Palodar came to stand next to the enraptured goblin, and, becoming riveted himself said, “Stunning! Absolutely splendid, such majesty in our land is almost beyond words, another tale for my children – The Living Mountain. Hmmm, I wonder why no dwarf has attempted to tunnel and quarry this mountain, I must remember to ask someone that one day.” The dwarf lifted his plump foot and nimbly pulled a thorn out while hopping on his other to keep himself balanced. “Cezzum, you know what this is?”
Cezzum’s eyes did not stir; they remained inextricably transfixed on the spectacle above. He did manage to shake his head however, clearly indicating to the dwarf he did not know what he had meant.
Placing his hand on Cezzum’s shoulder, Palodar gazed with him upon the steep face of the silvery and golden mountain. “This, my giver of quests, is a sign of our golden path; this is our first wonder!”
Cezzum turned away from the mountain for an instant and smiled in acknowledgement of Palodar’s pronouncement. The gesture was lost upon the dwarf, as he stood captivated by the sight, but Cezzum sensed, or maybe even yearned, that something deep and most profound had passed between them in that moment – the seed of friendship, of fraternal love and amity, had firmly been rooted, and was waiting, willing and wanting to burst into a laurel of a thousand flowers and berries; at least, that was what the goblin feverishly hoped.
A few minutes passed before the clouds above became impatient and started to sputter their annoyance. A drizzle of tepid rain started its journey and coursed its way to the companions below.
“A bath! At last!” cried Palodar gleefully, revelling in the few drops that crashed upon him. A thunderclap ripped overhead, booming its thunderous wake over the mountain and bellowing it down the cliff face.
“Perchance we should head back into the woods? Before the storm engulfs us fully,” suggested Cezzum wryly as he watched the content dwarf.
“Nonsense!” replied Palodar; “The rock is but a short distance west of here. Besides, if I know storms, and I do because living underground teaches you much about the weather, lightning has far better places to test its fury on than little, old, ironless us.”
A lightning bolt tore into the mountain side; a white flash illuminated the entire scene for a series of brief moments. The reverberant crash of thunder knocked loudly at the two friend’s eardrums. “Or perhaps,” conceded the dwarf, with an uneasy look upon his face, “it might be best if he headed for the rock now.” With rain pelting down upon them, and the raging of a tempest overhead, Palodar and Cezzum hurried off along the eaves of the forest.
Slightly beyond the eaves, and within the woods, the comparatively large rock stood stolid and unmoving as rain coursed along its flat and elongated surface. “How did you ever manage to budge such a large stone without aid?” queried Cezzum, gravely.
“With a great deal of time as your side, most anything can always be done,” the dwarf jested while he primed himself at the side of the rock. Cezzum placed his shoulder next to Palodar’s; the two of them pushed with all their might. Their feet dug deeply into the soft ground, made all the more perilous by the drenching rain. Sliding through the spongy soil, their feet moved ever so steadily backwards, mud and torn grass inching through their toes; the rock mockingly spurned their efforts. Cezzum panted, and even though sheltered by several boughs overhead, torrents of water still washed over him. “This mire helps us not Palodar!”
The drenched dwarf stood, releasing himself from the rock, and turned to Cezzum. “A most stubborn rock this is! I remember it being more welcoming when I first came here. It seems the rain is protecting him, or her for that matter, never know with rocks, but I have never met a dwarf that has let a piece of stone get the better of him and we shan’t start now! Wait here; I shall return presently.”
Without a further word, the dwarf dashed into the forest. Cezzum shook his head with unbridled amazement at the dwarf’s tenacity and quirks, he found his knack for running off without good explanation amusingly eccentric. Hoisting himself onto the flat-top rock, Cezzum sat and took in the scene.
The storm had almost completely blackened what had promised to be a most clement autumn day, and although annoyed at the change in weather it was no less splendid, as there was something infinitely unfathomable and magnificent in a thunderstorm that brought peace to the heart, as if it gave the world a cleansing, allowing it to start the next day anew and invigorated. At the very least, thought Cezzum, We will smell less foul.
Palodar returned a while later with two oval-shaped and lengthy rocks; they were cradled in his left arm and his right gripped the end of a long and thick branch which he dragged behind him. Cezzum grinned and said, “Nature always provides what you need, does it not?”
The dwarf dropped his items onto the woodland floor and retorted, “Almost as well as the underground; there I would never have had to search for stones, since they would always be around me, and if you ask me trees are terribly overrated. Now stones, everything should always be made from stone, much more solid they are.”
Cezzum hopped down from his seat. “Now, how will these help?”
“Watch in wonder, my drenched friend.” Palodar picked up one of his rocks; behind and to the left of the large flat-headed boulder, he drove it deeply into the ground, repeating the same for the other stone, except on the right side. He placed the thick trunk so that either ends locked against the two large stones, and he tamped it firmly into place with his foot.
The rain slowly lightened as Cezzum stood in awe. “Amazing – dwarven ingenuity.” Palodar smiled his thanks and slapped his mighty, pudgy hands together. “Let us attack this beast one more time!”
The two friends pressed their hands and shoulders once more against the stone, bracing their mud-covered feet against the staunch log. Ponderously the rock began to move. “Push!” cried Palodar. Both of them threw all their force and weight at their foe. All at once the rock gave way and slid swiftly to the other side. Both companions were caught off-guard and toppled into the large hole which the stone had covered. Rain and sludge soon followed them and before they knew it, they lay mangled and covered with clinging grime. Palodar let out a noisy guffaw. “So much for our bath!” Cezzum joined him in his mirth and the two prostrate friends lay there laughing as rain and mud soaked them.
Eventually they both came to their feet, and Palodar, reaching into the hole, pulled from it a large package wrapped in an oilskin knapsack. “From your travelling days?” asked Cezzum, helping the dwarf place the parcel on the ground, under the eaves of a sheltering tree where naught but a drop or two of rain found its way through.
Palodar nodded ardently. “One can never be too careful in this world, especially when it comes to clothes. There is no substitute for a finely stitched pair of boots – one of the greatest comforts to be known for sure!”
Undoing the string, which held the oilskin tightly around the bundled contents, Palodar removed the items and placed them on a relatively dry grassy patch of ground. Two pairs of dwarf-sized, leather boots and a large waterskin rested atop two bundles of clothing. The dwarf picked up a pack of clothes, along with a pair of boots, and handed it to Cezzum. “I hope they fit you, I do not think my girth was quite as... round as it is now, back when I first stashed these.”
Cezzum, thanking Palodar, took the offering and examined the clothes. Aside from the boots the package contained an expertly crafted, dwarven short sword; a long-sleeved ivory undershirt, of fine cotton; a deep brown leather jerkin, intricately brocaded; a pair of tawny leather gloves; softly threaded hose; jet, tweed leggings; a chestnut, hide belt, with a silvery buckle; and an exceptionally woven, and lightly oiled, jade, hooded cloak, decorated with the embossed emblem of the dwarven city of Palu’don – a lavishly crafted crown inside a towering mountain, with snow-capped peaks – stitched into the fabric.
A hand pulled Cezzum to his feet and led him back into the easing rain. “Do not dare think you could put on such fine clothes when you are as a living mire-b
rute,” commanded Palodar, as he removed his tattered slip and began to wash. Cezzum laughed, but quickly ran back to the bundle of clothes and buried his missive within his bundle. He removed his own leather covering and ran back into rain, washing away all traces of mud and filth.
“Goblins do not feel comfortable, but rather ill-at-ease, in such an assortment of clothes, especially in boots; I prefer the barefoot; I can feel where I walk, bond to the land,” said Cezzum honestly, rinsing mud from his ears.
Palodar laughed. “Be that as it may Cezzum, and I know what a good soul you must have, but to others on our travels, you should remember, you are indeed still a goblin. And as painful as it is, people do not often lay out their finest wares for a goblin, unless you count a dagger or sword as fine crockery, which at times could be seen as quite select tableware if a knife were not at hand. But, nonetheless, all still hold your kind in disdain, since, of course, you are the only friendly goblin I have ever met and thus it is not an entirely unreasonable situation to consider. Therefore, dear goblin, at least from a casual observation, a disguise is needed.”
Cezzum nodded, agreeing sorrowfully at the true words of the dwarf. But without notice, as if a muse reached into the goblin’s heart and played a tune upon his chords, a new passion swept over Cezzum. “Then, Palodar, I will have to make certain that all the land knows that not every goblin is evil, or at the very least, mayhap me. That at times, the whole does not represent the little individuals; if I have to do that under the cloak of a guise, then I shall!”
“Then not the grandest of mountains or the biggest pot of gilt coins shall stop me from aiding you in this. A change in history, Cezzum, starts with the most intrepid of steps, and who better to change history with you than a dwarf?” cried Palodar while he walked back under the sheltering leaves of the tree. “And of course dwarves already have such a rich history, so we are exceedingly good at changing it, or making it, and even on the odd occasion erasing it!”
Distant white flashes in the sky told the two companions that the storm had run its course on the northern side of the Wyvern. Rain drops no longer sought to frolic with the trees and grass, and the grey pale of the clouds began to give way to the embracing, midday light.
Cezzum sat down next to the dwarf under the tree and said, “I can but think of none better than thee, Palodar.”
The dwarf let a sly grin wrap itself over his sodden face. “Aye and yes! Then I am glad we are in agreement. Now let us sleep, for I feel as if I have not slept in days, well truth be known I think that might well be true. But we must dry ourselves nevertheless and I am sure the air will be more than happy to do that for us, so we might as well catch a wink or two.” Palodar let the back of his head drop against the bole of the tree; his eyes closed in peaceful slumber.
Cezzum could think of nothing better than a few hours of good and pleasant sleep. Placing his own head against the tree he closed his eyes and let the soft, fresh breeze and clean, wholesome smell – given as a gift to the land – waft over him. All thoughts fled from his mind and he fell into a deep and rejuvenating sleep.
Gloaming had firmly set in when Cezzum awoke to its arrival. Soothing colours of orange, purple and red painted the sky with the caring strokes of the setting sun, casting a glow of majesty upon the lands. The way to the west was now clear, as the Wyvern slowly tapered off to the south. The last eaves of the forest fell away a short distance further, and through it the companions needed to pass.
Cezzum roused Palodar and the two quickly dressed in their fresh attire, both, however, without their gloves, preferring their fingers to be liberated on their journey. “You look quite dashing, for a goblin in clothes,” chuckled Palodar. Both friends stood looking resplendent in their dwarven tailored clothes. Cezzum tugged at his jerkin and voluminous shirt, which fell over his belt. “I presume I need more to eat?”
The dwarf agreed. “Not all races can be blessed with a girth as lavish as ours!”
Cezzum slipped his missive into an embroidered pocket inside his brocaded jerkin, while Palodar quickly gathered up the knapsack, placing inside it one of the short swords that Cezzum did not need, as well as both pairs of gloves, and hoisted it onto his back. He quickly fastened his own weapon to his belt and distressfully said, “If I do not get some meat into my belly soon all manner of grumpiness is going to take hold of me.”
Cezzum snickered. “Perhaps later, if I can remove these infernal boots as they do not seem to appreciate goblin toenails, I could scavenge for us a nice hare or conny.”
The dwarf’s eyes glowed with a thrill at the sound of a break from foraged nuts and berries that had marked his nourishment for the past day since the meagre roast they had dared eaten from the phagens. “A grand idea indeed!” he cried gleefully. “For now, a few hours walk to the west will do us well; before the Fallen Leas, there is the ford of the Cevrain.”
“We can camp for the eve there, perhaps hunt some game, fill our need of water, then in the morn make our way to the barrow,” added Cezzum.
Palodar nodded in agreement. And the two companions strode off, in the failing light, into the west.
A few minutes into their walk Palodar began to hum a melody of an old children’s song which told of the grace of nature and the wonder of the world, and quite soon, much to the satisfaction of Cezzum – for the dwarf’s humming left much to be desired – burst into full verse.
Harken to the woods and,
Harken to the eaves,
Harken to the very trees that breathe;
Harken to the fields and,
Harken to the hills,
Harken to the very churn of the mills;
Gaze upon the mountains,
Gaze upon the sea,
Gaze upon everything that brings you glee;
Gaze upon the owls and,
Gaze upon the mice,
Gaze upon their wondrous strive for life.
Harken to the wind and,
Gaze with the sun,
Embrace, every wonder, that has just begun.
The dwarf’s words lilted through the evening air and carried themselves off into the dusk.
Chapter III
A Crossing in the Dark
T he river rumbled mightily as the crystal, glistening water broke upon the large rocks that forded its path. Fesser, the grey moon, had overtaken Asthen in their race to wax and now gleamed more brightly than its crimson counterpart. A soft, silvery glow crept over the dark night, giving everything that held footing on the land a glittering appearance. The Ford of the Cevrain was not a well-used passage as horses, carts and caravans could not make the crossing over the oddly shaped stones, which were plunged into torrential water too deep and ferocious for those with even a mote of common sense. The pass was treacherous enough for the nimbly footed and a crossing in the dark would prove even more perilous, but the two sure-footed and near-to-the-ground companions did not foresee any problems, especially since they were not to cross it until the morn graced the world.
The forest had petered out at roughly a hundred yards from the river, as the land slowly sloped towards the river’s banks. The water level itself, already high and gushing fervently from the erstwhile thunderstorm, resided at but a foot or two below its confining banks; it was why the forest, to the east of the river, halted suddenly, as the area was prone to flooding in the summer months of heavy rainfall.
Cezzum lay on his belly, over the bank, scooping up large handfuls of water into his parched gullet; Palodar did the same with one hand and filled their waterskin with the other. On their way through the forest the two friends had foraged some kindling and had managed to seize two quails which had the unluckiest fortune of being separated from their flock.
The fire crackled faintly against the might of the river’s bellow, but the tender aroma of the sizzling fouls lofted, tantalisingly, into the dwarf’s and goblin’s noses. Both of them walked back to the fire, and sitting bathed in the lambency of the moon and stars and flames, each removed thei
r dinner from the makeshift spit. “A little on the charred coal side,” proclaimed Palodar examining his meal. Eagerly he bit into a portion of the cooked bird; he gasped with his mouth full of flesh and flailed his left hand about. “Anund quate hawt!”
Cezzum laughed at the dwarf as he sat waving his hand in front of his mouth, fanning the cool night air in an attempt to rescue his tongue and cheeks from the inferno. Finally, Palodar swallowed with a satisfied grunt. “Most tasty, especially with those lovely red berries you spiced it with Cezzum! Now, only if we had some fine ale or wine, instead of this water, we would have a right feast on our hands!”
The goblin nodded in agreement, musingly munching upon his own roast, not quite sure what ale or wine tasted like; he was not able to brew his own alcoholic delicacies in his little dell, but remembered, with dissatisfaction, the grog he had had to endure when he still lived with his kin.
While he ate Cezzum asked, “I would fathom that the Barrow of Arcun’son lies directly to the west of here Palodar?”
“Well,” replied the dwarf, wiping grease and titbits of meat from his beard, “I have not actually been there myself, was much too busy increasing personal wealth along the proper trade road that runs east of the Wyvern, but I recall glimpsing a map, long ago, that placed the tomb almost exactly in the centre of the Fallen Leas; should be no more than a five or six day walk, if we keep an exacting pace that is.” The dwarf threw his free hand in a flourish around his face and wryly teased: “I know dwarves would never have trouble keeping such a pace, almost as fast as horses we are with our well-grounded feet. But now goblins, I cannot imagine you ever keeping abreast with me.”
The Good Goblin Page 5
