Valor: Chapter 8

            Gustav woke to the sound of hobgoblins banging on the cell bars, and groggily rolled himself into a vaguely upright position. “Nngh… this is… atrocious,” he said bitterly, shimmying against the wall to get onto his feet.

            “Mrrm,” Michael agreed. “Try sleeping with platemail on.”

            A guard entered the cell and motioned with his mace. Gustav brushed him off. “I’m going! For God’s sake, calm down.”

            “From what I can make out, we’re going to see the chief,” Elias said once they were all out of the cell, two guards both in front of and behind them.

            Michael scoffed. “No wonder they’re so jumpy. Goblin chiefs are petty creatures… they need little reason to give our punishments or rewards. I can’t imagine the hobbo version is much different.”

            Gustav groaned, leaning over for a second. The guard behind him growled, prodded him with the mace. William did his best to sidle up alongside Gustav and nudge him forward. “Come on Gus, you don’t want them striking you.”

            “Nnn, must they be so pushy,” Gustav gasped, shuffling forward. “Blasted things shouldn’t have kicked me so hard yesterday if they didn’t want me moving slow.”

            William smirked. “You sure that has nothing to do with all that… sugar stew they gave us last night that you ate?”

            “That was surprisingly good,” Michael said, glancing back, and then glanced at a Hobgoblin. “Voshka good. Voshka, mmm,” he said, doing his best to pantomime his opinion with his hands behind his back.

            One of the guards laughed upon realizing, and babbled in more of their hissing language. The others chuckled as well. Gustav groaned. “I was hungry. It had unabao fruit in it. I love unabao fruit.”

            “Still, you probably ate twice as much as Michael did. And it was so sweet… bleagh,” William shook his head. “Too sweet for my tastes.”

            “Utaan!” one of the guards said, and as they turned a corner, they came to a pair of heavy wooden doors. One of them spoke slowly to Elias, and then moved forward to the door. Glancing back, Elias said “he said if any of us try anything, we’ll be dead.”

            “A refreshing change of pace, then,” Gustav grumbled.

            Eventually they reached what had clearly been the ducal chamber long ago. Much like the chapel had been, the throne room was drastically modified. Hobgoblin ‘artwork’ was engraved into the nearby stone, and they had redecorated, with various bones and vines littering the hall. The throne itself was modified, with what looked like two Orc skulls placed at the end of the arm rests.

There were many hobgoblins in the room, and a pair of giant lizards, roughly the size of horses though far closer to the ground. Michael looked down at the azure blue carpet they were walking on, and knew that it had seen better days. Scratches, tears, and hastily cleaned stains of mud and blood tarnished it. Standing next to the throne was the Hobgoblin from yesterday, the Shaman Yerntas, wearing a fur-lined white robe and having a pair of antlers affixed to its hood.

And on the throne itself was the chieftain. He was bigger than the hobgoblins, though Michael felt he was larger still. It wore an iron cuirass and what looked like a golden diadem wrapped around its hairless head, though it had a full black beard. The most defining feature was the right eye, or lack thereof. A strip of black cloth acted as eyepatch, and some terrible scarring was visible beyond that.

“Kneel!” the guards said in Hobbo. Michael didn’t know that exactly, but given their situation he didn’t doubt it. Elias and Gustav knelt first, and after a moment, William did as well. But Michael had messed with goblins before, and remained standing. It took a few moments before a guard slammed the half of his mace into the back of his knees, sending a bolt of pain of his leg and forcing him to a kneel. Every small show of force and power helped though.

The shaman laughed, but the chieftain shot him a venomous glare. The shaman stopped. The chieftain stood, studying them for a moment. Then it spoke.

“My Tormin not great, but I spek-so you unnerstan!” it growled, and though it was rather broken, it was at least understandable.

“I Taesuus Chief As-Calaigius.You… humans. Humans, Elf, and…” it sneered as it looked at Gustav, “Lursass.”

Michael grit his teeth. Again, though he didn’t know what the word meant, he had a fairly good idea what it implied, especially with how distasteful As-Calaigius said it.

“Mowst times,” the chief began, reach around its throne and grabbing what was clearly an elven saber, long and curved, “I have you killed. New elves bad, weak. Humans? Humans rats.” It leaned over and spit in front of Michael.

Michael looked up at it, glaring. “And this time?”

The chief glared back, and then reached down, grabbing Michael’s face, distorting his face as his leathery fingers pressed in on his face. It laughed bitterly. “Stronn human, eh? Big and stronn?” Another bitter laugh before quickly releasing and then slapping Michael. Michael grunted, and all of them flinched, but no one moved. Good. Michael knew that, just as his standing had been, the slap had been more for show. It didn’t hurt. Much.

The chieftain grumbled something in hobbo that caused some laughter from those nearby. Michael cursed his inability to understand it. He’d really have to learn at least some basic Elven, especially if he was to be lord here.

The chieftain turned back to face them. “This time, I feel… feel…” it barked a few words at Yerntas. The shaman bowed before saying “my chief, he feels benevolent, and wishes to-”

“Utaan Yernta, yes, benviolent, and wish to… reward you for your spart against Orcs and Ukdead.”

Michael cocked an eyebrow, and glanced over at Elias. Elias shrugged. “Spart?” Gustav asked finally, when it was obvious none of them knew what he meant.

The chieftain growled. “Not know own tongue lursass? Spart!” he slammed a hand against his chest, breathing deep. “Make you fight, make you live! No saprise you not have!”

Elias spoke next, saying “Adag?” The chief nodded, repeating it, and then Elias clarified for them. “Spirit.”

“Oh.”

The chieftain’s fists opened and closed, and he paced back and forth in silence. “I get to point,” he said eventually, gritting his teeth. Clearly he wasn’t pleased about his inability to communicate.

“You prove selfs, fight in pit. Beat minotaur, then you go deeper in Tagarinis, get treasure for me.” He grinned maliciously. “Get treasure, I let you go with lives!”

There was a silence. Michael thought for a moment. What was a minotaur? It sounded vaguely familiar. Still, while Michael didn’t plan on giving the chieftain anything, he saw this as an opportunity “given our options, we have no choice but to accept. We’ll fight your, uh, minotaur?”

The chieftain grinned, and looked to the other hobgoblins nearby. He said something, and they began to cheer. “Good! Guards! Take them to the arena!” The chieftain grinned viciously. “Let them… prepare.”

William had his mace again. The hobgoblins had been ‘kind’ enough to give them back their actual gear. William wished that made him feel better.

“What is it we’re fighting?” Elias asked, looking over at Michael.

“I don’t know. A minotaur?”

“It sounds familiar,” Gustav mused as he flipped his dagger around his hand, clearly enjoying its return, and having his hands untied.

“A minotaur… it’s like a small ogre with a bull’s head, horns included.”

Everyone looked over at William. Gustav nodded after a moment. “That’s right, I remember now, I’ve read about them, but… how do you know about them? They’re quite rare, to my knowledge.”

William took a deep breath and looked up from his mace. “Minotaurs were creatures created by Maalidon, the old Toremen god of war. They were said to guard the royal family and the treasures of the gods, and were also apparently fierce opponents.” His face twisted, and he looked back down at his mace. “What I read wasn’t clear, but they were supposedly the works of blood magic, involving human sacrifice.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Gustav said, remembering. “I was reading a book on lost magical arts and Blood Magic was one of them.”

William looked over at him with a start. “What were you reading about that for? Such things are deplorable.”

Gustav frowned. “Not all lost arts are forbidden arts, William. Besides, what were you reading about them for?”

Wincing, William had to concede that point. “We were told to look into some of the old pagan gods, to better ‘know our enemy.’” He thought he heard Elias scoff, but decided to ignore it. “I looked into a few old Toremen deities specifically. Although many are accepted as having been folded into Asarianism, some are believed to be too violent or prideful to ever bow before God.”

“While this is all very educational” Michael interrupted, “did it happen to say how to kill the pagan demi-god we’re about to fight?”

William shook his head. “Not a demi-god. They’re strong, but especially after the fall of the old gods, they would’ve weakened. Even before, though, they were still flesh and blood.”

“So this should do the trick?” Michael said, brandishing his sword. With a frown, William nodded.

Elias seemed to notice William’s mood, however, and asked “you seem to have some reservations on this William. I’m a bit surprised… isn’t this thing technically an enemy of your God?”

William sighed. Of course Elias asked that. He knew the only one here who shared his beliefs outright was Michael, and to a small extent, maybe Gustav. But Elves rarely accepted any Triune faiths, even his own branch of Asarianism, which was one of the few that would accept Elves. “Perhaps, but by that definition, so would you, and so would any number of things. Maalidon is gone, or at least, powerless. Now, this creature, which for all we know might well have been a man, long ago,” he shook his head, “it’s now a captive of these hobgoblins.”

“Let’s not be too sympathetic yet,” Michael said, standing. “I see what you’re saying Will, but this is still a monster. I’m sure it’s killed for the hell of it. A monster that was once a man, why, that’s no different from an undead. Killing it might be doing its soul a favor, hmm?”

William cocked his head a little. He supposed that made some sense. It was simply bound to earth in a bestial form. He couldn’t remember everything he had read years ago, but he did remember that Minotaurs weren’t that bright, especially without a god to command them.

“I suppose you’re right. Still, this is killing for sport. It doesn’t sit well with me.”

“It’s killing for survival,” Gustav said, pocketing his dagger and then cracking his knuckles. “They’ve unbound me and Elias, but we still couldn’t escape with all our magic, and they know this.”

“I’m not fond of this bloodsport either,” Elias said, “but I think we have little choice. We can’t possibly take on this entire place.”

William sighed. He knew all of this. Of course he did. It still seemed wrong on several levels though, and he reached up and ran his thumb over his cross once more. While he thought he was doing all this to bring God to this place, and cleanse it of evil, he couldn’t help but feel he was doing the Devil’s work, and not God’s. Still, he knew he had to help his friends, for abandoning them now would surely be against the Commandments of the Lord.

“I’ll be ready shortly,” he said, but moved off his seat, going to his knees. He began to speak, quietly, in the holy language of Achdrammen. He hoped God would hear him. He opened his eyes briefly when he saw Michael kneel down as well, and begin to try and echo his words. He smiled, though didn’t stop his prayer. To his surprise, Gustav knelt down as well, though he stayed silent and kept his hands on his knees.

“Our father in heaven, may you protect us from disaster, from affliction, and weakness, and if we should falter, may your judgment be fair and understanding…”

Elias stood off to the side as the humans prayed. He couldn’t understand much of it, never having learned any Achdrammen. He was honestly surprised when Gustav kneeled down, though realized it may have been more for show than anything else.

He looked to the bars around their ready room. How well would this go? He felt they would make short work of the minotaur. Even if it used to be some sort of divine soldier, there was one of it, and four of them. They had magic, while this thing didn’t. Honestly, this seemed almost humiliating.

A pair of hobgoblin guards came down the hall, carrying a sack that clinked and clanged as they walked. The lead guard began to speak, but stopped and stared at the humans for a moment.

“… What are they doing?” it asked, more to the other guard than Elias. Still, Elias understood, so gave his two cents. “Praying to their god.”

“That is humans praying?” The guard laughed. “If I was the human god, I would be asleep from all this!”

Elias happened to agree. But he’d be damned if he was going to agree with a hobgoblin. “Well, the last thing you want to do is wake their god up.”

“Huh?” The lead guard asked. The sack carrier looked over too, saying “what do you mean Elf?”

Elias leaned towards the bars, asking “you know humans praise the light and all, yes?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah. Iron-Tongue calls the human god Sky-father, because he lives in the clouds or something.”

“Well,” Elias said, glancing back at them, “he sleeps up there. The Sky-father is a big bat, you see, and when he wakes up during the darkness, he summons storms and floods with every flap of his wings.”

“You tell lies Elf!” the guard leader said, shaking his head. “Just big old man on cloud with three heads, Iron-Tongue says.”

Elias shrugged. “Believe what you will, but why would your shaman tell you about something you’d be scared of?”

The sack carrier laughed, jabbing the other guard in the ribs. “Jakar, you are afraid of bats, remember time you scream like baby after-”

“Utaan!” the guard said, smacking the other one in the face, and then taking his sword and banging it against the bars. “Boste utaan! All stand!” it yelled, switching to broken Toremen. “All come here, now!”

The humans stood, and they all came to the bars. “Are you going to lead us to the arena?” Michael asked, though the only response he got back was another curt “utaan.”

The one with the sack pulled out four strips of cloth with a link of chain on either end, and two lengths of chain. “You bite clat,” he said, holding up the cloth, “we click! No talking! You take clat out, shoot!” He jabbed into William’s chest for emphasis.

“So they’re handicapping us,” Gustav said grimly.

“Seems so,” Elias countered.

“Utaan or shooted! Bite clat!” he said, taking one of the cloth strips and thrusting it into Elias’ face. His nose scrunched at it. The cloth seemed clean, but who knew down here?

They all bit down on it, and then the guard tentatively opened the gate. Holding his sword at the ready, the other one began to affix the cloth.

Then, before Elias could react, one of the chains was clasped onto his right wrist, and then the other end of it to William’s left. The same happened with Gus and Michael. Elias murmured a protest, but the hobgoblin just growled at him. “You think chief stupid?” it asked in Hobbo. “Four on one proves nothing. You win like this, then you maybe earn chief’s respect.”

“Now come on!” the other guard said. “We go to arena now!”

The other guard dropped the now empty sack and pulled his own sword, and the now-bound pairs were pushed forward. Elias glanced down at his wrist, and then over to William. William shared the look. Elias wasn’t positive about what William was thinking, nor could he ask, but the fact that the chain was metal was the most grating thing to him. It meant that, unless he felt like frying the cleric, he wouldn’t be able to use his lightning spell. Spells in general would be difficult to pull off.

At the very least William knew how to fight. Elias had known Gustav longer than the rest, and that’s why he felt Michael would be the most handicapped here. It was like strapping a pony to a warhorse. Elias sighed. They’d get through this, it just might take some doing.

They were eventually marched into a relatively open arena. Elias wasn’t sure what purpose the wide open chamber originally held, but it looked to be rather modified, with “seating” installed along the sides. To the left of them was a blocked off area where the chieftain sat. Elias tried to get a count of the hobgoblins in attendance, assuming this was much of their numbers. Maybe a hundred? How many of them could fight? Probably most.

A voice began to ring out over the crowd, but it wasn’t the chieftain. It was the shaman. He knew the humans wouldn’t understand it, but Elias could make out what Yerntas was saying clearly. “How long has it been since our last fight? Since blood was shed on our arena floor?!”

Cries of “too long!” and “forever!” rang out.

“Ever since we lay under siege by orcs and undead, we have been almost trapped, unable to find beasts or fodder to prove themselves to our chieftain!”

Cheers rose up, and the chief roared along with them, waving its saber.

“Today we have our latest invaders… two humans, one a follower of their three-headed sky-father, a lowborn, and one of the fallen Elves of their new empire!” Elias glanced over. William hadn’t understood the insult to his god, but clearly Gustav understood enough of it to glare daggers at Yerntas.

“They will be tested against our most steadfast combatant, our reigning champion, and the last warrior of Maalidon! My fellow Taesuus! Your prayers for blood have been answered, for we unleash the Minotaur!”

A gate opened on the opposite end of the arena, and the guards around them quickly ran off, closing their own gate behind them. Yelling and the cracks of whips were followed by a loud bellow, and out it came.

It stood seven feet tall, and had a build like a large, muscular man. Its legs ended in hooves, and a relatively short tail whipped behind it. It was covered in a coat of short brown fur, though scarring was visible even through that. And its head was just as William had said, that of a bull’s, fierce and angry, with two horns curving forward, easily large enough to gore a man.

Its gate slammed shut behind it, and the minotaur roared up at the crowd, which cheered. Yerntas called out in Toremen, yelling “your food lies across from you, beast! Slay them if you hunger so!”

The minotaur’s head bore down on them. It roared again, and Elias saw one difference from a normal bovine; the teeth were not that of something that calmly chewed grass. This thing ate whatever it wanted to, and by the look in its eyes, it wanted to eat whatever it got its hands on.

Elias pulled his mashaat a second before William and Michael drew their respective weapons, and about the same time the minotaur charged. It thundered across the stone floor of the arena, and luckily everyone had the same idea; get out of the way. William and Elias pulled left, while Michael and Gustav pulled right.

This was no simple bullfight, though. The minotaur was quick to turn, and charged again, aiming for Elias and William. They tried to move out of the way again, but the minotaur held an arm out. Elias was fast enough to drop down and avoid the clothesline. William wasn’t, and Elias was dragged backwards a few feet before William stopped moving. The minotaur slowed but didn’t stop, hooves almost a foot around aiming to trample them. Elias put all of his strength into throwing him and William out of the way, and then twisted under the chain. His right arm was at an awkward angle, but luckily for him, elves didn’t have that “dominant hand” nonsense that humans did. His left hand could use his blade just as well as his right, and proved it by putting a bright red line along the minotaur’s thigh. It was appreciated about as much as he expected, and he the minotaur backhanded him, tossing them both away a few feet.

Michael was able to intervene at that point, though barely. He made thrusts at the minotaur while trying to yell through his gag, which seemed to work to some extent. The minotaur backed off slightly, posturing right back.

Elias tried to shake the blow-induced haze from his head, and William helped him stand. He made a motion towards Elias’ leg. It took a moment for Elias to understand, and then he shook his head. Honestly, he hadn’t even remembered his earlier leg injuries.

The minotaur had enough posturing, and after backing up a few paces, began to charge forward. Michael threw up his shield, but Gus clearly had a better idea. He stepped in front of Michael and threw up his arms, and a barrier of arcane energy erupted out of the ground. As soon as the minotaur got close it threw its hands in front of its face, letting out a roar.

The crowd went mad over that though. Clearly they weren’t used to seeing magic. Elias was a bit surprised too. Gustav had gotten better at casting spells with his hands alone, apparently. Still, that barrier wouldn’t hold long. Elias urged William to follow him, and he moved to their left, aiming to circle the minotaur, which continued to try and push through the barrier. A distraction Elias couldn’t pass up.

            He moved so that William was more behind the creature, and then slashed at its shoulder before ducking low. The minotaur whirled, roaring. It swung its fist, but then seeing how low Elias was, it made to stomp him.

            Elias knew William couldn’t read his mind. Much like the minotaur, he was hoping instinct would do the work. He pulled with his right arm, pulling William down so that he was closer in. He apparently got the point, and he came down he dove, tackling the minotaur’s stable leg. It fell down, prompting another cheer from the crowd.

            Elias and William moved to scramble away from the fallen creature, but then Elias felt himself pulled back by his left. The minotaur had reached around and grabbed the chain binding them together.

            The most frightening thing about that moment wasn’t the bestial rage Elias saw, but the thinking wrath behind the snarl that curled up the minotaur’s lip.

            Elias and William went airborne, being swung around by the minotaur like a pair of human flails. The minotaur slammed them into the floor, and then rose them up to do so again. Michael would have none of that, and ran forward, passing through barrier Gustav had erected.

            Poor, unfortunate Gustav was pulled along for the ride. He was certain being tied to Elias or William would be a better fate. But no, he had to be tied to the other bull in this arena.

            Michael’s sword plunged into the minotaur’s side, with William and Elias falling to the stone. Gustav felt himself fortunate that he wasn’t bound to Michael’s sword arm, but his shield arm. That was until the minotaur took a step back, and then moved forward, head lowered to gore them. Michael’s years of training and instinct threw his shield up to protect him.

            He wasn’t used to person going with it.

            Gustav stumbled, pushing Michael forward as the minotaur hit. The minotaur’s head whipped upward as if it was on a spring, and the two went flying through the air, tumbling across the ground two yards away, with Gustav feeling the wind knocked out of him by Michael’s heavy armored frame.

            Michael made to stand, not even slowed down, at least by Gustav’s standards. Gustav wanted to strangle him. Not everyone is used to being tossed around like a rag doll, Michael!

            Gustav grinned at that thought. His internal complaint gave him an idea.

            He checked, and the minotaur was still focused on them, pawing at the cracked stone with its feet, ignoring William and Elias, who were still recovering from their own assault. Gustav grabbed Michael’s shoulder, and then knocked on his helmet. Michael looked over at him, and then Gustav grabbed his shield. It was heavy, heavier than he expected, but it would work.

            Gustav then got behind Michael. Michael made some sort of mumbling sound. Gustav, thankfully, couldn’t hear it, and began to cast a spell.

            Unfortunately, the minotaur charged. Michael pulled them sharply to the side, rolling across the dirty floor. Gustav did his best to focus on the spell. Spellcasting, aside from requiring arcane energy, usually needed a verbal component to ‘direct’ the energy. Somatic components such as hand or body gestures sped it up or made them more effective. Fully somatic spellcasting could be a bit tougher, especially while in motion. Gustav had little option, though.

            Not even fully reared up, the minotaur turned towards Michael, clawing across the floor like a jungle ape. Michael jabbed forward with his sword, forcing the minotaur to redirect or find itself with a sword in its skull. The minotaur charged again, and Michael thrust again. This time, though, the minotaur’s horn hooked the sword and took it from Michael’s grasp, sending it away. Michael glanced back at Gustav.

            Gustav hoped this would work.

            He moved in front of Michael again, holding Michael’s shield in front of him. The minotaur made to charge once more, and given that Gustav wasn’t nearly as strong as Michael, a block would have gone very poorly. Gustav didn’t intend on keeping the shield, though.

            Gustav had a spell that some called the “knocker.” The intended use was to blow in doors, blow off locks, or with a strong enough mage, even knock a hole in a wall. He knew the science behind it. Massive seismic vibrations emitted from the mage’s hand into whatever he was touching, propelling it away from him.

            In the case of a shield?

            It was as if explosion went off, with Michael and Gustav stumbling backwards as the shield was propelled forward. It was slammed into the head of the minotaur faster than a clap of thunder, sending it staggering. Michael stood back up as fast as possible, and Gustav did his best to keep up. He noticed the small nod from his old friend. Well, at least Michael saw the point of that.

            It would’ve been more fortunate if it had worked better. Even though a decent sized gash had been opened over the minotaur’s eye, it didn’t seem slowed down any. William was finally managing to get up, and the minotaur noticed.

            Michael scrambled forward to grab his sword, but Gustav saw they couldn’t get there in time. William was barely even awake, and the minotaur was charging him down.

            Gustav was about to watch his friend die… and it would be his fault. He had been the one to bring William here, along with the rest. And now he would die because of that?

            William was barely able to fathom what had happened. His head was spinning even now, and his body ached. He had briefly checked Elias before he stood. Breathing but unconscious. How many times would he have to heal this elf?

            Of course, that was hardly a concern when he heard the great sound made by Gustav’s attack. He spun towards the sound, but grabbed his head. By the time his vision cleared, he saw the bull’s head bearing down on him.

            His mace was nowhere near. He had no time for his magic, nor even the sense of mind. There was part of him that accepted this; this is where God would will him to die, and so it would be.

            The flame that erupted around him was unexpected. Part of him wondered if that meant his fate was everything but the eternal bounty of heaven. Then he realized he was still alive, knocked back down and hot.

            His hands flew to his head, patting out the cinders in his beard and hair. The minotaur was in much worse shape, completely enveloped in flames. The crowd was going mad, and he saw Yerntas yelling to the guards which were bringing the gates up. William looked around to the only possible source of the fire, Gustav.

            Gustav was on the ground, smoke rising from his body. Michael was patting on small fires. William threw himself forward, dragging Elias with him. His free hand reached up and unclasped the cloth binding, no longer caring. Michael had done the same.

            “Gus! By God, what happened, Gus?!”

            William leaned down, taking his cross into hand. “How did this happen? What got him?!”

            “Nothing, he cast his spell, but it was like it… backfired or something!”

            Elias groaned, pulling himself up. He didn’t seem too well off himself, but he heard them talking and did his best to speak. “Happens. Cast a spell, didn’t direct it… magic gets confused.”

            “So, burns, in this case?”

            “I believe so?”

            “All I needed,” William said, gripping his cross.

            “No!” came a voice from above, and William saw it was Yerntas. “Let the lursass burn, burn by his own-”

            “Utaan!” came another. The Chieftain stood, shoving Yerntas to the side. “Humans win.”

            William didn’t have time to get caught up in the internal politics of the crowd. “Dous min lum sanab ti! Vid min restati tu, mami and hamisal!” As he spoke, his Achdrammen drowning out much of the sounds of the arena, his thoughts pounded in his head. He risked himself to save me Lord, please allow me to return this favor. Bring him back. Prove to these creatures that God’s light sees no color, sees no body, only spirit.

            He shut his eyes and pressed both his hands, cross in his palm, into Gustav. A strong wind whipped around them, and Gustav’s body pulsated with white light for a moment.

            Then he sat up, screaming through his gag. The crowd went mad once more, screaming at the top of their lungs. Joy, panic, hate, who could say? Michael reached back and unclasped Gustav’s gag. Gustav looked around in a panic, but calmed down when he saw William, and when saw the smoking Minotaur being corralled by hobgoblin guards, he visibly relaxed, slumping back against Michael. “Oh gods, it worked. I didn’t think it would.”

            It took everything William had not to cry. “You saved my life, old friend. I… I can only hope I can repay that.”

            Gustav cocked an eyebrow and laughed a little, then coughing. Before he could speak again, the arena went silent. William looked back up to the chieftain’s seat, who had raised his sword.

            “You haff proved yousselves, even the lursass. If you die, it not by a Taesuus. So says As-Calaigius!” he repeated it again, or so William figured, to the rest of the horde. They all cheered once more.

Two guards came towards them with spears, though they weren’t pointed at them. They spoke, and Elias translated. “We get to rest now. We will be afforded…” he asked a question, and after a few more back-and-forths of hobgoblin tongue, he said “afforded better room and food. The chieftain, apparently, wants us rested.”

“Works for me,” Gustav coughed.

“Alright then,” Michael said, lifting Gustav up. “Let’s go.”

William helped Elias up, letting him lean against him. As they left, he clutch his cross tightly, and looked upwards. Although all he saw was the worn roof of the old fort, he was looking beyond that. Thank you.

Writer's Note: Recent Revisions (8/6/13)

So I made some changes to the story recently, and I wanted to go over those in short rather than expect people to re-read my entire story just to get what a few (possibly) key words mean from this point on. So I'll try to be brief.

Most of the changes have to deal with the mythology of the "Valor" world and the setting in general, which I was hesitant to delve into too deeply before my story really took shape, as I tend to have a problem with that: I like world-building, and sometimes that actually surpasses the story for me. So even now, I still have only rough ideas about what, exactly, the Valor world is like... but I know more than I did.

Trinitarinism/The Triune: This is pretty much the name of larger "faith" that William is a cleric of, and fairly equivalent to Christianity in a lot of ways. Their God is, when not referred to simply as a "God" or "The Lord," is called "the Triune." To clarify, it IS different from the Holy Trinity in Catholicism. Actually, on that note, although Triune worship is very clearly a Christianity analog, it is not Christianity. There are many core differences, and the fact that this is a fantasy world where other gods and deities CLEARLY exist factors into that.

Places and Kings: So I gave a few names to things previous left unnamed. One is the name of the kingdom that this all takes place in, called Torem. 'Tor' like in Taurus, 'em' like in Them. Previously I had called it an empire, but no, just a kingdom. The king's name is King Peter. All cases where things were previous called Imperial are now called Royal... unless they're referring to the Elven Empire. Which, likewise, what I had previous called the first Elven Empire (now called "The Kelavastans") are now the second Elven Empire. They're the ones with certain policies that Elias refers to in Chapter 7. The first Empire hasn't really been talked about yet, and the third and current one doesn't have a name, though it's been clarified it does have an Empress. Who is currently nameless. Oh, and remember King Belgaias from the prologue? He has a city

Asarianism: The particular branch of Trinitarinism that William subscribes to and, indeed, most of Torem, is Asarianism. It's a lot like how Christianity is divided into a lot of different sects, such as Catholicism, Calvinism, Eastern Orthodoxy, and so on. I won't go into too many particulars of Asarianism, but a big part of it is that it's a lot more inclusive than many Triune churches, in that it is more accepting of converts, even non-human ones, and has reasons for that.

Language: Although I still called some languages things like Elven, Orcish, and Hobbo, I changed a couple. The "common" language of Torem has been promptly changed to Toremen, and I also changed the name of the "holy language" that basically acts as Latin in this world. Well, I didn't "change" its name so much as I GAVE it one. It's called "Achdrammen." 'Ach' like in Bach (or how a Mainer says 'Park'), 'dram' like in Drama, and 'men' like in Minute.

There's probably more little changes, but that's all I can think of that's 'important.' Chapter 8 will be up next Saturday (June 5th) at noon, and it will end Part 2! So stay tuned.

Writer's Note: Valor, Chapter 7

This is a Writer's note, and not the actual Chapter 7 of Valor. You can find that here.

Hey guys, another Writer's Note. Warning, this may have some spoilers for later bits. Nothing direct, but it's kind of a look into my process, so it may be revealing. That said.

Part of the reason it took me several months to make Chapter 7 is that I'm beginning to set up things further down the road. And not just a little bit down the road, but way down the road. Valor is, in some ways, the first part of a trilogy, and though I'm hoping for it to stand on its own merits, at the same time I want to hint at larger subjects that will come into play later. The problem is that I don't know, exactly, what those are.

"That's kind of sloppy Richie. Why even hint at them, then? What's the bloody point?!"
Well, here's my problem; I don't get along too well with detailed outlining. There IS an outline for Valor, but if I made it too detailed, I would feel uninspired to write it. One thing I love about writing is the same thing I love about reading, or watching shows/movies: I like finding out what happens next. I've noticed its something you can use to distinguish a Writer from "someone who writes." A Writer is someone who can be surprised by their own characters, their own story, and find themselves caught off-guard by what happens. Some people look at me like I'm crazy when I say stuff like that, but if it's happened to you, you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about, and how much of a difference it makes.

So that's where my problem for Chapter 7 comes in. This is the first chapter where I'm starting to lay down the foundation for what comes later, and while I'm trying to peg down what that is without forcing the story a certain direction, it's very much in a state of flux. In a strange way, the stuff I have outlined for Valor and its "sequels" are not even the most important bits. More like trail markers to find my way with. So I've struggled a lot, because even though I've said repeatedly this is all a work in progress, I don't like putting up something that feels like it could change. And trust me: Chapter 7 could change. I'll make it known if it does, and what changed, but I think it's pretty close right now.

Either way, thank you all for your patience.

Valor: Chapter 7

            Their rough skin had an orange tint to it instead of being gray. They were also the size of elves, averaging about five feet. Their eyes were mostly black, so that much was the same, but Elias found it hard to mistake them for goblins.

            “Oh come off it,” Gustav grumbled. He, like Elias and William, was tied and bound inside of an old cell, one clearly meant to hold the enemies of the men who used to own it. Ironic, then, who its current owners were.

            “They are clearly hobgoblins.”

            “I’m sorry,” William interrupted, “but what difference does that make.”

            “Well, one, they’ll be somewhat less likely to kill us for no reason.”

            “What Elias means is that they like to pretend to be Elves.”

            Elias flushed, and hissed through clenched teeth “that is not what I mean.” Even though it was, he just didn’t want to admit it. At some point in the distant past some goblins had decided to try and emulate the elves… and over time, became hobgoblins. Their language was a mix of Goblin, Elven, and a few Orcish words that many simply called “Hobbo.” Elias spoke it more or less fluently, because it wasn’t that far off from Elven and Orcish.

            A guard came over, rapping an axe carved from bone against the cell bars. “What’re you yammin’ about in there Elf?”

            Elias sighed, and said “I am telling my friends the difference between hobgoblins and goblins.” It didn’t hurt to tell the truth, he figured. At least in this case.

            The guard snorted, and it seemed amplified by his bat-like nose. “You tell them a rock-biter would’ve killed you by now?”

            That seemed as good an opportunity as any to try and mine for some information. “More or less. I told them hobgoblins tend to have better reasons for holding prisoners than meals or slaves.”

            The guard laughed. It was an annoying, screechy sound. “You’d be right.” He slammed the haft of his axe against the bars, the iron-on-iron painfully loud in close quarters. William jumped slightly at the sound, not able to follow the conversation in the slightest. “But don’t think you’ll get off easy either.”

            Elias grunted, and the guard walked off. Leaning in, William asked “what was that about?”

            Gustav snorted. “From what I could follow, it was the guard not telling Elias anything useful.”

            Elias sighed. “Right on the nose. I don’t think we’ll be eaten or enslaved, at any rate.”

            William’s face contorted. “I’d say that’s pleasant, but the mere thought is still somewhat revolting.”

            Elias sighed. “Still, nothing I’d like to stick around for.”

            “You’ll not be going anywhere quickly” Gustav said, motioning with his shoulders, hands bound behind his back. “Aside from being a bit tied up at the moment, you have a bit of a leg issue.”

            Elias grunted, glancing down at his leg. Even the hobgoblins had seen it was broken, and hadn’t bothered binding his legs together. As luck would have it, it wasn’t even the same leg that had been injured earlier, leaving him with a painfully working leg, and one that simply… didn’t. “I do find it odd that they bandaged it, though,” he said aloud. It was a crude job, but…

            “I’ve heard elves are revered by their sort, but I didn’t think it went that far.”

            “I don’t think it does, Gus,” Elias said. “Not really. After all, they bandaged Michael’s wound up as well.”

            The three looked over towards Michael, who was still unconscious. His head wound had been bleeding quite badly, and William had already tried asking the hobgoblins to let him heal the wound. They had refused, instead doing their own patchwork medicine.

            “True,” Gustav said after a moment, looking back to Elias, “but we had to ask them to do that. You may have more sway here than you think.”

            Elias thought for a moment… and didn’t like where his thoughts lead. “If that is true, and they are a bit more, ah, reverent than most, you have reason to worry.”

            Gustav cocked an eyebrow, but Elias continued unprovoked. “Hobgoblins started mimicking us during the Second Empire, Gus. The Kelavastans. They may have certain, ah… eugenic policies.”

            The reminder of what the Second Elven Empire endorsed, or rather, enforced, hit Gustav in the pit of his stomach. “Ah… yes. Bringers of the light, in all forms.”

            “Mmm,” Elias said, somewhat uncomfortably. He knew it was awkward for him to bring up, as many elves still felt that way even today. Elias was different, and Gustav knew that.

            But many elves, and some of other races, saw people with skin as dark as Gustav’s as literal stains upon the world. That they represented an impurity of all races that must be cleansed. The Elves did that… not just to themselves, but to the Dwarves and Halflings as well. They had even started to do it to humans, but that was when the Kelavastans fell from power in the Empire.

            And that’s why, out of all the civilized races of the world, only humans had darker-skinned folk like Gustav.

            He shook his head slightly. “If they followed that, I wouldn’t be here. I’ve read all about those sorts of things… it was just slaughtering, there was no ritual or procedure.”

            “True,” Elias added, “but who knows what the hobgoblins may do? After all, they can’t find too many Easterners around here.”

            “Perhaps we should focus less on why we’re here, and more on how to not be here?” William interrupted.

            “It doesn’t hurt to wonder, Will.”

            “He has a point though,” Elias said, nodding. “Whatever their reason for keeping us, it’s certainly not good. They’re hobgoblins, not nubile young women.”

            Gustav grinned mischievously. “I’m sure technically some of them are both, and would be MORE than eager to have a round with an elf.”

            Gustav found the faces of revulsion that both Elias and William made to be exquisite. “Heavens forbid me that horrid a fate!” Elias squawked indignantly, which only brought a low laugh from Gustav.

            “What of your magic?” William asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

            Gustav and Elias shared a look, and then Gustav looked to William. “Technically, we both have a spell that could easily get us out of the cell, but it would be rather difficult to pull off like this,” he said, again gesturing with his shoulders, emphasizing his bound hands. “Even if we got out, we’d be swarmed upon by hobgoblins, and with no weapons…”

            “Magic will only get us so far,” Elias finished, though Gustav had not felt he was quite done. “In all honesty, I think seeing what they want of us may serve us better, for now. Or at least, awaiting an better oppor… ssh!”

            Gustav didn’t need to ask why they should be quiet, given where Elias looked. Not a moment later, even Gustav could hear the approaching hobgoblins; the jailor from before, along with two more heavily armored guards. He looked between them all suspiciously.

            Gustav, unfortunately, didn’t speak Hobbo, and barely understood Orcish. His grasp of Elven allowed him to follow a little bit of the conversation between the jailor and Elias. Something to do with Michael, and injury… healing? Why couldn’t they just copy Elven in full, damn them?

            The jailor would open the door, and the two guards would ready their weapons, two heavy stone maces. “What’s going on?” Gustav asked as they came in, prodding at William and grabbing Michael.

            “They’re, uh,” Elias licked his lips nervously, “well, they’re going to heal Michael.”

            “You don’t make that sound very positive.”

            “Well,” Elias glanced over at the jailor, who grumbled something at him. “Our relative health is important to them, and they don’t want Michael dying, apparently.”

            “So why not just let William heal him?”

            “I think they’re only just realizing what he is,” Elias finished.

            William, who had been somewhat reluctant to follow them, looked over now. “What, were the crosses not clue enough?” He glared at one of the hobgoblins as it grabbed it him, pushing away. “I am a servant of the Lord, you bilious-”

            The hobgoblin growled, and with a shout of “utaan!” backhanded William. The jailor yelled at Elias. Gustav’s inability to follow what was happening here was infuriating.

            “William, please just go with them. I’m not sure what they’re planning, but I think they’re letting you heal him.”

            “And I can’t do that here?”

            “Utaan!” Another slap.

            Gustav broke in, saying “just go William! I don’t like it either, but we don’t have many options.”

            Gustav shot a look at the jailor as he dragged him by. “And you! Jailor! Um, err, onkunad! Amad!”

            The jailor looked over, an eyebrow cocked. Okay, he recognizes at least one of those words. “You better bring them back in one piece, or I’ll bring this whole place down! Bok arkhastralla, if that means anything to you!”

            The jailor let go of Michael, walking over and firmly grasping Gustav by his chin. Gustav tried jerking back, but he couldn’t move far enough fast enough. The jailor’s leathery grip was tight, and he lifted Gustav off the ground one-handed.

            “Bos cre se ROS arkhastralla?” Gustav got the gist of it, and responded in kind.

            “Yes, I your downfall,” he responded in broken Hobbo. The hobgoblin sneered, and then tossed Gustav back against the wall. He grunted, and then bit his lip to swallow a yell as the jailor slammed his foot into his gut. “Bosne serca net os lurass!”

            “Gus!” William shouted, but was pushed out of the cell by the guards. The jailor dragged Michael behind, and the bars slammed shut loudly.

            Once the guards left, Elias shifted his way over as best he could, an act which Gustav wasn’t too injured to appreciate, given Elias’ own injuries. “Gus! Gus, are you alright?”

            Gustav coughed, though made no attempt to right himself. “I’m just going to lay here for a bit.”

            Elias took a breath, leaning back against the wall. After a few moments of silence, he said “sorry about that.”

            Gustav coughed when he tried to speak, but eventually forced out a “sorry for what?”

            Elias said nothing for a moment. When Gustav looked up at him, Elias was looking away. Sighing, Gustav pressed his shoulders to the ground and shifted his legs, moving into an upright position. “Are you feeling worse about it calling me a lursass than about this being somewhat all your idea?”

            “I… well, put that way, no.”

            “So that means it was a yes,” Gustav said, shaking his head. “Elias, I’ve been called a ‘lowborn’ all my life.” Gustav did his best to force a grin. “It’ll take more than the words of a damned goblin to start hurting now.”

            “Hobgoblin,” Elias corrected.

            Gustav rolled his eyes. “Oh shut up.”

            Elias laughed slightly, and so did Gustav, though it started a coughing fit once more. Hopefully that would get Elias’ mind off it.

            Especially as, now that Gustav had confirmed the Hobgoblins saw him as a… Easterner before a human, that certainly gave him more to think about.

            William grunted as the mace prodded into his back again, pushing him forward. “I’m going, damn you!” he shouted, pulling away from them slightly, but not too far. They’d been walking for a few minutes now, and he had already learned that if he stepped too far away, they’d simply hit him.

            They occasionally spoke in their hissing language, though he couldn’t follow a word of it. He wondered if that was intentional… though part of him felt that was giving them too much credit.

            Finally, they came to an old wooden door, upon which the jailor knocked several times. A voice called out from within, and then the doors opened. At first it seemed as if on their own, but once William entered he saw two guards standing to either side. It was then he realized where he was.

            “Oh… oh my God, what have you done?”

            What had clearly been, long ago, the Chapel of Tagen Rynns was altered in such a way he could only describe it as heretical. The cross at the far end still stood, though had obviously been repaired; thorny vines were wrapped around the broken pieces, holding them in place. Skeletal remains were crucified to the walls, likewise held together by vines or rope.

            Beneath the cross sat the oblong altar, and a ramshackle throne constructed behind it. However, the being clearly in charge of this room wasn’t on the throne, but the altar. It was a hobgoblin lying upon some crude bedding, and with him were two more female hobgoblins. All were nude. Despite that, the eyes of the male hobgoblin weren’t on the women, but the William.

            He said something, and one of the guards shoved William forward, onto his knees. The ‘lead’ hobgoblin shouted, and the two women stood and walked out, as well as the two guards and jailor that had come with William and Michael.

            William glanced down at Michael, who was still unconscious. His armor, which had been only a day or two ago polished and shining, was already worn down and scratched.

            “He has seen better days, yes?” the hobgoblin asked, throwing on a shawl that draped over his form (mercifully). William looked back at up him, trying to hide his surprise with a glare, but saying nothing.

            The hobgoblin grinned crookedly. “Net much for talking, are you?”

            He got in close, looking William right in the face. “Well…” his eyes flickered mischievously, “si qi I’toc daxa?”

            It wasn’t Toremen, but it wasn’t Hobbo either. It took William a moment to recognize it through the accent, but when he did, the words ‘what if I spoke like this’ came across almost as a threat.

            “Foul creature!” he yelled, standing and moving towards it. The hobgoblin was ready for that, and backhanded him, staggering William, and William heard the two guards, still by the door, draw their swords. “Achdrammen is a holy tongue, not fit for your ears, let alone your mouth! You shouldn’t…” William shook his head, “you shouldn’t even be able to speak it!”

            “I thought that would get your attention,” it said, speaking Toremen once more. “And my introduction will explain what you need to know. You may call me Shaman Yernta Iron-Tongue.” As he said that, he opened his mouth and licked the front of his jagged teeth, causing a slight scraping sound.

            William stared in confusion. “Y-your tongue is… iron?”

            “It is,” Yernta said, and motioned for his guards to stand down. “Stops almost all the nasty side effects of your Three-Headed Sky-King’s speakings.”

            William fumed, taking a step forward. “Call the Lord a Sky-King again and I swear I will-”

            “Die, and so will your friend,” Yernta said matter-of-factly. “In fact, I’ll ensure you watch him die. He’ll join my collection,” he said, motioning around the room.

            William glanced around at the various skeletons adorning the walls. It certainly wasn’t a subtle threat. He took a step back. “What do you want with us?”

            “I want nothing,” Yernta spoke, stepping back and sitting on top of the altar. “I am the Shaman. I am the Iron-Tongue. Our chief gives me all I want.” He pointed at William. “I do not want you. The chief wants you.”

            “So you’re not the one in charge” William said. It could’ve been a question, but he didn’t feel like it needed asking.

            Yernta just laughed quietly.

            “Chief wants you and your friends. Wants you alive. We try fixing your big friend.” He nodded towards Michael’s prone form. “Not doing so well, hmm?”

            William’s jaw clenched. “No,” he forced out, “he’s not. I heard you were going to let me heal him?”

            The grin from the hobgoblin put William in mind of a crocodile smiling; it was only doing it because it was about clamp down on him. “Yeesss. You will… but up here,” he said, patting the altar. “You put him up here, heal him all nice and good before your Sky-King.” He jerked a thumb back towards the cross.

            William frowned. He hadn’t given location much of a thought, but since the shaman was so insistent upon it, it made him question it. “Why?”

            “Because I said so. Because I am the Iron-Tongue.” He hopped off the altar, grabbing a crude key from the edge of it, and moving behind William. As he unlocked the bindings on William’s wrists, he rasped “nin sanab, Cleris.”

            William shrugged him off. “Don’t command me to heal in the words of the Lord,” he snapped, rubbing his wrists lightly. He looked down at Michael, and then around at the chapel. The blasphemy was almost thick enough to be tangible, beyond the reality of the bones and vines.

            He looked at the bedding upon the altar, and his eyes narrowed. He brushed it all to the side with one sweep of his arm. He heard Yernta chuckle behind him.

            Sighing, William dragged Michael up onto the altar. It was a little difficult by himself, especially with the heavy armor, but he was up there. He did his best to lay Michael straight, his back flat against the altar.

            Without the bedding on it, he was able to properly see the engravings upon the altar. Nothing was sacred to these creatures. Whole sections looked to have been filed away and redone, with new engravings of hobgoblin make carved in, drastically different from those of the Church.

            “One day you will be punished for all of this,” William said, glancing back at Yernta.

Yernta merely shrugged. “That day is not today, Cleris. Now heal your friend before I get bored.”

William sighed, and set his hand upon William’s face. He closed his eyes to concentrate, but then Yernta shoved his shoulder. “Say the words, no silence! You’ll not trick me, human.”

It honestly hadn’t occurred to William to be deceitful… even then, at best he could have, maybe, forced a holy binding on Yernta. But Elias and Gustav had been right; now was not the time for that.

The hobgoblin chief wanted them alive. For some reason. If they were alive, they could escape. At some point.

He glanced up and around at the blasphemed room again, then once more shut his eyes. Forgive my blasphemy Lord. I act not of this place, nor of the Heathen’s command, but of my duty towards my fellow man… and my friend.

Hoping his God would understand, William began to speak. “Dous min lum sanab ti. Vid min restati tu…”

Michael was drowning. He fought against the thick fluid with every ounce of his being, desperately clawing his way up. Or what he thought was up.

It wasn’t water he was in. No, too thick… more like mud. It was hot, and stung at him. He kept swimming, kept struggling. Kept drowning, though he would not die.

Am I dead? he thought at one point. Is this hell?

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he surfaced, gasping, taking in a deep lungful of breath. He coughed and sputtered, immediately swimming forward until he met a shore. The liquid he’d been swimming in was sticking to him, covering him. He slowly crawled out, dropping to his chest when he was finally free of the mire.

Just a moment’s rest, he thought. Only a moment.

Something kicked in his mind, a sharp pain that brought a groan to his lips. No, no rest!

He began to crawl forward on his hands and knees. It was dark, almost as dark as it had been below. He couldn’t tell where he was, it either being a starless night or a large darkened chamber.

He vaguely remembered being underground, so he assumed the latter. He called out. “William! Gus! Is anyone there?”

There was no verbal response, but several red glows pulsed in the distance. He forced himself to stand, though his legs still wobbled and his lungs still burned. But if he had been drowning without dying, he could run now.

And so he did, running towards one of the pulsating lights. As he got closer, he saw the light for what it was, a red orb as tall as a man’s torso, half-filled with a thick liquid. He pressed his hand to the orb, and it pulsed brighter. It was soft to the touch, giving and warm.

Suddenly a beam of bright white light pushed through the darkness, nearly blinding him. Then another, piercing the darkness from another direction. “What… what is going on?”

Another. Then another. It looked as if the darkness was falling apart around him, and light shining through from beyond. He looked at the red orb, focusing on it, his hand flat against it.

And as the light swallowed him whole, a hand pressed against his from the other side.

“Michael! Michael, it’s okay, it’s okay!”

Michael looked down at his hand, and then smoothed it over his chest. Over the steel armor, comfortably protecting him. He next reached for his head, tentatively running his finger tips over the crude bandaging.

He looked at William, and only then noticed the thin laughter coming from behind him. Slowly, Michael’s senses were returning, and he realized just what sort of room he was in. The macabre scene that played out on the walls and ceiling was jarring enough to shake his dream from his mind, and he sat up quickly.

He felt some slight pain in his head, and put a hand to it once more. William put his hands to his face, using his thumbs to force Michael’s eyes wide open. “Wh-what is…”

“I’m making sure you aren’t concussed or worse,” William said, and switched to Michael’s other eye. “We’re currently the captives of some hobgoblins, who have… graciously allowed me to heal you.”

Michael didn’t miss the distaste in William’s tone at the end, and the low laughter of the Hobgoblin behind him rang hollow in his ears. He focused back on William. “If you healed me, wouldn’t I no longer be concussed?”

The hobgoblin’s laugher was even sharper now. William shot it a dirty look, and then went back to examining Michael. “It’s complicated, but in short, there are some things my magic simply isn’t strong enough to heal.”

“Your situation, for one,” the Hobgoblin hissed, cackling afterwards.

Michael moved his arm around and pushed William’s hands away before shifting off the altar, moving to stand. His legs felt weary and weak underneath, and he realized after a moment he was starving. How long was I out? he almost asked, but after a brief glance around the room, enshrouded in heresy that he knew would be clawing at William, he decided to get to the point. “What do you mean?” He had more questions, but he felt William could answer many of them.

The hobgoblin stopped laughing at William’s question, but after a moment’s thought, began to grin. The teeth it revealed were surprisingly white, far different than those of goblins he had seen in the past, and only a few were chipped or missing.

“Forgive my impertinence, oh mighty human.” He gave an overly dramatic bow. “I am the shaman of my tribe, Yernta Iron-Tongue, and-”

“What is your tribe?”

Yernta scowled, straightening back up. “You’ll be wise to not interrupt me again, human.”

Michael took a step forward. He easily had a foot or more of height over the Hobgoblin, and though he was unarmed, he was far from unarmored. His footing felt unsure, but he did his best not to let that show. “I am responsible for these men. I am Michael Niels, of House Niels, and leader of this expedition into Taskurr and Tagen Rynns.”

He looked back and beyond to the guards by the door. “You there! Daslang mo Hadisaan! Haaa-dii-saaan.” One of the guards jumped a little, and began to go for the door. Yernta whipped around and yelled something, though Michael couldn’t really make out the words. Yernta turned back to Michael, glaring at him.

“You will meet Chief when he wants, not before.” He whipped around again, and shouted some more in Hobgoblin. After a few moments, the guards came forward, and motioned for Michael and William to follow them.

“You go back to your cell now. Ask God to forgive you Cleris, and you, big Niels…” Yernta came up to him, standing as tall he could to look Michael in the eyes, “sweet dreams.”

Michael did his best to suppress the gut-wrenching feeling. What did this shaman know? How did it know? He pushed past the shaman, walking alongside William as the guards drew their swords and began shouting in occasional hobbo.

After they were away from the corrupted chapel, William looked at Michael in confusion. “What was that?” he hissed quietly.

“Prefix or not, still a goblin,” Michael whispered back, leaning over slightly. “Act big and strong and mean, and they tend to-”

“Utaan.”

“That means-”

“I think I know. We’re talking when we get back to the cell. Are Gus and Elias okay?”

“Yes, they are. More or less.”

“Utaan!” the guard said again, prodding William in the back with his sword. William winced, and Michael shot the guard a glare, but their conversation ended. Michael stewed in silence for a moment before looking back at one of the guards. “What did Yernta say your clan was? The ‘Flowered Valley’ clan?”

Michael fought back a grin as the guard sneered, and his eyes narrowed.

            “Sorry Michael, but it was either healing Elias’ leg or your face.”

            Michael laughed, bringing a strange brevity to the cell that had been missing. “I think I’ll survive with a black eye, Will. How’s your leg Elias?”

            Elias looked down at his leg, stretching it warily. There was still a twinge of pain when he did so, but… “I’ll manage. Thank you, William.”

            “I felt I had to do what I could while I could,” William said, and for added emphasis, displayed his hands that were bound once more. Michael’s hands were also bound, though with no magic, he was in some ways the least dangerous one here.

            “Surprised they let you do it,” Elias said warily. “Especially after the song and dance they made you pull with Michael.”

            “What happened up there?” Gustav asked, studying Michael. “Me and Elias… felt something.”

            Elias shivered. It had been a very cold feeling, and had almost blurred his vision. It was so sudden and bizarre, not only for its intensity, but for its limited duration. He was curious, but at the same time part of him didn’t want to know.

            “It was… I don’t know.” William said with a frown. “When I healed Michael, something was… off about it. I can’t explain what.”

            “Oh, so that’s why you checked my eyes and all afterwards.”

            “Well, that and exactly what I said. Sensitive injuries such as that can be a bit trickier.”

            “Perhaps the shaman had something to do with it?” Elias queried, shifting his weight to take some pressure off his hips. Neither of his legs were truly injured now, but they both still felt the occasional twinges of pain, and he couldn’t find relief from it.

            “Perhaps nothing,” Gustav scoffed. “Someone who transmutes his tongue into iron is not your average witch or shaman. I’d stake my hands that he’s planning something.”

            Elias smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Would you now?”

            Gustav blinked, and glanced to the side. “Well. Theoretically.”

            That got another chuckle from everyone. Gustav just shifted, and tried to get back on topic. “Either way, it doesn’t help that I’ve never heard anything about a, ah, what, Water Drop clan?”

            Elias sighed. Why? Why did humans have to translate everything into Toremen, and why did they have to do it so poorly. “Taesuus. It’s… tears, rain, even waterfalls in some ways. Falling Water.”

            “Isn’t Ta et Suas ‘Drop of Water’ in Elven?” Gustav countered.

            “Well, yes, kind of, but Hobbo is different, and combined like that, it’s-”

            “Whatever,” Michael interrupted, “water drop, waterfall, crying baby clan it doesn’t matter. Clearly they have some sort of plan, and unlike a lot of goblins-”

            “Hobgoblins, they are clearly-”

            “Let it go Elias,” Michael grumbled, “unlike a lot of goblins,” Michael repeated, and Elias swore he paused and looked at Elias for a moment out of spite. Elias decided to keep his mouth shut, but just glared back, “they seem to know enough about magic. Probably because of that shaman. And they want us alive for something. So… what are we thinking that something is?”

            “Some sort of ritual?” William proposed, gesturing with his head towards the cell’s entrance. “I only felt my magic working incorrectly in that room. It worked fine on Elias’ leg.”

            “Hobgoblins aren’t very magical, in general,” Gustav said, tilting his head. “But they do want to be like Elves, who are. Maybe they’re trying to use us for our magic or something?”

            William frowned. “But my magic isn’t anything like, well, Elven magic.”

            “There’s a chance they don’t know that,” Elias suggested.

            William shook his head. “No, I… think he was fully aware of the difference. I may have been thrown off by his nature, but I recognized it. He was a cunning, smart creature.”

            “That doesn’t answer why they needed me alive,” Michael said. “I’m as magical as a chunk of rock.”

            That silenced them. After a few moments, Elias winced as another thought occurred to him. “Maybe they figured we wouldn’t cooperate otherwise?”

            Another silence. Elias saw William cross himself, silently murmuring.

            Michael shook his head. “Well, here’s hoping we find out by tomorrow.”

            Gustav barked out a bitter laugh. “If we don’t starve before then. Do they know humans need to eat?”

            Elias sighed. “Careful what you wish for Gustav, who knows what goblins eat?”

            “Don’t you mean hobgoblins?” Michael interjected.

            Elias’ mouth hung open for a moment, and then he frowned at Michael. He hadn’t meant to say that, but… “Damn it.”