Yaz

Yaz absentmindedly twirled the knife in his bony fingers, his eye sockets roundly focused on the goblin chieftain.

The curved steel began wafting glowing orange vapours. Without warning, the chieftain went from an easy, standing position to lunging forward with his magical sword.

Yaz, waiting for such a move, leaned right and flicked the knife as hard as he could.

The chieftain flinched and the projectile dully thunked off his armoured collarbone to no effect. Worse, he was faster than Yaz had expected and the enchanted sword cut a line across the top of the skeleton’s bare collarbone.

Yaz winced and dove to the side, rolling to his feet bones. A hand flew to the cut as if it had been flesh. He was astonished. “That actually hurt.” He’d been cut by magic blades before but never experienced pain. “What kind of enchantment is that?”

The chieftain showed him a toothy grin. It was most unpleasant. Then he swung the blade.

Yaz scampered out of reach, doing everything he could to fake what direction he was going to move next, trying to trick his attacker’s aim. It bought him enough time to pluck up a chipped dirk in one hand and a dilapidated mace in the other, one with all but one spike rusted away. The goblins obviously weren’t interested in taking care of their weapons. But all Yaz needed was something sharp enough to bury in the chieftain’s throat.

The chieftain had more power than Yaz, and a longer reach. But he was a few centuries away from having Yaz’s level of skill. So he might be forgiven for underestimating the skeleton long enough to wave to his tribe and encourage their cheers, making a show of the battle.

Yaz baited him in.

The chieftain saw him closing and lunged again.

Yaz avoided the thrust and used his dirk to slap the blade wide. Then he stepped forward and brought the mace down on the goblin’s arm, shattering the elbow.

The chieftain howled in pain. In a blind rage, he charged and kicked, sending Yaz flying backwards several meters.

Yaz got hit so hard that both weapons were knocked out of his hands. He saw something coming at him out of the corner of his eye and jerked to the side, narrowly missing a spear stabbing where his skull had been.

He’d landed near the edge of the circling goblins. They took the opportunity to kick, punch, stab, thrust, and one even bellyflopped at him.

Rolling to his feet, he evaded and bashed aside the blows, head-butted the bellyflopper, and—came to a halt when a hob stuck him through the ribs with a three-tined pitchfork. He looked down at it, then up at the hob. “Did you think that was going to work? I’m a skeleton.”

The hob looked flustered, then grimaced and leaned forward to push Yaz backwards towards the chieftain.

But Yaz twisted sideways, tripped the hob, and stole the pitchfork for himself. Then he spun on the chieftain, ready to jam the fork into flesh.

The enchanted sword flicked out and lopped off the left tine of the pitchfork.

Yaz thrust.

The chieftain jumped back, surprisingly agile, and lopped off the right tine.

That left Yaz with a crude spear. He put it to good use, rapidly spearing the chieftain in the chest, driving the monster back as he ducked and weaved around the sword.

Then the chieftain cut the last tine off and sent it spinning into the crowd.

A goblin squealed in pain. Others laughed.

Yaz glanced down at his now-headless spear. “Oh, for goodness sake.”

The chieftain smirked. Then he charged.

*

Kallalypsa

The goblin prison was crude but effective, like so much of who and what they were as a species. Kallalypsa loved and accepted so many of nature’s creatures. She could accept a hungry wolf or bear attacking a rabbit, human, or even a nymph for food. She accepted that the life cycle moved from bright birth to dark death and that predators and scavengers had their role to fill.

But goblins were insatiable, malicious, and sadistic. A wolf might thrill at the hunt, but goblins took pleasure in torture and rape. She had no acceptance of them.

Kalla and her fellow nymphs huddled together for mutual reassurance in a dispirited group against one of the side walls of their prison. The hard-packed clay, dirt, and stone was too dense to dig through. A large gate in the front of the cell sealed them off from the raucous gathering outside. A thick door in the back wall was firmly locked. Glowing red totems outside the gate continued to suppress the nymphs’ magic and left them powerless to escape.

Sunflower, Daffodil, and Ivy wept bitter tears while the others tried to tend to the wounds the three had suffered while resisting. Kalla’s own despair was barely being held at bay. Her imagination kept throwing vivid depictions of cruelty at her. She and the others were all-too-aware of what the goblins were going to do with them. A touch made Kalla look down at her side.

Rose put her arms around Kalla’s waist and leaned her head on Kalla’s shoulder.

Attempting to comfort, Kalla wrapped a shoulder around the other nymph and pulled her tight. She felt an urge to promise the others that everything would be ok but bit it back, not wanting to lie. The sound of rattling drew Kalla’s attention to the door at the rear of the cell. It was someone trying to open it.

Ivy’s head rose, tears streaming down her green cheeks. Her voice was pinched and anxious. “Someone’s coming!”

The rattling ceased. Then something hit the door hard from the other side, causing the nymphs to jump in fright.

Kalla tried to usher the others away from the door, even though it meant getting closer to the gate, where goblin arms might reach in and snatch at the women.

Another crash, this time with splintering would. Another. A third and a sharp splinter of wood dangerously flew through the air, just missing Mossy’s dense curls, her hair ball-shaped, what people on Earth called an afro hairstyle, though this was the result of dark moss growing on her head.

A fourth splintering smash and the metal blade of a bloody axe cut through the wood. It wiggled and was yanked out. Then a male, human face pushed halfway through the opening that had been created, and one eye looked around. “Heeeere’s Arwin!”

“Oh, thank nature!”

“Arwin!”

“Help us!”

Kalla felt a burst of relief and hope. She, like the others, rushed the back door. “Arwin! Can we get out of here?”

Arwin pulled back from the door. “Hold on. I don’t have a key. I’m going to have to chop the door down. Careful!” He swung again and again until the door split down the center, then he kicked it apart and open. He waved them into the tunnel beyond. “Come on. Let’s get out of here!”

In the tunnels and away from the foul anti-magic of the goblin totems, the nymphs quickly regained their powers. One, sensing a way out, led them through a tiny tunnel built as an escape route in case the main clearing was ever attacked. The goblins built warrens much like rabbits.

They emerged up into the forest once more. With murmurs of relief, the nymphs breathed in the fresh air.

A pair of goblin sentries appeared from behind a thick redwood tree and their red eyes flew wide at the sight of the escaping nymphs.

But with powers now, the goblins were no threat. Blackberry lifted a hand and gestured. Thick, green shoots shot out of the ground around the goblins, growing leaves and long, sharp thorns at unnatural speed. The blackberry canes looped around their prey, creating a dense bramble that trapped the creatures within, thorns tearing their skin to shreds and choking off their attempts to scream.

Kalla sensed the direction of their home glade and stepped in that direction. But when Arwin didn’t follow, she allowed the other nymphs to race away while she alone turned back. “Arwin?”

He clutched the axe in hand. “I have to go back. My friend is there. I need to help him.”

Kalla was puzzled. Through the cell gate, she’d seen the goblins cheering and fighting in the clearing. They’d been playing with a skeleton. “What friend? Is there another cell with more people?”

“No. Yaz. He’s fighting the goblins.”

She was confused and wary. “The undead?”

“Yeah. He’s a friend. Great guy.”

“The undead? A monster?”

“I don’t think he’s a typical representation of his kind.” He took a step back towards the clearing, giving her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Will you be ok on your own? You have magic or something now, right?”

“Yes…but Arwin…”

“Go. Yaz came here to save me. I’ve got to try and save him back.” He dashed off.

Kalla hesitated.

*

Yaz

Yaz ducked and weaved as he tried to avoid getting his head chopped off. He ground his teeth. “You’re no ordinary goblin, are you?”

The chieftain looked fiercely proud to hear that. He attacked with renewed fury, using both power and what the former knight saw was self-taught sword skill, but effective none-the-less. This goblin was very experienced. It knew, perhaps better than even an adventurer, that there was no pretty swordsmanship in a real fight. There was only whatever you needed to do to win. Which was why the goblin flung dirt (useless against Yaz’s magical vision and lack of eyeballs), kicked corpses at the skeleton’s legs to trip him up, and punched and kicked in addition to trying to slash and stab with the blade. Anything to defeat his enemy.

Yaz was growing low on weapons. He’d plucked up and lost those discarded by the goblins he’d defeated already. He needed another. Though he doubted anything was going to stand up to that magic sword. Spotting a hob with a longsword in one hand, Yaz faked the chieftain out as if he were going in the opposite direction, then charged the hob.

The hob saw him coming and smiled, showing teeth.

Yaz leaped and kicked him in those teeth, snapping the hob’s head backwards, though not killing him. But it was enough to give Yaz the chance to snatch the longsword away. He threw himself to the side just before the enchanted blade wielded by the chieftain sliced through the air, splitting the hob’s head into halves.

The chieftain didn’t even blink at killing one of his own. He followed hard on Yaz’s heels, contuing to attack.

Yaz knew the chieftain’s strange weapon would cut through the longsword like butter. So as he exchanged blows and warded the magic sword off, he twisted and turned his superior counters so that his steel met the side of the chieftain’s blade, not the edge, slapping it away. It worked. Yaz had always been very good with a sword. Now if he could just strike back…

The skill of his prey frustrated the chieftain. With a roar, he charged, using his size and power to his advantage. Taking strikes on his chest and arm, protected by armour, he bashed into the skeleton, cutting the longsword into pieces and battering his foe to the ground. Panting, the goblin chieftain stood over Yaz and snarled. Then it lifted the sword high.

A voice shouted from above. “Yaz!”

The chieftain hesitated and looked up. But he was too late to get out of the way.

A spinning axe struck the chieftain in the chest. Of course, because spinning axes are a terrible weapon, the half-moon blade didn’t sink into the chieftain’s chest and kill him. The handle hit his armour. But it was enough of a surprise and blow to send him staggering back a step.

Yaz wasted no time. He rolled and grabbed the haft of the axe, then got to his feet. Pressing, he attacked, swinging the axe at the chieftain’s leg.

The cheiftain recovered fast, lowering his sword to block — and almost had the sword ripped from his grasp as it met the edge of the axe and rebounded hard. The chieftain took another stunned step back and regarded first his magic sword, then Yaz’s axe with surprise.

Yaz gave him a toothy grin. He recognized the enchantment on his own weapon: heaviness. Foresters had first used it on their axes to make chopping wood easier. Adventurers and other warriors had then picked it up as a way to chop through heavy armour. Finally, Yaz had a weapon he could really challenge the chieftain with.

The two went at each other in a fury, both now respectful and wary of the other, yet possessed of a weapon that they knew could kill with a single hit. They threw themselves forward and back, side to side, grappled and tripped each other. For a minute, they seemed like equals.

But Yaz had been an expert fighter a thousand years before this goblin’s grandparents had been welped. Even with corpses underfoot and a crowd of leering and jeering goblins pressing in from all sides, even with a chieftain larger, fiercer, and smarter than any he could remember, Yaz had the advantage. He rushed forward and swung with all his might.

The chieftain, pressed up against the goblins behind him, had nowhere to back up. A desperate block. The axe met the sword, and the heavy enchantment sent it flying from the goblin’s hands, over the heads of the crowd to land near the bonfire.

Yaz twisted his arm and swung back the other direction.

The chieftain just managed to lean out of the way. So instead of the axe burying itself in his side and ending his life, it only opened up a long gash in his lower ribs and sent him tumbling into the ranks of his warriors.

The goblins, seeing their grand champion disarmed and downed, hushed in surprise and backed away in disbelief.

Now it was Yaz’s turn to stand over his foe in imminent triumph.

The chieftain looked up. There was no fear there. Only hostility.