“It’s just rumor and hearsay, but I heard that this Goblin tribe actually rescued them. Apparently, there’s a huge Goblin tribe living in a nearby mountain—Dwarfhalls Rest it’s called. We had no notion it was occupied, but there’s a Great Goblin Chieftain living there, or so the women claim.”
“What about a Great Goblin Chieftain? Ever heard of one of those, Grandfather? One appeared in the Dwarfhalls Rest. Apparently it’s been living there since the last Goblin King fell and it fought for the Goblin King.”
“She has Thomast. He could probably outduel any Chieftain living, and if worse comes to worst, Bethal’s intelligent enough to retreat. However, I think that her knights will make short work of the problem. She’s to join me at Dwarfhalls Rest later. We will bring down the Goblin Chieftain as soon as I can march the army all the way there. Argh, but it’ll take forever. A shame I couldn’t borrow the Banner of Terland but—he’d never let me have it.”
This was the mountain. Dwarfhalls Rest, the former home of Dwarves in another age. Now, a Goblin bastion, home of the largest tribe in the north. The domain of the self-styled Great Goblin Chieftain, Tremborag.
Garen nodded without a word. He ignored the faint howling and turned his attention to the road in front of him. Both he and Tremborag were walking through the forest that surrounded Dwarfhalls Rest, the mountain which Tremborag had made his lair. They had abandoned the safety of the mountain and come out this far with a minimal escort for one reason: to meet the Goblin Lord.
The first wave struck two hours after the ambush in the woods. Goblins raced up the rocky slopes of Dwarfhalls Rest. As mountains went it wasn’t the largest by far. Compared to the High Passes it was a foothill among giants. But it was large enough. No citadel was taller, and even the climbing was treacherous. But the Goblins were warriors and spurred on by their leader, they swarmed up the mountainside. The battle began when they located one of the entrances to the mountain.
Jackal had a map. As the others crowded around he went over it. Minerva had already memorized it, but she looked anyways. The map was old, positively decrepit, but it was a good guide of what Dwarfhalls Rest had looked like in ages past.
“That doesn’t change the fact that they’re attacking Liscor. I’m not arguing with you. I’m too tired. But here’s something you should know. There was a battle at Dwarfhalls Rest. A mountain far north of here. Apparently the Humans led by that Lord Tyrion Veltras finally made a move against the Goblins. Both the Great Chieftain and the Goblin Lord.”
He pointed. There was a mountain that way. Dwarfhalls Rest. But it was a lot smaller than any of the mountains of the High Passes. Barely more than a giant hill, really. Rags glanced around and then realized something.
Tremborag of the Mountain has fallen. The Goblin Lord flees ever onwards. And the Great Chieftain of Dwarfhalls Rest, the Goblin who knew Velan the Kind, the Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe, Tremborag, is gone.
When the news of the Goblin Lord’s rout at Dwarfhalls Rest had reached the south (practically within minutes of it occurring thanks to the wonders of magic and paid informants), the Drakes had taken note and begun waiting for news of a pitched battle. But it never came.
With a bit of cleaning to get the Goblin blood out of it. But the Humans had already cleared Dwarfhalls Rest, and that old mountain had forges—or should.
