Grag’s POV

  Grag walked alone through the destroyed lissik village. It stank like the rest of the bog, but with the added scent of blood. Burned into the ground at the center of the village were magic runes. Grag didn’t know you could write the runes out as a way to use them. It was something he would have to ask Paul about.

  The skeletons and zombies that came along with the army were gathering dead lissik together. With no known survivors, there was no one to subjugate. It made no difference. Once the dead were raised as new warriors, they would probably be on their way home.

  Grag walked into one of the destroyed huts. Inside looked damp and uncomfortable, nothing like the wide-open space of the longhouse. Kneeling down, Grag picked up a tattered looking doll. It was made of long stalks of grass. He didn’t know if it was made locally or traded for by outsiders.

  Turning the ragged doll around in his hand, he wondered if a child had clutched it while the elemental rampaged through the village. It didn’t matter either way. The lissik were all gone now, destroyed in their vain attempt to destroy the master and his army.

  For some reason the lissik destroying themselves rather than serving the Master made him think of the village the Master destroyed. They fought and refused to surrender, only to serve in death. Grag wondered what it would be like to be undead.

  ‘I will probably be turned into one when I die.’ He thought to himself.

  Would he even notice when it happened? Would he feel the cold seep into his bones, or would it be like blinking and waking up different? It wasn’t a bad fate—just a certainty.

  Grag walked back towards the group. Rikkard was talking quietly with the Master. After a short exchange the Master nodded.

  “We have conquered the lissik.” The Master said loudly. “Go, go into their huts and take all you want. What was once theirs is now ours.”

  Rikkard roared as he raised a fist into the air. “You hear him, loot!”

  Cheering rang out from the gathered hobgoblins, goblins, and ogres. With wild abandon they left to go gather any loot they could find. It wasn’t the first time they were given leave to look a village, but for some reason this time felt wrong.

  Sacred wasn’t the right word, but this place felt untouchable. As Grag continued to walk through the lissik village, all he could see were families that were. He took one last look at the doll, turning it over in his hand. Then, with a grunt, he tossed it aside. It was just another remnant of a people who no longer mattered. Still, for a reason he couldn’t name, he didn’t watch where it landed.

  He forced himself to move, shoving aside the hollow feeling in his chest. The Master had won. The lissik were gone. There was nothing left to dwell on. Grag joined in the looting of the village. He was eager to not be left behind. As the Master’s apprentice, he needed to keep up appearances.

  Morale was important. Noticing how Rikkard commanded respect and loyalty from his own troops was proof of it. Grag wanted to be a great leader too, one day.

  While rummaging through a hut Grag found a small bracelet made of bright blue stones and braded leather. He turned the small trinket over in his hand. The stones sparkled a little, even in the dark.

  ‘Pasxi would like this.’ He thought to himself.

  He stuffed the bracelet in a pocket and continued to rummage around the hut. He ate some small dried fruit and squirrel jerky that he came across. While looking for nothing in particular, he also found a bottle of wine. It smelled sweet. He would save it for Pasxi as well. He hoped she would like his gifts.

  On the bed was a nice fluffy pillow. The lissik really lived good. For a brief moment he was glad for his good luck that the lissik decided to fight to the point of extinction. Grag wondered if he shouldn’t tell Pasxi where or how he got her gifts.

  After he had completed his looting of the hut, he came out to see the sun almost up. Grag found Rikkard near the center of the village.

  The Master had undoubtedly gone to find a place to rest for the day. Where he went to sleep during their times outside the village he didn’t know. As far as he knew, Rikkard didn’t know either. It was a secret for the Master and Liora only.

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  “Alight men!” Rikkard yelled. “Today we camp in the village and tomorrow we head home.”

  There was a small cheer. They had been away from home for a couple of weeks, so it would be nice to go home for a bit. He missed Pasxi and couldn’t wait to see her again.

  The day passed without incident. After the elemental attacked the village, there was nothing left they even needed to worry about.

  After waking up, Grag felt good, with his new soft pillow. He knew others might say that such comforts might weaken him, but they never tried this pillow.

  While waiting for the Master to show back up, Grag started on his morning routine of breathing and calling fire mana through his tether. He breathed deep, in and out, just like he had been taught. He had trouble concentrating at first.

  The Master was relentless. “Grag, you have a gift others will never know. Magic makes you better than those who would think you, their peer. Among the goblins, you are a wizard, well a wizard’s apprentice, but close enough.” The Master had told him once. “You are better than those who can’t use magic.”

  At first Grag didn’t know if he believed the Master, but then during the battles, when he threw fire at his enemies. It was an ecstasy he couldn’t describe. To have the power of fire. He wanted to get into another battle soon, just to throw fireballs at the enemy.

  As he breathed, he tried to recall all the runes necessary to cast a fireball. After several minutes of breathing, Grag brought out his small book of runes. He knew the fireball spell by heart, but he needed to learn a couple other spells.

  The Master wanted him to know one additional spell per week, until he had the entire book committed to memory. There were forty spells in the book. It was the Master’s apprentice book. He used to carry it around with him all the time. Then when he became a vampire, the Master simply added the book to his library and started learning death spells.

  Grag opened the spellbook to the spell he was working on now, called flaming hand. It would shoot a small flame from one of his hands. It didn’t take up a lot of mana to use. Which was the only good thing about the spell, but now that Grag knew fireball, he wondered why he would ever need any other fire spell.

  He traced the runes in the air and cast small sparks of fire into the fireplace of the hut he was staying in. Casting the spell several more times, he eventually put the spellbook aside and tried casting the spell from memory. The first cast succeeded. Now he just needed to see if he would remember the spell the next morning, or later that night, when he tried casting it again.

  Rikkard showed up at the hut Grag was staying in. “Bloodsucker is looking for you.” He said.

  “You shouldn’t call the Master names.” Grag said. “He will punish you.”

  “Maybe, but I think it amuses him.” Rikkard responded. “Keeps him sane. Knows I’ll be honest with him about the important things too.” He walked out of the hut. “Gather up men, we march in 15 minutes!”

  “Wait. Where is the Master?”

  “Center of the village. He’s still studying the runes drawn on the ground.”

  Packing quickly, Grag ran toward the center of the village. The Master always had blank sheets and ink and quill. He stood over the symbols and was reviewing a sheet of parchment in his hands. Grag waited patiently for the Master to continue what he was doing.

  “Grag, do you or I have an earth tether?” The Master asked still studying the runes and writing things down.

  “No Master.”

  “Do you know why I am writing this spell down and everything I know about it, or what I can glean from the runes positioning?”

  “No Master.” Grag began to shift slightly from one leg to the other. The Master liked teaching, and Grag liked learning, but sometimes the Master would get angry if Grag didn’t know an answer.

  The Master stood straight and looked Grag in the eyes. “Think about it.”

  Grag looked down at the runes. He even took a step to get a better idea. He didn’t recognize any of the runes he could clearly see from his vantage point. With no ideas coming to mind, he finally relented and said he wasn’t sure.

  “These runes summoned the elemental that destroyed this entire village.” The Master said. He walked over towards Grag. “These people killed themselves off with this spell. We need to study it to either, one, improve upon it, so the elemental is under better control. Or two, make sure we don’t make the lissik’s mistake and summon and elemental with this same spell.” Turning towards the runes, the Master waved a hand over them. “Who even knows where they got this spell?”

  The elemental brought to mind the slaughter of the lissik. For a moment Grag wanted to ask the Master what he though about their deaths.

  “Maybe they just found it like we did?” Grag said, instead, trying to be helpful.

  “Could be.” He responded. “We’ll never know now.”

  Rikkard walked up, followed by his hobgoblin lieutenants. A few of them were carrying bundles of something. “We found some books, like you asked. Don’t know if you’ll be able to read them. They seem to be in lissik.” He flipped open a book and looked at it. “Or what I assume is lissik. Never seen this language before.”

  “That’s fine. Divine magic has some translating spells, and we now have a divine spell caster at Gravewell.” The Master said. “Pack them up on a couple skeleton’s packs and we can go. I’m done here.”

  The Master definitely had a knowledge of magic and its wide-reaching nature. Grag wondered if he would ever know as much as the Master about magic.

  The Master put his parchment into a book and mounted his horse. Liora, never far from the Master, came forwards, riding her new worg mount.

  “The way home looks clear.” Liora said.

  With that, they were off towards home.