The Book of Warlock

The Book of Warlock 16. War at your door.

  Deep into the rock hewn stronghold, past the plush furnishings of the throne room, and the immaculate marble flooring of the library, past the draping velvet swags and the lead-lined colour-panelled windows of the gallery, the Royal Guard of Everdwell led the King and Queen with hastened steps to the very core of the mountainside Kingdom. The small Princes and Princesses had been scooped up carefully by the armoured cohort, metal plating cold against their warm clinging hands. The younglings were bawling. The sound of heavy footsteps ringing in their green pointy ears as their protectors' sturdy boots clattered along the old cobblestones past cobwebbed torches that threw a dim light. The last soldier in the line extinguished them. Behind them lay only darkness now.

A portcullis slid up with a clang and a grind. Old metal on equally as old brick. Whoever had come for them would have a gauntlet to run, and rightly so. Everdwell was an ancient city that had sat out many invasions before. Being under siege in a place such as this was merely an inconvenience. Nothing more.

Here within the heart of the mountain was a basic selection of rooms. Royalty decades past had stayed here during troubled times, residing in an acceptable level of comfort while strife played out at the city gates. The chairs were now frayed, and the rugs had tatty threads, but the chill air kept food fresh and the beds were still soft.

The goblin children dropped from the strong arms of the Guards and wiped their tiny runny noses, looking around the unfamiliar surroundings in the way little one's do when deciding what they can play with. With a gentle push from their mother they found a room full of gaily painted wooden toys. The rocking horse was the star of the show; in a mad scramble they all clambered aboard, with soft wailing as the weaker family members were jettisoned onto the floor, forced to make do with the balls and blocks and spinning tops. The Queen smiled, satisfied that they were all swiftly overcoming their ordeal. Goblin children were hardy creatures, a little bit of war wouldn't hurt them. She picked up her skirts, keeping the dust away from the fine cloth, and returned to her husband and his soldiers.

"Are the children settled?" he asked, sat on a faded upholstered seat, trying to look more relaxed than he was.

There was a thump, and a cry, "Mother! Mother! Chever threw a ball at me! Chide him, mother!"

"They're fine," she reassured.

He nodded, trusting her judgement in the matter of small people. He turned and addressed his Sergeant, "I appreciate the haste in which we were delivered to safety, but what of my Council? My Lord Chancellor? Chief Protector?"

The Sergeant was stoic, "Your Highness, it is expected of them to stay and defend the realm. It is written as such in the Decrees."

The King blinked. "Really?"

The soldier nodded, "yes, Your Highness."

"It's been so long since I last cast eyes on them. I knew this time of peace could not last forever. Did Captain Worrel identify this threat? They had a banner, did they not?"

"Indeed they do, sire. A black rat head with red eyes. Some sort of three-pronged staff below it. There was no reference in the archives for this."

"No old enemy of ours?"

"No, Your Highness."

He clicked his tongue. "Rats. What are they better known as, now? Skirren, is it?"

"Skaven, Your Highness, but our lookouts say that this army outside our walls is made of a multitude of races. The rat on the banner could be a leader, even perhaps a God. Some pestilential deity, perhaps."

They exchanged a look. The sky had been torn up into a fiery, bloody vortex. The wrath of a God in this scenario could not be dismissed.

The ominous black banners were flying out in the meadows beyond the citadel gates as the goblin warriors prepared for the oncoming battle. Captain Worrel, senior commander of the Royal Guard, was not smiling as he gave his men one last inspection. In all his seasons he had not been tested in active combat, nor had any of the soldiers in front of him. Everdwell was an impenetrable fortress. Or at least, it was for the usual bands of ruffians and bandits who came looking for trouble. This was the first organised army they had encountered for many, many years, and for all his solemn promises that they could withstand anything, and the high city walls alone would be enough to dissuade invaders, now that it came down to the crunch, Worrel wasn't so sure. His eagle-eyed lookouts had warned of heavy siege weapons out on the fields below. Trolls to load them, too. Their enemy was numerous and varied. It was unusual to have creatures of different races assembled together like this; quite how they hadn't fallen into chaos, scrapping among themselves, he couldn't fathom. They must have a leader with a tight grip, or a shared loyalty the likes of which he'd never seen.