“You!” he screamed into her repugnant face. “Why?! Why?!” He shook her roughly, causing her head to thump repeatedly into the boards. Her lips peeled back in a contemptible grimace, purple gums hissing wetly. He heard the heavy boots of his guards slam on the floor as they entered the room. Padric jerked Heggle up roughly and tossed her towards them. She spilled heavily at their feet, her wrinkled face full of hurt and hatred.

“Get out!” he screamed at his guards as they helped the crone stand. “And take that hag with you! Tell the Swinehelm that I wish to see him here. Go now!”

The goblins backed out, leaving Padric to stalk about the broken room. The girl remained curled against the wall, shoulders heaving with muffled sobs. Padric did not approach her, knowing he looked a fearsome maniac, soaked with water and blood. There was a cut above his eye where the sailor had struck him and it seeped steadily down his cheek, dripping off his chin

Torcan Swinehelm arrived swiftly and alone. He stepped into the room, not bothering a glance at the wrecked furniture or the weeping girl.

“You summoned me?” he asked, a strange inflection in his voice.

“Yes,” Padric replied, knowing he should choose his words carefully, but too incensed for much caution. “I want Heggle removed from my service and replaced with the husk. And no more women! I am well pleased with this girl and she shall not be removed without my consent. If you want me to be king, then let us begin building a proper court. Kederic Winetongue is to be removed from that cage and treated with the respect deserved him. Consider these my first commands. I expect them to be carried out.”

A smile played across Torcan’s scarred face. “Or what?”

Padric glared down at the goblin warlord, but before he could answer, Torcan continued. “I think you have forgotten who commands here, boy! You may be the descendant of the Gaunt Prince, but you have languished in ignorance, the power within you allowed to lie fallow for centuries. You have no knowledge, no craft and you mistake your place here. If my words offend you, then please, punish my insolence. Unleash the dread Magic known by your ancestors and wreak your vengeance upon my treasonous tongue!”

Torcan paused, waiting, but all Padric could do was stare back at him.

“No?” Torcan asked. “Well until you can do that, you are nothing but a figurehead. A banner for my goblins to rally under. And a source of seed for your formerly glorious line. Prove your worth and get this wench with a swollen belly that we might raise a new king. One which has not been made weak by the mollycoddling of mortals! You say she pleases you well? Show me! Or I will dispose of her and keep looking until I find one that does.”