The count sighed and sat back in his chair, as if calculating. "Considering the typical guard is paid about twelve gold pieces here for thirty days' work, then shall fifteen work for you boys? Each?"
Christopher, leaning against the window like one of the tall, hanging banners, cloak and all, nodded coolly in the count's direction. Not dressed nearly as royally, he and his men looked out of place indeed there in the regal keep.
"Done." He replied, apparently not too concerned with his pay grade. When his own men offered no objection either, the count took a deep breath and went on.
"Very well. Half a gold piece a day and the typical room and board. In exchange for your swords and bows and the arms behind them. Sounds fair to you?"
"It does." With another look to his small band to see if there was no one objecting to the terms, the ranger leader returned his gaze to his new employer and nodded coolly.
Chace inwardly sighed with relief. These men were laid back and still good men. he had just struck the easiest deal he had made in a long time in a few sentences. "Excellent!" Standing up from his marble chair, the count smiled and extended his gauntleted hand over the table.
After a moment's consideration, Christopher smiled and took it, shaking it heartily. "I warn you, though, my men and I will do you little good behind stone walls and in castle towers like this." He thought a moment. "Time to reconsider?"
The Count of Herrsan laughed. "No, not quite yet! I've had rangers in my ranks before, don't worry." He looked out the west window. "I can put you out on the Kire'dephal Spire, to watch the woods and fields for prying goblins and barbarian raiders. Sound better than garrisoning my stone walls?"
Christopher shrugged and grinned. "It might be a better idea. We can stay, but my band will work and patrol far better out in the woods and fields than inside your keep, count."
Chace nodded. "Yes, yes, that will be good enough! You can leave for Kire'dephal anytime you like, they can always use a few good riders and scouts there to watch the borders. I've got enough men here to keep an eye on greedy House Davardi if trouble comes up." He chuckled.
The ranger raised an eyebrow at the last comment, but said nothing in reply for a minute.
"House Davardi being trouble?" He asked at length.
The energetic Count of Herrsan sighed and turned away to look out the west window, leaning on the silver sill. "Well, no more than usual. That Count Sejagoth would have a field day if he could, though, overrunning my forts and fields." He offered a grim smile to the listening ranger. "Since me and my lands are always between him and the rest of Savarica, we're not exactly on the best of terms. Don't doubt it, he would try to take my land, and all the rest if he got half a chance. But even he's too smart to pit his armies against me and the other three houses combined! Vadirska and Kairok BOTH know better than to leave me to deal with Sejagoth alone, if they'll be the next in his way when I fall!" He laughed, making light of it.
The rangers behind him now apparently at ease talking among themselves quietly, discussing some minor point of their new job, Christopher left his men to come stand by the window.
"...I see." He replied after a moment, "That makes sense. Who now rules the houses Vadirska and Kairok?" He paused, with a grim smile. "I haven't been to Savarica in a long time."
Chace grunted, only half paying attention as he fixed his attention in his river ships below. "Well, House Vadirska is ruled by Countess India. A woman, yes, last of her house, I believe. She's got help though, and her huscarls are some of the best, don't make the mistake. Next to mine, that is." He paused for a moment. "And House Kairok is ruled by Count Samuel and partly his son, Viscount Andrew. The two of them and their mother hold down the Lake House pretty well up there, our closest allies. Do good business with them on the river too." He added, as if an afterthought.
Chris, still smiling behind the count, nodded. "Ah, I see. The rulers have changed since I was last here."
The count shrugged. "Somewhat. They always do, I suppose." After a moment, he turned and looked at his new soldiers.
"On that note, when do you lads intend to get down there to Kire'dephal? Next week I hope, at least?"
Christopher laughed. "We can get down there any time you wish! We're rangers." He added, as if that explained everything. And it did.
Chace grinned. "Good. Then get down there."
Without another word, the ranger captain turned, motioned quickly to his men with a gesture of his hand, and all of them abruptly strode away down the hall. When the massive doors clanged shut on them, the count chuckled. He had made a good deal that day.
Fire.
Fire, burning, gnashing, grinding, screeching, hacking, blazing, red, hot, searing fire. The smoke and billowing ashes constantly flew up into the dark height of the underground cavern, to leave some unknown exit above. The howls and spidery yammering of the fire's keepers filled the caves with constant noise and endless chaotic sound. The shadows cast by the dozens and dozens of fiery furnaces and pits wove complex patterns on the walls, with the shadows of the hundreds if not thousands of goblins dashing through them, scrambling about in some kind of chaotic order like an ants' nest. Once in a while, some goblin more stupid than his peers would get pushed too close to the edge of the tiny walkways and safe areas, and either spring back yowling at being burned, or tumble in completely, burned to death in seconds. All the while, the vast, untidy network of chains and wheels, cranks and pulleys operated above their heads, the machines and ironed workings of the goblin caves never stopping.
Deep in the heart of the mountains, dotted all across the Great Northern Wastes, little goblin cities like this one were buried miles under the rock and ice. Caverns, hollowed out and worked by the little dark creatures, could never be seen outside except for the occasional billowing of smoke on some mountaintop, where the fires constantly spit out their black clouds of it.
The goblins of the north, the cave dwellers, miners, and engineers of evil, were small, quick little creatures. Though they barely were three feet tall, and perhaps smaller than a human child, they made a fearsome enemy in their clans. Like a nest of ants they worked at their fires and machines forever. Though not strong or big like their orc brothers on the surface, they had minds as fast as their limbs. And far more creative and inventive. These little creatures of the underground caverns could create and design almost any machine for destruction or death that one wanted to see, and more besides. Even the dwarves of the underground mountains, here and there scattered in the mountains, feared some of the goblin inventions.
The great main work room of this particular goblin city was burning and working at full power, the machines cranking and wheels turning, fires burning, when they received their visitor. Though the goblin city was made up of a vast network of tunnels and caves, the main ones were where most of the population would be found normally, feeding the fires and constructing their engines. The room was so big that all of House Herrsan could fit into it easily, wide and long and dotted with all kinds of activities. The ceiling of the cavern was so high up that it was out of sight above them, in the darkness, where the smoke constantly billowed and disappeared. Some entrances and exits, and higher platforms and levels, could be seen above, where the ground floor goblins climbed up any series of ladders and ropes to get to a higher level or disappear into a side tunnel. It was as complicated as a ant nest as well as busy.
When a familiar roar sounded through the cavern, the sound of a long, drawn out screech of one of their brothers, the goblins masses stopped slowly, coming to a halt in their work. The signal to stop echoed across the workroom, forcing all of the quick-minded, small creatures to put down their business and listen. Some kinds of authority were highly respected there, as well.
Though barely visible to the entire cavern, from one of the higher, smaller dark tunnels emerged a larger, slightly different goblin emerged. High up as he was, most of the cavern could look towards him though, even if he was only four feet tall (bigger than most by far). The red robe this particular goblin wore, however, gave away his status at once. The cave fell silent.
There was a dull quiet as this leader goblin appeared and screeched again, broken only by the sound of wheels turning and chains cranking all around him. Thousands of large, yellow eyes peered up narrowly at their shaman leader.
"...BROTHERZ!" He howled in his goblin language, now waving his thin arms and looking down at the masses of his people below him. "WE HAVE A GUEZT WITH UZ! ZOMEONE HAZ COME TO GIVE UZ ZAVARICA!"
This quick and blunt declaration got the attention of all who could hear, almost instantly. Every twisted little mind knew what Savarica was. Anything in the north did. A mixture of awed silence, and screeches and shouts of questions and rage erupted all through the cavern.
"The Great Fire-Drake comez to uz!" The goblin shaman, fast trying to regain his people's full attention, shouted loudly over the dull roar of iron machines and chains. Again, this got another round of wonder and some rage.
(Goblins of that day did not need really any particular reason to rage, and really it was expected that anything anyone had to say would be raged at by someone, for no good reason. Since almost all goblins just enjoyed raging for its own sake mostly, there was nothing that someone wouldn't rage at. Some shamans could go out and proclaim that he had just found a mountain of gold, and STILL be confronted with rage.)
However, the mention of the Great Dragon's title stopped most any further replies from the masses. Even they knew who Warhespar was.
Taking the chance while his rage-loving people were quiet for a minute, the shaman hurriedly went on. "He comez to offer uz hiz help, and hiz fighterz if we will help him deztroy the white zkins in Zavarica! And we will helpz him!"
A mixture of howls of joy, surprise, and rage greeted this statement.
The goblin's high, screechy voice pushed on. "He offerz uz all the gold of Zavarica if we helpz him kill it, and all the humanz! All of it! And we WILL help him do it!"
Further exclamations of joy and rage.
It was then, after a pause from the goblin shaman, that a new speaker stepped out of the darkness of the side tunnel and appeared to the sight of all, on the high platform, a new and unusual figure. As soon as he appeared, a slow, cold silence settled over the mass of goblins below, with only a few cries of rage here and there.
A human man, dressed in regal, cold steel armor, and wearing a massive dark sword on his back, stepped out in front of the goblin shaman. He wore a helmet of a strange design and color on his breastplate, though even by human standards he was tall, six foot at least and towering over all. He stood out like a shiny, cold silver beacon in the room of red fires and rock, and screeching, yapping voices.
When the goblins hosts below didn't show signs of quieting, he reached up suddenly, his face and features still hidden under the helmet, and drew the sword vigorously from its scabbard. The razor sound of steel quieted the crowd below instantly.
"My friends of the underground!" The man's voice, now, boomed over the cave. It was a deep, commanding voice, a leader's voice, though it sounded young underneath the helmet he wore. "I have come from the greatest of Warhespar's children, Black Vardescion! I have come to offer you all the metal and land of Savarica itself! If you will fight with me!"
Howls of different kinds greeted this announcement, including rage. The human warrior didn't notice, but went on.
"Your machines and masses of warriors are wanted by the Black Winged One's will! And you will come and serve him! I have presented you, and your master..." He gestured with a gloved hand to the small shaman, "...An offer!" He paused.
"If you lend your entire city to the conquest of Savarica, than you will be paid many times over in gold, land, and metals! The Black One gives you his word on it!" More howls of rage and wonder.
The man's voice turned to ice next. "If you do not, the Black One will come personally here, and crush your city! He will level the very mountain you dig under and melt it with black fire until there is nothing left of you and your stinking hides but ashes! You have his word on that too!"
Even the shouts of rage stopped at this. No one, nothing alive, not even the greatest human king or elven lord...not even the Amaras, were stupid enough to take a dragon's threats lightly.
The decision they came to did not take long to reach. Within a few minutes of harsh debate and some fighting, even the cries of rage were drowned out in their answer to the Black Dragon.
