Gilly pushed open the arched, dwarf-sized door. A room opened up before them. They stepped into a general living area, complete with a round table and adequate seating to cater for guests if the need should so arise. A large crimson and black carpet, bearing both the emblems of Darantur and what was presumably Gilly’s family crest, blessed the flagstone floor. Two further arched throughways, one on the right and the other to the left, led from the main room, breaking the walling partitions - one presumably leading to the bedchamber and the other to a kitchen of some ilk.
A dwarf with a tankard of some brew sat at the far side of the table, his eyes fixed upon the door. Palodar faltered in his step and came to a disbelieving halt. His gaze fell on the dwarf before him and the size of his eyes grew to such proportions that they, for a moment, were truly spherical in nature; suddenly, he cried, “Uncle!”
The dwarf pushed himself from his chair and stood behind the table with eyes only half as wide as Palodar’s, expressing his own disbelief at seeing his nephew; his cheeks which swelled under the great gatherings of hair tried to express their happiness at the sight before him. If ever there were two dwarves whose resemblance to each other was remarkably eerie, they would have been hard pressed to excel in similarity that existed between Palodar and his Uncle. Their only difference, if it could be called that, was that his Uncle’s similarly hued eyes were darker and deeper than Palodar’s; together, with small crevices showing the travails of age, it gave him a more foreboding mien. However, it was easily observed that between the vibrant eyes and strikingly crafted face that Palodar’s Uncle shared his nephew’s friendly personality.
“Gods and demons be praised!” bellowed the dwarf in Valaku, slapping the table and causing his drink to jostle and swirl, sending waves of the liquid coursing over the vessel’s lips. “It be grand to see you lad!”
Palodar ran over to his uncle and both of them embraced fiercely, and if it were not for the similar farmer’s garb that Gilly wore, the two dwarves could have easily been mistaken for each other.
Stepping back Palodar said accusingly: “Uncle Palgrin, what are you doing here?”
Palgrin smiled. “A similar question I could ask of you lad!”
Palgrin’s gaze swept over to meet Gilly’s eyes, furtively asking a question. The farmer nodded. Palgrin’s eyes filled with melancholy; a moment later his affections were reinstated.
Palodar gestured towards his companions again; they switched to the commoner tongue. “Uncle, these are my friends and fellows.” He gestured to each in turn. “Tac’quin the Dragon, Amyia the caravaneer and Cezzum the Gob- um… and Cezzum.”
Palgrin smiled warmly at his nephew’s companions. “Welcome, Paladins and friends of my kin, a merry welcome indeed.” Cezzum, Amyia and Tac’quin all returned the greeting. Palgrin’s expansive nature caused him to move to each of individuals he knew were bound for dire straits and embraced all in turn; despite the dragon’s reluctance, it too was a victim of the clasping dwarf. He released Cezzum from the embrace and found it rather peculiar that the shrouded dwarf felt only as stout as a fence post. Palgrin, in good humour, slapped the goblin on his upper arm. “From where do you hail, friend? For I think it is a place that does not know how to sate the girth of a dwarf!”
“From a place that is far removed from any favourable dwarven fare I fear.” Cezzum’s sibilance and raspy voice further piqued Palgrin’s already circumspect vigilance.
“Palodar!” cried Palgrin with jest. “You keep company with small dragons, bairns and sickly dwarves, I think we must be doomed indeed!” The quip elicited a scowling eye from the recalcitrant dragon. Gilly laughed softly off in one corner of the room as the reunion between kin continued.
Palodar stepped to his Uncle’s side and with much sincerity said, “Then I think doom should shiver to its core, for a more dangerous foe they never shall face. They are the strongest mead against an ailing ale, and so, I think, they will give our aggressors a mighty fine headache!” Palodar conspired with himself for a moment and knew the time for veracity was nigh upon him; because of this, he added, “For this goblin that stands here has saved us all from an ill fate, but more importantly, of course, he saved me from becoming an evening afterthought for a gaggle of hungry phagens!”
Palgrin’s disposition became veritably suspicious and tinged with bewilderment as his eyes reduced to mere slits of their former selves; he gazed heavily at his nephew. “What goblin?”
Palodar gestured his head towards his brother. Slowly, ponderously, Palgrin revolved his head to face the dwarf he had moments before clasped. He was greeted with a grinning jade face. Terribly tousled, sable hair flowed from a green scalp, framing the lanky, well chiselled face and slightly prognathic and narrowing jaw. Two bright and fiery yellow eyes, with matching small fangs regarded him. A worried, but kindly thought, induced Cezzum’s mouth into a smile as he said, “Hello, Master.”
A thump drummed threw the room as Gilly collided strongly with the wall behind him, trying to jump a step backwards when the wall felt little motivation to move for the shocked dwarf. All other eyes were on Palgrin. Palgrin stood silent and dumbfounded. Without shifting from his stupor, he finally murmured, “I think I need some more mead.”
Gilly’s face seemed mesmerised by the erstwhile monk turned goblin; it was of great perplexity that the goblin sat around the table with all that were gathered, instead of having eviscerated the hapless dwarf. Tac’quin turned a chair around and raised itself by placing its two front legs onto the seat of the chair.
“It makes sense,” announced Palgrin, both the brew and the recounted tale, told with gesticulatory prowess from the four orators, swished about in his mind. “Filburn’s missive to me, on the moon two months ago I believe, instructed that I should gather the garb of our fallen foes, which took much bartering with mercenary mongers let me tell you, and bring them here. The wares now bolster what our armourers had already wrought.” He looked at Cezzum. “Mind you, I was expecting a party of the loftier and… fairer variety.” Palgrin, holding the attention of all present, became reflexive: “The news you bring from Lauret and Casena is dire but wise indeed. I had never thought now would have been the sagest time for the hordes to strike, but, as you say, with the depleted resources from the Forty-Seven Day Greater War, both the telopians and our brethren could not mount a sufficient resistance; the lorans would be late in their muster; and men are too far removed to respond at all until the threat is upon their threshold. Aye, this Osi could not have chosen a more apt time to bound together fractious hordes and reassert themselves. I can only assume at what you indeed to do.”
“Without the head, the body of a serpent flails and withers,” answered Cezzum.
Palgrin nodded solemnly. “Yet the head can still bite.” The dwarf grew deeper into his considerations and then finally uttered, “I must confess, I cannot shake the incredulous feeling from hearing those words spoken by a goblin of his kith and kin.”
Palodar chuckled and placed his hand on Amyia’s shoulder; she was his pulsating being of veracity. “Do not worry Uncle, yours is a common feeling, but a step in the more… amicable direction; our little bairn here tried to remove Cezzum’s head at their first encounter. And I think that I would have attempted much the same had I not been staked like a boar; imagine my surprise when this goblin untied me instead of having a fine repast.”
Cezzum shrugged helplessly and grinned. “We cannot help who we are inside.”
The others laughed softly, Palodar a touch more stridently. Palgrin said, “And I believe that most around this table are glad for that, Cezzum.”
Gilly set about placing two jugs on the table, one of a red-suckle mead and one of water; several aged and beautiful wooden goblets were put before each person. As he set Cezzum’s vessel before him he said, “As a farmer I admire your gall, Cezzum. Not many, and no goblin, would have braced the dangers of an entire city of us in the name of what we believe is our peril. You have a fine heart, friend-of-dwarves
.” Without waiting for a response, Gilly moved on and placed a bowl before Tac’quin and poured the dragon a good helping of the sweet brew. Cezzum could only feel a ripple run through him. Tac’quin tentatively sampled the drink, letting the redolent liquid stroll across each aspect of its tongue, scrutinising and savouring each spot of flavour. Quickly tentativeness resolved itself into yearning appeal and the dragon set to lapping up the brew.
Palgrin cleared his throat. “Then with words of silence, my knights, we know what must be done. Let us this day speak of that which is worth saving and that which bolsters our hearts, for tomorrow the need to stand against malice will bring enough grim tidings to us.”
“Fine words, dwarf. I feel no need to tarry, but if this is what will spur the rest of you on, that this irksome journey may see an end, well then fill your hearts and your cups as well!” pronounced Tac’quin with an odd twinkle in its eye.
Amyia grinned. “Don’ts listen to him, hes just likes the mead!”
“Last eve would speak otherwise dear, Amyia,” countered the dragon with a smoke producing snort, “And now we do not add s’s to words, do we?”
Cezzum and Palodar smiled at the two banterers. Amyia’s face flushed with embarrassment. She reached for her goblet of mead, and as she did so Palodar adroitly snatched it away from her. Amyia looked sternly at the dwarf and pouted. Her face was a blend of expressions that would have been expected from a person doubly berated; it was even more contorted since her chastisements were armoured in veracity. It was as if jesting itself became personified within Amyia and beyond all their control the four companions, Palgrin and Gilly all burst into laughter. When the laughter had subsided Gilly appeared at Amyia’s side. Gilly held before her a small crimson box with gilt edges.
“Amyia,” he said, “I noticed that your fingers are bare, I think that is a shame. You travel to meet doom yet your heart is bold.” Gilly whispered in a voice just loud enough for everyone to hear. “I think perhaps braver than that dwarf sitting yonder.” His finger indicated Palodar. Palodar glowered mirthfully at the farmer and smiled. “And because of this, although young you may be, I can think of no finer addition to our ranks, for even agreeing to accompany these fools on this fool’s quest that may well be foolish folly is worthy of a bard’s ballad.” Gilly placed the container before Amyia. “To be bound by blood is to be bound in all things: happiness, dismay, jubilation and melancholy; times of peace, of rest; times of suffering and of war. Through all these things we will strive to protect the lands from any afflictions, not for personal gain, but the continued longevity of its people, but, more than this, with such a burden we fiercely swear allegiance to each other, that our swords, our magic and our minds will be a net that forever would keep you from darkness if you ever might fall.”
Gilly produced a knife and slid it to Amyia along the table. The hilt gleamed before the girl. Amyia’s eyes grew as she turned to face Palodar, who was embraced with an arch smirk; he gestured that she should cut a small lesion on her hand. Her eyes grew wider still. She looked at Tac’quin.
“I do not understand these archaic games you all play with blood; an allegiance is of the mind, not of the blood,” cried the dragon to all those around it, its voice not scornful, but rather an infusion of hefty reassurance touched with a mote of bewilderment. “But no greater Order exists in terms of its deeds. The quality of what may be judged good or ill is a fine one, for to a single person what is ill may be just. These Paladins, however, have proven themselves over the centuries as worthy of this barbaric, bloody honour. Amyia, as far as it may be said, they are a good people... but do not let all of your blood!”
Amyia timidly lifted the blade and parted a small line of skin on her left hand. The viscous liquid enthusiastically darted for the freedom it had been given from its confinement; it is strange that whenever blood is given the opportunity it always prefers to leave its owner than to remain. A crimson rivulet formed on her palm as the blood began to drip. After a few drops had adorned the table, Gilly closed her hand. In turn each member at the table stroked the liberated essence of her life with their fingers and touched it to their tongues; even Tac’quin carried out the feat with its talon. While Tac’quin delighted upon the taste of blood, Amyia quietly whispered to it, so that only it might hear: “I think theys are all vampires.” And both Amyia and the dragon laughed.
Gilly opened the container and on a pile of velvet rested a lustrous, golden, signet ring with the heraldry of the Paladins embossed into it. The head of the rampant gryphon with its six swords resting behind it glimmered resplendently. Reverently she plucked it from its place of rest and brought it to her right ring finger where it, like before with Cezzum and Palodar, scaled itself to fit snugly at the base of the finger. Then strangely the swords disappeared from the ring and the perch of the gryphon’s head was replaced with a single striped shield. Cezzum and Palodar looked again to their own crests and too they had changed to the shield-bearing coat of arms. Palgrin smiled. Tears welled in Amyia’s eyes as applause broke out for her. And not that Amyia knew it at that moment that, indeed, her own story was far greater than any she had ever read in her storybook; a book which she gladly knew was safely ensconced once again in Palodar’s knapsack. Suddenly Palgrin cried out: “To Amyia! Our newest and finest knightess!” The words were echoed by all. For a fleeting moment the young girl felt a pang of betrayal, as if heralding the ring upon her finger betrayed her life as a caravaneer; it was a striking consideration, yet when she beheld all the loving bearings enwrapping only her, she felt that betrayal dwindle away into a beloved solace.
Once they were all seated again Palgrin said, “Enjoy what is left of this day and drink and eat to your own content, tomorrow we shall finish what has long been planned. Cregar!” The Valaku word for hope in drink resounded throughout the room, and they all drank deeply from their goblets; Amyia thought the water tasted bland after a night with mead; she smiled to herself knowing that even within despair, within the darkest of times, love, friendship and family could be found.
“Uncle,” said Palodar, “I have a question.”
Palgrin looked shrewdly at his nephew.
“All those trips carrying your wares to my loran merchant, those were not for…” Palodar let the question trail off.
“For the Paladins?” suggested Palgrin, swirling his goblet with a wry mien. “Nay! I might be a knight, but I too be kin! It was strictly a profit venture.”
“Ah,” said his nephew with an air of disappointment, as if the prospect of some greater worth being dispelled caused him melancholy. It was in that moment, when Cezzum gazed at his friend, his brother, that he saw a metamorphosis beyond any name. A change that can only occur when the mind does not perceive the change, but its alteration is pellucid to all others. No longer did the simple avarice of the aureate unseat Palodar’s heart, nay, Cezzum did not doubt that fortune would forever remain a boon to his brother, but the gilt would remain quite hollow, equitable to the worth of a bauble, if no greater meaning lay within it. It was perhaps the first time in his life that Palodar felt a sense of purpose to his actions; it was a reward to be coveted for an eternity.
“Although,” continued Palgrin, “there might have been a large container of Paladin rings at the bottom of each satchel; but now we shall never know, will we?”
“Rings?” queried Palodar with much felicity.
“Aye, who more able to make rings than a jeweller? None! And it just so happens I am a jeweller, and master tinker I might add, and the Paladins are always in need of rings, which in these times is a bit worrisome! All told, only for the tiniest profit imaginable, I fashioned two dozen rings per shipment, to be taken to your loran merchant for enchantment.”
“But how is that possible? I entered an agreement with that merchant purely by chance, and he wore no Paladin ring, I take notice when things glitter, particularly on lorans!”
“Nothing happens by chance, dear nephew; our enchanter knew I sought a novel method to sh
ip my wares. All enchanters have to submit to weekly revisions of any new items they have acquired; powerful artefacts still roam the lands and spring to life occasionally; there is a need to ensure by means of a loremaster that no dangerous items ever by... happenstance are unknowingly sold to patrons. It is merely an oddity, truly, that one or two of these loremasters happen to be knights. That is why Palodar, unbeknownst to you, you have been serving the Paladins far longer than you have known and even further than you have cared to consider.” Palgrin said the last with a smirk that was quickly covered by a goblet but betrayed by an expulsion of bubbled breath through the mead; it was verily the contentment of guile.
Palodar was taken aback. He slumped back in his chair and gazed longingly into his vessel as if seeking divine clarity from the hazy drink. At last he burst into laughter, drained his goblet and cried with all the pent-up hilarity of his erstwhile enterprising endeavours: “At least the coin remains mine! But still” – all faces turned to watch him – “incredulous!” And so it was that the remainder of the day and the eve waned into serene comfort and conversations of agrestic woes, and never had there been such happiness under a shadow whose gloom was soon to fall.
A hand covered Cezzum’s mouth. He instantly came into full alertness. He had to be quick. Cezzum’s hand dashed for Gnarlfang which slept alongside him, next to his pallet. Another hand caught his own as it darted for his defence. He was pinned. Cezzum was a mere second from wresting himself away from his attacker when the scant illumination in the room adorned the features of his assailant. Palgrin stood over the goblin. The dwarf carefully removed his hand from the goblin’s mouth, bringing it to his own in a gesture of silence. Palgrin lifted his other hand and with a second gesticulation suggested that Cezzum should follow him. With his heart still alight by the fire of fear, Cezzum retrieved Gnarlfang, fixed it to his belt, and followed the Jeweller out of the farmstead.
The Good Goblin Page 26
