of time, unaware even of what transpires in his own throne room.
The shadows are alive. They creep along the edges of the light, dropping into crevices and silently leaping through doorways. They navigate the Labyrinth with studied ease and slip swiftly through the city without a sound. By the time they enter the castle, they have begun to coalesce into forms. There is the jingle of metal, the clatter of armor, the careful tapping of creeping feet on the stone floor. An entire army of shadow warriors, holding the castle without lifting a finger. It might have been called a peaceful conquest...but for Gorbath of Baccha.
The supreme commander of the shadow warriors, it was Gorbath who led his army into the throne room expecting to find the Goblin King. Instead, he found hordes of goblins sprawled across the room, piled on top of each other, sleeping contentedly in their own filth. It was Gorbath of Baccha who ordered the massacre. It was Gorbath who slit the first throat of a goblin too drunk to protest.
And when there was no one left to kill, he sent his army to search the castle and find the Goblin King. After losing several dozen men in a room of stairs, a deputy commander finally found a hidden door. Gathering the rest of his soldiers, a group of two hundred or so, the deputy charged through the door.
So lost in his memories was the Goblin King that it was several moments before he even realized that someone was trespassing in his private chambers. By then, it was too late. He only had time to turn and realize that the invaders were not his subjects before half a dozen warriors seized him. He did not resist; there was no point. Mere soldiers could not harm the Goblin King, ruler of the Underground and sole possessor of all its magic. Manacled, he was taken to his own throne room. Only when he saw the slaughter there did he begin to realize the seriousness of the situation.
The Warlord entered. He was a strong man, a dark man, and he met the king on equal terms. He spoke in a voice that was deep and sour. "I am death and decay and all that is evil. I am Gorbath of Baccha." A simple introduction and for a moment the two
faced each other not as rivals but as nobles. Then the moment passed and the Warlord sneered, reaching towards the Goblin King. He appeared to be reaching for the king's neck but his hand grasped something on his chest instead. His grip tightened as he lifted the object.
"The medallion, the key to all the power in the land." He pulled on the cord and it tightened around the Goblin King's throat. He leaned closer. "Name me ruler of the Underground." There was no response, but the Warlord did not really expect one. He released the medallion abruptly and slammed his fist against the king's jaw. Unprepared and off balance from the heavy manacles the king stumbled, but the warriors caught him. The Warlord approached, hit him again, but still the Goblin King made no sound.
He was aware of the danger now. The Labyrinth was linked to its ruler. The Warlord couldn't kill him, but he could bring about the destruction of the Labyrinth by hurting the one who controlled it. With the Labyrinth gone, the Warlord would be able to summon the rest of his forces, those without the shadow warriors' knack of traversing the great maze. But it was too late for defense. Surrounded by an enemy army with the Warlord himself demanding to be named ruler and the goblins massacred, the Goblin King had only one choice. Retreat.
The Warlord's fist connected with his jaw. He ignored the pain, thinking only of how to escape. The next blow hit his temple, causing his vision to blur. As his eyes focused, he saw that the Warlord's attention had been diverted. A young soldier, probably of little importance, delivering a message. It was a chance, possible his only one, and he took it without thought.
The Warlord turned back in time to see the Goblin King's form dissolve into a small bird. He leapt towards it but it nimbly avoided the attack and slipped gracefully out the window. Face blotchy with anger, the Warlord roared to his army.
"Send riders. Arm them with crossbows. He must not escape." Moments later, the castle doors were flung open and dozens of men on horseback trampled through the city in pursuit of the white owl. City dwellers gaped at the scene. Until then, no one knew the castle had been seized.
The owl darted through the Labyrinth, sometimes flying along its narrow passages, sometimes gliding high above, but the riders were well trained. He found himself dodging crossbow bolts, losing speed in his effort to avoid them. He couldn't fly forever; he had to find a safe haven, someplace the Warlord would never think of looking.
Sarah. Her name was like a bell in his thoughts. He would go to Earth, a place the Warlord might not even know existed. He could find Sarah. Even if she would never help him, she would defend the Labyrinth for her friends' sakes. He remembered how beautiful she looked when they danced.
It was a split second of distraction, but it was enough. Blinding pain ripped through him. It was suddenly difficult to keep aloft. He had to escape, had to go now, before it was too late. Several crossbow bolts whizzed towards him. He could see them coming, but couldn't react. He thought of Earth, of Sarah, willed himself there.
The riders paused in confusion as their prey suddenly vanished, the bolts shot moments ago passing through the space where he had been and falling harmlessly to the ground. The horses shifted their feet nervously and the soldiers exchanged grim looks. The Warlord would not be happy.
End Chapter One