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his hands in his head.
    Badron was the younger of two sons and never intended to rule Delranan. His father had no choice when Bahr decided to abandon his responsibilities for frivolous adventure. Rumors abounded that he killed his father in order to gain the throne quicker. Badron never bothered giving any definitive answer. What did it matter? He was king and all bent knee to him. His rule was defined by jealousy. Stelskor was an adversary for many decades. Badron wanted everything Rogscroft had: the minerals, the natural resources, and the land. Delranan was too far to the west to be of importance in Malweir. He needed to conquerRogscroft in order to build an empire to rival the rule of mighty Averon in the central south. It was only a matter of time before he invaded. Now, after years of plotting and planning, he sat upon Stelskor’s throne and ruled the declining kingdom with iron.
    “I did not summon you.” Badron’s voice was hollow, void of emotion or curiosity.
    Grugnak choked back the spit filling his mouth. “I have news.”
    Slowly, the king of Delranan lifted his head. His eyes were red. Shadows clung to his face unnaturally, giving him a deathly appearance. “There is always news. Have you come to tell me of the approaching Goblin army?”
    Grugnak paused, not expecting to be trumped. “How did you come by this? I only just found out.”
    Badron laughed wickedly. “Do not think to inflate your importance, Goblin. I know what your warriors whisper when they believe no one is listening. You will never be my equal. Never! I am a lord of Men and no Goblin has claim to dominion. You are here only at my discretion, regardless of what you think.”
    “Fifty thousand Goblins say otherwise,” Grugnak snapped. He briefly considered throttling the demented king but felt that same terrible presence lurking in the shadows. He wasn’t strong enough to battle the Dae’shan. He began to wonder if they offered false promise.
    “They’ll never get here in time,” Badron snorted.
    “Time for what?”
    The king waggled a finger. “Time to help save us. The traitor Rolnir and my Wolfsreik are preparing to march on the city. We don’t have the numbers to stop them, much less delay. My scouts tell me there are close to twenty thousand enemy soldiers.”
    Grugnak balked, failing to comprehend where so many had come from. “How is this possible? You did not have so many soldiers.”
    “No. I didn’t but Rolnir has joined forces with young King Aurec and those murderous people from the mountains. They will arrive at the city long before your relief force does.”
    The implications were terrifying for the Goblin commander. He’d obeyed Amar Kit’han’s summons to leave their dreary stronghold in the Deadlands only to see most of his army destroyed, betrayed by the very Men he’d been promised would help. Now those initial dreams lay in ruins and were potentially coming undone further with the enemy marching on him. Craven instincts urged him to take what few surviving Goblins he had left and flee back to the Deadlands. If they were caught here….
    “Don’t have the gall to stand and fight, eh?” Badron teased upon noticing the cagey look in Grugnak’s eyes. “I don’t blame you, but it won’t do any good. Aurec is going to unleash the wolves against us, Grugnak. Ironic isn’t it? Getting killed by my own army. The gods have a twisted sense of humor.”
    Grugnak didn’t care about gods. He only wanted to live long enough to see his race rise above the prejudices and handicaps enforced by Men, Elves, and Dwarves. For too long the Goblins struggled to survive. He knew their origins. That they’d been Dwarves once, before dark powers ensnared them. Time and endless devotion to their new gods twisted the colony until they became Goblins. To this day every Goblin longed for the time when he could live above ground and feel the sun’s kiss. It was a foolish dream.
    “What does the Dae’shan have to say?”