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  “I always have to watch your back, Hank!" he said as he turned to survey the fight that seemed, at the same time, to be growing smaller.

  "ENOUGH!" he heard, drawing his attention to Bronwynn. She cast the foul orc blade away and said, "Narbane, come!" At once, a great-sword appeared in her hands, its long, blue-gray blade covered with now-glowing runes. She raised it overhead, and a ball of light burst forth from its tip, becoming a blinding flash, filling the bar with a sudden burst of what seemed like the sun's rays.

  "The next being to raise even one hand in anger will taste the edge of Peacekeeper!" she slowly challenged the patrons who were still conscious. Everyone in the room froze. Even Pinch, the thief, hesitated from cutting the purse off of a stunned man.

  "Everyone out," she ordered, pointing the huge great sword toward the door. "Except you," she added, nodding toward the cavalier. He sheepishly smiled while freeing his prisoner. The dwarf thumbed the handle of his hammer into the loop on his belt and let it hang there.

  "Hank," he muttered quietly under his breath. "How many times have I got to tell you, never pull your sword in a bar fight!" His words fell on deaf ears, though, as the cavalier secured his sword and did his best to make himself presentable for the damsel whom he freed from the grip of her evil foes. As the half-orc he'd held slid past him and made for the door, another approached him.

  "You'll pay for what you did to my hand, human!" he slurred, anger creasing his now sober face. "Do you know how much a cleric will charge me to get this thing attached?" he asked, looking down at the right hand he now clutched in his left. "We will meet again!" he promised as he turned and scurried away.

  "I was only protecting that fair damsel," the knight mouthed, justifying his deed. Momentarily crestfallen, Hank quickly returned to straightening his appearance.

  "You ok?" the dwarf asked Pinch.

  "No worse for the wear," he answered. Patting his purse, he added, "and maybe a little better off for it all."

  "We're gonna have to do something about Hank," the dwarf said quietly. "He's going to get us killed. Or, at least, me killed. I noticed you did little to help the cause."

  "I'm hurt, Scree," the thief shot back. He made a great show of retrieving a dagger from the floor of the bar, wiping fresh blood from its edge, and sliding it back into the sheath behind his neck.

  The dwarf's jaw went slack with realization and he spread his arms in apology. "I didn’t-"

  "That's alright, friend,” Pinch continued. "That little rogue was about to chop you down the middle, but I suppose all that gristle in your fat head would have protected you."

  The dwarf visibly swallowed as he pictured the event.

  "Next time, maybe I'll just let your back sprout knives when you storm off into battle."

  "Gentlemen!" came a single order.

  The small group assembled around Bronwynn, Hank coming last. "Fair maid, It is unnecessary for you to give thanks-”

  “What?!" she cried, cutting him off mid-sentence. "You start a fight in my bar, and pull weapons, to boot! Then, you want me to think of you as my hero? If you would have waited just a few seconds before trying to save the world, you would have seen that I had things under control."

  “But, my lady,” he pleaded, stunned, clearly not understanding the situation.

  “Oh, I can't believe this!" she said in exasperation. "And look at my bar!"

  “We'll, uh, help you clean up?" Hank volunteered. The dwarf and thief quickly looked elsewhere.

  "You're darn right you will," she intoned, visibly cooling. “And, you'll pay for the damages, as well.”

  Chapter 4

  A Great Disappointment

  The tower had been silent since Skum left his master’s laboratory earlier that day. The morning had expired and now it was late at night. The way the baron had looked earlier made the goblin think that maybe he'd soon become the new lord of the tower. A toothy grin spread across his large maw as he pictured the wizard’s lifeless body slumped over one of his huge tomes of arcane lore. Rubbing his cruddy, green hands together, he picked up the pace of his ascent to the mage's casting chamber.

  "Would serve the old coot good," he spat, drooling in anticipation of the end of his servitude. "I can finally be done with this drafty old tower and all the disgusting undead wandering about and find myself a proper cave to live in." As he turned the next corner, he bumped straight into a zombie. Horrified, his arms flew out to his front and he quickly shoved the rotting creature away.

  As it struck the floor and slid, fragments of decomposing flesh and clothes dislodged and sprayed about. The goblin danced back away from the zombie and bumped into another. Horror quickly turned to desperation as Skum pulled his broadsword from its sheath and began swinging wildly about, cutting huge hunks of decaying flesh from the zombie to his rear. When it lay in a scattered mess, he whirled to meet the one he had encountered first. The zombie had scarcely gotten up when it was neatly cut in two, its rotten hide and brittle bones giving little resistance to Skum's glowing, magic blade.

  “Ew! Disgusting! Ew! Eew!” he squealed, dancing about again, as if to dislodge any trace of the zombies from his clothes and body. He wiped the sword blade on a nearby tapestry, its red-glowing magical edge slicing through the fabric as he dragged it across its surface.

  When the blade was free of decaying bits, Skum dropped it into its sheath and continued on his course, tip-toeing around the split corpse barring his way. "Why did I ever take this job?" he whined. "I can't stand undead." His voice dropped to a low mutter as he neared the portal which held his future.

  Skum tried the handle, but the door was locked from the inside. "Master?" he spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the old human. "Master?" he tried again, his voice mustering more volume this time. "Master!" Skum bellowed, gaining confidence that his dream may indeed be coming true.

  Throwing caution to the wind, the goblin inhaled a large breath and threw himself at the door. His shoulder impacted with the wood, and should have merely bounced harmlessly off, if not for the magical belt of strength he wore around his waist. Instead, the door burst from its hinges. Iron brackets, which held the locking mechanism in place, were ripped from their moorings.

  The chamber was as silent as a tomb. The only sound was the soft flapping of Skum’s feet on the cold, gray, stone floor. The goblin's eyes, adept at seeing in the darkness of caves, scanned the room for the whereabouts of the old mage. Unlike his dreams, he found the wizard, not slumped among his old books, but on a long table he had used when experimenting on the humans, which Skum had provided. His master's body did not show as warm to the goblin’s night vision, making the creature's heart leap. Snatching a mirror from a nearby table, he held its surface a scant inch from the wizard's face. No mist appeared. As a final test, the cave dweller reached out and touched the wrist of the baron. No life stirred within.

  Skum’s mouth gaped and his pulse quickened as he realized it was true. "I'm free!" he bellowed while dancing about the room. Hooting and hollering, he careened about the lab. Picking up various components and devices, he held them high in the air as if to display his new wealth while still capering about, overcome with joy.

  He didn't know what to do first. It was like a dream. Skum began exploring boxes and chests looking for magic items, or even relics, which would gain him the most coin.

  Something stirred. At first, the goblin thought it was a trick of his mind. It sounded like a soft rustling of cloth followed by old bones rattling. It couldn't be, he thought to himself. Then, he heard it, the whisper of a soft intake of breath.

  The small hairs on the back of his neck raised in alarm as he slowly turned toward the table where the sound had originated. His eyes settled on the form of his master, no longer lying on the table. He was sitting on it, a huge smile spread across the pale necromancer's face. "It worked," the old baron said in a croaking voice. "It worked!" he cried, sounding more solid. This time, Marasmus's words were punctuated by the sound of a golden g
oblet dropping to the floor.

  The necromancer's eyes swept to the source of the sound. "Skum," he said. "What are you doing there?"

  The goblin’s green skin quickly drained to an off shade of white.

  "You were stealing from me!" Marasmus ascertained. "You thought I was dead."

  "I checked, master," Skum pleaded, dropping to his knees and crawling toward his lord. Something was changing about the baron. He seemed even more gaunt and larger somehow. But the most striking thing was his eyes. His gaze was awful. "You had no signs of life. I feared,” he lied. "I didn't know."

  The necromancer merely laughed, a horrible sound. "I guess I shouldn't blame you. I knew you were dreaming of the day I would die. Well, now you will have a very long time to wait. An eternity, even. You see, Skum, I have died. I have been working on dying for a long time. All these experiments were to discover the secrets of life eternal. I have died and been reborn... as a lich."

  The goblin pressed his head against the ground and whimpered.

  "Death really isn't so bad, my pet," he chided while sliding off the table to the floor. "It's an invigorating experience.”

  As his master crossed the room toward the door, Skum broke down in sobs. "Don't kill me, master."

  "Kill you? I hadn't thought of that," Marasmus said, pausing at the exit. "You are the only living thing here, and death is such a memorable experience. You should really try it." As he completed the statement, he slammed the remains of the door shut. Terrible sounds could be heard issuing from the room, but the dead walking the halls don't concern themselves with noises, of course.

  Chapter 5

  I Remember Now

  Den slipped out with the other walking wounded from the bar, not wanting to be noticed. He cursed himself for his inaction in the fight; he'd tried to throw a spell, but had panicked. Every bit of magic he'd ever learned seemed to race through his mind, and yet each spell was somehow just barely out of reach. He had seen many situations where even a simple cantrip would have caused a favorable outcome, but he'd been unable to grasp the proper words or gestures to unleash his power. "Am I a coward?" he asked himself, but quickly dismissed it out of hand. "I'm just not ready," he concluded. “Maybe I need more time with Finnious and his trusty tomes of magic.” He glanced back at the inn’s entrance and decided to push onward. He couldn't face Bronwynn right now, or maybe ever.

  Bronwynn, aside from being the inn’s owner and the tavern's bartender, was also the most beautiful woman in the town. Her bulging muscles seemed to add to her attractiveness in a raw, athletic way. A few men said hurtful words behind her back, things they would never want her to hear them saying, but they were only jealous of her strength, both inner and outer, which they noticeably lacked.

  Den continued through town, hoping the sights and sounds of the market would help him forget his earlier inaction. The vendors were doing a brisk business today, crowds jamming their booths to buy food or other goods. A woman wearing a rough, woolen dress brushed past Den, a live chicken hanging upside down from her grip. Her aged face filled with a smile as she saw her daughter through the other shoppers. Before she could slip past, the fowl in her grip quickly struck at Den as if to peck him.

  Everyone seemed happy; coin was abundant and fears a distant memory. With a wizard living nearby, evil had moved far away to terrorize the weak and unprotected in a place where such vile work would be safe to do. War hadn't happened for so many years that the guard had lapsed into more a symbolic position, held by mainly the old and infirm.

  He purchased a leg of roasted turkey and wandered through the bazaar, tearing at the food with his teeth and wiping its warm juice from his chin. Its salty marinade parched his mouth as he struggled to swallow.

  Den was a young boy when his parents were taken from him. He could still remember that night; its sights and sounds returned to him with a feeling of helpless dread, memories of the caravan that evening and the terrible attack.

  *****

  His parents had been traveling west in search of free land and the promise of a new start. They were about to pass the town of Westberry when illness broke out in the caravan. The townfolk were afraid of the outbreak, and withheld aid to both the stricken and healthy alike. The freedom his parents had sought came with the inherent danger of evil creatures and other perils of the untamed land beyond civilized human habitation. It was strange that the evil, which would cause their end, would start with the civilization Den's parents feared to leave.

  That night, the fires burned cheerily, but the mood of the caravan was somber. Nearly half of the troop, including Den’s mother, had perished due to the illness, but the survivors were finally free of the deadly malady. Heads hung low as both men and women mourned their losses. No guards were set, as no one seemed to care. That's when the goblin horde fell upon them. The foul folk rushed in from all directions at once, brandishing weapons, but only killing a few. They seemed to be holding back, herding the majority of the folk to the center of the encampment. Den could still see the gnarled forms of the humanoids pushing the helpless people and smacking them with the flats of their swords to gain their submission.

  Den’s most vivid memory was of his father trying to rally the caravan folk. Swinging a smoldering log from a nearby fire, he menaced some of the smaller goblins, many of which danced away with black marks where welts would soon develop. Then, another of the foul folk stepped to the front and brandished a huge sword, which glowed red, as if enchanted.

  Den’s father waved the brand in front of the monster, but the beast merely laughed. The sound was horrible. It left no feeling of joy, but only one of dread. Frothing spittle dripped from the beast’s grinning maw, dropping from its warty chin onto its belted tunic as it pointed the enchanted weapon at Den's father’s chest.

  "This one has got some fight in 'im," the huge goblin mocked. "Can't have that," he chided, as he pulled back his arm and swung a meaty fist at the human. His father tried to block, but the blow was too powerful and went unaffected by the attempt. The twisted creature’s knuckles struck Den's father square in the middle of his face. Blood sprayed as the fist was withdrawn, the man’s face was completely caved in. The human stood for a moment, wobbling slowly, then crumpled to the ground.

  "Humans," the beast spat. "They don't make 'em the way they used to."

  The goblins that were watching stood shock still, halted by the awesome display of raw strength.

  Jaws gaped, and swords hung loosely. Goblins weren't known for their strength, depending more on overwhelming their enemies with sheer numbers rather than brute force. It was whispered in some of the more remote parts of their warren that their leader, Skum, was more a creature of magic than goblin. The rumor was that he had made a deal with the necromancer Marasmus, and had been given special items that made him extremely powerful. These devices made him nearly a god among them.

  Feared by most, he was watched closely by a few who coveted his magical talismans and wanted them for their own. With these magic objects, they could usurp him and become the leader of the warren.

  "Get to work!" Skum roared, waving his bloody hand at the gawking crowd. "Round up any stragglers or our boss will flay your hides!"

  The goblins jumped to do his bidding, not wanting their leader to direct his rage at any of them.

  Den was pulled roughly to his feet. He hadn't noticed that, with his senses stunned, he had dropped to the ground. He hadn't even realized that his father was dead. All he could think of was the image of the huge goblin leader and his crushing strength.

  Still in shock, Den was pushed and prodded toward the center of the camp. Most of the other humans were huddled there, trembling as the goblins harassed them with their rusty swords and clubs, keeping the people of the caravan in a state of fear to squash any thought of escape. That is when Den met Finnious.

  He appeared in the middle of the goblins and created a huge burst of light. The goblins were all blinded by the sudden sunburst, and Finnious used that to
his advantage. Huge balls of fire burst in the evil horde’s midst. Lightning bolts lanced forth from his hands and glowing missiles struck down foe after foe.

  Den can remember the mage yelling, “Run, you fools! Run to the town!” The goblin horde had been driven off, but would be back as soon as they could regroup. “Flee!" Finnious bellowed, and that is what they did. Into the night they ran, blind terror at their backs driving them desperately away from this place.

  *****

  As Den's mind returned to the present, he found he was running hard through the woods, briars tearing at his clothes. The turkey leg he had been eating at the bazaar had been long discarded, as his vivid memory had turned his leisurely stroll into flight. As Den realized he was running from a waking dream, the young man stopped and dropped to his knees. His breathing was ragged as tears began flowing down his cheeks. Den put his hands over his face and cried. He laid in the woods for quite a while, letting his grief wane. Then, exhausted from his eventful morning, he fell asleep.

  When Den woke, he felt cold and damp. Early evening fog had rolled in, and it was becoming dark. He'd spent much of his free time roaming the woods and hills surrounding the little village, so he knew exactly where he was. He could hurry along an old deer run he remembered and continue past the barrow mounds, and he would be almost home.

  As he trotted along the trail, Den noticed that the deer run looked as if it was still in use. It created a natural path in the dense thickets and a course to follow in the open. Mist that had clung to him as he slept began to dry as his body warmed with the exertion of running. The cold left him, as well.

  The sun was gone, replaced by the moon, as he reached the edge of the barrow mounds. Fog made it look like some of the old tales he'd shared with other children while trying to scare one another. The graveyard looked surreal, mist causing the landscape to change from one moment to the next, shapes blurring in and out of focus. Increasing darkness exasperated the mood by decreasing his vision. Den slowed his pace to a walk as he swiveled his head back and forth, falling victim to his fears.