The Goblin's Crown

Chapter Forty Two: Warning

A growling filled my ears as bristling fur brushed my cheek. I turned my gaze as he descended upon me. That moment seemed to sputter by, the time barely moving. His gray hair fell around his masked face slowly, almost beautifully, to mix with the rat gray fur of his cape. "Your aim's a bit off." Knut teased, chuckling at me without even a hint of irritation or anger at my failure. The skin around his eyes crinkled, hinting at the grin that lay beneath the rat-like skull helm. He was never going to let me live this down.

Goblins poured into the tent, swarming in a singular mass. Their numbers so many I could not count them. "You've been busy," I smiled.

"Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are. It's amazing what you can do when you're being crushed under the weight of a deadline."

The goblins crawled and stomped and stalked forward, biting, clawing, and slashing with both weapons and claws. The faeries fought back with their frightening power, calling upon the forces of nature and wielding them as one may lift a sword or don a piece of armor. Under their might, many goblins perished, but as soon as they died and returned to the seed, they were reborn, reforged, made sharper. The air was thick with green mist as the souls of goblins transitioned from one life and into another.

Knut was shaking in the effort to create so many, so quickly, but he ground his teeth and bore it. I could not have been prouder.

The elite guards conjured fire onto their swords and lightning into their palms. They flung magic like a toy. Those that were caught in their power's way were obliterated, but while those unfortunate goblins died and returned to the seed within Knut's belly, others continued the assault and learned from their mistakes.

One of the guards pulled water from the air itself and brought down waves upon the horde, drowning the small, creeping creatures before him. While he was distracted, their larger kin crept up behind him. They seized him by his great black wings and with a few torturous, twisting jerks, they yanked the wings from his spine.

Another fought mightily, creating pulsing barriers around himself to keep the goblins at bay. The goblins hurled themselves upon them, banging against the shield with their fists. As he held up the shielding walls, sweat slipped down his brow. His feet slid on the blood saturated floor, his legs threatening to buckle under the weight of the swarm. Then they did. His feet went out from under him. The shield fell away and the tent filled with the sounds of screams and the crunching of bones between strong teeth.

The faeries were strong, very strong, but they were simply overwhelmed. There were too few to deal with the continuous flow of goblins pouring from Knut's imagination. I was grinning ear to ear as I watched. Seeing the full brutality and strength of the goblin horde was nothing less than thrilling. Seeing this glimpse at Knut's potential left me in awe. As our goblins tore faeries apart and the tent burned away to ashes around us, I took Knut's hand and squeezed it tightly.

Soon all of the elites were either dead or dying, every one torn apart by goblin hands. Only the princes and Kieran remained. They flanked Kieran, putting their backs to him so that every direction was covered and the goblins could not sneak up behind. The princes poured destructive magic from their fingertips. Walls of light pulsed out from the princes, burning every goblin in its wake. Lysander's eyes bore into my own with intensity. Those eyes told me more than any spoken words could. This was not even a fraction of what he was capable of. If he wanted to, he could send that wall of light over the entire world. He was holding it back so that we could escape. We'd told Lysander to pretend to defend Kieran and make the fight look convincing. He was a good actor.

Like the coward he was, Kieran stayed behind the princes. He extended his wings out as his disgusting magic reached out with inky fingers. Each goblin it touched withered and died within the grasp of that dark hand as if it were age itself. The flow of souls began to choke with that of the dead returning to the seed.