The village of Fat Mouse was the last of the larger settlements still resisting the forces of the Kingdom of Valar south of the White Stone River and along the Thorn Road. The road stretched from the former settlement of the Red Serpents tribe by the river, far to the north, all the way to the outskirts of the Northern Great Forest — across hundreds of kilometers of lands belonging to dangerous tribes of gray-skinned orcs, always eager for battle and hungry.
The forces of Gyrd and Zoggo joined with hundreds of goblins and hobgoblins from the eastern tribes — now loyal to the new kingdom — and launched an assault after yet another refusal to bow. The battle ended faster than anyone had expected — it didn't even last half an hour. When the frontal assault with ladders broke onto the walls, the enemy's morale collapsed, and they threw down their weapons, handing over their chieftain in hopes that their lives would be spared.
The old arrogant fool was hanged from the branch of a scorched tree, and the remaining fifty of his warriors joined Valar.
"Our losses are thirteen dead, twice as many wounded… Thankfully, this damn campaign has finally come to an end. Every village and every tribe has sworn loyalty to the Queen!"
Gyrd shouted to her closest goblins and, with a strong escort, set out toward the Red Serpents village to the south, along a path overgrown with too many thorns dark as demon blood.
The journey took half a day, and at last the heavy gates of the settlement creaked open. The huts along the shore sagged under heavy roofs made of clay and branches, resembling squat mushrooms. Between them stood crude figures of river deities — twisted, caked in mud, and ancient. Hundreds of goblins watched her in silence. From the banks. From houses on barges. The village had earthen ramparts and fences on both sides of the river, with a wooden bridge — better than any ford, of which there were few on the White Stone River.
Zoggo — wounded in the chest during the fighting for the watchtower — lay on a bed in the southwestern part of the settlement. He was guarded by several of his best greens and the followers of the new tribal leader bearing the mark of the self-devouring serpent. His name was Kasho, a distant cousin of Koshia. Like many others, he had been rescued along with his family by Valeria during her surprise nighttime attack, when she freed hostages and captives.
"Took you long enough! I thought I'd rot here from boredom!"
"Ha! Try smashing those thick-headed fools yourself! If you only knew how stubborn those villages north of the river are. Each one crazier than the last!"
"Eh! If only Borg were here. They'd become obedient real fast!"
Zoggo sat up on the straw bed and took a deep breath. Every breath brought him pain, but after so many days, his condition had improved. The skills of the local medics and herbalists far surpassed those of the greens from the west.
"Someone will have to take care of his daughters and his tribe. I owe that idiot at least that. Not to mention his bear… I heard his crazy brother came back and declared himself chieftain. Pf! Shameless bandit — he returned to a ready-made throne."
The spear master didn't even want to hear about it. He knew Borg's younger brother and, though he respected his strength, he resented him for leaving in bad times — when his swordsmanship was worth its weight in gold — to raid travelers and plunder weak beastmen villages, only to return as soon as news of the chieftain's death — his older brother's — reached his ears.
"Old Borg had no sons. Barga would never pass up such an opportunity… The law of blood and strength is everything in our tradition," Zoggo concluded, ending the matter.
An uneasy silence fell, but matters could not wait. Spies reported suspicious movements among the orcs to the north, and today's report from the east sent chills down their spines.
"Never mind that. The Great Artax and the Queen must be informed — there's no time to lose. The report appears genuine. My greens confirmed it…"
None of them wanted to appear as incompetent fools reporting nonsense, but the words of one of the Red Serpents goblins — who knew the eastern lands, the secret paths and trails — carried weight. He had made it far there and back unnoticed.
Gyrd and Zoggo asked Kasho to bring in his goblin, who had nearly coughed out his lungs racing back with all his strength after his wolf collapsed from exhaustion. He was carried in on a stretcher and now lay restlessly before his superiors, too weak to stand.
"Tell us what you saw. Everything. In detail," ordered the young chieftain with bushy brows and a beard down to his neck. "Easy. Breathe."
With effort, he turned his head. He looked utterly exhausted, covered in wounds and scars from sharp branches and wild beasts lurking for him, along with swarms of mosquitoes and other vermin in the dark, untamed reaches of the southern forest.
"Far beyond the Great Stream… Thousands of large humans, demons, orcs, beastmen… I saw swarms of horses and beasts… Ah…" he gasped, twitching and shaking. "Something terrible is coming from the lands of the pirate-humans… These white-skins are on the move…"
Zoggo knew what it meant — or at least he thought he did. Summer was approaching, when the snow and the hardships of nature gave way. With it, the expansion of the free city-states from the coast would push toward the southern forest. For centuries they had cut down and weakened what was once one of the four great forests — the Great Eastern Wilderness — so much that it was no longer considered a great forest, and its remnants came to be known as the southern forest…
"If they cross the streams and rivers, they'll push further. Their goal must be to establish a land route to the Cursed Lands and beyond, all the way to the Empire of the Sword…" commented the new chieftain — young, yet experienced.
They all nodded. They knew the route would have to pass through the southern forest and then turn northward, toward lands once held by the greatest fanatics of the God of the Sword — now cursed — bypassing the Endless Swamp and the Black Forest of the dark elves. There would be no avoiding bloody battles and massacres. No human would show mercy to the green races. A great war was only a matter of time, and the newly formed Kingdom of Valar was not ready for it…
Gyrd grabbed a scroll of parchment and a some ink from the table. She quickly summoned a scribe and dictated the grim news to be sent to the command in the west. Then she ordered the message copied ten times and sent with different birds and riders, to ensure it reached its destination. She could not fail.
"As soon as the sun sets, we move out with a stronger force and assess the human strength ourselves. Into dung and darkness! I'll lead it personally!"
Gyrd clenched her fists and cast her greens a decisive look. They had barely returned from bloody battles — wounded and exhausted — and already they had to march again. She gave them only a few hours to prepare, eat, and rest. Even so, they knew she was right and held no resentment. They understood that the survival of the Kingdom and the coming of Zod were at stake. No one had said restoring the green race to power would be easy.
Soon goblins were gathered, plans and routes discussed. Kasho ensured that the most capable guides and the strongest wolves with riders would accompany them. He himself had been granted power and life by Valeria Nocturne, and he intended to repay that debt.
The sun began to set, and buildings and treetops cast long shadows when a guard on the ramparts sounded the alarm! Something fast and dangerous was approaching. A dozen strange birds — terrifyingly large, with riders on their backs — were coming from the east. With every passing moment they grew clearer and larger, until they hovered a hundred meters from the bridge over the river. Now everything became clear. The humans had arrived.
The great birds were majestic creatures with the body of a lion and the head of a winged eagle, covered in long, impressive feathers. Their beaks were sharp, their talons curved. A wild aura emanated from them, and each was as large as a towering troll or a stunted feathered dragon. The humans, clad in armor and colorful fabrics — with decorated caps adorned with feathers and jewels and lined with fur — rode them in saddles. Each of them looked confident, with weapons at their sides.
Battle was only a matter of time. Gyrd grabbed her bow. Drums were beaten, horns sounded — the terror of the east had arrived. They closed to bow range when a powerful voice rang out across the vast settlement, reaching every corner.
"I am Eckbert Ealhmund! King of the city of Gomas and Chairman of the Grand Council of the Free Cities of the Golden Coast! I come in peace!"
Peace… and humans. A poor joke. Gyrd's heart steadied, her grip on the bow loosened, and her skin stopped trembling. But the goblin woman knew that battle would come — sooner or later. If not now, then in a future she would be waiting for.