GOBSlayer

Prologue Fight with Fire The reign of King Borlan was a bleak and unjust era for the Kingdom of Lorr, when those with magic abilities were persecuted and put to death on baseless accusations. On this evening, in southern Lorr, a boy and his father joined countless others to witness a popular event in the city of Shadow Glen. Sitting on a ledge of stone, the boy gazed in awe around the White Arena, filled with thousands of restless spectators come to watch the latest of the Fire Trials. It was the boy’s first time to the arena, and he shivered in anticipation of the spectacle to come. In the center of the battlefield below, large vertical poles had been erected, and three ragged souls, two women and a man, were tied to the stakes, each surrounded by a circle of piled sticks, brush, and branches. Barely conscious, the prisoners slumped against their restraints, either from exhaustion or starvation. The boy turned to his father. “Can they really do magic?” His father shrugged. “Who knows?” The answer didn’t sit well with the boy. Before a person is burned at the stake, he thought, surely someone should know for certain. “I feel bad for them,” he said. “What if they’re innocent?” His father gave him a sorrowful look. “They are innocent. There’s nothing evil about magic, son.” Then, with a sigh, he added, “It’s just the way things are. The king fears magic, and the king makes the laws.” He pointed toward the prisoners. “These are the lucky ones. They at least have a chance. Most don’t get the benefit of the Trials.” “It doesn’t make any sense,” the boy persisted. “How does the protectors’ victory prove that the prisoners are innocent?” His father shook his head. “It’s just a show. The king created the Fire Trials to distract us from the injustice being done to magic users.” He waved an arm, indicating the enormous crowd. “And clearly it’s working.” The boy looked out at the throngs of spectators, all of them writhing for the event to begin. All of them enraptured by the thrill of the coming trials. H The Fire Trials. Spectacles such as this had become popular in the kingdom after some had decided that merely burning a person at the stake just wasn’t exciting enough. In the trials, the accused magic users were guarded by a group of slave protectors as a horde of goblins tried to set them aflame. If the protectors could keep the goblins from lighting the fires, the prisoners would be deemed innocent and set free. If not, well, often the goblins were able to set the fires, but the protectors survived to fight another day, and sometimes the protectors were killed. Very rarely, the protectors managed to fight off the horde completely. Those who survived became famous, and their names were spoken throughout the kingdom. A shiver ran down the boy’s neck. He hated the goblins. The mechanized beasts were everywhere now, “keeping order” throughout the kingdom. Perhaps it was their lifeless eyes that disturbed him so. Or, it might have been their complete lack of compassion, or their frightening faces. Whatever it was, the boy feared them greatly, and he would root against them this day. “Who will be their protectors?” the boy asked. His father shook his head. “No one knows for sure. Not until they enter the arena.” The crowd roared as a gate finally opened on one side of the arena, and the boy stretched to see a man stride onto the battlefield. He was tall and dark, with a long braid of black hair down his back. For a weapon, he carried a spear with a savage steel tip. A speaker, a fat man in a high seat shaded by awnings, stood and announced the protector’s name. “Borodin!” The crowd cheered and shouted the name, “Borodin! Borodin!” “Borodin looks like a strong warrior,” his father shouted in the boy’s ear. “We’re in for a treat today.” The crowd noise rose again as another entered the arena. Her armor shone in the scant sunlight and she carried two small swords, one in each hand. Before the speaker could announce her name, the crowd’s chants changed to, “Larawin! Larawin!” The boy looked at his father. “A woman?” With a nod, his father told him, “Do not judge her by her gender. She is a great fighter, a favorite of the crowd. The only protector more loved than Larawin, is… ” The crowd errupted, drowning his father’s words in a noise unlike any the boy had heard before. He slapped his hands to his ears and looked as another man entered the arena. He wasn’t particularly large, but neither was he small. He wore black leather armor, and above his head he raised a plain sword. The deafening sound slowly altered into a blaring chant. “What are they saying?” the boy screamed at his father, “It is his name: GolaStap,” his father shouted back. “In the ancient tongue, it means Goblin Slayer.” The crowd settled as the three protectors took their places in front of the accused. The boy bounced with excitement. He’d heard stories of the Goblin Slayer. He’d survived for longer than a year, through many trials, which was unheard of for a protector. How fortunate he was to get to watch him in action. Another gate swung wide, and the crowd noise sank to a hush. Preceded by the rhythmic din of their march, a mass of green-skinned creatures stomped in formation into the arena. Each carried a short sword in one hand and a burning torch in the other. The flames of the torches cast eerie light upon their hideous faces. The boy gasped at the size of the horde. “It’s not fair,” he said to his father. “There are too many.” His father nodded. “It is always so. Just watch,” he said. “It’s not as hopeless as you fear.” The protectors wasted no time. The three rushed forward before the goblins could gain any ground toward the prisoners. Before the boy could ascertain what was happening, four of the mechanical beasts went down. The protectors’ strategy soon became clear: Pierce the goblins through the chest. The boy’s father had explained before they arrived that the goblins, while mechanical, did have hearts. He had called them ‘ractors’ or something. Destroy the ractor, kill the beast. The battle moved quickly and raged all across the arena. The protectors worked as a team, alternating positions on the field. Two of them would draw the bulk of the horde away, while the third remained protectively by the prisoners, fighting off any goblins that approached with their fire. Caught up in the excitement, the boy cheered loudly. GolaStap destroyed goblin after goblin, his skill with the sword an amazement to watch. Things went well for a while, and soon goblin carcasses lay strewn about the arena. But, after bringing down a dozen or more goblins with his spear, Borodin became overwhelmed by a group of green-skins and took a sword point in his stomach. He went down with a yell, and the goblins around him turned and moved toward the prisoners. GolaStap adjusted his position to defend against the incoming beasts and Larawin retreated to his side to help. The boy gripped his father’s arm and studied GolaStap’s every move. The famed protector parried a strike this way, then blocked a blow that way, then struck with a thrust. Dead goblin. But more and more kept coming and soon he found himself surrounded. He slashed and struck, spun and kicked. An opening formed and GolaStap shifted for better position, but suddenly Larawin cried out for help as she too was nearly overcome by the masses. The boy clenched his teeth and held his breath. He could almost see what was coming. GolaStap looked toward Larawin for a split second too long, and a goblin sword pierced his chest. A horrific gasp rose from the crowd as the great GolaStap fell to one knee, blood spilling to the ground around him. “No!” the boy cried out. He covered his eyes to block away the horror as the goblins reached the condemned prisoners and lit the torturous fires. As the crowd went silent with shock, the boy looked. The goblins marched off the field, victorious. A group of armored men carried the bodies of GolaStap and Borodin away. A blue-garbed man walked beside GolaStap keeping a hand pressed over his wound. Larawin walked, head down, alongside him. The boy buried his face in his father’s chest and together they wept.