The Storm from the East

The Great Grass Sea, Eastern Estecarr

Por urged Kerrier forward, the Aralez’s paws kicking up clods of damp earth. The shaggy hound-mount whined, its head low, sniffing a trail that was all too easy to follow.

It had been three days since the attack on the Wagonburg. Three days since the Muster Sergeant, Mansey, had led the charge and the Aeronauts had scattered the Red Goblin raiders. Now, Muster Captain Tolgus Vean wanted the threat ended. He had dispatched Por’s troop of Wild Runners—the best Aralez scouts in the convoy—to track the survivors and ensure they weren't regrouping for another strike.

Por was joined by Rinsey Croft, her spyglass polished and ready. "They're not regrouping, Por," she said, reining in her own mount. Her voice, usually light, was tight with confusion. "They're just... running."

She was right. The trail was one of pure, unadulterated panic. The Goblins hadn't even stopped to tend their wounded. They were fleeing east, back the way they had come, as if the entire Abyss was at their heels.

"Something's spooked 'em," Por muttered, resting his heavy rifle across his saddle. "Spooked 'em worse than us."

They crested a low rise and found what was left of the Goblin rearguard. It wasn't a camp, just a smear of carnage. Bodies were strewn across the grass, but not from Halfling rifle fire or Lancer spears. These Goblins had been obliterated by something else.

"Missing gods," Rinsey whispered, sliding from her Aralez to inspect a corpse. "Look at this."

Por dismounted, his own mount growling low. A Goblin Biggit was nearly severed in two, his rusty armour sheared clean through. It wasn't the ragged work of a Fleabag's claws or an Orc's cleaver. It was a single, devastatingly powerful cut.

"Steel," Por said, rubbing his thumb near the gash. "Clean, heavy steel. And lots of it."

A foul, acrid scent hung in the air, like ozone and burnt chemicals. It was a smell Por had never encountered on the steppes.

"Up there." Rinsey pointed to the highest ridge on the eastern horizon, perhaps two miles distant. "We'll see what they're running from."

They left the rest of the troop behind and raced their Aralez up the grassy slope. At the summit, they dropped flat, crawling the last few feet. Por pulled his own telescope and laid it beside Rinsey's.

"There," she said, her voice trembling. "There are your Goblins."

Por focused his lens. She was right. A vast rabble of Red Goblins, thousands of them, were scrambling across the plain below. They were a disorganised mass of rusty iron and snapping Fleabags, a green-skinned tide of terror.

"But they're not the threat," Por said, his blood running cold. He panned his spyglass past the fleeing horde.

And saw the army that hunted them.

It was like nothing he had ever seen. Where the Goblins were chaos, this new army was a wall of terrifying order. They marched in massive, perfect blocks of dark, gleaming steel. Their standards were held high, not ragged trophies on poles, but immaculate banners of black and orange, bearing the image of a stalking tiger.

"Por..." Rinsey breathed, her spyglass shaking. "What are they?"

Por shifted his focus to the main infantry block. They were giants, taller than men, clad head-to-toe in interlocking steel plate. But they weren't men. Through his lens, Por saw them clearly: they had the heads of dogs. Towering, dog-headed humanoids wielding massive spears that gleamed in the sickly light.

Flanking them were cavalry. But these were not shaggy Aralez or ill-tempered Gores. They were massive, oversized hunting cats, sleek and powerful, ridden by more of the steel-clad warriors. Behind the main blocks, Por saw human clad in strange robes, their hands empty, and stranger still, massive, ape-like creatures lumbering alongside siege weapons that looked more like alchemical engines than simple catapults.

This was no raiding party. This was an empire on the march.

"They're crushing the Goblins," Por said numbly, watching as the powerful Cavalry slammed into the Goblin flank, shearing through the rabble without slowing. The Goblins didn't even fight back; they just broke and fled, only to be cut down by disciplined volleys of arrows from more of the Dog Headed Warriors, this time cloaked and armed with large curved bows.

Suddenly, Rinsey gasped and grabbed Por's arm. "They've seen us."

Por snapped his spyglass to the side. A patrol of cloak clad scouts, had broken from the main army and was heading directly for their ridge. They moved with a fluid grace, their bows already in hand.

Por and Rinsey scrambled back, leaping onto their Aralez. Kerrier barked in alarm, sensing the alien nature of the new foe.

"Back to the troop!" Por yelled. "We have to warn the convoy! This isn't 'business as usual'!"

They crashed down the slope, the mysterious scouts already at the crest, loosing arrows that hissed past their heads with deadly accuracy. Por’s troop of Wild Runners saw them coming and formed a ragged line, rifles raising.

"No!" Por bellowed as he galloped past them. "Don't fight! Run! Rinsey, you're the fastest! You have the keenest eyes! Get back to the Wagonburg. Tell Tolgus Vean what you saw. Tell him the Goblins were just the spray before the wave!"

"What about you?" she cried, her Aralez matching his stride for stride.

"We'll buy you time!" Por shouted. He reined Kerrier in, turning to face the oncoming Xirkaali scouts. The rest of his troop, loyal to the last, formed up beside him. "Tell him an army from the east is here! A Tiger's Claw! Tell him to warn Mantica!"

Rinsey didn't hesitate. She gave a sharp, heartbroken nod and spurred her mount, flying across the steppes like a wind-blown leaf.

Por chambered a round and took aim at the lead Dog Warrior. He saw the scout's eyes—cold, disciplined, and utterly without malice—and knew this was a fight they could not win. They could only die.

Tolgus Vean stood on the high platform of the Guild Master's wagon, tamping tobacco into his long pipe. The convoy was moving again, the mood light after their victory. He saw Mansey, the Muster Sergeant, riding patrol and was about to wave when a horn blast—one of his own scout signals, desperate and long—cut through the air.

A lone Aralez, flecked with foam and streaked with blood, burst over the rise. Rinsey Croft clung to its back, her face pale with terror and exhaustion. She half-fell, half-jumped from the saddle before the mount had even stopped, stumbling up to the wagon.

"Captain! Captain Vean!" she gasped, clinging to the wagon wheel for support.

"Steady, lass," Tolgus said, climbing down. "Where's Por? Where's the rest of the troop?"

"Gone," she wept, fighting for breath. "Sacrificed. To give me time."

"Goblins?" Mansey asked, riding up, his face grim.

Rinsey shook her head, her eyes wide with the horror of what she'd seen. "Worse. The Goblins... they were running from it. An army, sir. A new army. From the east. Thousands... tens of thousands."

Tolgus paused, his flint and steel halfway to his pipe. "What kind of army?"

"Steel," she whispered. "Perfect, black steel. Giants, with the heads of dogs. Cavalry on massive lions. Apes as big as trolls. They... they're not like the raiders. They're disciplined. They're... an empire. Por called it... a Tiger's Claw."

The pipe slipped from Tolgus Vean's fingers, shattering on the ground. The aromatic tobacco scattered in the wind. He stared eastward, at the horizon that was now darkening with an unnatural, chemical-smelling storm.

"Missing gods," Mansey breathed, his hand going to his sword.

"Get the Aeronauts aloft," Tolgus ordered, his voice suddenly hard as iron. "Mansey, sound the general alarm. Form the Wagonburg. And send our fastest rider south. Now."

"Who are we warning, sir? The Shires?"

"Everyone," Tolgus said, climbing back to his command post. "Send the rider to the League, to Basilea, to anyone who will listen. Tell them the storm from the east has broken. Tell them Mantica is about to be invaded."