Nekthadt (during the first war against Akuji)

Warning: This story occurs during a war. It is not light and fun. If themes of war or fear are difficult for you, you may want to skip it.

Nekthadt kin-Thallen pressed his face into the mud, praying silently, desperately, as his tears mixed with the blood and filth on the ground. Please, Gi-na, A-tae. Spare her. I’ll do anything, only spare her life. The whip whistled through the air, and he flinched as it hit, cracking loudly as Karali screamed, giving their troll overlord the satisfaction of hearing her pain.

With each stroke, the troll grunted a word. “You. Kill. Every. Human!” With the last word, he brought the whip down in a ferocious blow, and Karali fell, body sprawling limply into the muck. Fresh tears burned Nekthadt’s eyes, and his chest ached with the hatred he had known since he was old enough to understand the position his people held among the ranks of the Hozinte, the races ruled by Lich Lord Akuji. His people, the once proud goblin’te, were now the lowest of the low. They were sent into battle thoughtlessly, used like trash, and thrown away.

His hands fisted beneath the surface of the sludge in which he lay, barely able to breath past the ball of bitterness in his throat. Please. A-tae, do not take her. Gi-na, heal her. Anything. I will give you anything.

As Blutho’ug walked away, coiling his bloodied whip back into its loop at his belt, Karali moaned, faintly, and under the mud, out of sight of their overseers, Nekthadt reached out to grip her hand. Like the touch of a butterfly’s wing, her fingers tightened on his, and he gritted his teeth against tears. Tears never helped.

They, and the rest of what remained of their squad of justat - those who had once been trained to protect the Hijin, the Queen - remained in the mud until darkness lifted, and the sun touched the rim of the sky. When the trolls, orcs, and other goblins went to sleep the day away, four of the five goblin’te pulled themselves from the grip of drying mud. Three cast glances toward their leader’s prone figure, but none dared approach her. Only Nekthadt lifted her, tenderly raising her in his arms, though they trembled beneath her weight, for he, too, had felt the lash, though not nearly as badly as the justat-li.

Her head rolled to the side, and she moaned, just a little, as he shifted her, but then her glowing yellow eyes opened, and she smiled at him. “Viknitti,” she murmured, “you should not.”

He bowed his head until his forehead touched hers. “If you die,” he said, in their ancient tongue, “I die also.”

She chuckled, rusty and dark, but her hand came up to caress his cheek. “Then I must not die,” she whispered, “for I could not bear to see you fall.” Her eyes closed, dark lashes sweeping her filthy green cheek, and he cradled her closer as he carried her to their tent. She would live. She had promised.

❦ ❦ ❦

They were only given two days grace to recover. Nekthadt tended to Karali, bringing her tonics and herbs. He changed the poultices on her wounds, washing the bandages in water made from boiled snow. Each time he left their tent, he found some small offering outside, some gift left by one of the other justat.  Even Veeset had enough honor to bring a potion, and otherwise leave them alone, though if he could, he would have killed Nekthadt to have Karali.

On the third day, new orders came. Karali was able to stand, and she left the tent, blinking even in the dim light of the moons as the goblin messenger spoke. “The Hozinte ssa’kinte is nearby. He guards a human town. You are to kill him, and his Soul Mage companion. If you fail, you will all be killed.” The messenger, one of the traitors who had crawled to the trolls, begging for their favor, smirked at the group of justat.

It was a death sentence. They all knew it. The human known as the Scourge of the Dark Races was a Necromancer, and a strong one. He could steal control of a zombie from its undead master, and had even managed to turn a few of Akuji’s liches and vampires against him. So long as Akuji himself was still at the rear of the advancing army, the Hozinte ssa’ kinte was the most powerful mage around. His ability to turn the undead was why the few remaining justat were thrown at him so often. And why there were so few remaining.

Karali inclined her head regally, dismissing the messenger with a flick of her eyes. Turning back to her squad, she said simply, “Get ready.” Only once everyone had run off to gather up their bedrolls and supplies did she let her shoulders sag even the slightest bit. Her voice was soft as a whisper when she said, “Again. Again, Nekthadt. I do not know if I can bear it.”

He slid a half step closer, his shoulder just touching hers. “You will. You are strong, and I am here. We will do as we must.”

She lifted her face to the moons, and the light bleached her green skin, the shade of pallas, the soft moss that was used in their homes for everything from rugs to pillows. For a timeless moment, she looked like stone itself, like a statue of the most beautiful woman in the world. When she opened her eyes, the clear yellow broke the illusion, and Nekthadt drew in a shuddering breath. She tilted her head, smiling slightly, gaze teasing as she reached over to trace the tip of his ear with one finger.

“You give me strength, viknitti. Without you, I would have given up long ago.” Raising her voice, she said, “Pack everything. We will not return.”

He nodded, ducking to re-enter the tent. She was right. If they succeeded, the army would move forward, and if they failed, well… corpses didn’t need beds. In this war, they never rested, but only walked.

❦ ❦ ❦

“He’s in there,” Kenthisi kin-Thoor whispered, crouching beside Karali in the brush. The boy was little more than a child, mother’s sister’s son to Karali, and he was their best scout, though Karali hated every time she had to send him out, knowing the risk he took.

She nodded, not taking her eyes from the tent in the center of the human encampment. It was daytime, and while that gave the humans an advantage, this war was fought in the dark, and the humans had adapted, most sleeping during daylight hours. There were soldiers standing guard, of course, but the Hozinte ssa’kinte should be sleeping. The night before, he had almost single-handedly held off a horde of skeletons, zombies, and ghouls, and he had to be exhausted. It was the perfect time to attack.

“Nekthadt, Kenthisi, you’re with me. Veeset, Sekkiun, you take care of the guards.” Karali’s fingers flicked to indicate the two human males pacing around this side of the encampment. One of them kept rubbing his eyes and coughing, while the other seemed more concerned at staying away from the sick man than actually guarding the camp.

The four males nodded, Veeset and Sekkiun instantly vanishing into [Stealth]. Nekthadt and Kenthisi eachreached out and touched Karali’s arm before triggering [Covert]. Since the three were touching when the skill was triggered, they were now effectively invisible to everyone else, but would have no difficulty seeing each other.

Karali nodded, creeping forward. She slid from shadow to shadow, utterly silent, with her squad-mates close on her heels. One of the guards fell, and his body instantly vanished into the darkness beside a tent, leaving not even a drop of blood behind. A moment later, the second guard met the same fate, and the trio of assassins slit the canvas wall of the tent Kenthisi had marked as belonging to the Necromancer.

Without a word, the three spread out, Karali leading the way as she walked, crouching until her upper body was nearly horizontal with the hard-packed dirt floor. She raised her dagger over the form curled beneath the thin blankets spread across the narrow cot.

Kenthisi gurgled.

Nekthadt and Karali spun, each pulling a second blade from within their black leather gear. A human woman stood behind the boy, her hand outstretched above his body as he spasmed helplessly, his own blades dropping from nerveless fingers to thud quietly onto the dirt.

“Kenthisi!” Karali said, showing her panic as clearly as if she had screamed the youngling’s name. “No!” She drew back her hand, ready to throw one of her knives, and froze as another blade touched her throat, edge glittering even in the dimness within the tent.

The lump in the bed sat up the rest of the way, revealing a pale-skinned human male with a pale brown beard, long, tousled hair, and eyes the color of frozen topaz. “You were right, Manuela,” he said, sounding tired, but unafraid. “How do you always know?”

The woman shook back her shoulder-length black hair, and strands of silver glinted. “You’d know, too, if you ever bothered to think about it. It’s not like it’s complicated.” She wiggled her fingers, and Kenthisi waved his hand, like a mockery of a child’s puppet. “‘Oh, the big, bad Necromancer must be tired. Let’s kill him!’” She raised her voice into a sing-song lilt, and Kenthisi danced and twirled, though his eyes were terrified.

Nekthadt was frozen. To one side, his love stood with a knife to her throat, while to his other, Kenthisi silently struggled against the power of the Soul Mage. If it had been one or the other, he would have known what to do, but this…

“Let him go,” Karali croaked out. She spoke the human tongue better than most, and the words were clear. “Let him go, and I will not fight.” Her eyes flicked to Nekthadt, and he saw the acceptance of her own death in them. “Let them both go, and I will tell you everything. Anything you want. Only let them live one more day.”

Nekthadt shook his head, dropping his knives. It meant nothing, since there were a dozen others hidden on his body, but he hoped the humans wouldn’t know that. “Let them go. She been sick. Known little. I tell you where camp is.”

The woman snorted. “Like we don’t know where your enormous horde of monsters is.” Her dark eyes flicked to the necromancer, and Nekthadt felt a flash of understanding. He knew that look. He knew the utter, deep, bone-breaking weariness it conveyed. “We should kill them. Them and their friends outside.”

The topaz eyes closed, though the pale hand clutching the knife to Karali’s throat never wavered. A drop of dark blood crept down toward her collar. “I don’t want to, Manuela. I don’t want to kill anyone today. Just one day without butchering a single person. Is that too much to ask?”

Manuela just stared, silent and grim, until the man sighed. He opened his eyes, and said, “You killed me.”

Everyone else in the tent froze, staring at him. One side of his mouth lifted wearily. “Go back to your masters. Tell them you succeeded. Then kill them. Once they’re dead, I’ll have my forces attack, and we’ll wipe out your army. That’s it. Do it, and I’ll let you all live.”

Karali jerked, and the drop of blood became a thin stream. “How would you-?”

Manuela reached out and tilted Kenthisi’s chin up. His eyes grew wide as they met hers, and a trickle of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. The dark woman looked back at Karali and Nekthadt. “This one belongs to me, now. I see everything he sees, hear everything he hears. I can rip his soul from his body with a thought.”

She looked straight at Karali. “Do as Iorgas says, and I’ll let him go. Do anything else, and you’ll all be zombies before your brains even know you’re dead.”

Karali nodded, once, and Iorgas sighed, lowering the blade from her throat, though he wasn’t foolish enough to drop his guard.

“Done,” Karali said, and Nekthadt knew her well enough to see the fierce pleasure hidden behind her lowered gaze. If they succeeded, they might yet survive this day.

❦ ❦ ❦

It was nearly dark by the time they returned to their own camp. Manuela had run from the tent, screaming that Iorgas had been murdered, so even Veeset and Sekkiun believed the story Karali and Nekthadt spun of how they had found the Hozinte ssa’kinte asleep, and killed him in his bed. Nekthadt knew there would be others - both living and undead - watching the human camp as well, so they had to make it look real.

When they were brought into the tent of Gur’laign, the troll who commanded the living part of their army, he was drinking from a massive flask, and grinning widely enough that all of his remaining yellow teeth were on full display. He motioned to his lieutenants, who were laughing and drinking nearby. “Here!”he shouted, raising his flask so putrid gray liquid sloshed over the side. “Tell us how you killed that damned Necromancer, may he rot in the Chaos Pool for all eternity!”

Blutho’ug, the monster who had whipped the justat only a few days before, grinned at them, small, dim eyes gleaming. “I knew if you had the weakness beaten out of you, you could do it! No more letting children escape. No, now you are heroes, and it is thanks to me!” He roared with laughter, and Karali and Nekthadt shifted into perfectly coordinated whirlwinds of death.

None of the trolls expected it. They knew the justat were better fighters than the other goblins, who were little more than terrified rabble, fighting for nothing more than just not to die. They didn’t understand that a thousand years of warriors had refined the justat into perfect killers. They didn’t know that Karali and Nekthadt had fought side by side since they were able to hold a blade, preparing for the day they would take their place protecting their exiled queen.

They knew each other’s moves before they made them. When Nekthadt drove his blade up Gur’laign’s inner thigh, fileting the femoral artery, Karali was ready to use his back to reach Blutho’ug’s shoulders so she could drive her knife to the hilt into his brain. A wall of deadly steel advanced on the other two thuggish lieutenants before they had a chance to do more than draw in a breath to scream, and then there were four cooling corpses on the floor of the tent.

Karali turned to Kenthisi, shaking blood from her blades. “Are we done?” She spoke in the human tongue.

Kenthisi nodded, eyes momentarily darker than any goblin’s had ever been. “We are done. If you want to live, flee.” His eyes closed, and when they opened again, they were his own, just the terrified yellow eyes of a boy who had thought he was going to die. He began to cry, and Karali drew him into a tight embrace.

Outside, the screaming began. Two of the troll’s traitorous goblin servants burst into the tent, and Nekthadt killed them before they could even understand what they saw. He felt no remorse. They were his people, but in submitting gladly to their own enslavement, they chose the wrong side of a silent war that the true goblin’te had been fighting for hundreds of years. Because goblin’te were no one’s slaves, and goblin’te never gave up.

Nekthadt reached out to take Karali’s hands, and the two supported the sobbing boy as they cut a hole in the back of the tent. Without leadership, the army would soon fall, and for once, the goblins would not make up the majority of the dead. They ran, and though Kenthisi staggered, he ran beside them. They would warn their own people, and if Manuela and Iorgas did as they promised and left no one alive to tell the tale, well, all the better.

Someday, the war would end. Somehow, the goblin’te would be free, and Nekthadt swore that when that day came, he and Karali would be there to see it.