Realm of Druids Read online

  7.

  KING BOORAG

  Generally, the red goblins lived in the shallow ground under large granite domes they refer to as their hides. Over countless years water had carved its way through the underground’s granite rock layers creating a honeycomb of interconnecting tunnels and caves. These hides are scattered randomly throughout the provinces of the moors. The animals and magic folk living within the moors had recognised and agreed upon crude divisions based on simple geographical areas. The North marsh leads to the New Territories and the apparently endless unexplored forests. The Great Southern Marsh on the Boondor Peninsular to Land’s End at the frozen sea. Then there is the East Marsh to the steppes of Scarbia Ranges housing the wolf kingdoms and the West Marsh to the great coastal woods and the Moaning Sea. Boorag the goblin king, who is a young172 years of age, resides in his hide 60 or so miles east of Blackmire Castle in the Great Southern Marsh.

  Within the Slugheart goblin Hide, Boorag often sat on his crude throne made of gnarly dry wood as he had little to interest him these days. It’s heavily adorned with numerous bird skulls, and filth encrusted scavenged items of gold and silver jewellery. These trinkets had absolutely no value within the goblin kingdoms; however, the red folk generally just liked shiny things. His beady little green eyes that were sunk back in his face, shone in the flickering light of several fire torches mounted here and there on nearby granite stone walls. A heavily corroded brass circuit sat upon his fat, almost bald head in a vain attempt to resemble a crown. The crown was worth little and is just a symbol of kingship, though it still bears the bloodstains from the previous goblin king. His wide pointed ears sported thick tufts of unruly hair, far more than what was left clinging to the sides of his head. On the ground spread around his throne were other stolen trinkets and artifacts, several mankind skulls and numerous wolf pelts in various stages of decay. For the goblins hated the mankind animals and were natural enemies of the wolf packs. A fat red dirty finger twisted and turned in his right ear as he pushed it in deeper trying to satisfy an annoying itch. The culprit of the uncomfortable irritation, an earthen earwig, wriggled in deeper to avoid the probing finger.

  Laying about the edges of the throne cave was a variety of broken arrows, rusty swords, countless dead vermin, and thick, thick draped cobwebs. A deep stained wooden bowl containing a mixture of live worms, cockroaches, and millipedes, balanced precariously on one arm of the throne. With a small fat red hand covered in warts, sores and the occasional gold ring, Boorag reached into the bowl and grasped a handful of the wriggling bugs. He stuffed these into his mouth, crunched a few times and swallowed. One huge millipede that had slipped through 2 fingers escaped his grip and raced up his arm, over his shoulder to disappear down his back running for its life. He chuckled and squirmed then grunted as he made an effort to stand up out of his throne while scratching his large red belly covered in scabs and red lesions. It is well known in Boorag’s kingdom that the king favoured marsh hare, black slugs and the green reed frogs that were plentiful around the area. Of course, these formed the staple diet of many a goblin, but it was no secret that the king of goblins always ate much more than anyone else.

  Covered in his grey and white wolf skin cloak, he grabbed the king’s staff off the other arm of the throne. The staff was very plain, a simple carved piece of Dogwood with some wolf and rabbit teeth inlaid into the round knobby bit at the top. This staff did not possess any magic properties, though the king liked to wave it about as he spoke and pretend that it did. Boorag rapped it onto the stone floor three times, calling for his servant mage most theatrically. ‘Grell! Come hither’. After a few seconds of nothing happening, the king called out again. This time louder and impatiently. ‘Grell!’ The closed wood and iron door at the far end of the cave opened inwards with a long slow creak followed by two goblin guards who split immediately to the sides. These guards wore the typical garb of a goblin reaver. A long-sleeved pony skin jacket, hog leather, fur pants and a simple black mantle with a hood. The crest of Slugheart Swamp hide was displayed proudly on their cloaks. It consisted of two green slugs intertwined upon a great boulder set in front of a black sky. These two guards carried short wooden clubs fashioned from small hard trees in the moor. Others wore rusty short swords or knives, stolen over time from other species as the trade of the steel smithy was not known to the goblin caste. Their red faces bore the traditional black tattoo marks of varying designs mimicking magic runes and glyphs.

  Grell entered the room between the guards with a noticeable limp as he appeared to favor his right leg. The cowl of his black garment drawn over his face only revealed his nose, mouth, and pointy chin. The king despised his chief mage and could not bear to look upon his face. On the exposed parts of his red cheeks were white scars in the form of goblin hieroglyphs depicting dedication to the black crafts. Grell had carved this himself into his flesh over many years of training. These marks signified him as a mage and in a caste above the rest of the goblins. Everyone knew that goblin mages had leagued themselves with at least one Daemon. The Daemon helped them possess a learned power above other goblins and to master many enchantments. Grell dipped his head forward mocking respect, but hiding the insolent look upon his face and revealing more glyphs on the back of his hands and arms. He grinned forcefully through jagged and broken yellow teeth, and then stood upright facing his king and wondering to himself what the fat toad wanted now. He wore a short dagger at his side, concealed under his mantle, as was the custom tool of a goblin mage. The dagger had been forged in another realm and gifted to the chosen few by the witches’. It had an onyx handle with a broad, blunt crystal blade. This blade was never designed to cut or stab anything as its purpose was for other uses.

  Boorag went to speak, then stopped and began to choke as his black tongue protruded from his mouth and his beady eyes swelled to twice their size and looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. One of the guards from the door went to move towards the king, pulling a short heavy stick out from under his jacket. This was one of the king’s ‘Choking Sticks’ that was carried by his closest guards who usually used it to give the king a smart rap to his upper back. The mage Grell held his hand behind him in an indicative gesture for the guard to go back to his post at the door. The king’s face turned a shade redder than usual as he gagged then coughed loudly into his hand, his jowls jiggling uncontrollably around his neck. Half a wriggling worm, a bit of millipede and a gold ring that was recently on one of his fingers came flying out of his mouth with a good deal of yellow saliva and a broken green and yellow tooth.

  He stared for a moment at the contents in the palm of his hand, appearing to study them, then he plucked the ring out and popped the other bits and pieces back into his mouth and swallowed. ‘You truly are a wise and majestic king, my lord’ said Grell in a low monotone sort of voice, rolling his eyes. ‘You summoned me my king?’Boorag forced a deep cough trying to clear his throat and demanded in a broken voice. ’Grell, why have I not been told of the outcome of the meeting between my envoy and the witch skyrider?’ Boorag looked down and wiped a slimy wet hand on his cloak. ‘Well my lord,’ Grell replied ‘It has only been seven days, and I expect them to arrive back at any time now.’ ‘Good, upon their return, seek my audience and brief me immediately.’ Said Boorag. Boorag didn’t know what the word ‘Audience’ meant, but he figured it was an important word and the right thing to say at that time.

  Boorag had been king for 42 years since his father Plaag the Bloated died of a mysterious illness, which symptoms resembled stab wounds to the back by a bladed instrument. Similar to the dagger Boorag himself sometimes wore. These were rather exciting times for Boorag; the goblins had always honoured their allegiance to the witches’ providing sacrificial victims to the nearest Covens. The victims were usually other goblins who opposed Boorag’s rule, thought of a good idea before Boorag himself had or rejected his romantic advances. Other victims included strangers that had wandered through the kingdom including the odd elf
and wolves that strayed too far into goblin hunting territories. It had been over 100 years since a mankind animal had been found in the Great Southern Marsh. He recalls his father trying to communicate with the poor blithering thing, but this animal had feverish red eyes and spoke nonsense about a Golem further south.

  No one had seen a Golem in the south since one destroyed a goblin hide and a witches ‘coven at Lands’ End 500 years ago! If a single Golem could destroy a goblin hide defeating its reavers and a witches’ coven with their black skills, then how did this lowly ugly mankind thing escape it? Golems are rumoured to have migrated from the moorlands to the glaciers and bergs of the Frozen Sea. Boorag had never seen one, so therefore they must be made up mythical creatures to scare young goblins he decided. The goblins had concluded that this mankind animal was mad and likely suffering from the swamp plague, which commonly infected the rare visitors to the moors. While they were deciding which parts of this mankind thing to eat first, a nightbird from the Bloodwood Witch Coven fifty miles southeast arrived and demanded the mankind animal be delivered to its mistresses. The witch leader at that time of the Bloodwood Coven was lady Strala, supposedly immortal who used all sorts of animals and minor magic folk for her spell making and mankind specimens were rare and difficult to catch these days.

  Two weeks ago, a nightbird from the Bloodwood Coven had arrived at the hide. Nightbirds being flying creatures similar in description to giant bats with talons at the end of their wings and protruding needle-like teeth. They were loyal to the goblins and witches’ making good spies and messengers among other things, and they filled the moor sky at night in droves. It delivered a message to Boorag requiring his presence at the ruins of the Blackmire Castle to the east in four days. The king had no desire whatsoever to attend this, this meeting or whatever the witches’ wanted it to be. Why didn’t they just come to the hide, like they did every few years and demand victims? Why that haunted ruined mankind castle? Perhaps they wanted to show him something? What if he ran into a scouting wolf pack from one of the nearby wolf provinces along the way? The wolves were notorious for killing first and asking questions later. He could send a message with a nightbird or a Raven to the Wildpack in the northern forests to send some brawler hounds down as protection, but it would take the hounds two weeks to get here. Either way, he had no intention of going, but instead on Grell’s advice sent three trusted goblins of high rank. Still, it was rather exciting to guess what the witches ‘wanted, as they had never done anything this secretive before.

  The next morning, brought no news of the king's envoy. Boorag summonsed Grell, and they discussed their options on what to do next. Like most goblins, the king possessed no magic powers of any kind. The few goblins that did were trained as mages. However, none of the mages in Boorag's hide possessed the power of divination; only the good for nothing elves and bears had that power. Suddenly an intense chill crept into the king’s cave and interrupted his thoughts. The room instantly became dark and a somber mood saturated the air. The fire torches appeared to struggle to stay lit, and the flames from the hearth at the side of the room seemed to burn with a green tinge. The wood and iron door to the king's cave burst inwards with a terrific crash as if struck by a giant hammer. Boorag jumped and slipped forward off his throne and bounced onto the floor in fright. The king’s guards were nowhere in sight. Boorag clutched Grell’s bony arm and with great effort got to his feet. They both stared fearfully at the open door. Was that a cackle in the hallway beyond? A cold draft and a hint of green mist flowed through the open door. The king held his breath and then blew it out again with a loud wheeze.

  The tall witch silently entered the king’s chamber. Lady Strala moved forward in a flowing motion while hovering several inches off the ground. A green mist wound lazily around her, and this was what sustained the witches’, well the immortal ones anyway and is referred to as the ‘Stench of Death. ‘Though none had spoken that phrase out allowed for fear of being incinerated or sacrificed to a pet Daemon. The mist prolonged their lives and was created through a common potion they consumed that aided them in times of need. Boorag blinked in surprise. ‘My L Lady!’ he stammered. ‘If you had told me you were coming!’ ‘What difference does it make, I’m here now’ snapped lady Strala. ‘We have a grave matter to discuss, leave us mage.’ Grell bowed three of four times prostrating himself as he backed away and left the cave.

  Lady Strala looked taller than Boorag remembered. She stood over six feet high, and her Raven coloured waist-length hair floated around her head as if it were in water. Her full-length black cloak was endowed with contrasting white runes that provided her particular charms for protection and signified her status amongst other witches’. The cloak completely engulfed her as it swept down to the ground covering her feet. It fluttered about silently as if in a stiff breeze, though the air in the cave was entirely still. Lady Strala stared down at the king through piercing bright green eyes in a somewhat unnerving manner. Boorag knew this much, witches’ came in all shapes and sizes and paid a heavy price for their in-depth knowledge of the intricate black craft. They regularly dabbled in dark potions and enchantments to appease the Daemons and cheat the reaper. However, the colour of their eyes never changed being either a fiery red or brilliant green, the ones that had eyes anyway. Lady Strala was one of those immortals. Her pale angelic face mimicked a young woman of perhaps 20 years and was a façade of her real person as she was closer to 200 years of age. She possessed the craft to choose many forms, including this one, through the Changeling Enchantment. The king was tall for a goblin and stood a full four foot five inches, but he was dwarfed in Lady Strala’s presence. Subconsciously he swallowed and waited for the lady to speak.

  ‘Do you know the fate of your three goblins sent to meet my trusted skyrider witch Salum seven nights ago?’ She said in a sweet voice. Boorag wished he did. In fact, he was just discussing the matter with Grell when Lady Strala made her dramatic entry….’Listen to me Boorag!’ she suddenly screeched, snapping the king from his wandering thoughts. ‘They are dead, and Salum being one of my best skyriders only managed herself to escape from…from…’ Lady Strala’s voice trailed off. ‘How do you know they are dead?’ The king asked quietly. ‘Because of this.’ replied Lady Strala. A bony hand appeared out of Lady Strala’s cloak clutching an old leather satchel. Lady Strala’s eyes burned a brighter green for an instant, and the drawstring sealing the leather bag quickly untied by itself and the bag left her hand to float in midair towards Boorag. It suddenly tipped upside down, and its contents spilt onto the stone floor. The king peered closely and saw that some red mangled and shrivelled up goblin hands lay about on the floor. On one of the hands, a partial black symbol tattoo was visible, which Boorag recognised as it signified allegiance to the hide. Boorag swallowed hard and looked up at Lady Strala.

  ‘That’s all that remains of your three goblins.’ Lady Strala stated as a-matter-of-factly. ‘When Salum returned that night after witnessing something else and what it did, I sent the nightbirds back, and this is all they found.’ ‘We have no enemies that far in the western marshes. Do the wolves range that far from the mountains?’ Blurted out Boorag. ‘You simpleton!’ Lady Strala cried. ‘This isn’t the work of wolves, and they know not to intentionally provoke us.’ ‘Well, why did you want us to go there in the first place?’ The king bravely stated. ‘I wanted you to go, not to send three others.’ Replied lady Strala. Well, in that case, I’m glad I didn’t go, thought the king.

  'Boorag, you have not the intelligence to understand these things.’ The king tightened his grip on his staff at the insult. Lady Strala continued. ‘That ruined castle lies upon an important part of the moor, and furthermore, I am interested in a mancub living in the mankind tribe two days west of there through the great forest near the sea.’ She stopped and cleared her throat. ‘We have read the signs.’ Signs? What signs thought Boorag. He wondered what would happen if he struck Lady Strala for insulting him in his hide. Then again, he did not f
ancy being incinerated in an instant, which was most likely the fate of his two guards that were standing at the door moments before Lady Strala arrived.

  ‘Was it mankind that set upon and killed my goblins? My lady, I could send word to other southern hides and have several hundred reavers here in a few days.’ The king stated proudly while pushing his chest out a little. ‘No, no that won’t be required,’ replied Lady Strala calmly. ‘I may call upon that later, however...’ And she paused as if in deep thought, then a moment later continued. ‘But for now, I have the matter at hand.’ Lady Strala turned and started to leave. The king called after her ‘Well I still don’t know what killed my goblins.’ Lady Strala answered back ‘Boorag there were once entities in this realm with much greater magic powers than what we witches’ possess.’ Lady Strala turned to face the doorway and muttered an incomprehensible word. Out of the darkness of the hall, her sweep flew to land in her outstretched hand. She caressed the green jewel in the sweeps handle then turned out of the doorway and vanished. Boorag sat heavily back down on his throne with a loud grunt, and his mind was immediately lost in thought.