Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,128
scum, show me Goblin pride!”
He spit as far as he could towards enemy lines, satisfied to see their confusion blanking their wrinkled faces. Trickles of saliva dribbled into his beard but he didn’t care. This was war. One was expected to get…messy. Thord didn’t need to wait long. Just as he suspected, it was the large, whip-lashing Goblin who forced his way through the ranks to confront the Dwarf king.
Krek watched the scene play out with great interest. His personal feeling that he should have the right to call out the enemy leader in single combat was substantiated by the sheer number of his dead and wounded. Unfortunately Thord had found him first, thus negating any claim Krek might have pressed. Angered at coming in second, the Minotaur king marched to stand behind Thord, offering silent support. Honor demanded a heavy price.
Thord pointed his axe at the Goblin and laughed. “You? This is the best you’ve got? A fat, broken beast who has to use a whip on his own soldiers? I should let my youngest nephew take his cuts at you, though you might not enjoy the whack of his wooden axe.”
“Enough mocking, cave maggot,” Thrask snarled at his hated foe. “I am of higher purpose than these…scum. I am Thrask, king of Goblins and lord of the Deadlands. Speak your terms.”
So it is true. If your army is here who protects your lands? “Before I slaughter your army and leave the bones for the crows I challenge you to single combat.”
“Why? There is no honor in it,” Thrask shouted back. “I did not come to this miserable kingdom to barter with your runts. Go back to your army and meet death.”
“Scared, eh? It’s not every day a cave dweller like you gets to meet a real king,” Thord taunted, hoping to lure Thrask into acting foolishly. “Perhaps I’ll save killing you for last.”
Thrask’s rage boiled over. He took another step forward and threw down sword and helmet. “Weapons only. No armor to hide behind. I am going to enjoy watching more Dwarf blood spill onto the mud.”
Satisfied, though finding it difficult to set aside the ignorance of Thrask’s words, Thord did the same. He rolled his massive arms to loosen up the muscles. Cracking his thick neck brought cheers from his army. His dark beard was filthy with blood and gore, streaks of dried blood painted his face. He looked every bit the berserker of legend. Killing Thrask wasn’t going to end the battle but it would successfully demoralize the Goblins to the point it became a rout. Armed only with his axe and Dwarven tenacity, the lord of Drimmen Delf charged to meet his foe.
The Goblins were less vocal, though several cheered for Thrask as he hurried to meet death. They were close to the breaking point. More than a fifth of their force was already dead and nearly twice that wounded. What had begun as a simple defense was slowly downgrading into the kind of battles their armies had been hard-pressed to win in the past. Not even strength of numbers was enough to keep their spirits bolstered.
Thrask couldn’t care less. He viewed this duel in the same manner as the Dwarf. Killing Thord would hamper his enemies, hopefully to the point they abandoned hope altogether. His hatred of Dwarves left him cocksure, arrogant. Lies whispered by the Dae’shan bolstered his ego and confidence. Once again Goblin and Dwarf met in single combat to decide the fate of the world. He halted when they were only a handful of steps apart.
They stared hard at the other, each trying to make the other flinch first. It was an old yet petty trick designed to inspire mental intimidation. Neither was weak enough to fall for such. Thord grunted and attacked. The time for action had come. Thrask stepped back rather than forward to meet the attack. The move, while simple, momentarily threw the Dwarf off guard. Momentum carried him past Thrask, who waited with his sword poised to cleave down the Dwarf’s spine. Thord twisted at the last second and narrowly avoided being paralyzed. The sword slashed through air.
Spinning about, the Dwarf dropped into a guard. Thrask had already shown his hand. Rather than try to win through skill of blade, the Goblin was intent on trickery and foul tactics. Thord had seen it too many times before. Any hope he had of a quick, honorable victory was in tatters. Gritting his teeth, he prepared for a dirty