Chapter 11: Shadows of Betrayal

Night fell over Beast Glades, casting long, eerie shadows across Outpost 4 and the neighbouring goblin village. Inside the Settlement, a warm glow emanated from lanterns hung throughout, illuminating the ragtag homes and bustling streets. Tonight was a night of celebration—the goblins had successfully procured a substantial amount of supplies, ensuring their survival for the days ahead. The air was thick with laughter and music as goblins danced and feasted, their earlier fears momentarily forgotten.

The village was expansive, marked by a rudimentary yet practical design. At its centre was the Goblin Chief's abode, which loomed over the others with its makeshift assembly of wood and scraps gathered from the nearby woods. The goblins had constructed a robust wooden wall encircling the settlement, and a deep moat, sourced from the adjacent river, encased it like a protective barrier. A singular entrance existed—a grand wooden gate. A broad frequently used path led directly to the Chief's dwelling from that gate.

At the entrance, two brutish goblin guards stood vigilant, their faces twisted into expressions of boredom. The celebration behind them echoed through the village, but they remained firm, watching the surrounding woods with sharp eyes.

Suddenly, a figure stumbled toward the gate—a goblin scout, bloodied and limping. He groaned in their guttural language, pleading for help. One of the guards stepped forward, supporting the injured goblin as he struggled to speak, his voice hoarse with fear.

The Goblin village's celebration was in full swing inside the Goblin Chief's abode. The Goblin Chief, a towering figure among his kin, sat at the head of a long, crude table, surrounded by his warriors and advisors. The air was thick with the stench of ale and roasted meats, the laughter of goblins filling the room as they toasted their victory.

But the mood shifted abruptly when the door to the feast hall was thrown open, and a goblin guard burst inside, panting heavily. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the intruder. The Chief, still gnawing on a bone, was the last to stop his movements, his beady eyes narrowing in displeasure at the interruption.

The guard, visibly shaken, approached the Chief and whispered urgently into his ear. The Chief's expression darkened, his massive, clawed hand gripping the arm of his throne-like chair.

"An army?" the Chief growled, his voice low and dangerous. "How large?"

The guard relayed the message of the injured scout, confirming the presence of not one, but two armies gathering nearby. The Chief’s sharp mind worked quickly—separate the enemy. Engage them one battle at a time. He barked orders, sending messengers to summon Vorag, the Goblin village's most formidable warrior and the Chief's strongest and most cunning eldest Son, who was away on a mission. They would need him if they planned to succeed.

Back at Outpost 4:

The tension was palpable. Sebeth stood in the command tent, surrounded by his knight captains, all gathered around a large, weathered map that detailed the terrain and enemy positions. Early morning light filtered through the tent's opening, casting a faint glow on the faces of the assembled captains.

Sebeth looked around the group, his eyes lingering on a few familiar faces.

Sir Alaric Stormrider, a tall, imposing figure with silver hair, stood at attention. His storm-cloud-colored armor glinted faintly, adorned with lightning motifs that spoke of his prowess in battle.

Beside him was Lady Seraphina Dawnblade, her golden armour almost radiant in the morning light. Her Auburn hair framed a face that was both fierce and nurturing, which contrasted with her delicate appearance.

Sir Thaddeus Ironheart, as broad as he was tall, loomed over the table, his massive shield resting beside him. His steely grey eyes surveyed the map with the intensity of a seasoned warrior.

Lady Elowen Moonshadow, slender and silent, moved with the grace of a shadow. Her dark armour blended with the dim light, and her silver eyes gleamed, taking in every detail.

Sir Cedric Firebrand with his flame-red hair and vibrant armour, fidgeted slightly, his fiery energy barely contained.

Lady Isolde Frostwind, her platinum hair shimmering like ice, stood with a calm that belied her inner strength. Her frost-white armour sparkled, catching the light as she studied the map.

Finally, Sir Garrick Thunderstrike, a stout man with a massive hammer resting across his shoulder, remained silent, his stormy grey eyes betraying his inner thoughts.

Sebeth addressed the captains, laying out a map containing well-plotted spots that could be sites where the goblin settlement is operating from. The tension in the air was thick as each captain voiced their opinions, adding their insight into the strategy. But before they could finalize the plan, a soldier rushed into the tent, his face pale with urgency.

"My lord!" he gasped. "An injured soldier has just arrived—he bears a message from the goblins."

Sebeth's eyes widened as he swiftly excused the captains and trailed the soldier to the outpost's gates. There, on a stretcher, lay a warrior of Clan Vyrnsteel. He was Kael Voss, a veteran soldier famed for his stoic nature and the unique moonstone canines that shimmered softly in the low light. Sebeth immediately identified him as a member of Clan Vyrnsteel, familiarized as he was with the clan's customs and traditions. Kael's armour, etched with ancient runes, bore the marks of battle and was smeared with blood.

Kael, barely conscious, groaned in pain as Sebeth knelt beside him. "What happened?" Sebeth demanded.

Kael’s voice was hoarse, his words broken. "The goblins... they’re planning something... an ambush... they want to meet... at the edge of the Elder Grove Forest."

Sebeth’s eyes narrowed. "Where?"

Kael’s back, scarred and bloody, bore the answer—carved crudely into his flesh was a message: coordinates of the goblin Settlement and an invitation to meet with their leader.

Sebeth stood, his mind racing. A meeting? The goblins were hardly known for their diplomacy. This could be a trap, but ignoring it could mean allowing a Greater threat to grow unchecked.

As Sebeth was busy in deep thought, Kael Voss spoke again. He gathered all his strength, his eyes in tears.

"Commander, you must help them! there are others held up captive at the settlement..." As Kael Vyrnsteel spoke those words he let out a final breath before a proud warrior of Clan Vyrnsteel surcum to his injuries. His body was left lifeless.

Sebeth had resolved to meet the Goblins for negotiations, but Kael's final plea reopened old wounds. It evoked memories of a dear friend, a fellow Vyrnsteel, whom Sebeth had lost in a battle with the Serpentonians. Typically a calm and collected man who prioritized logic over emotion, Sebeth found himself driven by raw feelings. Despite this, his decision remained unchanged—to meet the Goblins. However, the ultimate objectives Sebeth now harboured had altered entirely.

Sir Alaric Stormrider, was the only one of the two men who knew Sebeth the most as they had spent more time with him than anyone else. He knew precisely, what Sebeth's mind was planning but did not let his expression show his enthusiasm.

"Prepare the men," Sebeth ordered his captains, who had followed him to the scene. "We meet with the goblins. But stay alert—this reeks of deception."

Some soldiers and even the captains exhibited signs of apprehension but did not interject the commander's decision.

As the camp buzzed with activity, Sebeth stared into the forest, the weight of the impending encounter settling heavily on his shoulders.

Night fell once again, the air thick with tension. Sebeth, accompanied by a small group of knights, made their way to the designated meeting spot lodged at the fringe of the Elder Groves Forest as directed. The moon hung high, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. In the distance, the flickering lights of the goblin village could be seen through the trees.

Abruptly, a shadow stirred in the undergrowth. This prompted Sebeth to grasp the hilt of his sword instinctively. Out of the gloom, a band of goblins appeared, headed by a formidable presence—the Chieftain of the goblins.

The two groups faced each other in silence. The forest was eerily still around them. Sebeth stepped forward, his eyes locked on the Chief.

"Speak," Sebeth commanded.

The Goblin Chief’s lips curled into a cruel smile, his yellowed teeth glinting in the moonlight. "You’ve come, human. Good. Let’s talk."

The words hung in the air, thick with foreboding. But beneath the surface, both Sebeth and the Chief knew that whatever words were exchanged, betrayal was already in motion.

To Be Continued...

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