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wagons.”
“No. Commander Joach escorted them out before dawn. I don’t need thousands of hungry Men waiting for no reason,” Rolnir said with a smile.
“Won’t they be at risk?” Aurec asked.
“I’ve used that same tactic against your Men and others over the course of my career. It works and hastens the timeline considerably. It also boosts morale. Imagine how good it feels to have a hot meal waiting by the time you pull in from a full day’s march. High morale makes better fighters, Aurec, and we need all of the advantages we can get.”
Cuul Ol, the Pell chieftain, slammed the butt of his short spear on the ice-crusted snow. “This is good. My warriors want to fight. Goblins don’t belong here.”
No one could have said it better. The Pell Darga clans distinguished themselves during what some now dubbed the Battle of Betrayal. Thousands of Goblins fell under Pell spears and daggers. Now that their blades had been drawn and blooded, the Pell wanted more. All pretense of peacefulness evaporated. Aurec feared for any army that became objects of their ire.
“Very well. General, you may deploy the army at your discretion,” Aurec said, still smiling at Cuul’s eagerness.
SEVEN
Badron’s Madness
What remained of Rogscroft wasn’t fit to be called a city. Grugnak’s Goblins burned through most of the once proud buildings with ruthless abandon in retribution of their abysmal defeat at the hands of the Wolfsreik. Not even the promise of another fifty thousand Goblins en route was enough to cheer their commander. He authorized, without Badron’s knowledge, the wholesale slaughter of the civilian population. What few Humans remained were hidden deep underground or fled under the cover of darkness.
Grugnak slowly took control of the city and the surrounding areas. The people suffered. Still he felt no better, took no solace from any measure of viciousness extracted. His army lay dead on the slopes of the Murdes Mountains, already buried under fresh snow. What little power he still held was laughable. Amar Kit’han promised a much larger force but they weren’t Grugnak’s. The relief force was a combination of remnants from the Deadlands and from faraway Gren to the east. Grugnak idly wondered how many Goblins were left in the dark, forgotten places of the world.
He marched with half a dozen guards to the former throne room of King Stelskor. The once pristine halls were now caked with muck. Several marble tiles were shattered. Piles of refuse choked the corners. Spiders came down to fill the ceilings with cobwebs. There was no glory left in Rogscroft. Grugnak intended to remake the kingdom in his own image. It started with wresting power away from Badron.
With most of the Human forces abandoning the king in favor of the much liked General Rolnir, Badron stayed locked within the upper levels of the castle. He was fed and seen to. The only real reason Grugnak kept him alive was because he was the figurehead of the entire campaign in the north. No Human would ever submit to the rule of Goblins, at least not willingly. Badron remained important for the foreseeable future.
“The king doesn’t want visitors,” snarled one of the guards outside the throne room. Larger and physically more powerful, the guard would prove problematic for the shorter Goblin.
“There is news from the east,” Grugnak replied.
The guards exchanged cautious looks. Their dislike for the Goblins wore openly as they debated whether or not to admit Grugnak. Finally they relented. “Only you may enter. The others stay out here.”
Unhappy with the decision, Grugnak resisted the urge to order his warriors to attack and humbly followed instructions. Fires dimly lit the expansive room but provided no warmth. Grugnak frowned. The room was always chill, much to his dislike. Badron preferred it cold and dark, often stopping in mid-conversation to confer with an invisible advisor. Today he sat upon the usurped throne with
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