The Goblin Corps by Marmell Ari

Author:Marmell, Ari [Marmell, Ari]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Humor
ISBN: 9781616143770
Amazon: 1616143770
Barnesnoble: 1616143770
Goodreads: 9732091
Publisher: Pyr
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The Liar, The Lich, And The Brown Robe

The dawning sun peeked over the sharp crags of the Brimstone Mountains, spreading its growing light over the kingdom of Kirol Syrreth. Over the mountains, over the doppelganger city of Grault, over the forest of Ymmech Thewl and its newly inanimate trees, the day crept. And then, reluctantly, it alighted upon the festering sore that was Darsus.

It was an ugly city, was Darsus. In the days of King Sabryen, it had been home to one of his army’s largest keeps: a hulking monstrosity apparently built on the theory that there would be no need to fight if the foe was too terrified of the fortress to risk a siege. Jagged, toothy battlements sawed at the clouds, towers extended in directions that could serve no purpose but to demonstrate the insanity of the architects. The name of the place was long since lost, and much of the fortress itself had followed. What remained was a gaunt, skeletal thing, less a keep than a stone tree grown from the depths of hell. It was useless to have around, and yet none of the citizens of Darsus would ever contemplate tearing it down. There was too much weight behind it, too much history, too many ghosts of times long past.

But it wasn’t that ugliness that made Darsus such an eyesore on the plains of Kirol Syrreth. Darsus was a human city, and could never compare to the twisted and alien towers of Grault, the sheer military-minded efficiency of the orcs, or the looming spires of the Iron Keep itself. No, it was that the city itself had begun to resemble that cadaverous keep, or the equally cadaverous king who ruled them now. Once a thriving center of commerce, travel, and trade, Darsus had fallen not to cataclysm and not to war, but to time. Merchants and traders drifted elsewhere, routes shifted to pass through Timas Khoreth or other cities, and Darsus withered.

Some few of its citizens acknowledged reality and departed, seeking new lives elsewhere. But many couldn’t bring themselves to leave, to believe that the good times had truly passed. Wait it out, they said. Wait it out, and things will be as they were.

So many generations had passed since then that no one living in Darsus had ever actually experienced the “good times” that were surely coming back any day now. But it had become a religion, a way of life, and the citizens of Darsus today were no more willing to face reality and leave than their ancestors had been. And so Darsus continued on, a wound on civilization—an ugly, rotten little town of no means, no future, and no hope.

Well, no hope for most. As with everywhere else, a select few managed to thrive, even in the cesspool of despair that was Darsus. Like leeches or vultures, such people grow healthy as those around them sicken.

Sergin was just such a man. He’d always been one of the lucky ones. He was taller

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