Swamp of Death

CHAPTER 8

It was already morning, when goblins reached the edge of the swamp. On a flat, and rocky terrain, horses and carts could now move faster. Surely enough, they soon reached the entrance to the small, narrow pass, protected by smooth, sharp-edged rocks. Numerous, curious eyes watched them from the scattered holes, cracks and openings, as they entered this gorge. And they kept watching, until the caravan reached the plateau in front of the large entrance of the cave.

Hundreds of goblins crawled from their lairs, at the unusual sight of the carts and horses. High, piercing sound of longhorn suddenly came from the cave, announcing the arrival of the king. Out of the entrance, walked a large, fat goblin, covered in dirty, torn, red cape, which dragged a couple of yards behind him. Bent, twisted and scratched crown, ineptly altered and reworked a numerous of times, sat awkwardly on the top of his head. No matter how he tried, the king couldn't fix the crown. He tried to look dignified, but only managed to draw a lot of disguised smiles from the surrounding folks. Still, they all moved, making a way for the king showing some respect.

Moorg looked with snide at the king, as he slowly sauntered back towards the caravan. He suddenly jumped onto the roof of the nearest cart, raising his arms high in the air, letting a rather loud, piercing shriek. Once the roar from numerous throats subsided, in the approval of his actions, goblin knew it was the perfect timing to issue the challenge. Without taking his eyes from the king, enjoying all of this attention, he began.

"Moorg brings many treasures to our tribe. Spirits are on Moorg's side. They gave us the two prisoners, on our way back." he waved his arm at the end of the caravan "They will be sacrificed on the first night of the full moon."

Even louder screams of approval erupted around the valley. Everyone, except the king, who watched incessantly at Moorg, with genuine intrigue.

"Spirits are saying that Moorg is fit to replace Zuut." challenger continued.

Fat goblin king let out a silent growl, throwing the cape off him, as he drew a large, rusty, but sharp-edged meat cleaver from his back. Moorg knew his challenge was accepted. His showboating was over. This was it. He could not back out of this now. And he certainly wouldn't, even if it killed him. Goblins started to back off, making a sizable space for the inevitable duel. In a deadly silence, everyone looked eager in anticipation of the fight. Tension reached the breaking point, as two rivals looked at each other without even blinking.

Moorg jumped from the cart, letting a rather loud battle cry. Swirling his mace, he charged at the still motionless king. Zuut was the leader of the tribe for over a couple of decades. He was a very experienced warrior, who sent many challengers to their deaths. It wasn't at all that surprising, watching him calmly waiting for the attack of his fast approaching opponent.

Now, they were just a few steps away from each other, but Zuut still stood his ground. Loud sigh came from the crowd, in a moment when Moorg brandished his mace. With a wide smile on his face, he aimed for the top of the king's head. But Zuut was prepared, moving fast aside at everyone's surprise, tripping Moorg's leg, who carried with inertia, fell flat on the hard, stone ground. Stentorian laughter resounded through the entire canyon, making the embarrassed challenger jump almost immediately to his feet. His squinted, bloodied eyes showed all of the hatred he felt, as he gnashed his teeth in ever growing anger.

Howling like a rabid animal, Moorg rushed headless into yet another attack, waving the mace all over the place. The goblin king was still calm and collected, deflected everything with ease and with a lot of finesse, driving Moorg insane. Noticing that, Zuut took over the initiative. In one skillful move, he deflected the mace twisting his wrist, cutting deep unto undefended challenger's chest. Sharp pain surged through the entire Moorg's body, momentarily rooting him to the spot.

"Now you die, foolish boy." Zuut growled, preparing for a final charge "Many winters will pass, before anyone can hope to take my place."

"You are the fool old man, if you think this scratch can stop me." Moorg shrugged, "It's time to end this, you've lived long enough."

Words stopped the goblin king in his tracks. There was something odd in this whole ordeal. Moorg looked different, audacious even. Not the quiet, laidback boy he remembered. But Zuut could not figure out, just what exactly bothered him. He knew every goblin in his tribe, especially soldiers. And Moorg was always one of the obedient ones. From the first day, when Toorg, his father, tribal shaman enlisted him in the active service. And why would Toorg, his loyal friend, allow his son to challenge the crown? Thinking of it, Zuut realized he hadn't seen the shaman for at least a couple of days now. He turned around, trying to find him.

"You've lost something, old man?" Moorg taunted the king, as if he knew what Zuut was thinking about.

"Where is your father, boy?" Zuut asked "Where is Toorg?"

Instead of answering, the goblin put the palm of his hand to his wounded chest. Just a moment later, the deep gash was gone. Loud sighs escape from some of the bystanders, and to Moorg's liking. He knew he still had to leave a striking impression on the tribe, if he wanted to gain the much needed support. Even in death Zuut would still have many loyal followers, determined to make the ruling of the new king very difficult.

"I see..." Zuut deflated a bit.

He was aware of Moorg's father mystical, and magical energy. His challenger didn't receive such a gift at birth, nor did he knew the secrets of the powers. But still, he managed to perform something only tribal shaman could pull of. Something very drastic had happened, and he suspected that the sudden disappearance of Toorg, had everything to do with it.

In only two jumps, Zuut was mere feet or two away from the Moorg. Couple of fast, strong swings, made the young challenger back away. But just for a moment, because his counter was as violent as the king's. Both fighters were skillful with weapons, drawing the best out of each other. Attacks exchanged in fast combos. A true spectacle for everyone watching. Zuut lunged again with full force of his heavy body, but seemingly lost his footing, which threw him out of balance. Moorg was ready to pounce on, punishing the king for his mistake, swinging violently from aside.

Mace struck Zuut's right arm. Loud crack of broken bone was drowned by the chieftain's painful scream. Rusty hatchet fell out of his incapacitated hand, which was hanging awkwardly deformed, in an unnatural position. In despair, Zuut threw a dagger, with his other hand, but missed by several yards. Moorg was already upon him, gloating. Hard kick to the face, bring the king to his back. A stream of blood spurted out of his broken nose, preventing him from breathing, as it filled his throat. He coughed and spat, trying to get up, but Moorg would have none of it, stepping on his chest.

"Finish it." the goblin king wheezed, as blood started filling his lungs.

Heavy mace plunged hard into Zuut's head, caving in his face. Old king waved his arm, like he used to for thousands of times, inviting his servant to present the food or drink. It was the last twitch of his body. A reflex reaction which saw his life fading away. Zuut was dead. Taking a few steps away from him, Moorg lifted his arms high up into the air. Loud cry from the crowd, hailed the new king.

"Secure the carts and the prisoners, we are celebrating tonight!" Moorg gave his first order as a king.

A small, and shaky hand offered him the crown, which he wholeheartedly accepted. It felt and looked as awkward as it was on the old king. But still, it filled him with pride, once he put it on. Moorg flaunted, taking an easy, slow stride towards the entrance, into a huge, central cave. Loudly cheered once again, he disappeared in the darkness of the big tunnel.