A Daemon-Horn Blade

For the next two marching days the regiment made good progress, nearly thirteen leagues. The wounded of the 4

th

Reserve Company still slightly kept the pace slower than Rowan would have preferred but he would not ever offer a single word of complaint to the many still injured. They had fought and held their ground while their friends around them had died, all in the name of Rowan and his infernal sword. They trusted and believed in him and he knew he must never let their faith in him down! If a few extra rests were necessary, or a slower pace taken in the afternoon, then so be it.

Boyle kept at least three squadrons of his cavalry out scouting in all directions on their side of the river, at any given time. They were finding slightly more recent tracks of the enemy now and many signs of their cruel advance through these lands. Burned out farms, hamlets and villages were everywhere, with the few survivors seeking refuge to slowly add to their camp follower train. Many of the farmers had had just enough time to release their herds and flocks, giving them a chance to escape the always ravenous Boar-Men. The scouts were able each night to bring back a number of slain hogs, sheep or even a few sides of beef. Camping each night in the ruins of a sacked village, there were also a number of chickens that were easily caught and even a few sacks of grain or fall harvest produce left in barns that hadn't quite entirely burned down. For the moment at least anyway, this creative scrounging saved much of their wagon supplies while giving their folk two good solid meals each day. No one could ask for any more!

As they traveled, the rear cavalry guard continued to report regular trace sightings of the goblins. The night-goers were still on the trail of the company but always staying at least half a day's travel away, keeping their distance, moving only by night, but following the regiment's tracks. With fresh mud from the autumn rains making their tracking easier, the more skilled scouts estimated that this was not a goblin war-band, but nearly an entire tribe of perhaps three hundred púcel. Even the Lore-Master had never heard of such a migration in these circumstances of an entire goblin tribe. Never did they leave their females and children so unprotected in the midst of a great war that surrounded them now on all sides. Grudgingly, it was agreed that this tribe didn't seem to want to make trouble... but no one could figure out at all what mission or mischief had driven them out from their homes in the Juniper Mountains, now quite far away. There was also little cover here on these plains to give them shelter at night, and it was decided that if the goblins were still on their trail in another day or two, then it might be time to send the cavalry closer into to get a better look at them.

*************

During the next day, it rained heavily nearly without a pause and the regiment considered itself fortunate to make just a bit over five leagues. They held an extra long practice drill during lunch and quit early for the day to allow for a lengthy two hours of weapons practice. They reasoned that they might not always fight in good weather on firm hard ground, and so the companies toiled in the muddy fields outside of another burned village until they were completely exhausted and covered in mud. Still, most of them had learned at least a little now about how to fight with mud up to their very knees. After the companies were dismissed to clean themselves and their gear off in a nearby fresh stream, Rowan impatiently awaited the latest report from Boyle. The forward scouts had found nothing menacing in the way of their next day's march, but Boyle had accompanied the rear patrol today, to check upon their stealthy followers, the goblins. Just as the regiment was seating itself for dinner in shifts, under the roof of the old barn not burned down, his pal returned and with news.

"We found the little buggers, camped out in the old village we stayed at last night. I could smell roasting chicken for miles away, so they caught all of the ones that our folks missed last night. They let us get to within about a hundred yards of them before they sent out a few arrows in front of us to warn us to stop, and we did. They didn't shoot any more at us so we stopped and waited for a while to see what would happen next. Eventually three of their warriors came forward with one of their holy men or shamans and we had a parley. Their shaman did all of their talking and he spoke the common tongue fairly well. In short, they're deliberately following us because they believe than an old púcel prophecy is about to come true and they want to be nearby to witness it in person."

"Goblin's have prophecies? I thought that they couldn't use magic, even the wild forms!" Rowan asked the Lore-Master, as he and Boyle approached him a few minutes later near the cookfires, where the Lady Ayleth was holding court.

"No, the goblins have never used magic, at least so far to my knowledge, but like us they have their own Moon-Women who sometimes speak prophecies. I have never read any of their sacred books, to read their predictions, but they follow the whims of the Weavers, as do we."

"Further," Boyle announced, now that he had a proper audience, "they are very much impressed by our young commander and sword waving hero! They watched the skies over Elmcrygh blaze orange with fiery light and they would very much want to meet the man who made it happen. He is 'important' they say in what will come next. Then the old goblin shaman began to get very poetical and I couldn't hardly catch or understand a single word he said after that."

"Their shaman wants to see me?" Rowan uttered in great surprise.

"They do, and if you will come tomorrow morning at dawn, I think another parlay or even a truce can be arranged. I just don't think they're looking for any sort of trouble, not with all of their females and young present as well. Will you come? If we leave about three in the morning and ride briskly we should get there in time."

"I don't think I have a choice, so I'll come. If the goblins want to talk, I'll listen. Anything to prevent a fight neither of us wants."

"And I shall come as well, as shall my apprentice!" The Histrio announced. "For I think I know or at least remember a little of their language, so if their shaman speaks of their prophecy in their tongue, I might be able to learn a bit more. It has been since the days of the Dragon War that goblins and men spoke together in parley, and I am indeed eager to present at the next such meeting of these two long conflicted races."

"What happened the last time the two races met in parley?" Boyle curiously asked the Foole, but seemed rather reluctant to reply.

"An agreement was reached and their common goals were achieved... but there was an unfortunate misunderstanding shortly afterwards and the agreement was breached. There was retribution and revenge and the killing goes on to this very day. More than that I cannot say..." Nor did the Lore-Master say anything further on the matter that night or early the next morning.

************

Waiting outside of the village in the early morning cool air, Rowan found himself beginning to get extremely nervous and quite impatient. They had arrived near the ruined village about a half hour before dawn and their party waited well out of bow range until the sun began to rise. Along with Rowan, Boyle, the Foole, Ashburn, and a dozen cavalrymen watched in readiness, waiting for the shaman to come forth to speak to them. The sun was now fully emerged into the sky but yet the goblin leader had not come.

"There has been blood shed inside of their camp during the night." Oddtus said, sniffing the air. "Quite a bit of it. Goblins have different smelling blood than we do, it's more coppery and has a bit of a stronger stench when spilled. Perhaps the shaman has been killed and there will be no parley. If they fire arrows at us again then we will know their mind and can quickly ride away, but let us wait yet awhile to see what happens. Perhaps they are still late in their own counsels."

Indeed, that quite seemed to be the case, for it was several minutes later before the goblin holy man did indeed emerge from the town, along with his three bodyguards, two of whom showed bandages from a recent fight.

"Oath-breakers! You have come... then is the flame-wielder present, he who bears the Daemon-Horn blade?"

"I am Rowan, of Swanford Village far to the northwest, and I forged and bear the Daemon-Horn blade. With whom do I speak, that we might make parley?" With that acknowledgement, he gave the shaman a slight nod and then his drew his blade from its scabbard and held it forward, slowly pointing it down towards the ground and towards the goblin for his inspection, but never actually pointing it at him.

Bidding his guards to remain where they were, the goblin leader walked forward to step nearly in front of the blade and cautiously looked it over from all sides, with his hands passing close to, but never actually touching the blade. With a careful glance at Rowan as well, the shaman took a few steps back and addressed the human party.

"It is true, the Daemon-Horn blade has come to this world and has been forged." The shaman announced, with a slight bow of his own to Rowan. Then he turned to his guards and shouted "Ave'si!" The three guards then all fell to their knees in the soft roadway mud and bowed before Rowan, as his sword began to glow ever brighter, but not in a particularly threatening manner.

The guards then arose and turned and ran back to their tribesmen and soon the sounds of "Ave'si" rang loudly from the town. Soon there came a flood of púcel, all running to the men shouting with apparent joy. The men were startled at first, perhaps expecting some sort of surprise attack, and most drew their weapons, but then put them again away moments later as each of the new approaching goblins fell to abase themselves before the infernal sword and its bearer about twenty yards ahead of the horsemen.

"Curious!" The Lore-Master muttered, quite beside himself with confusion and surprise. "And most unexpected. It seems that their prophecy concerns your sword lad, and that is not altogether a good or comforting thing. This means it is most certainly the end of an age -- the end of the sort of world that we once knew. True, a new age shall begin... but change is always unsettling, and not always for the better."

"What does 'Ave'si' mean?" Rowan whispered to the Foole.

"Truth, or literally 'It is so!' Usually used in a divine sort of way, as if used in prayers, or discussing the laws of the Gods. This means that they accept the truth of the prophecy, and of you... for good or ill. Soon perhaps we shall find out why." Oddtus muttered, not at all comfortable with this curious new reality that he had suddenly found himself trapped in.

"Indeed!" The goblin shaman pronounced. "It is indeed so! The 'oath-breakers', or 'Fex'oegh' have indeed come with the sword of prophecy and an old age of this world begins to reach its end. Some say that by the ending of an age that all oaths are thus broken and must be made anew at the start of the new one. If this be so, even the great oath-breaking can now be in time forgiven and perhaps forgotten. We cannot make peace-oath or alliance, nor of written treaty with you, the Fex'oegh, the most hated of our enemies, as of yet, until this age is done, but instead perhaps we can still make some limited agreement, or at least a truce between your small tribe of warriors and mine."

"Such a truce or greater agreement would be welcome to me, and would indeed swear the oath of peace between us, if it were indeed possible to do so." Rowan replied.

"Sadly, such a thing is not possible at this time, but our hands could be merged this day in truce. It is good that one of the

Cisalo

, the hands of our God

Gléagerád

, is indeed present to bear witness, also indeed fitting as one was also present to hold and take the oaths of our peace long ago. Such a misfortune that the Fex'oegh did not honor theirs and the Cisalo then gave only empty hollow words after the betrayal. I see the Foole knows of exactly what I speak. Do you speak belatedly now of honoring that ancient oath-debt or shall the race of the púcel remain forever isolated from this world and its peoples? Shall our creator, and his Cisalo as well, continue to deny us what was promised, what was indeed our rightful due? Offered freely so long ago but forgotten, like our race, to darkness."

"Much was indeed promised long ago." The

gléaman

sadly muttered, unable to meet his eyes with either the shaman's or that of Rowan's, who was certain that some very important things had just been said that he didn't at all understand. Unfortunately the Foole didn't seem at all inclined to make any further explanations.

"The god indeed made many promises that due to seemingly important reasons at the time could not be later upheld, nor would any of The Seven support his efforts to make restitution after those terrible and desperate days were over. This is much to be regretted, and I would have things differently, if I could." After this Oddtus remained silent, despite Rowan's increasingly firm requests for to him to explain at least some of this past history.

"The púcel may not live to the length of men, let alone that of the other surviving races, but we remember and keep our histories well Cisalo, and forget little and forgive even less. Created in secret by the god of Mirth and Wisdom, we were to be his own children, but instead we found ourselves muchly abandoned to the care of the first-born, the Draca and their kin, who bore us little love. Still we served them with faith and honor. When the war began between the Dragons and the rest of the second born races began, we would have joined with our brothers and sisters if they had but once offered a hand in friendship, but abandoned by our god, the other races had little interest in us even as allies. Lost between worlds, we served not the Dragons and their kin, even at such times as our service to them might have given us great rewards that had never been offered by the other younger races, but still we keep ourselves apart. As the young race of men entered the battle in ever increasing numbers, it soon became clear to our wisest leaders that the deadly stalemate might now be over and with our help, Men, Dweorg, Ylfe and Púcel could indeed rule this world together, in peace. At length such an agreement was finally made, that the púcel would join with its few remaining brothers and sisters of the second born races, and help the young race of humans. It was we, the now despised goblins, that first taught men the crafts of the forge, and how minerals and ores could be dug from the earth to feed them, not the dwarves, for they had as little interest or concern for men as they did for us. Thus were we in fact betrayed twice, for the race of men rapidly became our masters in every skill we could teach them, and then they began to belittle our contributions to the alliance. Once the terrible war was over, the second born races all retreated into the darker hidden and shadowy places of the world, to hide themselves in their weariness and to forget. With none of their elders to stay their hand, and the Gods were now much weakened and exhausted as well. There was no one left to remember the many oaths that had been made to the púcel, and men soon drove us from the best lands, driving us in their greed to the wilderness and to the mountains. We well remember the oath-breaking, humans... but yet there is still a way that our races can work together, at least this once more."

"Is this all indeed so, Foole?" Rowan demanded. "Did your god indeed create this race but abandoned them, and that men and goblins did indeed once work together in peace and cooperation? If so, this is indeed a most terrible oath-breaking that shames us all, and especially your god! How say you to these charges, for I see the disgrace in your eyes that speaks to the truth of his words. How was this dishonor done, and what can be done now to right those dreadful wrongs?"

Still the Foole's eyes and mouth remained closed, and his head hung low in shame. Now Boyle and Rowan realized that the Histrio had not told them the exact truth long ago when he described the coming of the second-born and the great war that resulted. Indeed, if apparently the púcel were the very first of the second born, then they indeed had claims of their own to some parts of this world, long before the coming of men. Such an abandonment and betrayal did not speak well of Oddtus' god. Perhaps it was other such ignoble betrayals that led to the Banishment of The Seven... and just perhaps such a harsh punishment was in fact quite warranted.

"The Foole's silence bears the truth of your words, good púca. Let us dismount and share counsel, for I hope that we can indeed find common cause and keep peace between us. I am but one man and the men that bear my allegiance are few, and I have no claims to noble birth or titles of honor, but I shall speak honestly my words with you and bind them with oaths as need be, whether you shall accept them as truthful or not."

**************

The negotiations between the two races continued for some hours, and the goblin leader Jim'ose had tea brought for everyone, and even later some freshly roasted chickens. The men discovered that the goblins were rather clever and talented cooks and they feasted heartily. A concord was reached, and it decided that the tribe of púcel could indeed continue to follow the regiment, even to a much closer distance of less than a mile away. Still, for now at least, the two would keep separate camps.

Of the exact nature of the prophecy, Jim'ose would say little except that the infernal blade would flame and fill the sky with flame twice more, and when a tree did turn to ever-burning orange flame as well, then the race of the púcel could cease their wanderings and make new homes upon land of their very own, and that peace would be restored between them and the Fex'oegh, who would be at last forgiven for their oath-breaking.

Rowan arose from the counsel fire and swore his oaths of friendship to Jim'ose, who made a slightly lesser pledge of his own, that didn't quite hold to a binding of a formal oath. Still everyone was happy or at least satisfied.

It took the remainder of the afternoon for the goblin camp to make the final march to join near to the regimental camp, and everyone spent a rather cautious but interesting night close by together. Not all of the men and women were happy about this new limited partnership, but despite a lot of loud debate no one felt angrily enough about being near the night-goers to vote their disapproval with their feet. And so a lengthy and gradually improving détente began between the two camps.

Jim'ose himself stayed fairly near to Rowan's side nearly at all times, along with his three personal guards who tried to keep to a watchful but discrete distance. Regularly messengers went back and forth between the two camps, until gradually the distances between the camps began to close. Curious humans and ever inquisitive goblins soon mingled about in each camp, somehow without a major diplomatic incident occurring. Soon, even goblin cooks were preparing the meals for both camps combined, after they complained loudly about the terrible smell and the poor quality of the stews that the human cooks made every evening. Without a doubt, the goblin cooked stews were much, much of an improvement, and meals became anticipated, rather than endured.

The goblins were also masters at the art of foraging, which they seemed to indulge in nearly every available moment. As the two camps marched each day with the goblins at the rear, they still found plenty of time to scour the fields in all directions for unharvested crops, loose cows and chickens, and they even rounded a great number of hiding human strays. These refugees, certain that they were heading for a goblin stewpot, were astonished and delighted to find themselves soon safe and secure with the other camp followers. Rowan kept having to explain to each new batch of newcomers that goblins had never eaten human flesh, quite unlike the cannibalistic Boar-Men, that even consumed their own wounded for their ghastly meals. It was alright apparently to occasionally kill, or often rob the Fex'oegh, but to eat any of the children of the gods, either the second or third-born, even the freshly slain, was quite taboo - and quite against the teachings of their holy books. There was a technical exception allegedly granted for consuming the flesh of their old hated enemies the Eorfleode, but conventional wisdom was that their flesh wasn't even palatable to a starving youngling.