The Prince and the Goblin

by Bryan Huff

  The Riven Gate consisted of two stone towers and a massive steel gate slotted between them. The gate formed the wall of the dam, holding back a vast lake behind it.

  “You see those towers?” Stella continued. “Those aren’t bells hanging inside them.”

  Hob looked to the towers. Housed atop each one was not a bell, but a dark metal cylinder, hanging on chains from a great wheel.

  “They’re counterweights,” Stella explained, “used along with a system of gears and pulleys to raise the gate. It’s an engineering marvel. Any time an opposing army approaches, the weights are allowed to fall through the towers, pulling up the gate, flooding the ravine, and cutting off the pass with a deep river of rushing water.”

  “The gate’s made of ever-steel, forged by the dwarves of old!” added Monty, his voice nasally due to the clothespin on his nose. “It’s amazingly light, stronger than the hardest stone, and can never rust. The recipe’s been lost for ages.”

  A thin sheet of water sloshed over the top of the gate and ran down its silvery face, gathering in a pool that fed the stream. Monty was right; the steel was untarnished, even after centuries of exposure.

  “But what stops the armies from going around?” asked Hob, his voice just as nasally as Monty’s.

  “The mountains,” Stella replied. “Most are too steep, too rugged, too disorienting to navigate without the pass. Perhaps a few seasoned mountaineers could do it, but not a whole army, unskilled in climbing and weighed down by weapons, armor, and supplies. Add to that, a frigid lake stretching back for miles behind the dam, and the fact that an army would be open to attack by archers at key ascents, and you have a hopeless task.” She paused. “It’s said, during the last war, the goblins did try tunneling under the ravine. But those attempts never met with much success.”

  Hob nodded. “Goblins base their tunnels on preexisting rock formations,” he said. “They have a hard time hitting specific targets.”

  “And Valley Top’s scouts scoured the slopes around the upper pass to find and destroy any small tunnels that did get through,” Stella finished. “To this day, the pass remains the only way to reach Valley Top.”

  “So, why not cut it off again?” asked Edric, his voice nasally as well. “With all the goblin attacks?”

  “Complacency,” said Stella. “The people of Valley Top don’t even post guards on the Riven Gate anymore. Their city has strong walls, which can easily withstand the occasional raid by mountain goblins. And, like the rest of the Kingdom, they refuse to believe anything worse is coming. They’re more concerned with keeping the pass open for their festival.”

  “Festival?” asked Hob.

  “You’ll see …” whispered Edric.

  Then Stella started the cart forward again.

  On far side of the ravine, another snaking road brought them back up into the pass, and they left the Riven Gate behind.

  By the time the little hay cart and its crew neared their destination, the sun was setting behind the mountains, and the western sky was dashed with red and gold. Hob marveled at the dazzling, fiery colors, awestruck by their beauty. Without Eldwin’s goggles, he’d only ever seen sunsets through bleary, squinted eyes.

  Finally, the hay cart wheeled around a tall ridge, and another astounding sight came into view. Framed by an opening in the pass ahead, there stood a high snow-capped peak overlooking the valley, with a small city perched on its eastern face. Valley Top!

  Built strategically on the main pass through the Gloaming Mountains, Valley Top’s thick outer walls were Yore’s ultimate western defense. And while the city was nestled against alpine slopes to the west, beyond its eastern walls, a sheer cliff-line broke away, plunging into the valley. Valley Top climbed this cliff-line to its peak, where a castle and tower soared against the blazing sky.

  Completing this vista was a sea of clouds, which had swept in over the valley below—a common occurrence when the warmth of day gave way to evening’s chill. Soon, it would fill even the pass, and Valley Top and the surrounding peaks would be left alone above the clouds.

  “Stay well hidden,” Stella reminded the others. “I’ve heard the Royal Guards are inspecting everyone who enters.”

  Edric, Monty, and Hob shuffled about under the hay, making sure they were completely covered. Still, they continued to peek out.

  The world fell away around them as the cart climbed out of the pass, winding up a steep switchback road to the city. The cart then leveled off, and came to a sudden stop at the back of a long line of travelers, which stretched a hundred paces up the road, across a small plateau, and in through the city’s front gate.

  The gate itself was an imposing archway set between two sturdy watchtowers in the city’s thick stone wall. Its spiky iron portcullis was raised, and, behind that, its heavy oaken doors were open. The dark figure of a Royal Guard stood beside it, inspecting every person, animal, and carriage seeking entry.

  As their little cart lurched toward the gate, Edric, Monty, and Hob watched the travelers in line ahead of them. They saw only their backs, but overheard all of their gossip.

  “What’re they thinkin’, puttin’ up check points this time of year?” complained one man.

  “We’ll be here all night!” proclaimed another.

  “Better just hope the goblins don’t join us,” added a woman.

  “I could barely afford to come this year,” said a farmer, “what with the goblins drivin’ up the price of grain.”

  “Aye,” said a second farmer. “But then, who can afford not to come? It’s the Spring Chicken Festival.”

  “The Spring Chicken Festival?” Hob whispered to Edric.

  “I’ve never been,” Edric whispered back, “but I hear it’s great.”

  An old peddler woman also stood nearby, telling a story to the captive audience in line around her. From what Hob could see, she was frightening to behold. She had tattered black robes, a sunken face half-hidden behind stringy white hair, and a body so hunched that it seemed nearly bent in half.

  “See that tower?” the old woman wheezed, pointing with a gnarled finger toward the castle tower above the city. “They say the Lady of Valley Top is trapped up there, a beautiful maiden, cursed by an evil spell to remain locked in her tower for all time. They say her parents, the former Lord and Lady of the city, made sure she had everything she could ever want, filling the castle with all the best servants, and even building her a library in the tower to rival that of the Royal Palace. But they say she can never leave! Indeed, no one outside the keep has ever seen her. And since her parents died, Valley Top has been left without a ruler.”

  The woman paused for effect, enjoying the stunned silence of the small crowd gathered around her.

  “But if no one’s seen her, how do you know she even exists?” one skeptic piped up. He nudged his travelling companion in the arm and whispered, “Crazy old bird!”

  “I only know what they say,” said the woman.

  “And who are they?” asked the skeptic.

  In response, the woman made a rude gesture, and blew him a raspberry.

  When their little cart finally approached the gate, Edric and Hob stole one look at the Royal Guard there—gruff, with a big chin and bored eyes—and lost all desire to keep peeking out of the hay. They sank as low as they could, and kept deadly quiet.

  “Good evening, little lady,” they heard the guard say, as the cart rolled to a stop beside him. “I don’t suppose you’ll mind if I take a poke around in that hay?”

  “Go ahead, sir,” said Stella, sounding forcefully cheerful. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Yep, there’s nothing under there but a load of manure!”

  She didn’t make a very good liar, which worried Hob. He would fare worst of all if they got caught.

  Hob, Edric, and Monty listened with bated breath as the guard’s footsteps approached the back of the cart. The hay rustled overhead.

  For a second, Hob thought they were finished.
Then the rustling stopped, and they heard the guard cough, sputter, and stagger back, having caught a whiff of the cart’s stench. Suddenly, Hob understood Stella’s plan; the guard couldn’t even get close.

  Hob heard him struggling to speak. “On second thought … Cough! You look harmless enough … Cough! Go ahead, little lady.”

  “Why thank you, sir!” said Stella.

  Once they were a safe distance inside Valley Top, Edric poked his face out the front of the hay pile to speak with Stella, or, more accurately, to gripe at her. “That was too close!” he whispered. “Couldn’t you have just magicked us into the city?”

  “What do you think I just did?” said Stella. “That was scent magic. And strong stuff too!”

  “I mean like poof, we disappear out there, and reappear in here,” said Edric.

  “Real magic doesn’t work that way,” Stella told him. “You can’t just teleport living things. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I guess it would be a little much for an assistant,” Edric goaded her.

  “Apprentice!” she snapped.

  Hob peeked out of the hay again too. He took in every fascinating detail of their ride through town. The tight winding streets and tall crooked buildings were all constructed of the same weathered gray stone, which looked like it had been quarried from the mountain itself. Everywhere, townsfolk made their way home for the night, dressed in warm leathers, furs, and wools.

  Hob also spotted a wanted poster, identical to the one Stella had shown them earlier, plastered to the inside of an archway that spanned the street between two shops. The woodprint of Edric’s face seemed to stare back at Hob as it passed.

  Beyond the archway, the cart rolled into a seedy part of town, where the buildings were black and grimy and even more crooked than before, and the people shuffled about with their heads down and their hoods up. It was there that Stella stopped the hay cart.

  They pulled up in front of a dingy old inn crammed between row houses on either side. It was three stories tall, all of them slightly askew, and was alight with many glowing windows. It had a large wooden sign that hung out over the street, which, to Hob’s horror, featured a grotesque relief carving of a severed goblin head! He couldn’t help but notice it bore an uncomfortable resemblance to his own. The sign read: The Headless Goblin Inn.

  “Hurry now,” said Stella, dropping the back of the hay cart. “I’m told the innkeeper is a friend of Eldwin and Monty’s. We’ll be safe inside. Edric, give your cloak to Hob, so he doesn’t cause a scene.”

  As Hob followed the others into the inn, shrouded in Edric’s heavy cloak, he passed directly under the headless goblin sign. He glanced up at it, and then adjusted his hood so no one would see his face.

  Chapter Ten

  Underground Business

  Together, Stella, Monty, Edric, and the walking mound of cloak that was Hob shuffled in through the door of the Headless Goblin Inn.

  After the previous days spent in the quiet wilderness, the wall of sound that greeted them was overwhelming. Mugs clinked and dishes clattered. Rowdy voices chatted, laughed, and sang, belting out tone-deaf renditions of two separate but equally rude drinking songs.

  From beneath his hood, Hob surveyed the wide tavern before him. It was a smoky room, with walls and floors of gray stone, and wooden beams supporting a low slanted ceiling. The only light came from a great fireplace in the middle, around which many strange and shady-looking customers had gathered. They were an exotic lot, brought together by the Spring Chicken Festival from around the valley and the lands beyond. They filled every chair and barstool, and none of them were inclined to break away from their drinks, tales, or songs to pay the newcomers any mind.

  Only the innkeeper noticed the little company enter, and she hurried over to greet them. She was a bouncy old dwarf lady, who sported both a frilly pink apron and a black eye patch. She gave Monty a big hug, and then stepped back to examine him with her one good eye.

  “It’s been too long, you old scoundrel!” she said.

  “I’m the scoundrel?” Monty scoffed. “Look at this place. It’s quite a pirate’s den you’ve got here, Marta.”

  “I like to think of it as a place for the misunderstood …” said Marta. Then she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Still, I can’t say I’m too fond of havin’ royal guests nosin’ around.” Her good eye scanned Prince Edric.

  “Don’t worry,” said Monty. “The lad’s as misunderstood as anyone.”

  Marta straightened back up, grinning. Then her eye shifted to Stella, and finally to Hob.

  “Now him I like the look of!” Marta said.

  “You wouldn’t, if he took that hood off,” Monty warned her.

  Marta laughed. “And tall, dark, and bearded, where is he?”

  “Eldwin’s gone missing,” Stella replied sadly.

  Marta looked disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that. Still, he always turns up.”

  “This is Stella, his apprentice,” Monty explained.

  “Apprentice, eh?” said Marta. “Never knew the old coot to have any patience for teachin’. You must have chops, lass!” She paused, her tone turning serious. “But can you honor his agreements?”

  “I can pay,” said Stella.

  “Perfect!” Marta clapped her hands together. “Follow me then. No need to worry about your cart. Once you’re settled in, I’ll have it taken to the stable out back.”

  She led them across the tavern and in behind the bar. A line of pewter tankards hung on hooks under the counter. Checking to make sure no one was watching, Marta chose the third from the left, and pulled down on it. Hob heard a faint click sound, and was surprised when the top of the wine barrel next to him popped open like a trapdoor. Inside, there was no wine, but rather a well-like shaft delving into the earth, and a ladder leading down into darkness.

  “Where does it go?” Edric whispered.

  “To a place for customers who value their privacy,” Marta answered. “Now, hurry on. They’re waiting.”

  “Who’s they?” asked Edric.

  “The crew,” said Stella, knowingly. “Eldwin arranged to meet them here. But, be warned, these are great mercenaries we’re dealing with. They don’t mess around. They even swore Eldwin to complete secrecy about them. All I could find in his notes was one vague correspondence. And all he could tell me was that we need them. So, please, no missteps.”

  “Don’t worry,” Monty assured her. “I’ve treated with a mercenary or two in my day.”

  “And most people find me charming,” Edric added.

  Stella held up a finger in front of his nose. “No missteps.”

  Hob was the first into the barrel and down the ladder. As he reached the bottom, he stumbled backward onto the floor. The darkness around him was so thick he could barely see. Then he remembered his goggles. He pulled them up onto his forehead, and his vision returned.

  He found himself in a gloomy, underground hallway, which stretched about ten paces from the base of the ladder to a small door. The hallway doubled as a cellar of sorts, its drippy stone walls lined with shelves full of bottles, casks, and crates.

  Edric, Stella, and Monty joined Hob at the bottom of the ladder, and together they started toward the door. As they got close, Hob could hear muffled, high-pitched voices coming from the other side. Could they have been coming from the crew of great mercenaries?

  The company stopped outside the door, and Stella opened it, revealing a strange stone chamber within. It had a low vaulted ceiling, hung with a crude chandelier, a weapon rack in one corner, shelves of books and maps in another, and a large circular table in the center, ringed by old barrels put to new use as stools. Strangest of all, though, were the room’s occupants. A dozen tiny men sat three to a stool around the far side of the table, chattering away in high, squeaky voices. As the door opened, they stopped talking and looked up at the newcomers.

  “These are your mercenaries?” Edric whispered to Stella.
“Gnomes?”

  The gnomes were all slightly shorter than Hob, with rosy faces, long white beards, and pointy hats quite a bit taller than themselves. The only way Hob could tell them apart was by the numbers on their hats: one, six, eleven, thirty-seven—to name a few.

  “Shh! Don’t insult them!” Monty hissed, before Stella could even answer. “Why didn’t you say Eldwin got us The Gnomes?”

  “I didn’t know,” Stella whispered back. “Are they really any good?”

  “They’ve scored some of the biggest treasure hauls of the past twenty years!” Monty replied. “Highly secretive, though. No one knows how they do it. And they almost never take outside jobs.” He shook his head in disbelief.

  Edric studied the gnomes with new eyes. Hob looked again too. The gnomes stared back at them blankly.

  “Greetings, esteemed, er, gnomes!” Stella piped up.

  She took a tentative step into the room, and bowed. Edric, Monty, and Hob copied her. An instant later, the gnomes were all squeaking at them.

  “Eindelijk!”

  “Je bent laat!”

  “Laten we beginnen!”

  And so on.

  “Oh, and did I mention they only speak Gnomish?” Monty added, as he and the others straightened out of their bows.

  “No,” Stella groaned, looking skyward. “do … any … of … you … speak … common … tongue?” she asked the gnomes, sounding out one word at a time.

  They all cocked their heads in confusion, except for one fellow with the number thirty-seven on his hat, sitting front and center in the crowd. He raised his hand.

  “I translate,” he squeaked, proudly.

  “Thank goodness,” Stella murmured. “i … am … stella … eldwin’s … apprentice. did … he … set … this … meeting … with … you?”