The Book of Warlock

The Book of Warlock 15. Aggravated Assault.

  The dawn sunrise had brought with it an unwanted gift in the form of a rift in the skies. A darkened fiery gaping hole in the very fabric of reality. It looked like something from an ancient prophecy come true. A dire warning of terrible celestial consequences made manifest.

Nisgarant had expected it. The Sceptre had reassured him that all was going to plan. That he didn't have to worry about the walls of the universe coming tumbling down around them. He would be safe. As long as he looked after the awful remnant, it would look after him.

Hemlock had come grumbling, as usual, to Threllif and the other officers, moaning and complaining about the state of his army, and everything that was going wrong. The rat pretended not to hear. All of this was just fuel for the Sceptre. Every living body that it pierced in the circumstances of these battles charged its powers. Every second that it remained in this forbidden universe gave it opportunity to kill. When the skies collapsed, when each atom of this reality was forcefully split apart and scattered into the void, the Sceptre would have enough magic to take them both to another wondrous place, where they could start their warmongering anew. The useless trinkets that Nisgarant had amassed here were as nothing to the riches that further galaxies held.

He had told Hemlock that this tear in the heavens was his doing, that it would bring panic and fear to the pitiful goblins who were standing in their way. The big reptile had nodded, wisely keeping silent, and lumbered off to begin the assault on the walled city upon the mountainside.

As Nisgarant had watched his General clamber awkwardly aboard his battle pony and head off at a canter to the front lines, he held his precious weapon extra tight. He hadn't forgotten about the dragon that followed him. The mystical Scaly One had paid for its foolish mistake of coming here by losing its collected Hoard. The rat could only wait for it to return with intent to steal the Sceptre back. A dragon without treasure was a dangerous foe, for what had they to lose? Nothing.

The Sceptre did not wish to be reunited with its former owner. The dragon would hinder its plans, ensnare it in magical restrictions, like a bird with clipped wings.

It also did not wish to be returned to the vaults of the Council of Sorcerer's, locked behind a heavy steel door where there was no opportunity for bloodshed. It had done more damage in these months out of that holding cell than thousands of years lying in dust could have achieved.

It was an invader in a foreign land, and destruction was its aim. How lucky, how fortuitous it was, to have found a frail-minded creature such as this rat, this Nisgarant. With the faintest of whispers the rodent's mind had opened up, welcoming the tendrils of madness that probed inside. Together they had carved a bloody trail across the maps of this quaint little world, a taster of what they could achieve together in grander settings.

After a light breakfast of eggs and porridge the shout had gone out, the banners had been raised, and Hemlock's polished sword had shone like a beacon in the morning rays to the sound of a thousand bows being notched and drawn back. The battering ram had left a shower of splinters as its resounding boom upon the grand gates had echoed across ice strewn grassland.

The goblins at the walls had answered in kind, returning fire with a volley of arrows. Their armour was shiny, and intact. Their stomachs full and pointed green faces stoic.

Every defending city and citadel had been the same, the residing warriors confident in the defences they had set in place, that the stonework that had seen many battles prior would still be standing at the end of this assault. Smirking at the rat and his men, they fought in the belief that they were merely biding their time until the attacking menace gave up and moved on elsewhere, like the disgusting hoards that had come before.