Chapter 23: The Spoils

Chapter 23: The Spoils

Kelvun never made it to the lair of the Black Skulls, or to the gold vein that his dreams told him was there for the taking. The darkness didn’t make him suffer too much for that decision, though. It wasn’t his to make, after all. After the night of blood and fire, his expedition spent another few days in Holt as they helped to shore up the battered defenses of the village, and then they left for the long trip home.

It was just as well. With the fire spirit caged and awaiting all the experiments that the Lich could think of, and with the help of his library it could think of a great many indeed. With its new toy, both the Viscount and Grod got very little of its attention. Those pawns could think for themselves while it focused on what really mattered: power.

Not the petty spread of influence it had been focused on up until now, where it managed to gain a few feet in this direction or another hillside in that direction. The darkness was not aiming to become the god of meadows and pastures. It wanted, no, needed to consume everything, and for that it needed more power, not more shepherds and trees.

It turned out that quite a few spirits could use those things, of course. They put out a fair amount of mana, but it was the wrong flavor for the darkness. The subtle trickle of mana from a tree was less than the dream of a suffering child, but it reeked of light so it was worthless. The darkness could only make use of it if the land itself was poisoned, in the same way that the fire spirit could only harness it if it was burning.

That was why its grip on the river was shrinking instead of expanding. In all these months, the darkness hoped to have reached the sea by now, but instead its reach had almost been pushed back to the swamp. This had as much to do with the other spirits that no doubt dwelled within it as it did with the clean water resisting its corruption, but both things were problems that could eventually be dealt with, once they were understood.

So the darkness learned, by destroying the fire spirit over and over again. In its cage it was separated from the whole world, so when a bit of tinder was lit from that wicked lamp and used to start a natural fire, it created a copy of the original, rather than expanding the might of the spark it held hostage.

Most of the time, the Lich would let it burn for a few minutes and watch as the mana current slowly stirred to life, gaining additional complexity minute after minute, and then it would sunder it to pieces to better understand how the pieces fit together and what they looked like.

Sometimes it would let the thing burn higher and faster before extinguishing it, or rending its soul apart, letting it gain full sentience and become a shadow of its former self. On those occasions, it would speak to it for a time, alternating its blustering and raging with begging and pleading. The lich let it go on like this at length, just to see what the fire spirit might say. It learned some things this way, but less than it did by simply shattering its spirit and studying the pieces before they faded completely.

It found out that its name was Krulm’venor of course. It seemed strange to the lich that it should bother with a name, but it was fond of shouting it out whenever the darkness allowed it the strength to speak.

“I am Krulm’venor and not to be trifled with!”This chapter was first shared on the Ñøv€lß1n platform.

“You shall rue the day that you showed Krulm’venor disrespect!”

Kelvun’s smile gained some genuine warmth as he thought about that and took another sip of wine. It was worth the temporary exile being forced on him to watch the pretentious little lordling squirm. He wasn’t happy about being sent away, of course. Not when he’d just caught the eye of so many young eligible ladies of the court, but they would still be here when he got back.

Leo might have prevailed upon father to send Kelvun back to the river with craftsmen and soldiers as part of a toll scheme that some aristocrat or another had proposed to him, but even if Leo was here by himself, he’d be stuck in Kelvun’s shadow for a long time to come. Not just with father, either, but with the people that mattered.

Leo had spent a season lounging around court and learning to dress nicer, but Kelvun had led two successful expeditions and beaten back the largest goblin raid that anyone had seen in a generation with nothing but a few knights and a pair of giant brass balls.

At least that’s how the story went when his father was in his cups.

“There he was - my youngest son,” Lord Garvin would say. “Leading the charge, outnumbered ten to one? Do you know what he told Sir Farvus before he charged? Do you?”

Kelvun had heard his father say that same thing almost a dozen times in the weeks he’d been back. He’d practically memorized it. It was embarrassing, really. For both of them.

The truth was that Kelvun had never been more terrified than that night, and it was only because he’d managed to get himself drenched in goblin blood that no one knew he’d pissed himself. He’d barely managed to hold on to his sword, when what was supposed to be a few bandits or something had suddenly resolved into dozens of gibbering goblins with spears and spells.

It was only because of the protection of the darkness that he’d lived. It had to be.

There was simply no other explanation on how he could have ridden through such a mob with so little armor without suffering a scratch. That’s what happened, though. He just kept going, and swinging his sword, and he just kept right on living while the knights charged along beside him.

He hadn’t even noticed the goblin mage he’d run down until it was practically under his horse's hooves. One second there had just been confusion and darkness, and the next - well, the thing’s staff had briefly glowed with light bright enough to spook his horse as it shattered under a well-placed hoof.

And now he was no longer Kelvun Garvin, third in line to the throne - he was Goblinsbane, protector of the west. It was enough to make him laugh when he was alone with his friends, but in public occasions like this he had to play the role of dutiful son, no matter how ludicrous.

So he was going back to the swamp by his father's request. Starting tomorrow he’d be going down river with two boats, three dozen men, and all the supplies they could cram in to the boats without sinking them. It was another duty he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be carrying out, but it would be fine. They’d sail down river for a few days, then he’d spend a few weeks watching other people work hard from the shade, and finally he’d come back with one more success under his belt. With any luck, he’d be back just in time to welcome Theon home and rub it all in his face too.