The Good Goblin

by C M F Eisenstein

  “Ha!” replied Cezzum, matching the mocking slight; “The only time I have ever seen a dwarf move faster than a tortoise is when they are being chased by a goblin, or are chasing a wagon full of mead; in either case I will merely flog you from the rear for a few days!”

  Palodar sat still, his eyes narrowing and skin wrinkling in scorn at the goblin. But the feign gesture quickly evaporated, leaving the dwarf’s eyes wide as he cried out in laughter. “Ah! Quite true!”

  Cezzum grinned and then unexpectedly yawned, and consequently suggested: “A good night’s sleep and then we start afresh in the morn.”

  “No better words have I heard this day,” approved the dwarf.

  The two friends were on the verge of reclining when a blade appeared under each of their chins. Instinctively their hands dashed for their swords, but a quiet, harsh and imperious voice filled their ears. “Move those fingers but another inch and your blood will run free this night.”

  Both Palodar and Cezzum stared at each other, their faces clearly strained in fear, each of them gawking at the swords placed against the other’s neck.

  “Up,” ordered the voice.

  The two companions came nervously to their feet. Instantly great hands clasped theirs behind their backs and spun them around, as to face away from the fire and into the faces of their aggressors. Standing before the goblin and dwarf were a dozen men, an elf and a loran. The elf was noticeable for his shortness in stature; it meant he hailed from the southern reaches. His swept ears and youthful face, marred only by a single scar across his brow, held no disillusions that he was a hardened warrior; he stood with his bow notched and levelled at Cezzum and Palodar. The loran appeared resplendent in the dancing light of the fire. Standing an inch or two higher than the men, his pale skin was comparable to that of his fellows. His entire body was tattooed in the most elaborate design the two friends had ever seen. Deep, black patterns, almost in the design of plate armour, covered his entire being; the markings were gilded with a lush crimson and finished in a striking gold. The few portions of his skin, where the tattoos did not decorate the flesh, were concealed by an intricately cut robe of similar hues.

  A man with an imposing air, which could no more have been judged a foot soldier as a prince could have been titled a peasant, stepped forwards. His black beard was strewn with grey hairs as age tolled upon him unkindly. All that was kind was a face less rough than it should have been and a crop of hair that hinted of a youth where he might once have been commonly handsome among his people. The same voice which had first assailed their ears rang out again: “A goblin and a dwarf, an odd pair indeed. If I were to choose now, I would slash the throat of the demon at your side dwarf and then, perhaps, yours for sharing a meal with this fell creature. Stay the act, swiftly; convince me otherwise.”

  The entire cadre of men surrounding the two entrapped companions held their various weapons at the ready, eager, it seemed, to convert word to deed with their captives.

  “Master!” cried Cezzum, attempting to plead in honest supplication; “We mean you no harm! We are on a journey not of our own accord, given by one of your very kin. I know how deeply you must distrust me, but I besiege thee I am not of my kin; I strive for that which is good!” Cezzum’s eyes glistened as moisture and tears welled up, threatening to bulge out of their imploring, yellow homes.

  Palodar gave voice to support his comrade, his gruff, pleasing tones ringing out: “The goblin speaks truly! He, himself, saved my very life from a company of phagens and now, together, we are on a quest for a man; without any promise of reward I dare add! We were told that the message we bear is of the utmost value, please,” – Palodar, thinking back to what Cezzum had suggested about not offending others with terminology – “...masters we mean you no ill, let us be... And before any of your mercenary brethren behind you wonder, we carry no coin! Aye, I am a penniless dwarf; aye, worthy of shunning; I warn you: no fortunes will come of this!”

  The dwarf’s last statement garnered a chuckle or two from the men at the rear of the ranks. The leader, clad heavily in banded leather, swept his cloak backwards and sat on his haunches, levelling himself with his two prisoners. “A well-conceived tale,” he said acerbically. He lifted Palodar’s cloak, then let it fall to the ground once more. “Well conceived indeed, you even bear cloaks of Palu’don; two dwarven corpses fester in the lands this eve. I believe this not, for more often have I seen a dwarf stir evil than a goblin turn true.”

  The loran, standing to the man’s side, placed his hand upon his superior’s shoulder and called his attention. The man looked up and followed the slight nod of his head - the loran indicating something at the goblin’s side with his luminescent blue irides. The leader of the group glanced to where his companion had signalled and saw the loranic blade. The loran pronounced, “Not easily would a goblin come by a blade of such sorts, and not lightly would such a weapon be given through freewill.”

  Cezzum, sensing the smallest of wavers in the leader’s previous judgement, reiterated what he had previously begged. “Masters, I hold no falsehood. The blade was given to me freely when I was given charge of my quest. Filburn, of the race of men, gave unto me, Gnarlfang, as he succumbed to phagen poison.”

  The elf spoke softly: “He speaks of Filburn!”

  The leader held up his hand, silencing his archer. “To where do you carry this message?”

  Cezzum looked at Palodar, and both knew what the other was thinking. Neither wanted to disclose their destination, for men were at times prone to wickedness as much as any goblin was, and Cezzum knew not if these were allies of Filburn.

  The loran asked, “Release their binds.”

  The two burly men standing behind the dwarf and goblin looked to their commander, who nodded, giving further credence to his fellows. The loran knelt next to his leader and spoke in a voice as crystal and pure as either the two friends had heard before. “I understand well your hesitation. Under any task I would acquit myself in the same manner, but these men hold no malice; their hearts are valiant. We are friends of Filburn, who before learning of his demise, were charged to safeguard this ford for his crossing.” The loran placed one hand on each of the two halflings’ shoulders and asked, “Are your feet bound for the Barrow of Arcun’son?”

  Both Cezzum and Palodar felt compelled to answer truthfully and nodded slowly; Cezzum added: “We are master – we head for the tomb of the first liege of the Cevrain.”

  The loran stood up. “Then all is not lost, for as sorrowful as his passing was, it is grand tidings indeed that Filburn’s message lingers.”

  A smile came over the leader’s face. “Filburn certainly chose an odd creature for his charge.”

  The elf lowered his bow and, stepping forwards, pierced the two companions’ eyes with his own. “But a sage choice he made. Their hearts are gallant; a courage, yet untapped, is dammed within both of them; held tongues beneath steel fear is not a simple silence. Stature, it appears, is the only virtue they are short in.”

  The elf’s jest brought a grin to everyone’s face.

  A rush of air sounded above and Cezzum thought the wind had grown tired of its own sedateness. The elf looked inquisitively at his loran counterpart. The bearded man rose back to his feet. “I have misjudged both of you, my most fervent of apologies. If you would welcome the company, we would see the brief safely delivered-”

  A gasp of air caused the captain to turn on his heels. A member of his party, waiting at the periphery behind the elf, clutched at an arrow protruding through his chest. Blood rushed down from the wound, the black shaft, with its most abhorrent and jagged tip, had served its owner well. The arrow had taken him through the heart. The man slumped to the ground, the soft flattening of the grass the only sound of his passing. Immediately the elf nocked an arrow and let it fly into the dark behind them. A crack burst through the air announcing his shot had rung true on something unknown. The loran’s tattoos suddenly erupted to life, the crimson and gold glowing only for a
trice. The markings shot out from his skin, becoming fully embossed upon his body, suffusing his entire figure with an elegant layer of armour. A dazzling blue spark flashed off his chest as an arrow broke upon it. The loran swept his hand backwards and rapidly threw it forwards; as he did so a bright hue of yellow and red grew upon his palm. His hand completed its arc and a dancing orb of fire shot from his fingers. The sphere flew through the air, lighting the ground beneath it as it darted on its course. The spell exploded upon a target, bathing the entire scene in a flurry of light as all the power contained within the magical undulation exploded. Four goblins were driven through the air, charred and ablaze. Behind them was a more terrifying and galling discovery. Nigh on a hundred goblins and a score of phagens were breaking from the tree line; charging for the company gathered around Cezzum. Enemy archers fired as they sprinted towards their marks.

  “To arms!” cried the leader, drawing his broadsword and waited for the first attacker to collide with their lines. The magician turned to the campfire, and bringing his hands together, released a burst of air into the flames. The fire jumped upon the loran’s spell, being carried off into the night and eventually dying away. The fiery silhouette, the doom of their revelation, cursed them no more; the night’s shroud of darkness, breached only by the speckled firmament above, secured them in obscurity.

  The elf and men with bows began to nock arrows at a fevered pace, letting them fall painfully upon their foes. Cries filled the once gentle night; goblins and phagens crashed to the ground in agony. Yet battle calls soon overpowered the wails of the subdued; the terrifying roar of the foe dinned through the air. The captain of the group cut down a goblin as it rushed upon him and deftly launched another one into the darkness with a staggering kick of his boot. The loran let out a flurry of writhing tempests: streaks of flame and streams of thunderous light smashed into the oncoming wave.

  The human captain quickly turned to face the two friends; his face was disfigured by a roughshod defiance at the arrival of his company’s knell. “Make haste! Make good your crossing! We will-” The man cried out in pain; a goblin had entrenched a sword into his leg. Stumbling, the man turned as he tottered and clove the creature’s head from its shoulders and thrust his blade into a lunging phagen’s belly.

  Palodar tugged at Cezzum, who stood in mute horror as his kin poured carnage upon the company. “Cezzum!”

  The dwarf cursed and wrenched his friend from where he stood, bringing Cezzum out of his rapture. The two dashed for the rocky ford that was no more than a few feet away, leaving behind the inundated defenders. Cezzum and Palodar leapt onto the first stones, Fesser their only true guiding light over the raging water. Arrows soared past the two companions as they made the perilous hops between the stones. Cezzum turned his head back for an instant, casting his glance to the company making good their flight. The enemy had covered all that had remained of the distance between them and were locked tooth to claw with the dozen strong defenders. Deluges of colour and light bombarded the foes; a desperate flicker of the candle against a gusting swarm. Blue sparks scintillated almost constantly as weapons struck out against that flickering source.

  Palodar jumped to a rock next to Cezzum, but oddly as he flew through the air he remained still. The dwarf crashed upon the stone that he had attempted to leap from, clutching it with all his might he lay atop it. Cezzum espied a goblin gripping his friend’s leg, the attacker excitedly clawing the dwarf’s appendage as he floundered in the water. Despite the engulfing river wanting to rip the goblin from Palodar, the creature clung on easily, beginning to raise a dagger to plunge into the dwarf. Cezzum drew Gnarlfang and with a mighty bound sprung towards his friend. He landed upon Palodar’s back, who gasped as air was crushed from his chest. As the fiendish goblin’s dagger was brought down in an arc, a rattle of metal rung out; the dagger was thrown from the goblin’s hand as Gnarlfang swept it away. Cezzum, in a quick sweep, cut through the goblin’s arm, cleaving it more easily than flesh and bone should have permitted. The foe fell away into the river howling in pain, its now limp hand falling away from the dwarf. Cezzum stepped onto a rock athwart from his friend and helped Palodar to his feet. The dwarf wheezed for air and spluttered his thanks to his companion.

  Large splashes in the water behind them told that they had best hurry; goblins in too much haste attempted to make the crossing in order to slay their quarry. Cezzum and Palodar adroitly danced and hurdled across the fording stones with the last of their concentration, their boots splashing as they vaulted to stepping stones that lay just below the surface of the water. After a minute the two friends' nerves were frayed to their ends, yet they stood on the opposite bank. The ground around them rose up gently for a few yards before it developed into the plains proper. Chancing a look back, both Palodar’s and Cezzum’s hearts were fraught with sorrow; only four loftier figures stood weaving their war-born art that had saved them. The loran fell to his knees, several woeful tools finding leisure between his armour. All unnatural light fell silent. A silvery nimbus outlined the valiant last few while the clash of arms trumpeted their end.

  The ground began to shake mightily as the loran, with his last breath of air, granted the two companions one final boon. The rocks fording the river shattered violently and fell away into the river. A chorus of cries echoed out as creature and rock alike were swept away by the mighty torrent. The enemy, infuriated by the watery impediment, sent a brutal fusillade of arrows towards the opposite bank. Cezzum and Palodar sprinted up the embankment and the last image they saw would be burnt into their minds forever. As they crested the hill, they risked one last glimpse of those dauntless few. The captain stood alone among the host and harbingers of his death. For a brief turn, his sword reflected stirringly the radiance of the moon; his courage was steel, and then it was stolen from him. An arrow took him in his neck and the captain fell to the ground below, the goddess Quaron awaiting his advent. The two friends fled into the night.

  Chapter IV

  Plains of a Fallen King

  C ezzum and Palodar collapsed onto the ground; no longer could their feet bear their weight. Since the crossing of the ford, two nights before, the duo had not slept, nor rested, nor eaten.

  Relentlessly, by day or by dark, the two friends had kept an exacting march over the Fallen Leas in fear of a pursuit that did not come. Since that night neither had said a significant word to each other, for they each knew that the other needed time to accept their fate and the ever-growing malevolent nature of their task.

  It was a clear autumn afternoon as Cezzum rolled onto his back amid the two-foot high grass that was dotted with sweet-smelling, wild flowers. The air was still, and the grass carried no sway with it. The sun did not harry the goblin or the dwarf, but rather kept itself mild and comforting to the two exhausted travellers below.

  Cezzum broke the silence which had rooted itself in them. His voice was dry and caked from lack of moisture; little did he have the fortitude of mind to think well of what he spoke. “Palodar, how do you fare?” The goblin knew the question was contrived and fatuous, but he wished to know if his companion still reserved any wit in the shadow of death that followed them.

  “As right as a summer’s rain,” cackled the dwarf as his arid voice stuttered through the air.

  “All is quite well then,” replied Cezzum, losing consciousness in spite of his will.

  The pair of travellers did not know how long they had slept, but Cezzum awoke to the gentle breeze of a crisp morning. Dew hung freshly on the grass and flowers and they elicited a most pleasurable smell. The goblin sat up and was instantly handed a waterskin. Palodar said, “Take your fill, but be careful we are still several days from the tomb and I know of no source of water, or even food, within the Fallen Leas.” He thought for a moment before adding: “I wish the tomb was on this side of the plains.”

  Cezzum drank two mouthfuls of water, subduing the wilt that had begun to blossom inside of him. Handing the vessel back, Palodar took one last gul
p himself before he replaced their only source of life back into the pack. Cezzum rose to his feet; he immediately wished he had not. Every muscle inside of him ached as the two-day exertion reclaimed its toll upon the goblin.

  Palodar grinned as he massaged his own thighs mockingly: “A tad stiff?”

  “Palodar,” said Cezzum, ignoring the dwarf’s jest; he tapped his jerkin behind which rested the missive, “what in the name of Quaron is in this accursed letter? Twice have I come across humans with it, and twice do corpses now rot... or are feasted upon by phagens and my kin!”

  The dwarf placed his hand on the quivering and tremulous goblin’s arm. “I don’t know my friend, but Filburn thought it of the direst importance that it be delivered. The ill-starred company we crossed sought no more than to safeguard the missive’s keep; its importance I doubt we could fathom until we have seen it to its rightful holders.”

  The words rung about in Cezzum’s head, who looked at the ground in the hope that some mote of reason would make itself evident, that the band who had precluded his and Palodar’s death would be justified in their sublime sacrifice. “What if we unseal this brief? Why should we not know the words for which our very lives are placed upon a squall at sea determined to knock us off this poor flotsam we float upon!” His resolve, which had been so adamant the day after he was tasked with the charge, wavered terribly in his mind as if it were the storm in his words.