On cue, a new figure emerged from the billowing smoke and flame. Laya drew in a sharp breath. She had seen plenty of goblins before, and she had crossed wits with Akraz the Terrible before, but this was her first glimpse of the goblin commander in the flesh.
As befit so notorious a war leader, he stood out even amongst his burly troops. There was something in his bearing that bespoke his superiority to all those around him. It was not merely his height, though he was taller than most men. It was not merely the amazing physique of his muscular chest, though his pecs and biceps embodied a perfection of male anatomy more befitting a seraph than a minion of darkness. It was the purpose in his stride, the sharp, decisive tilt of his jaw, the utter confidence in his gestures of command. It helped, Laya reminded herself wryly, that she could not see the bestial features of his goblin face, for they were covered completely by the faceplate of his horned iron helmet. Without having to stare into the typical misshapen leering mug of a goblin, she could almost imagine Akraz to be one of the mighty demigod heroes out of the mists of the First Age, rather than her sworn enemy. He may have looked to be half god, but it would be closer to call him half beast.
Everything about him was superbly, excessively, terrifyingly masculine. Laya felt her loins tighten and suddenly she knew.
He was the one. If she could conquer Akraz the Terrible, she could conquer any goblin, and any male. She need never again feel the fear, self-loathing and shame she felt on that night of Taniya’s death. She would prove to Akraz and thus to herself that his kind held no more power over her.
She smiled tightly. Look at him. He expects to taste the fruits of his easy victory, to have first pick of the human village women to use at his leisure. Laya knew something of his taste in captives from rumors of his conduct after previous raids. Akraz the Terrible always chose the youngest, most fragile of the nubile girls for his own pleasure—girls the age Taniya and Laya were that awful night so long ago. While some girls who were captured and raped by goblins were later sold back to their families for a ransom, the girls that Akraz chose disappeared forever. No doubt after he had his way with them, he found it easiest to simply discard them permanently.
Little does he know his worst enemy is about to turn him into a toy to be used and enjoyed…and then discarded. Permanently.
Akraz the Terrible strode into the burning village, sniffing for his enemy. He ignored the stench of smoke, of blood, of fear and lust. He ignored the other goblins who were busy hunting for booty and rounding up human women for “fun” throughout the rest of the night. Akraz wanted to know why the real enemy had not shown up—the elves. The leader of the elven strike force, known to Akraz only by the battle moniker “Nemesis”, had proven sly and relentless in tracking down and slaughtering the goblin bands who strove to overrun the land of Chavana.
This victory was too easy, too rewarding. Why had the human village been empty of men? Why had the elves not come to the aid of their human allies when the two groups had worked so blastedly hand in hand before?
Akraz suspected a trap.
It didn’t matter that Akraz had advised against the raid. Even a high-ranking goblin such as Akraz, who as general, commanded the entire goblin army, was treated with no more respect than the lowest grunt by the master of them all, the ambitious and evil wizard, Zathstragomal the Malicious. After all, Akraz was no more than a slave. Like all the other goblins in Zathstragomal’s army, Akraz had been sold by his own people as a child to the wizard. Akraz wore Zathstragomal’s mark burned into his palm by Zathstragomal’s magic fire from deep in the pit of Mount Murk.
The troops began to hoot at the huddle of female captives in the center of the village. The goblins’ lust would not be contained much longer. The grunts, all slaves, received no pay for risking their lives in battle year after year, except what they could siphon from the general loot pile—and the payoff of having their way with captives. Indulging in torture and rape helped them forget their own miserable lives for a few hours. Even if Akraz could have prevented them from abusing the captives, Zathstragomal would not allow it. The wizard enjoyed spreading terror throughout the countryside through the unspeakable atrocities of his troops. Only villages which surrendered to Zathstragomal without a fight were to be spared pillage and rapine.
Still frowning behind his helmet, Akraz reluctantly went to inspect the captives. He had one prerogative. He might choose the largest number of the captives for his own, to do with as he pleased. He surveyed the women and girls, noting that most of them were more mature than usual, though there were no truly elderly matrons among them.
First, no men. Now no children, no elders. What kind of village was this? His frown deepened. Only half his mind attended to the task of pointing out five of the youngest women to be set aside for him. The rest of his mind worried at the knot of the trap he suspected. When would it spring? Who would spring it? How could he force his troops away from their lust-induced stupor back into battle readiness?
He scanned the wooded hills that overlooked the village on three sides. A hundred human men could be hiding there, and he would not know. A thousand elves, with their better woodcraft, could be hiding in the same woods. Blast and blood!
His palm burned. He held it before him. The face of his master and owner, Zathstragomal the Malicious, appeared in his hand.
“Report!” snapped Zathstragomal.
“Victory, Master,” replied Akraz. Zathstragomal did not react well to bad news. Nonetheless, some stubborn pride goaded Akraz into adding, “But I believe it to be a trap. I think we should—”
Burning pain shot through Akraz’s hand, up his arm, sinking vipers of agony all the way down the rest of his body.
“Did I ask you to think, you lumbering ox? Goblins don’t have brains. Your kind of scum exist to do as I bid!”
“Forgive me, Master,” Akraz said through grated teeth.
The pain ceased. Zathstragomal smiled magnanimously.
“I forgive you. Go enjoy your victory. I want to hear about the villagers’ misery in the morning. It will serve as warning to those other human mudscrappers who think the elves will help them deny me the Crown of Chavana. On the morrow, I shall have new instructions for you.”
Akraz bowed his head. As always, hate lay hard and hidden like a stone in his gut, hate he did not dare show.
“Yes, Master. You are generous, Master.”
The illusion in his palm faded; his hand was his own again. His mood foul, Akraz shouted at his soldiers to bring him his women. At least Zathstragomal would not interfere with what Akraz had planned for them.
Once Akraz the Terrible picked out five of the captives for his own, and began to move off to the privacy of a ruined house to enjoy them, Laya became the shadow that followed him.
She knew Hunter would be readying his ram horn to give the humans their signal as well.
Akraz took the cowering women out of sight of the others. He looked sadly at their pitiful, tear-streaked faces, and thought of his sister.
“This is the deal,” he said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded harsh. “Run. I will follow. If I catch you, I will rape you, then beat you, then eat your guts one loop at a time while you are still alive to watch. If, however, you run for ten days and I haven’t caught you, then you will be free as long as you never admit that you met me. If I hear that you yet live to boast that you escaped Akraz the Terrible, I will hunt you down and kill everyone you know and then you. Do you understand?”
They stared at him in stark terror.
“Run!” he barked.
They scattered like chickens.
He didn’t follow. He never did. He always gave his captives the same ultimatum, and thus far, he assumed that all of them had been sufficiently frightened of his threats that after their escape they had told no one of how they escaped or whom they had escaped. One day, he knew, his mercy might backfire on him. If Zathstragomal were to find out that his favored commander allowed unarmed women to simply run away, the wizard’s scorn and wrath would be painful to endure. It was a chance Akraz was willing to take. He had to protect his reputation for ruthlessness in order to command the most ruthless troops in Chavana. But though he might be a slave and a warlord and a monster, he still strove in the secret areas of his life to maintain his own sense of dignity and honor.