“Insignificant worms, barely worth the effort to consume.”

William glanced at Kharas, the armored monstrosity who’d titled himself “the Warlord of Blood.” True to his namesake, three lines of the stuff slithered across the vampiric warlord’s armored form and disappeared into the shadowy depths surrounding the man. The blood’s former owner, a withered goblin warrior, hung limply in Kharas’ iron grip. The creature continued its feeble struggles, despite Kharas’ claim, but no force it could muster could free it from the Warlord of Blood’s transfixing spikes. William watched without emotion as the goblin’s final defiance faded away to feed Kharas’ ever present hunger. Finished, the warlord simply dropped the husk to be trampled into the mud by the army at his back.

“Fortunately the advance scouts report that the armies of this island have marched out against us and that we shall meet them soon,” Kharas reported. William grimaced. He knew well who it would be leading the men of Scara Brae against his cult fanatics and wasn’t eager to engage in that meeting. Circumstances had forced his hand in returning to the island nation that he’d only a year before sworn to never return to. And now he was not only coming back but had brought a small army with him.

He’d tried to make the landing and advance as stealthy and with as little fanfare as possible, not wanting to rile up the island’s defenders. Cultists and demons alike had been practically frothing for bloodshed by the time their ships had made landfall so William had ordered them to disembark on Scara Brae’s southern shores, in the midst of the island’s native goblin tribes and well away from the island’s port cities. His hope was that the army could sweep in quickly, find and obtain what they were here for, and then depart without encountering much in the way of resistance. He had his honorable reputation to think about, after all.

But the goblins had proven far more defensively capable than he had first imagined. The cult hadn’t taken any real losses to their number but their advance had been slowed significantly enough that news of their arrival had made its way to Scara Brae’s defenders. William found the whole ordeal less than pleasing.

“They appear, Domnus,” Kharas said, his voice dripping with a wicked eagerness. Sure enough, the rigid lines of Scara Brae’s gleaming defenders spread out in a wide swathe across the valley as the lead elements of William’s army marched over the lower rise opposite them.

“Shall I signal the juggernauts forward to advance positions?” Kharas continued, turning to make the gesture that would carry out the order before William could confirm his intentions. The revenant answered with a lazy backhand which didn’t quite send the hulking warlord sprawling but definitely knocked him off his balance. Kharas righted himself in an instant and snapped his gaze at his leader, twin points of cold witch light burning hatefully from the depths of his helm. Bloodstained hands twitched in anticipation as they reached for the hafts of the jagged axes hanging loosely from Kharas’ belt. Opposite him, William kept perfectly still, in complete control of himself, and stared the warlord down.

The stalemate was broken by the braying roar of the siegebreaker beast at the other end of the column, a roar so loud that it shook the very ground beneath the two men. With that hideous sound the spell was broken and Kharas, remembering his place in the cult, tore his eyes from William and dropped his head in submission.

“We will advance and conduct our lines according to your standard orders, Domnus,” Kharas said.

“See to it,” William finally said, letting the tension flow out from between them. “While you do, I will ride out to see if their leaders will have words with me.”

“A trap, my lord?” Kharas perked up, his moment of defeat forgotten with the thought of delicious treachery.

William smiled in reply as he turned to stride out into the field between the two armies. He walked confidently and alone, but his smile faded as soon as he was away from his forced. He had no wish to see the defenders of Scara Brae gutted and consumed by the fanatics and demons as the goblin tribes of the south had so recently been.

Perhaps Arden will see that this sacrifice is a better opportunity, he thought as he walked out in front of his lines. But he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it occurred. Knowing Arden, there was only one way this could end for the two armies. In less than an hour it would be likely that both sides would be drowning in blood and fire.