The Black of Night: A Goblin's Story
A Korst Story Sample
by
Robert J Morrison
Darkness so deep and thick that even the weak rays of light that streamed in the small cave entrance could make not one iota of difference to the gloom. But the lack of light did not bother Grorn, he relished the darkness, as did all his monstrous race. Grorn of Clan Deep Gloom was one of over a hundred goblins crammed into the cavern awaiting night fall. His scrawny hand clutched his rusting short sword tightly, his knuckles whitening. Grorn like most of his kinfolk was a coward, the thought of carnage seemed like a dream come true to the spiteful monster, but still he feared the flashing blades of the nearby human villagers. More than a dozen of Clan Deep Gloom had been left dead or dying on the field of battle in the last raid. Grorn would do anything, absolutely anything, to make sure he was not left bleeding on the ground the soft moonlight illuminating his form for the vengeful swords and pitch forks of angry humans.
"Gorth kor brast lom fest," Soon the sun will set, hissed Frag, the commander of the warband. "Korm gree lom goord arg clawakac!" Then we will blood our blades! Grorn was not entirely sure if he felt this was a good thing or not. On one hand he would get to feel the warm blood of a human running over his bony fingers as he tore the short sword from side to side in the screaming foe. But on the other hand that human could well be blooding his own blade on Grorn's blood.
In the end though Grorn knew he would be out there on the killing fields this evening. He and his one hundred and nineteen comrades had been hand-picked for this assignment. Almost all were amateurs, no more than a dozen had been in true battle before this night. This would be the test to prove to the elder goblins that these recruits were ready to enter the theater of combat.
"Gat skirth," Be ready, Frag commanded, as the last rays of the hated sun's light dipped beneath the horizon, leaving just the thin crescent moon beaming light down on the fields and hills. With a forward wave of his well-worn club Frag motioned them out of the squat stone cave. Tentatively the war band slipped one by one out into the countryside. Grorn dawdled at the rear of the pack, his thin rat-skin trousers wet from sweat and the weakness of his bladder before such a monumental night in the young goblin's life. He cared not that he had soiled his clothes for more than a few of his unblooded companions had done the same, the cave was left behind as was the rancid smell of urine. The soft wind felt like a gale to the youngsters that before this night had never left the still darkness of Cavern Deep Gloom. The sweet smell of grass and the whistle of birds put Grorn on edge, so much life, he thought. So many enemies, he silently feared. The howl of a distant coyote made him spin and stare off into the night searching for the horrible creature that could make such a noise.
"Pob yu hind freng," Just a dog creature, Frag whispered to the nervous goblins. "Gung ki keel." Nothing to fear.
"Hind freng?" Dog creature? Grorn asked Husk who walked at his side, his loincloth likewise stained by the powerful affects of fear. Husk, much bulkier than the slight Grorn merely shook his head, his eyes wide, he never took his gaze from the direction of the menacing sounding howl. The larger goblin slipped his hand into the top of his loin cloth, producing another dagger like the one clutched in his right hand.
"Og yug domob inni grigac!" I ain't taking any chances! Husk explained as he jabbed his left-handed dagger forward three times to loosen his taut muscles. Grorn felt better when at the side of Husk, the young goblin was known for his vicious streak (which was far from the norm of even goblin ferocity), many gobbos had been knocked senseless by the bulky goblin in fist fights in Cavern Deep Gloom.
"Ong yot mondum?" Are you scared? Grorn whispered to Husk, the closest thing the goblin had to a friend.
"Kol? Bobla!" Me? Never! Husk replied unconvincingly, to his misfortune the coyote had howled once more and during his bravado filled response he span towards the sound both daggers held at the ready. Grorn smiled, but held short of laughing, he knew that no one, friend or foe would survive laughing at the heavy-built Husk.
The two hour trek across the hills and pastures of Kalmon seemed to take an eternity to Grorn. Every strange noise caused another shiver of fear to run down his crooked spine. For most races of Korst the fact that he was surrounded by his kinfolk would have eased their fears, but not so with goblins. Any one of the hundred and nineteen monster could turn on him at any given second for even what seemed a minor transgression, a bump into a fellow's back, a slight scowl in their direction, anything. Such was the way of goblins.
Nerves were taut by the time the small hamlet came into view, gray smoke drifted into the sky from a dozen chimneys. Lights that seemed immensely bright to Grorn could be seen burning in every window. Fields of cattle gave the group cover as they approached the village, the cows slowly shying away from the invaders. Soft moans were released by a nearby cow who was swollen with calf. Before Frag could command otherwise three of the raiders lunged for the animal. As rusted metal tore skin and flesh the other cows in the surrounding fear let out a multitude of moans, not so soft this time as they had been before.
"Sroobac!" Fools! Frag screamed as the three nervous goblins stood over the fallen cow their weapons red with blood, a grin on their foul faces. "Yot yun flogum arg krostac!" You have caused our deaths! As he screamed the words three doors swung open in the hamlet and metal lashed in the soft light. The rest of the goblin band unleashed hell upon the nearest cows, their blood-lust heightened by the sight of their three companion's bloody weapons. It was a sight of carnage that the farmers could not have failed to miss.
"Frag, crom gree bloo?" Frag, what we do? Grorn screamed as he ran to his commander's side, pulling at his spindly arm.
"Weer!" Run! He replied as he sheathed his short sword and turned tail and fled. His feet slapping against the hard ground as he did so.
"Husk, Frag yip weer!" Husk, Frag say run! Yelled Grorn to his 'friend' but Husk was far beyond listening, horns were sounding from the village and more and more men could be seen running toward the goblin band. Everyone wielding a weapon and wearing a scowl. But none wore a scowl as vicious as the one sported by Husk, his daggers held high he screamed and charged with a dozen of his fellow goblins towards the oncoming mob.
Then sound a noise unlike anything Grorn had heard before, a twang followed by a soft whistling. He cared not what the source of the noise was and turned his back on his 'friend' and headed off after Frag. Seconds later he heard the strange noise again but this was followed by a sharp pain in his leg. He squealed like a stuck pig as he collapsed to the grass, looking down a strange barbed shaft was lodged in his calf. He tried to pull the arrow free, but the wicked barb tore at his flesh as he tried to rip it out. His head span from the agony and almost lost consciousness, but he held his cool together, he knew if he fell into the darkness of unconsciousness he would never awaken.
"Frag trop kol!" Frag help me! The scream was pitiful and he knew full well that Frag's steps would not slow. He flashed a glance towards the approaching humans in time to see them crash together with Husk and the first rank of goblins. Foul, blood curdling goblin screams and the more melodic human cries rang out as weapon met flesh. Husk stood tall among his kinfolk, his twin daggers slashing over and over. A human farmer fell back his cheek sliced open, unfortunately he did not fall back quick enough and the second dagger pierced his chest. Husk screamed in ecstasy of his first human kill, his hands held aloft his bloody daggers flashing beneath the moon. Then Grorn heard the noise again, the deadly twang of another arrow. Husk flew back three to four feet suddenly, he tried to scramble to his feet but the twang sounded again and again. Soon Husk screamed no more, he just lay still three shafts sticking out of his chest.
"Kkrassk trop kol." Kkrassk help me. Grorn prayed as he crawled away from the village, leaving a bloody trail in is wake. He made reasonable time considering the wound in his leg, soon the sounds of battle were distant, lost behind the rise of a hill. The moon now sat higher in the sky, its light seemed to illuminate him for all to see, he just prayed again that he would not be found or that his comrades back at the village would prove victorious. Neither option seemed likely a few minutes later, a heavy thumping sound echoed all around him as he continued to drag himself along until he found a deep dark bush. He watched as the cause of the noise became apparent, humans on beasts, beasts that looked powerful and swift. Beasts he knew he could never outrun even in the best of health let alone with an arrow buried deeply in his leg. Grorn hardly breathed as the four riders slowed their mounts and began scouring the ground, for what Grorn did not know. Seconds later it became obvious.
"Look what we've got 'ere lads, looks like you did get eight after all Levidar," said the nearest horseman as he pulled his mount up beside the bushes.
"Fresh blood," Levidar growled, his bow still strung a arrow in place, he leaped from the horse. "Not just blood, but a bleeder!" Grorn raised his head to see the piercing blue eyes of Levidar staring into his own red bloodshot orbs.
"Tror! Tror! Tror!" Please! Please! Please! He whimpered at the human with the deadly bow.
"What do you reckon that means?" Levidar asked the others. Getting no more than uncaring shrugs from his fellows the human raised his bow. Grorn clamped his eyes tightly shut and heard the soft groan of a bending yew. "Bye bye gobbo, rest in hell!" Then Grorn of Clan Deep Gloom entered darkness the likes of which only the dead know.
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