Chapter 27: Slaughter

Chapter 27: Slaughter

For a moment, all was lost. They’d fought their way to the gates of the city walls without too much trouble, but now Kelvun and his sell swords were surrounded. One minute there were only a few goblins amongst the ruins, and then at some unseen signal they poured out of the wreckage on all sides of the market square.

Even then, the Viscount still thought they had a pretty decent shot. They were only outnumbered four or five to one, which would have been a death sentence against a real army, but was pretty close to an even match when it came to these pests. At least that's what his men had told him. With this many goblins people would die, of course, but he was towards the center of the formation, so he should be fine.

That’s when the fires started. Kelvun shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He’d seen them use magic at Holt just before he’d ridden that shaman down. Everyone knew the green skins had dark powers, he just didn’t expect them to be so, well, powerful. Out of nowhere, a wall of flame scorched everything on the east side of the marketplace, and men died by the score, and he was lucky to be just knocked off his feet by the blast.

At that moment he lost hope along with most of the men he’d led here. The dreams had promised him victory, but there would only be death here. There was no way they could face such terrible magics without spell casters of their own.

That was when the rest of the goblins charged, and Kelvun almost ran for his life. It wasn’t appearances that stopped him, though. He’d rather be a live coward than a dead hero.

It was a moment of complete shock. For a few seconds the plaza had been as bright as day once more, and even after that, men and structures continued to burn, bathing the place in a flickering orange glow.

Then, just as suddenly as the fires had appeared, they vanished. Not just the ones that the shamans were casting, either, but the ones that had been left behind. In a single second, every last fire was snuffed out, and the moment of pure terror was replaced by a strange calm as both humans and goblins looked around, wondering what had happened.

The assault that had almost broken the back of his men dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and Kelvun rose shakily to his feet, grateful that very little of the blood that he was covered in was his as the fight roared to life once more around him. The first thing he did, was to stab an already dead goblin not once, but twice. It wasn’t rage that this thing had almost killed him, or even vengeance for the man that the thing had killed. Kelvun was more pragmatic than that.

Now that the fight was rejoined, the tide was already turning against the goblins, and even now they were starting to retreat on the west and south sides of the square now that those wretched shamans had stopped casting their terrible magics, and in another minute or two there might not be any goblins left to fight. So, Kelvun needed some green blood on his blade before anyone looked around and noticed how little fighting he’d done himself.

The moment that he’d cowered for his life as the gouts of flame all but consumed him wouldn’t be remembered by anyone. Not anyone that mattered, anyway. They would remember only that he had taken the field and beaten back the green menace. The bards that he would pay would make sure of that.

Kelvun looked around, and spotted a group of goblins that were already starting to flee before the scything blows of a pair of hardened mercenaries, and shouted, “to me! Let’s beat the bastards back!” as he charged towards the retreating enemy. He made a good show of it, but never once got close to the goblins. He repeated this several times, never reaching a group of goblins before they’d fled or been felled.

In the dark of night, the sudden absence of fires made it hard to see what was happening at all times, but he was fairly certain they either were winning, or had already won. All that remained was to find out the butcher's bill.

That’s what he was thinking about when a sudden blow from out of nowhere hit him on his blindside and sent him sprawling. Kelvun managed to hold on to his sword, and scampered to his feet, only to see the biggest goblin he’d ever seen ripping out the throat of a warrior with his teeth.

No, Kevlun wanted to do it himself. He wouldn’t say he had a taste for killing. On the battlefield it terrified him, and off of it, it was only a middling thrill that couldn’t hold a candle to girls or winning at dice.

Killing his father though. That would be something. He’d thought about it before, of course, but deemed it too risky. Here though - now, in the aftermath of these terrible battles while the city was still smoldering, who would know? Kelvun could blame literally anything. The suffering of Lord Garvin’s people, the death of his second son, or even just the will of the gods. Who would question any of those things on tonight of all nights?

“Right this way sir, if you could come with me,” one of the man servants said, trying to grab Kelvun by the elbow, but the boy shook him off.

“I will visit my father when I’ve taken care of other matters, Marcus,” Kelvun snapped, annoyed to be disturbed in his moment of triumph. He still reeked of piss and would not visit his father to hear his congratulations or to murder the man until he was clean and presentable.

“But, I... He—” Kelvun stormed off, leaving the servant sputtering in his wake while he went to his room to clean up and change.

“Wearing blood spattered armor and stained trousers was not the way to handle such an important moment in your life,” he muttered to himself as he shed his garments and used the wash basin to clean up.

Once that was done, Kelvun returned to the hall, and strode confidently down it while he tried to hold a resolved expression that would effectively cover the joy that was swelling in his heart that he was so close to true victory.

The servants, likewise, looked at him with respectful and somber expressions as he made his way to his father’s rooms. Some even had tears of joy in their eyes as they looked at him, and he nodded to each of them in turn, giving them the dignified response that he imagined a Lord would.

Since very soon he would be, not just a Lord, but The Lord. All those thoughts and plans came to a sudden stop, though, when he opened up the door to his father's bedroom to find him surrounded by graybeards and other lords.

For a moment, Kelvun thought that the man had summoned the leading luminaries of the city to praise him very publicly. It took a few seconds for him to realize that many of these men were doctors and priests.

Which meant his father was dead already.

Kelvun shook his head and lowered his face to hide his tears. They weren’t tears of sadness, though, but of frustration. He’d wanted to be the one to deliver the blow, but someone, either the gods or his patron, had stolen that opportunity from him.

Kelvun should have been thrilled. He was finally Count Garvin, and ruled over the whole region. He wasn’t though. On the day of his greatest triumph, everything tasted like ashes.