Chapter 3

Sweet Home Strudhyne

Novembre 23, 5599

A week after his defeat at the hands of Maidawn and Shorn, Grizill Toefungus found himself standing outside Strudhyne, the blorc capital.

After he and his Black Plague warriors were defeated by his accursed prince and that blasted human girl, he had fled into the evening, vowing to hunt Shorn down again after he had gathered the rest of his warriors. He stumbled upon his horse about a myle from the grove where his fighting force has met their fate and was soon galloping between the piney trees, headed home. He traveled north through the night until he felt he might fall off of his horse from shear exhaustion. That night, he camped on the edge of the Latibule Forest, dreaming of ways to kill his prince, Shorn Zogstomp.

The next day, he slinked across a thin section of the Cayuse Plains, all the while keeping an eye out for any centaurs, a race of beings he believed to be equal to the blorcs in their fighting abilities. Once he had crossed the open plains, Grizill hugged the east side of the Boscares River, weaving his way between the trees, until he had traveled far enough to cross the river without entering Dr’gÿn Thickett. Unfortunately for him, night was falling and he knew he needed to rest his horse. So, he made a dry camp, as he had no way of lighting a fire, just at the southern edge of the Neeft Valley. Grizill was happy with the speed of his travel across Chelt, as he was making much better time than when he has his group of six blorc underlings with him when they were hunting down Shorn.

That night, while he was sleeping, a band of green goblins descended upon him. Having no weapon besides a heavy stick, since his scimitar had been mysteriously destroyed in his battle with the human girl, whom he now knew was named Maidawn, he fought off the smelly goblins and even managed to knock a few of them out with firm cracks to their thick-skulled heads. Unscathed, Grizill found himself staring at the remaining goblins as they surrounded him, their short swords pointed at him. Knowing there were too many to battle successfully, he jumped on his horse, leaving everything else behind, and fled north toward Scoria, a land of volcanoes, lava flows, and mud pools.

The next day found him slowly walking his horse through the beginning of Scoria. He had to be care as the boiling mud pools were often hidden and he needed to prevent his horse from getting injured. After all, he didn’t want to walk all the way back to Strudhyne, so he proceeded through the dangerous land as carefully as he could. Each night he was forced to remove his burning boots to let his heated feet air out. As he made his way through this strange land, with no trail to follow, he found that he had to skirt around erupting volcanoes, jump over small lava flows, and was sometimes required to walk along the larger flows until he found a place to safely cross, all the while avoiding the bubbling mud pools. It wasn’t easy as Scoria is pretty much a dead land that offered little food or clean water for him or his horse. Occasionally, he was able to find a boiling hot water spring, but it smelled and tasted of rotten eggs, yet, it was water.

Finally, after multiple days, to his great relief, he arrived at Knöl Pass. The canyon was griffin free, as no new griffins had come to take the place of the ones that Shorn had killed when he’d previously passed through, but at least he was able to find little clumps of berries still hanging from an occasional bush or two and grass for his horse. His journey through the High Steppe Mountains was uneventful, for which he was grateful.

Grizill finally descended into the Febrile Desert and he felt a certain sense of relief. This was home. Even though it was a wasteland created by the blorcs by deforestation, he felt comfortable here. He filled his water skin, which he has made out of the skin of a rabbit he had been lucky enough to kill with a rock, in a small stream that trickled down from the mountains. He hopped back on his horse and set out over the sandy, rocky terrain. Even though winter was just starting, it was still quite warm in the desert during the day, as there was not one single tree for shade. The suns shone down on his head relentlessly, trying to beat him down with their rays.

After two thirsty days of travel, he finally found himself standing before the gigantic double doors that gained entrance to the largest of the blorc cities, Strudhyne. Brumel and Pasq had set a few hours ago, and the moon, Asan, was only a sliver in the sky, casting little to no light.

His horse has perished early that morning, forcing him to walk the rest of the way. His water had run out the night before.

Grizill weakly banged a fist on one of the doors.

“Yes?” The inquisitive voice floated through the seams between the thick wood planks.

“Let me in,” Grizill whispered, his throat parched and dry.

“Who’s there?” the guard asked. “I can’t hear you.”

“Grizill, captain of the Black Plague,” his cracked lips whispered.

“What? I can barely hear you. Since you refuse to speak up, I will tell you that the gates will open when Brumel rises. Please take a seat and wait for morning. Thank you. Have a nice evening.”

Grizill banged on the door again, and added a kick in frustration. “You’ll open up right now!” he screamed in a horse whisper.

“I’ll do no such thing!” the guard bellowed back. “Now sit down on that rock over there.”

Finding resolve in his anger, Grizill was able to muster more energy for his response. “You darned well better open up right now if you know what’s good for you.”

“Oh, ho, I’d better, huh?” the guard chucked.

A tiny opening appeared in the door in the gate as the guard slid a piece of wood to the right to peer outside. He put his eye to the opening and focused on the bedraggled blorc standing outside the gate.

Grizill poked the guard in the eye with his finger.

“Hey!” the guard yelled, slamming the peephole closed. “Just for that, you’re gonna die!”

Grizill stepped back, crossed his arms, and listening to the guard releasing the multitude of locks on the door. This went on for a bit and then, with a loud creak of rusty hinges, as blorcs knew nothing about lubricants, the door opened just enough for the guard to slip out, brandishing his sword. Spying the offensive blorc a few steps away, he raised his sword and shouted, “It’s a good night to die!”

 “True,” Grizill replied, “so you’d better stop right there or you’ll be the one dying.”

The guard froze, finally recognizing Grizill’s voice, his sword hanging in the air above his head. He started shaking so badly that he dropped his weapon. He bowed to the captain. “I most humbly apologize, Grizill Toefungus. I didn’t know it was you. You’ve been gone for a long time. We all thought you were dead, or something.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Yes, sir, I see that now,” the guard said, still bowing. “Welcome home.”

Grizill smiled, causing his cracked lips to bleed, but he didn’t care. Under normal circumstances, he would have this guard taught a lesson. But he was happy to be back in Strudhyne. Wiping the blood from his lips with a dusty sleeve, he took a step forward.

The guard eyed the captain’s boots uneasily as he drew abreast of him.

“You were only doing your job and keeping the capitol safe,” Grizill said as he shambled by. He stopped and whispered in the guard’s ear, “Next time, find out who you’re talking to first before attempting to kill them. These are dangerous times.” With that said, Grizill slapped the guard on the back of the head, knocking his helm off.

“Oh, yes sir, yes sir,” the guard babbled as he scrambled after his helm. As he stood, he plopped it back on his greasy head. “I certainly will. I’ve always wanted to be a member of the Black Plague, you see. And I’d be happy if you’d consider . . .” The guard turned around and realized that he was talking to himself. The Black Plague captain had disappeared. The guard sighed, his shoulders falling in defeat as he walked back inside the gate, closed the door, locked it, and waited for the next blorc to come by. He sighed again, already bored.

Grizill looked around the plaza. On unsteady feet, he weaved his way toward the well and tripped over something. He looked behind him and saw the smallest of pebbles.

How is that even possible? he thought. All of a sudden, I feel beyond tired.

The well was only a short distance away, but it seemed to be receding father away as he looked at it. He took a staggering step forward, and then another. He teetered on his feet, almost falling. He was so close to getting some water, but he felt light-headed and his brain was turning foggy.

Need water, he thought.

Again, he tripped over another pebble, but this time it sent him to his knees. He raised his head toward the life-giving water that he knew was so close. On his hands and knees, he crawled toward his goal, his dry, swollen tongue hanging out of his mouth. Eventually, he found himself leaning over the side of the well. The parched blorc pushed the bucket over the side, the handle attached to the winch beside him spinning around rapidly as the bucket hurtled into the darkness. Grizill heard the bucket splash into the water below. He pushed himself up, and with shaking hands, grabbed the handle of the winch that would bring the bucket back up to him, full of life-giving water. Around and around he turned the handle, slowly causing the water-filled bucket to climb the well. Finally, the bucket rested there, swaying in front of him, but it seemed so far away. He took one of his hands off of the handle and shakily reached for the bucket. In his weakened state, the weight of the water was too much for him, and his hand slipped on the handle, releasing it. As the bucket plummeting back down the well, Grizill reached for the rope. He grabbed it, but it slipped through his weakened grip until the bucket smacked into the water below.

“No!” Grizill yelled, collapsing against the side of the well.

As his vision shrank to pinholes, darkness overcame him and he passed out. His last thought was that his king would be very disappointed that he wasn’t strong enough to report right away, no matter what he had gone through.

His news for King Gridarg Zogstomp and Reilyk the Red, the king’s black mage, would have to wait.