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  Wagons & Wyverns. Copyright © 2025 by Z.S. Diamanti

  ZSDiamanti.com

  Published by Golden Griffin Press LLC.

  All rights reserved.

  Character and Postcard Illustrations by Aleksa Stajsic. Chapter Illustrations by Z.S. Diamanti.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or deceased), businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-961580-17-6 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-961580-18-3 (hardcover)

  ISBN: 978-1-961580-16-9 (ebook)

  Originally published in 2025 in the United States by Golden Griffin Press.

  Sign up for Z.S. Diamanti's Readers List at ZSDiamanti.com

  For Josh,

  For the things I see in you

  that you do not yet see in yourself

  Contents

  Map of Tarrine

  Map of Kelvur

  Prologue

  1. Ghun-Ra

  2. The Wyvern's Wish

  3. Breakfast

  4. Salmon Sandwiches

  5. A Surprise Visitor

  6. No Breakfast

  7. The Horned Marten

  8. A Traitor's Map

  9. Gibs

  10. The Wagon Depot

  11. Doubts

  12. The Halfling's Home

  13. Gregory

  14. The Road to Hill Stop

  15. Castle Brick

  16. Northward

  17. Detour

  18. Bump in the Night

  Jorbinan Image

  19. A Mad Sorcerer

  20. On the Road Again

  21. Wyvern Cries

  22. Joy

  23. Driving

  24. Snapplers

  25. Mavro's Bow

  26. Krik

  27. A Plan

  28. Prey

  29. An Angry Wyvern

  30. Home

  31. Quest Complete

  32. Audience with the King

  33. A Sweet Tune

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Assassin in the Alehouse

  Join the Griffin Guard

  Free Preludes

  One Last Thing

  The mountain of Ruk shivered, absorbing the impact of great stones crashing into tunnel entrances and collapsing escape routes for the city’s wyvern defenders. Zarnikorek squeaked before the large backhand of the orc King Sahr swung round and collided with his face. The small goblin sprawled across the throne room’s stone floor, unable to keep his feet. His wiry goblin frame pressed against the cool stone as he worked to regain his footing.

  Boom!

  The mountain shook again as more tunnel entrances collapsed.

  Zarnikorek shuddered.

  King Sahr growled, but the noise soon turned into a wretched cough as he hollered. “The rebels have come!”

  Rebels! Zarnikorek thought with horror. A million things ran through his mind as the orc king began to cackle.

  King Sahr’s quickly shifting moods had grown worse and worse as he’d continued his descent into madness. The condition had accelerated with the appearance of the wicked sorcerer that came from across the sea and bent the king’s ear. Since, he’d led the orc nation of Drelek on a new crusade to destroy the other peoples of Tarrine. A rebellion had arisen, and now Ruk, the capital city of Drelek, was under attack.

  Though growing terror welled within him, Zarnikorek couldn’t deny the king deserved this fate. The destruction descending upon him now was not merely the result of the mad king leading the people of Drelek at the behest of a foreign orc sorcerer. Beside the resulting civil war, King Sahr had not been a good ruler for years. Perhaps ever.

  A massive stalactite crashed to the throne room floor nearby, nearly squashing the king’s little assistant, sending shards of stone skittering in all directions.

  Zarnikorek yelped and jumped to his feet. His legs felt like lead as he forced them to move. He ran to a side table along the wall.

  “What are you doing?” King Sahr hollered after him. The fat orc king pushed himself up from the floor, the buttons of his ill-fitting tunic threatening to burst free from the strain of his girth. The sound of battle waged in the distance.

  Zarnikorek didn’t answer the slovenly king. Thousands of stalactites clung to the roof of the enormous throne room’s cavernous ceiling. Between the rebels at their doorstep and the stone javelins falling from above, they had little time. Zarnikorek frantically rolled up maps and scrolls of notes strewn across the table.

  “I said—Hack!” the king horked a cough mid-sentence. “What are you doing?”

  King Sahr clawed at the little goblin’s shoulder, ripping his attention away from the parchments.

  Zarnikorek squeaked in fear, flinching and bracing himself for another one of the king’s many bludgeoning blows. He’d always been half the orc king’s height, but he was small, even for a goblin—a trait that King Sahr often exploited with bruising backhands. The little goblin trembled under the mad king’s wavering gaze. The king attempted to leer at him, but his eyes darted in all directions disconcertingly.

  Battle cries trumpeted outside—close enough to be on the king’s landing. Wyverns roared with rage and screams of death erupted, stealing both of their attention. As if the roars had sparked a flame of courage inside his belly, a heat rose within Zarnikorek.

  He opened his mouth and clamped his teeth down hard on the large orc hand that held him. King Sahr let out a horrid, wheezing screech and blinked crazily, unable to believe his abused assistant would ever lift a hand—or tooth—against him.

  The little goblin stood statuesque, stunned by the act himself. The abusive king had always cowed him into submission. Where was this sudden audacity coming from?

  “I’ll kill you,” the king sneered. “You little wyvern thorn.”

  The hulking orc leapt forward, and Zarnikorek’s momentarily paralyzed body finally started working again. He dove to the side, scrambling on hands and feet to get away from the deranged orc king. The little goblin outpaced him, running around the throne to put some sort of barrier between them.

  “I—I’m not going to die here,” Zarnikorek managed to spit out.

  “What?” King Sahr reared up, a disbelieving snarl twisted around his short tusks.

  “I’m not going to die here,” the goblin repeated, this time with a little more hardness. “I never wanted to come here. I never wanted to be your assistant.” Never had such brazen boldness erupted from his lips, but his words and confidence grew as he spoke—if confidence was what the fire in his belly was called. The growing sound of battle echoed through the halls.

  “Goblin and orc parents tell their children stories of the Griffin Guard monsters that hunt us down if we leave the safety of our mountain steads during the daylight. But after years of serving you, I know the truth.”

  King Sahr choked and coughed on a maniacal laugh that rumbled his engorged belly. “And what is that?” he asked, hardly containing his amusement at the goblin assistant’s sudden and wholly unexpected boldness.

  “There are monsters among us,” Zarnikorek said firmly. “Monsters like y—”

  A concussive explosion of light sent both of them flying. The little goblin hit his head hard on the stone. He sat up slowly, his head feeling impossibly heavy and lolling to the side. Zarnikorek blinked and blinked again, trying to focus through the blur. In the corner of the throne room, a magic mirror buzzed with life. Runes surrounding the frame glowed, and a river of magical light swirled around the frame.

  No … Zarnikorek thought. He’d seen the evil sorcerer move through the mirrors before. Jaernok Tur … he shuddered at the thought of the wicked orc’s name. He had to get out of there. His keen goblin eyes searched desperately for an escape. Zarnikorek knew there were several secret tunnels leading away from the throne room. He’d mapped many of them himself. But his battered brain couldn’t seem to remember where they were. If only he could spot something that jogged his memory.

  There! His reeling mind finally grasped the easiest of the memories: the table with his maps and notes. It stood in front of a small escape tunnel hidden beneath. He forced himself to his feet and swayed to the side, unable to control his balance.

  A fierce orc hand grabbed the back of his neck, ripping him into the air. Zarnikorek clawed at the arms of King Sahr as he turned the little goblin to face him. Zarnikorek couldn’t breathe. He tried to swallow, as if the act would push the orc’s strong fingers away from his throat. His vision blurred even more, darkness encroaching on the edges of his sight.

  The mad king blinked wildly, trying to stop the uncontrollable twitching of his eyelids. “I might be a monster”—he hacked a guttural cough—“but I’m the monster that made you.”

  Zarnikorek’s dangling legs flailed, and he clawed at the king’s solid arm that held him aloft. Something akin to a squeak escaped his mouth, but without air to give it volume, the noise choked out.

  King Sahr laughed and loosened his grip slightly. “What was tha
t?”

  Zarnikorek sucked in the tiniest gasp of air, but relief flooded him. The air flowed through his body and gave his mind a brief instant of clarity. Maybe I will die here.

  “Nothing to say then?” King Sahr sneered. Zarnikorek couldn’t bring himself to answer. “Because you know it’s true. A little pipsqueak like you. Even among the goblins, you’re a tiny wretch. You were worthless. I gave you purpose. I gave you—” another hacking and wheezing attack cut off his words and racked the fat orc’s body. He dropped Zarnikorek to the ground.

  The little goblin gasped and gulped air into his lungs like he’d never breathed before in his life. He stood shakily.

  “No one’s leaving here today,” King Sahr spat. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. Even if you somehow manage to survive this battle and I don’t—Huck!—You’ll never escape my shadow.”

  Zarnikorek couldn’t shake the fog from his brain. His legs moved in slow motion, and he stumbled in the direction he thought his table stood. A heavy fist blasted into the back of his head, sending him sliding across the smooth stone floor. The coolness felt strangely nice on his bruised face. His long goblin ears heard yelling on the other side of the throne room, but his mind couldn’t make sense of it.

  He pulled his hand out from underneath his crumpled body, hoping to move his fingers in front of his face to help him regain focus, but his knuckles rapped against a table leg, shooting a dull pain through his arm. The table … The uproar at the other side of the throne room grew louder, but he still couldn’t make out the tumult.

  Zarnikorek pulled himself farther under the table, his face squeaking along the floor. His fingers prodded against the wall until something clicked. The wall fell away, opening a tunnel before him. He dragged his scrawny frame into the hidden tunnel and kicked lethargically at the wall until he heard another click and the wall sealed behind him. Darkness surrounded him. His goblin eyes normally saw well enough in lowlight, but it was the shadow of unconsciousness that overtook him.

  One year later …

  The afternoon sun warmed Zarnikorek’s face as his normally green eyelids filtered pink light into his closed eyes. He breathed in the fresh summer air, crisp near the river that ran through the valley of Ghun-Ra. On the far side of the water, mountain pines grew with fervor. Aspens slipped between the evergreens, creating a beautiful canvas painted with slender white poles, contrasting the green.

  “Zarnikorek,” a gruff voice called nearby, jolting him from his momentary reverie.

  “What can I do for you, Klon?” he asked, turning his gaze upon the orc.

  His boss walked over to him, his footsteps thudding along the river dock planks. Klon’s deep-green skin matched the sun-kissed shade of Zarnikorek’s own.

  Like most orc cities in Drelek, Ghun-Ra derived its name from the mountain in which the city was built. Most orcs, goblins, and trolls preferred to dwell within the mountain’s networking tunnels that made up the interior parts of the city, but some were relegated topside or in the surrounding valleys. Farmers, fisherorcs, and livestock ranchers often lived out under the sun, their deep green skin making them easy to spot in a crowd amongst the paler green of those that dwelt within the mountain cities. Most cities had a mix of both, but there were those in Drelek on both extremes. The residents of Dak-Tahn were often jokingly referred to as “vampires” as they lived almost exclusively inside their mountain fortress. While the dwellers of Calrok were called “sun-lovers” for living out in the sun by the sea.

  When Zarnikorek was young, he often wondered why his pa, a renowned goblin engineer, had chosen to live in the valley of Ghun-Ra. But after spending years in Ruk under the former king’s thumb, Zarnikorek had grown rather fond of being home beneath the sun again. The fresh mountain air flowed easier through his lungs than the stifling tunnels of Ruk.

  “Got a boat down the dock. From Lakjo. Has some special deliveries that need to be sorted to get to the right place,” Klon relayed.

  “On it,” Zarnikorek replied.

  He hurried down the dock toward the newly arrived river boat. A slender orc and a tall goblin who stood shoulder height to him unloaded crates and barrels from their craft. “Good day to you,” Zarnikorek called as he approached.

  “Well, ’ello,” the taller goblin greeted him before eyeing him warily. “You must be the special delivery coordinator?”

  “I am,” Zarnikorek said with a reassuring nod. He readied his wooden tablet, folding the parchments and tucking them under the leather strip that held them fast. He held out his hand to receive the boater’s transport parchment.

  The goblin hesitated before handing it over.

  Zarnikorek’s face scrunched as he inspected the papers.

  Special Delivery

  Direct transport to:

  The Wyvern’s Wish

  Tavern in Ghun-Ra

  2 Packages

  Origin: Lakjo

  “Everything appears to be in order here,” Zarnikorek said. Why is the boatgoblin so hesita—

  Whump!

  The slender orc dropped the large crate on the dock. Their boat danced buoyantly with relief and the orc wiped his brow. He looked at Zarnikorek and then at the taller goblin. The crate was bigger than Zarnikorek and looked to be heavier than a boulder.

  “Are both packages this size?” Zarnikorek asked, looking past the crate and toward their boat.

  “No,” the tall goblin said with a laugh. “Oh, ’elgar wouldn’t be able to transport two of those at once.”

  “Right …” Zarnikorek said, now realizing he had to get the crate over to the staging area for special deliveries.

  “Uh, where can we put this thing for you?” the orc asked, a hint of concern edging his baritone words.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Zarnikorek said with a dismissive wave. “I’ve got a cart. You keep unloading your other goods and I’ll go get it.”

  The boaters shrugged and went back to unloading the heap of smaller boxes they’d transported from Lakjo.

  Zarnikorek scuttled down the dock planks, running to the cart. Most dock-working orcs rarely used it; years of lifting heavy crates and sacks had made them strong and sturdy. The cart was usually reserved for rather large shipments, or on rare occasions, like this one, where special deliveries were too heavy for Zarnikorek to carry. He grabbed the cart and spun it around, wheeling it back down the dock, thudding dully from board to board.

  The little goblin looked the crate over again, trying to determine how best to get it into the cart.

  “You need some ’elp with that?” the tall goblin asked.

  “No, I’ve got it,” Zarnikorek said.

  “Okay …” he heard the goblin murmur.

  Zarnikorek tipped the cart backward and sent the handles up high. He pulled two blocks from the back of the cart and placed them in front of the wheels. Then, he took two planks and placed them under the back edge of the cart, smiling at his own cleverness. He’d done this dozens of times before. All he had to do was push the crate far enough onto the planks and then he could leverage it onto the cart. The blocks in front of the wheels would keep it from rolling away. Easy.

  He moved behind the crate, catching a glimpse of the two boaters watching with interest. He tried to hide his smirk. Zarnikorek lined himself up and pushed against the enormous wooden crate.

  It didn’t budge.

  A small, disbelieving chuckle escaped his lips. He ran a green hand through his shock of dark brown hair and then laid his shoulder into the crate. Zarnikorek pushed with all his might, digging his feet into the dock below and heaving against the huge crate.

  Still nothing.

  “Can we—”

  “Nope,” Zarnikorek cut the orc off before he could finish his sentence. “Nope, it’s alright. I can do this.”

  Zarnikorek stepped back from the crate. Normally, if he could get the crates on the planks, he could slide them along until he had enough plank revealed to leverage the crate into the cart. Then he’d be on his way. But this crate was heavier than any other he’d tried. He pressed both hands against the firm wood and pushed again, testing it to make sure he wasn’t losing his mind. He rammed himself hard against the crate, but his little bones popped against the unmovable object.