Paul’s POV

  A goblin scout was talking to Paul and his captains in the command tent. They had been scouting the latest three villages during the day, now during nighttime Paul was ready to attack. The villages had a combined force of a little over 250 troops, if they could be called that. It seemed they gathered every man, woman, and child. They were commanded by a creature known as a Feralean.

  From what Paul could gather of the creature, it was a humanoid wolf. It stood about 6 feet tall and looked like a wolf that walked on its hind legs. The creatures weren’t known for being smart. Rikkard thought it came to the goblin village looking for food and stayed when it came easy.

  They weren’t expecting organized troops, just a gathering of rabble, awaiting the slaughter. The problem at this point wasn’t the enemy, it was his captain and their own battle strategy.

  Rikkard’s troops were mostly archers, with a few sword and shield flank guards. He wanted to organize the zombies in front, because the soak up blows, with skeletons split on the flanks, because of their mobility to prevent encirclement, and saving the ettin and ogres in the back ranks, so they don’t accidentally take an arrow to the eye in such an easy battle.

  Durnakh on the other hand wanted his troops on the left flank to capture slaves as they fled. His plan was to have the ettin and ogres on the right, and the skeletons and zombies take up the center. Rikkard’s archers could stay in the back, if they wanted, but shouldn’t get as much of the spoils from the villages, due to their lack of participation in the battle.

  “Archers are just as valuable in any battle as frontline troop.” Rikkard said.

  “Cowards weapons.” Durnakh sneered, “Why should cowards be rewarded from the back?”

  “Because they kill from the back before your warriors even reach the front,” Rikkard shot back. “Our living are better archers than brawlers. We use them were their strengths lie.”

  “Their strength?” Durnakh spat. “Their strength is hiding behind corpses because they’ve lost their nerve.”

  Paul listened in silence, watching the two goblin captains circle their arguments like wolves over a carcass. One argued for precision, the other for blood. Both were useful, in their ways.

  As they argued their words started to blur together into strange words Paul couldn’t understand. He looked down at the iron band on his finger. His translator ring. It lasted three weeks without recharge. That was twice as long as bone. The runes dimmed slightly. Gathering air mana, Paul tugged lightly at his tether and directed it slowly into the iron band. The runes flared back to life as the iron soaked up the mana. Maybe he would try silver next, silver was good for mana retention, or maybe he would change the rune configuration slightly to see if that helped mana retention.

  Durnakh was still growling at Rikkard, while Rikkard looked at Paul’s ring. The hobgoblin looked from the ring into Paul’s eyes. “You alright?”

  Nodding slightly Paul looked over their map. It wasn’t overly detained, due to being a larger map of the southwestern Deepwood and not his area specifically, but it served.

  “We will keep the living troops in the back.” Paul finally said.

  “Taking all the spoils for you undead will…” Durnakh started.

  “There will be spoils enough for everyone after the battle.” Paul said. “The skeletons and zombies don’t need slaves, food or trinkets.” The vampire looked at the battle starved hobgoblin. “I will need the living to repopulate; every dead soldier becomes another corpse in my army… Don’t be so eager to join them, it will happen one day.”

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  He watched as Durnakh’s jaw clenched, but the hobgoblin said nothing further.

  Rikkard looked down at the scout, “Watch the enemy, if they start advancing send us notice.”

  “Yes, chief.” The small goblin scampered out of the tent.

  “Get the troops ready we attack in 30 minutes.” Paul said.

  Rikkard and Durnakh left without a word, while Liora made her way from the back of the tent, “Durnakh is going to be a handful.”

  “He has his uses.” Paul looked over at her. “He knows when to come to heel.”

  “Only because we are stronger now.” She waved a hand over the map. “What if one day he thinks he has a chance to attack us?”

  “And you think Rikkard won’t seize a moment of weakness or loss if I prove ineffective?” Paul shook his head.

  “I think Rikkard is smart and may forgive a moment of weakness for overall strength. In a pitched battle he will have your back as long as you win the war. Durnakh might try and kill you to take control of your territory before we know anything.” Liora looked up at Paul.

  “Then we best remind him what happens if I die.” He looked back at her. “How are the new wraiths coming?”

  “Grandler is learning death runes alright, but Thunderroar is having a hard time focusing his mana. I don’t think worgs understand the natural flow of magic.”

  “In this battle, lets make a few more.”

  “Goblin wraiths?”

  “They have been surprisingly useful creatures up until this point.” Paul ran a hand through his beard. “Maybe they will surprise us again, or maybe they will be expendable tools.”

  “How many?”

  “Just a few, 5 or 6. Let’s start small and we can go from there. If goblin wraiths prove useful, we can make more, if not, no loss.” Paul closed his eyes for a moment. “And Liora…”

  “Yes?”

  “Have Grandler watch Durnakh for this battle. An integration program, top up.”

  Liora smiled, “Yes, integration… but who joins who I suppose?”

  “We will start reforming the battalions in the next battle. I want the goblins used to fighting with the undead.” Paul walked around the table, “A zombie guard for the archer unites and some goblins blended in with the skeleton ranks. Not a one for one, but some mix.”

  “As you command Paul.” Liora left the tent and Paul was left alone.

  He looked down at his translator ring, rune configuration… An Anglian term. “Rune matrix.” He muttered. Yes, much better.

  Walking from the tent, Paul made his way to his horse. Rikkard, Eryndral, Durnakh, Liora, and her wraiths were already there. The council and command structure for his kingdom were already falling into place.

  “Let’s move out.” He told Rikkard.

  Rikkard waved at his lieutenants, who started yelling for the small army to start moving out.

  Paul watched as the army marched on. The troops were mostly organized in nice columns, but not as nice as his skeleton and zombie horde. He watched them for a long moment, his goblin followers had various names for his undead, but he needed them to start seeing each other as one army, one unit. The goblin word for kin, family, or unit was gul, the word for a magical spirit was val. Valgul… The People of Power, or Power-Kin.

  His valgul marched…

  Valgul, a goblin word…

  He hadn’t much taste for the goblin tongue himself, but his people would recognize it, that and horde just didn’t seem to fit. Valgul was much more appropriate and fit his people better. They were the people of power in the Deepwood.

  Paul rode up to Rikkard, “Start calling the unit the valgul. We need an identity. We are one now.”

  “Valgul?” Rikkard tried on the word with a long and slow drawl. “It fits what you are going for. We are powerful indeed. You undead will make us a match for even the hobgoblin lands.”

  “Why aren’t you in Thorge?” Paul asked.

  Rikkard looked up, quiet for a moment, then smirked, “I was never from Thorge.”

  “Then whatever city you fled. Criminal?”

  “From what I hear of human lands, not much we criminalize in comparison.” Rikkard looked back at the trail. “My father took to bed a chieftain’s woman. We fled when I was still small.” He looked up at Paul with a smirk. “We lived in fear of the Corpse Maker tribe for a long time. One day I was just coming into my manhood, and I decided to avenge my father who was killed by a dire bear. The Corpse Maker tribe chief was already dead and no one was looking for me, so I left to find my mother. We found the tribe I rule now and turned it from a small 20 goblin village into a local power.”

  “Mother still alive?”

  “No. Fed the wilds a long time ago when she had my brother.”

  “How old are you Rikkard?” Paul asked.

  “Old enough for my sons to take over.” Rikkard looked over at another hobgoblin marching with the archers. “Garrick is the oldest. He will take the tribe from me someday soon.”

  “That old already?” Paul smirked, “You move better than any of them.” He thrust an arm over the valgul.

  “I’m almost 40.” Rikkard got quiet, but Paul could still easily make out his words. “I don’t know if they are ready. I am an old dog and yet no one has challenged me.”

  “They respect you here more than they want the power for themselves.” Paul said. “It is a mark of a great ruler. I could use rulers like you in the long run Rikkard.”

  “When I die, I die.” Rikkard smirked. “I don’t need to be bloodsucker.”

  “When you get close, you may change your answer.” Paul said as he urged his horse further up the line.