by Ben Walsh
Chapter Three
It was ten years to the day since Grimey had been brought into the world. Almost immediately a sword had been thrust into his hand and he began being trained and moulded into the fierce warrior and leader he now was. Goblins were not feared for their build or height, but Grimey was the exception, towering above first all of his family, and later his fellow fighters, whom he now commanded. As he climbed the spiralling staircase, his thoughts momentarily flickered to his family. His brother would also be ten today, albeit in entirely different circumstances. These thoughts were pushed away, for a job needed to be done and sentimentality would not help to achieve it. He would punish himself for being side-tracked later. For now, he pushed the memory to the back of his mind, as he had reached the top of the stairs. He nodded at the guard, and pushed open the old, creaking door.
“Ah, Grimey I was wondering where you were, come closer, I’m going to tell you a story,” the cloaked figure stood in the corner said, gazing out of the window at his lands. “Others leave us, at once”, he snapped.
Several short, ugly creatures plodded out of the room.
“Come closer Grimey, take a seat, here no need to fetch one, allow me,” and the man effortlessly flicked his finger, causing the nearest chair to slide towards the window.
“Thank you, Sir”, Grimey croaked in his deep, hoarse voice, as he sat uneasily on the wooden chair.
“Grimey do you believe in old legends and stories?”
“No Sir, they are just made up to entertain children and to scare them into doing what they are told,” he grunted in reply.
“What about the legend of the Emerald of Foundation, are you acquainted with that one?” The man asked, leaning forwards into the light, allowing Grimey to cast eyes upon him for the first time that evening, as he peered out from the shadows. He was Gustavo, the youngest member of the wizarding council at just 45 human years old, equivalent to 18 goblin years. He wore all black, with short, jet black hair and black stubble upon his chin. Sometimes when he walked alongside Gustavo, Grimey noticed that some goblins cowered away from him, intimidated by his dark appearance. Grimey made sure they did not live to soak in the sunrise – he would not fight alongside cowards.
“Yes Sir, I am familiar with the myth, but it is no truer than any of the others,” he replied.
“Well listen closely, because I can tell you now that the Emerald is real, and I know where it is. Now, you may recall in the story, that hundreds of years ago existed a wizard named Mystico. He was a genius, the very best. He grew bored of doing regular wizarding things though, and decided to try to do something that nobody had ever done before. He wanted to prove he was the best. So he set about transforming a regular Emerald, from the mines of Emuella, and he made it magical, more magical than any other object in the entire world!” Gustavo leaned forwards with a rare smile spreading across his face. “Are you aware of what its powers are?”
Grimey shifted in his seat, as he didn’t believe in the myth that his leader so clearly did.
“Well, Sir, let me think a moment... the Emerald of Foundation is a creator. The master of the Emerald can create things with ease that no other man can, or so legend would have us believe.”
Without warning, Gustavo sprung up and began to pace.
“Correct, he can. In short, Grimey, he will be the most powerful man in the world. With an Emerald he could build an entire city, or an army, or he could create a dragon or a new weapon, he would possess the key to world domination!” As Gustavo spoke he became louder and more excitable, exuberantly waving his hands and bellowing by the end. He calmed himself, and retook his seat.
“Now, after Mystico died at an old age, in bed surrounded by his many lands and creations, he placed a curse on the Emerald, to stop any of his wicked sons from stealing it. Anyone who took it would suffer grave misfortune, unless they knew the counter curse, which only he and his closest wizarding friend Houdazald knew. Naturally after he passed, the first son took the Emerald and built himself a big farm and a wife, and lived happier than ever before. Until an axe fell from the wall and chopped his head off one day. His wife then took the Emerald, and she used it to build a well so that she and her family never had to be without water again, as she had been as a child. A most noble act – until she fell in and couldn’t climb back out!” Gustavo laughed at this, apparently amused by the poor woman’s horrific fate.
“The tales of woe go on, but over the years the truth has become less believed and many foolishly dismiss it as a purely mythical story. As of now the true destination of the Emerald is, well was, unknown. But I have spent the past few months reading through the old maps, visiting old friends, studying the tales, and I’ve managed to work out where the Emerald is.” Gustavo was smirking now, clearly impressed with himself, his tone and body language dispensing an air of smugness even greater than usual.
“Now think about dragons, if you will. All living dragons are owned by someone, or died off hundreds of years ago. All but one, that is. Three hundred years ago Gordon the Gruesome appeared from nowhere, in the middle of an area with no previous dragon activity, no other dragons around, in a mountain near a small fishing town called Oadford. There is only one object in the world that allows anyone to randomly conjure up a dragon.”
“The Emerald of Foundation,” Grimey said, awestruck and mouth gaping open. “But how do you know where it is now?”
“Think about this, if someone created a dragon they’d have wanted to be nearby to control it, so they must have constructed some sort of house near the mountain Gordon lives in. We are certain that something must have happened to the owner, everyone who controls the Emerald dies. Which means...?” Gustavo sat back in his chair and folded his legs with a sigh, waiting for Grimey to realise what this meant.
“The Emerald must be at the top of the mountain now…” Gustavo said to himself, shocked by the discovery.
“There’s more,” Gustavo continued, his excitement growing by the second, “you remember the curse I told you about, and how only Houdazald knew the counter curse, passed down the generations for all these years?”
Grimey nodded in silence, knowing his commander better than to interrupt.
“Well I own an ancient looking hand written scroll which was left to me by my great grand-father containing just one single spell, one which I have never been able to make sense of, ever since I was a young child. That is, until a few weeks ago, when I traced Houdazald’s family tree, months it took me, but I finally found a modern day relative.” Gustavo got back to his feet and smiled smugly.
“I am the modern day relative. I have the counter curse which can unlock the true potential of this Emerald. I can use it in ways my ancestors dare not for fear of destroying this world,” he stated, sheer pleasure oozing from every word.
Grimey saw a flicker of anger across Gustavo’s face as he failed to realise just why this was so exciting, and wisely chose to sit silently – he had seen the removal of Gustavo’s last chief goblin’s head from his shoulders for little more than a bad joke.
“Let me ask you this,” Gustavo continued, stroking his stubble and clearly enjoying himself now, “how many warriors do you think we have? Take a rough guess.”
Grimey thought for a moment. They had been training new recruits day and night, and their numbers had increased enormously since the start of their alliance. The transformation had been dramatic, but even so, he knew that the force of Gustavo’s army was restricted to large numbers of ill-disciplined goblins, with a few trolls, who, while he would not admit it, were proving to be more trouble than Grimey felt they were worth. Grimey cursed as his thoughts once again strayed to his brother, who would have been able to work the numbers out in a jot; he was the brains of the family.
“I’m not sure, two thousand maybe?”
“Closer than I expected, not a bad guess. Currently, we stand at just under two thousand five hundred, now do you think that’s enough?” Gustavo voice was colder now. “Yo
u understand what we want to achieve. How many fighters do you think we need?”
“Well we’re still training goblins and searching for trolls, so we obviously don’t have enough at present,” Grimey pondered out loud, playing with the single scrawny hair on his chin, “so at least three thousand. That should do it,” he declared confidently.
“You were close before, but not this time.” Suddenly, Gustavo started to shout, “Do you know how many men Drango had when he tried to take over the world? Fifteen thousand and he still failed. We will require a hundred thousand and we aren’t even close. I am no closer to destroying Maximus, the other wizards and everyone else who stands in my way of world domination.”
At last Grimey saw what it meant and realised why Gustavo was in such a good mood. For the first time in eight years, Gustavo’s Chief Goblin laughed, and with it he roared six words.
“LOOKS LIKE WE’RE GOING TO OADFORD!”
