THE MUSE FRED WARREN

ARON

surveyed the enemy lines, row upon row of grotesque, iron-sinewed goblins rhythmically scraping swords on shields, filling the air with the soul- melting screech of metal carving bone. It was hopeless. The Alliance Army was outnumbered twenty to one in an indefensible position, their escape blocked by the sheer precipices of the Glass Mountains. He sighed. This would be the end. So much blood to be spilled today, for so little purpose.Siri pulled up beside him, struggling to rein in her spirited chestnut mount.The horse, at least, was eager for battle, but Siri’s face was a picture of despair. She knew the odds, what the outcome must be.“My Lord, the troops await your orders.” Taron nodded, raising his sword, Illustrion, on high as he wheeled his destrier about to face the haggard ranks of the Alliance. He opened his mouth to shout the order that would send them all to certain death.Silence.“My Lord?” Siri whispered, “The order?” Silence.Behind them, the goblin army roared and scraped, roared and scraped, roared and scraped.“My Lord! What is your order?” The general’s mouth was a gaping cavern from which no sound emerged.

“Aaagh!” Stan shoved himself away from his desk, pounding hishead in frustration. It was no use. He’d written himself into a corner...