Chapter 46 Arrival of the Warlord

The guards made sport of us as the moon climbed higher.

At first, it was just taunts—jeering at Lyn, mocking the way I curled in on myself when they rattled their spears against the bars. But boredom made them inventive.

One fetched a bucket of icy swamp water. 

"Let’s see how loud cat can scream," he chuckled, before upending it over our cage. The shock of cold stole my breath—Lyn’s fur flattened, her snarl silenced for one precious second. They howled with laughter.

They dragged a stool just out of reach, piled high with stolen goods—roasted meat, honey cakes, even a skin of wine. 

"Bet you’re hungry, eh?" The fattest guard took exaggerated bites, letting grease drip into the dirt near our cage. My stomach growled. Lyn’s claws dug into my arm.

"Don’t give them the satisfaction."

Then tips poked through the bars at random intervals—not to maim, just to startle. A jab near my throat made me recoil into Lyn; another grazed her tail. They timed it between our blinks, laughing when I flinched at empty air.

Near dawn, one guard triumphantly produced a live swamp rat, its teeth yellow and chattering. 

"A friend for the goblin!" 

He tossed it in. Lyn killed it mid-air with a single swipe—but not before its claws raked my cheek. The guards applauded like it was a carnival show.

A next guard dumped a writhing sack of red fire ants into our cage. Lyn shielded me with her body, taking the worst of the stings as they seared like hot needles across her back. The guards bet on how long before she started screaming. She didn't. Only me.

As dawn broke, a guard pissed on our cage bars.

 "Drink up," he grinned.

 "Last meal for the dead." The stench attracted flies that would plague us for days after.

The morning sun was a dull, hateful thing as it crept over the camp, casting long shadows through the slats of our cage. Lyn and I were slumped against each other, exhausted, our bodies aching from the guards’ games—until the sound of heavy footsteps and a familiar, grating laugh made us both stiffen.

"Rise and shine, my precious prisoners!"

Rakrak chuckled, reaching through the bars to flick a claw against my bruised cheek. I flinched, and his grin widened. 

"Ohhh, don’t look so glum! I come bearing news!"

He straightened, clasping his hands behind his back like some pompous warlord.

  "You see, I’ve been thinking, I did something fun. I picked my fastest runners—my best little slave goblins—and gave them a special message to deliver. A letter, for the Cat Boss. Oh yes, I told him his precious daughter is my prisoner now. And if he wants to see you alive again… well. He’ll have to come beg."

Lyn’s claws dug into the wooden floor of the cage, splintering it. Her voice, when it came, was a deadly whisper. 

"You’re signing your own death wish."

Rakrak threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing across the camp. 

"Oh, Lyn! So dramatic! But no—this is perfect. Your father will come charging in, full of rage, full of stupidity… and I’ll be waiting."

 He leaned forward, tapping a claw against his chin.

"But first, how about we have a little... chat. The Cat Clan. Strong. Proud. Stupidly loyal. How many warriors does your father command?"

Lyn bared her teeth. 

"Enough to turn your camp into a graveyard."

Rakrak tsked, wagging a finger. 

"Now, now. No need for theatrics. Let’s try again. Numbers. Tactics. Weaknesses. Or do I need to motivate you?"

My pulse pounded in my ears. Lyn stayed silent.

Rakrak sighed.

  "Fine. We’ll start with the expendable one."

One of the guards grabbed me by the neck and pulled my head so hard it got stuck between the bars outside the cage, Rakrak crouched in front of me. Slapping my face while laughing.

"Tell me, little goblin, how many cats live in their village? How many warriors Cat Boss have?"

I swallowed hard.

  "I—I don’t—"

CRACK.

The guard backhanded me. Stars exploded across my vision.

"Wrong answer," Rakrak sighed. He flicked his claws, and the guard grabbed my wrist, bending one finger back—slowly. His jagged nails digging into my skin as he prepared to snap it backward—

CRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK—

A loud, groan cut through the camp as the massive gates of the breeding farm shuddered open. Every head snapped toward the sound, even Rakrak’s.

His sadistic grin stretched wider.

  "Ah! Right on time."

Through the gates marched a fresh wave of evil goblins—battle-scarred, heavily armed, their eyes gleaming with the same cruel hunger as Rakrak’s. At their head rode a monstrous figure atop a snarling war hound twice the size of a normal hound. The goblin warlord was clad in spiked armor, his face a patchwork of old burns, one milky eye staring blindly while the other glowed with malice.

"Grishnak," Rakrak whispered, spreading his arms in mock welcome. 

"You ugly bastard, I was starting to think you got lost!"

The warlord dismounted with a heavy thud, his hound snapping at the nearest slave.

  "Only lost time, Rakrak. Had to round up fresh meat on the way."

He jerked his head toward the back of the caravan, where a cluster of new slaves were chained together, their faces hollow with exhaustion.

Rakrak clapped Grishnak on the back. 

"Perfect. We’ll put them to work right after the celebrations. Speaking of which—guard! Keep these two on a short leash. I’ll deal with them personally after I show Grishnak his new toys."

The moment Rakrak finished laughing, Grishnak’s scarred face darkened. His single good eye locked onto Rakrak with the weight of a coming storm.

"Enough, I didn’t ride here to listen to your crowing."

Rakrak’s grin faltered. 

"Ah, come now, old friend—"

"I am not your friend today," Grishnak cut in, stepping forward. His war hound let out a low growl, sensing its master’s mood. 

"I was sent. The Great Warlord wants answers."

A tense silence fell. Even the guards stiffened, their earlier sneers fading.

Grishnak’s gaze swept across the breeding farm.

 "You’ve built good. Strong walls. Good land. No weak points. That much, at least, you’ve done right."

Rakrak puffed up slightly.

  "Of course! I—"

"But the Cat Clan, What of them?" Grishnak interrupted, his voice dropping dangerously.

Rakrak hesitated just a fraction too long.

Grishnak’s eye narrowed. 

"The Great Warlord didn’t send me to praise your walls, Rakrak. He sent me because your mission was to break the Cat Clan’s hold on these woods. To make them flee or kneel. So, tell me—why do I still hear their scouts in the trees? Why do their patrols still ride our borders?"

Rakrak’s claws twitched.

  "I’ve been busy—"

"Busy? Busy torturing prisoners? Busy gloating? The Great Warlord doesn’t reward busy. He rewards results."

"I have a plan—"

"You have days," Grishnak interrupted.

  "Not weeks. Not moons. Days. The next time I come, I either bring the Great Warlord’s praise… or his judgment. But to ease your task, I brought warriors. Small part of my personal warriors," Grishnak rumbled.

  "Not just fighters—killers. The kind who has tasted Cat Clan blood before. Use them well. But if you waste them, I will consider it a personal insult."

Rakrak's grin returned, though it was sharper now—less arrogance, more serious. He stepped forward, gesturing toward Lyn's cage with a clawed hand.

"You think I've been idle? Playing? No. Every cut, every scream, every humiliation served the mission. The Cat Boss's weakness is his pride—and his daughter. I have her. And soon, the Cat Boss will come charging in, blind with rage, straight into my trap. His head will roll. His warriors will scatter. And these woods? They will be ours."

Grishnak studied him for a long moment. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod said, "Is that so? Then you get few more days. No more. Fail, and I will take your place here. Along with your head. Do not forget that."

With that said, Grishnak and his elite warriors vanished through the gates, the thunder of their war hounds fading into the forest. The moment they were gone, Rakrak's composure shattered like brittle bone.

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE, YOU USELESS MAGGOTS!" he roared, rounding on the lingering guards. His spit flew, his claws slashing the air in fury.

  "The Warlord didn't bring these slaves here to gawk at them! Put them to work! Clear the southern thicket! Fortify the palisades! And if I see one of you slacking—"

He grabbed the nearest guard by the throat, lifting him clear off the ground.

  "—I'll feed you to the hounds alive."

The guard choked out a terrified nod before scrambling away, barking orders at the new arrivals. The slaves—exhausted, hollow-eyed—were herded toward the sheds, their chains clinking like grim bells.

Then Rakrak turned toward our cage.

His grin was a nightmare.

"As for you two... A few days of proper persuasion ought to loosen those stubborn tongues. We'll see how proud you are when your goblin here is screaming for mercy. Oh, little cat... you'll beg for mercy soon enough."