The Good Goblin

by C M F Eisenstein

  Cezzum had wrested off the goblin that had wounded him; another fetter pinned him to the ground. His belly felt the hard compress of stone and his back, the savage will of his foe; Cezzum’s innards were caught between the two forces; he cried out in. The goblin-foe attempted to eviscerate Cezzum’s neck. The good goblin caught the wrist of the dagger-wielding enemy and struggled with it, the blade hovering and shivering no more than a fingernail’s length away from a bulging tendon. Tac’quin’s attack however had granted a boon for his favour – the Orb was free and held by none. The two sickly forms of Amyia and Palodar had attracted little attention from the foe-ridden throne room and the Crystal Heart was within the reach of the dwarf. Palodar’s burnt body fumbled about, the Orb eventually giving itself to him. A phagen’s foot then crushed his arm. With all his remaining willpower Palodar induced the Orb to roll off his fingers in the direction of his green brother. The foot, as quickly as it had been brought down on the dwarf’s arm, was ripped from it as Amyia threw herself into the phagen, rage-filled and frenzied. Despite the pain of every movement of her hands, she drew from the phagen’s belt a two-foot dagger and plunged it through the collar of the surprised foe.

  The Crystal Heart bobbled and jostled along the coarse stone floor, veering right and left; Cezzum held the knife that sought his death at bay and watched with great anxiety as the Orb jiggled towards him. Agonising moments leisurely sauntered along. The Crystal Heart’s course remained true, almost. An inch to the left of Cezzum’s face was where the Orb had come to a rest; it was beyond the reach of his preoccupied limbs. The goblin innervated every last muscle within his neck and pushed his chin over his left upper arm. He could see clearly the beating of the little heart. Cezzum pursed his lips. And pushed them outwards, urged them onwards, implored them forwards with every lip-bound essence of his being. His slow-moving lips bit by bit traversed the distance between his face and the Crystal Heart, approaching the protective Orb. Cezzum’s lips were as protracted as they could become, passed the boundaries of his nose. They were a hair’s width shy of contact. Squishing, furrowing and contorting his face into such a way as to bolster his lips with every spare ounce of latitude he had, Cezzum crossed the threshold. The goblin’s lips kissed the Crystal Heart. It was sensational to the touch, cool yet divine. Cezzum’s face retracted.

  The Orb shattered into millions upon millions of tiny motes which evanesced beyond sight; the Crystal Heart was liberated. It fell to the rocky floor; its lower half buried itself into the stone. A deep pounding filled the chamber. Luminescent veins, like the roots of a tree, shot outwards from the Heart, winding and twisting in a hundred different directions across the ground. The glowing roots scuttled up the walls and ran along the ceiling. A rhythmic, pulsating blue light enveloped all that there was to behold. The heart beat faster and faster, throbbing at speeds that would speed any mortal unto their doom. An opportunity was given to Cezzum as the magic ripped his foe’s attention away. The goblin threw a rolling weight behind his arms and toppled over the goblin-elder. For a fleeting second he was free. Clambering for Gnarlfang, Cezzum retrieved his sword and slashed blindly at the goblin. The blade caught the elder across the gullet. Pleading eyes regarded Cezzum as they wavered into death.

  The growing veins all coalesced in a great bundle on the ceiling, encircling the entire throne cavern. Cezzum rose to his feet, staggered, and clutched his wound. The rapidly beating Heart stopped. An insidious silence permeated the air, as if sound itself were removed from existence. A final deafening throb exploded from the Heart.

  Casena turned away from the stars. Her loranic armour ignited from her skin. Running towards the centre of the mustering hall she imperiously cried, “Now!”

  A clamour of chairs, benches and tables creaked across the stone floor. At once sixty-three of the finest eastern regiment of Paladins hurried to their feet. Elves, humans, lorans, dwarves, telopians, women and men, alike drew weapons in a chant of war that so righteous was its ringing inception, that even the horrific loss of life that was to occur would be justly vindicated. Swords of every imaginable variation resounded from their scabbards, axes echoed the ruddy glow of the hearth, magical spheres of scintillating fury burgeoned on loranic palms and bows groaned in eager enthusiasm as arrows were nocked to their strings and pulled taught.

  The Paladins formed a great circle around Casena who had dashed into its centre; Knight-Captain Lauret stood at the ready, his sword raised as if to strike at a foe. Crimson and golden hues bounced off the armour and features of all the Paladins. Never had impending death appeared so resplendent.

  “Known to you are all your tasks my sisters and brothers!” yelled Lauret. “Valour will see us through!”

  Casena held out her arms, her palms facing the floor below. An azure glow filled her eyes and then quickly replaced them entirely. Slivers and threads, that were a mimicry of the veins of the Crystal Heart, leapt from her palms and into the stones. Her lips moved swiftly as she commanded, “Slay not the bright goblin!”

  Faces tensed. Eyes became fixed. The focus of battle descended upon the Paladins. The blue threads emerging from Casena pulsed with light. Tendrils of veins burst from the ground and clasped the feet of every Paladin. The walls began to shift. They became stretched, distorted. The wooden rafters which had been no more than five feet above the brow of the tallest loran disappeared into extended darkness. The earth changed. No longer did crafted stone rest beneath their boots, but instead uneven rocks bore their weight. Great pocked and speckled walls with scornful shadows usurped the hall’s tapestries. The Paladins stood within the den of evil; they had arrived in the throne room of the Osi.

  Goblins, phagens and wyverns shrieked in charnel agony as unlucky portions of their bodies were replaced with the battle-ready figures of the Paladins. None of their knighted halflings had been caught in the deadly transportation of Paladins that destroyed any being standing at the location of those appearing; Casena had ensured it. Her head immediately darted around the chamber; she caught sight of her quarry. A green mist shot from her hands and ensorcelled the goblin clutching his ailing wound and sword. Cezzum’s skin started to glow. A faint luminescence radiated from his being, clearly defining him from every other goblin in the cavern. Casena turned her attention back to the situation at hand. The momentary daze that the Crystal Heart had bequeathed to everyone waned. Purpose re-emerged once more, both in the minds of the dragon and halflings as well as the enemy. All the fell creatures in the chamber turned their resolve onto the newcomers, for if they were shocked to see the sudden arrival of their foe, there was no evidence of it, and they charged at them with livid lust. The Osi marched past and pushed aside the gangly, flesh-torn and hollowed creatures, missing limbs, heads and great sweeps of their bodies that had been ripped asunder; with his fellow hosts, he descended upon the Paladins. They struck out in return.

  Weapons hissed and clanged as the Paladins drew blood of the first wave. Arrows breezed over the shoulders of the heavily armoured, stout olive-skinned telopians, collapsing great ranks of enemies. Axes and swords tore bone from bone, sundering armour and severing appendages. Blood ran as wild as a savage waterfall. A phagen dodged under the hack of a knight and ploughed his blade upwards, under the protective covering of his habergeon, sending the foe away in an excruciating death. Lauret, with a mighty slash, broke the phagen’s arm and kicked his body away before initiating another flurry, one in a great arc, which held at bay the creatures seeking to break the circle of Paladins through the weakening ring.

  A pair of lorans broke away from the circle and rushed with soldier-born obedience into the wrathful masses of goblins and phagens - their objective: the hallway connecting the throne chamber to its vestibule. The two loranic forms appeared as if they were made of the very element of fire, for so great and so numerous were the death-seeking blows sent against them, that sparks, furious and harrowingly beautiful, bounded off their armour, both high and low, bathing them in a veil of sparkles. Their arms twi
rled around them as if they were dexterous ballet dancers acting as two powerful shields bashing into blades and every other manner of life-ending device wishing to unmake them. Lances of bright pearl-yellow light were fired from their hands, shredding all those in their path. Goblins sprung onto their bodies, backs and legs, serving as green-skinned chains that sought to impede as much as they sought to dismember. The audacious creatures met with ghastly ends. Translucent, searing, magical weapons sprouted from the magicians’ hands and they brushed away the goblins, parting parts and parcels. Reaching the corridor, one of the lorans produced a violent incantation of air, thrusting lines of enemies back down the hallway from whence they had come. The second magician swept her arms in an arc above her head; a spray of energy latched itself onto the rock. She took a step backwards and, as if she clutched an invisible bar, she vigorously pulled downwards. A massive slab of stone crashed to the floor from where the spray had weakened the connective properties of the rock; the enemy reinforcements had been severed.

  The lorans began to withdraw back towards their fellows. An arrow caught the first loran through his battle-robe, piercing the soft flesh that was unprotected by his natural armour; his knee was shattered; he stumbled to the ground. Not a moment had fleeted away before a dozen goblins had latched onto him and proceeded to ravage the fallen, slicing every area of his body covered by his robe. The second magician received a powerful blow against her chest from the sword of a phagen, she was knocked to the ground. Suddenly a pair of claws gripped her flailing arms and she was borne through the air. Tac’quin released its talons binding the loran’s vambraces and she fell, rolling, into the ephemeral safety of her companions.

  Corrosive acid washed over several knights of the circle; they clawed at the flesh dissolving from their bodies. Wyverns soared above the Paladins raining torment down upon them. Fire engulfed the airborne beasts. A wyvern sped away from the encounter, flames adorning its vile visage and lacing its wings. Tac’quin slammed into the underbelly of the second wyvern thrice its own size. The powerful wings of the wyvern kept both creatures aloft while their maws, claws and tails thrashed, clashed and gnawed at each other.

  Palodar finally rose to his feet within the circle of Paladins, enough faculty of bodily control returning to him. He raced over towards the slain phagen and found Amyia merrily striking the enemy again and again with the dagger. Gently, but with swiftness of purpose, the dwarf touched her shoulder and gestured towards the battling circle of Paladins. Amyia’s blood begrimed face determinately nodded once. She slashed the phagen a final time and ran towards a duo of goblins that had pierced the defences through the legs of the knights. Palodar retrieved the fallen phagen’s sword. The blade was slightly unwieldy for the burly, boiled dwarf. With the weapon that rivalled Palodar’s own height, he staggeringly rallied towards a breach in the circle.

  The bright goblin stood at the feet of the loranic Knight-Captain. Casena hurled a dazzling orange fluid into the air, magically stemming from her hand. The magical essence grew in might and intensity as it arced over the heads of the knights. A veritable amber wave of destruction crashed down upon the enemy ranks, peeling their life from the world. She turned towards Cezzum; his courage had yet to falter. A teal blue glow wrapped itself around Casena’s palm; she moved it towards the Goblin’s wound. On the cusp of the healing contact, a fellow Paladin careened into the Knight-Captain. A fine curtain of blood was painted onto Casena’s body and clothes, serving only to accentuate the glorious, macabre abjectness of her blood-letting devotion. She righted herself from the collision, pushing aside her armour-cloven ally. Cezzum cast his vision in the direction of the organic artillery’s provenance; Casena followed suit. The Osi had broken the paladins’ ranks.

  With such alacrity did the Osi move that three knights fell before the mere recognition of the foe could occur. The shadow, rolling around the Osi like an untamed dam, fastened itself to the soles and heels of those ill-fated Paladins caught in the abyssal wake. Fear and paranoia crept into their minds; they flailed wildly, shrieking and crying as their minds became the playthings of horrors beyond any imagination. Their hearts unseated and burst within their chests; they collapsed forlornly to the trouble-free solace of the ground.

  Casena advanced upon Bledun-Deorc. She crossed the verge of shadow; it did not take her; the darkness parted where her feet did tread. A flurry of magic, a lustful cacophony of spells, assailed the Blood-Lord; too few and too little were the results. Wounds bubbled on the Osi’s flesh; they were unheeded. The jet, viscous liquid raced from the thousand pores housing them, falling to the floor. The Osi’s blood scurried towards every slain being, friend and foe alike. Bodies withered in heartbeats and the blood, boisterous with rapacious satisfaction, returned to their sanctuary. The wounds melted away; the Osi grew in fervour. Sce’zad teased Casena, slashing and thrusting at her from every possible angle. The Knight-Captain stepped back in retreating, stepping rhythm, keeping the blade at bay with her armoured hands and arms. Lauret chopped at the foot of the daunting foe, but received a quintet of fractured ribs for the effort as the Osi’s gauntlet bashed his chest, crushing the armour into his body. Little use was he now to Casena and with a heavy heart he struggled, as best he could, to hold the line with his most valiant, failing fellows.

  Sce’zad was brought down in an arc, as if to part Casena from herself. Swiftly Casena changed direction and stepped forwards, her hands cupped before her; the blade crashed into them. And there the two weapons, Casena’s palms and Sce’zad, became locked with one another. A fine coating of white coruscation covered her palms; the binding both halted her doom and prevented the sword from being withdrawn. Bledun-Deorc opened his interlocking fangs in a feral snarl and stepped slowly forwards. Perspiration streamed down Casena’s lineaments; her body shivered. The five-foot Osi’s hand stretched outwards and grasped the loran by her throat. He lifted her from the floor, painfully closing his fingers. The Knight-Captain’s head became fixed as muscles did their utmost to safeguard their vital wards which lay all around them. Casena could feel her skull and neck compress, shattering under the force. The brilliant blue of Casena’s eyes receded into opacity.

  Casena fell from the Blood-Lord’s grip, collapsing into a heap of liberated, scant consciousness. The Osi buckled over forwards; Sce’zad was ripped from his hands; Casena’s enchantment refusing to release the blade. Cezzum had charged into his malign-spawned kin’s legs, knocking them out from under him. The same touch which had sent Palodar and Amyia into a fit of pain was inert to Cezzum, the kin of the Osi. Before the Blood-Lord had fallen to the grainy, painted ground, the bright goblin had recovered; his wound, a mere petty trinket in lieu of the second wave of feverish fervour.

  The Osi had only just rolled onto his back when Cezzum leapt atop his chest. Furious fists smashed into Cezzum, but for reasons unbeknown to the goblin, a stupor did not draw upon his mind despite the devastating blows. Cezzum’s legs coiled around the body of his foe; he weathered the fusillade. Blood ran freely from the goblin’s face; for what seemed a year, he was beaten until finally a momentary respite presented itself. He drew Gnarlfang on high, above the Osi’s throat, and thrust with all his might.

  The blade stopped short. Gnarlfang was levelled at the very end of things, yet the sword halted. Cezzum’s hands and arms and chest and head shook violently. He summoned every morsel of resolve he contained, but still he could not compel his limbs to force the blade downwards. Cezzum the goblin could not slay his lord. Furtively the vile blood of the Osi crawled upwards along Cezzum’s legs, burrowing and storming into the wound that was burrowed in his side. The black-hued liquid flowed like a rampant river into the fading bright-goblin.

  “We are of the same kin, goblin. Stay thine hand my brother and let us cast these whelps into oblivion. We are of one blood. We are but one being,” orated the Osi, with words and eyes and a tone of voice that excavated Cezzum’s essence.

  The immaculate construction of all the greatness of his r
ace rested under him. He was Cezzum, he was a goblin; he could not vanquish such a triumph of his people. It was the Osi. It was Osi’Bledun-Deorc. It was his Lord! What a fool he had been to aid those against his master; what grand, deluded folly had it been. No, he would not harm his Lord; the others must perish!

  Gnarlfang started to turn aside. A smile of a most wicked sort brushed the Osi’s lips in wondrous satisfaction. Doom would once more descend upon the lands. Gnarlfang plunged into the throat of Osi’Bledun-Deorc; he was astonished.

  “No! Master!” cried Cezzum, melancholy filling his voice. “No!”

  And then the goblin saw them: two little pale, burnt, fair hands clutching his own; clutching Gnarlfang’s hilt. He faced their owner. A young girl’s face glistened in the lambent flicker of the torchlight. Amyia knelt beside Cezzum, heaving with laboured breaths. Her viridian eyes roared with bloody revenge and blew trumpets of magnificent retribution. Cezzum turned his head back to his master. Blood bubbled around the blade and fuller of Gnarlfang. A faint white sheen grew upon it. The Osi’s blood fled from Cezzum’s wound. All of the viscous taint rampaged from the wound and the Osi’s body onto the blade. It curled and struggled with an impotent rage to escape the pull of Gnarlfang and seep once more into rock and stone and soil, to find itself a second host; the will of Gnarlfang did not waver. The black ooze collected on the entirety of the blade until the white sheen of Gnarlfang could no longer be seen. A blinding white light erupted violently, shredding darkness, leaving not a single nook for it to find refuge in. The chamber contained a brilliance so illuminating that only the centre of the sun itself could claim its likeness. The intensity faded and the room was returned to its former self, and yet, the essence of fellness, born from the hatred of two brothers long ago, was no more. And there, lying below Cezzum was the withered corpse of that unlucky goblin mutated into the Osi, lifeless and fallen.