The Good Goblin

by C M F Eisenstein

  Amyia glanced around the camp area and her audience with glistening eyes once again; she saw her quarry: a waterskin lying adjacent an open knapsack. Her eyes, unknowingly, betrayed her desire; the erstwhile indifferent dragon was genuinely engrossed in the child’s tale and it swiftly gripped the water vessel – struggling not to pierce it with its keen claws – and slid it towards the story-weaver. With eager lips, and an even more eager throat, Amyia bestowed herself with a generous mouthful of water. She smacked her lips several times as if trying to ascertain whether they were moist enough.

  “Slowly I’s crept backs to the road through the forests, but all that was left was ‘em peoples burnt bones an’ burnin’ wood. I’s tried to find my mum, but shes was gone. I’s still remembers the smell; ‘ist was horrible ‘n there was ain’ anything I’s could do ‘bout it. The only things that was left was mys family’s caravan thrown off the road. I’s didn’ know what else to do… I’s ain’ know where we weres, well a bits, but not trues yous know? An’ I’s have no map; so I’s thought that I’s would just crawl back into my wagon ‘n lies in there till I’s die. But somethin’ mades me feel hungry later that day, an’ I’s went into the forests and found all kinds of strange things to eats…”

  Amyia’s tale trailed off into her victual exploits within the forest for the few days between the attack and her encounter with the goblin, dwarf and dragon. All three listeners paid rapt attention to the girl’s words, not for interest in the offerings of the forest - for between the three of them there was scant little unknown about the woods - but Amyia’s recitation of her death-defying tale acted as a source of succour for her; the words intangibly started to heal wounds of the worst nature – those that could not be seen.

  The hour grew late into the night; apart from the bright stars and a waning Asthen, no other light dotted the ground. As the campfire had burned low and had turned into embers so did the raconteur, Amyia. She had fallen asleep half an hour earlier and had curled herself into a ball, clutching the waterskin in one hand and her book in the other. No word had been uttered since her decent into slumber. Between the three companions, no sound escaped their lips as the trio allowed her to fall into a deep and restful sleep; each pondered their own thoughts about the child.

  Cezzum indicated for the three of them to move off a bit, deeper into the eaves of the forest. With wisp-like footsteps, the two halflings and dragon sidled across the road and mustered beneath a low grown birchnum tree.

  “A frightful tale,” admitted Cezzum, “I can only wonder at what tormenting afflictions have been wreaked upon her.”

  Palodar nodded gravely. “Almost worse than my kidnapping by those two phagens.”

  Cezzum leered at him in such a way as to dissuade the dwarf away from any jest.

  “What can be done with the child?” asked Tac’quin, sending a shake ripple down its back.

  The goblin appeared pensive. “What is the closet human town? Talnut?”

  “Nay,” corrected the dragon, “Creedayun’s Pass would be travel’s swiftest.”

  Palodar looked skyward for a moment and then said, “Wait, that is incorrect; Talnut is the nearest human town if one goes as the eagle flies. If you bore her upon your back, Tac’quin, you could make the journey quickly and then meet us in Darantur.”

  The dragon appeared to take umbrage to the remark. “Do not gainsay me, Palodar. By road Creedayun’s Pass is the swiftest city to reach; no being has ever been carried upon the back of a dragon! Our race is not meant to be ridden; we are not horses!”

  “But she is a young girl in need of our help!” pleaded Palodar with a miserably persistent voice.

  Tac’quin positioned its head so that it was but a finger’s length away from the dwarf’s; its voice took on an acerbic tone. “Heed these words carefully dwarf: none have ever been borne by a dragon and none ever shall!”

  “Enough! Bickering is hardly helpful to this situation,” Cezzum reprimanded vehemently. “What if we bear her with us to Darantur? Palodar, would safe passage be able to be secured for her to a human settlement there?”

  Palodar ruffled and fiddled with his beard, as was his habitual routine in such thought demanding circumstances. “Darantur has many and more possibilities than those we could conjure to purchase safe travel to the Allied Realms… hmm… I do not foresee any trouble with that regard; yet what happens when she arrives in a foreign town? She is destitute and without any means or family, unlike the lorans or my folk, orphans suffer grimly.”

  “A valid point indeed,” admitted the goblin. “Mayhap in Darantur, lodging or care of a sort could be bought for her. Do you have any relations the-”

  Tac’quin interjected, striding between Palodar and Cezzum severing their plan. “The child is audacious, cunning and seemingly skilled with a blade; she could be well suited to aid us in our quest.”

  The dwarf’s face turned florid as he cried, “She is but a young bairn! You cannot ask this, nor even suggest a mote of it - it is absurd!”

  “Harkin!” snapped the dragon. “I do not utter such words in haste! By her own admittance, solely, she slew a phagen, no mean feat in itself, and if not blinded another goblin in a single eve. She has a courage unbeknownst to herself; I have caught but a glimpse of it within that green fire that belows.”

  “That may be, but it changes not the fact she is too young for such an undertaking!” said the goblin.

  Tac’quin turned its eyes to look at Cezzum, as if seeking sanction to continue. he stared back placidly and gave a tiny nod much to Palodar’s dissatisfaction.

  “A child perhaps I may call her, but she only is only that name from physical appearance and not by age. The eve her world was laid to slaughter before her was when the child inside ceased to be. An inferno of revenge and hate smoulders within her; it is hidden by sorrow, but it clutches at her; it cannot be contained. Damn those who cry: ‘forgive, forget and carry on’ and ‘let passion cool’ I say let the life that remains be a billow unto her essence; let her rage and thunder, and with savage fury bring just retribution to those that took from her, her life, and let her not cease until that hour shall pass where her heart, once again, beats in time to the world. No other between us, who stands here, has more reason to bring about the death of the gathering hordes than she. Whatever our reasons none compares to the vengeance that is owed to Amyia. For those who razed her people to dust were one of many heeding the call of the Osi; there is no better being than her to silence that voice.”

  Palodar was at a loss for words. It was an expostulation he was ill prepared to hear; more frightening was that the words of the dragon rung true. Neither did Cezzum murmur a sound of rebuttal and remained meek in countenance that showed stoic thought instead of any lack of definite will. A minute passed then resolution availed itself; with it he said, “By the light of morn we shall talk with her.”

  As quietly as the three companions had left the camp, did they so return, turning in for what was left of the night.

  Amyia awoke to a bustle of noise and complete darkness. Pulling off the piece of canvas cloth that had been placed over her face, she sat up. A breezy and heady wind had picked up, carrying with it mounds of dirt and ash that were scattered about. The three companions that she surreally remembered spending the night with were all busy packing up their camp and making ready their leave. Cezzum was the first to catch a glimpse of the risen child.

  “We thought it best that you sleep as much as your body deemed fit; I placed the cloth upon your face to keep this ash from you; this fierce wind has taken affection with it.”

  “Thank yous,” she murmured. She looked at the goblin assiduously at work gathering up all the pieces of cloth that could still be of use; behind him the dwarf and dragon could be seen: the dwarf was packing their rations into a knapsack and the dragon kept looking at the forest then at the sky above.

  “I’s sorry,” Amyia said softly, rising to her feet and feeling a rejuvenation in her body she had not felt for days; �
��I’s still don’ know your names; I’s didn’t ask ‘em last eve.”

  Cezzum, with his hands clutching several pieces of large canvas, soothingly said, “And we did not tell ours, our blame would be mutual indeed. But far more pressing issues were there yester eve than titles.”

  Amyia smiled. “I’s spose I’s did talk a lot.”

  “Only as much as you needed,” responded the goblin gaily. “As for who we are, well, the dwarf yonder, whose beard is akin to a small sail, that is Palodar from the dwarven city of Palu’don; the irritable dragon is Tac’quin, we do not know where it is from but I would think it is a far more jovial place now that it is with us, and I, Amyia, am Cezzum from a small home in the Wyvern’s Nape.”

  “Palodar, Tac’quin, Cezzum,” repeated Amyia, ensuring the names were well engrained in her mind. Cezzum nodded amicably. The goblin could still see the vestiges of reservation that the child had when she chanced upon his face instead of fixing her gaze at his clothing; he hoped that his kin had not doomed him for their actions.

  “Wyvern’s Nape? That’s ‘em big mountains outside of where the lorans live?”

  Again, Cezzum nodded.

  “I’s read about it’in one of my stories!”

  Palodar then approached, holding the knapsack open for his friend, who quickly and compactly folded the canvas into it.

  “Good morn,” said Palodar with a beaming smile marred only by great quantities of hair blowing across his lips.

  “Good morn, Palodar,” greeted Amyia with triumphant satisfaction from knowing the dwarf’s name. The dwarf relished in her triumph.

  “So,” continued Amyia, picking up her book and the waterskin she had slept with and placed it within the proffered knapsack, much to Palodar’s humour at the unabashed child, “Wheres we going?”

  Cezzum chuckled at Amyia’s decision to attach herself to their party; her immediate avowal without the offer left yet unspoken was testament to her indomitable character.

  “Our travels take us to the south, to the dwarven town Darantur, and then, from there, to the east,” informed Cezzum, picking up the canvas sheet Amyia had slept upon and snugly wrapped it about her to shelter her from the wind for their journey, for all she still had to wear was the simple dirt begrimed slip she had on when they had first met. Cezzum wanted to ask her why she had not taken to wearing anything else; indeed, the goblin had wondered this during the night as well, but upon searching through all of the clothes upturned in the caravan, he was unable to find any garb befitting her. Cezzum found the discovery most strange.

  Amyia’s hazel hair jostled in the wind, sweeping up behind her head and writhing about like a thousand tousled titbits of ribbon. She thought reflectively for an instant before forthrightly saying, “I’s think yous hiding something, ‘n me mum always said: ‘Don’t be trusting half-truths, Amyia, for but a half a mug of mead can make men sweet but the whole mug can make them beasts.’ So yous told me what direction we are goin’ but not wheres we will end up. Unless…”

  Amyia’s lineaments became stretched and her eyes became passively cold. “… yous goin’ to leave me in Darantur!”

  “She is a shrewd lass is she not?” whispered Palodar to Cezzum furtively.

  The goblin was uncertain what to make of Amyia’s thoughts; her cool countenance betrayed not one jot of her feelings; at the least Cezzum could garner that she did not entertain well the idea of being left in Darantur. “It was but an option we were considering putting to thee, if you did not wish to join us further; our task is a dangerous one, without peer. It would be far safer for thee to remain in the dwarven town; we would even do our utmost to secure thee some funds and passage to anywhere in the lands you would wish to go.”

  Unexpectedly, excitement seemed to tremble on the lips of the girl wearing the canvas shawl. “Yous ar’ adventurers! On a quest ain’ ya?”

  Cezzum appeared apprehensive. The words which Tac’quin gave testament to the night before were true, of no doubt, but his conscience prickled at him incessantly, for the idea of this young girl being won by false fantasies of adventure and heroism did not sit well on his heart. “Amyia, simple as it may seem to define, what we are striving for is no glorious task-”

  Tac’quin had been listening intently to the conversation a few yards away; it decided now was the opportune time to interject. It walked swiftly in front of the goblin and dwarf, momentarily raising its wings – effectively blocking the two friends from the girl’s view – and set off on its oration.

  “Forgive the goblin, for a halfling he is quite verbose, wordy, indeed. Perhaps he should learn something from his concise stature. We mean to travel to the Forlorn Mountains and strike at the hordes of goblins, phagens and other menacing creatures that reside therein, bringing their threat to an end.” A sly notion rose in Tac’quin’s mind, which then sunk down upon its tongue until it finally spewed forth. “A leader is rallying scattered nations from across the lands to march under his banner of war – the company that caused this...” The dragon, balancing on three of its limbs, swept its arm across the road, “were heeding his call.”

  The devilish words spoken by the serpentine tongue proved auspiciously affecting for the dragon. Where naïve excitement had coursed through Amyia’s veins, ireful loathing now flowed. With humble supplication, infused with revenge and an irrational mind beset upon by retribution, she began to plead. “I’s have to go with you! I’s die if I’s don’ go! I’s kill ‘em good yous see!” Amyia scanned the road and found her salvaged brother’s hunting knife and held it aloft as if her soul were again the blade itself. “I’s know how to fight! If’t ain’ for Tac’quin jumpin’ in I’s would’ve gots you Cezzum!” she cried levelling the blade at the goblin.

  Concern swept over Cezzum for the girl that was fleetingly transformed into a demon; he surged with anger at Tac’quin for its insidious manipulation of the child, but he held his stance and his tongue.

  “The child has made her decision clear it would seem.”

  Palodar uneasily stepped forwards, keeping his eyes focused on Amyia’s. Comically the dwarf thought that the girl’s flaring nose, at that precise point in time, bore a similar resemblance to a lathered and fatigued horse, but the comedy of the comparison soon ceased within him. He pointed to Amyia’s blistered and wayworn feet and asked softly, “May I?”

  No objection was spoken. The dwarf, taking it as silent acquiescence, kneeled before them. He pulled two small canvas swathes from the knapsack and two long pieces of twine. Gently lifting each foot in turn, Palodar carefully brushed off as much of the dirt and mud as he could before tightly wrapping them in canvas and fastening them with the twine, twisting and fashioning the cord into a comfortable cross garter.

  As Palodar stood up his eyes met hers again. Beneath the rage of Amyia’s viridian portals gratitude was silently given to him.

  “The morn grows short,” announced Tac’quin. “The less time spent tarrying, the swifter our journey; if all is in order we should take to the forest.” The dragon aligned itself on the Great Road, running west to east, turned to put the sun somewhere on its left and stalked off into the forest without another word.

  Amyia glanced at both Cezzum and Palodar before trotting after the dragon. Slinging the knapsack onto his back the dwarf stood next to his friend. No words were spoken between them. They each could safely fathom what the other thought and both hoped that the decision to bring Amyia on their quest was the right one in spite of the invidious dragon. Then, they too, entered the woods.

  Chapter IX

  Forest Tidings

  C ezzum nimbly overtook Amyia and caught up with Tac’quin, who had seen fit to designate itself as picket for their expedition. The midday sun burnt high above, occasionally being spotted in all its radiant glory through the woody canopy. The forest floor upon which they trod was a mix of bare earth, dark grass and dense sweeps of fallen leaves; it gave the woods a pleasing patterned appearance.

  The goblin trotted at the
dragon’s flank. “I do not approve of the way in which you conducted yourself back there, Tac’quin,” said Cezzum, derisively.

  Tac’quin kept its gaze steadily forwards and plodded resolutely over the grassy ground. “It is fortunate then that I do not seek your approval.”

  Cezzum, filled with ire, concealed it with an equable, commanding veneer. “Be that as it may, you were assigned as aid to us; do not seek to sow contempt. I ask for but a mote of tenderness from thee, especially for Amyia; she requires no more hate in her. Your suggestion to join us would have been more than possible from a kindly aspect.”

  “Casena might have seen fit to bequeath my services to you, and you will benefit from it, I have no doubt, but do not expect benevolence from me. Besides, you were dallying with your words to her. The child’s mind was already resolute I only sought to fuse it with passion and move her on a path her feet were already set upon.”

  The goblin resigned to the fact that discussing the matter further was a pointless purpose, but something far deeper was at play. His anger at the dragon ebbed and with his palm he touched Tac’quin’s shoulder; the scales of the creature were surprisingly warm to the touch. “Your past I do not know, friend, but there be many a quality of life I do know. Compassion is neither a frailty nor weakness; time will allow this to become pellucid unto thee; you shall see it is a strength beyond any measure,” foretold the goblin in a mellifluous sibilance. He lifted his hand away from Tac’quin’s scales.