Casena stumbled to her feet, teetering about unsteadily. “Tac’quin!” she summoned with a hearty bellow. The dragon instantaneously crashed into the ground; its legs only just able to restrain themselves from snapping under the force of the rushed landing. No sooner had it done so than the blue vein-like roots gripped its claws. As quickly as they had arrived within the Osi’s den did the remaining Paladins, halflings, dragon and girl depart, with naught but a faint, fading glow and a rush of air to mark their discharged deeds.
The fiery, red-headed, goblin noble, exhausted, decorated with fluids and viscera of the fallen, picked up Sce’zad and grinned. A dagger found its way into his back. The assassinating phagen caressesed the Osi’s sword in his hands, but fell, fate-struck, to the blade of a goblin elder leaping through the air. And so did the rallying hordes of the Banner-Flyer descend into tribal chaos once more.
Chapter XV
All Good Things Come to an End…
C ezzum awoke to the heart-warming redolence of tantalising bacon and the intertwined sweet scent of crisped bread. The mellifluous chirrups of birds could be heard slowly fading away into the distance. He tugged off the sheet resting over his body and carefully, ponderously, threw his legs over the side of the bed; there was no need. Cezzum’s hand ran across his side where his wound had been and found unblemished skin greeting his inquisitive fingers. In fact, so grand did he feel that it was as if he had slept for a month within a peaceful glade of soft daises and violets. Five other beds also stood in the little hall - it appeared to be an infirmary of some sort. Cabinets of herbs, infusions, phials, bottles, books and remedies lined the opposite wall and next to the shelves, upon a lazy-oak chair, slept the figure of an unknown loran with an elegant cap and cape of deep crimson and white.
Quietly Cezzum stood and found a plush, purple robe waiting for him on his nightstand. Donning the robe, he looked to the other beds. One was empty while the others still held within their warming folds its occupants. Cezzum glimpsed the dishevelled hazel hair of Amyia sticking out from underneath a blanket pulled up so high that she appeared to be in a luxurious cocoon; he smiled to himself and was thankful she was alive. A dwarf and two telopians rested in the other beds, but there was no sign of Palodar.
A soothing light poured into the room, casting itself onto the floor of the building. Cezzum turned to face the window and was welcomed with an awe-inspiring sunset. Soft, wisp-like clouds floated before a setting sun, painting warm pastel hues of gold and yellow and orange all across the horizon. Breathing the fresh air in deeply, he was reluctant to turn away from the sight, but willed himself to do so and made his way for the doorway.
Several edifices formed a ring around a central, ornate fountain of water; there was a wide space between two of the buildings that let the land below roll away down the mountainside into the valley below. If the sight from within the infirmary was anything to behold, the vista framed before the goblin displayed the nude beauty of nature in every ounce of its sensual glory. Villages and hamlets, with listless evening smoke rising from their rooftops, were scattered within the valley below. Streams wended their way between rolling hills and mills and farms. At the far end of the valley a second massif rose to the sky, ensuring that the clouds were held firmly in place; it was a wondrous end to things. There was naught in the world that could have been powerful enough to rip Cezzum from the view, but then the smell of bacon returned and gripped the goblin by his nose.
Athwart from the fountain, upon the greensward overlooking the view, there stood a spit attended by two laughing forms: a dwarf and a loran. The dwarf looked about him and his eyes locked upon the visage of the goblin. The skewer holding the bread over the fire fell from his hands and he stormed across the grass and cobbled stones. Palodar, unscarred and without a single burn upon his features, embraced Cezzum with such a force that the goblin thought he was duelling with the Osi again. Words between the two were ineffable. Naught could be said that could properly convey the joy they both felt at each other’s presence. And so did Palodar only embrace his green brother all the more. Releasing him, Palodar wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and muttered, “Curse you goblin, for worrying a dwarf like you did! If someone was to see me like this my stolid dwarven reputation would be in ruins!”
Cezzum chuckled, his own eyes glossy with moisture. “I think it far too late for that, Palodar. But for the sky above, another way I would have it not.”
Palodar’s stout fingers clasped Cezzum by the shoulder. “Come, enough with sobbing dwarves, let us warm some bread and fill our bellies. Ah! And the mead here Cezzum, ah the mead! Now I am not a dwarf to gainsay that the finest brewing of said drink is not done within the dingy basement of a dwarven brewery, but even a stubborn farmer would concede to the quality of this.” Palodar drew his lips closer to Cezzum’s ear. “Jasmine. That’s their secret - the jasmine flower! If jasmine didn’t have such a powerful scent, I might just smell a business venture to be had here.” Cezzum beamed with delight as they ambled merrily over to the spit. The passage through shadow and blood had undoubtedly left its mark on all those that fought within the cavern, yet Palodar’s merriment spoke fathoms of the worth of their deeds; although the goblin did wonder at all the words and horrors that were left unsaid.
The loran standing at the spit wiped his brow. Lúnàras Valéren’s eyes glinted in the firelight emboldened sunset. “Cezzum! We were debating the very nature of the Kig’n language and how it bears many similarities to both Rokotel and Valaku.”
“And that was the cause of such mirth that I did see?” rejoined Cezzum with a grin.
“Oh yes!” informed Lúnàras. “It is truly fascinating, if you are not careful about it, telling a dwarf, or a telopian for that matter, to please take a seat would command a phagen or a goblin to remove both the ring and index fingers from your hands.”
“’Tis true!” corroborated Palodar with an emphatic nod and a curl of his lips. “Although I think it refers to the ring finger from both hands and not the indexes. You see it all depends on the annunciation of the eig.”
“Indeed,” said Lúnàras, “but ‘tis pronounced aeg which translates into the index finger.”
Cezzum guffawed heartily. With a cunning look in his eyes he corrected, “Eeg is the word you indeed seek. It means not index or ring finger, but rather the smallest finger on the hand.”
“Ha!” Palodar jested in happy satisfaction. “Ye see Lúnàras, Kig’n is not your forte either.”
The loran, removing a crisp piece of fried bread from the table, offered it to Cezzum. The goblin accepted it gratefully. “Well, dear Palodar, at the least I suffer not from the desire of habitually craving to be a prisoner – how many times have you been captured now?” Lúnàras taunted.
Palodar’s countenance grew dramatically florid. “Why you blue-eyed, ugly, bastard child of an elf, it takes much skill to be captured! Imagine if I had merely evaded those creatures, I would never have met my fanged brother over here and I would have been a fine stew at this moment, well, perhaps the excrement of a fine stew, or maybe a mere stew, mayhap a rather crude one. But if I were in a stew it would be grand would it not? So, it could not possibly be a crude stew, nay, a fine stew it would have been.”
Lúnàras grinned and teased Palodar. “Ahh, the truth finally does emerge my dwarven friend.”
Palodar’s eyes drifted over the goblin attempting to feast on the bread, but having difficulty due to the jibes being thrown about; he returned his focus on the loran with feign scathing. “And what truth be that?”
“Why that your forte is indeed verbosity.”
Chewed remnants of bread shot from Cezzum’s mouth as he struggled to contain the hilarity from the utter veracity that Lúnàras’ sentiment exuded.
“Well!” pouted Palodar and left the statement unfinished, deciding instead to turn the wheel of the spit. His silence ensuring the jest at his jovial expense was not wasted in the slightest. Minutes passed as the three stood upon the
field of grass and beheld the golden streams of sun setting fast, each pondering their own wonderings; each reliving every frightful instant of the battle. And then a furrow quaked along Cezzum’s brow.
Cezzum stared past the roasting pig and imbibed the sunset. His face mirrored his brow and took unto itself a grim bearing. Without addressing either of his friends, he asked, in direful tones: “How many knights did not return?”
“Thirty-five did fall,” answered Lúnàras sadly and without obfuscating. “Thirty-five of our sisters and brothers remain within that vile mountain. Three still clutched to their lives when Casena brought us home; the magic of the Crystal Heart only permits those that are alive to be transported. They too are in the infirmary, but as you, Cezzum, they will recover well. Far more powerful is our magic to heal than to cause harm; it is a travesty of our existence that the latter is of far more use to the world than our other capacity.”
The goblin nodded gravely. “I am sorry for the passing of their lives.”
“Bereave not my friend; there was purpose to their deaths. All you see before you will continue to prosper due to their valour.”
“Purpose might there have been,” countered Cezzum, “but a hollow loss of life it still remains.”
“And it shall forever be so. Gallantry, devotion, brought them to that foul place, but I do not doubt that their thoughts were sorrowful and of their homes when their souls were cast aside. But here we stand and they do not, perhaps it should be otherwise, but that is not our place to judge. What is will be; we must not tarry upon that. Treasure, with each day, all that passes before you and then, and then Cezzum, will a better purpose for such great losses be found.” Lúnàras held the shoulder of Cezzum and squeezed reassuringly. “At the middle night we hold vigil for the fallen in the mustering hall.”
“And when we all perish and our bones return unto dust those that take our place will unknowingly sing the praises of those triumphant few,” said a soft, sweet voice from behind. The dwarf, goblin and loran looked at the female loran striding towards them. Her eyes were as brilliant as Lúnàras’, perhaps even more so, and tinged with a sparkle of green. Long, dark hair cascaded down her back, on either side of her ears, as well as fell upon her shoulders. Armoured markings of the most sweeping sort adorned her skin, featuring curves and rounded edges that neither Cezzum nor Palodar had seen before. Her partitioned robe swayed over her figure and even Palodar fell into a trance at her beauty. As she came upon them, her crimson and sable tattoos faded from her body, leaving only great sensual swaths of bare skin where they had been.
“Hail and welcome to Gryphon’s Rest, Knight Cezzum and Knight Palodar,” said the loran knightess. Lúnàras rushed to meet her and the two embraced, kissing deeply and passionately.
Lúnàras’ markings too faded as he joined the knightess in her illusion and smiled proudly. “My friends ‘tis my honour to introduce you to the essence of my being – my life-companion, Verenáles Valéren.”
Cezzum and Palodar bowed in deference.
“Lower not your heads, brave halflings, for what you have endured, never should you have to do so again,” declaimed Verenáles, kneeling in front of them. Her fingers caressed the cheeks of both Palodar and Cezzum before her lips sealed a kiss on their foreheads.
“Well!” cried Palodar again, “I think that has just made this whole bloody affair worth it! Now that was a wonder Cezzum.”
Verenáles beamed her delight and it had never been truer that a simple smile could bequeath such an enrapturing bliss.
“Circumspect you must be Lúnàras,” mocked Cezzum. “I think your life-companion will soon have another suitor.”
“And a more courageous suitor I could not ask for,” replied Verenáles, a wry cunning warping her lips. “For at the least his verbosity is delightful to listen to. Cezzum, Palodar have either of you attempted to read one of Lúnàras’ written tomes? Never before will you be subject to such flowery and woolly word-smithing.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Palodar in victory and slapped Lúnàras on the small of his back. “It seems we both suffer from the same affliction.”
“Nay my stout, mead-swinging friend,” argued the loran, “it is a strength! Simply imagine how prosaic the world would indeed be if it were concise and pithy. Little can compare to the joy that can be found in the fanciful and whimsical construction of language; words, that by themselves are staid, spring into ebullience when weaved into a tapestry of syntactical sentience; sentences are transformed from mere words into a true consciousness.”
Palodar was delighted at the loran’s defence. As was his wont, the dwarf fidgeted with his beard and said, “You know Lúnàras, I do not think I have ever, or will ever meet, a more verbally refined person over four feet in height.”
“And I one under that height,” said the Loran returning the praise.
For a moment, as Cezzum regarded both his dwarven brother and Lúnàras, it became difficult to distinguish one from the other, for so alike were they that it appeared to be but one mind in two separate bodies. The goblin grinned at his musing.
Lúnàras playfully ruffled his companion’s hair as she rose to her feet - retaliation for the jest. She smiled lovingly at him and brushed her hand over her hair causing it to lightly glow. By its own volition, Verenáles’ hair perfectly rearranged itself back to how it had been before. With a flick of her wrist, a ruby red ribbon of light shot from her palm and quickly ran itself up and down the entire length of Lúnàras’ body, causing him to burst into uncontrollable hysterics; it had similar effects on herself and the two halflings as his laughter became rather infectious.
The mirth faded and Lúnàras wrapped his arm around Verenáles and held her closely. Within the Osi’s chamber he knew how his life-companion had stood on the cusp of mortality and it was only by the auspices of another that she still lingered in the realm of the living. As is with many things, like the thoughts passing between Palodar and Cezzum upon their reunion, no words could convey the fain swellings of the heart that both Verenáles and Lúnàras felt for each other, that they might, at least for but one more day, hold the other in their arms – such simple things giving such great joy; but often is the way with greatness, that itself is never realised. Neither of them knew that one day, when wars had been won and lost, when kings and queens had come and gone, when fools would become wise and the wise would become fools, that their very actions would spawn a beacon of hope for a land that would reside on the brink of becoming lost. Yet the future, both time and again, is invariably lost on the present, so such thoughts were not thought in that moment; only their love for each other still thronged will amorous ardour.
A gentle rustle of air drifted over the faces of those eagerly awaiting the meal, their hair blowing in the unnatural breeze. Tac’quin touched down lightly on the grass and sauntered over to the party. Cezzum broke off from the group and approached the dragon, throwing his arms about it. Tac’quin was taken aback. Never before had it been the target of unbridled love; it was profoundly unnerving.
“Easy, goblin,” instructed Tac’quin trying its best to belie the awe brewing within. “My brow ails still from the pounding you gave it, and that is no mean feat.” Cezzum released his hold of the dragon. Tac’quin wistfully gazed at the jade skin where its own actions had very nearly destroyed a land. “Cezzum, no number of apologies could begin to express my regret for deeds done. Too close was I in heart to my fell kin before I took its form; its nature broke the confines of my own mind and sought to unmake all we had done.”
Cezzum stroked the brow of his dragon-friend and noticed a tail of a rabbit still jutting out between Tac’quin’s teeth. He smiled and spoke with honesty and soothing lilts: “Worry not, for a worthier ally, a worthier friend I could not hope to find. A shadow of corruption on us all did fall, but in this, the end defined, and you dear Tac’quin, soared beyond virtue. If it not for the deeds of Amyia, Bledun-Deorc would still live. There are demons we all hold within us and resolve enough
we do not have to triumph alone; I would have failed too. But where there is amity and friendship and love, it is there that undaunted victory may be found. And thus, kind Tac’quin, you have my deepest love.”
Tac’quin nodded soberly. “Wise words by any standards, my friend.” The dragon grinned widely, its serpentine tongue stroking and curling over its teeth until the rabbit’s tail vanished from sight and a loud satisfying licking of lips followed. Tac’quin stepped onwards, passed Cezzum. It stopped. Turned its head slightly and then acquiesced: “Cezzum, you were certainly right.” And the dragon walked towards the spit. Upon Tac’quin’s arrival, Verenáles kneeled before it and bowed her head in reverence for the small yet mighty beast. “My life I owe to you great dragon. If thanks fill your heart for your kindness you will never hear the end of them from me, but little more of such value I have to offer you.”
For a second time Tac’quin was confounded. The dragon wondered if he had magically stumbled into another realm where deeds of good ran like milk from an udder of kindness it knew it did not have. “My lady,” responded Tac’quin in confusion, “of what do you speak?”
The Good Goblin Page 35
