He certainly did not hate his father, the leader of all lizardmen. If anything, it was his desire to earn the praise of his chief that drove him from day to day. The refusal to give him any rankled Gabil. In that case, he reasoned, let me stand above him and make him recognize me. That was the best way to word it, though Gabil’s pride made that difficult for him to accept, deep down.
He nodded, then sent the signal to his men.
“Father,” he bellowed across the chamber, “your era has ended. Starting today, I will serve as the new chief of the lizardmen!”
With the declaration, a battalion of goblins swarmed into the chamber, stone-tipped spears aimed at the chief and his guard. Gabil’s own elite guard stood by him, ensuring there would be no unwelcome resistance from the outside hallway.
“Gabil, what is the meaning of this?!” the chief spat out, at a higher octave than usual. It was a rarity to hear—and it only made Gabil feel even more superior.
“Father, I thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Now, I want you to leave the rest to me and enjoy life in retirement.”
With another order, Gabil’s team disarmed the chief and his guard.
“Answer me, Gabil! What is the meaning of all this?!”
“Perhaps, Father, using our mazelike corridors to fight the orcs was a good idea. But it spreads our fighters out too sparsely around the entire structure. We have no way of staging a useful counterattack, and it dooms us to exhaustion sooner or later.”
“Don’t be ridiculous… I told you, once we confer three days from now, we will get back on the—”
“Too little, too late! We are lizardmen! We are strong, and that strength is at its best in our homeland, the marshes. It is in those muddy, flooded regions where we are at our most mobile, and our enemy at its slowest. Our greatest of natural weapons. And what ruler of the marshes simply holes up in the dark and waits for their problems to go away?!”
He took the chief’s weapon in hand, a spear that served as the symbol of the lizardman leader. It was a Vortex Spear, a magical weapon to be wielded only by the strongest of tribal warriors, and as far as Gabil was concerned, he was born to hold it.
Now he could feel the power within it, a sure sign that the spear had accepted its new master for all time. Looking down at the chief and his guard, he held his new weapon high in the air for them to see.
“The spear has accepted me. Lizardmen require no alliances! Allow me to prove that to you!”
“Wait, Gabil! I cannot allow you to do this! At least wait until the reinforcements arrive!”
“You may leave the rest to me,” he replied, ignoring the shouted plea. “You may find things a tad uncomfortable until the battle is over, but do try to hold out for me.”
“Sir Gabil! My brother! You dare to betray us?!”
“Could we save family concerns for later, my sister? I am not betraying anyone. As I told you, I am going to show you what the new era will be for us lizardmen.”
“That’s nonsense!” replied Gabil’s younger sister, the head of the chief’s guard. “Everyone knows what a talented warrior you are. Why now, of all times? Is this what you truly want for us?!”
“Do you think I am joking? Get out of my sight. Take her away.”
He could hear his sister shouting as the goblins hauled her out of the room. It didn’t matter to him any longer. He had no intention of killing her or anything of the like, but he didn’t want anyone in his way. He would defeat the foe that the former chief found impossible to overthrow. The results would turn him into a new hero, the perfect event for establishing his position at the peak of lizardman society.
Then, he thought as his heart raced, my father will admit it. He will admit that he was proud of me all along!
His men were already dealing with anyone who sided with the chief, with goblins to hammer the message home. They wouldn’t be expecting it anyway, their attention too focused on the orcs in front of them. They’d never expect their fellow lizardmen to attack them through the emergency tunnels.
Before long, the news had arrived—all opposition had been suppressed. Gabil sat down on his father’s seat, the picture of calm composure. And then, as if waiting for this exact timing:
“How’s that chair feel to you, then?”
“Ah, Sir Laplace. Thanks for your hard work. It went even easier than I expected.”
“Oh, lovely, lovely. Glad to be of service.”
It was a masked man, one with an asymmetrical smile that made it look like he was sneering at anyone he showed it to. His clothing stuck out, too, clown-like with its rabble of colors and patterns. It was a ridiculous sight, but Gabil was unfazed. This man, Laplace, was in the employ of Gelmud, the man Gabil loved more than almost anyone else.
He had first appeared before Gabil as he was returning to his homeland with his newly earned goblins. “Laplace is the name,” he began. “I used to be vice president of the Moderate Jesters, a group of…jacks-of-all-trades, you could say. Lord Gelmud has hired me to serve you—anything you need, I provide.”
This Laplace did with efficiency, freeing Gabil’s men from the dungeon and providing regular reports on the lizardmen’s moves. It was Laplace who removed the seal on the Vortex Spear for him, ensuring his coup ended in success.
The original plan called for Gabil and his elite guard to suppress the chief and his men while the main force was out fighting in the marshes, but with the army hunkering down in the caverns, that idea was a bust. It angered Gabil immensely, but Laplace offered an alternative path. He brought the goblins, and Gabil’s own troops, right to the chief himself without arousing any attention. It was like magic, the way he led them through the escape corridors without a single lizardman noticing.
In short, Laplace was the triggerman for the entire coup.
“Aw, c’mon, Gabil,” Laplace laughed. “I’m really nobody that special, no.” But he was to Gabil, this man working for Gelmud.
“Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha. Enough modesty, Sir Laplace,” Gabil replied. “We are coworkers, after all, under the watchful eye of Lord Gelmud. Let’s make it a useful relationship.”
“Sir Gabil, we have all the tribal leaders in our grasp.”
It was the news Gabil had been waiting to hear. Now, at long last, every branch of the military was under his control.
“Oops! Sorry if I’m in the way here. I’d best head off to my next job, then…”
“Ah yes. Sorry to detain you, Sir Laplace. I think it’s time I whip those orcs and show my strength to Lord Gelmud, once and for all!”
With one final, sneering bow, Laplace disappeared from the cavern.
“You were quite helpful to me, Laplace. Lord Gelmud has so many talented people working for him… I’d best hold up my end of the bargain, then.”
Gabil stood up, supremely confident. It was time to attack. He couldn’t even imagine defeat at this point, and the advice from his father failed to reach his ears. His loyal followers were now cheering his every move, especially the younger lizardmen who formed his most passionate support base.
He called each tribe leader to his chamber, ordering them to prepare for an all-out attack. To teach those pigs exactly how daring and brave the lizardmen truly were, as he put it. The order was greeted with cheers from every tribe, weary from days of siege warfare. Their former chief’s order to hold the fort and prevent casualties at all costs had, ironically enough, made it all the easier for Gabil to consolidate his own power. He was giving the people what they wanted, and that made things go his way.
Gladdened by the response, Gabil sat back down. His time was here. He was confident about that. Defeating the orcs, at this point, was just a minor detail.